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texas sun - joel miller x f! reader - vol. vi

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chapter summary: you grow closer with sarah, and also with joel... pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 5.2k chapter warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY - oral sex (m receiving). alcohol consumption. Some angst, but mostly fluff, references to divorces/getting remarried/stepparents. anxious thoughts. a/n: this chapter is probably the least heavy. s/o to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about it, as always. lots of character/relationship/backstory for both joel and reader. i give reader a childhood nickname in this story, but it's not her actual name. also i made up a backstory for joel because he deserves it. hope you enjoy!

-June 5th, 2003-

“I think you missed a spot.”

“Yeah, that’s because you won’t hold still.”

Sarah scolds you for what feels like the hundredth time since you sat down. You feel a bit like a rambunctious child, and not so much a grown woman who has over fifteen years on her with the way she’s talking to you. To keep from giggling, you press your lips together tightly.

“You’re the one who begged to do this.”

“I did not,” she says, lacing mock offense into her voice – even with her head tilted down so you can’t see her mouth, you can tell she’s smiling.

Sarah’s bent over your kitchen table, across from you, holding your thumb between two of her fingers. Meticulously, she’s painting a layer of pink, glittery polish on your nails. It’s been awhile since you started, and the near-suffocating chemical fumes of acetone and nail polish had grown so intense you’d already made her turn on the fan and open the window above your sink. It wasn’t really helping. And she’s got her face so close to your hand – laser focused – you’re a little concerned she’s going to poke herself in the eye. But you don’t dare correct her. This is a weekly ritual. Every Thursday night, you give each other manicures. It’s far more important to her, however.

“Oh my god, relax your fingers, you’re so rigid,” she reprimands you again.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, a bit sheepish. You’ve been anxious, the energy having worked its way out to all your extremities, apparently.

To be fair, you could do without this. You’ve never really cared about having your nails done growing up, and still don’t. They’ll look good for about two to three business days, and then they’ll chip. It’s always this way, regardless of what topcoat she puts on that claims it will make your nails last forever – maybe you’re just too rough with your hands. However, it’s the one thing Sarah doesn’t give you grief about, maybe because hers always chip, too.

You keep letting her do it, though. Partly because she likes it so much – and it hasn’t gotten any easier to say no to her. The other part is reminded of what it’s like to be a kid again. When you were first sent away to school, you always kept your nails painted - a small act of rebellion, of self-expression after being forced into the same uniform day after day. When you’d come home on breaks you’d beg your brother to paint his nails, run down the hall after him with a bottle of polish. Vincent would never let you, but he would always find a compromise, which was usually a walk through Central Park, and paying for you to ride on the carousel. He’d stand off to the side, waving each time you passed. In those moments, you liked to pretend that things were normal, that there wasn’t a dark cloud lingering over you both. Because even then, you’d known. On the walk home, Vincent would let you hook your mittened hand in the crook of his elbow, and you’d tilt your head all the way back to look at the tops of the buildings, the sun poking through the clouds.

Sarah draws back from your hand, then releases it delicately to the tabletop, placing the brush back in the nail polish bottle. “There,” she says, screwing on the lid. You both lean forward to admire her work. “I’m getting better aren’t, I?”

“You definitely are,” you look at the obnoxious color – Aurora Berry-alis. It’s the exact opposite of anything you’d pick out for yourself, but you’ve been surprised at the compliments you’ve been getting at work from your coworkers whenever you are going over contracts or pointing out revisions. If anything, you think it might make them pay closer attention when you talk. You nod at Sarah appreciatively. “They look good.”

“I think you’re getting better, too,” she places her hands atop the table alongside yours, so you can compare. You’d painted hers the same color, because you always let her choose. Well, it’s less that you let her, and more that she tells you, and you know better than to argue. The first time she’d painted them, and you’d suggested a coat of clear, she had given you so much grief about how boring you were, that you had given in and let her do whatever she’d wanted. There is nothing more terrifying than a teenage girl thinking you are lame.

“It’s always easier to paint someone else’s,” you answer.

Sarah leans forward, and frowns when her eyes land on your thumbnail, the one with the scab at the base of it. “You really need to stop picking at your cuticles.”

“I can’t help it,” you say sheepishly. “It’s a bad habit.” Particularly when stressed, you want to add, but you keep it to yourself.

“Well, it needs to stop,” she says pointedly, before planting her hands on the table and standing up. “I’m gonna get a ginger ale. Do you want me to get you anything?”

“Yeah, grab me one, too,” you blow on your fingers so they dry faster.

Sarah disappears behind you, and you hear her rummaging through your fridge. “Do you not eat? Your fridge is basically empty.”

It’s only when she mentions it that you recall. “I do, I just forgot to go to the store this weekend.”

“How do you forget to buy food for yourself?”

“I’ve been busy.”

Sarah groans, and a few of your cabinets open and slam shut. “There’s no food here.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh. “I pretty much only buy stuff for you anyways, at this rate you might as well start chipping in on the grocery bill.”

“You sound like my dad.”

At the mention of Joel, you stiffen.

Things have been a bit of a blur for the past few weeks. Between both of your work schedules, it’s been difficult to see one another, and even when you’re free – it has to be when Sarah’s away, which doesn’t happen often. And if she’s not in her own house, the second most likely place for her to be is at yours – so that makes it even more complicated. And both of you have agreed that she can’t find out. Because of that, you’ve only seen Joel a handful of times.

“How is he?” you ask, nonchalantly. It’s a question you have asked her a hundred times before, just like you’ve asked after her best friend from school, Jennifer, or her grandparents, her Uncle Tommy – anyone from her life she talks about regularly. For some reason, you’re still expecting Sarah to hear these three words and sense that you’re not telling her something.

“He’s good,” she says, rustling through boxes. “Busy.”

Yeah….busy. You could laugh when you think of the absurdity of the situation as a whole. There’s not a chapter in any of your self-help books that could teach you how to properly navigate it. So you’re left to figure it out for yourself, and hope you can without inflicting any permanent damage on her psyche.

It makes you kind of nauseous actually. You knew her first. You were closer with her, first. It feels like a betrayal – and you’ve done enough of that in your life. This was supposed to be a way to start over, to do the right thing, but the sickness follows wherever you go. You can’t stop it. What would happen if she found out? Would she be angry, mad, disgusted? She likes you, but as far as she knows, you aren’t romantically involved with her father. And that would certainly change things.

Where it really gets problematic – you like Joel. So much more than you had expected. Well, maybe you’d been expecting it a little but not….like this. Of course, you know better than to be hopeful. Everything is still tentative, new. You’re figuring it out. It’s nice, at least, to savor the feeling while you have it, because it’s something you have felt so rarely.

All that considered, keeping it from her objectively is the right thing to do – for now. At least, that’s how you justify it to yourself.

“Actually he, uh, has been on a coupla dates lately,” Sarah returns to sit with a bag of stale Doritos and two ginger ales

“Really?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow, pretending this is new information.

Sarah nods, and is careful to open both cans with the tip of a butter knife she brought over, so as not to chip her freshly painted nails. She speaks so nonchalantly, there’s no way she suspects anything.

You test the waters. “How do you feel about that?”

“What are you, my guidance counselor?”

You laugh first, and then she joins in, delighted by her clever joke. Once it fades, she surprises you by sobering up, quickly. “But uh….I don’t feel any way about it…I usually don’t care unless he introduces me to whoever he’s with.”

“Oh yeah,” you say. “I remember when my dad did that. Always weird, right?”

“Always,” she repeats, sounding relieved that you understand. “But it doesn’t happen often. I think he’s careful. But things have just never felt….right. With any of them.”

“What, like, they weren’t nice?”

“No, just….I could tell they didn’t really care…” she says. “About me….”

You want to tell her that’s not true. But you’d only be speaking for yourself, and this isn’t about you.

“What about you?” she asks, and you realize you’ve been frowning. “Did you get along with your dad’s girlfriends when you first met them?”

“I mean, it wasn’t so much a meeting as it was my father introducing us and saying ‘Pixie, Meredith is going to be your stepmother,' and then that was that."

“Your stepmother’s name was really Meredith?” Sarah asks incredulously. “Like in The Parent Trap?”

You consider this, the realization hitting. “Yeah, I guess so,” and you both laugh.

“Oh boy,” Sarah says. “Stepmom? If my dad gets remarried, I think…things would change…”

“How so?”

“What if she hates me? And then dad stops spending time with me? What if he has another kid, and they forget about me?” She pauses, but not long enough for you to shut it down without interrupting. “I mean, tell me what happened with your stepmom. Did you become an afterthought? ”

“Uh, well….” you wrinkle your nose. “I mean, yeah, but I was never exactly a priority to begin with.”

To you, it’s such a casual statement of fact, so at first, you’re not sure why Sarah looks so distraught by the response. “Oh, I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to….” Her shoulders sag, just a little.

“Oh,” you wave your hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I’m fine. What I’m trying to say is from everything you’ve told me about your dad, and everything I know myself –” which is more than you think “– he would never let that happen.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” she says, bobbing her head. “But I can’t help but think about it.”

“Those are just thoughts…” you offer. And you’re no longer even approaching this conversation with the context of being the woman who is with Joel. You just want to make her feel better. “Doesn’t mean they’ll come true.”

It seems to placate her. “Yeah. You’re right,” she nods, and takes a sip from her ginger ale. “I do worry about my dad, though. It’s just the two of us, and I know he gets lonely. And who knows, maybe someday he’ll end with someone I actually like. That could be fun,” Sarah smiles a little. “So long as they don’t boss me around.”

“Boss you around?” you ask, taking a sip from your own can and raising your eyebrows. “I wish them the best.”

“Shut up,” she says, then giggles. “But also…fair point.”

Suddenly, you sit up from where you’d been leaning back into the wood of your kitchen chair. And it seems like as good a time as ever to change the subject, because you’ve far overstayed your welcome lingering. “Oh, by the way, before I forget…stay right there, I have something for you.”

“What? What is it?”

You rise from your seat, and walk a few paces to the basket in the corner of the room. “You’ve got that camping trip coming up soon, and it gets chilly at night….” You dig through your knitting materials until you find what you’re looking for. Once you do, you place it in front of Sarah on the tabletop.

“What? No way!” she exclaims, picking up the baby blue knit cap in front of her. “You knitted me a hat?”

“Yeah,” you say, a bit sheepishly. “I meant to wrap it but-”

“It’s so cute,” Sarah cuts you off. “Can I try it on?”

“Of course, it’s yours.”

She jumps up from her seat and saunters to the mirror that hangs above the credenza just inside your front door. You follow her, standing behind her as she tugs the hat over her head. “What do you think?”

“Here,” you murmur, reaching over her shoulder to brush a piece of hair from her eyes, tucking it under the beanie, and pulling it further down in the back so it covers her ears as intended. Then you both look in the mirror. “I like it. Do you like it?”

“Yes,” she says, incredulous. “I can’t believe you made this for me.”

“I’ve hardly been knitting lately because it is so hot here. And you’ve been talking about how excited you are for this trip since I met you, so…it only felt right.”

Sarah whirls around quickly to wrap you in a hug, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror behind her – arm across the back of the pink hoodie she’s wearing. There’s a vague sense of longing in your expression, and you wonder what it might have been like to have someone in your life who could have given you the things your parents never did. Maybe there’s still a way to right all the wrongs. And not just for yourself.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-June 6th, 2003-

“Come in!”

You’re closing the oven when you hear the knock on your screen door. It slams shut, and you peer through the entrance of your kitchen to the front foyer – just to make sure you haven’t invited an axe murderer into your home.

The concern is fleeting, because you see it’s just Joel, bent over, untying his work boots and slipping them off. You like to think of yourself as easygoing, but you don’t allow him to wear them inside the house. All it took was some side eye the last time he’d tracked dirt all over your clean carpets, and then you never had to ask him again. But really, it was a minor inconvenience compared to some of the shit your past boyfriends had pulled. For example, this past year you actually had to utter the sentence ‘I don’t want you stashing your coke in my underwear drawer’ out loud to a grown man. So, even if the bar was so low you could step over it – and hardly bend a knee – it was something you had learned to appreciate about him.

You’ve made a roasted whole chicken – which is surprisingly easy, and mostly involves root vegetables and a lot of butter. Then it just cooks in the oven. It’s sort of your go-to when you actually decide to cook, but it’s too much food for one person. But you like that if you make it at the beginning of the week, you can eat leftovers for several days after. You hope Joel will appreciate it – not that you are trying to impress him, well, who are you kidding? You definitely are. It’s just one of those things you are ashamed to admit to yourself.

You turn to the sink, pulling off the yellow rubber gloves you’d bought to wash dishes in – in an effort to preserve your manicure. “Hey,” you say, when you hear his footsteps shuffling behind you.

“Hey,” Joel answers, and before you can turn, his lips are on your cheek, his hand on your shoulder, and he takes in the scene of your kitchen. “Would you like some help?”

“I’m good,” you look around. It was maybe a little messy, but the dishes were soaking and all you have to do is wipe off the countertops. It tends to happen when you cook. You’re not great at mise en place. Still, you have a system, and it works for you, and it stresses you out to have helpers in the kitchen. “Everything’s in the oven already.”

Turning finally, you take Joel all the way. He looks tired. Shoulders slumped, hair mussed. You reach out, pull a piece of sawdust out from one of his waves, flick it into the sink. “Why don’t you go sit in the front room?” you ask him. “I’ll be in, just give me a second.”

He’s been busy, putting in extra hour into his first contracting gig, and it appears it’s starting to take its toll.

“Okay,” he nods, hesitant, stepping back.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel settles onto your couch with his hands over his face. He’s upset with himself. For as much as he likes you, he’s barely seen you since your first date – and tonight, the one night he gets the chance, he’s utterly spent.

He rubs his eyes, looks towards your record player in the corner of the room, some melancholy jazz playing over the speakers. In the kitchen, dishes clink together, and a cabinet shuts lightly. Joel lets his head loll back against the plush cushions of your couch, savoring the only peace he’s felt all day.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” your voice cuts in, and Joel doesn’t know how you had snuck up on him, but when he peers up at you, standing over him, you’re holding out a frosted tumbler.

The floral apron you’d been wearing when he first came in is gone, so he sees more clearly the blush button-down you’ve paired with khaki slacks. Your hair is clipped back from your face, reading glasses on your head. He thinks of your coworkers who get to see you looking like this everyday, and gets a little envious. “What’s this?”

“A drink,” you say. “I thought you might need one.”

“Is it that obvious?” He feels a little guilty that it’s so clear to you what’s wrong, and you’ve barely spoken yet. Despite everything, Joel can’t help but feel warm, accepting the beverage graciously. The thin layer of ice coating the outside of the drink melts the second his fingers wrap around it, brushing against your own.

“Only a little,” you give him a soft smile before clinking glasses.

It’s some kind of whiskey, served over ice and it’s fucking good. It goes down far too easy, and he immediately takes another pull. You settle next to him while he does, but not so close that you’re touching. Joel is no stranger to how tentative you are with him, still. But he likes you regardless. He’s holding something fickle in his palm, and he understands he’d better hold still so as not to break it.

“Long day?” you ask, and reach out to trace your knuckle up his arm absentmindedly.

“Yeah,” Joel murmurs. “Things just keep goin’ wrong.”

“And you’re the problem solver now?”

“Something like that,” Joel says. You’d already drilled him about the ins and outs of his job awhile back. Being a contractor, while it’s a step up from his last job, and makes him more money – is much more demanding. People actually answer to him, now.

“I’m sorry…that sounds stressful,” you empathize. “I’m sure you’ll get a handle on it soon enough.”

Joel nods. Even if his brain has been telling him otherwise, he’s inclined to believe you.

Carefully – but not at all hesitantly, you reach out, hand curling around the back of his neck. Its the same one you’d been using to hold your glass so it’s comfortingly cool against his skin – still heated from a day spent under the sun. Joel feels his heart rate pick up as you move in closer. When your lips connect with his own, the kiss is gentle, affectionate. A proper greeting.

A flash of something, white hot, swipes up the sides of his neck, into his face. He’s a little embarrassed at the effect your touch has on him. Everything is still so new. And he’s hardly gotten the time alone with you to get it out of your system.

You deepen the kiss, it becomes deeper, more sensual, and he feels the switch flip. Almost as though you can sense his arousal, your hand slips down, swiftly unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. Your mouth never leaves his, you never pull away to look down, and he’s hard by the time you cup him through his underwear. And he’s still so taken aback he can’t stifle the noise he makes – directly into your mouth.

Your fingers hook through his belt loops to shuck his pants and underwear down, and the comfort of your body pressed against him disappears. Blinking open his eyes, he reaches out to pull you back. “What are you-” he cuts himself off when he sees you kneeling between his parted knees.

In response, your hands plant high on his thighs. “What does it look like?” you ask, your chin tilting back, eyes glimmering.

Oh.

“May I?” So polite, considering the offer.

Joel nods wordlessly, and he watches you lean forward. His eyes squeeze shut right before you take him in your mouth – because he knows if he doesn’t ease his way into this, he won’t last.

You don’t waste time teasing or kissing or anything like that. You’re not gonna drag things out. Maybe it’s because dinner’s in the oven and your time is limited, or maybe this is just how you are.

He aches, and in one go, you wrap your mouth around him and take him as deep as you can, he feels your throat constrict when you can’t go any further. Then, you do it again, again. It goes on that way, until he’s coated with saliva and the slide of your lips up and down the length of him feels as soft as the silk of your shirt, which he’s unintentionally fisting, trying to hold back.

Your hands squeeze his thighs, massaging them gently while you work diligently. It’s fast, but not so fast he can’t enjoy himself. Sloppy, but he prefers it that way. It’s perfect. He thinks you’re fucking perfect.

