gotta love a little angst

⌖. ݁₊ ⊹ ℧

[ruerecs]

𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

20, bi, scorpio .

MASTERLIST:

▸ the pitt

▸ daredevil

▸ outer banks

▸ the walking dead

▸ bts

other baes

LATEST .ᐟ

⤷ andrew cody fic recs i.

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[ruerecs]

I was reading a fic when the Tumblr refresh made it disappear 🫠

I was wondering if you’ve read a jack abbot x reader where they’re coworkers and the reader has a sink that is leaking, Jack offers to fix it for them. He shows up to fix it the next day while the reader is in the shower and they don’t hear him. They get out of the shower and realize they forgot their towel and Jack sees them when they go from the bathroom to their bedroom for the towel.

That’s as far as I got when the app refreshed on me and I’ve been trying to find it to no avail… if you’ve read/seen it can you tell me who wrote it or how to find it again?

THANK YOU in advance! (You’re a fav for me because I’ve found a lot of stories that I love through you)

omg i hate when that happens, i actually read this, this morning im pretty sure. if it’s the one im thinking about you can find it here! aww you’re the sweetest 🫂

[fromsil]

any man that watched supergirl and said it was shit… you’re weird. like really fucking weird.

even more if you liked superman.

[millermouth]

steady hands

summary: You love being part of the community of Jackson. But when you try to learn how to defend it, one humiliating accident makes you realize just how useless you feel with a gun in your hands.

smut MDNI 18+ shooting instructor!joel, Jackson!joel, baker!reader, gardener!reader, jack of all trades kinda reader, grumpy!joel, insecure!reader, biggggg joel miller, size kink, enemies to lovers, grinding, kissing, dirty talk (as always), f!receiving oral, fingering, pinv, missionary, outdoor smut, mean to sweet joel miller, some pussy pronouns used, irresponsible gun handling, nightmares, age gap mentioned but not specified, joel calls reader lots of pet names, tiniest bit of brat taming || a/n: guys I can't even lie this was inspired by the song ill make a man out of you from mulan....enjoy!!! wc: 11k

The woods were still crisp for early summer. It was something you'd come to appreciate about Wyoming, after all. No matter how bad winter had been, or how slow spring had sprung, you could always count on a beautiful summer, and even better summer mornings.

But this morning was far from beautiful.

You were sitting with a few others from town, mostly newer folk who'd settled in and were looking for work to do. The woods were quiet around these parts, a couple miles out from Jackson, where the trees thinned just enough to make room for the patrols to see into the valley. It had been a lookout since the beginning, or so you'd heard. A small cabin with a slanted roof, a fire pit out front ringed with blackened stones, a target range cut into the dirt nearby, and guns and ammo stored in the basement in case of emergency and training.

Why you were here, when you could be baking loaves of bread for folks getting out of Sunday worship or sending actual lookout shifts off with their breakfast freshly made, was, well…because you'd started to feel a little useless.

Not useless exactly. That was probably unfair. You did have multiple jobs. You were a part of the community of Jackson. You had a few close friends and plenty of acquaintances. You got along with almost everyone. It was nice, feeling like you knew who took their coffee black, who liked the butt of the bread, who always tried to sneak an extra roll into their coat pocket when they thought you weren't looking. You gardened and sometimes even helped with the horses or the livestock.

But still.

There was a part of you that knew, if anything ever went to shit, you'd never be able to defend your town, let alone yourself. So you'd come out with a group to train up on an early summer morning.

But you sure as shit were terrible at it.

Luckily, the ammo you used on the training grounds were empty shells, nothing actually being wasted on your awful, awful aim.

Because an hour later, the glass bottle in front of you remained whole and smug on the fence line, catching slice of sunlight along its shoulder while the wood of the fence several inches to its left had suffered greatly.

It didn't help that the man that was meant to be teaching you was a grade A Asshole.

Joel Miller was many things. Strong, capable, brave. So many epithets that could be used to describe him. You'd even dare to add handsome if he wasn't always frowning at you or cursing under his breath every time you managed to miss something standing perfectly still.

But the main thing you wanted to call him, was Asshole. Though…you thought if you ever did to his face, it might just be the last thing you ever do.

He was helping a kid down at the end adjust his stance when you heard an argument from beside you about a bet.

“Bullshit,” one of the boys hissed. Matthew, you thought. Maybe Michael? He was one of the kids from town you'd seen around the stables with hair too long, cheeks still a little chubby, and an ego too big. “You did not get Maisie Bell to kiss you.”

“I didn’t say kiss,” the other one said, and in the corner of your eye you watched as he lined up his shot, one eye squeezing shut. “I said she would’ve.”

“That ain’t a bet.”

“It is if I’m right.”

“You’re not right.”

“Two ration cards says I am.”

“For Maisie?”

“For Maisie,” he said, then nodded toward the line of town below the ridge, where you could almost see the church roof through the trees. “And the redhead from the kitchens. Sheesh what I wouldn't do to my hands on 'er. Oh, and that new girl Dina?" he let out a low whistle, "She is so goddamn fine I could—"

The heat that went through you had nothing to do with the morning sun. It rose hard beneath your collar, crawling up your throat until your jaw clenched around it. It pissed you off. Dina was funny and charming and more than a hot piece of ass for some stable boy to run his mouth over. Maisie and Riley were nice girls too, both in your book club, both worth knowing for more than the curve of their mouths or the sway of their hips.

“Maybe you two should spend less time betting on girls who wouldn’t touch you for a warm bath,” you spat, turning toward them, “and more time actually practicing—”

But you'd turned without lowering your gun.

Worse— you'd turned without taking your finger off the trigger.

A loud sound cracked through the clearing.

It wasn't like a typical gun shot, just a sharp, quick pop that punched the rest of your sentence out of your mouth.

Michael grabbed his shoulder and stumbled back, knocking into the rack behind him. A glass bottle tipped from the table and burst in the dirt by his boot, spraying green shards through the dust.

For one second, no one moved.

Then he said, “Ow—fuck!”

Your hands were still around the shotgun, finger still squeezing the trigger, your body stuck in shock.

The kid beside him lowered his own gun in a hurry. A low muttering started to rise from around you— someone else asked if Michael was all right, and Michael, pale and furious and embarrassed, said, “She shot me!"

"Think it's more of a graze—" someone was saying, pulling at the torn cap of his sleeve.

More voices began to overlap as people clustered around him, worry amplifying the noise until you couldn't hear anything because of the panicked buzzing in your ears.

"Give me that."

You blinked to your right. Joel Miller was looming next to you, a thunderous look over his features.

You looked down at the shotgun still in your hands, a gasp running through you.

Your fingers opened at once as if you'd been burned by the wooden barrel. The shotgun dipped toward the ground, and Joel caught it before you could swing wrong again. He took it from you with a look that made your stomach hollow out.

Your mouth open and shut, your voice quiet and lost to the rising murmur around you: "I'm—I'm so sorry—"

Joel didn’t answer. He checked the shotgun with a hard jerk of his hand, jaw tight, eyes not leaving the chamber until he was sure. Then he bent down, grabbed your pack from the dirt, and pushed it into your arms.

“Go.”

You froze with your hands around the straps. A burning, icy thrill ran through your spine, your skin lighting up in humiliation.

“I got no use for kids who don't give a shit about rules or make habits of gettin’ other people killed,” he said. “Go on now. No use to me here.”

You didn’t even think you could speak if you wanted to. You looked down at your backpack, torn and duct-taped in spots, the top strap sewn back down at least ten times since you'd gotten it.

You'd shot someone. What if it hadn't been a blank? What if it hadn't just grazed?

“I—”

“Don’t wanna hear it,” Joel cut in. “Go tell Jesse you're done for the day. He’ll take ya home.”

You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper and nodded, turning away.

For the next two weeks, you went back to being useful.

That was the word that seemed to dig its way into your head, after all. Useful. You baked loaves in the morning with flour dusted up your forearms and dough stuck beneath your fingernails. You wrapped bread in cloth and stacked it on the front table before the church bell rang. When you were done, you gardened the weeds that to creep into the squash beds and watermelon patch, and spent the late afternoons mucking stalls. You went to bed so exhausted you barely thought about what happened at the range.

Michael was fine, of course. He'd come by to apologize for his words the next day with Maria's stone face behind him. You apologized too, made sure he was really okay. Offered him a free bagel or two in exchange for maiming him.

Sometimes you saw Joel.

He didn't laugh or pat your arm understandingly the way the others did when retelling the story that of course made its way around town like wildfire.

He hardly looked at you at all, really. And at first you were grateful for it, too embarrassed to even meet his eye if he ever came by the stables for the horses before training or patrol up in the mountains. You'd run and hide before he even got the chance to spot you, truth be told. And when he came by the bakery, you'd disappeared into the back so fast that one time you’d knocked over an entire sack of rye flour in your haste to vanish.

But by the third week, it'd began to piss you off. Because it was one thing to be ashamed—and you were. But Joel was walking around town like you were something to be scraped off the bottom of his boot. It began to put a sour feeling in your stomach, the fact he had so much power to make you feel so small. Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid glare and his silent brooding.

You stopped hiding.

The next time he came into the bakery, you were at the front counter with your sleeves rolled up as usual, tying string around a parcel of bread. Ellie was next to him as they entered, talking with her hands, telling him some story about Dina and a loose chicken that morning.

“Morning,” you said when they sidled up to the counter.

Ellie looked over, her green eyes brightening. “Hey.”

Joel said nothing.

You pulled down the ration bread from the shelf with their name and house number written across the paper wrapping.

Ellie grinned as you handed it to her, "Do you have any of those sweet rolls from last week?"

You hazarded a glance at Joel, who said nothing again.

"Sure do. You staying for breakfast? I could make some coffee."

Ellie perked up, looking at him. “Can we?”

“No,” Joel said stiffly.

“Oh, come on—didn't you hear her say your favorite word, old man? Cofffeeeeeee!" she sung out before huffing a breath, "Do I need to get your ears checked by the nurse again?”

“We got work.” he grumbled, ignoring her jab.

“You always have work.”

“Funny how that happens.”

You reached for the tray beneath the counter and set a couple rolls out, taking your time. “There’s fresh icing too from this morning, I just need to drizzle it on.”

You went into the back, grabbing the small bag of sugary sweet icing you'd made, and began letting it fall in a steady cascade onto the sweet buns.

Ellie leaned both elbows on the counter. “See? Now we have to stay. It would be rude not to.”

You pretended not to notice how Joel's jaw ticked under his beard.

“She makes a good argument,” you said, sliding the small plate toward Ellie next to their wrapped weekly bread loaf.

Finally, those dark eyes landed on you. It was quick and could almost pass off as an accident. A muddling of color that shown in the morning light, his mouth flat. The same hard set to his face as always. But you smiled back anyway.

Because fuck him.

Ellie took one and barely hesitated before taking a giant bite, delighted. “Thank you.” she said with her mouth full.

You looked away quickly, back at Ellie. “Anytime.”

Joel reached into his pocket and set the ration slips on the counter. His hand was close enough that you could see the scar across one knuckle, the dust caught in the creases of his fingers. He took the parceled bread from the counter, leaving the second sweet bun untouched.

"Let's go, Ellie." he said stiffly. Before you could even call goodbye, they were walking out the shop, Ellie throwing you an apologetic glance and a wave of her hand as she stuffed the roll into her mouth.

You picked up the rations he left, and for a moment, thought about chucking that leftover roll at the back of his head as he disappeared from view.

Instead of learning how to shoot guns, you began learning how to take care of them.

Learn it from the inside out, you told yourself.

And to be fair, you picked it up rather quickly. Quicker than you’d picked up aiming, anyway. There was a comfort to it that shooting never gave you, all the pieces laid out on an oil-stained cloth in front of you, metal pins and springs and screws set in neat little rows beneath your hands. There was no bottle on a fence line waiting to make a fool out of you here in the small rec room of the cafeteria after the dinner shift had come and gone.

