#bacon and eggs wc

[artaintfartwarriors]

Bacon and Eggs? Just read about these little babies

Yea!!! The goobers

[eggfeather]

eggs and bacon

[exocynraku]

more family trees

[letyachan]

135-136-137.

"Spike loves cats. We live with him."

-Eggs

[solsticehymns]

liar, liar: oneshot

james potter x f!reader / fluff / romcom vibes / truth serum shenanigans

summary: James Potter doesn’t mean to confess his feelings. Or overshare. Or humiliate himself in front of the girl he’s in love with. But when a truth-telling potion takes hold, he doesn’t really have a choice.

a/n: recently rewatched liar liar. EXCELLENT MOVIE. even though jim carrey’s face makes me irrationally angry, the plot is so good and heartwarming. this fic was heavily inspired by those vibes, and kinda just that 90s romcom vibe in general! really hope you love it <333 xoxo, sunny ☀️🌻💞

wc: 3963

"You know," Sirius began, his voice thick with scrambled eggs, "if they can't manage to cook bacon properly, they really shouldn’t be serving it at all. It’s practically criminal."

Remus, barely glancing up from the Daily Prophet, replied with practiced indifference, "You say that every morning."

"And every morning, I’m still right," Sirius said, stabbing at a charred piece of bacon with melodramatic flair.

James Potter, seated between them, was only marginally involved in the conversation. The bulk of his attention—an alarming, disproportionate amount—was focused a few seats down the Gryffindor table, where you were nestled beside Lily Evans with a steaming cup of tea cradled between your hands. You laughed at something she said, a sound so soft and clear that it reached him easily over the low hum of breakfast chatter. James didn’t even hear the joke. The moment you smiled, his brain short-circuited—something sparked, overloaded, and went still.

He lifted his goblet of pumpkin juice, took a slow sip, and set it back down carefully. A droplet slid down the rim, clinging to his finger. He wiped it away absently, still looking at you.

There was something specific about mornings and you—a quiet kind of softness. Your hair was still slightly tousled from sleep, your oversized jumper hung loosely on your frame, and your hands gripped the mug as if it anchored you to the table. You leaned in, laughing again, and the sound caught in James's chest like a hook.

You weren’t trying to be radiant. That was the worst part. You didn’t angle for attention—you just had that gravitational pull, the kind of beauty that rearranged a room without asking permission. And James was, academically speaking, utterly and irreversibly besotted.

This wasn’t new. It had been happening slowly, over months—maybe even years. A quiet, resigned sort of yearning that made itself at home beneath his ribcage; a second heartbeat. He realized he was in too deep when he stopped fantasizing about declarations and started yearning for the ordinary. Sharing a table in the library. Catching your eye across a hallway. The occasional accidental touch that felt far too meaningful.

He’d made peace with the ache. As long as he got to see you every day, he could live with it.

Peter nudged him with a mouthful of toast. "Did you finish the Transfiguration essay?"

James’s jaw tightened. He was about to deliver a casual, harmless answer. Something that passed as effort.

Instead, what he said was, "Didn't even open the book."

Silence.

James blinked.

What the hell?

He hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t even consciously thought it.

Remus slowly lowered his newspaper. "Come again?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "That’s not the James Potter we know and grudgingly tolerate."

James felt a prickling heat crawl up his neck. He tried again.

"I meant to, but I got distracted. By a leaf. Or a bird. Something shiny. I don’t know."

The words tumbled out uncontrollably. He slapped both hands over his mouth, a feeble attempt at containing the damage. His cheeks were already burning, and his eyes darted around as if he could chase the words down and pull them back.

Don’t speak. Don’t even breathe, he warned himself.

Sirius grinned, delighted. "Did you just involuntarily confess to procrastinating?"

James whispered, horrified, "I didn’t mean to. It just—happened. Like my mouth’s operating on its own."

Remus's smile faltered. He looked mildly concerned now.

Before anyone could respond, your voice cut through the moment.

"Did you hit your head this morning, Potter?"

You were looking at him, bemused, your head tilted slightly. You were clearly unaware that James was in the middle of a full-blown crisis.

He turned toward you with the intention of brushing it off—something witty, something safe.

His brain screamed: Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it—

"You're the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen and I think about your smile at least three times an hour."

Dead silence.

Your eyes widened.

James felt as if someone had suddenly electrocuted his nervous system. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

You blinked, once, then twice, and let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. "Right. You definitely hit your head."

You stood, tucked your book under your arm, and offered him one last look—a half-smile, curious and a little amused. An unknown emotion flickered in your expression before you turned away.

Gone.

James’s hand froze mid-air, toast still suspended as if caught in a still photograph.

His stomach plummeted.

Across the table, Sirius collapsed forward, laughter shaking his shoulders.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting every decision that had brought him to this moment.

Peter leaned in cautiously. "Mate, what the hell was that?"

James turned to them slowly, wide-eyed and pale. "What did you do?"

Sirius beamed and gestured vaguely to the cluster of goblets in the center of the table. One still held a faint swirl of orange juice.

"This," he said reverently, "is the single best moment of my life."

James’s voice came out sharp and panicked. "Tell me. Now."

Remus hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of his paper. "We might have… accidentally tested something. On you."

James stiffened. "Tested what?"

Sirius leaned back smugly. "The pumpkin juice. We brewed a variant of Veritaserum last night. Just for fun. You drank the one we spiked. Or maybe it was the goblet next to it. Jury’s still out."

"Lucky you," Remus added, not meeting James’s eyes.

James dropped his toast. It landed butter-side down with a soft, tragic thud.

He didn’t blink.

"Oh," he said flatly. "Fuck."

James spent the subsequent hours engaging in a masterclass of avoidance tactics. He deliberately skipped lunch, took unnecessarily long routes between classes, and at one point, concealed himself behind a seventh-floor tapestry for seventeen excruciating minutes while you stood just a few feet away, engrossed in conversation with Dorcas Meadowes.

It was not dignified. But then again, dignity had abandoned him somewhere between blurting out "you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen" and letting his toast fall like a tragic Victorian heroine succumbing to fate.

Remus assured him that the potion’s effects would wear off by mid-afternoon. James clung to that prediction like a drowning man to driftwood, crafting mental versions of the day in which he might make it through without hemorrhaging any further fragments of pride. Yet with each step he took toward the next class, doubt clawed at him—what if the potion lingered just long enough to obliterate his remaining social capital? The uncertainty scratched under his skin, carrying a similar feeling to an irreversible hex.

Sirius, on the other hand, made it his personal mission to test the serum’s potency every fifteen minutes.

"Prongs, mate, how do you really feel about Filch?"

"He smells like cabbage and despair, and I once dreamt he chased me with a ladle."

Sirius erupted into delighted laughter.

James groaned into his hands. "This is it. I’m going to die of Veritaserum-induced emotional exposure."

"You’ll survive," Remus said, although his tone suggested he was still conducting the risk assessment in real time.

They scraped through Herbology with minimal disaster. James uttered only one vaguely mortifying remark—"She hugged me once and I still think about how she smelled"—which he managed to reframe as a Weird Sisters lyric. Barely.

But Transfiguration? That was a catastrophe waiting in slow motion.

With exams approaching, McGonagall had declared the day a review session, which in practice meant organized chaos. Students clustered at scattered tables, muttering incantations under their breath, cross-referencing spellwork, and trying not to Vanish their self-respect alongside practice objects. James sat toward the back. You were near the front, half-turned toward your group so that he could see the slope of your shoulder and the line of your smile when you laughed.

You were surrounded by Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene—quills scratching, parchment rustling, the occasional gasp of horror as someone’s Vanishing Spell rendered an entire desk legless. James was meant to be revising. Instead, his hand trembled and his heart pounded like it had something to prove.

His notes were illegible. The phrase "turn to smoke???" appeared multiple times, alongside a sketch of a teacup that looked suspiciously like it was weeping. His quill tapped an erratic beat against the parchment.

Across from him, Sirius arched an eyebrow, already grinning.

"So," he said, low and gleeful, just loud enough, "how exactly do you feel about her again?"

James didn’t even look up. The words left him instinctively.

"She’s a walking daydream, and I’ve got about four essays overdue because of her face."

It echoed.

Not quietly. Not subtly. It was loud enough to carry over to three tables in the vicinity

Heads turned. Someone choked on a cough. Sirius bit his fist, shaking with the effort not to fall off his chair.

James froze.

His entire body went rigid—quill suspended mid-air, lungs locked in his chest. It was as if the very fabric of time had paused to acknowledge his downfall.

Then—movement.

You paused mid-sentence. Lily tapped your shoulder with subtle urgency. Dorcas leaned in, her expression intrigued. Marlene glanced over her shoulder with the kind of grin reserved for front-row seats to emotional train wrecks.

You listened. Blinked slowly.

Then—deliberately—you turned.

The entire table held its collective breath.

Your gaze found James’s like a targeting spell—brows raised, eyes wide. Not offended. Not amused. Just... intrigued. Like you'd heard something strange and didn’t know what to do with it yet—but wanted to.

James wanted the floor to open beneath him and deliver him mercifully into the void. He briefly entertained the idea of self-immolation.

But then—you smiled.

A small one. Tentative. Surprised, maybe. But not dismissive. Not cruel.

You turned back around, and chaos resumed. Lily covered her mouth. Dorcas said something that made Marlene snort into her sleeve. Whatever it was, it was very clearly about James.

James stared at the back of your head, wondering if it might offer a second chance if he looked hard enough.

Sirius was wheezing. Remus had buried his face in his hands. Peter knocked over his inkpot in the ensuing shockwave.

James slumped forward with a groan that seemed to exit his soul before his body.

He was, by every available metric, completely and irrevocably screwed.

He had barely taken ten steps from the classroom when a voice behind him called out.

"Potter."

He turned too quickly—jerky and obvious—and almost collided with you as you stepped directly into his path.

You didn’t flinch. You simply stood there, arms folded loosely, head tilted, gaze calm and inquisitive. The corridor had mostly emptied by now, the background noise reduced to the distant echo of footsteps and muffled voices behind heavy wooden doors.

James’s heart performed a complicated sequence of flips before lodging itself somewhere uncomfortably near his throat.

You met his eyes with an unreadable expression—curious, composed, lightly amused. Like you’d opened a door and were standing on the threshold, waiting to see if he’d walk through it.

"Quick question," you said, tone airy but precise. "Was that... about me?"

His mouth opened. Instinct surged to the front of his mind—sarcasm, a joke, maybe even a clumsy attempt at denial. But his thoughts lagged just behind his reflexes, and before he could intercept them, the words had already spilled out.

"Yeah," he said plainly. "And by the way, you’re absurdly pretty. Like—genuinely hard to function around. Painfully so."

Silence fell with the weight of a dropped textbook.

You blinked. Once. Then again.

James stood frozen, every synapse in his body firing off simultaneously, as though his nervous system couldn’t decide between fight, flight, or faint. His ears were burning. His hands twitched at his sides, completely useless.

Finally, you let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t cruel, or mocking. Just surprised. Genuine.

"You’re strange, Potter."

James flailed—just barely—before shoving his hands into his pockets like it might prevent further disaster.

"No—I mean, not in a creepy way. Or, alright, maybe slightly weird, but not bad-weird. I just think you’re... brilliant. And kind. And I notice when you wear that jumper with the rip in the sleeve because it makes you look comfortable. And I should probably stop talking now."

You looked at him for a moment that stretched longer than it should have. Not unkind. Not amused. Something else—curious, thoughtful. As if you were seeing him clearly for the first time and hadn't yet decided what to make of it.

Your lips curled slightly.

You tilted your head. Evaluating. Deciding.

Then, finally, you smiled.

It was mischievous and warm, soft-edged and self-assured—the kind of smile that could level a person without trying.

"See you in Charms, heartthrob."

You turned and walked away with unhurried confidence, like you knew exactly the mess you were leaving in your wake.

James remained rooted in place, too stunned to move, like the rest of his body hadn’t caught up with what had just happened.

Crunch.

Sirius appeared beside him, seemingly conjured out of thin air, munching loudly on an apple with the casual demeanor of someone watching a soap opera.

"You’re done for, mate," he said cheerfully. "She’s gonna marry you."

James emitted a sound that hovered somewhere between a gasp and a wheeze.

Sirius thumped him on the back with unearned confidence. "Better start writing your vows."

Charms was an unmitigated disaster.

James had spent the walk to class muttering desperate prayers to any higher power that might take pity on him. Maybe Flitwick would assign partners alphabetically. Or by wand length. Or perhaps he’d adopt some arbitrary sorting system blessed by divine chance—anything to keep James from sitting next to you.

No such luck.

The universe, as it turned out, had a cruel sense of humor.

You slid into the seat beside him, entirely casual, like his whole nervous system hadn’t just tried to exit his body at the sight of you.

“Hi,” you said simply.

“Hi,” he replied, voice cracking like a prepubescent banshee. He cleared his throat. “Hi.”

You tilted your head slightly. “You doing alright?”

He gave a thumbs-up. Then immediately regretted it. Who does that?

Sirius, two rows back, made eye contact and mimed a halo over his head.

Flitwick launched into a lecture on the Cheering Charm, but James only caught every fifth word. Something about “light-hearted energy” and “proper wand movement,” none of which applied to the doom currently devouring his insides. His palms were damp. His quill was trembling slightly. His knee wouldn’t stop bouncing under the desk.

You leaned closer, one elbow resting casually on the table as you peered at his parchment.

“Is that supposed to be a diagram of a wand or a tree?”

James blinked at the mess of lines he’d drawn. “It’s—neither. Abstract art.”

You grinned, wide and easy, and he felt it as a punch to the sternum. His heart lurched so hard it practically knocked the air out of him. You had no idea what that smile did to him—how it short-circuited whatever logic he had left.

You turned your attention back to your notes, but your voice was light. Curious. Teasing.

“Do you always talk like this to girls, or just me?”

James didn’t even have time to panic.

“It’s just you. Always been you.”

The words hit the air like a dropped pin in an empty room.

You blinked.

He stared at the table, mortified. His ears burned. He could feel Sirius’s psychic scream of glee from two rows away. He’d said it. Out loud. He’d said it out loud.

But you didn’t laugh, tease, or mock, as he had feared.

You only looked at him. Really looked at him.

Your expression held something quiet. Not surprise. Not pity. Something gentler—measured and soft. A flicker of understanding that warmed rather than burned.

James’s breath snagged in his throat. His fingers curled slightly around the base of his quill as he struggled to keep himself grounded. For one agonizing, wonderful moment, he thought he might cry—out of embarrassment, yes, but also because the moment was real.

And then—

You turned back to your wand.

Said nothing.

Your cheeks were slightly pink, your smile just barely visible as you bent over your parchment again. But you didn’t move away. You didn’t laugh it off. You stayed close, like the moment didn’t scare you the way it terrified him.

James blinked in the echo of it—your kindness, your quiet acceptance—completely undone.

He didn’t hear a word Flitwick said for the rest of class.

After class, James moved quickly—too quickly—trying to pack his things before reality caught up with him. If he kept his head down, avoided eye contact, and exited fast enough, maybe he could outrun the emotional catastrophe he’d spent all day teetering on.

But you didn’t leave.

“James.”

His name stopped him cold. Charms book half-shoved into his bag, his spine went rigid.

Your voice was quiet—not sarcastic, not amused. Measured. Sincere.

He turned slowly, bracing for the worst. You were standing a few feet away, arms loosely crossed, your bag hanging off one shoulder. There was nothing smug about your posture. If anything, your presence felt... gentle. And somehow, that made it harder to bear.

Your expression was hard to read, but it held no sharp edges. There was a softness in your eyes, something patient and open, like you were holding back the question that had been building all class.

“Are you okay?”

The simplicity of it landed with an almost disproportionate weight.

Because you meant it.

James blinked, unprepared. His brain scrambled to summon a joke, a quip—something light enough to float him out of this moment.

But the truth arrived first.

"No," he said. "Not even remotely."

The honesty stunned him. It left his mouth before he could restrain it, like the words had slipped from a part of him he couldn't control. He winced as soon as it was out.

Desperate to recover, he backpedaled.

“I mean—I’m not sick or dying or anything. Just…” He gestured vaguely at himself. “Emotionally compromised. Mildly feral. Truthfully unwell."

He offered a crooked smile. It held, barely.

Your brows lifted. Not out of judgment, but consideration. You looked at him like his words were puzzle pieces you were quietly fitting together.

“Truthfully, hm?”

James looked away. Embarrassment bloomed hot across his face.

It was absurd how much weight that single word carried. He fiddled with the zipper of his bag as if the act could insulate him from further exposure.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me today,” he muttered. “My filter’s gone. I think something and then—I say it. And somehow, it’s always when you’re standing nearby.”

Still, you didn’t laugh. You didn’t mock. You didn’t flinch.

Instead, you took one small step closer.

And then, without saying anything else, you reached forward and gave the sleeve of his robes the gentlest tug. Just once. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t performative. But it said everything: I see you. I’m still here.

James swallowed hard. His throat tightened, but this time not with panic. Something else. Something quiet. Something close to relief.

You turned and walked away, unhurried, the last rays of afternoon light catching in your hair as you rounded the corner.

The classroom was silent now.

James stood motionless for several seconds before lowering himself into the nearest chair like someone had been holding him upright all day and finally let go. His bag hung off one shoulder, forgotten. His hair fell into his eyes.

He tipped his head back and groaned—long, dramatic, utterly defeated: “I am so fucking doomed.”

The Gryffindor common room was silent—eerily so.

James had barely stepped through the portrait hole when he sensed it. The stillness felt curated, like a scene hastily arranged moments before he entered.

He pivoted to leave, but Sirius materialized in his path, smiling with far too much innocence to be trusted.

“Where are you off to, Prongs?”

James squinted. “Nowhere. Anywhere. Just—not here.”

“Perfect,” Sirius chirped. “Come sit.”

Before James could object, Sirius ushered him toward the fireplace with the gentle coercion of someone leading a lamb to slaughter.

That’s when James saw you.

You were already seated on the sofa, legs folded beneath you, a forgotten book resting in your lap. The firelight danced across your features, softening the angles of your face in a golden glow.

James froze. "You planned this."

Sirius thumped him on the back. "Me? Never. Just a wildly convenient coincidence, right?"

You raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Well, would you look at that,” Sirius said, clutching his chest like he was moved to tears. “Two of my dearest friends. Alone. In the same room. Under the same roof. By sheer happenstance.” He turned to you. “Don’t mind me—I’ll just be over here, not spying and definitely not listening in.”

He took a single, dramatic step back.

“Actually, no. I should go. Destiny awaits.”

James whipped around. “Sirius—”

“Good luck!” Sirius called over his shoulder, already ascending the stairs. “Also, feel free to profess undying love! Or don’t. But you probably should.”

The portrait hole sealed behind him.

James turned to face you. You had closed your book.

“That wasn’t subtle,” you said.

James exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair. “Not even a little.”

You rose, slow and deliberate. Arms folded—not defensive, but inquisitive.

“One question,” you said. “Why?”

James blinked. “Why...?”

You softened your tone. “Why have you been acting so strange today?”

That was all it took.

“I was dosed with a homemade version of Veritaserum,” James admitted, words tumbling out. “Sirius and Remus spiked my pumpkin juice this morning. For fun. That’s why I’ve been blurting things I’d normally take to the grave. Especially around you.”

He hesitated. Took a breath.

“Even so—I meant every word.”

You didn’t interrupt.

James’s voice quieted, like he was running out of room in his own chest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever outright lied to you, not really. It’s more that I’ve been pretending. Like saying 'morning' without letting it mean anything. Sitting near you and pretending I wasn’t waiting for you to notice.”

He let that hang between you.

“I can’t believe it took a bloody potion for me to admit I’m in love with you. I think I’ve known for ages. Maybe since third year, when you lent me your notes and smiled like I hadn’t just failed spectacularly. Or maybe fifth year, when you hexed Mulciber for picking on that first-year and shrugged it off like it was nothing. I’ve carried it for so long it stopped feeling urgent. It just became part of me.”