He decides he has to see you, watch you, and leans back to take you in more fully. One of his hands rises to slip under your chin, angles your face so your eyes lock with his own. “Look at me,” he says, a little press to get you to engage. He’s learning how to push you– just enough to get what he needs without scaring you away. And he’s rewarded when you moan around him, the vibration around his cock only bringing him closer to release.

“Such a sweet girl,” he murmurs, and you groan again at the praise – he relishes in how well he’s getting to know you, learning what gets you off – in the short time you’ve been together. “You look so pretty with your mouth full.”

Then he moves his hand to sift into your hair, collecting it gently at your nape so it stays out of the way, and he can gently guide you along.

You pull off him for a moment, your breathing ragged, lips swollen and wet. You look so good, out of breath and overworked all just to please him. And you don’t relinquish all contact, your hand replacing, your mouth so you can jerking him off, twisting slightly at the top and letting your thumb run over the head of his cock. “You work so hard, Joel,” you mumble. “Just want to take care of you.”

“Fuck,” he growls at the words. Words he’ll remember on nights when you aren’t lying next to him in bed. He’s got to hold out a little longer, just to see what else you might say.

It’s all you offer, though, because you wrap your lips around him once more.

He’s getting close. It wasn’t going to take much to begin with – but it’s the first time you’ve ever gone down on him, it’s been a long day, everything is compiling together to make him feel hotter and hotter, the pressure at the apex of his thighs reaching its precipice. One of your hands leaves his thighs to cup his balls, the other working the part of him your mouth doesn’t reach. He loses all his composure, his head falling back as his hips roll forward, choked sounding phrases leaving him. “Keep going, baby – just like that– so fucking good–”

You obey, because of course you do, and before he knows it – he’s coming, hard. You don’t pull back at all, just swallow him down as he pulses down your throat.

Joel covers his face with his hands and tries to steady his breathing, thoroughly spent. He’s fucking hungry, still, but at this rate, he may fall asleep soon. Warm palms land on his chest. For a moment, he’d nearly forgotten where he was.

“You good?” he opens his eyes to find you hovering over him, amusement in your expression.

“Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles, reaches out. “You can’t be fucking real,” he murmurs softly, hand on your cheek.

“Oh,” You pull back to retrieve your drink and take a sip. “I’m very real.”

“Come here.” He rasps, pulling you forward into a kiss.

When he attempts to deepen it, you pull back slightly. “Hey, uh…dinner’s gonna be ready any minute.”

“Oh?” Joel asks.

“Yeah,” you nod. “And I’m actually….well I’m actually kind of proud of it, so maybe we shouldn’t get too distracted.”

“Really?” Joel settles on pulling you against his chest, and you settle there easily. He’s hit in these moments with the awe that you let him this close, that you’re willing to do even more for him, you already have. “Sarah told me you can’t cook.”

“What?” you say incredulously, your head lifting off his chest. “That’s not true. I can, I just don’t.”

“You seemed to know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” you say confidently, then grimace. “Well, I mean, I can follow a recipe.”

Joel laughs. “I’m sure it’ll be good.” Your head goes back against his chest. He’s careful not to disturb you too much when he reaches for the remainder of his whiskey. “What is this?”

“Dunno,” and instead of reaching out for your own glass, you bring the hand that holds his own down to your lips to take a sip. He strokes your hair, watches you. “Bourbon.”

“It’s good,” Joel says, and drinks again. He wants to down the glass, then steal from yours like you did to him, but it tastes expensive.

You continue on. “A client gave it to me today for some pro-bono work I did. It’s probably meant to be served neat, but….it’s too hot for that.”

“Nice of you to help them out.”

You make a noise of affirmation, almost dismissive, and Joel continues on. “I should be doing more of that sort of thing.”

“It’s alright,” you shrug.

“You know I…..” you trail off for a minute, like you’re trying to decide if you want to share something with him. “All I do is work for corporations all day. I have to be kind of….manipulative? Self-serving. It’s a little exhausting. It’s nice when I can use my skills to actually help people, you know?”

“Can’t really picture you being manipulative,” Joel let’s his thumb graze over your cheek.

He thinks you might laugh, but instead you pull back, your expression unreadable. It’s easy to see that you’re studying him carefully, and he strokes your arm, giving you the space to continue. “You should know I haven’t always been the best person, Joel. No one has ever really looked out for me, so….” you trail off. “But I’ve been trying. To be better.”

You say it like you’re not convinced. Like you’ve been told it’ll never be possible. Joel gazes tucks your hair behind your ear reverently. “Wherever you’re at right now,” he says. “Is plenty good for me.”

“Yeah well,” your eyes flicker away – maybe it was too much. “Helps that I’ve been spending all my time with you and Sarah.” You smile gently, then change the subject. “Did you see, she did my nails?”

Joel looks down at your hands.

“What do you think?” you ask.

“They’re very….pink.”

“They are.”

Joel is thankful that Sarah has an outlet that’s not himself for something like this. He tries to imagine what it would be like to show up at work with his nails painted, and knows that he’d get shit for the rest of his life. “Better you than me, I guess.”

“Don’t give me any ideas.”

He laughs.

“Where is Sarah, tonight, anyways?” you ask Joel.

“My parents take her out for dinner at the end of every school year,” Joel says.

“Oh,” you seem a little surprised by the mention of his parents. “Do they live nearby?”

“Not too far,” Joel says. “About an hour and a half drive out of the city, close to Fredericksburg. They’re on a ranch….out in the sticks.”

“Is that where you grew up?”

“Yeah,” he can’t help but smile to himself. “It’s different now, but….my parents owned a strawberry patch.”

“Are you serious?”

It seems like a different lifetime ago, but Joel still remembers it all so vividly. The busy spring season, visitors from the city flocking to his family’s little farm in the middle of nowhere to pick the ripe fruit straight from the vine. His father had taught him how to mend fences and keep the pests away, and his mother taught him how to tend to the plants, to prune and nurture. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Joel shakes his head, continuing to recall. “Tommy and I would always try to sneak as many strawberries as we could without our parents noticing,” Joel recalls. “And then inevitably eat so many he’d make himself sick, then we’d both get in trouble.”

“Oh my god,” you shake your head in disbelief. “This doesn’t sound real. I need photos.”

“I have them…somewhere,” Joel says, and he’s sure they’re buried in a box in the back of his closet.

“It sounds so…idyllic,” you say, shaking your head. Joel had never thought much of it. Of course, when you’re a kid, your perspective is so narrow. Maybe he didn't realize how good he had it, and he supposes, to the right person, it might sound like a lie. It dawns on him that you're both so fundamentally different, but it doesn't feel that way.

A timer dings in the other room.

“That’s the oven,” you say, shifting away from him and standing up. You offer him your hand to help him off the couch, and he bats it away, buttoning up his jeans before joining you. “Let’s eat.”

Joel realizes that all the stress from the day has melted off, and he can’t even remember what exactly had him so flustered earlier. Right now, everything feels alright.

---

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elvensorceress · 2 months

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wip wednesday

tagged by @hoodie-buck @exhuastedpigeon @eddiebabygirldiaz @wikiangela @disasterbuckdiaz @diazsdimples @tizniz @heartshapedvows @theotherbuckley be sure to read their lovely snippets! 💕 tagging @spotsandsocks @shortsighted-owl @hippolotamus @messyhairdiaz @rogerzsteven @monsterrae1 @loveyouanyway @bekkachaos @daffi-990 @wh0re-behavi0r @eddiediazisascorpio @evanbegins @confetti-cupcake if you want to share anything 💕 More Unless because I WILL finish this monster. I WILL.

Eddie leans down, but only a little because his son is already ridiculously tall, and kisses Chris’ forehead. “You know you’re my favorite, right?”

Chris rolls his eyes but grins. “Buck can be your favorite, too. I know he is.”

“It’s different. You both are. But you are always first. He thinks so, too. You’re our son. We love you more than anything.”

The smile fades a little and then disappears as quickly as it appeared. “He’s going to stay with us, right? He’s not going to leave?”

Why is it always Chris who can so effectively drive a knife through Eddie’s chest with the way he’s suffered and lost and been in pain? Chris never should have had to experience so much pain. “Yes, Chris. He’s going to stay with us.”

Chris gives him that pointed, very Shannon look that twists the knife so well. He sounds fragile and so much closer to being the heartbroken six year old who missed his mom than he is to being the teenage survivor that he is. “Promise?”

He can’t promise that. Eddie can’t even say he believes it himself all the way. Why wouldn’t he fuck up and lose the best thing that’s ever happened to them? Why wouldn’t Buck get tired or fed up and leave Eddie?

Eddie’s not enough for him.

“I promise Buck is never going to leave you, okay?” Eddie tells him and it has to be enough. “You’ll always have him. He’s not going to stop being your dad for any reason.”

Chris just looks at him with unending sorrow and eyes full of tears. “What about you? You need Buck, too. I know you do. He’s also your favorite and your ‘more than anything’ and he’s both of ours and I don’t want him to leave you either. I know how sad you were, Dad. I know you were. You’re not the same without him. You need him. We both need him. I don’t want you to be sad like that ever. I don’t want to— I don’t want to lose Buck like we lost Mom. He’s my dad and you love him and I don’t want to do that again. We can’t do that again.”

Jesus Christ. Can he have a chance to not be stabbed through the heart, thanks?

“Chris—” What the fuck does Eddie even say? “Buck will always be my friend. Even if we don’t— even if—”

He can’t breathe. He can’t. There’s no air.

He has to swallow and get it together. It’s fine. He’s fine. The mere thought of having to break up is not going to make him panic. The thought of Chris losing another parent cannot make him panic either.

It’s just— it’s not great. The whole idea of losing Buck is awful and he hates it and doesn’t want to even think such a thing let alone talk about it.

But he has to say something. He has to reassure Chris. He blinks back his own tears and he can do this. They’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay. It has to. “If dating him doesn’t work out, Buck and I will still be friends.”

They will be. Their relationship is so much more than dating and kissing and being in love. It’s strong enough to survive anything. It would be awful and Eddie honestly doesn’t know if he’d ever stop being in love with him even if they had to face the horrible reality of a divorce. How could his heart ever stop wanting Buck? But they would find a way to be friends.

They might not be able to have a marriage, but they have to be in each other’s lives. That is nonnegotiable. They’d figure it out.

“And he’d still be your dad,” Eddie adds. “None of that would change.”

Chris sniffs and still frowns. But he tries to at least look like he buys it. “He wouldn’t live here with us though.”

“No, probably not. But in a few years, you won’t want to live here either. You’ll want to go to college or get some fancy job or maybe you’ll travel, but you’ll have your own life to live wherever you want and do whatever you want. You won’t be here either.”

It was supposed to be comforting, but it only makes Chris’ tears overflow. He goes back to hugging Eddie as tightly as possible and trying to stifle the way he cries.

Eddie simply hugs him in return and wishes he could banish away all his pain and anguish. But he doesn’t know how they would make it through losing Buck either. They would. They would have to. They have each other.

But Buck is missing pieces and filled in needs and worlds of love and support for both of them. Eddie doesn’t know how they’d keep going if all of that is ripped away. They would, but. How?

One step forward, one more breath. That’s all you can ever do. That’s what Bobby and Athena told him before. That’s all anyone can do.

Eddie closes his eyes tightly and has to shut it off and he just needs to comfort his son. He can do that. He just needs to protect and love his son.

After a tiny second of quiet, there’s movement at the doorway to the kitchen. And then Buck is wrapping around them both. Until they’re holding Chris between them while also gripping each other.

They’ve all been through so much loss, so much trauma, why wouldn’t the scariest, most horrible nightmare imaginable be the thought of losing each other and their little family?

Buck kisses them both, Chris on the side of his head and Eddie on his cheek, and he whispers promises of infallible, irrevocable love. Because he’s nothing if not his unfailing heart.

#buddie #buckleydiaz family feels #wip wednesday #jenwyn wip #buddie wip #911 #fic: unless you ask me to

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girlscoutbrownies · 6 months

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sbg headcanons!

(i had to put a title because it keeps just showing up as “aiden” in my notifs)

some of my favourite school bus graveyard headcanons! (in celebration of 101 followers) some are mine, some belong to other people that i’ve taken as well

these got really, really long so ill split it into two parts: aiden, tyler, and taylor for this post and ashlyn, ben, and logan will be in the next

——

aiden

(bit of a tw for disassociation around the end)

- uses he/any pronouns, he mostly doesn’t give a fuck. also doesn’t care if you stick to he/him because he likes it. he also tries out mirror pronouns every once in a while and flipflops between any

- unlabelled energy. also doesn’t care abt that type of stuff, but he’s asexual and it takes him a while to grow feelings. he’s afraid of letting people close to him but it really doesn’t matter to him, not that much. he’s pretty apathetic about it

- generally smells like shittily applied cedarwood cologne. it’s one of those cheap drugstore brands and sometimes he forgets to apply it in the morning, and he doesn’t spray it very well. also smells like grass sometimes

- his favourite subject is psychology/maths/anything logic based (he likes those puzzles). growing up with his bitchass karen mom who probably twisted all the words he said, he doesn’t like cryptic or vague language or poetry (english class) because it reminds him of her. in math, there’s only one answer. in english, there’s hundreds. also the words swim on the paper and he finds it hard to focus

- he has his ears pierced. he begged his parents to take him to an ear piercing studio they just ended up taking him to claire’s but he was still so happy about it

- he BEGGED for a dog or a pet when he was very little but eventually stopped at some point. he asked for stuffed animals and never got any because “it would be too hard to keep track of when we’re moving and you would lose them and get sad” and he’s still very upset about it. used to hug like three pillows when he slept

- he was told they were settling down in georgia and now his current room has millions of stuffed animals i will not hear any arguments about this

- he’s a kicker in his sleep (when he gets any). he kicks plushies off his bed like all the time, he’s not apologetic though he’s just like “oh shit”

- worst and best guy to have a sleepover with. super clingy

- he knows very few actual life skills other than operating a microwave for frozen meals because he largely grew up alone without his parental figures in his life. ashlyn and tyler eventually teach him how to cook

- his growth is stunted bc of that period in his life and he’s short like ashlyn

- he is a HORRIBLE gossip addict. they’ll be sitting at the lunch table eating in silence and he drops “did you hear that samantha’s parents are divorced and madison dropped her bc samantha’s mom doesn’t drive them to the mall anymore” like HUH WHERE DID YOU HEAR THIS?

- he gets school lunch and very rarely (if ever) brings lunch from home. sometimes ben makes him lunches

- plays with his food (this is canon) but he makes storylines out of whatever he does its like his personal roman empire

- big fan of extreme foods (spicy, sour, etc) ((he grew up eating plain ramen)) and loves weird food combinations. everyone always makes weird faces at him when theyre at the mall and he orders weird shit

- he doesn’t know proper meal etiquette until someone has to tell him, his parents didn’t teach him anything (I HATE THEM)

- he’s a really bad cook like ben because he always ends up getting distracted, and somehow manages to skip over steps in the recipes.

- he probably likes cooking shows though and is like “yeah i could do that” (he can’t do that)

- the first time someone (tyler) made aiden a homecooked meal he started cry laughing (it was mostly crying) (nobody talks about it)

- the few times his mom has made him meals whenever she’s home they’re really bad. they don’t taste anything like home, but he didn’t know what home tasted like so he just cried. his mom thought it was because of how good it was (it wasn’t) and he just cried harder

- he dislikes bitter flavours, especially like, orange juice that you make from scratch but you don’t put any sugar in it (it’s because his mom once tried to make homemade orange juice/lemonade to feel more like a “real mom” and it was horrible

- he’ll still eat bitter food though he just wouldn’t like it that much

- likes crunchy food or food that pops in your mouth (poprocks) bc he thinks its cool

- probably needs glasses from how long he’s spent staring at screens (his backstory)

- the one thing his parents consistently did as a kid was take him to his doctors appointments so he has stellar teeth

- he’s fit and fairly athletic (jumping off walls and all) but he doesn’t play sports because he just. isn’t interested in any of it. he tries everything but nothing really sticks that much

- he eats his greens but probably wouldn’t care much for the healthy vegan lifestyle, not that much of a picky eater (this part is canon)

- his favourite holiday is halloween because 1. candy (which he didn’t get much as a kid unless he specifically asked for it or ben brought it over) and 2. he loves dressing up it’s so fun to him

- understimulation is the BANE of his existence he genuinely wants to tear out his own hair every time he gets like that. gets really irritated

- he disassociates a lot, generally experiences a lot of derealization. he doesn’t feel like he’s in his own body sometimes

- insomniac

- chases thrills so that he can “feel” something. doesn’t care if it hurts him or not, because at least then he’ll remember he’s a real person and that his life matters

- really bad at telling when people are lying/are irritated with him. he just keeps pushing until they explode

- good with secrets (his own) but isn’t good at deflecting if asked about someone else’s. he’s just like “ummm. would u look over there. a bird!”