Tommy Miller taught the class every other night, his sleeves rolled to the elbows and voice patient and kind as he showed you and a few others how to take a handgun apart and put it back together. He had a way of teaching that was so different than his brother. He was patient, never made you feel stupid for asking questions. If a piece didn't fit, he'd simply say: “The gun’ll tell you what it needs most times. You just gotta quit arguin’ with it long enough to listen.”

And maybe, a small mean part of you liked the fact that the first time Joel Miller saw you there, he stopped dead in the doorway.

You'd bitten your cheek so hard to keep the smug smile from tugging your lips as he made his way across the room with a box of empty shells the night you were learning how to make ammunition. His eyes moved across the room to his brother, who patted him jovially on the back, and then the elder Miller's eyes came back to you. And you knew you didn't look very nice—smudge of grease across your cheek and your hair pulled haphazardly away from the gunpowder, thick work gloves that hardly fit and your plaid sleeves rolled up.

But he'd stared long and hard anyway. And then, as if nothing was amiss, his face went back to its hard, frozen state, and he walked out.

It was that night that you woke from an awful dream.

A horde of infected had broken through Jackson, tearing through everything you'd always loved and cared for. The gate was splintered open, the watchtower burned down to the ground. People were running through the street in their nightclothes, slipping in mud and blood, screaming names you knew.

You woke in a drenched sweat, feeling every bit as useless with a gun in your dream as you did in waking life.

But it was the kind of dream that didn't really feel like a dream at all. You'd felt like you were there, like the chill of night was actually on your face, like the roars of infected in your ears were truly bone-chilling. Your chest had filled with so much doom as you tried to fight back. But you couldn't. Every shot went wrong, every squeeze of the trigger sent another round into a fence post, a doorframe, the packed dirt beside an infected's rotting foot.

You could load the gun. You could take it apart and put it back together. You could clean the pieces until the metal shone beneath your fingers. You'd done it a hundred times now.

But you couldn't shoot.

In the dream, it had been all your fault. The deaths. Friends, loved ones, people who had waved to you from the church steps and leaned over the bakery counter telling you all about their latest town gossip.

Even Joel Miller.

He had died in the dream too. Because of you, and your awful aim, and your utter uselessness when it came to defending anything you cared about.

So, instead of trying to fall back asleep— afraid the dream might return—you got up and headed downstairs. Making your way through your dark house that was a small thing in the middle of town, you heard the floorboards creaking beneath your socks until you stepped into your boots properly.

You threw on your Carhartt over your nightclothes, fumbling with the zipper in the dark. It was just the start of summer now, but the mornings still could be biting. The mountains liked to keep their cold weather as long as possible, holding to it until the sun finally dragged it out when summer solstice came.

On the kitchen table, the shotgun you'd been working on for Tommy’s class sat wrapped in an old cloth, its oiled barrel catching a thin line of moonlight from the window.

You stared at it for a moment.

Then, decision made, you slung the strap over your shoulder and headed out.

Surprisingly, Joel Miller was awake at the odd hour as well.

As you walked down Rancher Street, you spotted him on his porch in the old rocker, one boot planted against the floorboards to keep the chair steady. A steaming cup of something was in his hand as he looked out onto the empty street. No one was up at this hour. You shouldn’t've even been up either. You wouldn’t have to open the bakery for another several hours, and the whole of Jackson seemed to know it. The curtains of the houses you passed were still drawn in the houses along the street, the chicken coops were quiet. Even the dogs that usually barked from behind fences must have been sleeping away the dawn with their owners still in bed.

It made your boots sound so loud on the road.

When his eyes caught the movement of your form coming toward the house, you saw him pause. His brows shot up high, then narrowed back into their usual glower. As you got closer and closer, it seemed so did his brows, threading deeper, causing harsher lines to form between them. The sun was just barely beginning to peek over the east mountaintops, the sky beginning to let go of its inky blackness with only a pale line of light touching the surrounding rooftops.

Joel Miller didn’t say anything as you stepped up from the street onto the path to his house. Or as you walked through his front yard. But his eyes never left you.

You tried—very hard and very much in vain—not to care what he saw as you walked up to the porch. He was an asshole, after all. An asshole who had told you he had no use for you, dismissed you for one mistake, and ignored you for weeks after. You shouldn't care if he saw some clumsy girl with a gun too big for her hands, or the bags under your eyes, or the matching floral sleep set beneath your jacket, long sleeves buttoned to your wrists and matching cotton pants tucked messily into your boots.

"Good morning, Mr. Miller." you said, stopping just at the bottom step of his porch.

He took a long sip of his steaming cup before resting it between his hands on his lap.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, kid?"

In any other circumstance, that could’ve been a polite greeting. But the flatness to his voice, the utter disapproval or contempt that threaded through it, made it sound exactly as he meant it.

You stared at him for a long, long moment.

He just stared back.

The rocker gave a faint creek under his weight. You could just smell the contents of the mug—coffee, for sure then. Bitter and dark how he liked it. You shifted the shotgun off your shoulder and set the butt of it into the dirt beside your boot, one hand rested at the top so it pointed up towards the sky.

Finally, it was Joel who broke the silence as he sighed, getting up to stand at the railing, setting one large, calloused palm against the wood as he looked down at you.

"Kid, I don't know what yer—"

"Shut up."

Joel Miller, for the first damn time since he'd met you, seemed to be stunned. His eyes went wide in disbelief.

"Excuse me, young lady?" he scoffed, standing still on his porch.

"Shut up—" you said, and if your voice shook a little, he made no notice, "and listen."

His eyebrows lifted. Then he looked down the empty street, like maybe someone else had heard you speak to him that way and he needed a witness. But there was no one, of course. Not at this hour. Only the closed houses, the pale line of morning over the rooftops, and a dog two porches down watching through the fence with its nose pressed between the slats.

When Joel looked back at you, he only gave a small shrug, one palm tipping up from the railing.

Go on then.

"I am a baker," you said curtly, taking in a shaky, deep breath, "I am a gardener, I am a sewer, I've become a damn good gun cleaner. I've been in Jackson for two years. I deserve to be here."

"Never said—"

"—and I deserve to learn how to defend it too."

Joel's eyes never left you as he heard your case. His face didn't change much, but at least it wasn't glowering anymore. He made no move to dismiss you or walk back inside even if he'd have enough reason to.

"Just because I had a shit first day doesn't mean I can't still learn, old man." you said. It wasn't a term of endearment. "Just because I'm not shooting bullseyes or killing infected yet doesn't mean I can't try, alright? I— I'm brave and—and—" you took another deep breath, "And you're going to teach me how to shoot."

"Like hell—" he stopped, scoffing again, and then went on, shaking his head: "Kid, you and I—clearly, we ain't jivin', why don't you ask another—"

"No."

Joel clicked his teeth, shifting his weight between his feet behind the wooden balusters.

"No one is as…" you glared up at him, the words searing your tongue before you could force it out, "No one is as good as you. If anyone is gonna teach me, it's you Mr. Miller."

There was a long pause, and Joel set down his mug, the steam wafting in the chilly summer morning. You almost wished you hadn't come, that you could go back to ignoring each other for weeks. What was it to you, what this man thought of you? You knew you looked ridiculous standing here, asking for help. You should be shouting at him, telling him he's mean and grouchy like a dog.

"Christ," he sighed, "you don't give up do ya?"

"Nope."

He pulled in another deep breath, looking up and down the road again for a long moment, before his eyes found you once more. You saw how they roved over your figure, over the muck boots and the white blue floral set, over your tan Carhartt, and then onto your face, where he paused for a moment before saying:

"Well first thing, don't hold the damn gun like that."

You looked down where you were leaning your palm over the muzzle of the shotgun.

"Gonna blow a hole in your palm, then I wouldn't be able to teach ya shit."

Your face burned, but you moved to grip the barrel lower and pulled the gun carefully across your belly, holding it with both hands now, pointed well away from either of you.

He nodded, lifting his mug and taking another sip of coffee, watching you, The slurp of the drink filling his mouth held the silence while the birds began waking up around you.

"You sure you'll be warm enough?" he asked finally.

You nodded.

"Alright. Let me get my shoes and we can hit the trails. Stay put."

You nodded again, and then—

"Joel?"

He turned.

"I um... I promise I won't let you down."

He took one more look at you, the harsh line of his mouth eased, eyes settling in a way you hadn't seen before.

He nodded once, and said: "I know, kid."

The sun was well over the mountain top by the time you made it to the ridge.

He hadn't taken you back to the training ground, whether it was to save you the humiliation of seeing the leftover shards of green glass on the ground, or because he liked the view better by the forgotten ranch, you weren't entirely sure.

It sat a few miles out from Jackson, tucked up where the land opened into a long slope of yellow grass and thin fence posts. One of the old checkpoint places, Joel had told you on the ride over. Not one people used much anymore, not unless they were cutting through on patrol or needed to seek shelter from a storm. There was a little graying house at the top of the rise with peeling paint along the porch rail and a tin roof gone dull from years of snow. Beside it, an old barn leaned slightly into the hill, its red paint worn down to bare wood in places, its door hanging open on a rusted hinge.

You barely registered the bird song that filled the skies as he set up a training course, the beautiful view of the mountainside and your horses grazing in pasture of the barn. Every now and then you saw one lift its head to look at you, ears flickering around, before bending down and resuming its peaceful morning loitering.

Joel was beside you, close enough that you could smell the pine of his body wash and the musk of sweat lining his shirt. He had been mostly quiet on the ride here, but not in the punishing way, you began to realize. Just quiet and focused as his is eyes kept moving over the land, the fence line, the barn, the empty windows of the little ranch house behind you.

“Lean just a little over now,” he said from behind your shoulder as you got into position by the wooden posts. “Use the fence as a brace. Easier when you got something steady under the stock.”

You shifted forward until the gun found the flat part of the top of the wood. The air was still chilly through the sleeves of your sleep set, the fence rough enough to catch on the ribboned cuff of your pant leg when you moved into it. Ahead, he’d pinned a target to the trunk of a tree, three rings and a bullseye in the center.

“First thing,” he said, “you don’t point that barrel anywhere you ain’t willing to put a hole through. Don’t matter if you think the thing's empty. Don’t matter if I told you it’s empty. You treat it like it’s loaded every second it’s in your hands.”

"I know, Joel."

"Repeat it," he said, a little firmer, and the way his breath brushed the side of your neck, it made you shiver. You didn't reaalize he'd gotten so close.

"Treat it like it's loaded." you muttered, leaning over the stock, looking down the line of the barrel.

"Good." he grunted. "Finger stays off the trigger til you're ready, keep both eyes open."

"You sure are bossy." you said under your breath.

"'Scuse me?" he chuckled, "Ain't you the one who dragged me out here at the brink of dawn?"

You rolled your eyes, but bent forward.

“Careful with that,” he said. “Eyes are useful for shootin’. Would hate for 'em to get stuck like that.”

You couldn't help the chuckle you let out—great, so he's got dad jokes too.

“Now stay where you are,” he said. “I’m gonna move the shotgun where it’s supposed to sit. Easier than tryin’ to explain it five different ways, alright?”

You felt your cheeks burn a little, but nodded.

He moved behind you, close enough that the warmth of him settled at your back before he ever touched you. One hand reached around yours, thick fingers closing over the fore end of the shotgun to shift it against the top rail of the fence, enough to settle it steady against the wood. His other hand came to your shoulder, guiding the butt of the stock into place. It was heavy, but bearable thanks to the support of the fence in front of you.

"Want it over your shoulder, not pushin' into the collarbone. S'gonna kick harder than a mule and you'll be hollerin' about bein' sore for days."

You scoffed a bit, but let the stock settle over the crest of your shoulder as he positioned it.

“Now press your cheek right here,” he said, moving his hand from the barrel to tap the side of the stock. You tilted your head, trying to place it right. You nearly gasped when you felt the thick press of his fingers on the other side your neck as he guided you into position without thought. Not rough or impatient, only warm, certain, his callouses catching lightly against your skin. "There ya go."