The fire crackled. James stared into it, hoping he would vanish.

“I didn’t plan to say that either,” he murmured under his breath.

You studied him.

Then, voice barely above a whisper: “You’re in love with me?”

He nodded, completely genuine. “Madly.”

And when you kissed him—softly, surely, like you’d already decided—James forgot how to stand still. One hand found your waist like it had always known where to go; the other hovered, then gently cupped your cheek, as though the moment might dissolve if he wasn’t careful.

Your lips were warm and real, and James felt his entire body lit with quiet flame.

You kissed him like it hadn’t scared you off. Like maybe it had pulled you closer.

When you broke apart—just enough to breathe—your forehead pressed against his.

“You really are strange, Potter,” you said.

James let out a shaky laugh. “You kissed me anyway.”

You smiled. “I suppose I like strange.”

And for once, James Potter didn’t need to speak. But if he had to, he’d spend the rest of his life figuring out the right words for you.

By morning, Remus and Sirius had double-checked the potion’s timeline. It had likely worn off sometime around Charms.

Everything after that? All James.

☀️🌻 masterlist

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

Minor Characters for Tree's Roots

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[cheriedivine]

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫

chapter I | next

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

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

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

꩜ WC: 4.9K

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

══════════════════════════════════════

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

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

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

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

Of course the easy way is not to feel.

But then again — what’s the point of life without love?

Without being consumed by it? Without being absorbed?

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

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

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

But then she met you.

Her best friend. Her whole world.

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

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

How it started?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thats certainly one way to put it.”

“Rude.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You threw your apron at her. She dodged it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except for one of them.

Cat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, good luck with that one.”

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

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

She checked her phone.

No text yet.

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

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

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

Your response came quick: middle finger emoji.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean, a little. For the bit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s hot.”

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

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

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

“Personal growth,” she nodded solemnly.

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

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

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

“7-Eleven it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In my head,” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That only made him grin wider.

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

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

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

You groaned. “Don’t encourage her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, the night rolled on—warm, loud, stupid. Full of bad jokes, half-eaten snacks, and shared glances neither of you really knew how to deal with yet.

Not tension, exactly. Not yet. But something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Not that they needed to know about it.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You know I would never."

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

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

“You’re an asshole.”

“Your favorite one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her chest tightened. Was that weird? Creepy?

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

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

You were her best friend.

And that would always be enough.

Right?

[smileysuh]

comfort cuisine

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader

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

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

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.8k

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

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

Prologue

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

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

“It’s not-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Speaking of-”

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

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

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

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

“That’s a great idea!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As if everyone doesn’t already know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!” Johnny laughs.

“I’ll consider it,” you grin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two

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

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

Your date is in the bathroom when Johnny calls.

“Hello?”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

“That bad, huh?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A hundred percent.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The hours make it tough,” Johnny nods. 

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

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

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

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

Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

“That could work,” Johnny nods. 

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

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

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

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

“What about oats?” you suggest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Four

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

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

“Shoot.”

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

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

“Really? You sure?”

“A hundred percent.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can y/n stay longer?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Five

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What made you finally give it a try?”

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

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

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

Six

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?” he asks.

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

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

Seven

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

“Hey, you,” you answer.

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

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

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

“Not so hot actually.”

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

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

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

“Say no more, I’ll be right over.”

Eight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for yesterday,” he says quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think I love you.”

“Huh?” you freeze.

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

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

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

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

“Doyoung, for one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re drunk,” you say finally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re right,” Johnny concedes. 

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

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

“Uh huh.”

“Will you stay in my bed with me?”

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

Johnny grins. “You got it, honey.”

Nine

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

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

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

Johnny is careful as he exits the bed, taking one last look at your peaceful face before heading down to the kitchen.

It’s easy for Johnny to get lost in the act of cooking, focusing on bacon at first before switching to eggs. As it was a few days ago, the smell of food wakes you up, and soon you’re joining him by the stove.

“Watcha making?” you ask, wrapping your body around his.

God, the feeling of you is- fuck, he can’t even describe how good it is.

“Wanted to make you breakfast,” he tells you, plating your food first. Once he has you settled and sitting, he quickly throws together a breakfast sandwich for himself.

“You and your sandwiches,” you laugh, digging into your bacon and eggs.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, coming to join you.

“So well,” you tell him, bumping your knee against his own, “even if someone snores.” 

Johnny can only laugh, he’s dealt with Soonbok complaining about his loud snoring for years. “How are the eggs?”

“Good!” 

You’re so chipper this morning, and he loves it. Johnny takes a bite of his sandwich- you’d cooked the eggs at the brunch birthday two days ago, and he realizes Soonie was right. “Your eggs are better,” he muses.  

“I’d planned on making breakfast for you, but you jumped the gun, big guy.”

“I wanted to pamper you for a change.”

“Cooking is my love language,” you tell him. “I’m excited to make you breakfast more often.”

“I like the sound of that,” he smiles.

“When’s Soonie come home?”

Johnny checks the clock on the stove. “In an hour or so.”

“As much as I’d love to see her, I think maybe it’s better if I’m not here when she gets home,” you say thoughtfully. “She’s a smart girl, I bet she’d be able to tell that something is up.”

“She definitely would,” Johnny confirms. “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off of you that much if you stick around.”

You giggle, reaching over to squeeze his knee.

“How are you feeling about last night?” Johnny asks.

“I’m feeling good, how about you? Still remember all of it?”

“In perfect detail,” he breathes. “Although… a little reminder wouldn’t hurt.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t?” you tease as he leans in, cupping your face so he can press his lips to your own. 

God, you’re such a good kisser. It just works. It’s hard for him to even pull away, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm you.

“Take me out on a date,” you say.

“Hmm?”

“A date,” you repeat. “Just because we’ve known each other for years doesn’t mean we can skip steps.”

“I respect that,” Johnny nods. “I’ve got a busy week, and it will have to be a night where Soonie is out, but… we’ll make it work.”

Johnny’s so certain it will work, because things between you have always worked, and he can’t wait to see where this takes you. 

Ten

It’s been a week, but finally Johnny found time for that date night. Soonie is out with friends again, so it’s the perfect opportunity to get some alone time with the man who’s been on your mind constantly.

He picks you up in his old Dodge truck, compliments your outfit, and refuses to tell you where you’re going or what the plan is.

When you arrive back at his place, you’re honestly not even surprised. “Let me guess, you took me to the best chef in town?”

“You know all my lines, honey,” he grins. 

“So, chef, what’s on the menu?”

“I thought maybe you’d take a seat and let me cook for you.”

“As if I’d take a back seat,” you scoff. “What are we making?”

Johnny had made hand made fettucini before he’d come to pick you up. You let him take lead in making a white wine, garlic cream sauce with button mushrooms, spinach and crispy prosciutto, but you insist on being his sous chef and taking care of the chicken.

The smell is heavenly, and as he finishes it all off with fresh herbs, you think you start to drool a little.

“For a guy who claims to specialize in sandwiches of all things, you’re pretty good with italian,” you muse as you take your first bite and nearly moan.

“I’m pretty good with a lot of things,” Johnny laughs. 

“Look at you being all cocky.”

“You love it.”

He’s so right.

The two of you chat and laugh together while eating. It’s one of the best meals you’ve had in a very long time. When dinner is over, Johnny suggests a movie. As the two of you settle on the couch, he prompts you to come closer, and soon, the two of you are cuddled together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He’s so warm and comforting- you find yourself dozing off a little, although, maybe it’s something of a food coma from all the pasta.

Johnny brings his lips to your ear, and you shiver when he asks, “Should I carry you to bed, honey?” 

Part of you wants to tell him you’re not Soonie and you won’t be calling him daddy any time soon- but another part of you wants to lean into this. It’s been so long since you felt like you could be babied, and if anyone is going to bring out that side of you, it’s going to be Johnny.

“Won’t I be too heavy?” you ask, cognizant of the stairs he’ll have to climb.

“Have you seen my arms? I won’t drop you, honey, I promise.”

You allow him to scoop you up, and you feel like a giggling school girl again as he takes you up to his room. “Do you have a shirt I could wear to sleep?” 

“Choose anything,” he tells you. “When you’re changed, you can join me in the bathroom, I went and got a toothbrush for you.”

Before you know it, you’re cuddled in Johnny’s bed, wearing panties and one of his big shirts. He’s pressed to your back, his mint tinged breath warm on the nape of your neck. There’s no pressure for sex, no pressure for anything other than the situation at hand, and you can tell you’re both very content with it. 

Soon, you’re drifting off to sleep in the arms of a man who’s been a cornerstone of your life.

It’s a deep, dreamless sleep, and it passes in the blink of an eye. You awaken to light beaming through his window, a warm body behind you, and something hard pressed against your ass.

You laugh to yourself- morning wood isn’t something men can help. Even so, you stir a little, adjusting to get more comfortable.

Johnny releases a sleepy groan.

You stay still, not wanting to wake him, but it feels like the damage is already done when he wraps you tighter in his embrace. “Morning,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Hi,” you respond lightly.

Now it’s Johnny’s turn to shift, and you feel his body tense when he does so. “Fuck,” he goes to pull away, “sorry, I uh-”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, grabbing his forearm so he can’t move away, “keep cuddling me.”

Johnny returns, flush against your back, his hard cock pressing even more firmly to your ass.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” he asks.

“More than okay with it.”

“Yeah?” He leans forward, pressing his lips to your throat. “Are you okay with this, too?” Johnny mumbles, his hot breath fanning across your skin.

“Uh huh,” you sigh, wiggling your bum back against him and arching your neck to give him better access.

His hand finds your hip, gently squeezing you through the shirt you’re wearing. His lips are soft against you, but there’s a need in his motions too, and he begins to grind against your ass.

You let out a groan when he finds the sweet spot just below your ear, and he licks at it, making you moan louder.

“Are we going to do this?” he asks, nipping at your earlobe.

“Fuck it, yes.” You can’t hold back anymore, you turn in his embrace, quickly mounting him and smashing your lips to his own.

Johnny grins into the kiss, holding your hips while you settle on top of him, grinding down against his clothed cock while your tongues begin to clash.

His kisses have you seeing stars, your mind going blank except for him.

Soon, his hands slip under your shirt, slowly grazing up your sides. “Can I take this off of you?” he asks.

You open your eyes to look down at him, studying his pretty lips and his chocolate eyes. 

Instead of responding, you sit up, grabbing the hem of the oversized T and lifting it over your head, tossing it to the side and baring yourself to your best friend for the first time.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, gaze falling to your tits. His hands stay at a respectable location on your hips, and you grab one to lift it to your breast, adding pressure so he knows he’s allowed to give you a test squeeze.

Johnny begins to massage you, and you throw your head back, releasing a groan, swiveling your hips against him.

His thumb brushes over your hardened nipple and you mewl loudly, core throbbing from the stimulus.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, propping himself up so he can take your nipple into his mouth.

You cup the back of his head, keeping him on your chest while he worships you. His other hand finds your neglected breast, gently pinching and massaging while he sucks on your sensitive bud.

“John-” You don’t even know what to say, you’re entirely wrapped up in him. 

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

Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more. 

Johnny pulls away from your breasts, cupping the back of your head and drawing your lips to his again. “We should take our clothes off,” he suggests.

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all week,” you laugh. 

He helps you off of him, and you lay next to each other for a moment, both fumbling to get naked. As soon as you’re fully nude, Johnny rolls on top of you, slotting between your thighs. His lips find yours again, and his free hand trails down your body, teasing through your pussy lips.

“You’re already so wet,” he muses.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” you admit.

“Me too,” he assures you, capturing your mouth with his own while he teases a finger into your hole. You push your hips up, wanting more, and you latch onto his strong shoulders, moaning into the kiss.

Johnny’s a big man, and his finger is enough to have you wriggling below him. “Easy, honey,” he grins, looking down at you with eyes full of adoration. “Gotta stretch you open.”

“Fuck,” you groan- does this man read erotica in his spare time? How is a thirty year old, single dad, this well versed in dirty talk even though you’re pretty sure he hasn’t been laid in forever?

He adds a second finger, curling them to find your gspot. As he pumps his hand, lips pressed to yours in a mad frenzy, you can hear your wetness with each motion. 

It feels unreal- have fingers alone ever done a number like this on you?

Johnny twists his hand a little, knuckles dragging along your sensitive inner walls. It’s like he’s trying to carve out a space for his cock, although, you know now that this won’t be enough. He’s thick and throbbing on your hip, his length so large you think he might just blow your entire back out when he slips it into you.

Even though you’re eager to be - for lack of a better word - impaled on him, Johnny takes his time kissing you, his fingers continuing their motions. “Wanna rub your clit for me?” he asks, moving his mouth to your neck. “I want to watch you cum.”

Your toes curl at his words, and you bring your hand to your pussy, drawing circles on the sensitive bud while he continues to stroke your inner walls.

Your core throbs around him, whimpers of pleasure escaping you. 

“You’re being so good for me, honey,” Johnny tells you, making your insides flutter even more from the sincere words of praise.

Cumming hasn’t always been the easiest thing in the world for you. There are many partners you’ve had who never had the wherewithal to get you there- but somehow, Johnny just knows you. Or maybe, it’s because he knows you- because you feel safe with him, that you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

It also helps that it’s your own fingers on your clit, you know exactly what you like, what pressure, what motions- the digits working you open are just an added bonus that have you seeing stars as you make your way to your peak.

“John,” you gasp, tits pushing up toward his chest when your back arches. “I’m gonna-”

“Let it out for me,” he encourages you softly. “You deserve it.”

“I deserve your cock,” you whine, shocked at your own blatant neediness.

Johnny only laughs. “After,” he assures you, “I promise.”

A few more circles of your clit has the cord in your stomach snapping, your orgasm washing over your like warm summer waves. Your entire body tingles with delight, gasps leaving you as your pussy fully throbs around his fingers, your clit pulsing with desire.

“So pretty,” he whispers, bringing his lips to yours.

From the way he smiles against your mouth, you can tell he doesn’t care that you’re moaning so much he can hardly kiss you.

It’s a closeness you’ve never felt before, and he helps you through your orgasm until you’re pulling your hand away in favour of grabbing his shoulders.

Johnny takes his fingers out of your core, and you watch under hooded eyelids as he brings them to his lips, sucking them clean and releasing a groan. “Everything you do tastes better than what I bring to the table.”

You laugh. He’s such a fucking chef.

“Some might even say it’s…” you stifle a giggle, “Finger licking good.” 

Johnny lets out a laugh, eyes lighting up. God, you love this soft, laughter infused sex- you’ve never experienced anything like it.

You grab the back of his neck, drawing his mouth to your own. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and there’s something so erotic about it. He moans loudly, rubbing his cock between your wet pussy lips.

The tip of his cock is stimulating your clit and it sends jitters through you. You can feel how soaked you are, and you wouldn’t be surprised if this ended with a wet patch on his bed from how turned on you’ve been throughout this whole experience.

Johnny seems intent with grinding against you, but you’re lacking patience today, and you reach between your bodies to grab his cock.

Johnny breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours and looking down at where you’re gripping him. He doesn’t say anything, his gaze shifting back to your own. There’s a question in his eyes, and you’re both aware that this is the final line. Once you cross this, there’s no going back.

You bring his cock to your wet hole, and with very little effort, you help guide the head of his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans immediately, fists bunching at the pillow on either side of your head. “You’re so tight- are you sure you’re good with this?”

“You’re just- fuck,” you whimper as another inch sinks into you, “you’re just big!”

“Maybe you’ll have to get used to it,” he grins, pushing deeper.

You moan loudly, clawing at his shoulders. “Maybe I will,” you gasp. 

He brings his mouth close to your own, until your lips are just brushing, eyes meeting when he says, “I’m looking forward to it.”

As he kisses you, he pushes fully into your warm, wet, throbbing core. His hips are flush to your own, and you swear no one’s ever been this deep inside of you.

Your legs shake on either side of his hips, body suspended in this odd purgatory-like place between extreme pleasure, and an uncomfortable feeling of being stretched more than you’ve ever been stretched before.

“Are you good?” he asks, lips moving to your cheek while you struggle to aclimatize to his cock.

“Yeah,” you nod quickly. “Just- fuck me, it will be easier.”

“If you say so, honey.”

The first thrust has your toes curling, eyes clenching shut with pleasure. A sound that’s never come from you before leaves your lips- a sound you’ve heard in porn, but always thought was an overexpression.

Your fingers dig into Johnny’s shoulders, and he holds you close, mouth finding your neck while he begins to fuck you.

Although, would this be called fucking?

The fluidity of his motions- the way you’re clinging to each other- it feels more like making love, and your skin tingles with the realization.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me you love me again, like you did when you were drunk.”

“I love you,” he says immediately, holding you even tighter. “I love you so much that sometimes it hurts.”

Your entire body both relaxes and is set on fire by his words, your core throbbing desperately around his massive cock. 

“Johnny-” you whimper.

“Tell me you love me too,” he pleads.

“I love you too,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair and bringing his face close to yours so you can look up into his eyes. “I love you too.” 

Johnny’s hand finds your thigh, hiking it higher on his hip. Somehow, he hits even deeper now, and you wriggle below him, more sounds of pleasure escaping you and filling the room.

“You sound so good, honey- I won’t last if you keep squeezing me and moaning-”

“Then don’t last,” you gasp. “Want you to cum.”

“Where should I cum?”

“Inside- I’m on birth control, just- fuck, Johnny, cum inside.”

He groans, pressing his mouth firmly to your own, his tongue dancing along yours as his motions get even faster.

You’re clinging to him for dear life at this point, and when he slips a hand between your bodies to rub your clit, you nearly begin to cry from how good it feels.

“Love the way your pussy sucks me in when we play with your clit,” he tells you. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

“Do you think you can cum for me again? I don’t want to be the only one cumming.”

“Yeah, yeah- fuck, yeah, I can cum again,” you whimper desperately.

“Let me know when,” he instructs, adjusting his motions ever so slightly so each thrust has his cock dragging against your gspot.

You let out a squeal of delight, your thighs shaking around his hips, stomach muscles clenching almost painfully-

“Fuck, John, I’m there- shit, fuck-”

Johnny shuts you up with his lips against your own, and for a second time, your orgasm hits you.

Your core clamps down incredibly hard on his cock, and Johnny groans deeply above you, fingers twitching on your clit. He keeps his pace, and a moment later, you feel his cum filling you up, coating your walls with warmth.

The feeling of his large length throbbing in your own oversensitive hole has your entire mind going fuzzy, and you kiss him like a woman lost, like a woman so completely in love that nothing else matters.

You ride out your orgasms together, until you’re both shaking. Only then does Johnny come to a stop on top of you, kisses turning to a more gentle nature as he holds you close. 

“I love you,” he tells you again.

You smile, blinking up at your best friend. “And I love you.”

Epilogue

The two of you are in the kitchen cooking brunch. Johnny is pressed to your back, watching intently, asking all sorts of questions about how you cook eggs to make them so delicious and superior to his own.

“The secret ingredient is love,” you tease.

Johnny can only laugh, holding you tighter.

He’s so lost in you, that he loses track of time, and as the two of you are sitting down to eat, Soonbok walks through the front door. She stops in her tracks when she sees you, letting her little overnight bag slip to the ground.

“Oh, hi, baby,” Johnny stands up immediately.

“Hi, daddy,” Soonie says, allowing her dad to pick her up for a hug while her eyes shift to you.

“Did Sabrina’s mom drop you off?” Johnny asks, looking out the door to wave at Soonie’s friend’s mom as she drives away.

“As always, daddy,” Soonie laughs. “I didn’t know y/n was coming over.”

“Surprise,” you grin, also standing so that when Johnny sets his daughter to the ground, she can run to give you a hug of your own.

Once Soonie is done squeezing you as tight as her little arms can muster, she looks between you and Johnny. For some reason, Johnny feels his heart beginning to race, there’s a knowing in his daughters eyes.

“What’s going on?” Soonie asks finally.

“Y/N and I just had a little sleep over,” Johnny tries to explain, and the concept isn’t a new one, you sleep over frequently… in the guest bedroom.