- runs really fast, he wakes up early in the morning to take a walk around the neighborhood. he sometimes encounters tyler if he happens to go into his city (which is often, because he doesn’t like being in his house)

- his house is always really cold, which is why he tends to run really warm (his body is compensating). he knows how to turn the ac off, but it always ends up turning back on in the middle of the night

- he grew up learning The Gifted Child instrument; the piano. he dislikes classical music (he says it’s boring but it’s because of this). he also almost got forced to learn the violin but he once practiced so hard his fingers started bleeding which is how he got out of it

- likes verbal validation bc his parents never told him they were proud of him

taylor

- she/they cis demigirl, gets a bit upset at being misgendered though (people think she’s the transfem twin because tyler passes really well)

- bisexual fem pref

- decorates her locker for almost every occasion. halloween, christmas, easter, birthdays. also decorates other people’s lockers for their birthdays before school starts with sticky notes

- has tons of stuff in her locker (except food because tyler won’t let her) just in case anyone needs anything but she’s not very organized so she doesn’t know where anything is

- because of this she’s one of those people that barely makes it to the door before the bell rings but she’s trying to fix that habit

- enjoys crime documentaries/true crime, horror stuff. used to make tyler watch with her but his anxiety gets really bad and he started getting paranoid

- adores christmas bc it’s a family holiday she makes tyler and her mom homemade gifts every year

- loves dogs with every bone in her body she asks santa for one every year but alas. tyler always has to write “a letter from santa” back saying they ran out of dogs at the north pole

- uses emoticons like “:D :] :3” all the time when she types, downloaded a bunch of sticker packs too. especially cat ones

- had her future all planned out as a kid and told her dad she’d be a mechanical engineer and build trains and rockets to bring him places when he started getting really sick and couldn’t move anymore

- her hair is actually kind of dry (compared to aiden’s or ashlyn’s) because they couldn’t afford great shampoo or anything

- has an ehh skincare routine and doesn’t care much for her fashion sense, just wears whatever’s comfortable

- knows a lot of random facts as conversation starters, she’s surprisingly good at small talk ( + comforting people)

- gossips with aiden aallll the time bc she’s super sociable and knows lots of people who tell her secrets. she doesn’t tell any of the important ones but just little drama things

- her and aiden are bffs

- really likes kids because they’re funny, she has a big imagination like them so it’s easy for her to play with them

- she’s a swiftie and whenever someone asks her if she likes taylor swift as a joke bc of her name she says “i like all music!” (she loves tswift)

- really likes sweets over most types of food, she’s healing her inner child guys

- has always ALWAYS wanted to go to a circus/carnival/festival when she was younger, but they couldn’t afford tickets. she still has that dream but she obviously has bigger priorities now…

tyler

- transmale he/him

- doesn’t care that much about dating, he actually doesn’t think about it that much until he meets The Gang. he always too busy taking care of his family to bother with relationships

- dislikes heavy meals, eats in small portions. it’s a habit

- used to be a picky eater but isn’t anymore, when he was younger they struggled to put food on the table so

- he’s like tigris from ballad of songbirds and snakes; when he prepared food for the family he’d eat bits and pieces of it while cooking. eats raw meat sometimes but once got sick from it so never again because he doesn’t want people taking care of him

- he HATES being sick. HATES HATES HATES it, hates having to burden people

- stress cooks because he likes having things to do with his hands. he also runs laps/paces around when he’s stressed

- runs his hands through his hair so it’s always messy

- he doesn’t bother combing his hair unless it’s for a special occasion like the first day of school, he just doesn’t care that much

- gets up early like aiden to keep up his physical fitness, doesn’t stray far though because his mom wakes up around the same time he does

- is VERY punctual. will be furious if someone makes plans and then is late. always arrives somewhere like, fifteen minutes early. he’s trying to break taylor’s habit of being late

- occasionally scolds taylor about how messy her locker is

- is extremely (and kind of scarily) meticulous. clean backpack, clean locker, clean room. it’s a habit

- book smart and figures things out pretty easily. he has an internal computer inside his head i swear. latches onto concepts very quickly

- likes math because he’s good at memorizing concepts but biology is his worst enemy, he gets queasy very easily

- motion sickness

- doesn’t actually have a set plan for the future, other than “help his family.” will probably do something related to sports (sports scholarship) or will do something math/analytical related

- spams people when they don’t respond to him but quits eventually (semicanon)

- has some sort of separation anxiety i swear he does

- keeps every single promise he makes because he hates broken promises (his dad told him he’d be fine and out of the hospital soon), he also doesn’t make a lot of promises

- dislikes nicknames like “champ” and “buddy”

- he’s ambidextrous

- he always seems to be like, tense? can’t relax at all. it might be because of his anxiety (HE HAS ANXIETY)

- only ever relaxes if he’s at home

- rarely watches television, he says it’s a waste of time (he always gets distracted and gets up and goes to do something else) he can leave it in the background though

- i think he has chronic pain, i don’t know where but i just think he does. everything just aches sometimes and he’s so young fuck life

- he’s okay with kids like his sister, not as good as her but he’ll take care of them (habit x37362828) he’d probably say everything really monotone though “there’s santa claus, wow.”

- he and taylor both have a pretty strong southern accent from living in middle of nowhere georgia (i think someone made an art post on this a while back :D)

- is really bad at video games because he gets frustrated easily

- he grinds his teeth when he sleeps and has jaw pain what a loser

#sbg #aiden rambles #school bus graveyard #school bus graveyard (webtoon)#headcanons #sbg headcanons #aiden clark #taylor hernandez #tyler hernandez #i didnt think these would get so long… help…#let me know if they’re inaccurate or if youd like to disagree i would /gen love to hear :D

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darling-i-read-it · 10 months

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Josh Lambert x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: age gap (legal ofc)

Author’s Note: this is not my best work and i WILL do josh better justice soon i swear to him

Summary: Josh comes for parents weekend and you, a TA for one of Dalton’s classes, take it upon yourself to flirt a bit.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

You moved your hair out of your face. The canvas in front of you taunted you with its unfinished work. You took a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth. You took a step back. The line work was shotty but you could probably fix it with more paint. You put your hand over your chin, lost in thought.

The sound of the door opening broke you from your thoughts. You looked over your shoulder. The double doors of the classroom creaked open as Dalton peeked his head in. You raised an eyebrow, hand still over your mouth.

“Good morning Dalton,” you said, a small smile on your face. “Class isn’t for another thirty minutes. You’ve been Armagan.” He looked aside, eyes scanning the room. It felt too large for just you. You thought the class could’ve been taught somewhere more intimate but it was up to the school where you would end up.

“I know, I just thought I’d get a headstart. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No worries. I don't think I’m gonna get any further with this anyway.” You let out a defeated sigh and put down your paintbrush. You clapped your hands together, trying to get any wet paint off your hands. Dalton awkwardly shuffled in around you. He went to his spot in the corner and started to get ready.

He had a bit of a schoolgirl crush on you. He tried not to show it on his face when he passed, a light blush on his cheeks. Your eyes followed him as he walked, putting his things down with a clatter. He winced at his own noise.

“Relax Dalton. I’m not gonna hound you for being loud.” You started to put your own paints away. You typically didn’t paint alongside the class. Armagan had picked you as her TA because you had graduated and were floating around the job space. She admired your natural ability to give direction. You were ten years older than Dalton but he swore you didn’t look it.

“I think it’s Armagan’s natural aura that makes me nervous,” he explained.

“She’s not even here,” you said, joking lightly.

“She lingers.” He sat down on his stool. You worked separately, putting things away and putting them up.

“Are you ready for parents weekend?” Dalton groaned, involuntarily. He had been actively blocking it out.

“My parents are divorced. I haven’t been ready for a parents weekend since I was 7.” You nodded once. “They’ll drive up separately and go to separate classes. My mom is a real talker.” You smiled. The parents were supposed to go around to classes and mingle among teachers. It was real old school and only worked because the school was small, but some teachers swore by it. You liked to hang around some of the classes to see who had birthed some of your less desirable students. You had seen some sketches of Dalton’s mom. She seemed like a nice lady.

“I hope to meet her.”

“I’m sure you will, if you’re within a five mile radius.”

Parents weekend approached steadily. Campus loved it. Everyone got to bring out their tents and sell things, make conversation about different parties and clubs. People handed out free food, there were a thousand people in the buildings, endless families sitting on blankets in the courtyard. You had decided to stay with Armagan after lunch and see who wandered in. They mostly wanted to talk with her, which you didn’t mind. You could people watch and eat snacks all day.

“So you teach him to paint? He knows how to paint,” someone's dad was muttering. Armagan cleared her throat.

“We teach them to hone their craft. Sometimes people don’t understand why they do things and we make an attempt to bring that out of them. Connect with their inner selves that aren’t able to make a public appearance.” The man snorted.

The windows were pushed open to let in the cool fall air. It brushed past your shoulders as the door opened again. People were waiting in line to chat with Armagan, helping themselves to the treats she had put out on the teachers desk. You pushed yourself off the stool and walked through the crowd when you saw Dalton. Standing with him was a man, taller than him, with a similar looking gaze.

Dalton smiled when he saw you.

“Hey,” he said. The familiar red cheeks were back. His dad seemed to notice them.

“Dalton! Nice of you to come.” You turned your head to Dalton’s dad. “You must be his brother.” Josh snorted, shaking his head.

“I’m his dad.”

“Please don’t flatter him,” Dalton mumbled, shaking his head. You outstretched your hand. He shook it.

“Josh Lambert.”

“Very nice to meet you Josh. I’m Y/N, I TA for Armagan’s class. I’m not the big guns but I promise, I’m easier on the eyes.” Dalton was staring at you, you could feel it. Your eyes stayed locked with Josh’s and suddenly you remembered what Dalton had said about his parents being divorced. Your collarbone felt hot.

Josh’s smile grew and his hand slipped out of yours.

“You don’t have to tell me that,” he promised.

“Oh my God dad,” he muttered. Armagan ushered for Dalton and Josh to come forward. Josh walked first and you nudged Dalton.

“You didn’t tell me your dad was hot,” you muttered.

“Why would I tell you that?”

“Common courtesy!”

Most parents were filling out on Sunday. Some stayed later, insisting on more time with their kids. You could only imagine what the hotel booking around the weekend looked like. On Sunday night you happened to be in class, setting up things for Monday. You were technically supposed to do it the same day of class but the rooms were completely empty until your class. And it was easier to do it the night before than wake up any earlier than you had to.

Dalton turned the corner. He was followed by both of his parents, who wanted a private tour of the area now that there were less people. Renai made up a fake story about wanting to see what she was paying for. She really just wanted a little bit more time with her son.

“The library’s upstairs,” he explained, half bored. He was pretending not to like spending time with his parents. He missed them too. Sometimes.

“Well I would like to see it,” Renai said, a smile on her face. “I didn’t get to see this building earlier. This has Armagan’s class right?”

“Yeah, down the hall,” Dalton said, gesturing to his left. Josh’s head swiveled, a gentle thump in his chest at remembering it.

“I wanna see the library first,” Renai said.

“Which way is the bathroom?” Josh asked. Dalton pointed lazily. Josh nodded. “I’ll meet you guys back down here?” They were only half listening. Renai’s voice could be heard as they went up the stairs, talking gently back and forth.

Josh turned the corner into the bathroom. His mind lingered on you, even as he washed his hands, staring at himself in the mirror. It was a brief interaction and he felt a small pit in his stomach at stealing Dalton’s thunder. Clearly he liked you, even if it was just a little. Josh thought the compliments might have been courtesy. Maybe you said that to every dad that walked through the door. Maybe you were just trying to make Dalton laugh.

Your voice remained in his head as he turned the corner into the classroom he had met you in. He didn’t bother knocking, sure it was empty this time of night. He opened the door slowly, surprised to see a glow of light.

You raised your head. You had only one overhead switch on, illuminating just the middle of the large room. When you turned with inquisitive eyes, you were met with just a shadow. You sat up completely.

“Hello?”

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. I thought there was no one here.” You stood up, recognizing the voice. You were organizing canvases on the ground. They were scattered all over, some in different sizes and colors. Your instructions were scrawled on a piece of notepaper that you could barely read.

“Josh?”

He opened the door a little more, bringing himself in the light. He gave you a thin lipped smile.

“I’m just waiting for Dalton and his mom.” You nodded once.

“I was getting ready for class tomorrow. I’m not an early bird,” you explained.

“I understand,” he said, nodding. He knew the early teaching days. “I teach English back home.I used to stay late after class to set up the lesson plan, rather than getting up any earlier than necessary.” Your eyes went wide with a bright smile.

“You teach English?” He nodded once, coming closer into the light. He had his hands in his pockets, trying not to be too affected by your gaze. “That’s so cool. That was one of my gazillion life ideas but I didn’t like arguing with other people’s opinions. I’m kidding. Kinda.” Josh laughed gently. He gestured towards what you were doing on the ground.

“Busy night ahead then?”

“Yes sir,” you mumbled, turning back to it.

“You could probably bribe Dalton to help. I think he has a little crush on you.” Josh just kept speaking and he didn’t even hear what he was saying until it was gone. It took everything in him not to close his eyes in embarrassment. You raised an eyebrow, pursing your lips. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said, laughing gently. “Plus, Dalton’s a little young for my taste,” you admitted.

Josh’s eyes almost popped out of his head. So he wasn’t imagining it. You were most definitely coming onto him.

“How long are you staying in town?” you asked. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. You suddenly got a little bit worried you had been too aggressive. If he was anything like his son, he was a bit shy. “Sorry, I don’t mean that in a weird way. Unless you want it to be a weird way, I just wasn’t sure how to-”

“No, no,” he assured you. “I like the weird way.” This time he shut his eyes in surprise. “I’m sorry, I haven’t done this in a while.”

“We’re doing something?”

“Are we not?”

Your nerves settled into a small knowing smile. Josh looked at you expectantly.

“We are,” you promised. “If you’re not busy, I should be done here in about an hour,” you offered. He nodded, releasing some of the stress that came with this conversation.

“That would be great.”

“Awesome. You don’t think Dalton would mind?”

“I don’t wanna step on his feet but you are a couple years older than him.”

“You’re a couple years older than him Mr.Lambert.”

“Something tells me that you don’t mind.” His voice had grown some confidence and edge to it. You leaned back, nodding.

“You’re a smart cookie.” Voices came from the still open door. You both turned towards it.

“So this is it?” Renai asked. Dalton pushed the door open. He came to a slow stop when he saw the two of you, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Hey Dalton.”

“This is my TA,” he explained to his mom. “What are you guys doing in here? Alone?”

“I was waiting for you guys,” Josh explained.

“I’m setting up for tomorrow,” you said. Dalton looked between the two of you. His jaw set in suspicion. “We were just chatting.”

#josh lambert x reader #josh lambert imagines #insidious imagines

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fiveredlights · 3 months

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we should be worried i’m listening to moon song by phoebe bridgers and thinking about maxiel…i’m giving it twenty seconds before i can think of a fic to write (i lied i already have a plan for the fic if you wanna hear it, if you don’t too bad it’s here)

okay so it starts with maxiel breaking up around 2021/2022 or 2018 i haven’t decided yet, but i wrote a bit that i think sums up with they broke up:

“I would’ve given you everything,” Max says quietly.

He knows. Daniel knows it so deeply. “You were a kid and you looked ready to spend the rest of your life with me.”

“Don’t call me a kid.” Max bites back, angry and hurt. He’s digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand and Daniel reaches out to unfurl them, like he used to do a thousand times when they were younger. He regrets it, instantly.

He forgot how much he liked holding Max.

The world always seemed a much quieter place with Max in his hands.

i can’t decide if it’s max or daniel who calls it off, because i think the whole reason daniel would call it off is because how scared he is of max—in the sense that he would literally do anything for him. daniel probably wouldn’t know what to do with that so he does what he has always fallen back to and it’s to run. max, i can’t think of a reason rn but that’s a future me problem.

anyways cut forward to the future, daniel’s back at red bull etc etc he retires in 2026/7. but during this redbull s2 stint they start falling back into old habits. they’re not together, far from it but it’s so achingly reminiscent of their relationship in the beginning. max is also dating someone else during this time and daniel knows if he said anything max would break up with them in an instant, so he’s very careful to draw these lines.

max’s wedding is in 2028 and daniel’s invited because of course he is (and he attends because he loves to hurt himself.) you know that part where it’s like “if anyone has any objections speak now or forever hold your peace” daniel is looking at max who to his horror is looking right back at him. like he’s daring him to say something. nothing happens, they get married and it’s probably the final breaking point for daniel, he can’t still be thinking about max a decade on. he goes radio silence and moves back to perth.

2030, max divorces his wife and shows up in perth unannounced. daniel closes the door on him because he knows what max is here for. a couple hours later he opens the door to leave and max is still there on his veranda. it’s a bit pathetic, daniel thinks—but he takes pity on him and lets him in. they argue, they fight, max still tells daniel he loves him and it hurts so much. for the words to come out so easily like they’re still people with absolutely nothing left to lose. then max hears a baby crying and the floor falls beneath his feet. he very tentatively follows daniel, to where he’s bouncing a baby in his arms, trying to get her back to sleep.

it’s there for the first time where max realises (for the first time in his life) that daniel has always had the option of moving on. he did, so why did he feel like daniel couldn’t? and max does what daniel to him ten years ago and he runs. he leaves, has to start properly closing the chapter on daniel ricciardo. he sits in his airport rental car on daniel’s driveway and wonders where did it go so wrong for them. he sits there for a good thirty minutes before daniel knocks on his window and sits in the passenger seat next to him.

and for the first time in probably three years daniel talks. he talks and he talks and he talks. he learns that it’s just daniel and his daughter. she’s about three months old. tentatively, slowly, max reaches across the console to hold daniel’s hand. daniel allows him.

they can’t be the same people they were ten years ago, but they also can’t start from the beginning. they’ll start in the middle, relearning everything about each other. it’ll be slow, it’ll hurt but they’re together now.

—

this whole thing revolves around these lyrics:

And if I could give you the moon / I would give you the moon / You are sick, and you're married, and you might be dyin' / But you're holdin' me like water in your hands

this will literally take me 6+ months so like daniel ricciardo trying to lower everyone’s expectations about the performance of VCARB—don’t hold your breath….

#please scream about this with me in my ask box i can’t stop thinking about this #moon song verse #daniel ricciardo #max verstappen #maxiel #wip #f1 fic

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 20 days

Note

When do you think she’ll pull the trigger on the divorce? Or they’ll pull a David and Wallis, miserable ever after.