Your body became suddenly very aware of him from that one touch. The scrape of his jacket against yours as his chest came in closer, the weight of him behind you, the heat of him against your back.

"Stay still, you're squirmin'—"

"—am not—"

You felt the breath of a laugh over your shoulders, and it made your skin rise in gooseflesh. The target was becoming blurrier by the moment.

"Now—"

You held very still as you felt him line his body behind yours, his breath now against your neck, his voice low and gravelly like honey on hot asphalt.

“Think about all that bullshit you been carryin’ around,” he grumbled. “Starin’ daggers at me for weeks. Comin’ up on my porch tellin’ me to shut up, callin’ me old, actin’ like I decided you don’t belong.”

"Joel—" you protested.

"S'okay, didn't take none personal." he said as he stepped up even closer, one hand going to your hip. “Breathe in.”

You sucked in a shallow breath.

He clicked his teeth. “Try again. You know none of that is true, don't ya, darlin'? Let it all go here. Don't belong in that head a'yours.”

You closed your eyes, annoyed and a little embarrassed, and pulled air in deeper this time, taking in the smells of the open Wyoming air. Cold morning. Damp grass. Coffee on his breath. Mint from when he'd been chewing the sprig on the way there. Pine soap. The fence rail rough beneath the gun.

His breath was so warm against your cheek as he murmured: "That's it, now let it out."

You let the breath leave you, nice and long and through your mouth—and with it went the bickering on his porch, the shame of the range, the weeks of him not looking at you, the ugly little voice that kept saying you were useless no matter how many loaves you baked or horses you brushed or shotguns you cleaned.

"Open your eyes now, and squeeze that trigger." he murmured, lips brushing your ear. As he said the word, his hand pressed forward on your hip, long, thick fingers winding around the sensitive skin just under the waistband.

When your eyes opened, the sun felt a little brighter, the day a little clearer. The target sharpened against the tree, the black rings settling in your sight.

Your stomach dipped for one horrifying moment, and then—you squeezed.

The shot cracked across the ridge, echoing off the sides of the mountains. Joel was right—the butt of the gun kicked hard, but you only felt it jostle your body back into his, harder, the force caught by your shoulder instead of biting into your chest.

You gasped, everything happening so fast before you were blinking rapidly and seeing the paper on the tree ripped just left of center.

“Shit—”

“Not bad for a first try.” you heard him say.

"I wanna go again." you said, breathlessly.

“Jackson’s gonna be needin’ their morning bread soon,” Joel chuckled, but he didn’t move. “Tommy’s gonna be wonderin’ where his cinnamon rolls are.”

You smiled wide, the adrenaline of the shot still coursing through you.

As your breath settled, both of you were still leaning over the fence, your body pressed back into the hard line of his. His hand hadn’t moved from your hip. Neither had yours from the shotgun. It would’ve been easy, maybe, to step away. To laugh, to clear your throat, to make some comment about those cinnamon rolls or old men or how if he'd stop being so bossy you could've probably hit the bullseye.

But…you didn't.

You only tilted your gaze over your shoulder.

He was so close—so close you could see almost every gray hair in his thick beard like winter's snowy streaks in a dark sky. You could see every line on his plump bottom lip, the shining spot where his tongue had just passed over it.

"Thank you, Joel." you whispered, "For…"

You trailed off, because Joel wasn't looking in your eyes anymore. They were such a pretty hazel you'd never noticed, and were fixed on your mouth.

"You're welcome." he whispered.

Your lips parted lightly when he tilted his head over your shoulder, and he took that as invitation to lean in.

He was so warm.

Like kindled fire in a cabin, like the first morning of solstice. The prickle of his mustache brushed your nose as he took your lips with his, breathing you in so deeply it made your knees go soft beneath you. You let out a whimper, hands tightening around the barrel and grip of the shotgun, wishing so badly to put them in his hair, all over his broad shoulders and thick muscles.

He seemed to know exactly what you needed, his one hand coming up to take the gun from your hands, placing it quickly but carefully against the fence. He only broke the kiss to turn you fully towards him before his lips were on you again, hungrier and needier as he pushed his body into yours.

His hands were all over you in an instant, planted on your hips and squeezing you harder, making you whine under his touch.

Your tongue traced his bottom lip, teeth nipping, begging wordlessly for entrance, and he gave it so easily. So eagerly. He groaned, opening his mouth for you, letting you lick inside, suckling on his tongue before you nipped again at that nice bottom lip.

His hands were everywhere—under your jacket but above your cotton top, sliding up your waist and back down again, never settling for long. They were so big and broad, squeezing and groping anywhere he could hold.

Yours wound around his neck so you could drag him closer, breasts pushed to his chest, the layers between you suddenly unbearable. His jacket. Your sleep shirt. His flannel. It was too much fabric—too much of everything that wasn’t his fevered skin against yours.

How could you ever have thought he was such an asshole? This grumpy old man— this stubborn, bossy, impossible man, was just as needy as you. Maybe worse. All that silence, that staring. Those weeks of pretending he didn’t see you across bakery counters and barn aisles and muddy streets. He needed this as much as you did, someone to set him straight, yes, but also… to tell him he was needed and good, too.

You moaned when his hands traveled lower, both palms filling with the round flesh of your bum, dragging you up against him. One hand pulled up beneath your thigh so your leg was over his hip, opening you enough for him to grind the hard denim of his cock against you.

“Oh shit—” you gasped as your back got pushed into the rails of the fence.

He was thick. You could feel it even through his jeans, through the stiff seam and the metal of his zipper, the heavy shape of his length ground into the cradle of your legs perfectly.

Joel’s mouth left yours with a wet sound and moved to your jaw, then your chin, then the side of your throat. His beard scraped at your skin, his mustache rough beneath your ear.

“S’alright, darlin’,” he murmured, rocking into you again, slower this time, meaner for how much control he had over it. “Just needed someone to show you how it’s done, didn’t ya?”

Your nails bit into the back of his neck.

“Joel—”

“Been fightin’ me all mornin’,” he said, his mouth dragging lower, teeth grazing where your pulse beat too fast. “All damn month, really.”

You couldn’t even argue. Not with his hips pressed just right and his hand gripping your thigh harder, holding you open against the fence.

“S’okay,” he said, voice rough against your throat, tongue laving over your carotid. “I’ll show you how to take me just as good, yeah?”

“Oh, yes,” you breathed, already nodding. “Yes, please, Joel.”

"What good manners you have, baby," he cooed.

Luckily he couldn't see the way your eyes rolled at that, but your mouth fell open as he bit down on the tender flesh of your shoulder.

"Oh!"

He growled, pleased, the sound vibrating up from his rib cage and against your skin before he push his cock into you harder than before. The fence post pressed into your back, a little painful through your jacket, his hands holding you tightly between it and himself.

“Tell me,” he groaned. “How long?”

"How long what, old man?" you tried to clipped retort, but it came out more like a whimper as his hands pulled you closer, dragging your cotton-covered seam over him harder. You had one hand thrown back over the fence rail to keep your balance, the other fisted tightly in his hair. Your head fell forward to watch where his lap met yours, thin floral pajama pants bunched tight where his stiff denim pressed into them over and over, the friction making your thighs tremble around his hips.

"How long has this sweet little pussy been wet —since we got up here, hm?"

"Fuck you," you moaned, which only made him laugh.

His head came up to look you straight in the eye, one hand going to the side of your face, thumb against your cheekbone, the wide breadth of his palm covering your cheek. His fingers dug lightly into the side of your neck as he forced your gaze back up to him. It was shockingly sweet for how menacing his smile was.

“Your little act doesn’t work on me, sugar,” he murmured, staring at your lips. “C’mon now. Tell me.”

You glared up at him, though it was a weak thing with your chest heaving and your leg hooked around his waist. "You're such an asshole."

He bent down to nip at your nose, "'fraid I think you might like that most about me."

The both of you were very still now, though you'd brought both of your ankles up to lock at his lower back, fully relying on him for balance. Your chest heaved with fresh lungfuls of air, finally catching up to what had felt lost and shallow before.

"And what about you?" you asked, tipping your chin up. "You really hate me as much as you act like you do?"

“Could never hate’cha,” he murmured, leaning down again, his voice lower now, almost too soft for the way he was still holding you against the fence. “Only thing I hate is how fuckin’ bad you make me want you.”

You blinked up at him.

"Is it really that much of a surprise, baby?" he added when he saw your expression.

"I mean—you—"

He was beginning to kiss you again, your flustered state seemingly invitation enough to resume his affection, gentler this time. He kissed your mouth softly, then the corner where the seam of your lips met, then up your cheek and over your brow.

"—you said we don't get along, that I should find someone else to teach me—that, that you had no use for me—"

Joel pulled back one more time, looking down at you. The hand that had been hooked under your knee came up to your face too, until he was holding your head between both hands, palms rough against your cheeks, fingers cupping the bowl of your skull.

His eyes moved over your face, and for once, there was no glower there. No hard set to his mouth. Just Joel, looking at you like the words had been sitting badly in his chest too.

"Should'a never said that, I know. I'm sorry. I was an asshole up at the trainin' range that mornin'."

"Yeah, you were." you pouted.

“Only said them things on the porch ’cause I know I shouldn’t want’cha like I do.” He shook his head, jaw tight, the confession seemingly costing him something. “Can’t fuckin’ help it though, baby. I can’t.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered.

"You're too young—" he whispered, "—too sweet for me. You're right, I'm old, I'm mean as a dog…"

Your delicate fingers wrapped around his thick wrists, holding him there, keeping his hands on your face.

“Truth?” you offered.

He nodded quietly.

Out there, you could just hear the breeze over the open fields around you. The soft nickering of the horses grazes, the birdsong of the woods beyond. It was awfully quiet where just you and Joel stood pinned against the old fenceline.

"I've wanted you for so, so long." you murmured.

His eyes flickered between yours, narrowing, almost disbelieving. Your grip on his wrists tightened.

"I have. And…and… I've been wet since we got here. Thinking about this—being all alone with you and—even if I can't fucking stand you glowering at me like that—"

He pushed his lips into yours again, but this time, it wasn't only the flame of hunger and eagerness, but the gentleness of tender affection.

“C’mere,” he whispered into your lips, hands sliding down your sides.

His hands were back on your body, pulling you closer, slipping under your jacket once more before finally reaching under your cotton night shirt. You could feel just how rough-hewn his fingertips were, how calloused and worn they were against the tender flesh of your body. But they felt so right, like this was where they belonged all along.

“You’re so soft, baby. Wanna feel how soft you are under these.” His fingers hooked lightly at the waistband of your cotton pants. “Take ’em off for me.”

You listened, of course you listened. He let your wobbly legs down gently from his hips, one hand staying firm at your waist until your boots found the grass again. Your knees felt useless beneath you, weak from the heat of him, from the way his voice had gone low and syrupy thick against your mouth. You reached for the ribboned hem of your sleep pants with clumsy fingers, and Joel watched you like he was trying very hard to stay patient.

The cotton slid down your thighs, catching for a second at your knees before you stepped out of them and your boots. Morning air touched your bare skin at once, cool enough to make you suck in a breath.

You started to pull your coat off too, but Joel caught the front of it in one fist and held it closed around you.

“You’re gonna get cold, baby,” he murmured, bringing you back into his arms to kiss you on the lips once more. “Keep it on.”

He was soon bending, kissing your chin, the soft skin of your throat, down your top and lifting it just enough to lick into your navel, making you giggle and squirm. He threw you a knowing look when you bit back a laugh at the crack of his knees, and you nearly opened your mouth to say something rude before his lips found your skin again.

He kissed lower, down the soft slope of your belly, until his mouth was pressed just above your mound where your panties still covered you. Stupid sleep underwear, you chastised yourself, suddenly annoyed you hadn’t thought this far ahead. But Joel didn't seem to care. He kissed the little bow at the waistband, something slipping from his mouth that sounded awfully like 'how cute'.