“So…” a wicked grin appears on Soonbok’s face, “Does this mean you’ll stop trying to get me to call her auntie now?”

“What?” Johnny lets out a surprised laugh.

“You heard me, daddy,” Soonbok’s smile widens. “Does this… does this mean we’ll be a real family now?”

Johnny lets out a shuddery breath. In the years you’ve been helping raise Soonbok, Johnny has broached the idea of her calling you Auntie Y/N, as a respect thing, and his daughter has always refused. Had she seen the connection this whole time? Has this been something Soonbok has wanted ever since she was a five year old with an inquisitive mind and an even more discerning eye?

Johnny’s gaze shifts to you, and you flash him a warm smile.

“Yeah, baby,” Johnny picks up his daughter. “We can be a real family now.”

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! This was such a fun project for me, thank you so much to everyone who encouraged me to write for Chef John, he deserved his happy ending :)

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🔮 preview. The man ordering can’t see you lying on the floor of the food truck. He has no idea what’s going on- and you feel like tempting fate a little. You bring your hand to your pussy, beginning to rub yourself through your pants, adjusting the vibrator ever so slightly as it buzzes inside you. Johnny nearly drops the tomato he’s holding, quickly tearing his gaze from yours. You’ve never seen him trying to focus this hard- and failing. What had been your torture initially, has just become his own, and you kind of love it.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, exhibitionism (fucking in a food truck), use of vibrator while helping a customer, vibrator as a makeshift gag ball, breast worship, fucking with half your clothes on, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, big dick Johnny, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, breeding kink, etc…   I petnames. (hers) honey

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.1k I teaser wc. 230

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

You love working with Johnny. Sure, it had been rough at first, getting his food truck on its feet, but it’s been two years, and with some insanely good marketing, you’re now running one of the top trucks in the city.

It’s a joy to watch Johnny fulfill his dreams every day- his odd obsession with sandwiches of all things has only added to your connection. Watching him smile and charm guests makes your heart swell with joy, and on the rare occasion Soonie comes to do the register and take orders, it feels like you’re just one happy family.

Today, however, is a weather disaster. The forcast had mentioned light sprinkles, but cuddled next to Johnny looking out at the torrential downpour, you both feel a little bamboozled.

“You know what would make this more fun?” Johnny asks.

“Customers?” you suggest.

“Yes, but also… I got you something.” The chef flashes you a sly smirk, and you pull away from his shoulder to asses him.

“Am I going to like where this is going?” you ask.

He was single for so long- and there’d been so many sexual things he’d missed out on during that time, but the two of you are making up for it every moment you have alone. You suppose this is a moment alone, so you’re not really shocked that his mind is in the gutter.

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[alwaysurvalentine]

marry me (if I ever get the nerve) - st fic

Based on a prompt from my @steddiebingo 12 Days of Christmas card: 'proposal'

wc: 2.4k | cw: none

enjoy! 💛

~

One.

A crowd is blocking the pathway when Eddie and Steve round the corner. Steve cranes his neck to see around the crowd and then scoffs. 

“What, what is it?” Eddie’s trying to see through the people in front of him, but every time he shifts, they do too. 

“Someone’s proposing in the middle of the park. Can’t even imagine how embarrassed she feels right now. Can you imagine?” 

Steve continues to rant, one hand waving in the air while he vents and the other one tugging Eddie along the edges of the crowd to get past. 

Marriage has been brought up between them before, an idea that seemed nice but somehow far away. Even without saying it, Eddie knew it was something that Steve wanted. It’d been an easy plan from there: save up money for a ring, pop the question, and then marry the fuck out of Steve Harrington. So far all Eddie had done was start saving for a ring. 

He stumbled upon the perfect ring just last month, a simple gold band with the option to engrave the inside. Right now he can’t decide what he wants to put there, but he figures he’s still got some time to think about it.

“Like what if she wants to say no? He’s basically put her in a situation where she has to say yes and then go back on that answer later.”

There’s genuine distress in Steve’s voice at this stranger having to deal with this. Eddie squeezes his hand and offers a placating smile. Up ahead is the cafe they’d been heading towards in the first place. For once there isn’t a line and Eddie lets go of Steve’s hand just to open the door and bow. 

“My love.”

All of the tension building up in Steve leaves him with a roll of his eyes and he smiles when he steps in before Eddie. Even though Steve wasn’t a fan of the couple they saw, Eddie sends a quick thanks because now he knows. 

Absolutely no proposing in a crowded public place.

~

Two.

Light always finds Steve. No matter the time of day, if there’s a ray of sunshine, it’s shining on his boyfriend. It’s one of the first things Eddie noticed about him when they started dating. Now is no exception, sun peeking through their blinds to shine on Steve’s face. 

Steve has barely moved from where he left him this morning, mouth slack with a line of drool leading to a small spot on his pillow. Eddie sets the tray holding their breakfast down for a moment, leaning over to swipe the drool away with his thumb. He rubs his hand on his pants and then rests a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Steve’s eyebrows furrow when he wakes, eyes blinking open just to squint shut at the light. 

“C’mon, I made breakfast.” 

Steve yawns and smiles softly, rubbing at his eyes. Eddie grabs the breakfast tray again, orange juice sloshing in the glass but not spilling with the movement. The small smile on Steve’s face turns into a full blown grin and he smooths over the blanket when he sits up. 

The plate of breakfast smiles back at him, bacon curving up towards two eyes made of eggs. A gentle hand takes his wrist and Eddie’s tugged down close enough for Steve to press a kiss against his cheek. 

“Thanks, baby.” Sleep still paints Steve’s words, a roughness there only because of their activities from the night before. An image of Steve on his knees, eyes half lidded and tongue hanging out of his mouth flashes into Eddie’s mind. He’s quick to dismiss it though, trying to stay on task. 

Afterall, this breakfast is serving a purpose. Today is going to be the day that Eddie proposes to Steve. All he’s got to do now is pull the ring out of his bedside table and ask the question. Just a small, intimate setting for his Stevie. 

He leans toward his dresser drawer right as the phone starts to ring. 

“Hello?”

“Oh, uh, hi Eddie. Is Steve there?” Max is on the other end of the line, voice tight.

“One sec.” Eddie passes the phone over easily and mouths that it’s Max on the other end. 

“Hey, what’s up?” 

Judging by the face Steve makes at something Max says, this proposal is about to be pushed to another day. When Steve shifts the tray off of his lap and scoots out of bed, Eddie knows he’s right. 

“Woah, hey, it’s okay. I’m glad you called. Give me fifteen and we’ll be there.” Another pause and Steve flashes a grimace in Eddie’s direction. 

“You know he would understand. Okay, okay, yeah, it’ll just be me. See you soon Mayfield.” 

Guilt covers Steve’s face when he turns to Eddie. He tosses the phone back onto the bed and pulls jeans over his boxers. 

“Sorry, Max needs me to help her with something real quick, but I’ll be right back after that. Rain check on breakfast in bed?” 

Disappointment curls in Eddie’s stomach but he nods anyway. “Of course, no worries. Is Red okay?” 

Just as much as the kids are Steve’s in all the ways that matter, Eddie’s adopted them too. If one of them is in trouble, he wants to know. 

“Yeah, just something going on with her mom.”

“Why don’t you bring her back here? I can make some more breakfast and we can all do brunch and watch trash TV.” 

Steve closes the distance between them with a few quick strides, pressing a kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth. His hands come to rest on Steve’s hips, keeping him close so he can steal a couple close mouthed kisses before Steve leaves.

“That would be great, I love you.” Another kiss and then Eddie lets him go so Steve can brush his teeth before heading over.

Might need to recruit Robin to help make sure proposing doesn’t get interrupted.

~

Three. 

Tuesdays are date nights.

Eddie doesn’t know if it was on purpose, but the first date he and Steve went on was a Tuesday and now it’s just become tradition. It’s the one day of the week that the gremlins know to let them have their night. 

Tonight, Eddie’s even got Robin helping to run interference. Obviously he had to run this plan by her. They both figured while he’ll be popping the question, doing so over a candlelit dinner without getting on his knee was still lowkey enough for Steve to let it pass. 

(Robin also tried to argue that Steve would be fine with a massive proposal because the only answer he’d have for Eddie would be yes. Her puppy dog eyes aren’t nearly as lethal as Steve’s, so he hadn’t caved.)

Eddie had asked Steve to dress up for dinner tonight for a reservation made at The Grillhouse. They don’t always do fancier dinners, more than happy to dance around the kitchen together instead. Steve had asked what the occasion was and squinted skeptically when Eddie stuttered that he had big news he was excited to share. Despite all of his practice as a DM, he still can’t lie to save his life. Luckily, Steve had dropped it and shifted the focus to a story from work. 

Now Eddie finds his palms sweaty, empty plates sitting between them. This is his window.

“Stevie?”

His boyfriend tilts his head to the side, humming quietly to show he’s listening.

“I brought you to dinner saying I had some big news to share. But really, that news couldn’t be possible without you.” 

Steve’s face softens and he reaches across the table to take one of Eddie’s hands. They sit like that for a moment, Eddie swallowing before reaching into his coat pocket to grab the ring. 

The pocket is kind of deep and all he feels is fabric so he digs in a little further. Still, all he feels is the cotton lining against his fingers. 

And then he realizes. 

He forgot the ring.

He forgot the ring. What is he supposed to tell Steve now?

“I’ve decided to send some of me and the guys’ tapes to some producers.” 

The smile on Steve’s face is bright enough to challenge the sun and Eddie knows he’ll be sending out those tapes this week just so that he hasn’t lied to the man in front of him.

“Holy shit!” A couple of people swivel their heads at the sudden exclamation but Steve doesn’t pay them any mind, raising his glass to Eddie. Never one to leave Steve hanging, he’s quick to lift his own glass for Steve’s toast.

“Congratulations, baby, I’m so proud of you!”

Hot tip: don’t forget the ring.

~

Four.

Steve’s bopping his head as he walks through the kitchen. Everyone’s just cleared out of the apartment after spending the night. He hasn’t been able to convince Steve to play D&D, but it doesn’t mean his boyfriend doesn’t love any opportunity to host. Every couple of weeks their apartment is flooded with the full group, pizza for dinner and then Steve pulls out all of the stops for brunch the next day. 

There’s a pile of dishes waiting to be washed in the sink and a couple of pans left to cool on top of the stove, but like always - Steve’s turned on the radio first. Which works perfectly with Eddie’s plan. 

He’d called the radio station earlier in the week and asked them to play their song so he could propose to the love of his life. The girl on the other end had squealed at the request and let Eddie know she’d email with the time they’d be able to put it into the show. 

When he glances over to check the time, he’s surprised to see that there’s only a a couple of minutes to wait until their song is queued up. He’s got just enough time to run upstairs to grab the ring and then he’ll finally be able to ask. Steve’s just grabbing the pans off of the stove to move them towards the sink when Eddie steps out of the kitchen. 

It seems oddly quiet when Eddie makes it downstairs. Maybe it’s just because of how loud it was last night and this morning.Mumbled cursing welcomes him back into the kitchen and Eddie sees the reason behind the quiet. Their radio is currently cradled in Steve’s hands, eyes locked in on the different dials like it’ll suddenly start working if he looks disappointed enough. 

“Steve?” 

The look of horror on Steve’s face has Eddie chuckling as he walks over.

“I broke the radio.” Genuine heartbreak colors Steve’s words and Eddie takes the radio from his hands with a smile.

“That’s okay, looks like it got some water on it. Did something splash out of the sink?” Steve nods, eyes focused on the radio in Eddie’s hands. 

From what Eddie can tell, they might have to just replace the whole thing, somehow Steve’s managed to get the entirety of the speakers wet. His proposal might’ve been foiled again, but at least he gets a huff of a laugh when he rolls up his invisible sleeves to wash the dishes, bumping Steve out of the way. 

Alright, maybe the radio thing was a little complicated, time to regroup.

~

Plus One.

“Wayne, I feel like I’m losing my mind.” 

His uncle just laughs from his side of the table, coffee cup lifted to his mouth despite the steam rising above it. 

“No, I mean it. I’ve tried proposing to him so many times but I keep messing it up!” Eddie runs a hand through his hair and has to stop for a moment when a ring tugs on his curls. The chipped mug in Wayne’s hand gets set down and he leans back, eyes squinted in a smile while he looks Eddie over.

“Alright, let me get this straight. You wanna propose to your boy?” Eddie nods. “Why don’t you just ask him, plain and simple?” 

“Oh, yeah, just ask him plain and simple. Because that’s totally easy. Have you met him?”

Wayne raises a brow, unimpressed at Eddie’s dramatics. 

“I just want it to be perfect, Uncle Wayne. What if this is like the universe telling me not to do it? Everything keeps going wrong…”

Another sip of coffee and then Wayne leans forward, elbows on the table. “Listen here, you love him?”

“Of course I do.”

“And he loves you?”

Eddie can feel the blush when it spreads across his cheeks. 

“He tells me all the time.” 

“Then I think no matter how you ask him, the only answer he’s going to say is yes. Knowing you two, you could just slide the ring on his finger and Steve would have the wedding planned in a week. What’s really holding you back?” 

Damn Wayne for knowing him so well. 

This answer doesn’t come as easy, dread building in Eddie’s gut while he tries to figure out the best answer. If he voices this and Wayne agrees, he’ll probably never recover.

“C’mon, spit it out.” 

“Whatifhedoesn’tthinkI’mworthbeingstuckwithfortherestofourlives?”

Another unimpressed stare, lips pursed at Eddie’s quick speech.

“Just, what if he doesn’t think it’s worth it? Being stuck with me forever?”

“Eddie, listen up, and listen good. No such thing as being stuck with you. I can tell that he adores you, knew as soon as I saw the two of you together. Just because your old man,” and Wayne pauses when Eddie’s head snaps up, “chose to ignore the gift you are, doesn’t mean other people will. I’ve been lucky enough to see you grow from that scrawny kid angry at the world to the man I see now. You’ve got your own family now, one you built all on your own, and not a single one of them feels like they’re stuck with you. Y’hear me?” 

Eddie wants to feel embarrassed at the tears in his eyes, but instead all he feels is warmth all over - loved. He jumps up and scoots into Wayne’s side of the booth, throwing his arms around the older man’s neck just like he did as a kid. When he backs up, Wayne’s eyes look a little teary themselves.

“Alright, let’s go, I gotta get ready for work.”

(When they get back to the trailer, Eddie opens the door to his own makeshift family crowded around the living room. It takes a moment to take it all in, streamers hanging from the ceiling, balloons all over the floor, and then Steve on one knee with a ring held out. 

It’s an easy yes.)

[wolvietxt]

ᰔ the little things !

pairing : dean winchester x fem!reader warnings : fluff, slight injury, established relationship au, teasing, prompt list here wc : 1.5k a/n : ignore the fact i posted a logan drabble w/ the same name yesterday😭 anyways this is just something little while i finish another dean fic :3

the first time you realized you could curl up on dean no matter the position, it felt like something out of a dream. his chest was broad and steady, his arms always finding their way around you without a second thought. on the couch, in bed, or even crammed in the backseat of the impala, he never shifted to make himself more comfortable. instead, he adjusted to you. "you gonna start charging me rent?" he teased once, his voice low and rough, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. the truth was, he loved it, even if he didn’t say it outright.  

feeding him snacks became another routine. it started when you were lounging together, a bag of chips in hand, and you absentmindedly held one over your shoulder. he leaned in, catching the chip between his teeth, and gave you a cheeky grin. "thanks, sweetheart." after that, it became a habit. popcorn during movie nights, bites of your sandwich when you were too lazy to pass it properly - he never asked for it, but he never refused either.  

your fingers found their home in his hair more times than you could count. the first time, he had leaned his head into your lap while you were watching tv, his eyes closed as he relaxed. your hand naturally drifted to his hair, carding through the soft strands. "you’re gonna mess it up," he muttered, but his voice was too soft to carry any real protest. after a while, he stopped pretending to complain, even tilting his head slightly to guide your hand to his favorite spots.  

"text me when you get home" became one of his go-to phrases whenever you were apart. it didn’t matter if you were only driving back from the store or coming home after a hunt. he wouldn’t rest easy until he knew you were safe. "just humor me," he’d say when you rolled your eyes, but the worry in his eyes told you it was more than just a habit - it was a necessity.  

you couldn’t help but smile whenever he did. sometimes it was a full, toothy grin after he nailed a joke, other times it was just the soft curve of his lips when he was focused on something small. either way, your chest tightened at the sight, and before you realized it, you’d be grinning too. "what’re you so happy about?" he’d ask, pretending not to notice, but there was a warmth in his voice that gave him away.  

he always stole bites of your food when you were cooking. you’d be chopping vegetables or stirring a sauce, and suddenly, his hand would sneak in to grab a taste. "dean," you’d scold, trying to sound annoyed, but it was impossible not to smile when he looked at you like that. sometimes, you’d hold out a spoonful for him instead, cupping your hand under his chin to catch any drips. the first time you did it, his eyebrows shot up, and he stared at you like you’d hung the moon. "you’re too good to me," he murmured, licking his lips.  

whenever dean cooked for you, you made sure he knew just how much you appreciated it. even if it was something as simple as bacon and eggs, you’d rave about how good it was, savoring every bite like it was the best meal you’d ever had. "you’re gonna give me a big head," he’d say, but you could see the pride shining in his eyes.  

breakfast in bed wasn’t a regular thing, but on the rare mornings when he surprised you with a tray of pancakes or scrambled eggs, it felt like the ultimate luxury. he’d sit beside you, watching as you took the first bite, and you’d catch him smiling to himself like he’d just won the lottery.  

"you look gorgeous. stunning. jaw-dropping. breathtaking," he said one evening, his eyes scanning over you with a playful smirk. "do you see what i’m getting at here?" you laughed, shoving his shoulder lightly, but the way he looked at you made your cheeks burn. there was no doubt in your mind that he meant every word.  

holding hands with dean felt effortless. it wasn’t something you planned or thought about - it just happened. whether you were walking down a crowded street or wandering through the woods on a hunt, his hand would find yours, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. it was grounding, comforting, like a silent promise that he was always there.  

people noticed the way you looked at each other. you didn’t realize it at first, but there was something unmistakable in the way your eyes softened when they met his, or the way his entire demeanor shifted when you walked into the room. "you two are disgusting," sam teased once, shaking his head, but there was no malice in his tone - just a hint of envy.  

before dean left for a hunt or even just a grocery run, you always made sure he looked put together. fixing the collar of his shirt, smoothing out his jacket - it was a small thing, but it mattered. "you don’t have to fuss over me," he’d say, but he never stopped you. if anything, he leaned into your touch, letting himself be cared for in a way he wasn’t used to.  

when you were apart, you’d send each other little pictures - nothing fancy, just quick snapshots of your day. a selfie with a cup of coffee, a picture of the impala with some smart-ass caption from dean - it was a way to stay connected, even when miles separated you.  

you could sit together in silence for hours without it ever feeling awkward. sometimes he’d be cleaning his guns while you read a book, or you’d both be on your phones, the quiet companionship as comforting as any conversation.  

napping with dean was a kind of magic all its own. his arms wrapped around you like a cocoon, his steady breaths lulling you into the deepest, most peaceful sleep. sometimes he’d wake up before you, his hand gently tracing patterns on your back as he waited for you to stir.  

one of his more protective habits was guiding you to the inside of the sidewalk whenever you were walking. he never said anything about it, just casually reached for your hand and steered you away from the road. it was such a small thing, but it spoke volumes about how much he cared.  

"have you eaten today?" was a question he asked more often than you realized. it didn’t matter if you were busy or distracted - he made sure you took care of yourself. and when you turned the question back on him, he’d grin sheepishly, knowing he couldn’t get away with skipping meals either.  

massages became your go-to whenever he seemed stressed. you didn’t have to ask - he’d sit on the edge of the bed, his shoulders tight with tension, and you’d slip behind him, your hands working out the knots until he finally relaxed. 

whenever you tripped, even slightly, dean’s hand shot out instinctively, ready to catch you. "you okay?" he’d ask, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury. it didn’t matter how small the stumble was - he treated it like a near disaster, his protective instincts kicking in without hesitation. 

hugs from behind were his weakness, even if he’d never admit it. you’d wrap your arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, and he’d melt instantly. sometimes he’d reach back to rest a hand on yours, grounding himself in the warmth of your touch. 