I don’t know anymore. I used to think as soon as she had Archie, she’d bail for LA, taking the designer clothes and leaving divorce papers (as she did to Trevor).

Then I thought Harry wouldn’t be able to cope with being in the US (he seems to be doing fine, I guess).

Then I thought they wouldn’t be able to deal with the COVID lockdowns together and they’d be a COVID casualty. But then they bought a 14-bedroom mansion for 3.5 people so…

Other things have happened over the years that made me think “this is it, this is the trigger,” but they’re still sticking together.

As most recently as last summer (Summer 2023) they had started to split their public personas and brands which felt like a trial run of divorce PR in a “can we do this separately” sort of way but obviously something happened that made Meghan cancel her separate PR and they launched a “happy couple” PR campaign at Düsseldorf IG.

So every time I think “this is it,” they get through it and it’s not really fun anymore guessing “this is it.”

I do think this Nigeria trip is do or die. ARO/Roop isn’t going well - social media likes and follower counts have stagnated. Meghan isn’t getting big offers anymore. She can’t find a CEO for ARO and the gossip that she’s stealing concepts from Flamingo and Goop is getting louder by day. Invictus Games is also having trouble, with financial revelations that Düsseldorf and The Hague games were enormously over-budget. Then the royals didn’t show up for the anniversary service (which I feel was only planned so Harry could try to force their hand and support/see him). Now the gossip is getting louder that Invictus wants out because Harry (and Meghan) isn’t delivering on being their patron.

So it’s do or die time. Harry needs to step up and show he can actually help and work for Invictus. Meghan needs the humanitarian branding to correct some of the public perception about her greediness and luxury-focused ego that ARO revealed. They both need the diplomatic branding to remain relevant and competitive with William and Kate and to get new money/endorsements/content for their projects.

If they don’t succeed on each of these fronts, then they’re going to be pretty miserable when they go back home. Miserable enough to divorce? I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. They don’t really seem to live together and as long as they can keep that from becoming public knowledge (for now it’s just speculation and gossip), they’ll probably stick it out together. Meghan because she knows being married to Harry keeps her name in the press more than it would if she wasn’t. Harry because he doesn’t want to admit to everyone back home that they were right and he was wrong.

And of course, let’s not forget that Meghan always needs a safety net before she leaves a relationship. She won’t leave Harry until she has someone better and more wealthier already committed.

#brf #sussexes #theories #rumors

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an0nfr0mth3d3n · 5 months

Text

Ever heard the ‘Foolish and Bad are divorced’ theory? Here’s totally what happened.

Bad probably lost one of his lovers, and it happened to coincide with Foolish losing one of his lovers, and usually what happens is they seek each other out and cry about it (well Bad cries, Foolish makes a bunch of really sad and deprecating jokes because humor is his coping mechanism).

Well when the coincidence happens, they both end up finding each other and just, venting about mortals and how immortality sucks sometimes, until Bad is like, “gosh darn it Foolish I can’t go through this again. Can you just marry me so we can find love together and not get love-trapped by stupid mortals again?”

(I’m aware the words are out of character but if it was in character the amount of dodging and implying would take up several paragraphs and I’m not doing that)

And Foolish laughs and is like “Aaa fuck it. Might as well try I guess, your stupid ass is the only one who doesn’t leave anyways”

It’s very unofficial, they don’t go to a church or anything, and their rings are just mismatched random rings that Bad stole, but they both have weird and mixed feelings about this.

Bad says he’s sure they’ll love each other eventually (I hc him as demiromantic because it’s on the spectrum and because also that’s me too so yippee)

It takes a day or too before Foolish can’t take it any longer. Not only is it too soon, but when he takes a step back from his grief and actually imagines being in a somewhat romantic relationship with Bad, he wants to puke and roll over and die somehow. Also probably had something to do with the fact that Bad started moving in to his current build project and setting up space there and usually it’s not a promising sign for a marriage if you started the day after absolutely strangling your partner.

Bad also realizes this too. The thought of a traditional marriage at ALL has never sounded appealing. He isn’t one to get domestic with it, and despite trying to set up a home with Foolish sounds unappealing (noooo had nothing to do with the current bruises on his neck right now…) Bad lived for adventure, and liked solitude once in a while, and marriage was just a tether that promised no benefits except for tax purposes and he already evades taxes anyways.

They both fight each other to be the once that divorces the other, and they start by making this EVERYONES problem. They never had a traditional wedding, but they DID go to an official divorce court, making it a point to hire the best talent with divorce lawyers out there. Not that there was much to go on, they were only married for a handful of days, and it wasn’t even official so the lawyers have no clue what to do. They go with it anyways because it’s a totem shark and a demon and they are already beating the shit out of each other in the middle of the court, and the lawyers did NOT want to get in the middle of that.

Bad of course tries to weasel his way into getting 50% of Foolish’s build, and Foolish gets impatient with the court and just attacks Bad himself, fed up at the consistent attempts to steal his build.

They both roll around on the ground, biting, kicking, punching, and both of them are smiling through it. They can lean on each other when times get tough, but Landduo will NEVER stoop to petty human traditions ever again.

(whoops this turned into a mini hc fic)

#badboyhalo #foolish #landduo #foolhalo

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rogerswifesblog · 1 year

Text

Stacy’s mom

My Masterlist

A/N: inspired by the song “Stacys mom” and our conversation @jamneuromain 😋 it was very spontaneous and I wrote it in a few hours but…It was kinda fun🤣 so let me know how you liked it! I’m thinking about a pt 2! (Yes I know I have thousands series and one shots planned and am still working on the bingo drabbles but…I like writing most of my things depending on my mood😋)

Summary: Steve knew he was in trouble walking into his friends house and seeing her mom.

Pairing: highschool!Steve Rogers x Stacys Mom reader

Warnings: stacys mom reader, older reader, age gap, Steve is 17/18 but reader and him don’t interact then besides some teasing, masturbation, underage drinking

“I think we should choose the second topic. Benefits of daily exercise and how to incorporate it into your routine. Let’s be honest, I’m the real life example”, Steve laughed, sitting with Stacy in her living room on the floor, in front of the coffee table. It was the first time he was at her place, needing to finish a project that was very important for the grade.

A few months ago his asthma became much better and his many asthma attacks stopped, making it possible for him to exercise. Puberty finally hit him and he got a growth spurt, growing nearly ten inches in just a few months. He was still lanky, but happy about not being the shortest in the class anymore.

But with puberty also came acne, his forehead and cheeks were covered in small and annoying pimples. He used extra creams to get rid of them, which slowly helped.

“That’s a good idea. Maybe you could talk about your experience…how it affected your health and body”, Stacy thought about it for a second before taking some notes. “We can-“ The slamming of a door made Stacy jump slightly, so did Steve.

“Are you stupid?! I said no. It’s tomorrow and not in a week do you hear me? You’re not going on any stupid trips with your new wh- oh I will call her what I want! You dirty cheater-don’t you dare not show up tomorrow-” a woman’s voice carried through the house, the clicking of heels coming closer as you walked into the kitchen, Stacy and Steve watching you as you opened the fridge, not even noticing the two teenagers.

“For fucks sake, I have all rights being mad at you. We were together for-” They both didn’t listen much further as Stacy started talking about the project again, but Steve wasn’t listening to her either. His gaze was glued to your form, dressed in an expensive looking suit, the red-bottomed heels making your legs look incredibly hot, your butt- “Steve, are you even listening?” “Of course I do. Yes. Definitely.-“ “yeah? What was I talking about?”

“….could you…maybe repeat it?” Steve felt himself blush a dark red, his face burning with shame of being caught checking out her mom. That was definitely embarrassing.

Even though he started working on the project again, he couldn’t stop himself from peaking over at you. You were still turned with your back to Them arguing on the phone.

“She’s probably talking to dad again. They argue a lot now with the divorce…I don’t blame her. Of course I love my dad, but he did her wrong. They were married for nearly twenty years and he cheated on her-from what I’ve heard it wasn’t the first time or at least it wasn’t a one time thing”, explained Stacy, seeing as Steve was looking over to the kitchen.

He blushed again, nodding slowly. “Sorry, I just thought we’d be alone. It’s a bit distracting-“ for other reasons that Stacy might suspect. “I can tell her to go to her office or bedroom. They’ll probably argue for a long long time…”, she sighed, already standing up. Steve immediately followed her, shaking his head, “no, no. It’s fine. We can just take a break for now-maybe order something to eat? Your mom maybe wants something too…”, he felt himself blush again, as Stacy walked to the kitchen, Steve following her.

“Hi mom-could you please talk a bit quieter? I told you Steve’s coming over today. We have a project”, said Stacy walking into the open kitchen. “But we’ll take a break now-order something to eat. You want something? A pizza? Thai?”

Hearing your daughters voice you lowered your phone, turning around to look at her, your gaze falling onto the young blonde boy watching your every move. He seemed…mesmerised. He extended his hand to introduce himself properly, making you smile lightly as you ended the call without saying anything else and took his hand. “Nice to meet you, Steve. I’m sorry you had to hear this. I’m usually not such a bitch it’s just my soon ex-husband makes my blood boil” You laughed quietly.

Steve chuckled too. You could tell it was a nervous chuckle. You imagined he may have liked your daughter and was stressed of meeting you, her mother.

“Just order the usual pizza I like and take some money from my purse, I’ll go change into something more comfortable.” With that you left the room and seeing how Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of you he knew he was in trouble.

The next time he saw you was only three weeks later, once again at stacys house. After working some more on the project they both decided to sit at the pool and sunbathe a bit. When he noticed the lawnmower at the gate seemingly unused since the lawn wasn’t taken care of. “You need help with the lawn maybe? I can take care of that”, said the young boy already standing up and walking over to the lawnmower.

Stacy wanted to argue with him about not needing to do so, but he did anyway. It’d only take him a few minutes and he liked the idea of impressing Stacy’s mom, you.

When he was nearly finished you walked out of the house, a towel wrapped around your body, the strings of a black bikini wrapped around your neck. And when you dropped the towel-he could burst. Your body was incredible. You were already a bit tanned, your curves dressed only in the bikini, your thighs moving against one another, the thick flesh wiggling with every step, making him want to bite into it.

Jesus. He really shouldn’t be thinking about things like that or he’d soon have a problem that needs to be hidden.

You were incredibly beautiful, your breasts and stomach looking so soft. He could see some stretch marks, but they only made you even more attractive.

“You missed a spot over there, Stevie sweetheart”, you teased him, noticing how he stopped concentrating on his task. He felt himself blush, a small smile creeping on his lips as he nodded and kept going, this time a bit more concentrated.

You couldn’t stop yourself from teasing him a bit more, since he watched you Everytime he walked by, so you took the sunscreen and started applying it on your whole body. Stacy didn’t notice any of it since she had her eyes closed. Besides you tried to make it look like you weren’t doing anything on purpose-especially not then you stood up and started applying the suncream on your legs, bending down and showing off your legs.

A grin crept on your lips when you heard the Grill being knocked over. It was your ex husbands anyway.

After finishing mowing the lawn he quickly excused himself to the bathroom, closing the door and immediately leaning against the text wall, pushing down his swim shorts. His hardness springing free. He didn’t waste any time before spitting in his palm and wrapping his fingers around his length, stroking himself hard and fast.

He tried to keep his moans quiet, but still couldn’t stop the gasps escaping his lips, especially when he started imagining it wasn’t his hand on his dick. He thought about your soft skin against his body. Your thighs wrapped around his slim waist-or even better if he’d fuck your thighs. Your meaty legs would feel amazing, squeezing his dick. Maybe you’d even let him finish like that. On your stomach and tits-or Steve you’d let him fuck your pussy without a condom, letting him feel your velvet walls. Your wet and tight curb gripping him tightly, your moans would be so soft and sweet.

Before he’d let himself come he’d make sure to get at least two orgasm out of you. Maybe one with his mouth or fingers, then on his cock…then he’d love to shoot his load in you. Filling you with his seed.

The thought was all he needed to come, shooting his load all over himself. Thank god he managed to push his shirt up just in time before making a mess.

He felt ashamed wiping off his cum from the bathroom floor before walking back to the pool, where his heart's desire sat.

It was a fantasy. He knew. He definitely had no chance, being only a teenager and especially being friends with your daughter.

But having a fantasy didn’t hurt even a bit, right?

He loved watching you whenever you moved or walked around the house. Your house quickly became a place he visited at least once a week, always working on the project. But the worst was happening-well, two things. One, the project was slowly coming to an end and you had a date.

It’s not like he had any right to be jealous, but…still. Watching you getting all dolled up for some guy made his heart tighten. You always looked beautiful but seeing you in a beautiful light blue dress, with a low cleavage, showing off your shoulders and collarbones made his throat dry. The dark, black choker you wore made you look a bit like…Cinderella.

A smile crept onto his lips as he thought about it, quickly looking down not to get caught.

He wished you looked this good for him. He wished he could take you out on a date, have your soft hands wrapped around his arm.

But he couldn’t take you out. He didn’t even have the money to do so.

Sighing he opened his textbook again, taking some last notes.

Maybe one day he could at least buy you a bouquet of the most beautiful roses…

The project was finally finished, only two weeks later Stacy and Steve had everything ready to hand in and decided to have a nice and relaxing evening together drinking some beer which…Stacy asked you to buy. Surprisingly Stacy said you had only chuckled at that question and actually bought a few.

In all These weeks Steve and Stacy got closer, but only in a platonic way. Stacy had tried to flirt with him at first, but it changed quickly. He couldn’t tell exactly when but at some point she just stopped.

And now they were just sitting in the backyard, drinking beers, both on their third ones.

“Steve…I wanted to ask you…have you a thing for my mom?”, not expecting this question Steve choked on his beer, immediately coughing and spitting his beer all over himself.

“Wh-what?”, he croaked, shaking his head quickly. “I-I'd never-no. Of course not. That’s-That'd be…that’d be weird. I’m mean-it’s your mom-“ Stacys laugh interrupted his rambling.

“I knew it. You’re not very subtle with all the question you know? Is your mom back from the business trip? Is she away for work again? Do you think she likes roses or sunflowers more? You weren’t subtle. Not at all, Steve. At first I was really weirded out, but…I guess we all have some weird crushes at some point, you know? We’ll go to college soon, anyway, so you’ll get over it”, she shrugged, making Steve blush with every next sentence.

He took another big sip from his bottle, looking to the house for a second, where he could see you walking around the kitchen, preparing dinner. “Yeah…’s just a crush”, he mumbled, not wanting to tell Stacy how much he actually liked you.

But she was right. He’d probably get over you soon. He’d meet someone at his new university…

But did he really want that??

This thought stayed in his head for the rest of the evening, his chest feeling incredibly tight knowing it may be the last time he’d see you.

Slightly drunk Stacy and Steve walked back into the house, seeing you had left the food for them on the counter. They are quietly, not wanting to disturb you and after both laid down-Stacy in her room and Steve in the living room on the pull-out sofa. Even tho he was comfortable and surrounded by your smell he didn’t feel any peace. He couldn’t fall asleep, his mind was racing.

You yourself had eaten earlier before taking a bath and walked into your bedroom to go to sleep early.

But of course you were awoken by your small bladder, needing release. Sighing you sat up, straightening your nightgown in case the kids were still outside or still awake. Then you walked out of your bedroom, wrapping a silky robe around your body.

You did your business quietly, washed your hands and looked a bit tiredly into the mirror. A sigh escaped your lips. You were getting old, weren’t you? This year you turned 36 and it showed. The wrinkles around your eyes couldn’t be hidden anymore. Your skin wasn’t as smooth as it used to be. Your body wasn’t the same anymore, you had stretch marks, it was hard to stay in shape, especially with your limited time since you were always busy with work…

You sighed again, putting your night creame once again on. It wouldn’t change anything overnight of course, but you still hoped it’d slow down the aging. It’s not like you looked bad or really old-you weren’t even that old, if you had to be honest, but….you’d love to be twenty again, for one night at least.

Leaving the bathroom you walked quietly through the room, being stopped when Steve stumbled out of the living room, looking like he was in a hurry-at First you thought he wanted to go to the bathroom but when you stepped aside to let him through, he only stepped closer to you.

Your gaze fell for a second on his bare, slim chest. He gained a bit muscles since you had last seen him at the pool a few weeks ago. He looked cute. Not that it mattered. It’s weird you were even thinking like this.

“Give me a chance”, he mumbled, making you furrow your eyebrows, a little wrinkle appearing between them. “What?” “Give me a chance…I-I’ll try to be the perfect guy for you. I could be-I just-I need to finish school-and co-“ You shook your head, now understanding. “Steve, Steve, stop-We can’t. I can’t…you’re just drunk. You gotta go back to sleep, okay?”, you smiled kindly, slowly wrapping your fingers around his wrists and pulling him with you to the living room, pushing him into a sitting position.

“I mean it-you deserve a guy like me. I’ll be perfect for you-I know I’m still young but-“ “exactly Steve. You’re young. You could be my child-your friends is my daughter, okay? I’m really flattered by your attraction but…it’s not right. I’m sorry, Steve, you need to go to sleep now. And let’s just ignore this conversation, okay”, you tried to be gentle with your words but still saw some tears well up in his eyes.

Hesitatly you stepped between his legs, wrapping your arms around him and pulling into a hug. His head immediately rested against your stomach, right below your breasts as he sniffed quietly. Not wanting to make it any harder for him…and maybe also yourself…you pulled away.

While leaving the living room your couldn’t stop yourself from looking over your shoulder at him, meeting his gaze. You immediately looked away again and walked to your room.

This time it was much harder to fall asleep.

In the morning you quietly made some scrambled eggs and beacon, trying to ignore the feeling rising up in your chest when Steve woke up from the smell and a smile appeared on his lips, you noticed it, because you were watching him from the open kitchen. You could see him perfectly. And it broke your heart.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly, feeling a bit of a headache, especially remembering the conversation with you. Oh god. Had he really did it? Said he wanted to be with you?

