Early Morning Road Trip ୨୧
── A long road trip starts off early in the morning, where you’re politely sitting in the passenger’s seat of your older boyfriend’s truck.
♡ : reader x older boyfriend, light fluff, no smut, everybody is 20+ in the story, fem reader, self-insert, no mention of names.
Your hand lifts, shielding your eyes from the sunrise, the orange hue sickeningly prominent in the open fields surrounding you. He’s humming lowly to himself, a hand wrapped around the steering wheel, another lazily resting on your thigh.
You’ve been on the road for just about three hours, leaving early in the morning, the sun only peeking out from the horizon now. It’s already warm, a thick, humid heat seeping in through your boyfriend’s cracked window. You can tell it’s going to be a long drive.
“Ya’ bored already?” he asks, tilting his head to the side as his eyes flick over to you, his hand pinching the soft skin on your thigh. “Better get used to it,” he adds dryly, his thumb finding the hem of your loose jean shorts.
You roll your eyes, hips shifting against the leather seats, an uncomfortable noise breaking the silence as your skin rubs against the fabric. He chuckles and shakes his head, his tongue running along the front of his teeth.
“I’m thirsty,” you complain softly, turning your body slightly, allowing the seatbelt to slip off your shoulder swiftly. “We didn’t even eat breakfast,” you add, shifting yourself, a small foot resting against the rough denim of his jeans in his lap.
“Diner up the road,” he mentions with a nod towards the empty road ahead of you. “You’re gonna get somethin’ that’ll make ya’ sick the rest of the ride, huh?”
You roll your eyes; his sly comments are always right. He knew you well, like the back of his hand, and his hand was now moving to the arch of your foot, his thumb rubbing your ankle through the cotton socks.
“I’ll get… pancakes, or something? I’m sure they have a lot,” you shrug, feeling his large hand rubbing against your ankle still, and he seems to be unimpressed with your idea.
“Don’t be gettin’ all carsick on me now, okay?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrows, his head turning once again to glance at you as your body is positioned awkwardly, but you still want to be close to him. Like always.
The diner comes into view, only a few cars filling the vacant lot. It must be a few workers, maybe a truck driver heading back onto their route, and your boyfriend swiftly parks beside them, putting the truck into park. He pats your bare calf, telling you to get out of the truck.
“Come on, little lady,” he mutters to you, his own hand reaching for his seatbelt as he unbuckles it, climbing out of the truck and onto the pavement. The heat is brazen, and the sound of cicadas buzzes loudly.
You slip on your white sneakers and quickly lace them up before jumping out of the truck, making a soft thud as you hit the ground. You join your boyfriend, who is waiting for you, an unlit cigarette perched between his lips, a hand digging into his pocket for a lighter.
“Really?” you ask softly as the two of you begin walking towards the entrance, knowing that he would have less than twenty seconds to smoke that cigarette, but he just raises his eyebrows.
“Who are you to tell me what to do?” he asks, his free hand grabbing your smaller one, and he gives it a little squeeze, maybe even a warning. You smile to yourself, heading towards the large open sign on the door.
He swiftly opens the door for you, tossing his less than half-smoked cigarette onto the ground. He gives you a small smack on your behind as you walk in ahead of him, and he earns a glare from you, and he’s acting oblivious. He’s never been too shy to act this way in public; if anything, he only acts this way in public.
An older woman stands at the front, with big hoop earrings and a slicked-back ponytail that shows too much of the grey hair she forgot to dye. She holds a menu, her acrylic nails tapping against it as she eyes the two of you – it’s more than staring, it’s an analysis, you think.
“Just for two?” she asks, her eyes glancing around the diner, trying to find a table for the two of you to sit at. “Booth okay?” she then adds on, and your boyfriend is nodding, and she’s already leading the way.
The two of you sit in a booth, and he’s sitting across from you, sighing heavily as he lifts a menu. His eyes squint as they read over the options, and you’re biting your lip gently, watching how focused he seems to be. He nudges your ankle with his boot beneath the table, almost like he’s telling you to behave.
“What?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowing in a light confusion, and he’s about to lightly scold you until the waitress arrives at the end of the table, and a soft pen clicks.
“What can I get started for y’all?” she asks, her eyes gazing at you, and you freeze for a second, forgetting how to speak as you’re abruptly put on the spot.
“She’ll have… the stack of pancakes,” your boyfriend chimes in for you, casually nudging your ankle once again, his hand rubbing the scruff of his unshaved facial hair. “And.. for me, jus’ the.. Bacon and eggs, black coffee, too,” he orders, nodding at the waitress who wrote it all down far too quickly.