"i’ve got this, you go rest," he’d tell you, gently nudging you toward the couch or the bed. dean was stubborn, always taking on more than he should, but when it came to you, he made sure you were cared for first. 

he had a habit of wiping crumbs or smudges from the corners of your mouth. it wasn’t something he did consciously - it just happened. his thumb would brush over your lips, his eyes focused with a softness that made your heart ache. 

"i love you," he said one afternoon, out of nowhere. you were sitting together, doing absolutely nothing, but the words fell from his lips like they’d been waiting to escape. it wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but it felt just as powerful as the first, like he needed you to know, again and again, just how much you meant to him.

ᰔ dean winchester : @person-005, @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[brookediamonds]

i can’t do well when i think you’re gonna leave me, but i know i try

Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Part 3 to ‘who’s the cute boy in the white (black) jacket and the thick accent?’

Summary: It’s the day before the finals, and after an amazing night with Axel you’re head over heels for your rival making things simmer between teams.

Wc: 2.7k Warnings: allusions to sex (up to reader) 18+, fluff, little angst, characters are aged up to 18

gif is not mine

The sound of a door shutting close woke you from your slumber state making you groan at the noise. The sun peaked in through the white sheer curtains, making you squint at the light.

“Sorry, ljubavi,” Axel apologizes walking over to you, holding a plate of food. You sat up in your spot adjusting the large t-shirt your lover had given you the night before.

“Brought us some breakfast,” he says plopping down next to you, the smell of eggs, bacon, strawberries, and avocado toast filling your senses.

“Thank you,” you mumble still waking up, you rub your eye noticing he was trying to hand you a fork. You take the utensil gratefully, and start picking at the eggs.

“Taste okay?” Axel asks noticing your silence. You were silent in the morning's, it took you a second to wake up.

“Delish,” you respond through a mouth full of toast making him laugh. He picks up a piece of fruit with his hand and holds it to your mouth letting you have a bite.

He finishes the strawberry off, licking the tips of his fingers making you squirm in your place. So hot.

“I can’t thank you enough,” you say taking a bite of your avocado toast.

“For what, ljubavi?” Axel asks sincerely. You set down your fork on the plate.

“This,” you motion to the gesture of him bringing you breakfast in bed. “Last night, everything.”

The tips of his ears turn red, both of you recalling the past ten hours. The Croatian man twists his head to look at you, reaching up to caress the side of your face making you lean into his warm touch.

“I’d do anything for you,” he declares, his electric green-blue eyes boring into yours. You feel your heart sputter into your chest at his confession.

“Why?” You ask self consciously. You had never had someone adore you so much, it was intoxicating and overwhelming all at once.

“I care about you, so much,” he says without hesitation. “No one’s ever paid me attention for other than my karate. To have someone as beautiful and caring as you even look at me, is a privilege.”

You leaned your forehead against his, nuzzling your noses, you wanted to be close as possible to him.

“You mean a lot to me too,” you exhale running your fingers through his messy locks. “So much.”

You move the plate of food to the nightstand, Axel meeting you half way to kiss you lovingly. Wrapping your hands around his neck, you pulled the boy on top of you as you laid back into the pillows.

His hand trailed up your naked thigh, hiking it up to rest over his hip, as you molded your mouths together.

The sound of your ring tone suddenly caught you off guard, making you pull away from Axel’s lips. You giggled as he continued to leave soft wet kisses along your jaw and down your neck as you reached for your phone.

It was a text from Sam.

Sammy 👯‍♀️🙈🐙: My dad just called me, he said there’s an emergency meeting down in the lobby for the Sekai Taikai.

ps. I WANT DETAILS 🫵🏼

You chuckled at the text before locking your phone.

“I am being summoned,” you groan making Axel look up from the crevice of your neck.

“Must you go?” He pouts pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“I wish I didn’t have to,” you frown bringing your hand up to brush away a few strays of hair from his forehead.

You and Axel share a long look of adoration, not wanting to end this moment of intimacy and fondness.

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” you speak up. “Just know I…I will always be there for you and you’re in my heart forever.”

You knew you were young, and never would find anything like this again, something so rare and precious it was all so endearing and it was unfortunately coming to an end.

“I am yours, and you are mine,” he claims feeling the mutual warmth you felt. You nod pressing one final kiss to his lips before moving off the bed.

Axel watches as you slide the romper on from the night before, his green t-shirt falling mid thigh over your clothing.

Walking you to the door, you turn back to the tall young man who towered over you.

“Bye my ljubavi,” you use his nickname for you against him, a small mischievous smile playing on your lips. Reaching down for a quick peck, he looks down at you daringly.

“See you soon,” he grins sending you off with a soft pat on your ass. You yelped, laughing to yourself as you walked to the elevator.

As you stood alone in the enclosed box, you reached up gently touching your puffy lips missing the mouth that was just on yours a few minutes ago.

—————————————————————————

After a long shower and a detailed rundown of last nights events, you and Sam make your way to the lobby seeing your teammates waiting for you all.

“Helloooo,” you greet them happily sliding into the conversation.

“Good morning to you too,” Robby laughs seeing your upbeat state.

“She was with Axel wasn’t she?” Demetri inquires pointing over at you and not to mention your new black jacket that hung a little loose on you.

“Listen, if you had a tall, muscular, blue eyed, Croatian boy falling all over you too, you would be just as down bad as me,” you raise your head high gently patting the tall nerd’s head.

“But I’m not-“ Demetri begins to say something but gets cut off by Miguel.

“Just let her have this,” Miguel defends you making you smile accomplished. Demetri and Robby walk away leaving you, Sam, and her boyfriend alone.

You press a quick kiss to Miguel’s cheek, squeezing it like he were a kid making him whine.

“Love him for that,” you say looking over at Sam. She laughs at the interaction, rubbing his back soothingly.

As the three of you talked, you see Miguel glancing up from you and Sam a few times.

“Okay, um (Y/n), why does your boyfriend keep staring at me like that?” Miguel asks interrupting me mid-conversation.

You whip your head back seeing Axel stand from a distance, arms crossed, a hard look on his face. He realizes you’re suddenly looking at him, and breaks his eyes away.

“No clue, I’ll be right back,” you say taking a step forward only for Robby to approach you all.

“Hey, bro, how’d it go?” Miguel asked referring to Robby’s talk with Tory. You looked back for Axel, frowning when you realized he wasn’t in sight anymore.

“Pretty much how’d you expect it to go,” Robby shrugs, your focus now on the blonde boy.

“I’m sure once all the craziness dies down, you guys are gonna figure it out,” Sam reassures your co-captain.

“She’ll come around,” you add in for extra support.

“Maybe,” Robby agreed looking over at you. “Not much I can do until then, but give her some room so… in the mean time we got a tournament to win.”

The three of you nod all in understanding that winning was your priority at the moment.

“Yeah we do,” Miguel quips up. “And look, all things being equal, it’s pretty sweet knowing that Cobra Kai’s not a threat anymore.”

Before anyone could say anything else, there’s an announcement over the PA stating for everyone in the competition, even those who have been eliminated, to report to the lobby.

All of the teams circled around the head announcer Gunther, waiting for the news that was urgent.

“My apologies for summoning you all like this,” Gunther apologizes. “But under the circumstances, it was necessary.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, you and Sam sharing a look of confusion.

"The Sekai Taikai has a long and honorable tradition," Gunther begins to explain. "We fight hard but we fight fair. That's why I am saddened to announce that one of the dojos here has tarnished that tradition by cheating."

Oh no. Your team immediately looks over at Cobra Kai whom stood next to you guys.

"Sensei Ivanoov," the announcer fiercely looks over at the blue and red team, gasps erupting among the students around you.

"Four of your students have tested positive for performance-enhancing drugs," Gunther informs everyone. "You are hereby eliminated."

Your mouth fell open due to shock, but ultimately understood. It was far too much for just a tournament.

"What the hell are you talking about?" The sensei seethed with anger.

"You are hereby removed from our finalists," Gunther concluded.

Wait.

If they're eliminated, that means-

"Replacing Udar Tigra will be the dojo with the next highest point total...Cobra Kai."

Your eyes fell to the team celebrating next to you, a feeling of dread washing over you. When will this end?

"And on a more positive note, we'll announce the draws for our semifinals," the head of the committee spoke. His assistant hands him two envelopes.

"In our girls bracket, the first semifinalist will be Maria Àlvarez, versus Zara Malik," Gunther appoints starting to make you feel nervous.

"And in the second match, that will pit Tory Nichols against (Y/n) (L/n)," confirming your suspicion, you let out a hitched sigh.

Tory was never your enemy, there was bad blood but all of you had finally cleared the air, to be here again made you feel sick.

"In our boys bracket, our first semifinal match will be; Diego Aguilar, and versus Kwon Jae-Sung," he lists the first set of boys. "And our second semifinal match will pit..."

That only left...

"Axel Kovačević and Robby Keene."

Axel and Robby make brief eye contact, a certain look of challenge coming across his face.

"Good luck to all our semifinalists, we look forward to seeing you tomorrow at the venue."

You watch Axel as he stares at your co-captain, arms crossed, before walking away.

"Axel The Invincible and (Y/n)-Tory chapter a billion, it's less than ideal," Demetri complains.

Ignoring Demetri's words, you jog up to Axel grabbing his arm. He turns to face you, eyes narrowing down at you.

"Are you okay?" You question the stand offish boy.

"Never better," Axel says quickly, avoiding your gaze. You weren't buying it.

"What's wrong?" You ask almost desperately. Axel saw the frown on your face, a wave of guilt coming over him.

"Zara showed me this," Axel pulls his phone out and hands you his device allowing you to see what had him so distraught.

It was a picture of you and Miguel hugging in the locker room yesterday.

"I saw you kiss him," he adds in, betrayal lingering in his voice.

Handing his phone back you take a deep breath understanding how this looks to him.

"Do you remember when I told you about my dad?" You remind the angsty boy.

He nods recalling your dinner, the two of you talking about family, specifically your dad passing.

"Miguel's mom is pregnant and in the hospital," you explain softly. "She was in critical condition, having a baby at an older age is very risky, I was just trying to be there for him."

His face fell, making you reach out and tip his head to eye level with yours.

"I kissed his cheek because he defended me and you being together," you finish explaining. "Miguel's not a threat, if anything he's our biggest fan.”

Axel grabs your hand on his chin, and pulls you into a tight embrace.

"I apologize," his deep accent sends a wave comfort through you. "I did not mean to be so..."

You lean back keeping your hold around him, and shush him.

"I understand," you assure the guilty boy in from you. “It looked bad, I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

“Do not worry, it was my mistake,” he fully admits bringing his hands up to hold the sides of your face.

“Don’t forget, you are mine and I am yours,” you remind him of his words from this morning. Axel smiles at your words before attaching his lips to yours.

“See you after training?” He suspects voice lingering with hope.

“Of course,” you promise.

With one final kiss, you bid goodbyes and meet with your team at the staircase.

—————————————————————————

You lay on Axel’s naked chest, his arm wrapped around your waist as you traced lines connecting the small freckles that scattered amongst his nose.

His eyes were slumped shut, embracing the soft touch of your finger tip running tenderly over his face.

“You are going to make me fall asleep, mišiću (little mouse),” Axel says lightheartedly, rubbing his hand up and down your back softly.

“Nooo,” you whine pressing quick kisses all over his face. “Stay with me baby.”

Axel flutters his eyes looking at you amused.

“But I should probably go,” you frown. “Let us get some rest.”

“No,” Axel fought before flipping you on to lay on your back as he hovered over you. “You belong here with me, forever.”

You giggle as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms under your body to keep you from moving. Snaking your arms over his shoulders, you snuggle further into the pillows, and bring a hand up to run through his soft red brown hair.

“Who am I to object?” You sigh feeling the upmost comfortable. Your legs entangle with one another’s, Axel fully resting his body on top of yours.

The security and safety you felt made your heart ache and almost want to cry because you knew after tomorrow everything would change.

After the tournament you would find yourself being split up from the boy you were falling for, and you were not prepared for it.

“I really like you,” you voice quietly making Axel turn his face to look at you. “I don’t want tomorrow to come.”

“Do not worry, ljubavi,” Axel shushes you. “I would travel the world to be with you again.”

“You would?” You ask your lower lip starts to quiver, your heart squeezing in your chest. It sounded too good to be true, and cheesy but for one more night, you could believe it.

“Absolutely,” he confesses. “You made me see what life can look like without karate and I have never felt more at home than when I am with you.”

You can’t help the tear that escapes your eye, his words leaving a mark on your heart.

“For now, be here with me," he pulls you back into the moment making you forget about the future.

You could put off the future for tonight, right here beneath him.

—————————————————————————

You're fidgeting with the bracelet Axel gave you a few days ago, remembering the conversation you had at dinner about it.

A few days ago...

"My dad and Sam's dad were best friends growing up, so naturally me and her became best friends," you explained your backstory to the boy you were on a date with. "We all bonded over karate and their sensei, it was a whole thing..."

You smile fondly at the memories of the four of you together, before things got bad.

"Did your father come to tournament?" Axel quizzes, slightly hoping to meet a part of your family. He immediately takes notice to the way your smile fades, a sadness glazing over your (e/c) eyes.

"He passed when I was twelve," you say quietly, avoiding Axel's gaze. "Car accident."

Axel reaches for your hand that sits on top of the table, to which you lay your hand on top of his accepting his comfort.

"I am sorry, I did not know-"

"You couldn't have known, it's okay," you assure him squeezing his hand.

Axel can't help but stare at you with admiration, the way you held yourself together with strength and compassion only made his worship for you grow.

He looks down at the bracelet tied around your wrist, remembering what it represented.

"You know the Barcelona flower embodies its roots with nature," Axel flips your wrist to reveal the four petaled symbol. "It can blossom and adapt to its environment. Much like you."

You can't help the small grin that forms on your face, his dark blue irises captivating and kept you from looking anywhere else that night.

Whatever happens today, win or lose, you knew you had fallen for the opponent and you were okay with that.

Especially when he showed up on your doorstep a few months later, keeping his promise to you.

----------------------------------------------------------------

ALTERNATE ENDING RIGHT HERE

(a/n: y'all don't kill me, I couldn't write a proper ending to this bc lowkey I really want to continue when part 3 of season 6 comes out 🌚 so I made it super subtle and wrote an alternate ending which will not be released till quite literally part 3 is released. lets keep the good vibes rolling though, send in requests for our beloved axel!!)

(ps when reader goes up to group and goes "hellooooo" i want you tp picture cristina yang when she get the sparkle pager from mer and approaches everyone all happy 💀🤣)

Taglist: @karmaswitch @fallout-girl219 @babylambdietcoke

[clawsdevour]

｡. ˚oikawa husband hcs

wc: 0.6k content warning: post-time skip, fluff, goofy silly husband oikawa, not proofread

っ ᐟ˒𓂂

-Oikawa, the type of husband to love to just hold your hand. Everytime he does though, he always looks at it to admire the ring he picked out for you the moment he knew you were the one. He can't help but smile and kiss the small gem while admiring the luck.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to absolutely love laughing with you. It's not that he likes laughing but more of hearing you laugh with him. He enjoys silly little moments where you get to laugh off a small mistake or just simple tickle fights.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to plan little "slumber parties" with you. He'd go out his way to buy little pouches of face masks and cut up little cucumbers for your eyes. While you're at it, Oikawa would also enjoy baking cookies to eat while you both binge-watch your current favorite shows. He loves doing little fun activities like these because you both get a chance to unwind and relax together.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to probably gossip with you about his volleyball team and old friends like how he met Hinata in Brazil. He loves telling you about his volleyball career as well since it's a big part of who he is and he appreciates how you love every version of him.. especially when you're real invested in the short volleyball gossip sessions.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to love ruining your cute couple selfies by making the goofiest faces mid pic until you get serious. Don't get me wrong, he enjoys taking selfies. But what he enjoys most is the memory behind the photos.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to give you his all. Every small effort he puts into you for instance, making you a simple breakfast. He puts every little thought into every action. Do you like bacon? He'd sizzle a fresh batch for you. Do you like your eggs whole or scrambled with salt and pepper? If you don't he wouldn't cook it that way. He remembers every little detail without you even realizing it.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to give you the best shoulder massages when you're having one of those days. He'd immediately notice your slight shift in energy and tell you to sit down in front of him while his fingers work that setter magic, relieving all the pent up stress and freeing up your tensed muscles while he reassures you with his comforting words.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to love going out on dates with you. He enjoys planning them, calling restaurants, booking flights, and overall going above and beyond for a good time with the one he loves the most. He truly loves to spoil you. He'd enjoy taking you out to foreign countries where you both can bask in the ambiance of new land where it's just you two.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to be a complete fatass for the food you cook. Doesn't matter if you're a bad or a good chef, he genuinely likes that you enjoy cooking for him. Every meal he eats, he can feel the love that you cooked it with every bite that just gets better. He's stuffing his cheeks full like a hamster to the point where he'd accidentally end up choking for water.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to definitely send you reels while he's out for work. He'd for sure be watching them and laugh when reading the comment section to the point where he has to send you the reels and sends screenshots of the comments he found the funniest. Oikawa would quite literally laugh in your dms saying stuff like "LOL HINATA DID THIS ONCE"

masterlist here

[hellothereobiwankenobi]

yellow ribbon on the door | chapter three

⟢ summary: You are questioning the dynamic between you and Joel, when he suddenly shows up to the flower shop. Again.

⟢ pairing: joel miller x afab!reader (femme but not descriptive as to actual features)

⟢ wc: 2.7k

⟢ tags: no outbreak au, flower shop au, angst, idiots in love, small age gap ( joel is 35 and reader is 29 about to be 30), trauma related to the loss of a love one, operation desert storm mentioned, reader is a single mother to ellie, no beta reader we die like men

ꕥ previous │ navigation ꕥ

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Joel lets Tommy get him obscenely drunk that night. He had accepted the pounding headache he would have the following morning as his penance for how he had treated you. Every sharp look, every clipped response, everytime he had denied your kindness ran through his head like a movie. Joel had been cruel to you in an effort to disguise the emotions he had been trying to repress since your first meeting. The shame and anger he had for himself as he developed feelings for his younger brother’s girlfriend being projected onto you.

But if you weren’t really Tommy’s girlfriend… Joel was just a dick.

The two stay until closing and stumble down the two streets to the elder's house. By the time they enter the home, Sarah has been asleep for hours. Both brothers struggle up the stairs and separate into their respective bedrooms. Tommy in the guest room, and Joel in the master.

Joel tosses and turns until sunrise. Every time he closes his eyes, his tortured mind finally allowing him to find sleep, he sees snapshots of your brokenhearted expression from that morning. He screwed up, and he knew it.

Joel wakes with a start at a loud banging on his door.

“Alarm!” Sarah shouts through the thin barrier separating the bedroom from the hallway. Joel turns his head and sees the digital clock on his nightstand reads 6:30 AM. He slams a fist down on the snooze button, silencing the screeching alarm, and buries his face back into the pillows.

Joel can smell bacon sizzling on the stove as he eventually makes his way downstairs. He squints, trying to block out the golden morning light flooding in from the kitchen window.

Tommy alternates his attention between two frying pans before him, cheerfully pushing around bacon and eggs in each “Mornin’, sunshine.”

Joel can only grunt as he opens the cabinet housing his assorted collection of coffee mugs. His fingers wrap around the ceramic handle of a canary-colored one, and he brings it to rest on the counter. Joel fills his mug from the freshly brewed coffee pot. He can’t understand how Tommy could be so chipper after the night they had, and so few hours of sleep.

“You’re all outta pancake mix. Was lookin’ forward to havin’ a stack this morning.” Tommy takes three plates from the cabinet and sets them on the circular dining table opposite the kitchen.