You noticed how Steve blushed and when he looked up at you, your eyes meeting, your own face started burning. As quick and nonchalant as possible you looked away.

Only a few minutes later Stacy came to the kitchen and you sat down together to eat breakfast. All this time you tried to ignore Steve even though you still felt his gaze on you.

After finishing the food it was time for him to leave and stacy decided to drive him, so she quickly went to her room to get ready. Meanwhile steve stayed with you in the kitchen, putting the dishes away.

“About yesterday…I’m sorry. For everything…I still stand by it, but I shouldn’t have be so pressing-“ “Steve, don’t worry. I get it…in a way, at least. You’re a very sweet boy, but I’m too old for you. It can’t happen”, You explained friendly, smiling at him before looking once again.

You felt Steve step a bit closer to you, the warmth of his body radiating. “Is…is there really no chance? Not even a small one? Please…”, he whispered, his hand gently touching your arm.

Steve noticed how you got goosebumps as soon as he touched you. A nervous chuckle escaped your lips as you patted his arm gently, yearning Stacy walking down the stairs.

“Yeah, sure Steve, come back when you’re twenty one”, you joked quietly, stepping away again just in time for Stacy to walk into the kitchen. “Okay-we can go!”

With that Steve looked at you one last time before disappearing. Not only did he leave your house that day, but also walked out of your life forever.

Or so you thought.

In the first few weeks you had thought about him more than you should. About his pretty smile and the beautiful blues. About his graduation and which college he chose. About if you’d ever see him again, which you knew you shouldn’t.

Months later you stopped thinking about him so often. There were a few evenings where you thought about him, sure, but less and less…

And then the years went by and Steve became one of Stacys old highschool friends that she hadn’t talked to in a long time.

So it surprised you to say the least when you heard the doorbell, interrupting your quiet moment of reading. You were so concerned on the book you jumped slightly, putting your book down and walking to the door. In this time the doorbell rang again. “Jesus, so inpatient…”, you mumbled to yourself, opening the door.

Your breath hitched.

Your heartbeat immediately speeding up.

In the first second you didn’t even recognise him.

He was bigger. His shoulder so broad you weren’t sure if he’d fit in the door, taller than before and…a beard. Wow.

He changed a lot.

But his beautiful eyes stayed the same. The same bright blue.

“Steve? What-“ “You said to come back when I’m twenty one…so, can I take you out on a proper date now?”, he interrupted you, holding out his ID for you to look over.

He was indeed twenty one. Today was his birthday.

Pt 2

Thank you for reading!

Let me know! Support your writers by reblogging and leaving feedback! Receiving feedback motivates a lot!

Questions? HC ideas? Drabble ideas? Thoots? -> flood my inbox!😋❤️

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Wanna be on my taglist? Let me know, there is only one rule; be active by leaving feedback and preferably reblogging! ❤️

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #flood my inbox #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you

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venuscnjunctpluto · 1 year

Text

Astro pt. 8

Credits: @venuscnjunctpluto

* libra placement rappers have very high profiled relationships (ex: nba youngboy, lil durk, nle choppa)

*ginnifer goodwin killed her role as Snow White/Mary Margaret and I found out she has mercury conjunct chiron like me. She has a very soft caring voice and her character was also a teacher who helped cared deeply for her students (and one of them turned out to be her grandson lol)

*this placements does well on podcasts because we once we learn to understand our pain and develop the ability to speak freely about it which a lot of people can’t do (Miley Cyrus also has mercury-Chiron and hearing her talk about her divorce was therapeutic)

* Taurus placements take their time in love and can turn people off by moving so slowwww. Kanye West (taurus Venus and mars conjunct) was friends w Kim for years before they began dating. And in his song “Stronger” he repeatedly says “you know how long I’ve been on you since prince was on Apollonia.” They’re also very persistent lol

*rihanna and beyoncé have a lot of opposites. Their risings, suns, and venuses. They are good examples at the differences between libra and Aries. Beyoncé has a more polished and controlled image for the masses while rihanna has had a “bad girl” who does what she wants persona. Both work hard and are respected big cardinal energy

*my sister has mars in 3rd and I’m a Aries rising. My cousin has Saturn in 3rd and his brother is a Capricorn rising. Your third house placements could signal what your siblings placements are. I also have cancer on 3rd and my sister is a cancer rising. She has libra in 3rd and im a libra moon.

*mars in 3rd is the worst person to argue with because they say the most terrible things in a heartbeat.

*leo risings babies either have alot of thick hair or their hair took longer to grow.

* Taurus risings are noticeable w their thick brows and prominent noses (plus some sort of jewelry) , Aries risings have huge heads and usually look somewhat fit, Virgo risings have the most doll like eyes that make them look soft, Gemini risings are very talkative and like bold bright colors esp nail polish, Sagittarius rising come across as wise but also smile a lot (they have slender faces as well), cancer rising have a shy aura and round cheeks (plus dimples), Leo risings usually have chubby cheeks and cute smiles w buttonish noses.

*also I notice Aries risings tend to like neutral colors. Our complexions can be so reddish or vibrant that sometimes bold colors are too much.

*i instantly know when I have Venus in 1st synastry w someone. The Venus person will try to get your attention at some point and want to talk to you. When they do, they’ll stand very close with you and mirror your posture. And they look at you like “😍”

*the ppl who bully their crushes are sag risings (Aries in 5th), Aries venuses, Scorpio venuses, Venus/Mars in 8th. It has to be the Martian energy. They can be hostile but I think it’s because they’re have such strong feelings so when their crush does anything they view as a slight…they’re in a bad mood.

*cancer + taurus placements might have an issues with alcohol

*Jhene Aiko is a perfect example of sag + Pisces placements. These people can be deeply spiritual or religious. They take their belief systems very seriously and it’s shown in their appearance. (Cross necklaces, tattoos, crystal bracelets, etc…)

*Big sean has moon-pluto and i notice straight men are attracted to women w aspects similar to their moon aspects. Jhene and Ariana (who he also dated) both have Venus opposition pluto so they’re behavior towards him probably reminds him of his relationship with his mom. I talked to a guy w moon square pluto and his mom was completely overbearing and I have Venus conjunct pluto. Or a straight guy with moon-square Uranus would be attracted to a woman w Uranus/ Aquarius energy.

#astro observations #astro notes #astro community #jhene aiko #ariana grande #cancer #rihanna #beyoncé #libra #aries #taurus venus

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foxymoxynoona · 9 months

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Over the Falls Ch. 3: Churn

Sexy Banner & bar by @borabae-gx

Summary: Jungkook sees a lot of things as a pool tech. It’s… fine. It pays the bills between mornings on the water and evenings rocking out with his garage-band. His favorite thing to see on the job has been Grace Birch –older but a hottie, wealthy but nice, and unfortunately very married. At least until Grace learns what her husband has been up to behind her back. Now that she’s free, Jungkook finds himself wondering: what does it take for a guy like him to catch the eye of a woman like that?

Genre: Poolboy Jungkook x Rich Divorcee OC

Tags: Age gap (older woman), socioeconomic gap, Surferboy JK, drummer/guitarist/vocalist JK, Wealthy divorcee OC, househusband

CW: Mature/Explicit, Infidelity (not between JKxOC), language, alcohol, recreational drugs, lots of explicit sex, ageist/racist/classist remarks down the road, outdoor sex, beach sex

Chapter Two | Masterlist | Chapter Three

“GRACE!”

She hated the way her name sounded as a shout. The gr got swallowed, the a dragged out, the c punched too hard. Tim had always said her name in a way that sounded like an insult, she just hadn’t realized it until now. He rarely called her by it, only if he was angry or disappointing her, pleading for her to accept an insincere apology.

Grace pulled her phone out and opened the voice recording app, as instructed. When her divorce attorney had given her these tips, she hadn’t thought she would need them. She’d been more focused on her regret that she wouldn’t get to see Tim’s face when he got served the papers. He’d be so shocked. He didn’t know she knew. He would never expect her to go through with this even if she did find out –and that had, in fact, been the deciding thing for her. Her husband would make excuses and expect to be forgiven.

Well, she refused. She refused to be that woman. She refused to spend another minute of her time working on a marriage to this man. She’d worried about her decision up until the first meeting with her divorce attorney and then relief had flooded her system so sharp and fast that it nearly carried her away. She couldn’t fucking wait to be divorced from this asshole, who was too stupid and to even delete the evidence from their in-home camera system

They’re always stupid, the divorce attorney –a woman named Lidiya Hel, very good at what she did– told her. Their egos can’t imagine that they’ll get caught. Their egos can’t imagine they won’t be forgiven because they’ve always been forgiven for everything. It’s not like this is the first thing he’s done wrong in the marriage, is it?

No. It was not.

As soon as the backdoor slid open, Grace sprang to her feet, hit record, and announced, “I am recording this conversation so I’d suggest not saying anything you don’t want on record.”

“Grace.” He spat her name and stormed towards her, the yellow legal envelope curled in his hand like a newspaper to hit her on the nose with. “The fuck is this? Divorce papers?”

“Yes. Did you read them?”

“I didn’t need to! I saw the first line and knew something was wrong. I was at work! I was just leaving a meeting with the CEO and this fucktard comes up and asks who I am. I thought it was a shithead new hire! Instead he gives me this shit. At work!”

Grace was glad to hear the play by play and corrected him, “I don’t control when the server finds you.”

“Don’t give me that shit. What is this? What do you mean, divorce? First I’m hearing that you’ve got any issues in this marriage and you didn’t even have the balls to talk to me first? Sweetheart, whatever it is–”

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she interrupted. “That’s what you’ve been calling all of the women you fuck in our home. I’m not sure what you call the ones you don’t bring here.” She didn’t actually know if there were more than the three over the last two years, but she assumed so. Probably on all those business trips.

Tim froze. The fucking idiot. The papers said she was filing on grounds of adultery. He really hadn’t read them. Grace couldn’t imagine the self importance you needed to just walk into a situation like this blindly and assume it would go well for you.

“You can’t be surprised I figured it out,” she scoffed. “Do you realize how much footage I have from the home security system you chose?”

“You’re bluffing and it’s not a good look for you,” he countered. “You don’t have the login for the account. It’s in–”

“I’m your wife. It was no problem at all to get it.”

Tim froze, like she’d paused a video, for an insanely long moment.

“Now… now look here. I…” he restarted.

Actually, this was even better than seeing him when he got served. The emotions moved so rapidly across his flace she couldn’t name them, but she did know they indicated a usually brilliantly-quick mind trying to pick its angle. He was quick on his feet, that was why he did so well at his job. What would he choose: play the victim? Blame her? Beg for forgiveness? Rage about the invasion of his privacy?

He glanced at the phone in her hand and laughed, “What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart. I can toss that in the pool and there goes your precious recording.”

“Ruining my property, I think that’s technically assault.”

“Just because your head-up-his-ass father is a lawyer doesn’t make you one. I’m sure he’s– no. No, I didn’t mean that. You’re just catching me by surprise right now. I’m not going to break your phone. What, did you think I was going to do something violent?”

“Maybe.”

“Grace…”

“Turns out I don’t know you at all.”

“Oh come on,” he sighed, and looked away. He was still deliberating. He was trying to buy time, trying to calculate which method would get him what he wanted. And she knew he was having a hard time because he couldn’t predict her anymore. He pinched the bridge of his nose and gave another deep sigh. “Grace. I’m sorry.”

She really hadn’t thought he’d pick that one.

“I made a mistake. You’re right.” He nodded, gaze roaming the pool area, her book, her drink beside the lounge chair. “I got carried away… I’m under so much pressure with work, you know that. A few late nights, and… and you working so much…”

“So it’s my fault you fucked multiple women?”

“I’m a sex addict.”

“You’re a liar,” she corrected, “And a selfish prick.”

“Oh, what now, who’s the one calling names on your little recording?” he demanded, as if this was some incredible victory for him. “Here I want to have a conversation about how we can fix this marriage and you’re–”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Fix what?”

“I know you’re hurting right now and in shock… I… I didn’t mean for you to find out,” he said, hands out like he expected her to slip hers into them. “I knew I messed up. I’d already called it off and I was going to come clean and–”

“Yeah fucking right.”

“You fucking bitch, you can’t even listen to me saying I– Sorry,” he interrupted himself again, holding his hands up for a pause and looking away. Grace just stared at him and tried to understand how she had ever loved this toad. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he said. “I’m just frustrated. Sweetheart, I understand you’re hurt and mad. Hey, I’d be pissed too if you were fucking around, but if the situation was reversed and I was looking at it from how you’ve been, I’d hear me out because I love you and—”

“From how I’ve been? How have I been, Tim?” she demanded. “Supportive? Lonely? Dedicated to our marriage and the things that make you happy?”

“Me? The things that make me happy? What’s so hard that you’re doing to make me happy? You don’t sacrifice a damn thing for me, you just peck at my all the time and all the ways I’m not as successful as your dear old dad. Let me tell you what you’re not doing to make me happy is you aren’t… you aren’t supporting me when things are hard at work. You aren’t listening to me now as I’m apologizing and trying to fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix! You’re a terrible husband but I thought you were at least loyal! I thought you were just a workaholic because I’m an idiot!” She stepped away from him, biting back her own rage so it wouldn’t make her cry. She didn’t want to rage cry. She wanted to stay calm and in control because she had made her decision and there was nothing he could say to change it.

“Sure, now you’re saying I’m a terrible husband, but I’ve made you happy! We’ve been happy together all these years and I’m not the one giving up on our future. Get rid of these fucking papers,” he said and threw them into the pool. “We’re not talking divorce. We’ll go to counseling. I’ll go with you.”

“I’m not going to counseling with you.”

“Oh, but I’m the bad guy? I’m the one who wants to work on our marriage here–”

“We don’t have a marriage, Tim. It broke as soon as you started fucking around and I can’t begin to understand why you suddenly want to fight for it now.”

“Because I made a mistake and I don’t want to let that ruin the best thing in my life–”

“No. No you did not make a mistake. How many mistakes did you make, Tim? How many women? For how many years? I have proof of at least three and I’m sure more will be uncovered–”

“What, your dad hired a fucking P.I. or something?” His face hardened and it reminded her of the “jokes” he’d made before, about whether her family did that kind of thing, if they’d have him investigated or watched, if they’d ever trust him. He said they were crazy, delusional, then reached his hand out for some of their money. They had done that before the wedding, without her knowledge of blessing. Because her family well knew that money made other people crazy and delusional and willing to do anything to get it from you. There had been nothing to find back then. Or he hadn’t been as lazy about hiding it.

Tim paced, tucking his hands into his armpits as this new thread caught him, and he pressed, ‘What does your dad think about this, huh? Your family all up in arms ready to crucify me when I bet your dad’s done the same thing. It happens, Grace. Men make mistakes when they work with the kind of stakes men like me and your dad do–”

“Stop comparing yourself to my father,” she scoffed. “You are nothing like him.”

“So far as you know, huh, Grace? You’re so fucking naive…”

“Yeah, about you!”

“Daddy’s Girl, worship the ground he walks on. I should have known he’d tell you to leave me. Is that what he said?”

Grace knew it would drive him crazy as she answered, “His reaction isn’t any of your business.” Tim wanted so badly to be liked by her father, despite his claims of not caring. How devastating for her that he would probably be more upset to lose her father’s respect than to lose hers.

“You want me to apologize to him? I’ll do it.”

“It’s over, Tim. I am not interested in reconciliation and it has nothing to do with my–”

“Like hell you’re not! I’ll fight for this marriage–”

“Why?!” she cried. “You don’t want to be with me!”

“Of course I do! I married you, Grace! I love you!”

“You don’t.”

“Don’t you tell me what I do or don’t–”

“You cheated on me! You don’t cheat on people you love!”

“It was a mistake. I regret it! You get that on your recording? You got your little trophy? Turns out when a man is nagged by his wife it gets to him.”

“It’s not my fault!” Grace insisted. She felt like he was spinning around, trying to make her dizzy and confused.

“You want me to grovel? Is that it?”

“If I’m so awful as a wife, why do you even care that I want a divorce?” she countered. “Don’t you want to be free so you can be with those nineteen-year-olds.”

“I would never be with someone under twenty-five,” he grimaced. “And no, Grace, I want to be with my wife.” It was insane, the way he made it sound like she was the one hurting and depriving him here. She had thought her rage and pain had built enough of a bulwark around her heart for this conversation, but watching him lash out like this just drove the point in deeper. Maybe there was a small part of her that had hoped Tim would offer a valid excuse, or that his apology would feel sincere and enough and she could forgive him, love him again, save her marriage.

But all he had to say was that this was her fault and he’d made a mistake. He didn’t seem loving or apologetic as he grappled with a barely-controlled rage that had her checking that the chair wasn’t right behind her in case she needed to run. Tim wouldn’t hurt her physically… right? But two weeks ago, she wouldn’t have expected he could cheat on her either… well. Maybe that wasn’t totally true. Maybe she wasn’t actually surprised by all this. Was that better or worse than being blind-sided? It didn’t matter, she’d never be close enough with someone again to compare.

Her face must have shown some emotion that Tim seized upon, because he reached his hand out and insisted, “Come on, sweetheart. Stop this bullshit. We’ve been together too long. I know I fucked up and I’ll make it up to you. No need to call quits on us yet.”

“Is it because of the prenup?”

The question rolled out without a thought and she immediately regretted it.

What little restraint Tim had held through all of this snapped. Ah, the prenup. The one her dad had insisted on, that she almost hadn’t done in an effort to prove that she loved and trusted Tim. That he was worthy of trust.