Your breath caught in the crisp morning air when his tongue dipped out over your cotton panties, right where your clit pulsed beneath. He let out a low hum of satisfaction, one thick finger coming up to pull the cotton aside.

“Why don’t you spread these pretty legs for me, hm?” His eyes flicked up to yours. “Or do I need to teach ya how to do that too?”

You scoffed, still in your head enough to want to bite back a curse at him, but he was already moving your leg for you, pushing your knee toward the fenceline until your boot found footing on the bottom rail. His eyes never left the damp spot darkening your panties.

As he pulled the cotton aside fully, he sighed, face tilting a little as he looked.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, nervousness fluttering in your belly.

His eyes glanced up at you, and your heart ricocheted into your throat. You felt bare. Exposed. Ready for him to turn cold again, to go back to that surly look and stone quiet like he’d only just remembered himself.

Instead, his thumb stroked once along your thigh.

“S’just so pretty,” he murmured. “Tryin’ to take my time, is all.”

Your mouth opened in another quick gasp as his lips pressed onto the swollen bud of your clit. You felt his tongue dip out lazily, curled like a basin for collecting the arousal that had pooled for him. He licked up and up and up, before suckling on your sensitive bud again. He moaned with you when your head fell back, your fingers digging harder into the fenceline where you held yourself up.

"That's it, that's it," he cooed when he pulled away to blow gentle air against your pussy. "What a good girl you are, just want a little taste before I put my cock in ya."

Oh god, the old man really had a filthy mouth.

He was diving back in again, now with a finger to prod at your entrance. Your knees suddenly felt wobbly, hardly able to keep you standing.

He licked and sucked at your pussy like he’d been waiting for it, messy and hungry now, no patience left in him. His finger pushed inside, thick enough to make you gasp, your walls clenching down around it as he groaned into you.

"Ohhhh…" you chorused together.

"Fuck, you're tight," he breathed.

"Oh god, Joel." you said at the same time.

"I know, I know," he cooed again. His voice had gone dark and syrup-thick, coated in arousal, every word dragged rough from the back of his throat.

“Just gotta open ’er up,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your thigh before looking back at where his finger disappeared inside you. “Ain’t no way my cock’s fittin’ in here before I get you ready.”

“It will,” you chanted, hips undulating up into his mouth. “It will, it will—”

He moaned at your eagerness, crooking his finger before pulling it out to the first knuckles, and inserting a second finger. You gasped, stretched over his thick digits, the ache of it full and perfect and worse because he looked so pleased with himself. Because he knew exactly where to press, where to push, how to lave his tongue over your clit until your body was singing his praise.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, watching your face as his fingers worked deeper. “There you go. There you go.”

Your head tipped back against the fence post, wood catching at your hair.

“She gonna squeeze my cock this tight too, huh?” he murmured, mouth brushing slick over your clit. “She likes my fingers in ’er.”

"Yes, yes, yes," you whispered, your eyes hooded but forcing yourself to watch him. Your other hand carded into his thick graying hair at the crown of his head, nails scraping through, and he made a rough, pleased sound into you. Almost a purr. Almost a growl. His eyes fluttered for half a second before he looked back up at you, mouth wet, beard shining, fingers still buried inside you.

"M'so close, Joel, so so close, pleeeaseee…"

"There's those sweet manners again, baby. Why don't you go ahead and beg me some more? Maybe I'll let you come right now, and then I'll make you come again around my cock. Huh? Sound good? Let me hear your pretty little begging again, baby, go on now."

He said it all while panting, tilting his head up so his eyes could watch you. You put on your best pout, bottom lip sticking out so he could see how much you really really wanted it.

"Pleeeeease, Joel, please—" you mewled, "your fingers feel so good, so thick, please let me come. I'll be good, I'll be good."

"Good girl," he murmured, breath hot against you, "go on, let me feel her soak me. Come, baby,"

It felt like your belly had been waiting for the words. The overwhelming build finally tipped, the wave cresting hard before crashing through you all at once. Your body went molten as you locked up around his fingers, pleasure coursing through your veins in hot, licking bursts. Your eyes squeezed shut, your mouth falling open around a low, obscene moan you had no control over.

Joel rocked you through it, fingers pushing in and out, fucking you with them while his tongue pressed gently at your overstimulated clit until you were twitching and pulling away from his mouth.

When he pulled his fingers from your walls, you nearly fell to the ground, your legs unable to hold you up. Joel caught you before you could drop, hands firm beneath your thighs as he lifted you fully against him, both your legs winding around his waist now. Lazily, sleepily, you watched him shrug out of his coat and throw it down over the grass. Your eyes were still too heavy to take all of him in properly, so your hands did it instead—big shoulders, broad chest, thick arms built from hard work and long hours.

Just as much a part of Jackson as you were. Maybe more.

He could do everything. It made you a little sick with envy, even now, even with your body still humming from his mouth and his fingers.

Joel saw your face change, but he was busy lowering you onto his coat, easing you down into the grass instead of keeping you pinned against the fence.

“What is it, baby?” he whispered, one hand cradling the back of your head as he settled over you. “What’s in that pretty little head of yours?”

He was half watching you, half working open his jeans until his cock was freed from the denim, heavy as it bobbed, flushed red and bobbing thick between you as he leaned closer.

You licked your lips, reaching for him, but Joel caught you by the wrist before your fingers could wrap around him. You gasped in surprise, but he only brought your hand to his mouth, kissing each pad of your fingers one by one.

“Don’t think I’ll last too long if you start that,” he murmured. “Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You shook your head. “Nothing. You’re just…you’re so…”

You sighed dreamily, distracted by the feeling of his swollen, wet lips against the tips of your fingers.

“Old?” he offered. “Cranky? Rude?”

Your mouth twitched. “Yes, and…”

He laughed a little, but you went on anyway.

“I was just thinking about how perfect you are.”

Now he really smiled wide, shaking his head before nipping at your index finger. "Think you've got the wrong man, baby," he groaned a little, and then leaned over you.

You shook your head again, winding your arms around his neck, one hand cupping the nape of his hair while your nails scraped lightly along his scalp.

“Don’t think so.”

He hummed, kissing you again, and began to roll his hips against you so his cock slid up your belly, heavy and hot against your skin. The kiss deepened, lips slotting together, wet and tender, tongues sliding slow as your hands tightened in his hair and his weight settled over you.

“I don’t know if you’re gonna fit,” you whispered when he pulled his hips back too far and the head of his cock slipped up through the seam of your pussy.

He licked his lips, looking down at you. “Told ya I’d teach ya, didn’t I?”

You smiled, nodding. “M’nervous.”

“Don’t gotta be. I got ya, baby.” His thumb brushed along your hairline. “We’ll start nice and slow.”

He did as he said, sitting back a little just so he could grasp his cock in one hand, the other still cradling your head, petting your hair where it had fallen across his jacket. The head of him notched at your entrance, wet with arousal and spit, but the difference between two fingers and his cock suddenly felt impossible.

“Easy now,” he whispered, kissing your lips. “Take a breath for me, honey.”

You did as he said, for once without some retort, and pulled in a deep breath.

What started as control quickly turned into a gasp as he pushed inside.

“Oh fuck!” you squealed, clawing at his shoulders over his shirt.

He chuckled, and you wanted to slap him.

“Come on now, honey,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your open mouth. “You’re all tensin’ up. Curl your toes. Deep breaths. C’mere, gimme a kiss.”

Your toes curled automatically, did your best to pull in another breath, and he leaned down to kiss you earnestly, swallowing the next rough sound that left you as he pushed in another inch.

His tongue licked behind your teeth. His chest pressed yours down into the coat. The weight of him made the ground feel farther away somehow, the grass cool beneath your hips, his jacket bunched soft and worn under your shoulders.

“Oh yeah,” he breathed against your mouth, rougher now. “Ain’t that so good, baby? How’s that feel?”

Your head fell back onto the collar of his jacket. “Soooo…full. Fuck.”

“Almost all of it,” he murmured, jaw tight. “Just a little more. Pussy feels amazing, baby. S’like heaven.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as he pulled back a little, your mouth opening in a small, helpless shape when the drag of him caught every tender place he’d opened with his fingers.

“Yeah,” he sighed, watching your face. “There you go. She’s warmin’ up to me now.”

One of his hands slid from your hair to your throat, resting just beneath your jaw, not squeezing, only holding you there while his thumb brushed the jumping line of your pulse. "think she's even startin' to like me."

“You’re so corny,” you groaned, but your chastising cut off when he slid his cock in all the way, his heavy balls pressing against your ass at last.

“Oh—” you choked. “Oh, oh oh.”

Joel nodded like he felt it too, like he needed the confirmation just as badly as you did. Then he kissed you again, and you let him, loose and dazed beneath him, tongue sweeping out to taste his. You could still taste yourself there, musky and sweet on his mouth, and it made your walls contract around him.

Your body was starting to understand him now. The first sharp stretch softened into heat, your muscles loosening by degrees, letting him settle deeper until the fullness became less frightening and more necessary.

“Fuck,” he breathed, forehead pressing to yours. “You okay? How’re you feelin’, baby?”

“So good, Joel,” you whispered, fingers flexing in the fabric at his shoulders. “So good. Please, please fuck me.”

He groaned, ducking his face into your neck. “Gonna give it to you good, baby.”

He started slowly. Though, you weren't sure if he was exactly gentle. He was so big and there was too much of him for anything to feel really gentle. But he was careful, controlled in the sawing of his hips that pulled halfway out, and then pressing back in. Each stroke was concise, your fingers digging harder into his shirt, each little hiccup of air pressed from you.

His coat dragged beneath your back, the grass brushing cold against your bare thighs. Your sleep top had ridden up beneath your own jacket, leaving your stomach exposed to the morning air, but Joel was warm over you, broad and heavy and panting against your throat. Every time he pushed in, your body shifted against his, the ground catching you, the earth taking what the fence no longer had to.

The open air of the field collected your simpering sighs and loud, mewling moans, the day warming around you so that you saw sweat beginning to dapple his forehead when he brought his head up to look at you.

“So pretty, baby,” he breathed. “Such a pretty girl takin’ cock so well.”

You cried out when he changed the rhythm, picking up speed.

“I know, I know,” he moaned, his voice catching rough in his throat. “God, you feel so good, baby. Pussy feels like it was made for me, huh?”

“Yes, Joel, yes—ohhh, yes, yes, yes.”

“She’s tightenin’ up on me again,” he panted, eyes dragging over your face. “Gonna come for me already? What a good girl you are. C’mon, I wanna feel it around my cock.”

Your eyes widened when Joel’s hand slid down your body again, over your thigh, hooking it higher until your leg was thrown up over his shoulder. Your body folded beneath him, his cock reaching deeper as he leaned down into you.

“Fuck!” you squealed, holding tightly onto his hair.

He looked down at you with a little pout, a mock-sympathetic expression pulling at his mouth.

“Doin’ so good,” he murmured. “Takin’ my cock like such a good girl, baby. Come on now, let me feel her again. She feels like fuckin’ heaven.”

“Jooooel,” you whined.

But that crest of a wave was swelling worse now, higher, blood coursing hot through the river of your veins, sparking as it flooded your belly. Your hips tightened. Your muscles locked. Your whole body seemed to pull toward him, toward that hard, dragging stroke, toward the pressure building so tight you could hardly breathe around it.

“Oh god,” you gasped. “Oh god.”

“Make your old man happy, baby,” he panted, hips snapping harder now. “Come on my cock. Know you wanna. Know your pussy loves it.”

“Shut up,” you cried. “Shut up, shut up.”

He grabbed your face again, mock pout gone, teeth bared with the strain of holding himself together.

“Where are those sweet manners you had not too long ago?”

You squealed as he built up a faster rhythm. His hand hooked around your neck, pulling you up just enough to make you look down between your bodies, where his cock was splitting you open over and over.