“You can always sleep at your own place next time.” Joel glares at his brother half-heartedly, bringing the mug to his lips. He savors that first sip as if it could make everything from the last twenty-four hours better.

“And miss the look on that beautiful face first thing in the mornin’?” Tommy flashes Joel the same devious smile he’s had since they were boys, grabbing the frying pans and bringing them to the table. He places equal portions of bacon and eggs on each plate. “Nah, I’m fine right here.”

Joel didn’t have the energy to go back and forth with Tommy this morning. No amount of coffee could stop the hangover rattling his skull and the guilt pulling tight in his chest from draining all his energy. “What am I gonna do?”

Tommy knew he wasn’t referring to the hangover. He calls up the stairs to Sarah before turning back to the older man. “Don't know, big brother. But it sure is gonna be fun to watch.”

· · · ──────── ⋆˚ ✿ ❀ ✿ ˚⋆ ─────── · · ·

That following weekend, the smell of blueberry scones fills the air of your single-story, ranch-style home. You stand in your kitchen, hip leaning against the white tile countertop, drinking your third cup of coffee this morning. You had woken up before sunrise to prepare for today.

It is your turn to host the Gold Star Widows of Austin bimonthly brunch. Three quiches in wide glass baking dishes, a rectangular fruit platter, large serving trays stacked with pillowy crepes, crunchy bacon, scrambled eggs, pitchers of juice for the children, and sangria for the adults cover every horizontal surface in the kitchen.

In about an hour, the members of Austin's GSW chapter and more children than you can count would be packed, shoulder to shoulder, in your modest three-bedroom. You had helped the other spouses host in the past, but this was the first time you held your own. It quickly spiraled into more work than you had anticipated. Thankfully, you have backup of your own.

After you had learned your husband had been killed in action, the Army provided you with several resources to help you transition through the mourning process. One of these resources was a local support group for grieving widows of U.S. servicemen and women. Daniella Harris had been the first friend you made while attending meetings.

Dani had a natural sense of confidence—the kind you had to be born with. She was unapologetically herself. You admired her straightforwardness, honesty, and lack of fear for speaking her mind. Despite all the darkness losing the love of your life brings, she never let it consume her.

Dani watches your hands as you bring the coffee mug to your lips.

"Heaven above, how long has it been since you had a fill?" Of course, she noticed the sizable gap between your acrylic nails and cuticles.

Dani had been working as a nail technician since she was in high school. While her husband was on his first deployment in Iran, she had opened a small home studio in her spare bedroom. Over many months, she gained a small following in the Austin area. "I'm puttin’ you on my books for next week. Sure I got an openin’ somewhere."

"I'm working every day at the shop. Wedding season is almost over, and I need to squeeze in as many orders before things slow down in the Fall." You curl your fingers and stare down at your nails. "Even if I did have some time off, I don't have anyone to watch Ellie."

Dani grabs one of the large serving dishes from the counter with both hands and carries it to the dining room. She calls over her shoulder, "What about that handsome handyman you been seein’?"

"Dani, don't be gross. You know me and Tommy are just friends." You scrunch up your nose and set down your coffee mug. Grabbing a tray, you follow after her. "And last time he watched Ellie, she came home with a new favorite four-lettered word."

Tommy had come back into your life after your husband's funeral. The two men had lost touch over the years, but you had heard countless stories about the bond they formed in Kuwait. You felt it was only right to invite him to the memorial service.

"Oh, not him." She shakes her head, flashing a teasing smile. "The other handsome handyman in your life."

You realize she's referring to Joel. You could count on one hand how many times you had brought him up in conversation. The most you had told Dani about him was that he's Tommy's brother, he is a single father of a teenage daughter, and he acts as though being in the same room as you causes him physical pain.

That is, until about a month ago. After putting Ellie to bed, the two of you were sitting on your couch enjoying one too many glasses of sweet red wine. In your alcohol-induced haze, you had confessed to suppressing a primal urge to rip Joel's clothes off and fuck him until neither of you could walk straight the following day.

"Oh, the asshole." You were failing to hold back a sneer. The memory of your last interaction flashes in your mind. You had mistakenly thought Joel was finally warming up to you. Instead, he left you standing on the curb in front of your flower shop, feeling like a fool.

When Tommy had first told you about his brother, you were excited to meet him. He had explained Joel was on the quiet side, which some people can find a bit off-putting. Behind the stoic facade, he was a big softie. He was protective, dependable, and had a type of southern charm only men from Texas had. You had hoped to befriend him as he understood what it is like to raise a daughter alone. The way Tommy spoke about his brother made him seem like a kind man who was trying his best. The image you had made of Joel in your mind was nothing like the man you met.

"Still that bad?" She offers you a sympathetic look.

"I just don't understand him." Crossing your arms over your chest, you let out a long sigh. "He refused to even look at me at his daughter's birthday party but shows up two days later to fix something in the shop. Then, as soon as he's done, he acts like he can't leave fast enough."

The corner of Dani's mouth curl upward "Sounding like a hate fuck waitin’ to happen."

"Trust me, there is no chance." You immediately shut the thought down. "Not with him."

A twisted pang of guilt hits you dead center in the chest. "Not with anyone. Not yet, at least."

Dani closes the gap between you and gently squeezes your upper arm. "You're allowed to be happy. Movin’ forward with your life don’t mean you love him any less."

Dani understood the mix of complex emotions you were experiencing better than anyone else. She had lost her own husband, Staff Sergeant Kenneth Harris, in 2001.

Whenever you thought you were ready to start dating again, a wild vine of shame would wrap around your heart and squeeze. Why do you get a second chance at love when your husband would never have the same opportunity? You don't believe you deserve the happiness moving on would give you. You told yourself you certainly don't deserve all the compassion the other widows have shown you.

Not after what you did.

Tears well up along your waterline, threatening to spill onto your cheeks. Dani pulls you in for a warm hug, stroking your back. You wrap the gesture and force the nausea-inducing guilt that plagued you to the back of your mind. The two of you stay like this for a long moment.

The timer on the stove announces that the scones are ready to leave the oven.

"I'll grab them." Dani pulls away first. "Go clean yourself up. You know how us Texans are about lookin’ presentable."

Entering the master bedroom, you see your reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall. You are quite the sight. A streak of flour runs across your cheek, and your eyes are red and puffy. You splash cold water on your face, washing away any evidence of your labors, and calming the crimson encircling your eyes.

Taking a deep, centering breath, you reach for your teak wood jewelry box. Pulling the lid back, your eyes focus on what you are searching for: a modest, single-diamond engagement ring and matching yellow gold band. You pull the set out and slide them on your left ring finger. Even when your husband was alive, you rarely wore them. When asked, you would explain you were afraid to lose them in the garden or drop them down the drain while doing dishes. You always believe love shouldn't be proven by wearing jewelry but by your actions toward those you care for. You only wear them now around the other widows, who all still wear their own.

· · · ──────── ⋆˚ ✿ ❀ ✿ ˚⋆ ─────── · · ·

The replacement copper pipe for your A/C unit arrives Wednesday evening of the following week. On Thursday morning, Joel is stepping into your shop, carrying his navy tool bag. You're helping a young couple, allowing them to mix and match different peony colors for the centerpieces of their wedding reception.

The silver bell above the door chimes, bringing your attention to the entrance. Your friendly smile falters momentarily when you see it is Joel. Your expression returns to normal as you turn back to the couple. "I'll be right back. If you'd like, you can look at the vase options in here." You lay your hand on a white three-ring binder next to the register.

Walking over to where Joel is standing, you offer him a stilted "Good morning."

You're wearing the same floral sundress from Sarah's party paired with your sunshine yellow apron.

"The part came in." Joel holds up the hand holding the little copper pipe as though showing it to you was enough to explain his reasoning for being here.

"Uh huh," You nod your head slowly. That still didn't explain why it's Joel who's here. Your last exchange made it pretty clear to you that he had no interest in coming back.

"Can I—" he gestures to the door separating the storage room from the main storefront.

Stepping to the side, you allow him to move past you and enter the backroom. Joel grabs the handle of the walk-in cooler and gives it a good tug. Nothing happens. He pulls again, and still nothing. He tries for a third time, and the latch finally clicks open.

As he enters the cooler, a panicked thought enters his mind. What would happen if you were here alone and the door accidentally closed behind you? What if you can't get the door open? You’re trapped inside, at the mercy of a faulty door handle. No one would know you were back here. The linen sundresses you are so fond of are fit for the Texas sun, not a 35-degree refrigerator. He sees flashes of you running your hands up and down your bare upper arms, desperately trying to stay warm as hypothermia slowly sets in.

He couldn't have that.

Joel sets down his tools and returns to his truck to retrieve his ladder. He flips the shut-off switch on the cooler's outer wall and gets to work.

It only takes Joel a few minutes to install the new coolant pipe and restart the A/C unit. After he is satisfied with his work on the walk-in, he turns his attention to the faulty handle. He's able to disassemble it and find the issue. A tiny metal spring housed in the locking mechanism is bent to an awkward angle. Pulling his smallest pair of needle nose pliers, he meticulously bends the spring back into place before reassembling the handle.

When Joel returns from the backroom, the young couple has left, leaving the two of you alone.

"All done?" You don't bring your eyes to meet him as you dust around a shelf of leafy house plants.

"Yeah." Joel nods his head once, "All done."

In the past, on the rare instances Joel decides to grant you a word, he would stare disinterestedly at something across the room. But this time, he hasn't taken his eyes off of you. Now, it’s you refusing to meet his gaze. A painful ache grows in his chest as he mentally begs you for just one look.

A long silence hangs between the two of you. It's him that breaks it.

"That coffee shop still there?" He has to stop himself from recoiling at his own question. That was probably the dumbest thing he had ever asked. Of course, it was still there. It's not as though they had packed up and moved in the past ten days.

"Could use a cup right 'bout now." Joel adds, "My treat."

Your surprise at the offer finally breaks your gaze from the task before you and to Joel. Your eyes search his face for any reason why he would say that. All you found was a look of tortured sincerity in his brown eyes.

You have to look away. The feeling manifesting in your chest at that sight was threatening to overwhelm you. Crossing your arms over your chest, trying to find comfort, you tell him, "Maybe another time. I have a lot of orders to prepare for this afternoon."

"Oh," He breathes. He isn't sure what he was expecting your answer to be, but it wasn't this.

Remorse claws painfully at your ribcage. He was finally trying to be civil, but all you could think of was the memory of his tail lights leaving you alone on the street. "Is there anything?"

"No, ma'am." Joel gives you a polite nod of his head before exiting the store.

You take a moment to catch your breath. You decide it's best not to dwell on whatever just happened between the two of you. Entering the backroom, intending to get back to work. Pulling on the walk-in cooler's handle, the door opens on the first try.

Oh.

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⟢ authors notes: I know I say this every time, but I want to give a big thank you to everyone who has read and interacted with the story so far. I can't overstate how much each reblog, like, and comment means to me.

I originally wasn't going to write the first Joel/Tommy scene, but I felt the chapter needed something else. Also, with Reader going through it, I figured we could all use a silly little scene our two favorite brothers. I felt so bad for breaking Joel's heart like that. He's a sweet little puppy, but he needs to put the work in to win over out dear Reader.

I have a number of future scenes written, including the first to smutty scene. I am just adding the in between parts. I am also cooking up an unrelated Old Man! Joel one-shot, but YRotD is my main priority.

Lastly, I have had a couple lovely users who requested to be tagged as the story updates. If you would like to be add to the tag list, please comment or inbox me.

⟢ tag list: @koshkaj-blog @orcasoul @damneddamsy @legoemma

[sunflowerhyun]

how he sees me | hwang hyunjin | part three

ᝰ summary: “Do you love me?” she asked.

In his hesitation, she found her answer.

OR, alternatively, Hyunjin is a little bit of an asshole and Y/N just misses him.

ᝰ pairing: hwang hyunjin x fem!reader

ᝰ genre: ex-childhood-friends-to-lovers, punk!hyunjin au

ᝰ warnings: cursing, references to past situations (in italics), alcohol consumption, angst, themes of jealousy (from both parties), mentions of body insecurity, mentions of death and grieving

ᝰ wc: 6-8k ish ?

ᝰ a/n: part three in da books, hope you all like it ! also, gif is not mine — all creds to the owner !

ᝰ reference the masterlist here.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Y/N has only experienced the true feeling of rage twice in her life.

The first time was when her grandma passed away when she was only 16 years old. Her grandma was her best friend, (Hyunjin was a close second—he knew he couldn’t compare), and Y/N talked to her the same way she talked to him. Whenever she wasn’t spending time at Hyunjin’s house, they were always at her grandmas. She treated Hyunjin like he was family, and he treated her as his own nana. She would make them breakfast most mornings, (scrambled eggs with cheese, crispy bacon, and chocolate chip pancakes—that was always Hyunjin’s request), let them have sleepovers in her basement that was either always way too hot or way too cold, let them swim in her pool every summer, (where they mainly played mermaids, despite Hyunjin’s request), and sit at her kitchen table to stay up to date on the latest gossip at school while they sipped on mocktails (so they could fit the vibe more while nana had a glass of wine, listening in and chiming in). In a way, her nana was their third pea in the pod, and her nana was the only one that knew of her feelings towards Hyunjin.

Y/N’s sophomore year was tough. Breast cancer hit her nana harder than they thought it would, and by the time it was identified, it was simply too late. So when the doctors gave Y/N’s family the decision to let her die in a hospital bed or die in the comfort of her home, of course they picked the latter. When she was finished with school, she would come straight to her nana’s to take care of her, to tend to her needs. Hyunjin would come with her, would sing to her nana per her request. She always told Hyunjin he had a lovely voice, (“Such a lovely voice for such a lovely boy. You will go far in life, my dear,”), and he always sang I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You, as that was her favorite song and Elvis was her favorite artist. He would hold her hand, singing to her, but always found himself looking back to Y/N.

She passed away after a long two years in the comfort of her bed, surrounded by people she loved.

Grief hit her hard, but rage hit her even harder. She was angry at cancer, angry at the doctors who couldn’t just fix her, angry at God for not listening to her prayers. The feeling consumed her for months, had changed her attitude completely—but Hyunjin stayed with her, and he laid with her, and he was patient with her until she had finally grown to accept it.

The second time she experienced the feeling of rage was right now.

She hadn’t felt it in so long she almost forgot what it felt like. As soon as she laid eyes on a tall, skinny, fit woman with blonde hair that elegantly flowed down her shoulders, face perfectly caked with make-up and designer clothes covering her from head to toe, multiple feelings hit her at once.

The first was insecurity—which was a given. The woman was simply everything Y/N was not, the complete opposite of her, and she was gorgeous. She felt out of place sitting on the couch in her outfit she bought from a local thrift store, and suddenly had the urge to cover up her stomach that was now slightly peaking out from her sitting down. So she did just that, pulling her shirt together so it covered her. Only then did she realize her thighs were now ten times bigger now that she was also sitting down, and she shifted away from Hyunjin, his hands falling down to his own.

The second feeling she felt was jealousy. The woman was obviously beautiful, obviously had money, obviously well-respected from the way she carried herself, and Y/N was full of envy. Not particularly at all of those reasons, but because she was able to catch Hyunjin’s attention. She was able to hold him, to kiss on him, to be with him, and Y/N just wasn’t. And that’s when the rage peeked through. It built up slowly, but it quickly consumed her, just as it did years ago.

She stood up so fast it almost gave her whiplash, not even sparring Hyunjin another glance, shoving her way past the woman who had very loudly and obnoxiously called her a bitch as she did so. She couldn’t blame her for it, she had quite literally shoved past her so hard that she had stumbled a bit, but Y/N couldn’t help it. She was embarrassed, disappointed in herself, and livid—and she just wanted to get the hell out of there.

It wasn’t until she had stepped outside the trailer, the sun beating down on her face and the heat crawling its way back on her skin, that she heard someone yell her name. It was frantic, desperate.

She ignored it, feet stomping in front of her in the grass as she sped-walked further away, a hand suddenly gripping her wrist, softly pulling her back. “Y/N, stop! Please.” The voice was heard again, even more desperate than before, cracking slightly at the end. She shoved his hand off of her, not daring to turn around and face him because she knew she would cave in again, and she just can’t.

He let her go, but the footsteps followed, eventually making themselves prominent in front of her as they forced her to come to a stop. She still didn’t look at him.

“Y/N,” He panted out like he was out of breath, eyes pleading, voice scratchy, “Y/N, please just… can you just—“

“Fuck you, Hyunjin,” She let out sharply, slowly, “Just stop. You’ve obviously got more important things to do than to be chasing after me like this and bringing attention to yourself.”

She still didn’t look at him. His breaths became more faint. “Good luck with performing. I hope it makes you happy. I hope she makes you happy.”

She turned away then. He didn’t try to stop her.

——>

The walk back to Felix and Minho didn’t take as long as she thought it would. Blame it completely on the fact that she was beyond pissed at anything and everything in the world, walking so fast and shoving through literally everyone she walked past. It was actually quite easy finding them because of that when normally she would be a little timid and definitely more polite when it came to getting through large crowds. When she spotted Felix and Minho standing near the B stage, cheering and jumping up and down from a band that was currently performing, her feet carried her even faster over there.

“Heeeeey, bub,” Felix slurred out once she came into view, face slightly flushed from all the alcohol he has consumed and from the UV index being a whole 10 the entire day. He must have not worn any sunscreen. “We’ve missed yoooou! This festival is lit, forreal. I don’t know why we have never come to one of these things before.” His smile was so wide, teeth shining from the sunlight, cheeks red and freckles lathering his face. He looked so happy, so carefree. Y/N envied it.

He pulled her into a hug then, the sweat pooling off of him soaking its way onto her shirt, and she hugged him back despite the lingering feeling of annoyance she had. For a second, she imagined it was Hyunjin she was hugging, and bliss overcame her. But then, blonde hair and red lips came into her view, and she quickly shoved him off of her. Felix didn’t seem to notice the gesture, still looking at her with a giant smile plastered on his face, beer bottle dangling in his hands. He swayed a bit, bringing the bottle up to his lips, holding out his free hand towards her, wiggling his fingers. Y/N simply did not want to be touched anymore than she already had, so she stepped forward, pretending she didn’t see him.

“What, you don’t wanna hold my hand?” Felix asked with a slight pout. Y/N rolled her eyes, reaching down at the bucket of beers at their feet and pulling one out. She ignored him, popping the cap and taking a large gulp, immediately gagging and coughing right after. She felt a hand patting her back, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a grimace on her face.

“You don’t even like beer,” Minho spoke out as if she didn’t already know that.

“I don’t. But I lost my mango margarita, so this will have to do.”

“How did you manage to lose your margarita?”

“Just lost it going to the bathroom.” She mumbled back, taking another god-forsaken sip of the beer. Minho let out a hum in response, like he didn’t exactly believe her. Y/N could feel his stare on her, choosing to ignore it and not say anything back.

“Oh, Y/N,” Felix’s voice spoke rather loudly, giving her arm a little tug. She looked over at him, seeing a woman now standing beside him. “This is Dani. I met her earlier today. Wanted you two to meet!”

Dani was also gorgeous, hair up into a high ponytail, legs long and tan, shorts hugging her hips just right. Y/N could see that she was also fit and she immediately frowned, because why can’t she look like that?

“Hi!” Dani grinned, and Felix immediately let out a fit of giggles. He leaned his body into her and she didn’t hesitate to wrap her hands around him. “I’ve heard so much about you the entire day. I’m Dani, but you already know that.”

Her smile was so genuine, eyes sparkling at the sight of Felix who was still giggling like a love-struck maniac. “I think he might’ve had a little too much to drink.”

Y/N’s eyes followed the direction of Dani’s hands delicately wrapped around his waist, the way her body just naturally leaned into him, her cheeks red and eyes glistening in amusement. She took in a breath before replying, “Yeah. Looks like you’ve got it under control though.”

She was happy for him—really, she was. Felix deserved to find someone who would look at him like that. It was even better that she didn’t look like she just wanted to sleep with him and be done with it. She genuinely looked like a nice girl with good intentions. So of course, Y/N was happy for him. She just wasn’t happy.