“Ya’ need to start usin’ your big girl voice, you know that?” your boyfriend tells you once the waitress is gone, and you’re staring down at the table, focusing on the wooden pattern. “Can’t be orderin’ for you like I’m your daddy or somethin’,”
You bite your tongue when he says that, and you want to crawl under the table with the way your cheeks have turned a soft pink. He notices, and he’s shaking his head, clearly unimpressed with the way you’re reacting to his sarcastic comment.
You rest your elbow on the table, your chin resting in the palm of your hand, and you’re gazing at him. He’s looking back at you, a crease forever between his eyebrows. He’s fidgeting with his Zippo lighter, a rough thumb constantly flicking it open and closed.
“You have a starin’ problem.” he comments dryly, his head turning as the waitress comes just in time with two of your plates, and she’s swiftly sliding them onto the table.
Your eyes widen at the portion, but you’re smiling more than ever; three large pancakes, covered in butter, and a pouring glass of fresh maple syrup. Your boyfriend knows he should’ve ordered you the thing with the least amount of sugar.
“Don’t know what I was thinkin’,” he mumbles more to himself than you, his large hand gripping the knife and fork as he cuts away at his eggs. “You’ll be bouncin’ off the walls by nine o’clock.”
“No, I won’t,” you retort, though your mouth is full of pancake and he’s glaring at you. He has always had a thing with manners, making you say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’; it was his little knack, and you noticed it.
He takes a long sip of his black coffee, the bitter flavour mixing with the already bitter taste of cigarettes. He’s eyeing you, watching you take careful bites of the pancake, and he occasionally warns you to slow down. He finishes before you, despite your speed.
You're on your last bite, and the waitress comes by, slyly taking the two finished plates from you, and your boyfriend is nodding, requesting the bill politely. He looks back at you, the mug held to his lips, and he’s finishing up the last drops of coffee.
“Only six more hours,” he comments as he places the empty ceramic on the table, and you’re groaning, your head tipped back in an exhausted frustration. You don’t know how long you’re going to last, all stuck in the warm truck, no air conditioning.
“Ya’ father-daughter date going well?” a woman’s voice suddenly chimes in, and it’s the waitress with the bill, and her hands are on her hips. You look away from her and narrow your eyes at your boyfriend from across the table.
“Uh-huh,” he mumbles, his hand fishing out a few crumpled bills from the pocket of his jeans and tossing them onto the table. “Keep tha’ change,” he adds, nodding for you to start leaving the booth.
You leave just as quickly as he does, and he’s shaking his head, just as embarrassed as you are. You’ve never found your gap to be too big, not at all, but it’s an occurrence that happens too often, and you never knew how to handle it. Neither does your boyfriend.
“See what happens when you make me order stuff for ya’?” he tells you as you walk towards the truck, pausing to put a cigarette between his lips again. “I baby you, an’ people think you’re my daughter,” he adds, lighting the end, blowing out the first inhale.
“How is that my fault?” you ask, swinging the passenger door open and climbing in; you immediately slip off your white sneakers for extra comfort. “You always do it without me asking.”
“Yeah, cause if I didn’t, you’d be starin’ at the waitress like a deer in headlights,” he mutters as the door swings open, and he’s settling back into the driver’s side. “Savin’ ya’ the embarrassment of it all,” he adds.
You scoff, and the engine starts up again, a soft roar in the quiet around the vehicle. You adjust your position in the seat, arms crossing over each other. You watch him back out of the spot, easily maneuvering the steering wheel, his hand against the back of your headrest. It slowly goes back to its usual spot: your thigh.
“Always wearin’ the shortest shorts I’ve seen,” he comments, his chest close to the steering wheel as he looks both ways before pulling out onto the road. “Wonderin’ why men can’t keep their eyes off of ya’.”
“What else am I supposed to wear?” you ask, a hand reaching forward to fiddle with the controls of the radio – it all seems to be static, you’re much too far away from any radio station around here.
“Nothin’, nothin’,” he defends, lifting his hand like he’s guilty. “Jus’.. if it distracts me, I can’t imagine how others feel,” he pats your bare thigh at his words, letting his hand slip a little more up the hem of the denim.
You laugh a little, breathing out softly as your thighs lightly squeeze together, letting them clasp around your boyfriend’s hand. He’s touchy; he always has been.
“Not here..” you practically whisper as you shake your head, already feeling his hand sliding up just a bit further up your shorts, finding the light fabric of your underwear. You’re shaking your head still.
“Mmm, okay,” he hums quietly, letting his hand slide out from beneath, carefully letting the palm of it rest back on your thigh. “I’ll find somewhere else.”
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