“You see that, baby?” he groaned. “She’s milkin’ me. Beggin’ me to let her come, ain’t she? Look how good she’s takin’ me.”

“So good,” you murmured between moans.

It was true. His cock was covered with your thick arousal and come, pearly white and glistening around the shaft every time he pulled out, only to swing his hips back into you again.

“So why don’t you use those good manners and ask me?” he rasped. “Hm? Too proud already? Or are you too cock drunk?”

You pushed weakly against him, and he let you lay back down fully, following you down to kiss you. His mouth was wet, his breath uneven, his body still working yours into the coat beneath you.

“Gonna make me beg for it now, sweetheart?” he asked against your lips. “That it?”

You shook your head, too far gone to answer properly.

“I ain’t above beggin’,” he chuckled, though the sound broke wetly into a groan when you clenched around him again. “Wanna feel it so badly.”

He reached down between you, his thumb finding your swollen clit and strumming it with the perfect pressure.

Your eyes popped open, you didn’t even have time to beg. To ask. To tell him.

Your body locked up all at once, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure burst bright and black behind your lids. It tore through you in waves, hips jerking beneath him, thighs shaking where he had you folded open. Your mouth fell wide around a sound you barely recognized as yours.

Somewhere outside the buzzing of your orgasm, outside your own moans and the pulse pounding in your ears, you heard Joel groaning louder.

“That’s it,” he gritted against your cheek. “Fuck, that’s it, baby. Give it to me. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

His thrusts started to lose their rhythm, turning deeper, rougher, his hips driving into you with less control each time. His hand tightened at your jaw, his forehead pressing hot to yours mouth open against yours, and then he pushed into you one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go.

Joel groaned your name like it had been dragged from somewhere low in his chest, and then he filled you, cock pulsing inside you as his body went heavy over yours, his breath breaking against your mouth.

For a moment, neither of you moved. There was only breath.

Yours, thin, uneven, still catching in your dry throat when you tried to swallow. He felt heavy over you, his breath thick against your cheek. His weight felt good, like a blanket, though your legs had begun to cramp until he let your leg down.

The open summer morning moved on around you. It all came back to your ears eventually, the cricking of the open barn door, the horses in the pasture and the birds singing from far away. The field smelled like fresh grass and weeds and sunshine, Joel's coffee still faint on his breath.

You hummed against him as he kissed the crook of your neck, his mustache and beard prickly against you. He feathered his lips up your throat until they were over your own lips, which you pressed gently against his. He pulled back, just looking at you. And you did the same. You brought your hand up to his face slowly, tracing the line of his brow, down his sharp nose and over the bow of his top lip.

"You are so perfect." you said dreamily.

He breathed a little laugh through his nose, a crooked, disbelieving smile pulling his lips. A shyness you weren't sure you'd ever seen.

The heat between you had started to cool. Your skin prickled beneath your open jacket, the air finding every place his body didn’t cover. You shivered, and Joel noticed at once.

“Chilly?”

“Only a little.”

He sighed, like he hated that he had to move, then leaned down to press one more long, lingering kiss to your lips before sitting back.

You made a small sound when he pulled out of you, your body too sensitive for even that. Joel’s eyes dropped between you, his jaw tightening for a second at the sight of himself slipping free, slick and spent against your thigh.

"Poor baby," he said, his thumb reaching out to slide up your wet and abused folds. You whined at the touch, and he pouted down at you.

"Easy, easy, I know. Gonna take care of her when we get home."

He sat back on his heels and tucked himself away first, hands slower now, less steady than they’d been when he’d taken the rifle from you. Then he reached for your sleep pants where they’d been left in the grass, shook them once to knock off the loose dirt, and turned back to you.

You blinked up at him, limp and boneless, still spread over his coat.

Joel looked down at you for a second, one brow lifting. “Don’t make me do all the work now, baby.”

You smiled sleepily. “You seemed to like doing all the work a minute ago.”

His mouth pressed into a line, but it didn’t hide the amusement in his eyes. “Smart mouth,” he muttered.

Still, his hands were gentle when he guided one foot through the pant leg, then the other. He pulled the cotton up your calves carefully, pausing when the fabric caught at your knee, easing it loose before working it higher. You lifted your hips only when he tapped them, and even then, barely.

“There ya go,” he murmured, drawing the waistband back into place beneath your rumpled top. He helped you sit up slowly in his lap, one hand braced behind your back, the other fixing the front of your coat around you. His knuckles brushed your stomach as he straightened your shirt, then pulled the jacket closed enough to keep the morning air off your skin.

You stayed like that for a moment, hiked up over his thighs, and he let your limbs fold around him again, hands back into his messy hair.

"I meant it—you—" you began, then licked your lips, staring up into his pretty hazel eyes again, "you're good, Joel. You're perfect."

He opened his mouth to protest, but sighed instead.

"Thank you for bringing me out here," you went on, "I'm sorry if I was mean earlier."

He smiled crookedly, "I was too."

You shook your head, "You had reasons to be."

He leaned down and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to your lips, "Bakery is gonna be wonderin' where you are, we better get back."

You held on tight even when he began to move, and a little mischevious smile twitched your mouth.

"What?" he asked, smile growing.

"One more shot?"

thank you so much for reading! I love youuu!!!

[lvely-prose]

— summer loving

pairings: joel miller x fem! reader

synopsis: you’d known mr. miller forever. he was your fathers best friend after all. until one night you acted on your crush for him by kissing him under the fireworks. since then, your relationship remained a secret. you two were good at playing pretend—just wouldn’t stop him from loving on you.

word count: 4.7k

warnings/content: age gap (20s and 50s), fluff, dbf trope, mentions of nudity, suggestive sexual content, implied sex

pae speaks ~ happy joel miller summer! i hope you all enjoy <3 divider from @lariesographic !!

You hadn’t meant to kiss him.

Well…

Yeah, you did.

For as long as you could remember, Joel was just your father’s friend and nothing more. A very helpful friend. In high school, you struggled to get your license due to an overwhelming anxiety about car crashes and drunk drivers. So, you asked the steadiest man you knew to drive you to and from places.

Joel Miller.

You found yourself in his passenger side more often than not, feet kicked up on the dash and wind flying through your hair. He never seemed amused. Just sat there and drove without a single complaint. With how many years you’d known him, you knew he had a soft spot for you. And you teased the heck out of him about it.

It wasn’t embarrassing being seen around with Joel. He never did anything weird or anything to embarrass you. He just wanted to keep you safe. Always had.

After you graduated and left for college, you didn’t see Joel anymore. Once you secured a license, there was no need to hitch a ride with him, especially now that you were across the state getting a higher level of education.

Then summer of 23’ hit.

You had come back to your hometown for the hot season to visit with old friends and family. Your father welcomed you home with open arms, so happy to see his little girl now all grown up with a life of her own.

Then there was Joel.

You had practically leapt into his arms when he showed up in his truck—the one you were very familiar with. He had no idea what to do with himself when you came back all womanly and absolutely beautiful. Joel hated the way he thought about you since he’d never had before.

You had always been his best friend’s daughter.

End of story.

But as he held you, all those new curves and the scent of your expensive perfume wrapped around him, Joel felt his heart stir with feelings that weren’t completely friendly.

As for you? You didn’t think it could get much worse.

Not having a crush on Joel was nearly impossible. He was the classic hot neighbor next door that worked outside all day, knuckle deep in the hood of his truck with oil and grime plastered on his forearms, shirt plastered to his body with sweat. The type of sight that made mouths water and bodies grow ten times hotter on an already scorching summer day.

Your friends loved when you showed up to the functions with Joel as your personal chauffeur. They didn’t even try to hide their ogling. And every time they made comments about how you had him all to yourself, you giggled and shut the idea down.

That all changed when you saw him again.

It was supposed to be Barbie summer. The long anticipated movie was on just about every single girls mind since it’d been announced.

But instead, it was Joel Miller summer.

The entire month of June, the two of you made every and any excuse to be around each other. Driving somewhere? He let you drive the truck. The A/C not working? He let you sleep in his spare room. Nothing to do? You sat in his garage and watched him work.

Things were shifting between you two and neither of you had any plans to stop it.

The Fourth of July was just about everyone you knew‘s favorite holiday. Every house on the block had American flags flying, decorations all in red, white, and blue. Families and groups of friends lined their cars down the street, rich families hosting parties with bathing suits, barbecues, and insurmountable amounts of lemonade, hamburgers, and hot dogs.

You didn’t really celebrate as hard as the people around you did. You just liked dressing cute and handing out refreshments to the people your father invited.

But every year you only looked forward to the fire works.

Yet, it felt a whole lot different with Joel by your side.

Fireworks popped across the sky in a mosaic of bright blues and reds and pinks and golds. It turned the night sky into a massive canvas of crackling colored lights.

A glass coke bottle sweated in your hand, the rim imprinted with red lipstick. Joel was beside you with a beer but he wasn’t focused on the fireworks.

He was looking at you.

When you caught his warm gaze, you gave a smile that was only for him. Then you grabbed his hand, pulling him to the front yard where it was free of any guests.

Just you and Joel.

Both of the glasses were set aside as he tugged you under his arm. It stirred something within you. Something that felt dormant and had been waiting to spark for years. His head tilted down to look at you. That’s when your lips connected to his.

As the night sky crackled with bright colors, Joel held you closer than he ever had before. In that moment, it didn’t matter your dad was only in the backyard while his best friend kissed up on his daughter.

It changed everything.

And you loved it.

The sun was shining high in the clear blue sky as Joel pulled up to your fathers house. You were staying there for the summer. It felt like old times. Except now, he was here for you.

You were lounging on the couch, feet propped up on a small ottoman with a book in your hands. You were excited for the day and couldn’t really focus on the words, reading with your eyes but not actually retaining any information. Ever since the Fourth, you’d been giddy just about every time Joel came around. There was no label on the two of you and you didn’t feel the need for one.

When the knock came from the front door, you practically jumped off the couch, not bothering to fix the flannel hanging off your shoulder. It was one of Joel’s, too big and drowning you. You only ever wore it when your dad was at work so he wouldn’t suspect anything.

Before you could reach the door, Joel was already stepping inside. He practically lived here.

Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him with a wide smile.

Joel caught you effortlessly, stumbling only a little bit on impact. “Hi there, sugar.”

“Hi,” you said, eyes roaming over his weathered face.

“Your daddy home?” He asked but could assume the answer was no since you were being all clingy.

You shook your head before grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the stairs. Joel was used to you tugging at him like there wasn’t enough hours in the day to get things done and tried to smother his smile.

Once in your room, you pulled out a gingham bikini top. You turned your back to Joel, pulling the flannel off and as much as he was disappointed to see it gone, he admired the new view just as much.

The A/C unit kicked on, cooling Joel’s hot skin if only for a minute. As a way to beat the heat, he planned on taking you swimming before back to his place for the night. Your father wouldn’t care. He knew you enjoyed Joel’s company—just not about the part where you slept in his bed.

Your fingers fiddled with the strings of your top. “Joel, can you please help me?”

Without question, his rough fingers grazed your shoulder blades as he began to tie the strings into a neat bow. He always jumped at the chance to help you. Most of the time you never even had to ask.

Before he stepped away, his large hands settled at your hips. His beard gently scraped against your bare shoulder, fingers toying with the waistband of your sleep shorts.

A tiny smile made your lips twitch. You had purposefully left his mouth untouched just because you knew he wouldn’t let you leave the house without a kiss. He always got touchy when you didn’t give him what he wanted and you knew it. He just wouldn’t admit it out loud, instead of showing you through his actions.

You turned around and gave his lips a small kiss.

He instantly latched onto your waist. “C’mon, that was weak.”

You gave a small laugh. “Weak? I’m just trying to keep us from being late.”

His thick fingers slipped into the band of your shorts, using his other hand to undo the button. “We have plenty of time.”