Dani smiled at her in reply, her attention on Y/N then falling onto Felix as he began whispering something in her ear, a fit full of giggles coming out of the both of them. Y/N turned away from them, eyes focusing on the band currently performing, putting the beer bottle up to her lips.

“They’ll be coming on soon,” Minho spoke up, bumping his shoulder with Y/N’s. She didn’t need to ask who they were, stomach feeling a little queasy at the mention of them. She let out a small hum in response. “They’ll also have a little longer stage time than the others. It can get pretty intense, especially with their fans around us. Just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“Thanks, but it’s all good.” She responded with a curt nod of her head.

She could feel Minho looking at her again, could hear Felix and Dani beside her laughing, could see the mass of people dancing to the music that was currently playing. The sun was starting to go down, the sweat drying on her back, and she took in a breath, taking another sip of the beer.

——>

The stars were out.

Y/N was four beers in, feeling a little fuzzy but nothing like a couple nights ago, swaying to the music that was playing over the speakers. Another band had just finished performing and now it was a brief intermission before the last band of the night came on to end the night. Y/N knew who this band would be, had been dreadfully yet excitingly expecting it for hours. The feeling in her stomach was getting stronger each second that passed, hands slightly shaking in anticipation of the next few minutes, and yet the only thing she could seem to think of was that the stars were out.

There wasn’t too many of them, just a couple scattered across the night sky. She noticed that the brightest one seemed to be towards her right, directly over the stage, and she began to count them one by one as another memory took over her mind.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked, plopping down beside Hyunjin who was currently sat on the bench, bookbag lying on his lap. His body was slouched down, head against the top of the back of the bench, seemingly mumbling to himself. He didn’t answer her, continuing to mumble to himself, eyes focused on the stars lining the sky in front of them.

“Hello?” She tried again, snapping her fingers in front of his face, placing her down bookbag beside her on the bench. Hyunjin quickly swat her hand away, and she let out a little giggle at the now annoyed look on his face. She asked her question again, copying his position on the bench and scooting closer to him.

“Counting stars,” He grumbled back, continuing to list off what she now recognized as numbers. She didn’t say anything back, glancing up at the sky.

The sound of the double-doors opening and voices were heard behind them, Y/N assuming it was the rest of Hyunjin’s teammates who were making their way outside the school to get in their cars and head home. Hyunjin had a late practice today, so Y/N was stuck doing homework while she waited on him for two and a half hours since he was her ride home. She didn’t mind it, though.

“28!” He shouted, and Y/N jumped slightly, “28 stars! At least that’s what I can see in front of me.”

Y/N hummed in response, letting out a yawn, rubbing her eyes gently. Hyunjin turned his head to face her, “You’re tired already? You’ve barely done anything today. You must have gotten tired watching me do all that running on the field.”

Y/N hit him lightly on the shoulder in reply, mumbling at him to shut up, and he let out a soft chuckle in reply. The sound of car doors slamming shut and engines starting up were suddenly heard, and Y/N glanced up to see that everyone was starting to head home. She looked back over to Hyunjin. He was already looking back at the sky.

“Infinity,” He spoke out in a soft tone, voice carrying through the soft breeze. Y/N looked at him in confusion. “You know how long it would take to actually count the stars? Infinity. That’s what’s so interesting about it. You think you’ve counted them all, think you’ve finally got it down, but then another one pops up and then you’re counting again. Just a never ending cycle. You’ll never get it right, no matter how much you want to.”

His hair was held back with a headband, softly moving from the wind, posture relaxed, eyes soft and showing a bit of exhaustion. The words sat for a minute, then as if he broke out of a trance, he turned towards her, “Sorry. I know you’re ready to go home. We can go now.”

He moved his hand to dig into the pocket on his shorts to retrieve his keys, but Y/N stopped him, gently placing her hand on top of his. He looked at her, curling up into a little ball as she scooted even closer to him, hands wrapping around his arm.

“It’s okay. We can stay a little bit longer.”

A shrill of screams suddenly broke her out of her little trance, the crowd seeming to go completely wild as the lights turned off. It was dark, the screams growing even more intense as a guitar riff began playing over the speakers. The beat then changed to an upbeat R&B sound, strobe lights flashing in red colors as a video of each of the members began playing on the big screen, ending with Hyunjin. He was posing for the camera, a white tank top on with tight leather pants, long hair slicked back. She felt her heart begin to race when the video cut off and it went black again.

It wasn’t long before the music started up again, the lights immediately coming back on, the beginning of a song starting. Screams began to ring through her ears, more intense than before, and she stumbled a little as she felt someone knock into her backside, Minho being quick to steady her and shoot a glare at whoever it was behind them. She had stumbled again, Minho now shouting at the swarm of people behind them, but Y/N didn’t pay attention to that. How could she, when Hyunjin was now visible on the stage, the lights twinkling behind him so elegantly.

He was dressed in a red silk cardigan with a black tank top underneath, black leather pants framing his legs so perfectly. Half of his hair was tied back into a bun making his facial features more prominent, making his eyes even more darker than they already were. Y/N could tell by the way he was carrying himself on the stage that something was off. Chan and Han were yelling at the crowd, running down the walk-way while playing their guitars, the crowd going crazy. Changbin was standing up behind the drums twirling the drumsticks in his hands, a smirk on his face. And Hyunjin was standing in the center, seemingly frozen in place.

It wasn’t until Changbin hit the drums that seemed to bring him out of his little trance as he began prancing down the stairs to stand in front of his mic. He grabbed it with both of his hands, closing his eyes as he began to sing the beginning of the song.

Time stopped.

Suddenly, Y/N couldn’t see the swarm of people standing around her. She couldn’t feel them knocking into her back, couldn’t hear their voices that were overpowering the song. Everything was a blur, a simple fragment of her imagination—everything was a blur, except for him.

Y/N always knew Hyunjin could sing. He had that ability to perfect everything he did, so of course it was no surprise when she heard him for the first time.

The first time she heard him was when they were both fifteen, in their freshman year of high school. Y/N had just gotten dropped off at his house, had made her way up the stairs and towards his bedroom, when she heard him. He was in the shower, the bathroom door cracked open slightly, singing the words to She Will Be Loved. She found herself walking closer to the door, heart pounding in her chest, hand opening the door a little bit wider to hear him better. He had stopped, then, calling out her name. She stumbled back, a string of apologies coming out of her mouth.

“You wanna see me naked or something?” He had said to tease her.

“No, you idiot! I was trying to hear you sing.”

She remembered how his grin dropped so suddenly, so uneasily—the droplets of his wet hair falling down, soaking his t-shirt. He looked as if he was experiencing an inner turmoil, eyes looking everywhere but at her, cheeks pink in slight embarrassment.

“It’s beautiful,” She whispered out. He looked back at her. “You’re beautiful, Jinnie.”

Y/N always knew Hyunjin could sing, but nothing could have prepared her for this.

It had started off soft, smooth, sweet—just like honey. Then it began to progress into something entirely foreign, entirely compelling. His voice got louder, more intense, and then he was belting out lyrics in a way Y/N had never experienced before. And as he stood there, expressing himself in a light Y/N had never seen him in, she felt it. All the years of friendship—the years of heartbreak, of self-acceptance, of discovery, of love—she felt it all, and she felt it hard. It was overpowering, hitting her all at once like a train crushing her body at full speed. Except it wasn’t a train, after all. It was Hyunjin.

It was always Hyunjin.

Suddenly, she felt a soft pressure on her hand. It knocked her out of her trance for a second as she glanced over, seeing that Minho had grabbed ahold of her hand. It was gentle, barely there at all, but she found herself smiling softly at the gesture, noting that he wasn’t exactly the type to show any form of affection. She didn’t realize a tear had fallen down her cheek until it reached her chin. He must have noticed sooner.

She held it back.

——>

“I can’t believe you didn’t go home with Lix and his new fling.”

Y/N looked at Minho, hands playing with the ends of her braids as she sat on the couch, mumbling out a small thanks as he handed her a cup of diet coke. “Did you just hear what came out of your mouth? Of course I’m not going home with them.”

“Yeah but I doubt you wanna be here either,” He replied, leg bumping against hers as he sat down beside her. He glanced at her, “You can go back to mine if you want. You really don’t have to be here. I can call a ride for you.”

She took a sip of the diet coke, wishing there was some rum in it, but not particularly in the mood to drink anymore tonight. “I’m fine. If I want to leave, I’ll leave, trust me.”

Minho didn’t look too convinced, (he never did), taking a sip of his beer before letting out a sigh. He was about to say something else when a chorus of screams flew through the room. She looked up, seeing that Chan, Han, Changbin, and a couple of other people were coming in the room. She tried to ignore the slight feeling of disappointment she felt when she didn’t see Hyunjin.

Minho immediately stood up, heading straight towards Chan and the other guys. Y/N could hear him telling him how sick they sounded, how awesome they looked on stage. Y/N could not agree more—they were definitely the highlight of the entire festival. She understood now why the crowd was so hype and why so many people were swooning over them. They were all great looking guys, could all play instruments and sing exceptionally well, could all carry a rhythm when they moved. So really, it was no surprise that they were successful.

A call of her name broke her out of her thoughts and she glanced up to see that Minho was waving her over. She quickly stood up, not wanting to be more rude than she already was, and made her way over towards them, Minho placing a hand over her back as he edged her closer.

“Y/N!” Chan grinned, wasting no time in pulling her into a quick hug, “I’m so glad you came! I hope you enjoyed yourself and we didn’t completely suck cause that would be really embarrassing otherwise.”

“Of course not,” She giggled in reply, “You guys were amazing, seriously. I’ve never been to a festival like this before but you guys stole the show, by far.”

“Don’t make me blush, now,” He teased, “But seriously, thanks for coming and supporting us. Means a lot. To all of us.”

Y/N’s smile loosened a little at his comment, feeling like there was a deeper meaning behind it, especially when seeing the sincerity and softness in Chan’s expression. Before she could say anything back, Chan had pat Minho on the back, flicking his head over towards the table full of food and drinks. “Want anything to eat? We’ve got an entire table full of whatever you can think of. Drinks, too. Get whatever you want.”

“I can go grab us a plate to share,” Y/N offered, seeing that the other guys and a couple of women were now making their way over to them. Her social anxiety was starting to brew, and she was a little hungry.

Minho nodded at her before beginning to engage with the other guys and Y/N took this as her cue to head to the food table. She politely greeted one of the waitresses who was standing behind the table before grabbing ahold of a plate, awkwardly making her way down the table in search of what they would want. Chan really wasn’t lying when he said there would be anything you could think of.

She was reaching for a couple of bacon wrapped jalapeños when a voice startled her.

“Hey,” The voice spoke, causing Y/N to jump a little as she whipped her head around, eyes widening slightly in surprise when seeing Han standing beside her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re fine,” She let out in reply, voice soft, timid. What was he doing here talking to her? Shouldn’t he be talking to everyone else?

He let out a sigh before grabbing a bacon wrapped jalapeño from the table, popping it in his mouth. It was silent for a couple seconds, the only sounds being from the distant chatter in the background and his light smacking. Y/N could practically feel the waitresses eyes boring holes into her, probably also wondering why he was making conversation with her.

She was adding a couple of veggies to the plate when he began to speak again. “So, uh—I felt like I needed to apologize. To you.”

Y/N could feel her hands starting to sweat. “You don’t—“

“Yes, I do,” He quickly cut her off, grabbing another popper. He let out another sigh. “Look, I didn’t mean to make such a scene earlier today. To be fair, I didn’t know what you looked like. Obviously I know who you are from Hyunjin, but he never showed me pictures or anything like that. He was always weird about it. I just know you guys have some history and all that and you mean a lot to the guy, so.”

Y/N could feel her ears start to ring, the sweat now becoming more prominent on her hands she felt like the plate would slip right out. Her mouth was starting to go dry, throat closing up, because what did he just say? Hyunjin talked about her?

“And that was just totally uncalled for, anyway. I mean, you falling and getting hurt and everything. I hope you didn’t get too hurt, by the way. Our bodyguards can be too much sometimes. Anyway, I just wanted to come up and formally apologize to you. I hope—“

It was as if one word was going through one ear and out the other, Y/N not able to comprehend anything else coming out of Han’s mouth. It was not that she didn’t appreciate his apology, or his now constant rambling, but the fact that Hyunjin had just walked in. And the same girl from earlier was with him.

The feeling of rage slowly started to creep back inside her seeing that she was perched so delicately on his arm. Her hands were manicured perfectly, fitting oh so perfectly wrapped around his arm. Y/N wondered for a second if he paid for them, if he treated her to a spa day frequently so she could always have them so pretty and soft. So pretty and soft for him.

Her smile was wide, teeth so white and straight, lips adorned with a sensual shade of red. Hyunjin always said he liked red lipstick on a girl, as red reminded him of roses, of intimacy, of love. Did he make her wear red all the time? Did he love the way her lips felt against his? Did he love her?

Of course he did—he had to.

And what makes the icing on the cake is the fact that she is exactly what she always pictured as his type. Fit, stylish, petite—she looked like someone you would see in a painting. She fit his aesthetic. She fit him.

And god—seeing her wrapped around him hurt. It hurt a lot.

She hated it.

“Nice, they have our favorites!” Minho let out excitingly, grabbing a popper from the plate she was still holding. She didn’t even realize he had made his way over here. He must have been here for a minute, as Han didn’t greet him, nodding his head in agreement, mouth full of poppers. “Did ya eat already?” He mumbled out.

“Yep,” She lied, not having much of an appetite at all now. She doesn’t think she could stomach anything right now.

“God, these are so good.” Minho groaned out after pulling her into his side, making conversation with Han. Y/N could feel her eyes boring holes into the woman who was now speaking with another group of women, laughing so loudly and so obnoxiously that she just wanted to go throw this plate of damned jalapeños on her Chanel dress.

Minho had leaned over her to grab a couple more, placing one in front of her lips in attempt to feed her, as he sometimes did with her and Felix. She didn’t really want to, but didn’t want to make Minho start asking if she was okay again, so she took a bite, pretending she liked it even though she didn’t want to.

Glancing back up, instead of her eyes locking back on the woman stuck up Hyunjin’s ass, she found her eyes locked on him. And he was already starring back.

Someone was talking to him, arm wrapped around his shoulders, but he didn’t seem to be paying them any attention. She watched as his gaze went from being on her to being on Minho’s arm that was still around her body. His gaze darkened, eyebrows furrowing as he watched him pull her closer once he laughed at something Han had said, eyes shooting back up towards her own.

It was starting to feel hot. She felt like her body was on fire, could practically feel sweat trailing down her back. He kept looking at her like she was his last meal, and it was starting to suffocate her.

“Here, take this,” She handed the plate of food to Minho who took it without complaint, “I’m gonna go outside for a sec. I’ll be back.”

Not waiting on him to reply, she quickly shook out of his arms and made her way towards the back door, swiftly opening it and letting out a gasp of air. It was much cooler out here, less suffocating; she finally felt like she could breathe again.

She let out another breath before walking over towards the brick wall, sliding down to sit on the ground. She tilted her head back, glancing up at the sky, taking the time to begin counting them in her head in attempts to calm herself down a bit.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven… and then the door opened.

She kept counting, kept her gaze on the sky, kept focusing on her breathing. Because if she didn’t, she would look over to see who had just came outside. And she had a feeling she knew who it would be.

Her guess was right.

“I didn’t know you would be here.”

The words hung in the air for a couple seconds, heart constricting lightly at the tone. She still didn’t look over.

She had gotten to fifteen when he spoke again.

“Why are you here?”

She tried to ignore the pang she felt in her chest at his question, wanting to slam herself against the wall when realizing he wasn’t going to leave even if she ignored him. He never did.

“I’m here with Minho. He wanted to come.” She replied curtly.

“Minho?” He spoke out, the name sounding bitter coming out of his mouth, “What, you fucking him or something?”

She stopped counting, then, glancing over to see him standing in front of her, arms crossed over his chest, gaze piercing through her. “Why do you care?” She let out, watching as his jaw clenched slightly.

He didn’t say anything back. She could see that his breathing was starting to pick up, his fingers tightening on his arms from where they were currently crossed. “Why don’t you just mind your damn business and go back inside to your little doll that’s been hanging on your arm all night, and just leave me alone.”

She immediately regretted it when the words came out of her mouth, but that feeling soon went away when he started talking again.

“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” He scoffed out, smirk framing his plump lips, piercing shining in the night, “You getting an attitude with me because of some girl you saw me with? That’s cute.”

“Shut up, Hyunjin,” She replied back, voice cracking slightly, adjusting her legs slightly. She felt a slight breeze between her thighs when moving, Hyunjin’s eyes flickering downwards for a second before landing back on her. “Just… leave me alone. Please.”

Her voice cracked again at the end, soft and pleading. He immediately picked up on her body language, how she curled herself more into a ball, how her eyes struggled to meet his, how her lip started to quiver. He let out a sigh, walking over and sitting down beside her gently, hands over his knees.

“I just wanna talk for a minute.”

“We’ve had years to do that, Hyunjin,” She whispered back.

It was quiet. The longer they sat there, the longer she realized how much she missed him. She hated the fact that even though their arms were barely grazing one another, even though she was finally breathing the same air as him again, even though they were finally talking, she felt her heart swell, felt the butterflies swarming in her stomach. And it pained her to sit here and feel these things because she knows she shouldn’t.

But she does. She always has.

She felt him move beside her, could see his head fall back onto the wall as he looked up to the sky. His fingers twitched, a sigh escaping his mouth. He inched a little closer.

“There’s just so much I want to say, I need to say, but I don’t know where to start,” He spoke, eyes never leaving the sky, “I’m just… I wasn’t expecting to see you again. I don’t know how to act or what I’m supposed to do now that you’re here. I just… I’ve got so much to say.”

Her eyes focused in on the brightest star. It outshined the others, and it was glowing, just as Hyunjin was tonight.

“I know you hate me,” He let out with a forced chuckle, “Fuck, I know you hate me. And I know you say you want me to leave you alone, but I don’t think you mean that. So I’m not going to. I know now is probably not a great time, and I know I’m starting to ramble, but I hope we can maybe… you know, start over, or something. I don’t know… what do you think?”

“We’re not supposed to talk when we’re looking at the stars,” She softly replied. She saw his head move out of the corner of her eye, his gaze burning holes into the side of her face. “Last time we talked when we saw the stars, you disappeared for six years. I’d rather not say anything, right now. Let’s just sit here a little bit longer.”

And as they sat there, so close, yet so far away from one another, Y/N focused back in on the brightest star and noted how it was directly between them, almost as if it was trying to connect them back together. She could only hope it wouldn’t steer her wrong again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

▫️taglist: @hyundumpling, @hhwangsmoon, @luvyblossom, @inthefairygrove, @rebecca-johnson-28 , @betweensupernovasandstars , @allaboutsan , @babigriin , @vixensss

[chronic-escapixt]

Human Sacrifice (Part 2)

prisonworld!Kai x f!reader

content warnings/tags ~ Minors DNI, 18+ ONLY, Dark fiction, NONCON, kidnap, rough sex, bondage, oral (f receiving), abusive behavior, spanking, degradation, explicit language, forced overstim, toys

*Kai is the king of pet names- calls reader babycakes*

wc: 3.8k

K.P. Masterlist

summary: you wake up alone in the middle of nowhere. unfortunately for you, you're not completely alone

Kai sets me down at the table. Each passing moment I spend sitting still, stewing in my own idleness, eats away at my adrenalin. Leaving a fatiguing hunger gnawing in its place. Worsened by the smells coming from the stove. I crane my neck just to get a peak at the bacon frying in the cast iron skillet, sizzling and popping in its own oils, the pancake cooking up to a perfect crisp brown edge before it's flipped over.

Pretty soon he’s setting the plate on the table, directing a sly wink at me to which I return a scowl, not even looking down to acknowledge the food, not even moving to touch the silverware since I wouldn’t put it past him to get my hopes up just to snatch it away and gorge himself on the entire thing right in front of me. If I wasn’t practically starving, I’d be more tempted to vault the plate at his dense head and deal with whatever consequences came later. 