“This isn’t about the fucking prenup!” he shouted in a way that made it very clear it was. At least in part. Grace was very familiar with that prenup, having just gone over it in detail with her divorce attorney. Their marital earnings would be split 50/50, but exclude any interest earned on the money either had before marriage, defined as a set dollar amount. Grace’s amount had been much larger than Tim’s. Tim would be safe from paying alimony despite the fact he made more now, unless a judge overruled their prenup on that point. But, probably the most stressful piece to Tim right now, was that he would owe her father the amount he had borrowed to start his consulting business, after his own parents wouldn’t loan him the money because the first one had folded. Grace had been so confident he’d succeed, she hadn’t even felt embarrassed by her father’s insistence on tying the loan to her prenup. She’d figured it was just a way to spare Tim’s ego at accepting the loan, since obviously he would always be a loving, devoted husband, and so it would forever remain just “family money” and not require payback. That consulting business too had gone under, the money was gone.

Until now. Now Tim owed her father $5 million dollars, on top of splitting his assets with Grace in half. She was not actually sure he even had the money, though she suspected he had multiple bank accounts in addition to their shared one. She had a second one, no harm in that, but at this point she doubted him on everything so who knew what he was hiding? So she had squashed her early instinct to be merciful and nodded when the attorney suggested he’s probably been using you for a long time; let’s take him to the cleaners.

“How fucking dare you bring up the prenup? The prenup doesn’t matter! We aren’t getting divorced! You know better than that! There’s no way your family supports you leaving me, we made a commitment to each other–”

“That you failed when you cheated on me.”

“And now you’re failing it worse by quitting! Don’t even talk about it anymore, I won’t go through with the divorce! We’ll take some time off work and go on a nice vacation together and do marriage counseling and then we’re going to put this whole thing behind us–”

“Until you cheat again?”

“Stop talking about that! You think I wanted to do that? But you’re such a bitch all the time and it wears a man down to have someone like you always nagging about what’s going on at work and whether I closed the deal and why can’t I be like your dad! Go fuck your dad then if you think he’s so fucking great!”

“Stop. Just stop talking,” she pleaded under the weight of his words. Probably the whole street could hear them right now, she realized. She was done with this conversation. She wanted it to end. Any sense of victory or enjoyment was now gone.

“No, you wanted to talk about our marriage! Let’s talk! You think you’re some poor suffering wife here? You’re barely a wife! You run around playing at being a real estate agent so you can spend money on that shit you call art and be some queen bee in the Society or whatever the fuck your family gets randy about–”

“Stop it, Tim!”

“Oh you don’t like us talking about you, huh?”

She grabbed her things, phone still clutched in her hand and tried to step around him to get to the house.

He grabbed her arm and she screamed, “LET GO OF ME!”

“Hey everything ok back there?” a male voice called, and for a brief moment Grace thought it was the pool guy again. Wouldn’t that be perfect? And yet a strange rush of relief came with the idea; Grace felt a desperation to hide behind any man who could make Tim go right now. So feminist of her, huh? She hated herself for the impulse and yet…

“Fuck off!” Tim shouted at the interloper.

“Ma’am?” the voice called again and now she could see the mailman by the back gate. “You need me to call someone?”

“I told you to fuck off,” Tim said, stepping around her to march towards the man now. Grace wanted to wilt under the mortification of a witness at the same time she felt a deep gratitude that someone had heard and actually stepped in. Who did that? The mailman! Even if her neighbors did hear anything right now, they were probably sipping mimosas by the window to hear what other dirty laundry came out.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she called to the mailman. “My ex-husband was just leaving.”

“Like fuck I am,” Tim said, whirling on her again. “This is my house. I’m not going anywhere. You do some thinking, Grace, and get your head together quick to save this marriage, because you need me more than I need you. You think anyone else is going to deal with your rich bitch attitude?”

“Who says I want someone else? I’m not shopping around, but I deserve not to be treated like this–”

“Yeah it’s all about what you deserve. You have no fucking clue what the world is like because first daddy protected you and now I’ve done the same thing and look where it fucking got me. Wasting our money on a goddamn divorce lawyer. We aren’t getting divorced!”

The mailman was still there and had pulled out his phone. Grace saw it and tried to gesture not to. Tim didn’t notice. He’d said his piece and stomped into the house, fuming. There was no way to slam the sliding door but he tried and his scream of rage almost cut through Grace’s fear to make her laugh.

But she didn’t laugh. She sank to the lounge chair, her legs shaking, her head throbbing. The air felt static in the wake of his fury.

“You ok?” the mailman called to her. “I can still call.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m so sorry you saw that. We’re… getting divorced and he’s not taking it well.” The first person she had told she was getting divorced: the fucking mailman.

“Good for you,” he said, but it sounded sincere. “I hope you leave that bastard high and dry. You sure you’re going to be ok? You have somewhere else to go?”

“I’ll be fine, but thank you.”

He seemed reluctant to go. She couldn’t believe he’d stepped in so much; she’d never traded a word with this man in her life though she did leave him a gift at the holidays. Merry Christmas, to our postal worker, because she didn’t know his name. Did she really seem like such a damsel? His hesitation twisted her emotions and she began to feel genuine anger. Couldn’t he see that this was embarrassing? She’d said he could go! He should go!

He was gone before the angry words rolled off her tongue, for which she was grateful. But then she was alone and that felt bad too. The yard felt eerily quiet and she wondered what Tim was doing inside. It scared her. She still believed he wouldn’t physically hurt her, but was that only because she wanted to believe that? He might be in there finding some other way to vent his rage: destroying her paintings or smashing TVs or who knew what.

She ended the video. It was long. She couldn’t bear to watch it but immediately sent it to her attorney, then called.

“Grace. I haven’t watched the video you just sent. Is there something wrong?” Lidiya asked.

“Tim isn’t handling news of the divorce well,” she admitted, her breath shaking as she blinked back tears. She felt like he was still standing there yelling at her. “I don’t think I can stay in the house with him. I mean, I can… but I don’t want to… but will I lose my stake in the house then? Abandonment?”

“No, not at all. He has made you feel unsafe. As long as you keep paying your part of the bills, it’s fine.”

“Hold on a second.” Grace looked up at the rumble of the garage door. A car door slammed and then Tim’s car peeled out of the garage.

“He left. I can breathe now.”

“Good. Catch your breath and go pack your things. Stay with a friend, family, hotel, it doesn’t matter. The disclosure is hard if the other person doesn’t see it coming. I won’t lie and say this will be the only hard part, but you will get through this and I’ll be right there with you.”

Grace wanted Lidiya to tell her she was doing the right thing, that this divorce was the right step. She knew it was. But it was one thing to know it and another to have Tim standing there yelling, twisting her around, making it sound like she was the cause for failure. And she hated this. She didn’t want to leave the house! She couldn’t pack up all her stuff so quickly so she’d have to leave things behind and hope he didn’t destroy them in his rage. She didn’t want to stay somewhere else. She didn’t want to admit to her friends and family any of this was happening, and staying somewhere else was a concrete step towards admitting this was happening. She loved this house! She hadn’t loved married life to Tim but she could pretend she had, to mourn the things she had thought were good. She wanted to keep lying by the beautiful pool, but Tim had ruined her day just like he had ruined everything else.

September

“So then she grabs my ass,” Jungkook explained, “and laughs. Like, right in my face with her nastyass cigarette breath.”

Yoojin reached around him to pull the cabinet open and search for a sippy cup lid, nearly clocking Jungkook in the head from where he sat on the counter.

“That’s so gross. Did she try to pretend it was an accident?”

“No. She asked me what kind of body oil I use. I was just sweaty! It’s fucking ninety-eight degrees out there today!”

Yoojin crinkled her nose and said, “That’s disgusting.”

“I know!”

“No, I mean you being that sweaty. Have you thought of getting a doctor to look into that?”

“Shut up, asshole,” he laughed, trying to kick the back of her knee as she sauntered away.

“Hey, not in front of my son!”

But Max not only wasn’t in the room, it would be highly unlike him to repeat anything he heard, despite their best efforts. His first birthday had just passed, but he still had only a few words he reliably used, much to Yoojin’s panic. She’d recently implemented a rule that everyone had to only speak English to him, in case speaking two languages at home was slowing him down. Eomma insisted he was clearly smart and just didn’t have anything to say yet, but it was a sore subject, likely to send Yoojin into a shrieking fit, like she had when Jungkook asked if the pediatrician had said anything about it. He still didn’t know if she’d even asked about it. He didn’t think fear or shame were a good reason not to ask the pediatrician though, even if it was them doing something wrong.

“Yeah, how would he feel to hear his mom is victim-blaming, huh?”

“I’m not victim blaming. If you’re so pissed about it… I don’t know. Tell your boss you won’t work at their house anymore or something. I thought you dealt with this all the time?”

“Not all the time. It was worse when I was a cabana boy, and those fuckers didn’t give a shit what we dealt with from guests. The guest is always right.” He shuddered. The tips had been phenomenal but ultimately not worth it. He still started on the defense around older women drinking by a pool or beach, at least that kind of older woman. You could always tell. Just like he’d known Mrs. Abigail Pender was trouble since he’d started working for them. He hadn’t thought she’d actually grab him like that, but he’d never felt comfortable around her. Just tried to be polite when she’d so brazenly flirt with him. Apparently all it took was three margaritas (she’d been bragging) and the encouragement of her friends (they’d been drunk too, watching from the patio.)

Jungkook still felt shaky about the whole thing, even though that was embarrassing too. It wasn’t like he thought Mrs. Pender was going to harm him or anything. But who knew what a pissy white woman was capable of? She’d looked shocked when he’d pried her hand off and said, “Please do not touch me, Mrs. Pender. I’m just here to clean your pool.” Like she’d actually thought he came by to flirt or something?! Now he debated whether to tell Bob about the incident or wait to see if she’d call to file some bullshit complaint. That had happened multiple times, and though Bob had been understanding about the call from Limpdick Birch a couple weeks ago, if this was the second woman complaining about Jungkook, at what point would Bob think Jungkook was doing something to cause it all? He wasn’t! He was just cleaning the fucking pools!

Well, except for the Birchs, where he had involved himself and was no longer cleaning the pool. He’d asked someone else to cover the last month of their cleanings for the summer and worried that was just going to make him look bad in light of any complaints from Mrs. Pender.

“Yeah, but I mean as a pool guy. Maybe you need to wear more clothes or something? Don’t look at me like that, I realize how it sounds but this is how it goes for women all the time. We should be allowed to wear whatever we want and not get assaulted. It doesn't mean we can.”

“It’s hot and I work outside,” Jungkook defended. “At least if a guy grabs you, you can deck him and everyone will agree it’s deserved. If I deck an old lady, I’m getting sued and going to jail.”

“Ooof, it’ll only be worse in prison.”

“Yoojin, that doesn’t help!”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, screwing on the lid of the sippy cup and sloshing apple juice onto the counter. The sink was piled with dishes even though she and Max had been the only ones home for lunch. “What else do you want me to say? Cougars are gross. Get a different job.”

But Jungkook didn’t want another job. He sighed noisily as she left the kitchen. Yoojin wasn’t usually his first choice to complain to, because she tended to be unsympathetic at best, and usually just found a way to insist her story was worse. Yeah, Jungkook didn’t envy her raising her son alone –but she wasn’t really “alone.” She lived with his parents. Jungkook babysat a lot for free.

“If jobs are so easy to change, why don’t you have one?” he demanded, chasing after her.

“Get off my ass, I’m on round two of an interview!” She slapped at his arm. “Don’t make me sound incompetent in front of Max!”

Max had been reaching for Yoojin but Jungkook scooped him up, hotly defending, “I didn’t make you sound any way. Besides, if I quit my job, I probably can’t babysit for free anymore like this. You want to pay me?”

“You aren’t babysitting,” she immediately complained. “You’re uncling.”

“I’m letting you mooch off my time,” he insisted. But then, afraid she would actually take it as a complaint, he spun Max around and added, “It’s his fault, he’s too stinking cute. It’s hard being the favorite person but ah… a burden I must bear.” Max giggled and squished Jungkook’s cheeks and babbled. “Hey, do you think he just said ‘uncle’?”

“No, I don’t think he just said uncle. I wish! He won’t even say ‘mama’! What the fuck, right? Hey, next time one of the old crones hits on you, why don’t you just play dumb and point out they’re old enough to be your mom?” Yoojin asked. Her eyes sparkled like this sudden idea was the clear and obvious answer to all his problems.

“But they’re into that, that’s the problem,” Jungkook snorted.

“God I wish people thought I was old enough to be someone’s mom. I’m so sick of people asking if Max is my baby brother. Like what the fuck?”

“Language, Yoon. Or ‘fuck’ might be his next word,” Jungkook scolded her just to get a rise out of her. She opened her mouth, probably to let another string of curses out, butEomma and Appa swung the door open, back from grocery shopping. “Not a word about my work thing,” he said quickly to Yoojin. The last thing he needed was Eomma and Appa worrying about his job security or health and happiness. One time they’d found out about a woman harassing him as a cabana boy and they had actually gone to the resort to talk to his boss about employee protection and the next thing he knew, Jungkook was looking for a new job. The resort swore it had nothing to do with that, but Jungkook knew. Even though he couldn’t hate his parents for it, they had just been trying to help when there had been so little they could do for his brother. Not that they’d ever admitted that was a part of it, but honestly, marching into a resort to complain?! We didn’t come here for our children to be treated like this! He didn’t want them to think he needed that kind of help. He could take care of himself.

Besides, it wasn’t like Jungkook didn’t ever flirt to get good tips or reviews. He didn’t do that now, at least not with any women who would take it too far, but back then… eh, he’d hooked up a couple times with guests too, which was technically what he was fired for…

<“Eomma, Appa, I said I’d go shopping with you,>” Jungkook scolded in Korean, carrying Max over.

“Stop talking in Korean around him!” Yoojin cried. She was ignored.

Eomma assured him, <”We don’t need you to go grocery shopping with us. We had the time together.”>

<”You work tonight.”>

”Bye Eomma, Bye Appa, I’m going to my second interview. See? Speak English like that,” Yoojin said, trying to slide past them after she kissed Max on the head.

Appa’s face screwed up as he asked, “An interview dressed like that? What is this company again?”

“It’s a catering company, I told you. I have to look nice.” Now Junkook looked at her outfit and also thought it looked a little off for a job interview with a catering company. Her short black dress was pretty tight, and her heels were nothing like you’d wear to show you knew how to cater food and she had a small purse. Small purses meant date.

“Are you going on a date?!” Jungkook hissed, clamping a hand over one of Max’s ears as if to protect him. Max was far more interested in Jungkook’s shell necklace than in whatever his mom’s secret plans might be. “Am I babysitting for you to go on a date?!”

“No! It’s not a date! It’s an interview, I swear! I just dressed nice!”

Jungkook didn’t want to dig in too hard in case it was true and he made her cry –she could turn it on like a faucet in front of their parents and then he’d look like an ass. But Appa raised his eyebrow, also not convinced, and shuffled past with two bags of food.

Eomma nodded at her, <”Ok, good luck if it’s a job interview.”>

“You’re all bullies,” Yoojin huffed. It was impossible to tell if she was really upset by their doubt. Jungkook thought her lack of shouting might actually mean she really was going on a date and didn’t want to back herself into a corner confirming it. Jungkook bit his tongue, for now, but only because their parents were there, and Max was grunting like he was trying to poop. Jungkook would change the diaper, but he drew the line at holding the kid while he did the deed. He’d save the brotherly lecture for later. The last thing Yoojin needed to be doing while she was unemployed with a one year old was going on dates! Not to mention every guy she went after was just like her ex, and she threw a fit if you pointed that out to her. If she was going to date, at least Jungkook wasn’t going to babysit for free for it.

He wound up trading Eomma, so she got stuck with the diaper while Jungkook carried in the groceries and did his best to help put them away with some guidance from Appa. He’d wanted to help with the shopping so Eomma wouldn’t wear herself out before her shift at the nursing home; she was working nights this week.

<“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”> Jungkook asked Appa, before realizing it was Thursday so Appa had Go night at the community center in K-town. His days were off. He blamed it on not cleaning the Birch’s pool yesterday. He wondered if Mrs. Birch had noticed someone else came by, or if she’d even cared. Probably she was relieved. For all he knew, she’d called to ask for a replacement anyway and Bob just hadn’t mentioned it yet.

<”You and Max can come with me tonight,”> Appa suggested.

<”It’s tempting but uh…”> Jungkook scrambled trying to think of an excuse, before settling on, <”Yoojin told me not to take him there. You know, she just wants him hearing English. Maybe she mentioned that.”>

<”That’s not the problem! He’ll talk when he’s ready, in English or Korean!”>

Jungkook shrugged. At least the excuse worked. He didn’t feel like sitting around listening to Appa and a bunch of old men play games and talk about sports and weather. He had thought about taking Max to the beach to get him used to it early, but diaper bags were almost as much of a hassle as getting sunscreen on a baby, and after his morning, he didn’t feel up for it. Plus it was hot out. Maybe they’d go for a walk later or maybe they’d just play inside.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and it felt like he’d stuck a staple in an outlet. He left Eomma and Appa debating what to eat for dinner since both of them would leave early and carried Max with him back to what had become Max’s room once he moved out. He knew it would be Bob’s name on the screen before he even got his phone out of his pocket.

“Yeah, Bob? What’s up, man?”

“Hey, JK. I just got off the phone with–”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Jungkook blurted out. “I didn’t flirt with her or anything, she was just drunk and gossiping with her friends and then grabbed my ass.”

“Uh… who’s this now?”

“Shit. Uh… who did you get off the phone with?” Jungkook asked. He looked to Max for a shared grimace but Max saw toys now and squirmed to be let down so he could play. Jungkook collapsed onto the rug beside him and began nervously stacking blocks.