Heat crept up your neck as he slowly maneuvered your shorts down your legs. For as old as Joel was, it seemed he was willing to get you under him more often than not. And most times you’d let him.

But you weren’t sure when your father was going to be home and you were really excited to go to spend the day with him.

“Joel,” you said in a whine as he massaged your hips through your cotton panties.

“Darlin’,” he replied like he wasn’t doing anything.

“Behave.”

With a reluctant huff he pressed a kiss to your temple and reached for your bikini bottoms. “Yes, ma’am.”

After finishing dressing you like you were a doll, you slipped into some overalls, leaving one of the straps unclasped. Joel not so subtly watched as you fixed up your hair. Some days he felt like an old pervert for being so fixed on you but it was like he couldn’t help it. He was addicted to your sweetness. How you could love an older man like him and still stay true to yourself. You were a vitamin he needed to take everyday to keep himself from getting so grumpy. And it worked.

Joel started up the truck while you finished getting ready to make sure the seats weren’t sizzling. Texan heat was unbearable.

“Okay, I packed extra sunscreen and water.”

Joel looked over as you pulled yourself into the truck, slinging a crotchet bag into the middle seat. “You’re very prepared,” he stated bluntly.

“Well, yeah,” you said, turning to look at him with a smile. “It’s too hot out here.”

He settled a hand on your bare thigh. “You’re not wrong about that.”

On the way to the pool, Bruce Springsteen played through the speakers and you let the wind blow through your loose hair, arms folded on the frame. Joel squeezed your thigh every so often, usually when one of the lyrics reminded him of you. He never sang. But sometimes you’d catch him mouthing the words and you’d trace your thumb over the back of his knuckles.

The community pool was packed considering the weather but you managed to find two lounge chairs near the pool edge. Joel was already ticked off as you guided him through to the chairs. Little kids zoomed past his legs and he made it his mission to avoid trampling one of them. He wasn’t a fan of public spaces, especially when there were so many children with the lifeguard yelling at them to walk.

You knew he wasn’t thrilled about it and gave his hand a light squeeze. A way to say thank you for putting up with me.

Yet Joel would do it a million times over if it meant getting to see a smile on your face.

“Seems like this is the place to be.” You put down the bag, glancing around as you took your overalls off.

“Think I need to invest in installing one at the house,” Joel grumbled, peeling off his shirt and leaving him in a dark pair of swim trunks.

You grinned at him, admiring his physique in the golden rays. His belly hung slightly over the waistband and the salt and pepper dusting of hair on his chest made your heart flip. Gosh, he looked too good. Suddenly you wished he would invest in that at-home pool just so you could have the sight all to yourself.

Meanwhile, Joel was struggling not to ogle at you in that little bikini. You looked comfortable in it which was all he cared about.

He grabbed the sunscreen can.

“I can do it,” you said, reaching for the can but he quickly grabbed your arm and turned you around.

“Let me. You won’t be able to reach your back.”

You squealed slightly as the cold spray hit your heated skin. “That’s freezing!”

“Hold still,” Joel said lowly and you instantly stopped squirming.

Music played over hidden speakers, kids screamed as they splashed around, and adults chatted with each other with their feet dangling into the water. It was a lively space, bringing summer to life with colorful bathing suits and swaying trees.

After Joel sprayed your body down, you rubbed some sunscreen onto your face. He watched closely to make sure you rubbed it all the way into your skin. He was always looking out for you even when you weren’t aware of it.

You glanced over at the pool bar and gasped when you saw they were selling popsicles. Before you could rush off, Joel caught your chin between his fingers and smoothed a patch of white into your face.

“You don’t need to baby me,” you said, looking at him through your lashes but really, you weren’t complaining.

“I’m not babying you,” Joel replied, slipping you some cash. “Just taking care of my girl.”

You blushed before kissing his cheek. “Do you want a popsicle?”

“No thanks. Get what you want.”

You headed over to the pool bar and bought a cherry flavored popsicle. The taste made you sigh, the coldness feeling amazing on your tongue as it cooled you down.

You headed back over to Joel who was practically panting like a dog. You sat on the lounge chair beside him, sucking on your popsicle happily. “There’s a pool right there you know.”

Joel squinted his eyes at you, trying and failing not to stare at where the red ice disappeared into your mouth. “I ain’t goin’ in without the woman who dragged me here.”

You gave him a look before handing him a water. “At least drink this.”

He didn’t put up a fight as he cracked open the bottle and took a long drink. It felt nice going down his throat but he still couldn’t help himself from looking at you as your tongue swirled around the popsicle.

You laid back on the lounge chair, hoping to get a bit of a tan. Joel felt damn near hypnotized by you, eyes tracing every dip and curve of your body. His hand extended despite his efforts not to, settling on your shin and gently running his rough palm up and down.

Sugary red liquid dribbled down your chin, leaving a pinkish stain in its wake. Joel’s jaw clenched, shifting in his seat to try and contain himself.

Were you trying to make this impossible for him?

The sun blazed down, perspiration breaking out across his body. Forcing himself to look away, his gaze found the clear waves of the pool. It looked so refreshing that when you finally finished the popsicle and said you were ready to go in, he practically jumped at the chance.

Chills spiraled up your legs as you stepped onto the first step. The water was only at your ankles. Joel was practically already waist deep, holding out a hand for you to take to help ease you in.

“It’s so cold!” You exclaimed, holding your free hand to your chest.

“It’s only cold cause you were hot, baby. It’ll feel better once you get used to it.”

You looked at Joel and as reluctant as you were, you trusted he was right and waded in more. You sucked in a sharp breath as the water splashed against your skin.

“There you go,” Joel said lowly, coaxing you into the deep end.

You were mindful of the people around you as he slowly pulled you further into the water but now the coldness felt very refreshing. Joel didn’t care about the child splashing around to his left or the group of friends conversing to his right. He just focused on you—the water cutting around your frame and how pretty you looked under the afternoon sun.

You never let go of Joel’s hand as you made it to the deep end, your feet no longer touching the rough bottom of the pool. He was still standing though since he was taller, slipping an arm around your waist to keep you from treading the water.

As he held you there, you glanced around at all the faces. None of them seemed too familiar but when your arms wrapped around his neck, you were hit with the fact that any one of these people could be friends with your father.

What would they tell him if they saw you hanging onto his best friend?

Joel brushed a piece of wet hair behind your ear. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours, huh?”

You briefly glanced at him. “Just… there’s a lot of people here. What if… what if they know my dad?”

His gaze softened slightly before tightening again, the wrinkles between his brows creasing. “Sweet girl, we talked ‘bout this. If they gotta problem then I’ll handle it.”

“Joel.” His name came firmly from your mouth.

“Sweetheart.” His strong hand lifted your leg so that you wrapped them around him.

“We have to be careful,” you said as he slowly dragged you through the water. “You know that. If my—when my dad finds out, I want it to either come from me or you. Not some random person I’ve only met once.”

“I know.” Joel glanced both ways before pressing a hand against your spine. “But you don’t need to worry. They can be nosy all they want but I got you. This is about you. This is about us, okay?”

You looked at him before reluctantly nodding. “Okay.”

Joel laid a kiss to your sun-kissed nose. “Good. Now let yourself have some fun.”

As the day wore on, Joel’s shoulders were sunburnt and your hair was a tangled mess he kept trying to comb through with his fingers to no avail. You felt energized from all the sun but soon enough the heat seeped in, making you feel sleepy.

Joel noticed, already beginning to pack up your tote bag, securing everything inside.

“You ready to go?”

Squinting, you looked over at him with a nod and began to slip back into your overalls.

When you got back to his house, Joel wanted to skip dinner and take you straight to bed. But you needed a shower and you were hungry from all that swimming.

And Joel always put your needs before his, taking care of his girl always top priority.

He wanted to follow you into the bathroom but refrained, deciding on starting dinner was the best decision just to speed things up.

He loved you so much but never knew how to tell you without embarrassing himself or sounding like a complete idiot. Which was why he was grateful he worked with his hands a lot to make things for you and show you how much he loved you through touch.

By the time you were done with your shower, you were pretty sure you’d just raised Joel’s electric bill by a hefty sum of money. You didn’t mean to, you just wanted to deep condition your hair to make sure all the chlorine got out.

You went to his room, which pretty much posed as both your room at this point, and began to get ready for the night. That meant lathering your skin in vanilla scented lotion, moisturizing your entire body after the full shave you just did in the shower. You did your skin care routine and then coated your lips in cherry flavored chapstick, smacking them together a few times before smiling.

You loved that Joel let you have your private time, especially in the summer when the heat made everything overstimulating.

You dried your hair off before putting on some red panties with a little bow and pairing it with his red flannel.

Tonight was supposed to be a movie night but after your teasing all day, you felt he deserved some relief.

Finally, you padded into the kitchen where Joel was at the stove, cooking up dinner with all the concentration of a drill sergeant.

You came up behind him, sliding your arms around his waist. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

Joel was dumb for looking over his shoulder because now he was afraid he’d never get the food done. Every time you wore his clothes it was like he remembered that you were choosing him no matter if he was your dad’s best friend. It was moments like this that made that fact feel completely irrelevant.

“Baby girl,” he said, voice now a low rumble as he set the spatula down and turned around to face you.

You looked up at him with a smile. “Yes?”

Joel’s gaze traveled everywhere visible to him before his rough hands settled on your hips. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

Your heart leapt in your chest. He always complimented you but every time it made you feel special. The flannel rose slightly up as you wrapped your arms around his neck and he groaned as your curves moulded into his weathered one. Even under that layer of soft pudge you could feel the muscle still there, just buried under age now.

His hands slid up, gripping your waist now before dipping his head down to brush his beard against your neck. “Look at you, baby. So pretty. My pretty little girl, hmm?”

You smiled into his shoulder, unable to stop yourself from reacting. “Mhmm.”

Joel pressed a kiss on your collarbone before releasing a low hum, his beard scraping against your skin. “What if we skipped dinner?”

With a small laugh, you kissed the side of his head. “No, thank you. All that swimming made me hungry.”

Reluctantly, he pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead. “Alright, I’ll wait. Gotta make sure you eat first.”

Dinner was delicious—you should’ve learned to stop doubting Joel’s cooking skills. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you sat across from him, looking like a vision wrapped in sun kisses and warmth.

His girl.

After dinner, he insisted on doing the dishes while you could go lie down and relax. He didn’t let you argue, threatening to stuff your mouth with his fingers if you didn’t get off your pretty little feet.

Even though you didn’t mind having his fingers in your mouth, you listened anyway.

Settling down into his dark sheets, you instantly buried your face in his pillow. Maybe you were freaked out but you were sure you could get off just by inhaling the scent of him—sawdust, a hint of whiskey, traces of leather, and just a little bit of cheap cologne. Comfort washed over you, resulting in a sigh as you burrowed further into his bedding.

Not much time passed before the door creaked open. Joel stepped inside, already smiling to himself at the sight of you claiming his space as your own.

With a grunt and the sounds of his joints cracking, he lowered himself to sit at the edge of the bed. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t even make a joke this time. There was no need to. The age difference had been acknowledged long ago and now it was just something that you’d gotten used to.

And you loved your old man just as he was.

His shoes thunked to the floor as he slipped them off, followed by his socks. At the sound of clothes rustling, you peeked out of the pillow to watch as he stripped down to nothing.

Instantly, your mouth watered. His strong back flexed as he reached for some boxers, pulling them up and obscuring your view of his incredible ass.

Since Joel could sense your gaze from ten feet away, he turned around to see your glittering eyes gazing up at him. Adoration and desire welled in his chest, latching onto his heart.

There was nothing Joel Miller wouldn’t do for his lady and he knew he’d go to great lengths just to see you gaze at him like that.

You rolled onto your back as soon as his knees sank into the mattress, his large frame coming up to cage you in.

“Ya don’t have a clue how pretty you look like this,” Joel said, the words rumbling deep in his chest as his knuckles grazed against your sunburnt cheek.