“Oh! Can’t forget the oj!” he squeals, dashing over to the fridge. My critical gaze follows where I notice the children’s doodles tacked to the door with novelty magnets along with what looks to be report cards and a refrigerator magnet with a frilly cursive font that says: Kiss the Chef. 

Not if I can help it.

He pours me up a tall glass then stares down his nose at me expectantly. I lean forward with squared shoulders, tight lips, creased brow, posturing to let him know that this silent standoff between us can go on forever. He leans back with a frustrated sigh and I know I’ve won until my stomach growls out loud, undercutting my small victory.

He smirks and nudges the plate closer to me, “eat up before your eggs get cold.”

“I’m not hungry,” I bite back.

“Mhmm, right.. I bet you think I’m trying to poison you or something - Well, babe, if I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already.” Each word is slow and direct with brazen condescension. 

I collect my annoyance behind a placid mask.

“It’s just that my parents expected me home like.. yesterday. They’ve probably already reported me as a missing person. If they’re not already, the police will start looking for me soon and no matter what you do to me, everything is going to lead right back to you.”

He nods with consideration as I continue. “They’re gonna either find me alive or dead and you’re going to end up in prison. Doesn’t that scare you? I mean.. a pretty boy like you wouldn’t do too well in prison. Surely they’d do much worse to you than you could ever think of doing to me..”

Kai meets my gaze with a wickedly sharp grin, “you underestimate my imagination.”

His threat makes a tightness take hold of my throat, straining my words in my chest, “I - just think you should consider how this might end for you.”

He groans so loud, it makes me stiffen. “You still don’t get it, do you? We’re not in your world anymore! Your parents can report whatever they want to whoever they want, but no one is going to find you, so as long as you’re stuck here with me, you’re mine.” 

My palpable disbelief makes him inch closer, resting his palms on either side of the table and leaning down to me.

“Let me spell it out for you: we’re in my prisonworld, circa 1994, and there’s no one else here but you and me.” 

He’s dead serious but it’s so ridiculous I can’t help but let out a stream of chuckles, little laughs that clearly bite into his inflated ego the more I go on. I cover my face, trying to stop, desperately as tears prick my eyes. I feel crazy because I’m terrified, but laughter is all that comes out.

“Oh.. you don’t believe me?” His voice laced with reproach, “FINE! When you clean your plate, I’m taking you into town.”

When he turns and leaves me alone, I start to perk up, listening for his retreating footsteps before I stare down the buttery stack of pancakes in front of me, thick cut bacon that’s somehow just as crispy as I like it and a side of fluffy eggs. His proposition provides me food for thought as I begin cutting into my pancakes. Getting out of this house is my best chance at being found and getting away from him, even if it is on his terms. The food is so good I struggle not to scarf it down, still careful as I’m unsure if he snuck razor blades in my scrambled eggs. I cleaned the plate in minutes and chugged the orange juice. 

“I’m changing,” I try to bypass him to get to the stairs but he blocks my path with his body, folding his arms as to make himself even wider.

“No need. The only person that can judge you for looking like a slut is me, and personally, I like it,” he replies, biting his lower lip. I feel exposed as he eyefucks me in nothing but the slinky black dress. I feel a draft with every step, forcing me to tug it down over my backside and compromise the coverage of my breasts. I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway. 

He takes us into town. Mr. Motor-Mouth tells me all about the lore he built lore for his own delusions but I barely pay it any mind. Beyond the periphery of my attention, he continues - prisonworld this, coven that - I’m sure, the only prisonworld that exists is in his own deranged head.

I welcome the growing familiarity of our surroundings as we approach downtown Portland. The strange thing is, it doesn’t look the way I left it last break. There’s almost a nostalgic feel to the way the cars parked along the street are all vintage models I haven’t seen since I was a kid. The gas prices made me do a double take. The way payphone booths stood at each street corner. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was just one of those traditional towns that didn’t change with the times, but I DO know better. I grew up here. I notice as we pass the old theater that used to play classic films for 90 cents on the weekends that it’s suspiciously lacquered with the freshest coat of paint I’ve ever seen on it, which is impossible considering the building was abandoned when it went out of business last year. 

“- and so my coven created this little hell dimension for me.. where I’ve been on my own ever since.”

I search for people. In what should be the business epicenter of the town, there’s no one. Not a single soul walking, driving, making any noise. In fact, everything looks undisturbed, like an interactive picture taken in the mid 90s. My attempts to conceal my rapid breathing create an involuntary squeak from the back of my throat. 

“See, Portland, 1994 - just the same as it’s always been..” his voice trails off bitterly before meeting me with a grin that reaches his eyes.

Either I go with his neurotic story and magic really created this prison dimension - Or he’s managed to go to considerable lengths to create his nostalgia wet dream.

“Where is everybody?”

His brow shoots up, “Have you not been paying attention?”

Kai parks the car just outside the market and grabs a newspaper off the stand on the way inside. I take it from him with trembling fingers just before scanning the headline: Family Massacred in Portland. May 9, 1994… the murders of 4 kids.. One missing.. Malachai parker.. Malachai - Kai. I lower the paper to my lap.

“You believe me now right? I can tell you’re putting the pieces together.”

“Your name is Malachai Parker.” I repeat for clarification.

“Kai-” he corrects me shortly. 

“And your dad is Joshua Parker?” 

He nods slowly. 

So the family mentioned in the article is them. I grew up close to the Parker family, often having play dates with the twins, Liv and Luke, when we were little - Liv was on my soccer team and Luke was my extremely awkward date to the Freshman spring formal. I never knew they had any older siblings, let alone a psychotic brother.

“Okay, so let’s just say I believe you about the magic stuff.. why was I sent here?”

“Well, clearly my dad has come to regret his decision and needs me back. I imagine you’re like the sacrificial lamb.. like a chunk of meat thrown to the lion so that he's full and happy before they let him out of the cage.” 

He really knows how to paint a horrific picture, but that still doesn’t explain why I was chosen out of all people. I subconsciously rub at the mark he left on my neck from his teeth, not deep enough to break the skin, but enough to still leave a sore ache when I touch it and to clearly convey his intentions. I’m a piece of meat.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that. Who names their kid Malachai anyway? It’s like they expected me to be evil.” 

I stop just outside the door, giving one final glance back for someone - anyone else.

“Come on,” He takes my arm and pulls me along.

“If you’re a witch, why not use magic to free yourself?”

“What do you think, I can just bibbidi-bobbidi-boo my way out of here? It doesn’t work like that for a lot of reasons,” He starts chucking random junk food and snacks into the shopping cart as we go along, “One of them being, I’m a siphon, meaning I don’t make my own magic, but I can suck it out of other witches or objects with my touch,” he shoots me a dismissive glance, “and since there’s none of that here, we’ll have to wait until my coven makes a move.”

How convenient. He’s a witch without any magic. I feel stupid. I want to kick myself for even playing along with his lunacy. The only thing that article proves is that he's a sociopath, but what could explain the apparent time travel that’s happened here or the absence of civilians? I don’t know how he did it, but I haven’t ruled out the possibility that he’s either the most successful serial killer of all time or he’s not working alone. 

I put that thought on the back burner because prisonworld or not, I have to find a way to escape. There’s no such luck while we’re in the store as he makes me hold onto the shopping cart, not letting me out of his sight. I retreat back to the car as he loads the trunk with groceries, fully resigned to head back to the house with him, but he makes one last stop at a seedy windowless building. 

We enter a small sex shop. 

“Why are we here?”

“Thought we’d get some new stuff to try before things start to go stale between us.”

I scoff, but he ignores me, fully occupied by the fleshlight toy display. I take the chance to look around, heading deeper into the store, past the aisle of gags and bondage devices and to where they keep the X-rated videos and magazines in the back. 

“This could be fun..” I hear him murmuring to himself from the other side of the store. If I’m going to do something, it has to be now. I slip behind the counter and find a pistol tucked underneath the register. Bingo! Then I grab the set of car keys next to it, likely belonging to the pick up parked in the small lot. My plans to slip out the back are thwarted by the fact there’s only a storage closet behind the counter.

My heart drops to my knees when he calls out to me, “Hey! So, I just found the cutest little collar for you. Ooooh, and it comes with a matching leash. Come try it on!” 

I slip into the closet, clutching the pistol to my chest as I steady my breathing. 

It’s now or nothing.

I hear him approach. “Come on out, dollface. Unless.. we’re playing a game of hide and seek.” My heart pounds as fast as a hummingbird’s as he creeps closer. “I love this game, but I should let you know, I always win. Bet you can’t guess what my prize will be,” He’s on the other side of the door, hand slowly turning the loose knob.

“Gotcha!” he yanks the door open but stops in his tracks. I have the gun pointed at the middle of his chest.

His narrowed eyes stare past the barrel of the gun right into me. 

“Aww, are you gonna’ shoot me?” his jaw ticks, but the corners of his lips perk up like he’s slightly amused. I’m more afraid of the gun than he is.

“MOVE!” I hold firm and solid, my trigger finger twitching.

“Woah, woah, just put the gun down, hotcakes.” We’re frozen in this standoff until he gets annoyed and lurches at me for the gun. I pull the trigger, flinching in anticipation of the kickback but nothing. Is it even loaded? I don’t have enough time to try the trigger again before he wrenches the pistol from my grasp and decks me across the head with the barrel.

I’m lying on my back, stripped completely bare with my hands secured above my head.

His blurred image comes into focus, watching me from the foot of the bed.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” his grating voice pierces through the ringing in my ears as he moves up my body.

“Wanna see the cool new stuff I got for us?”

He drags the bag on the bed without waiting for my reply and shoves his hand inside, pulling out a vibrator, built like a blunt bullet.  

“You’re gonna like this.”

My jaw drops when he grabs a crystal plug and he takes notice, his sinister grin widening, “I don’t even remember putting that in there..” His mocking laughter sends a shiver down my spine. 

The next thing I see is a flogger, several leather prongs with shining enamel donning the tips.

“The way you’ve been acting, we’ll get plenty of use out of this one..”

He leans into me and his lips softly ghost along my own even as I sink back and tuck my chin, “So, what am I going to do with you first?”

It’s a rhetorical question, yet his eyes dart to mine eagerly awaiting a response. I don’t have anything, not one quip nor retort. I fucked up my only chance at escape and now I’m going to have to pay the price.

“Awww, nothing to say, babycakes? Where’s that bitchy attitude, hmm? Not one adorably pointless little struggle?”

“.. m’ sorry..” I all but whimper out, letting my emotions choke me up.

Something changes in him. I see through my teary eyes, a frown etched into his face as if he’s disappointed in my submission, like he expected more of a challenge before I completely crumbled.

He sighs and turns to his arsenal of toys, giving it a considerable once over before lifting up the flogger.

“Maybe start with this? How many do you think you can take?”

He holds it in his grasp like a gladiator ready to tame me, I notice how his veins ripple all the way up his scarved bicep.

“NO!” I belt out, kicking my legs with ferocity. He scoops them up and flips me over on my stomach. I hear rattling behind my back and he yanks one leg to the side, fastens a shackle around my ankle and secures it to the adjacent bedpost. The other follows suit despite my protests.

“Wrong answer.. guess we’ll just have to see -”

“Malachai..” I hissed out his name. My final recourse to get him to hear reason, but I can’t force any more words from between my lips before he captures the base of my hair in a tight fist, yanking me up into his chest.

“Let’s set some ground rules, shall we?” I whine as he callously tightens his grasp, tearing locks of hair from the follicle, “I don’t want to hear you call me that again, yeah? I will make mass murder look like child’s play compared to what I’ll do to you. I have nothing but time, baby. Understand?” His threatening words burn like venom along my neck.

“yEss” I croak, paralyzed with fear.

“Wonderful! I’m glad we agree on that. Now, back to the main event.” His tonal change is startling, something I couldn’t get used to. He picks up his weapon, the clang of the metal tips rattling against each other. 

I can barely lift my head before I feel those prongs lash across the bare flesh of my ass. The noise I let out is bone-chillingly inhumane, the way it tears up through my vocal cords, it barely registers as my own voice. His short grunts, gruff moans are perfectly timed with my sobs as he makes my thighs raw. I feel him cup my ass cheek with his hand, feeling it burn as blood rises up in my swollen capillaries, the surface welting up beneath his touch.

I think he’s had his fill by the time he places the flog down on the bed, then his hands are on me again, rubbing sloppy circles along my puffy pussy, lips prominent as he pushes them apart to dip into my drooling center. 

“Nearly two decades with nothing but pent up sexual frustration then they drop a cute little thing like you in my cage. Whoever sent you here, doesn’t give a fuck about you.” He releases an airy sigh as he slaps my clit with his rough palm.

I tense into an arched position, choking back a moan. 

“Poor baby doesn’t know if she wants to cry or come..”

He drives two fingers to the second knuckle, pumping in and out, scissoring me open as I whimper at the stretch.

“What’s all this, huh?” He withdraws and raises his digits to his face to analyze the viscosity of my slick, the way it creates clear strings between his thick fingers when he pulls them apart. “What are you trying to prove here? Think you’re too good to get off to me?”

I bite my tongue, but it’s alright because he speaks enough for the both of us.

“It’s not like you really have a choice. You’re gonna come real soon, aren’t you?” He reads my bodily responses expertly. I hear the buzzing of the vibrator before it finds my clit. My eyes roll back and I clench in place. 

“Bet you’re really having fun now, huh?” 

I feel the sheets grow damp below me. My cool slick soothing my sore flesh all the way down my thighs.

“You love it… you don’t gotta’ tell me.. jus’ keep making those pretty noises I like.. I feel like you’re just as deprived as I am.. all sheltered with no one to really touch you. Just your one shitty little vibrator you hide in your nightstand and keep on the lowest setting so no one overhears how the perfect princess isn’t so innocent.” 

He curls his fingers and I come so hard my brain misfires and my vision goes blurry. 

The next moments move in slow motion. I barely register him pulling off his shorts and freeing his cock before he’s back on me, yanking me closer by his firm grip on my hips. I gasp as he pushes into my pulsating heat, stretching my sex as my tight lips move along with the drag of his cock. 

He angles my body to his thrusts, tilting my pelvis up so he can drive me down onto his length. The rapid tempo knocks the air from my lungs. His pelvic bone digging into my sore backside. I make the mistake of looking back at him just as he stalls, his cock pulsating against my cervix as I can do nothing but milk him dry with my own orgasm. Becoming even more familiar with the way his brow tenses over his glassy hooded eyes, his powder pink lips fall open for small gasps and grunts as his load coats my inner walls.

He stutters forward, plunging his length deeper into my aching core. When he opens his eyes, I notice his lip twitch and curl in a smirk before he pulls away and I feel empty. 

He moves to release my ankles from their restraints and flips me over like a pig on a spit. He follows the length of my body with his eyes, feasting on my gooey center where his own cum starts to pool at my opening, dripping down my slit. He leans down and there’s a devious glint within his steely gaze that makes my breath hike.

He pulls my tender bud between his lips and left wet open-mouthed kisses along my inner thigh, building me back up.

“S.. st… ss. Op… pl- EASE!” I gasp and sputter out my words between uncontainable moans. 

It feels so strange, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Maybe like my rose toy. But better? No, worse. It hurts. He sucks and pops my flesh, savoring me like sweet taffy, winding his tongue through my tender labia.

A feral noise rumbles in his chest as he scrapes his teeth along my engorged clit. I keen out loud as he alternates between suckling on me, turning me into a rapid ball of fire.

“D’ you see how much I spoil you? I cook for you, clean you up.. so ungrateful.” he slurps on the mixture of our juices leaking from my pulsating core. I try to swivel my hips and scoot away from him as he rolls my clit with his tongue, his face following my movements. 

“The more you try to squirm away from me, the more you open yourself up for me to taste you, babycakes..” His hold locks onto my trembling legs, pinning my thighs flat to my stomach. “Heyyy.. stop it.. stop running from me..”

I weep helplessly in his grasp.

taglist: @daisy-renae @quinsly (comment or reblog if you want to be included in the taglist & notified of future posts)

Part 3?

[theonottsbxtch]

WHATS LEFT BEHIND PT.4 | MV1

an: GROVELLLINGGG i need me a bull rider max verstappen i swear to god his little smile and UGH i would commit crimes for him, anyway enjoy!

summary: when max verstappen left his childhood girlfriend behind to face her career ending injury alone to chase his dreams of being the best bull rider the country has ever seen, he thought it would be easy. except it wasn't, he was back in town and they hated him, for one reason. they hurt their star barrel racer.

wc: 5.5k

part one | part two | part three |

Max had no idea why he thought this was a good idea, but at 5:45 a.m., he was standing on her doorstep, holding her favourite coffee and breakfast sandwich in hand. His heart hammered in his chest, and his breath clouded in the cool early morning air. The bag of food rustled in his grip as he shifted on his feet, hoping that this wouldn’t completely backfire.

He was well aware that one breakfast wouldn’t erase years of hurt, but it was a start. He had to start somewhere.

The sky was still tinged with the last hints of night, the town barely stirring awake. He’d spent too many sleepless nights replaying their kiss, feeling the weight of her hurt and all the things left unsaid. This was his first step toward making things right—showing up and proving that he was here to stay.

Her house was quiet, no sign of movement behind the windows. He glanced at his watch again. She was an early riser, always had been, and he hoped he hadn’t miscalculated the time.

Just as he was considering leaving the coffee on her porch and making a quiet retreat, he heard the creak of the front door behind him. He turned to see her stepping out, her hair still damp from the shower, looking as though she hadn’t quite woken up yet but was ready for the day. She paused when she saw him standing there, her eyes narrowing.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone flat, but he could see the flicker of curiosity in her gaze.

Max swallowed, forcing a small smile as he held out the coffee cup. “I, uh… thought I’d bring you breakfast.”

She stared at him, her eyes moving from the cup to the sandwich bag in his other hand, then back to his face. Her lips parted as if she was about to say something, but then she shook her head and moved past him toward her truck, saying nothing at all.

Well, that went about as well as he expected.

“Sweetheart,” he called after her, stepping forward quickly. “It’s your favourite. Black coffee, no sugar. And an egg and bacon sandwich, just like you used to get.”

She didn’t turn around, didn’t even slow down. But when she reached her truck, she paused. For a split second, she glanced over her shoulder, her gaze landing on the coffee. Without a word, she extended her hand, and he quickly passed her the cup.

Max watched as she took a sip, her face giving nothing away. She pulled open the truck door, still silent, and tossed the coffee into the cupholder as if it were an afterthought. She slid into the driver's seat, and the engine roared to life.

He stood there, watching her pull out, unsure if he had made any progress at all. But just before she turned onto the main road, he saw it—the faintest glimmer of something.

Her fingers curled around the coffee cup as she took another sip.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as she drove away. She hadn’t slammed the door in his face or told him to go to hell, and she hadn’t thrown the coffee out the window. For now, that was a win. Maybe a small one, but a win all the same.

As Max watched her truck disappear down the road, he let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. The quiet rumble of the engine faded, leaving only the early morning sounds of birds beginning to stir and the rustle of leaves in the wind.

He turned to head back to his own truck, feeling that faint flicker of hope from the coffee exchange still lingering in his chest. But as he passed the barn, something caught his eye—the door to her stable was hanging at an awkward angle, one of the hinges loose and the wood splintered. He paused, frowning.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he wandered over to inspect it closer. The damage wasn’t new; the wood around the hinge looked worn and cracked. The entire stall looked neglected—the bedding inside hadn’t been mucked out in a while, the hay was scattered and half-moulded. The familiar smell of manure and damp straw clung to the air, stronger than it should’ve been for a stall that was regularly cared for.

Max thought back to the other day where he’d seen Luna in Leslie’s barn. It made sense now. She must’ve been using Leslie’s stable because her own had fallen into disrepair. A wave of something unfamiliar hit him—guilt, maybe, or regret. This wasn’t like her. She used to take pride in everything being just right when it came to her horses.

He chewed his lip, standing in front of the broken stall door for a moment longer, then made a decision.