“I was just calling about the Breslins, they said they want to keep the pools at their properties open through the winter and it looks like it fits into your schedule now that you dropped the Birch house but what’s this about?”

“Ah, just… an incident with…”

“JK, man, I told you, you gotta tell me if there’s an incident. What house?”

“Pender. She got drunk and grabbed my ass. I told her not to touch me and that I was just there to clean the pool. She said some other things but went back into her house and I finished up and left, that’s it.”

“Pender, Pender…. Oh that’s why that name is familiar. You’re the second poolboy then. I don’t give third chances, I’ll let her know we’re dropping her account.”

“Wait, what?!”

“Good, that frees you up for the other Breslin properties. I’ll email you the new schedule.”

“No, wait, Bob, you can’t just drop a client, can you? Aren’t they going to… I don’t know, sue or review bomb or something?”

Bob’s chuckle over the line reminded Jungkook how much he actually did like this job, as he said, “Sometimes. And then what am I going to do, say she’s got to stop assaulting my pool techs. And then she wants to take me to court to prove it didn’t happen, and everyone’s talking about it now? Nah, she’ll bitch to some friends about what a shitty company we are. These people are petty but they’re lazy, and if it’s a repeat offender, they probably don’t want anyone opening the closet door. A couple people start coming forward, suddenly you’ve got a dozen people saying she’s assaulted them.”

“Bob…. thanks. I thought…”

“I’d fire you? I know I may not look like it now, but I was quite a looker back in the day. You think I never caught any eyes or wandering hands? I don’t have much, but my company and dignity are two things that can’t be bought. Well. Company might be bought if it was a really good offer…” He gave that jolly laugh of his again. “See you Monday, mandatory meeting.” And hung up, just like that, no problem.

Jungkook wanted to weep. He’d had enough overbearing, shitty bosses to know Bob was a real one. Not only was he not fired, he had a new schedule now. No Mrs. Pender. No Mr. Birch. No… Mrs. Birch. Which was for the best. It was. It was for the best that he wouldn’t see her again as she debated whether to stay with her shithead husband or go through probably a messy divorce… Yep. For the best. Not his business. He was just the poolboy, remember?

As relief surged through him, Jungkook took hold of Max, rolled onto his back and propped his nephew on his feet to airplane him. Max shrieked with delight; this had been one of his favorite games since he was little.

“Wait, you didn’t just eat, right? No spitting up on me, ok? Hurray, airplane Max!” Jungkook cheered, doing leg lifts with him because if he couldn’t make it to the gym or beach, might as well get some fitness in before their jaunt around the neighborhood. Jungkook was so relieved, he had the energy for adventure.

“Hey, maybe let’s head to the beach after all. You want to? You want to see your uncles and some crabs? You want to be a surfer baby? Yeah, let’s do it.”

January

Grace let out a sigh of relief when she stepped out of the terminal at LAX and felt warmth finally seep back into her bones. Seeing her family for Christmas had been nice, but she was glad to be away from Missouri’s brutal snow and windchill.

Just about the whole extended family had gathered, which was rare these days. Sure, she would have preferred spending the holiday with only her immediate family in Chicago, but maybe it had been better this way. It had meant more options for distraction every time someone tried to bring up her divorce, and fewer opportunities for one on one time that might lead to inescapable questions. Of course everyone had wanted to talk about it. It wasn’t a thing anyone in their family had done before. Ever. Her extended family’s horrific responses a constant reminder of that fact, everything ranging from aren’t you embarrassed for people to know your marriage failed? To well what was going on at home? Men cheat when something is wrong at home and that’s the wife’s domain to keep happy. She found herself wishing her family would just go back to making subtle digs about her weight and diet like they usually did. Not that they missed an opportunity to warn her to cut back on the stress eating and take up some activity, no need to let herself go.

Her immediate family… well, they seemed to be following her lead in just not talking about it at all. That was for the best. Even if some small part of her was desperate to talk to anyone except her attorney about it because fucking hell it was miserable!

She checked her email as she waited for a cab, fully expecting an email from Lidiya with some new bullshit Tim was trying to pull. Mediation was not going well, despite the ironclad prenup. Tim wanted to fight her on everything, and dragged his feet about the information he was required to share, and kept trying to find bullshit “leads” to chase down like he was a real detective. She couldn’t fathom what his play was: this was only going to end in divorce, and he was going to exhaust his finances long before she did hers. Lidiya had suggested he was hoping to burn through their cash without understanding that the court could require him to pay her legal fees alongside his even if he didn’t have the cash at the moment.

But now that the blinders were off, Grace had a new theory. She thought Tim might just not truly understand how money worked. Just like he hadn’t seemed to understand how their prenup worked, or how a marriage vow worked, or a home security system account, and certainly not how she worked. He’d made clear at every turn that he expected her to change her mind and realize she was making a mistake. Maybe that was truly the reason he was making this so miserable, to “give her time” to realize she was wrong.

No emails had come from Lidiya during her flight. No contact from Tim, either, which she carefully documented. Every text, every phone call, every “drop by” her rental condo to “give her stuff” after he’d somehow found out her new place. It wasn’t illegal to go near her, since she really had no grounds for a restraining order, but it was definitely annoying and stupid, clearly just an excuse to see what she was doing, or maybe as an intimidation tactic.. Grace suspected he was hoping she was having men over so he could try to counter that she had been unfaithful as well.

Part of her wished she had. As she watched the city pass outside the window, buildings spreading further apart and climbing into the multistories of wealthier neighborhoods of Santa Monica, Grace found herself again fantasizing about the petty things she’d rather be doing than fighting Tim in court. How delicious would it have been to be the one who cheated on him? To get her world rocked by someone else and then have Tim discover it and hurt as deeply as she did. Some hot young successful man Tim could never hope to compete with. A guy even came to mind, that art collector, Namjoon Kim. Intelligent, sophisticated, successful, a total hottie, and Tim hated him. He’d be perfect. How beautiful to get some sort of justice.

But there was no real justice to be got and she was not actually going to pursue something with the mild-mannered guy, especially not as vengeance against her ex. Hopefully she’d get the house, that might be a small justice. She loved that house. In fact, her mother had pulled her aside and offered to help buy the house out from Tim if she needed the money for it. It was the only reference to the whole thing her mom had made, and kindly meant, though Grace wasn’t sure that she wanted to co-own her own home with her mother. But it might be the only way…

As tempted as she was to drive by the house now, she worried Tim would be there. Possibly with someone. She didn’t want to let on that she really wanted the house or he’d obviously make it impossible. She tried to make it sound like she intended to stay permanently in the furnished condo she was renting. It was nice! But it felt nothing like a home.

Maybe she should get a pet? The thought struck her as she walked through the door. She could. Her family growing up always had dogs but she’d wanted a cat for as long as she could remember. Tim liked to say he was allergic but really he just didn’t like animals –which in hindsight ought to have been a warning sign. Not for the first time, Grace considered all the warning signs she had ignored. The rosy glasses of love really were more like blinders.

Grace set about unpacking her bags. Unpacking was obviously the worst part of travel and she usually procrastinated it but there was nothing else to take her time right now. She didn’t have a single active real estate client at the moment, no houses to stage or sell, and she enforced a strict “no paperwork” policy during her holidays. There weren’t any tv shows or movies she felt like watching, and she’d just sat on the plane for hours anyway, so not in the mood for reading either. Her fitness classes had already passed for the day and she hadn’t signed up for a general gym membership, though it had been on her to-do list because this condo complex didn’t have its own –one of several compromises she had made just to find somewhere fast.

God, do I really not have any hobbies? Grace collapsed across her bed and stared at the ceiling. That felt like a failure to her. She came from a family of always-doing-somethings. Hunting, riding, jet-setting, painting, hosting, visiting, gambling, taking up whatever club sport or craft struck a fancy and then abandoning it when it no longer served. Grace had ribbons from a half dozen sports lined up like a museum in the bedroom her parents still kept for her at their house but she didn’t fence anymore, no pool, no horse. It had been nice to ride again in Missouri.

She pursed her lips and considered tennis. She’d loved tennis. Hadn’t played it in a while, because she and Tim used to do that together and then he got too busy working –and fucking, probably. A game of tennis actually sounded good right now, without Tim.

But it would require inviting someone, and Grace didn’t even bother to pick up her phone to consider it. She had always thought of herself as adequately social, she had plenty of “friends,” but going through this divorce had made her question everything she’d hinged on that word. After overhearing the gossip about herself at the third party she had attended without her husband, she had decided to take a break from the social scene —which would inevitably lead to more gossip. It felt like letting the rumor mill win, but what was she supposed to do, clink a spoon against a champagne glass and confirm that yes, she was divorcing, because her husband had fucked around and she wasn’t wiling to overlook it? All these adequately-married couples she’d thought were her friends for years only asked after her to try and get the dirt on why her marriage failed. They expected her to be ashamed for the wrong reasons. She didn’t want to admit she hadn’t been enough, hadn’t been right for her husband; they wanted her to realize how stupid she was to let a stable-earner, social-charmer like Tim go. What was she going to do now, be alone? Boys will be boys. Just forgive him!

A few people had reached out in ways that felt sincere. Megan blew her phone up every couple of weeks when she went for brunch with “the girls.” Eva from the club had invited her to check out the new gallery opening she patronized, which seemed thoughtful and not geared towards gossip or lecture. Stephanie, who Grace had known since they were girls and had moved to LA only a couple years before, just sent condolences and suggested a girl spa-weekend/ski trip “without the boys.” Kindly meant, even if it revealed the rumor mill had reached her; Stephanie was a different social circle than the Santa Monica club, but Grace hadn’t told her about the divorce.

Grace had brushed everyone off. As she and Tim warred over who would “keep” which “friend” group, Grace found herself doubting who she could trust. Abigail Pender, after hosting one of the parties Grace attended, apparently reported Grace’s presence to Tim, and afterwards she’d received a scathing voicemail from him saying he had known the Penders longer so she shouldn’t go to their parties anymore. Even though he hadn’t gone! And maybe he’d known them longer, having met Mark Pender on a golf green, but she was the one who’d put forth the effort to build and maintain the friendship –mainly because he thought Mark could be a useful friend for him, business-wise. She’d done that with all of them! Tim had always been happy to carry a case of beer to a cookout, or fire up their own grill, but she was the one who planned the events, bought the meat and beer, made sure everyone was having a good time, followed up for the lunches and fishing trips and whatever else got mentioned to make sure these things actually happened.

All that effort and Grace felt like she’d lost it all. Now she finally began to understand the warning her mother had given when Grace had finally called home to say she was divorcing: “Divorce is like burning the house down and you’re still in it, Grace. Really think about this.”

Would she have done anything differently? She couldn’t say. But she did know it was really fucking lonely now, not knowing who were actually her friends. She missed her house. And she felt pathetic, lying there on her bed, not sure what to do with her time. Tim didn’t own her hobbies, so why couldn’t she think of any? She’d been putting so much energy into her marriage and the social network Tim required to feel secure and connected and successful.

Damn, did that make her as bad as everyone else? But the social networks were just like that. Sometimes you genuinely like the people you invited to dinner and other times it was because there was some business or family connection, or potential, or some unspoken duty to be friends because your distant cousin had married the niece of their best friend.

Now Grace had failed the social contract by leaving her two-timing (well, at least four-timing) husband and she didn’t want to hear about it anymore. She didn’t trust anyone. She didn’t want to risk getting asked about it more, as if it was a news headline that affected them all but not personally or emotionally. She was very personally and emotionally affected! Didn’t anyone want to talk to her about something else? Was poor divorced woman all they saw when they looked at her now? She had been someone before her marriage, and during her marriage, and she would be someone again soon!

Once she figured out what she actually liked without Tim’s opinion weighing on her shoulder.

Once she discovered which foods she actually liked instead of the ones they’d ordered just because he did.

Once she figured out how to reclaim her social life from that thieving new-money bastard.

Once she could find a place to live that didn’t look so cold and generic and neutral. She knew neutral colors were all the rage now. This was what new money thought elegance looked like, she’d heard that plenty of times from her mother.

Ugh, what did Grace like? What did she want to do?

Grace wanted….

Grace liked….

Grace didn’t want to be in bed right now, so she showered and changed clothes to get the smell of travel off. And she walked to get a coffee from down the street just to be among Californians again.

Then, on an impulse she decided to give into, Grace drove to the animal shelter. It was almost shockingly easy to fill out the paperwork. She didn’t know whether her rental allowed pets but didn’t care, she put her address as the house she was determined to move back into once mediation granted it to her. She googled a vet reference on the way, assuming they wouldn’t check –they didn’t– and listed her sister as her personal reference, assuming they wouldn’t call –they didn’t.

“Shouldn’t they make it harder to adopt?” she mused on the way home, carrier wedged into the front seat beside her, back seat packed with a splurge worthy of her sister’s shopping habits.

Foam said nothing, just peered through the mesh with the big eyes that took up an odd amount of his face, one ear flicking. The nub of his other ear swiveled when she turned the car.

“Almost home,” she said. Suddenly Foam let out a high-pitched yeowl and turned a somersault in his carrier, then curled up in the back. “Sh sh sh, almost home.”

The narration wasn’t important; deaf little Foam couldn’t hear her anyway, but that hadn’t stopped her from talking to him at the adoption center and it wouldn’t stop her now as she hauled the carrier and bags into the condo. She would order a cat tree for him, and a better scratching post, and whatever else struck her fancy, but at least for now he had bedding and food and toys and treats to mark this completely new chapter of his life. From kill shelter to rescue agency and now to life with Grace, she hoped this was going to be a better future for both of them.

As soon as he was out of the carrier, he climbed her like a tree; she flinched at the pinpricks of his claws until he’d reached her shoulder, trying to nestle himself onto her chest like he had at the center. That’s when she’d been a goner. He couldn’t hear her but he could feel the vibrations of her speech and had purred and nuzzled beneath her chin and really Grace had almost broken down in the room as she stroked his gray and white fur. The rescue thought he might be a Singapura-American shorthair mix but Grace couldn’t care less what he was. No one wanted this beat up scrawny deaf kitty, and Tim hadn’t wanted her.

“Fuck Tim, you’re all I need,” she beamed, arms around Foam as she swayed.

Apparently he didn’t even need a period to warm up to her, which would have been understandable. She would never know what his life had been like in the five years before he’d got to her, but that didn’t matter either. Suddenly the future looked so much better; already Grace was thrilled to hear the padding of little feet as Foam explored his new home. He shadowed her as she did a pass to make sure there wasn’t anything obviously dangerous for a cat and put on some music and grabbed her laptop to read more about cat ownership. She wondered if Foam would be the kind of cat who’d be happy hiking on a leash or in a backpack…

She’d always wanted a cat and now she had a perfect one. Maybe building the life she wanted, only for herself, wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

March

A lot of people kept their pools open year-round, but there were still enough to closed them for the winter that March always saw a surge in business. Jungkook had spent the winter working mostly on commercial properties, which was stable and all, but he was glad to see his schedule shift back towards more private residences. Not that he liked dealing with snotty rich people, but there were plenty of middle class families too who didn’t treat him like garbage. And hey, maybe his ego could use a little stoking from the non-handsy variety of women, just the ones who admired and flirted a little, because winter had not been kind to him in the dating sphere. Teona had come back into his life for a whole month before deciding he still hadn’t grown up enough. He’d had a string of dates that he shelled out good money for only to find himself ghosted or even blocked afterwards. When he’d drunkenly demanded of Jimin “is it me? Am I a creep?” his friends had taken the shit out of him a little too well. He was still bothered not to know whether they were just teasing or really did think he was a fuckboy.

The tide was out on dating and Jungkook saw spring as a chance to refocus on work and surfing and the band and let the universe steer his dating life for a while. Probably straight into a wall, but if he was going to end up there anyway, he might as well blame it on the universe.

“You’re hot but you don’t have any substance,” he murmured, repeating the words his latest date via an app had provided when he asked if there was any particular reason she didn’t want a second date. He’d liked her. He had thought the question would reflect well on him, and anticipated her answer being something like oh the sparks just weren’t there or you’re great but I realized I just don’t have time for a relationship right now. Maybe even I realized I was going to fall too hard and fast for you, it scared me. Nope. Hot but no substance.

What did that even mean? Jungkook had so much substance! He had hobbies and interests! He cared about his family! He was good with babies! He played the guitar and drums and sang and worked out and he could cook. He had a stable job and only played a reasonable amount of video games and he knew how to listen. Wasn’t that enough?! What else did women want??

He was still grumbling to himself as he parked at the Cool Pool Inc. building to confirm his schedule and grab a company truck for the day. Bob had sent them out the night before, but Jungkook had a few questions. Namely, about the typo on his schedule regarding the Birches.

“Huh? The Birches?” Bob finally said, looking up from his computer on the third repeat. “Oh, you’ve still got the house but it’s not the Birches anymore. Didn’t you look at the addresses?”

“Yeah but it says the Hessers. Did you mix up the address?”

“No. They bought the place, Birches don’t live there anymore and wherever they moved, I dunno, they aren’t using us anymore.”

Jungkook’s brow lowered in thought. That couldn’t be right. Granted, maybe there weren’t Birches anymore if Mrs. Birch-or-whatever-her-name-was-now had gotten her head on straight and left that twichy-dicked corn chip. He looked at his list of names again but didn’t see her name listed anywhere.