Your eyes softened immediately. Every time you had your handsome man pressing you into his bed, nothing else mattered. Your father, his age, your secrets—they all vanished the second his hand brushed your skin.

“Yeah?” You breathed out dreamily.

His beard burned deliciously against your neck, using his nose to get you to put your head back. His fingers came up to tangle in your damp hair, keeping you exposed to him. “Uh huh,” his tongue licked a stripe over your pulse. “My pretty, pretty baby. All for me. Letting her old man touch her like this.”

Fireworks ignited in your stomach, the fuse burning quickly and landing hot in your lower belly.

Your manicured fingers—thanks to Joel paying for you—threaded through his salt and pepper hair to keep his head from moving away. His tongue lavished your skin with intense focus, his lips occasionally replacing the wet muscle.

One perk of dating an older man was how sensual they could be. Joel didn’t rush or pull or take unless you asked for it. Instead, he took his time, giving attention to every inch of your body.

“Joel—” you gasped as his free hand slipped down to grasp your thigh.

“Hmm, baby?” His words were muffled as they stayed stuck to your skin, licking up the sweet lotion. “You teased me all day. S’not a nice way to treat your old man.”

Whatever you were going to say got trapped in your throat as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth. Your nerves were overwhelmed, trying to keep up with his hand squeezing your thigh and his tongue sliding against yours.

Suddenly, the summer heat felt like nothing compared to how hot he was making you feel.

Joel pulled back a little, reveling in how you chased his lips and your fingers went to undo one of the buttons on the flannel you were wearing.

“My baby wants me to love on her, huh?” He murmured, mouth still hovering over yours. “You been waitin’ all day, haven’t ya?”

“Yeah.” The word was practically just a breath as you continued to try and unbutton the flannel.

He didn’t know how he managed to get himself in this position. His best friend’s daughter underneath him, breathless and needy for him. For an old man twice her age who shouldn’t have thought twice about how well he knew your body, how much he was taken by you.

But gosh, Joel didn’t care that he felt like a dirty old man as his fingers moved to help you out of the garment.

Your breath caught as it fell open to reveal the roundness of your breasts, nipples pebbled even though the room was anything but cold.

Joel had to close his eyes, pressing his forehead hard against your shoulder. “Baby,” he groaned, curling his fingers hard into your thigh. His breathing was ragged now, teeth scraping against your collarbone like he was fighting to not cave into giving you what you wanted. You had teased him all day but right now he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“Look at you,” he panted, his lips sealing over one of the sensitive buds.

It drew a whimper from your throat, back arching already to press your breast further into his mouth. “Oh yeah…” you gasped again as he sucked, feeling as he massaged your thigh.

After giving the other side some attention, his face hovered back over yours. Honey dripped in the warm depths of his irises. One large hand smoothed over your hair before cupping your cheek as he pressed a loving kiss on your lips.

That night, as Joel made sweet love to you, one thing became very clear to both of you.

No matter what happened, no matter who found out, those two months of summer loving were worth every bit of it.

[inkandstardusts]

Darling, I Would Do It Again

sort of based on this prompt by the lovely 🐞 anon! i hope you see this and as always, thank you for the inspo <3

summary: You don't understand Joel Miller's interest in preventing you going on patrols.

rating: 18+, MDNI

word count: 7.3k words, one-shot

tags: Implied Age Gap, Reader is AFAB with no overt descriptions except for having hair, Mentions of Sexism, Romance, Smut, Fingering, Kissing, Joel finishes in his pants because I said so, Jackson!Joel

a/n: been a rough couple of weeks (mental health wise lol) but inspiration hit for this one. title from 'Francesca' by Hozier. this isn't very edited b/c i just couldn't bring myself to re-read this all over again. hope you enjoy and as always, please let me know what you think! comments are so appreciated.

credit to @/saradika-graphics for the divider!

When you come to, you can feel the solid warmth of something against your weak frame. Your entire body is shaking from the cold and you can feel the chill right down to your bones. It's only then that you realize that you're being carried and even in your weakened state, you try put up a fight. You let out a weak groan and try elbow whoever it is that's carrying you. You don't want to be taken by someone who is clearly strong enough to lift you. You've spent long enough surviving on your own and you know how people have become, now that there's nothing good left in this world. Feebly, you kick your leg but you can't remember the last time you had something to eat that wasn't frozen snow and the meager crumbs of crackers you had found in an abandoned backpack a few days, or maybe weeks, ago. You can't tell how much time has passed.

"Shh," a low voice says. "It's alright, I've got you."

You try protest, you want to say no. You want to scream at whoever it is, tell them to let you go. You don't want to go with them. You don't want to be taken. But your throat feels dry, and your voice is lost to you. You try move but whoever it is that has you, tucks you closer to them. You can smell the faint trace of sawdust and something clean, almost like the detergent your parents used to buy, before the world had ended. But luxuries like that no longer exist. You try move your arm again but every part of your body feels as heavy as lead.

"You're safe," the voice says again, a soothing murmur. It's the last thing you hear before you lose consciousness.

It takes you sometime to adjust to life in Jackson. You haven't been around so many people in years — since you left your QZ really. You struggle at first, to make small talk with curious neighbours and to come across as well adjusted and forthcoming. You aren't used to the hustle of a town, of people laughing loudly at social gatherings. But slowly, you grow to enjoy it. You begin volunteering in the kitchens once you've regained most of your strength, around four weeks after you were first found. You like helping with peeling carrots and cutting up vegetables for hearty stews. It gives you a purpose and you've never been good at sitting still. But you had spent years on your own, and with that, you've become good at scouting and combat. So you give it some more time, make certain that your legs feel strong and that you can run without feeling a tug in your lungs and you broach the topic of joining patrols to Maria.

"I think we could arrange something," Maria says, smiling at you. "I'll talk to Tommy since he usually works on the schedules, see where we can fit you. We always need the extra manpower."

"Thanks Maria," you say, beaming. As scary as the outside world can be, you miss it. You miss seeing the smudge of green trees in the horizon and the melting snow sliding off icy branches.

"Tommy'll come by later today with an update," she says and you nod in thanks, before bidding her farewell. You take the long way back to your house, meandering through the streets and avoiding the piles of snow which are slowly beginning to melt as the spring sun begins to break through the cloud of frozen cold that has settled over Jackson. You're too busy avoiding the puddles of muddied water and slush, looking down at your ragged winter boots which is why you end up walking into what feels like a wall of muscle.

"Shit," you say, reaching up and holding onto whoever it is you've just rammed into. The other person grunts, more in surprise than anything. You look up and are met with Joel Miller's dark eyes. His cheeks are red from the cold, as is the tip of his strong nose.

"Alright?" Joel asks, steadying you. Even through the layers of clothes, you can feel the heat of his large hand against your bicep.

"Sorry, Joel," you say, standing up straight. You let go of his arm, taking a small step back so that you're no longer toe to toe. "Wasn't watching where I was going."

"I can tell," Joel says, but his voice isn't sharp. There's a teasing lilt to it. You give him a sheepish smile, shrugging. You've interacted with Joel quite a few times, mostly when Maria would invite you over for supper to her and Tommy's house. He had been quiet at first, almost aloof. But slowly, the two of you had built some sort of friendship, making small talk whenever you ran into each other in town or in the dining hall. Joel was surprisingly easy to talk to once he let his guard down, quick to tease you and crack jokes, which had surprised you at first but was now something that you looked forward to whenever you saw him. If you're being honest with yourself, you're nursing a small crush on him. But can anyone blame you? He's all gentle smiles and little jokes and the flannels and long sleeves he wears are always so tight around his biceps and you're only human.

"What's got you so distracted then?" he follows up and you grin, unable to hide your excitement.

"I'm going to start on patrols," you say. "Maria gave me the all clear and she said she'd talk to Tommy about fitting me into the schedule."

You expect Joel to smile and nod, maybe make some comment about how you're going to have to start waking up at the crack of dawn. Instead, his mouth pulls into a small pout, and his brows furrow. You watch as his jaw clenches and he looks past you for a moment before settling on you again. His gaze always feel weighted when it's on you but now, it feels even heavier.

"Right," he says. "You sure you wanna go on patrols?"

There's something in his voice — stern and serious. You haven't seen this side of Joel ever. It makes you bristle. Sure, you might not be as seasoned as him but you're still capable. You've been able to handle your own since you were thirteen and you won't have anyone doubt you. Not even someone as experienced as Joel.

"I'll be fine," you say, voice more serious now. "I can take care of myself plenty well."

Joel nods, but his eyes are focused and his jaw is still clenched, beneath the greyish brown of his beard.

"I gotta go," he says, sidestepping you. "I'll see you around."

It's abrupt and something is most definitely off but you're still annoyed by his insinuation. So you nod. You can feel his heavy footfalls become fainter and only when you're sure he won't see you do you turn around to catch him turn onto the main street and out of your sight.

A sharp knock on your door interrupts your cooking, if you can call it that. You've been making what you hope is stew for the last hour but there's an almost burnt smell to whats bubbling on your stove and you're fairly sure you've over salted the broth. You turn the stove off, not wanting to burn it any further before you wipe your hands on a terry cloth and head towards your front door. When you swing it open, Tommy Miller stands on the other side. His hair is tied away from his face and he looks flushed from the cold air. You usher him inside, not wanting the frigid weather to seep into your warm home.

"Hey there," Tommy greets. "Maria told me about your interest in startin' on patrols."

"Yeah," you say, voice pitching higher with excitement. "I think I'm good to go back out there. Been itching for it really. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Jackson but I miss seeing the outdoors."

"Don't much like feelin' cooped up, huh?" Tommy asks and you shake your head.

"Not the biggest fan, no," you agree and he nods. You watch him shift on his feet, something nervous filling the air.

"Listen," Tommy begins. "It's been a bit tricky sortin' out schedules for patrols 'cause we've got so many new people now so I was thinkin' you could help out with construction for a bit. Just until I figure out how to organize the newcomers."

You can feel your brows furrowing. Maria's been talking about how badly they need more people on patrols, especially since a whole unit came back injured a few weeks ago. A couple of people had died at the hands of Clickers, a bloody ambush that had left tensions running high in Jackson.

"Construction?" you ask, sounding incredulous. You haven't built anything, ever, really. "I'm not sure I'd be much help with building things, Tommy."

Tommy chuckles, but he's avoiding your gaze. His shoulders are tense.

"I'm sure Joel will find somethin' for you," Tommy says and you pause. Joel? You think of earlier today and how Joel had reacted when you had told him about being put on patrols. And now, you're magically being reassigned to his team. You can feel your patience wearing thin, irritation slowly building up inside of you.

"Did he put you up to this?" you ask and Tommy rubs the back of his neck, meeting your gaze. He looks as if he'd rather be anywhere but here.

"My brother's a complicated man," Tommy says. "I think it'd be best if you spoke to him."

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

"That's not fair," you say. "How come what he says goes? He's not in charge of me. I'm perfectly capable of going on patrol, Tommy. And you know that. I don't really give a damn if Joel thinks I'm too young or weak or whatever."

Tommy shakes his head, a curl falling loose against his jaw. "It's nothin' like that —"

"Then what is it?" you interrupt. You had spent most of your life being second guessed by people in your QZ and those you had traveled with — people who thought you were too weak because you were a girl. People who viewed your empathy as a flaw, rather than a strength. People who second guessed your decisions, who had been arrogant men who thought they knew it all. And you had let them, because that's what survival meant. But now, you were safe in Jackson and you weren't going to allow Joel Miller of all people, to bully you into submission again.

"I think it's best if you speak with him," Tommy says. "I know you're tough and can handle patrols. So does Maria. Hell, so does Joel, alright? It's just complicated, I suppose. Talk to him."

You sigh, shoulders slumping.

"I just don't get why he has a say in this," you say and Tommy nods.