Maybe she didn’t want his help, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give it.

Without another thought, Max turned back toward his truck, digging through the back where he kept his toolbox. Years of being on the rodeo circuit had taught him a thing or two about fixing up stables, trailers, and anything else that came with working with horses. He pulled out what he needed—tools, nails, and looked around her barn to find some spare wood boards—then headed back to her stable.

The first thing he did was unscrew the damaged hinge, pulling it free and tossing it aside. The wood creaked as he worked, but his hands were steady, focused. His mind, on the other hand, was a mess. He thought about her, about the years he’d been gone, and how much he had missed seeing her in this very barn, laughing, mucking out stables, grooming her horse with such care.

He had abandoned that world—their world. And looking at this neglected stable now felt like a reminder of how he’d left things with her: broken and unattended.

As he worked, time passed quickly. He replaced the hinge, secured the door, and patched up the splintered wood with the boards he’d brought. Once the door was fixed, he moved inside, mucking out the old straw and replacing it with fresh bedding. The smell of clean straw filled the stall, and by the time he finished, the stable looked almost new again—like the way she used to keep it.

Standing back to admire his work, Max wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The sun had fully risen by now, casting warm light across the barn. The job wasn’t perfect, but it was something. It was a start.

He wasn’t sure how she would react when she found out, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the right thing to do. Fixing her stable was one small way to show her that he wanted to help, that he wasn’t going to run away this time.

Sliding his toolbox back into his truck, he stood by the driver’s side door for a moment, staring at the barn in the soft morning light. He felt a strange sense of satisfaction, mixed with nerves. He hadn’t planned to stick around after dropping off the coffee, but now that he’d done this, he felt like he’d left a small piece of himself behind.

Maybe that was what he needed to do—piece by piece, action by action, until he could finally prove to her that he was here to stay.

Max was just about to leave when he noticed something else—a porch step leading up to her house was cracked. One of the wooden boards was split right down the middle, dipping slightly under pressure. He walked up to it and stepped on it, the wood groaning, threatening to give way.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. How long had she been stepping over this, risking a fall every time? He knew her leg wasn’t perfect again, it was dangerous for her to have that there like that.

It didn’t take much convincing for him to grab his toolbox again. He couldn’t just leave it like this. First the stable, now the porch… How much more had she been shouldering on her own all these years?

With a quick glance at the time, he decided he had enough daylight left to fix the step before she got home for lunch. But he’d need more wood. He hopped into his truck and headed down to the local hardware store, grabbing a few planks of wood and some extra supplies for good measure. By the time he returned, the sun was sitting higher in the sky, marking the late morning, and he got to work.

He started by removing the old board, carefully prying it loose without damaging the other steps. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he worked, and each crack of the wood sent memories rushing back—of him helping her dad fix things around the ranch when they were kids, of them sitting on this very porch, laughing, planning their futures. A future that had been so easy to leave behind, yet so impossible to forget.

Halfway through installing the new step, the sound of an engine approaching caught his attention. Max looked up just as her truck pulled into the driveway. His stomach twisted with nerves, but he forced himself to keep working, pretending not to notice.

The truck door slammed shut, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stepping out, wearing the same expression she’d had that morning—guarded, unsure, but somehow less cold than before. She paused by the porch, noticing the tools, the new plank of wood in his hands.

“You fixing my porch now too?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Max straightened up, wiping his hands on his jeans, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips. “Figured it was about time someone did.”

She glanced at the half-repaired step, then back at him. For a second, she just stood there, as if she wasn’t sure what to say. Then, without a word, she smiled—a real smile, small but genuine—and with a light hop, she stepped over the broken porch board and headed for the door.

That smile hit him harder than any of her glares or icy words ever had.

Max grinned, watching her as she disappeared inside. That tiny, almost imperceptible smile was more than he’d hoped for when he started all this. He stood there, hammer in hand, his heart thudding with satisfaction.

Progress. Small, sure. But progress nonetheless.

He bent back down to finish the job, feeling lighter than he had in days. If this was what it took to win her back, he’d fix every damn thing in her life until there was nothing left to fix. And even then, he wasn’t going anywhere.

As he hammered the last nail into the new step, the front door creaked open again. She stepped out, a water bottle in hand. She leaned against the doorframe, watching him work.

"Didn't think you'd be so handy after all these years," she said casually, taking a sip of water.

Max looked up, wiping his brow. "Guess I never forgot how to fix things, even if I broke a lot more than I fixed."

She looked at him for a long moment, the playful glint in her eyes softening. She didn’t respond, but that silence between them felt...different. Less tense. More open.

She gave him a quick nod before hopping back over the repaired step and heading to her truck. As she climbed in, she took one long look at him and smiled again. Max couldn’t help but smile as she drove away, the fresh scent of wood still hanging in the air.

It was just a smile. Just a sip of coffee. But to him, it felt like the first real win he’d had in years.

The following morning arrived with the kind of early light that made the world feel fresh and new. Max pulled into her driveway just after sunrise, the quiet hum of his truck the only sound in the peaceful stillness of the ranch. He parked, glancing over at the house, making sure there were no signs she was up yet.

He slid out of the truck, balancing two cups of coffee and a brown paper bag filled with her favourite breakfast. He placed them carefully on the porch, positioning the bag next to the coffee with a little note tucked under it that simply read: "Enjoy. - M."

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the note,taking a sip of his own coffee as he hoped this small gesture would get him another one of those smiles. Maybe even a thank you this time. But he wasn’t expecting anything. Not yet.

Turning away from the porch, he eyed her truck parked beside the barn. It was filthy, covered in dust, and dried mud clung to the tires from her trips across the ranch. Without thinking twice, Max grabbed some cleaning supplies he knew she kept in the shed behind her house—bucket, sponge, soap—and got to work.

The cool water sloshed in the bucket as he soaked the sponge and started scrubbing away the grime. His muscles ached from the last few days of manual labour, but it felt good. Every swipe of the sponge felt like another step toward redemption. Maybe this was how he could prove himself—not through words but by doing the things she didn’t ask for but needed.

He was halfway through washing the windows when he heard the creak of the screen door. He glanced up, and there she was.

She stepped out onto the porch, barefoot, hair messy from sleep. His heart thudded once, hard, as his eyes travelled downward. She was wearing one of his old flannels—oversized on her, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows—paired with short sleep shorts that left her long legs bare in the morning sunlight. For a split second, his brain stalled, eyes glued to the familiar sight of her in his shirt, like some vivid memory had sprung to life in front of him.

Shit.

He snapped his gaze away, focusing on the task at hand, but it was too late. His pulse had already spiked, and his hands fumbled slightly as he wrung out the sponge. He told himself not to let his mind go there—not after everything they’d been through. But damn, it was hard not to think about how good she looked.

She didn’t say anything. She glanced at the coffee and breakfast on the porch, her lips twitching in what might have been the start of a smile, and then she looked back at him. He felt her eyes on him as he worked, and even though she didn’t say a word, the silence between them felt... different. Less guarded.

She disappeared inside for a few moments, and he figured that was that—another day, another quiet gesture, and he’d let it be. But when she came back out, she placed a bottle of water on the porch rail near where he was working, almost like an unspoken acknowledgment.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she said finally, her voice soft but clear in the morning stillness.

Max nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. His throat was tight, the sight of her in his old flannel still rattling around in his mind, so he just gave her a small smile and kept scrubbing the truck, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the way his heart was hammering.

She lingered for a second longer before heading back inside, the screen door shutting gently behind her. He exhaled, finally letting out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

He glanced at the bottle of water she’d left out for him. It wasn’t much—just a simple gesture. But it was more than he’d expected, and the fact that she’d noticed, that she’d even bothered to leave it out for him, felt like a victory.

His grin widened as he finished cleaning the truck, knowing that, slowly but surely, he was getting to her.

Max was just finishing up, wiping the last few streaks off her truck windows, when he heard her voice drift through the open kitchen window. He didn’t mean to listen, but her tone caught his attention, and before he knew it, he was eavesdropping on her conversation.

“No, Mum, I was going to make the banana bread today,” she said, frustration lacing her words. “But I just realised I don’t have enough flour...or eggs. And these bananas are already overripe. If I don’t use them soon, they’ll go to waste.”

There was a pause, and Max could imagine her pacing back and forth, probably chewing her bottom lip the way she always did when she was annoyed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll figure something out,” she sighed. “Maybe I’ll go to the store later... I just don’t feel like leaving the house right now.”

Max couldn’t help the small smile creeping across his face. He remembered how much she loved baking, especially on the weekends when she had some downtime. Banana bread was one of her favourites—something she used to make for him when they were younger, back when things were simpler.

An idea sparked in his mind. It wasn’t much, but if he could help her out in some small way, maybe it would chip away at that wall she’d built around herself.

He tossed the rag into the bucket and glanced toward her house one more time before heading for his truck. He made a quick stop at the local grocery store, grabbing the essentials she’d mentioned—flour, eggs, and a few other things he thought she might need. But as he walked down the produce aisle, something else caught his eye: a small bouquet of sunflowers. Her favourite. Without a second thought, he added them to his cart.

By the time he got back to her place, the house was still quiet. He could hear faint music playing from inside, but there was no sign of her coming outside anytime soon.

Perfect.

Max quietly made his way up to the porch, placing the grocery bag down by the door. He carefully arranged the bouquet of sunflowers next to the bag, making sure they were the first thing she’d see when she opened the door. He didn’t leave a note this time. He didn’t need to. The gesture was enough.

For a moment, he hesitated, wanting to stick around and see her reaction. But no—that wasn’t the point. He didn’t want her to feel pressured or obligated. This was about showing her, bit by bit, that he was serious. That he could be the man she needed him to be.

With one last glance at the flowers, he turned and headed back to his truck, leaving the scene just as quietly as he had arrived.

Inside the house, she hung up the phone and glanced toward the window. She hadn’t heard Max leave, but the sight of her newly cleaned truck parked outside reminded her of his presence. There was something comforting in knowing he’d been there, even if she hadn’t asked him to be.

She stretched and decided to step outside for some fresh air. As she opened the door, her gaze immediately fell on the bag at her feet and the bright splash of yellow sunflowers.

She blinked, surprised, and crouched down to inspect the bag. Flour, eggs, even some sugar—and the sunflowers, of course. Her heart gave a little flutter, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t fight the small smile pulling at her lips.

It didn’t take much to realise who had left them. Only one person would know how much she loved sunflowers.

Max.

She stood in the doorway, staring at the bag of groceries and the sunflowers. She felt a strange warmth bloom in her chest as she reached down, brushing her fingers over the petals. For a second, she considered leaving everything there, maybe pretending she hadn’t seen it—but she couldn’t. The sight of those bright sunflowers, her favourite, was like a small crack in the carefully constructed wall she’d spent years building.

She sighed, picking up the bag and the bouquet, and headed back inside, the door creaking softly as it shut behind her. As she placed everything on the kitchen counter, her mind wandered back over the last few days. It had been relentless. The coffee, the fixed stable, the repaired porch, and now this.

Each gesture felt so simple, yet so intentional. Max wasn’t just showing up to apologise—he was showing up in all the ways she’d needed him to before, in all the ways she’d tried to move past. And that realisation hit her like a punch to the gut.

She pulled out the flour and eggs, setting them on the counter as she began gathering the rest of the ingredients. Banana bread. Her mom had suggested it, and she hadn’t even realised at the time that she was thinking of him when she’d decided to make it. It had always been his favourite.

Back when they were young, she used to bake for him every weekend. He’d come by after working the bulls or training, hungry and exhausted, and she’d have the kitchen smelling like cinnamon and bananas by the time he arrived. She’d never forget the way his eyes would light up when he saw the loaf cooling on the counter. That easy smile, the one that always made her heart race, even when she tried to pretend it didn’t.

Her hands moved on autopilot as she mashed the bananas, her mind playing through memories she hadn’t let herself revisit in years. She could almost hear his voice in the back of her mind, teasing her for adding too many walnuts one time, or for baking the bread just a little too long on another occasion.

He used to sneak slices before they’d even cooled, and she’d scold him playfully while he grinned like a kid getting away with something.

“Darlin’, you spoil me,” he’d always say, mouth full, and she’d roll her eyes but secretly love every second of it.

That was before. Before the injury. Before the fame. Before the day he’d left without saying goodbye.

She poured the batter into the loaf pan, her movements a little slower now as the memories tangled with the present. She couldn’t shake the image of him standing out in the driveway, washing her truck, fixing her porch, or that damn bouquet of sunflowers sitting on her counter now.

He was relentless, and she hated how much it was affecting her. It was so much easier to stay angry, to cling to the betrayal that had fueled her for years. But his persistence—it was wearing her down.

She wiped her hands on a towel and stared out the window above the sink. The sun was climbing higher now, lighting up the barn with soft golden hues. She glanced toward the porch, half-expecting to see him still there, but the driveway was empty.

She hadn’t asked for his help, not once. And yet, he kept showing up.

She could feel something shifting inside her, something that scared her more than she wanted to admit. He was getting through, bit by bit, and that made her angry—not at him, but at herself.

As she slid the loaf into the oven, she leaned against the counter, her arms crossed as she let out a frustrated breath.

“Why now, Max?” she muttered to herself, her eyes flicking toward the bouquet of sunflowers. “Why couldn’t you have done all this eight years ago?”

But deep down, she knew the answer. Back then, neither of them had been ready. He had been running from everything—his feelings, his fears, his dreams—and she’d been holding onto a fantasy that wasn’t real.

Now, things were different. They were both different. But was it too late?

As the smell of baking bananas and cinnamon filled the kitchen, she found herself lost in thought, wondering whether all of Max’s grovelling was just temporary—whether he’d stick around this time, or whether he’d bolt the second things got hard again.

She didn’t want to admit it, but the idea of him staying terrified her almost as much as the thought of him leaving again.

And the worst part? Despite everything, despite all the pain and resentment, she still cared. She still wanted to believe him.

As the oven timer ticked down, she glanced at the clock and sighed, grabbing her coffee from the counter. She took a sip, tasting the warmth and comfort of it, and for the briefest moment, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Maybe, just maybe, Max was winning her over after all.

She stared at the golden-brown loaf cooling on the counter, the smell of freshly baked banana bread filling her kitchen. She’d sliced off a small piece for herself—just to check that it was done right, of course—and, as soon as the familiar taste hit her tongue, memories rushed in. It tasted exactly like it used to—like weekends spent laughing, teasing, and sharing moments with Max that had once felt like they would last forever.

A thought crossed her mind before she could stop it. Should she take him some?

She frowned, standing in the middle of her kitchen, arms crossed. There was no reason to give him anything. If anything, she should keep it all to herself. But then again, he’d done so much for her in the last few days. The coffee, the repairs, the quiet way he’d just...been there, even when she didn’t want him to be. And now here she was, thinking about doing something for him.

"Fine," she muttered to herself, grabbing some wax paper and wrapping a few slices of banana bread tightly. She placed them in a small container, shaking her head at how ridiculous this all felt. "Just a thank you. That’s all."

Before she could second-guess herself, she grabbed her truck keys and the small container and headed out the door.

The drive to Max’s place wasn’t long, but with every mile closer, her heart pounded a little harder. When she finally pulled up outside his cabin, she parked at the edge of his driveway and hesitated for a moment, gripping the steering wheel.

She wasn’t going to knock on the door. No way. This wasn’t some grand gesture or olive branch. It was just...banana bread.

Taking a deep breath, she hopped out of her truck and quietly walked up to his front porch. She placed the container right by the door, gave one last glance at the house, and turned quickly on her heel before she could change her mind.

She was back in her truck and driving away in seconds, leaving the small gesture behind her like a secret she wasn’t ready to face.

Max had spent the morning out in the barn, fixing a broken fence panel that had been bothering him for days. The work had done wonders for his mood, keeping his mind off her and everything swirling between them. He knew he had to be patient, that winning her back wasn’t something that would happen overnight. But damn, he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t hard.

As he finished up, the sun high in the sky, he walked back to the house, wiping the sweat from his brow. He was about to open the front door when something on the porch caught his eye.

A small plastic container, carefully wrapped, sat by the door. For a second, he just stared at it, confused. Then recognition clicked, and his heart did a little flip.

Banana bread.

He crouched down and picked it up, opening the lid to find a few perfectly sliced pieces, just like he remembered from years ago. It was the same banana bread she used to bake for him when they were kids—when they’d spend lazy weekends together, when things were easy and right.

He blinked, the realisation slowly settling in. She had brought this for him. After everything, she had taken the time to make something and leave it for him, even if she hadn’t stayed to say it herself.

His chest tightened, and for the first time in a long while, Max felt a rush of something that wasn’t guilt or regret. It was happiness, pure and unfiltered. She might not have said the words, but this was a step. A small one, but it was enough for him to hold onto.

He sat down on the porch, leaning back against the wall, and took a bite of the banana bread. The familiar sweetness hit his tongue, and it was like being transported back in time—to when she used to make it for him, to the laughter they’d shared, to the love they’d both felt before everything had gone so wrong.

Max smiled, closing his eyes and savouring the taste.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew there was still a long way to go before things could ever be right between them again. But this? This was a win. A quiet, small win, wrapped in wax paper and tied with memories of what they used to have.

For the first time in eight years, Max felt like things might just work out.

He finished the last bite of banana bread, letting the taste linger as he sat on the porch, the empty container beside him. His mood felt lighter than it had in days, like maybe things were finally starting to fall into place. With a satisfied sigh, he stood up, stretching his sore muscles before heading back inside.

His place was quiet, the kind of quiet that had always felt like a weight, but today it didn’t bother him as much. He tossed his sweaty shirt into the laundry basket and grabbed a towel, heading toward the shower. The hot water felt good, washing away the grime from the morning’s work. His mind wandered back to her —how she’d left the banana bread, how she was starting to soften, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

He smirked to himself, running his hands through his wet hair. He’d take it slow. He had to. But there was hope now, more than he’d had since he first came back.

Just as he stepped out of the shower, still dripping water, a loud pounding came from the front door. He grabbed a towel, wrapping it loosely around his waist, and frowned.

“Who the hell...?”

The pounding came again, louder this time, like whoever was on the other side had zero patience.

“I’m coming, hold your horses!” Max called out, running his hand over his face as he crossed the small hallway. He swung the door open to find Leslie standing there, arms crossed, looking as stern as ever.

“Les? Where’s the fire?” he asked, eyebrows raised, still clutching the towel around his waist.

Leslie’s eyes barely flicked down at his bare chest, clearly unimpressed. She held out a shirt—a work shirt.

“I don’t know how you pulled it off, but here.” She shoved the shirt into his chest. “You start tomorrow morning. Six o’clock. Don’t be late.”

It took a second for her words to register, but when they did, his eyes widened. He stared at her, blinking, his heart thudding in his chest.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” Leslie didn’t crack a smile, but there was a glint in her eye. “Looks like someone finally decided to forgive you. Don’t make me regret it.”

Max felt a grin spread across his face, his chest swelling with relief and something close to joy. Forgiven. He’d finally been forgiven.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Les, I—thank you. I mean it.”

She stepped back, eyeing him up and down one last time. “Don’t thank me. You earned it—barely.” She turned to leave but paused before heading back down the steps. “Oh, and Max? Maybe next time, put on some damn pants before you open the door.”

Max laughed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Noted.”

Leslie waved him off and headed back to her truck, leaving Max standing in the doorway, shirt in hand, the towel barely holding on. He stepped back inside, shutting the door behind him, and let out a long, deep breath.

He’d done it. He’d actually done it.

Not just the job, but her. He knew Leslie wouldn’t have come to offer him work if she hadn’t forgiven him. It wasn’t much—maybe just a sliver of forgiveness—but it was enough.

A smile tugged at his lips as he walked back to his room, pulling on the shirt Leslie had brought, staring at her barn logo in the mirror. Tomorrow, at six in the morning, he’d be working at the barn, just like he’d wanted.

And, maybe even more important than that, she was finally letting him in—just a little, but enough to give him hope that there was still a chance for them. He wasn’t going to waste it.

He glanced at the clock. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

part five