“Maybe they changed their name,” Jungkook suggested. “Or I mean, she did. Did we get any new customers from another address with the first name… Cornelia?” It was just a name, but he felt wrong to say it, like he wasn’t supposed to know, even though it had always been written on his schedule. Hers had been the primary name on the account: Cornelia Birch, even though she had introduced herself to him as “Grace” that first time he’d cleaned for them. It had made sense to him, in a way, that she wouldn’t give her real name to be used casually by a contractor. And ‘Mrs. Birch’ had felt like the proper way to call her anyway –in the beginning because that’s just a thing he did, to charm the rich white ladies with his manners, but later because calling her by her name would have felt intimate or wrong. They weren’t on the same level. She was older and rich and he would just have felt weird about it, ok? Calling her by her first name or a nickname, like they were casual friends. Besides, was she really called Cornelia? That was such an old lady name… He kind of liked that about her though. She had a weird name, and people always thought his name was weird too.

Bob’s eyebrows lifted. He smacked his lips and glanced at the computer as if going to check but then answered without checking,

“Nope, no new Cornelia anything. Why, you looking for her?”

“No,” Jungkook quickly assured him. “Just… you know, she’s the one who was so serious about their pool, just wanted to know if she closed the account or just moved to a new house–”

“And changed her name?”

Jungkook shrugged, “I dunno, divorces happen…”

“Or you want to know if Timothy Birch’s calls complaining about you cost us an account?” Bob countered, like he could see it all before him.

“It wasn’t my fault he complained about me, he was just like that. I hope for her sake, she did leave his ass, he was an asshole.”

Bob chuckled at this show of passion and shook his head, lecturing, “Marriages are a complicated thing, son. Maybe you’ll get it someday. But no, no Timothys, Cornelias, or Graces, Birch or otherwise.” He was already feeling nervous that Bob would think he’d been involved as much as he had been though and didn’t want to dig in more.

“Ok,” Jungkook shrugged. “I got my schedule then. See ya, boss.”

“Keep it fresh, JK,” Bob said, one of the phrases the younger employees had taught him. He was a good one, that Bob. Jungkook waved over his shoulder as he grabbed the keys to his truck to head out.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the suspicion from his mind. So… did that mean Mrs. Birch and Slim-Jim Dick had divorced? Or just moved somewhere else? He decided to hit up the new owners of that residence first, but still half expected it to be one of the Birches up until he knocked on the front door to introduce himself.

“Great,” the man, Adam Hesser, greeted him with a firm handshake. “We were told by the previous owners your company had been managing the pool so I take it you know what to do? We’re going to keep it open year-round so just keep it nice, our kids will use it a lot. Let me know if you need anything.”

Jungkook nodded, “Yeah yeah, for sure, man. Hey, so you spoke to the previous owners? Which one? Did they say where they were moving?”

“No, I didn’t really, they just had a list of previous contractors.”

“Ah, ok. I’m glad they recommended us. I’ll keep it looking good, head on back on there now. Nice to meet you, Mr. Hesser.”

Gone. That made Jungkook think they’d divorced although he couldn’t be sure. Maybe the Birches were the kind of people who’d decide they had to do everything and anything to save their marriage and they’d moved to Spain or something. Even if they’d divorced, Mrs. Birch might have moved somewhere else. Maybe she wasn’t even in the area anymore, or maybe she didn’t have a pool, which he’d feel sad for her about since she seemed to like it.

Or maybe she did and had just decided to use a different pool cleaning service.

“Wouldn’t that be fucked up?” Jungkook demanded, leaning in close to make sure his buddies heard him over the noisy bar. Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok, and Soyoon circled the high-top. Taro was here somewhere too, probably networking. Yoongi had already bailed, claiming he had work early but probably just to get away from the place. He only really hung out at bars if there was music he wanted to catch, and even then bounced the second the bands were done.

“Uh… yeah,” Jimin nodded, but he had a look like he didn’t understand why.

“Because I was great at what I did,” Jungkook insisted. “I kept the pool looking great so if she –if they have a new pool and decided to use someone else instead, it would be personal, right? Because I was the best professionally.”

“Didn’t you have a fight with her in her backyard about whether she ought to divorce her husband?” Soyoon asked. Jungkook glared. Hard. He had told her that in drunken confidence and of course she had then casually mentioned it to everyone else without a second thought.

“Yeah, kinda weird,” Taehyung grimaced. “Almost as weird as giving her a video of her husband fucking another woman that you filmed through their window…”

“Hey!”

Jimin came to his defense, insisting, “It’s because he was emotionally compromised.” Wait, that wasn’t the defense Jungkook had hoped for.

“The fuck does that even mean?” Jungkook scowled.

“Aw, it’s because you always had a crush on her, right?” Hoseok asked, his gaze sliding to Jimin as if to confirm this, or make sure it was ok to say. It wasn’t!

“Not in a real way,” Jungkook defended. “Just in like a… a Stacy’s Mom kind of way.”

“That song is fucked up,” Soyoon huffed. “If you reversed the genders, that would be a felony.”

“Sex with a minor is still a felony but they didn’t have sex,” Taehyung countered. “He was just creeping.”

Jimin made a face and admitted, “Really, you think it was just the guy being horny for her? I mean she came out in a towel while he was mowing the lawn, right? No one is surprised by a lawnmower. She knew he was out there.”

“Do you ever see people do things like that when you’re working?” Hoseok asked Jungkook with open curiosity. “Like in just a towel or–”

“Or fucking someone else in the kitchen?” Jimin laughed and threw his arm around Hoseok’s shoulder. “Yeah, he sees it all!”

Jungkook made a face and admitted, “Yeah, I see the towel thing happen.”

“Yeah and is it ever an accident?” Soyoon demanded.

Mrs. Birch didn’t mean to see me when she came up from the home gym in her sports bra. He kept that memory to himself, since these fuckers couldn’t hold anything sacred.

“Eh, sometimes,” he decided. “Sometimes it’s on purpose, but other times it’s just because they just don’t give a shit about you. Like, you’re not even a real human so what do they care if you see them in their towel? But other times yeah it’s on purpose.”

“What’s that show… Desperate Housewives? Wasn’t someone fucking a poolboy in that? It probably gave all the old ladies ideas.”

“Is that show even still on? That’s really old. My mom watched that.”

They looked at Jungkook, who had to explain, “Uh… I don’t… know? I don’t watch that shit.”

“Oh, you know what show I just saw that was great…” Taehyung said, changing the subject further away from what Jungkook had wanted to do: complain about his lack of closure on the Birches.

He grabbed another beer and pretended to follow along, but mostly he was just thinking about how he regretted bailing on those final two weeks of cleaning at the Birches. If he’d gone, maybe he would know what was going on with them, or where they’d gone. It wasn’t like he expected anyone to leave him a note, but it felt wrong for them to just disappear. It felt… bad. He felt bad. He was the one who had sent the tape and while he was sure it had been the right thing to do, he would like to know that was true from Mrs. Birch-called-something-else telling him how grateful she was. Cornelia. Fucking Cornelia. Maybe that was another reason he always called her Mrs. Birch, he just couldn’t bring himself to call her Cornelia. Or Grace, a nickname, which felt even more intimate?! Cornelia wasn’t a name you could say as you fucked a woman slowly against the side of the pool, and Grace was so short… Gracie might make for a good–

Fuck! Abort! Too much beer! Fuck, he was horny, that was all. It wasn’t about her, he’d just crossed the streams of two different thoughts. Never cross streams.

Besides, now he’d never call her anything. She hadn’t had the opportunity to tell him she was grateful or even just reassure her by her happiness that he’d done the right thing. Which he had. Even if she had not seemed grateful when they’d fought about it.

Damnit, couldn’t a guy get closure about anything? Sure he’d had a fantasy crush about her but he was a good guy, he also just wanted to know that she was happy and doing well. Maybe he could google her…

He pulled out his phone and wandered off, mumbling about getting another beer so no one would see his phone screen as he typed in Cornelia Birch.

A shocking number of results came back. He leaned against the bar and scrolled in disbelief, but the links were all to dense text webpages and he had drunk enough that the letters looked blurry and he didn’t feel like reading a lot right now. Besides, he couldn’t tell if the Cornelia Birch who sat on art boards and was a part of some trust or whatever was her or if it was a common rich white lady name. There were no pictures. Except for a table sold by Wayfair, the “Cornelia,” part of the Birch Lane furniture line. That was kinda funny. White ladies and high end furniture lines, that made sense. He started to type in Grace Birch to see if that got different results, just in case she actually did use that as more than a name to give poor peasants so they wouldn’t sully her proper dignified name when–

“Excuse me, are you ordering or…?” He looked up at the hand on his arm, and the owner of the hand: a pretty blond, tanned and green-eyed.

“Oh, yeah sorry, am I in your way?” He scooted to the side and she pressed in. The bartenders had ignored him but came right over for her. She surprised him by motioning for him to tell his order to.

“Can’t believe they make you wait here,” she said to him.

“You waited ten seconds…”

“No, I mean you. If you can’t get a drink then I don’t get it.”

Jungkook was tipsy and confused. But he nodded and didn’t point out he’d been on his phone and also that he wasn’t sure he’d wanted another beer anyway. But one was brought, and on a whim, he told the bartender to put hers on his tab too.

“You don’t have a tab open,” the bartender pointed out. Which was annoying because they knew him here and that he was good for it. It embarrassed him in front of the girl. He slid his card over and pretended to be smooth about it.

“Thanks for the drink,” she beamed at him. “I’m Mary.”

“Another old lady name…”

“What?”

“Nothing, so, you new around here? Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“You know everyone who comes here?” she teased.

“Just about. Except the tourists. You wouldn’t happen to be one of those, would you?”

“No. I live here, I just never come to this part of town.”

He nudged her closer, away from someone trying to get by, as he pressed, “Then what made you come tonight?”

“My girl friend had a date and wanted a backup, you know? But apparently that went well because she already left.”

“Wait… so your girl space friend, right? Not your girlfriend?”

“What?”

Jungkook decided she must not have a girlfriend, he was just confusing them both.

“So… are you leaving then?”

“No. Why, you want me to go?” she laughed.

“Nah. Just checking.” He chugged half his beer to find some liquid courage. He couldn’t believe his luck. A random girl hitting on him in the bar? Great. Perfect thing to distract him from the fact he’d never know what happened to Mrs. Birch. Besides, so what? It didn’t matter. She was just some lady he cleaned pools for.

“So what do you do?” Mary asked him.

“I’m a pool technician,” he answered. “And I also teach surf and work as a lifeguard sometimes.”

“Ah, that explains the muscles. I can tell you’re fit.”

“I drum too. It’s a pretty good workout, no one ever realizes that.”

“Yeah, full body. I don’t play but I mean, I’ve seen people drum.”

He grinned. Yeah, she was into him.

“What about you?”

“Oh, I’m a senior at USC.”

Jungkook swallowed hard and drank more beer to give himself time to count. Senior… so she was twenty? Twenty one? Twenty two at most probably. He was twenty-six, that wasn’t… too bad…

“What’s that look?” she laughed.

“You’re young.”

“What?! How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“What? I thought you were like, my age,” she laughed. “I’m twenty one.”

He tsked and shook his head, trying not to smile and ruin the joke as he teased, “A baby.”

“Hey, you’re the one with the baby face.” Ah, he kinda hated it when girls said that, even if he knew it was true.

“Because I’m Asian?”

“What?!” she gasped. “Oh my god! I would never say that! I didn’t mean it like that!”

“I’m kidding. I know.”

“Oh my god, I am not like that. I don’t care who or what someone is, if they’re hot, they’re hot.” She was clearly really offended by his joke, or maybe too drunk to be calm about anything.

He nudged her and prompted, “So you think I’m hot?”

Within an hour he knew she did. She’d said it enough times, her nails digging into his chest and abs as she bounced on his dick, the springs of his mattress screaming beneath them. He grabbed her hips and pulled her down, eyes slitted so he could just make out the circles of her nipples and the pink folds of her pussy around his girth. She was thin and perky and had an absurd bikini tan despite admitting she never went to the beach. Total California girl in the purchased, store-bought way.

Which was fine by him. She could be from California or New York or Florida or Timbuktu for all he cared right now. Her energy was great; his drunk brain felt like a tornado of pleasure touched down where her body stroked his.

“We’re going to break your bed,” she giggled.

“Nah, I would have broken it by now.”

“Oh my god, you’re a dick,” she giggled, and slapped him on the face. He didn’t love that but it wasn’t hard enough to hurt. It wasn’t like a dealbreaker or anything. He definitely wasn’t going to pull out for that. It just seemed wrong for this younger girl to do something like that in sex. If someone was going to slap him… ah, Mrs. Birch could slap him. He thought about it with a grin, sinking into the alcohol-logged fantasy he was drunk enough not to stop this time. He let his hands flop out and spread his legs and surrendered. Mrs. Birch could do whatever she wanted to him. She had that fit body but with way more curves than Mary. Small tits were fine but Mrs. Birch’s were bigger, they’d bounce. She had some jiggle to her thighs. If he grabbed her by the ass, he’d get at least a handful. Mary’s assbones were pulverizing his thighs. But Mrs. Birch in that white swimsuit, maybe a size smaller so her body started busting out of it…

Jungkook grabbed Mary’s hips and nutted pretty quickly after that, wordless at the rush of pleasure as a mental image of Mrs. Birch with swollen nipples straining against a white wet suit filled his head in the moments before it all went blank. He rolled Mary onto her back and got in a final stroke and gasped for breath back into his lungs. When she pushed against his chest to get him to sit up, he sat there just gasping while her eyes and hand roamed his stomach, her other hand rubbing herself furiously. He watched with the kind of fascination he always had for a woman cumming: it was a beautiful thing no matter who the woman was. This fake-beach babe looked hot as hell spasming around his spent dick and he made sure to tell her so as he gripped the condom and eased himself out of her.

“You think so?” she taunted. “Because your eyes were closed a lot.”

“Nah, just hard to keep ‘em open when it felt so good,” he assured her. “Trust me, I was looking.” She’d rolled onto her side and he smacked her ass.

“Ouch, too hard,” she complained with a giggle. And reached behind him for the blunt she’d pulled out earlier but abandoned when he’d pulled her shirt off.

He padded to the bathroom to rinse off and toss the condom, then accepted the blunt when she handed it to him, one arm crooked behind his head in absolute relaxation. Balls empty, brain empty, best night.

She was just nice to him, that’s why he wanted to know whatever happened to Mrs. Birch. Not enough he’d actually look through those google search results or anything. He was just curious. He just wanted closure because she’d been nice to him before and he didn’t feel great that the last time he’d ever see her, they’d had a fight. Hopefully by now she had realized he was right.

“Hey,” he said after blowing smoke towards the ceiling. “If you were married and your husband cheated on you, you’d fucking divorce him, right?”

“Geez, proposing to me already?” she giggled and took the blunt back.

“No, I’m just saying, that’s what you do, right?”

Mary nodded emphatically, “Yeah, this is the 21st century, no woman should stay with a cheating piece of shit.”

“That’s what I’m saying. You get it.”

“Oh my god… you aren’t married or anything, right?”

Jungkook laughed loud and gestured, crying, “You saw my house! I live with a bunch of dudes!”

“Oh. Right. I wasn’t really thinking about anything like that.”

“Just thinking about my dick?” he grinned.

“Yeah, and how bad I wanted it,” she agreed, rolling against his arm. “And it did not disappoint.”

“See? That’s what I’m saying,” he said again. “You get it.”

“Yeah, I got it good.” Just as Jungkook started to gloat, she asked, “Hey, you got anything harder than this?”

“Than… what?”

“Than pot.”

“No. Take it from your elders, don’t do anything harder than pot,” he snorted. Just like that, warm cozy fantasy of success with Mary started to crumble. Ugh. What was he even doing with a college-age girl he picked up in a bar? One clearly surfing for dick and apparently coke too?

No. No regrets. Not while his dick was still twitching with satisfaction.

“You’re not my dad,” she snickered, before whispering into his ear, “Unless you want me to call you ‘daddy.’”

“You call me daddy, I’m going to spank you a lot harder than that,” he warned. Honestly, he wasn’t really into the name but he also didn’t want to chase her off with a denial. Not when he felt this good. Whatever, he could play along. He could stomach being daddy for another round…

She handed him the blunt and watched him; he felt her gaze even with his eyes closed in the low light.

“Are you thinking about someone else?” she asked. “Who were you talking about? Someone cheated on who? Your sister or something?”

He nearly choked as he sat up and insisted, “Yeah I am not thinking about my sisters while I’m fucking.” That made her laugh harder. She choked too, coughing hard as she took the blunt back to set in the bowl on his nightstand.

“Then who?”

“Nobody. I just knew you’d understand.”

“Yeah, I’m great like that. Hey, can you spot me money for a lyft back home?”

“Just spend the night, I don’t mind.”

“.... no thanks. You’ve got like a lot of laundry in here…”

“Yeah, tomorrow is laundry day,” he lied, but her criticism made him run a little colder.

“Yeah it was just an observation. I have class early though I gotta go.”

He sighed and pushed himself out of bed to see what cash he had. Only a twenty, which she gladly took before ordering a car that would go on her card anyway. Damn college girls. He got her a glass of water and made sure she got in the car ok before returning to his room. There wasn’t that much laundry in his room. Maybe he’d been in a hurry changing between surfing and work and going out but so what? He hadn’t expected to bring someone back tonight. If she was so particular they could have gone to her place. She probably had laundry everywhere too.

Dizzy now between the pot and alcohol, Jungkook realized with regret there was no way he’d drag himself out of bed in time to catch the morning surf. He had lifeguard duty and family stuff this weekend too, and band practice Sunday, so tomorrow morning was his only chance. And now Mrs. Birch was gone and he had missed the last two cleanings at her place because he’d been too sulky about her being mad at him. He’d fucked, that was great, his balls were drained, but at what cost? Was it really worth it? Was something wrong with Jungkook to wonder if maybe other things in life were even better than sex–

Wait, Mary had early classes on a Saturday!?

Chapter Two | Masterlist | Chapter Three

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