"He doesn't," Tommy says. "He just…asked me to keep you on construction for a bit and my brother can be damn frustratin' if he doesn't get his way and I don't have the time to argue with him today. M'sorry, this isn't a reflection of your abilities. I know you'd do great on patrol and so does Joel. He's just a fuckin' idiot sometimes. Plus, his crew really are short a couple. We had to put most people on patrol so other things have taken a backseat."

You still don't fully believe him but Tommy sounds desperately tired and you know he has a toddler to get home to so you acquiesce.

"Alright," you say. "But I'm gonna give him hell during my shift."

"I'd expect nothin' less from you," Tommy says, giving you a smile. "You're actually on duty tomorrow mornin'. Bright and early at seven a.m near the west gates. They need reinforcin'."

"I have no idea what that means," you say and Tommy chuckles, shaking his head.

"Get some rest tonight," Tommy says and you nod, waving in farewell.

Once you lock up, you make your way back to the kitchen and spoon some stew into a chipped bowl. It isn't terrible but you're definitely sticking not winning any awards for your culinary skills. You had traded for some fresh cheese earlier in the week so you cut a generous slab into your stew, hoping the creamy saltiness of the dairy might add some level of flavour. While you eat, you think of how you might confront Joel. You don't want to do it in front of the rest of the crew, knowing how quickly gossip spreads in a town as small as Jackson. So maybe you'll pull him aside at the end of the shift. And you'll be firm. You have to be. It doesn't matter if you sometimes think he has dreamy eyes or nice arms. He's making you feel less than, weak, and you won't allow it. Not from anyone.

"Right," Joel says, in a dark green flannel that you would admire on him if you weren't already annoyed with him sabotaging your patrols. He's looking at the crew which consists of you, a man named Landon who you've seen around but never really spoken to and Ellie, who looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here. At least Tommy hadn't been lying when he said they had been understaffed. Still, it doesn't explain why Joel's being such a dick about you going on patrols. Before you can work yourself up, he continues speaking.

"Today's goin' to be fairly simple. We need to move those logs of wood," he gestures to an almost perfect pyramid of wood with a gloved hand, "and place them on the marked areas. If we have time, we'll start reinforcin' with metal wirin' but let's focus on making sure the wood is exactly where it should be."

"Sounds riveting," Ellie says and you snort before you can stop yourself. Joel gives her a stern look but there's softness in his eyes, something fond even though his mouth is pulled into an unamused frown. His eyes then land on you, and now there's something else in his gaze. You don't back down, still frustrated that he had thwarted your opportunity to go on patrol. He's the first to look away, clearing his throat before he speaks once more.

"M'glad you think so," Joel answers and Ellie rolls her eyes. "Ellie, you and I can work together." He then looks to you and Landon. "You two pair up. Grab a pair o' gloves and start with shiftin' those logs and placin' them on the right end of the gap. Ellie and I'll work on the left. That way no one's gettin' confused."

You give Joel a short nod, before you slip on the thick pruning gloves. Landon follows and soon enough, you're slowly moving logs of wood that are deceptively heavy. You already know that your back's going to hate you tomorrow and you make a mental note to pick up some salve from the apothecary.

"You familiar with construction?" Landon asks as the two of you shift a log so that it aligns with the markings. It's maybe been twenty minutes since you started but somehow it feels like two hours.

"No," you sigh. "Can't say I am."

That's about all the small talk that he makes, and you don't make an effort either. You're still stewing in your annoyance. You're not one to stay angry but there's something about this. You had thought Joel was different. He treated you like an equal, never condescending the way most men were. And the truth is, you feel foolish for thinking so. You had developed a fondness for him, for his low drawl and poor attempts at humour. You had considered him a friend, albeit a one you were attracted to, but still. And now, he had questioned your capability just like most other men did.

You're unsure how long it's been when you move the last log in your pile but the position it needs to be laid in is awkward. The angle makes it so you have to hold it on one side, rather than at it's end, while Landon tries to push it into place.

"A bit to the left," you tell Landon and he moves to the right instead. "Your left Landon," you say, and it's at that exact moment that he sneezes. You watch his grip falter and suddenly, the entire log is being supported only by you. It's too sudden and too heavy and you buckle under the weight. You move your feet, trying to widen your stance but your left foot catches on something and your ankle twists. You yelp in pain, and the log falls right onto your newly injured foot.

"What happened?" Joel asks, voice loud and angry. He's looking at Landon who looks, frankly, sort of terrified. Joel's jaw tics and he glares at the log of wood, leaning down to push it off of you. Ellie helps you stand, and when you put pressure on your left foot, you wince. The pain is sharp and unpleasant. You don't think it's anything more than a light sprain, but you'll need to rest it for a few days, at least. Great.

"Here," Joel says, reaching towards you. "Let me."

You feel a flush of embarrassment. All that big talk about being ready for patrols and you've been taken down by a piece of wood. You shake your head, trying to stand up straighter.

"I'm fine," you say, but it's only as convincing as the tears of pain that cloud your vision.

"Your ankle bent in a pretty gnarly way, dude," Ellie says, nose crinkling. "It looked bad."

"Just a light sprain," you say, aiming for nonchalant. "Really. I'll be fine."

"You can't walk on that foot," Joel says, brows furrowed and mouth pulled into a frown. His grey brown hair falls against his forehead, messy from the morning of labour. "I'm goin' to take you home. We're done for the day."

"I'm so sorry," Landon says, eyes apologetic. He sounds genuinely upset.

"S'alright," you say. "It was an accident."

"The next time you feel a sneeze comin'," Joel says, still glaring at Landon. "Let your partner know. This was an easily avoidable injury."

Landon looks like he might cry and it grates on you — Joel acting like you're going to die from a sprained ankle.

"I'm fine," you snap at Joel. "It's a sprained ankle, and I've had much worse. It was an honest mistake, Joel. Let it go."

Joel's sharp gaze falls on you and he looks surprised at your reprimand. He opens his mouth as if to say something and then closes it. You watch his jaw tic and he looks away, his shoulders stiff. An uncomfortable tension settles in the air.

"Okaaaay," Ellie says. "Joel, you should take her back to her house. Me and Landon can wrap up and give Maria and update."

Finally, Joel nods. Ellie and Landon begin moving the fallen log of wood and Joel comes to stand next to you.

"Can you walk?" he asks, and you look up at him. You clear your throat, gently placing pressure on your left foot. It throbs with pain and you suck in a breath, shaking your head.

"Okay," Joel says. "I'm going to have to carry you back to yours. Shouldn't take long. S'that alright?"

You don't have any other options really, and on another day, you'd be glad to be carried by Joel in his strong arms, if you're being honest. So you nod. You feel him wrap an arm around your back, and one under your thighs and he lifts you up slowly. You startle and the sudden shift, wrapping your arms around his neck. You focus on his Adam's apple, not wanting to meet his gaze. All of this feels like too much. You can't remember the last time you've been this close to anyone else. You shift and Joel pulls you closer, adjusting his grip.

"It's alright, I've got you," he says, voice surprisingly gentle. Suddenly, you have the weirdest sense of deja vu. Maybe you dreamed about this or something.

Joel makes his way through the side streets, avoiding any of the main roads, which you're grateful for. You don't like seeming weak and being carried across town by one of the strongest men in Jackson would make you seem exactly that. The only drawback to Joel not using the main streets, is that it makes the journey longer. Long enough that you begin to think of what Tommy had said, how Joel had made it so you wouldn't be put on patrol. How Joel had reacted when you had told him about wanting to go on patrol. And so before you know it, you looking up at Joel and asking him what's been nagging you since yesterday evening.

"Why'd you tell Tommy to take me off of patrols?" you say. "And don't deny it, Joel. He told me himself. Not that he needed to with the way you reacted yesterday."

His dark gaze falls on you and you resist breaking the eye contact, holding your ground.

"I —" he starts before he stops. "I was worried for your safety."

"I can handle myself," you say immediately. "I survived out there, you know. I know I'm not you but I'm strong and capable, you know."

"I know," Joel says quickly. "I know you're tough as nails."

"Yet you still forced Tommy to take me off patrols," you say and Joel sighs.

"It's not like that," he says. His voice is gentler now, a low drawl that you can feel against the side of your head. You shift in his arms and he holds you tighter.

"Then explain it to me," you say, and your voice is softer now too. "Because right now it seems like you think I'm incapable of taking care of myself and others and I don't want to be undermined, Joel. Especially not by you. I thought we were friends."

"Alright," Joel says. "When we get to yours. I'll tell you then."

"Fine," you agree, leaning against his broad chest a bit more. The two of you manage to avoid any passers-by, and when Joel settles you on your old, worn couch, you sigh in relief. Gently, he begins undoing the laces of your boots. He pulls off your right boot and you flex your toes.

"This might hurt a little," he says, holding onto your left boot. You nod and he slowly begins to wiggle it off. You wince and he immediately stills.

"It's fine," you say. "Keep going."

Joel tugs your boot off fully, holding the heel of your foot in his large palm. Slowly, he rolls your sock down, revealing your injured ankle. It looks swollen and he presses his thumb gently into it, gauging your pain.

"How's that feel?" he asks, voice low. He looks up at you and it feels painfully tender. You can't remember the last time you experienced gentleness like this in your adult life.

"Hurts a bit," you say, doing your best to keep your voice even. He nods, standing up. His knees creak and something fond settles in you as you watch him walk towards your fridge. He brings back a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel, gently placing it on your ankle.

"I worry about you far too much," he says, as he adjusts the makeshift ice pack. "Been worryin' about you since I found you all those months ago."

It's an honest confession and you know it takes something out of him, to be so vulnerable. It's also news to you. You didn't know that Joel had been a part of the patrol team that had found you, had always assumed it had been Tommy that had taken you to safety because he had mentioned that he had been the one to come across you, hidden and dying under a frozen oak tree.

"You were the one that carried me back to Jackson," you say. "It's why you carrying me back home just now felt like deja vu."

Joel nods, mouth still pulled into a small frown.

"Never meant to be condescendin' or anythin' like that," he says. "I know I seem old school but I ain't like those men that think women are weak or incapable. Just wanted to keep you safe is all. Didn't go about it in the best way, I can admit that."

You can feel your heart begin to hammer against your chest and you feel warm all over. Joel is still kneeling between your legs, his large palm still holding your throbbing ankle. His eyes are intense as they stay focused on your face. You don't know what this is, where he's coming from, but you have some inclination. And god, you hope you're right.

"How come?" you ask. Joel's mouth twists in a wry smile.

"I like you," he says, voice steady. "I've liked you as long as I've known you. Didn't mean for it to happen and wasn't goin' to tell you at all but I reckon you deserve the truth. Don't want you thinkin' I think any less of your abilities. I know you're a strong woman."

"Oh," you say, shifting. Joel sits up straighter on his knees, so that he's almost eye to eye with you.

"This doesn't have to change anythin'," he says. "I'll talk to Tommy, make sure you get put on patrols once your ankle heals up and I'll stay out of you way. M'sorry about all this."

He goes to stand up but you reach out, settling a hand on his broad shoulders. Joel's eyebrows raise in surprise. It's quiet enough now that surely he can hear the thump thump thump of your pulse.

"Can I kiss you?" you ask, and watch in delight as the apples of his cheeks flush pink.

"Do you want to?" Joel asks, voice low. Up close, you can see the gentle lines of age around his eyes. You nod, moving closer. A hand comes up to cup your face, his calloused palm warm against the line of your jaw. When his mouth presses against yours, you feel hot all over. A flush of warmth consumes you as he gently nudges his nose against your own. You gasp when you feel his tongue against your mouth and open up to him. His tongue presses against your own, and you press yourself closer to him, your chest against his. You're ravenous for more, wanting to feel every point of his body pressed against your own. He presses a thumb at the hinge of your jaw, coaxing it to open more and tilts your head so he can kiss you with more fervour. You lean closer, your legs bracketing his waist, and his other hand is still holding your injured foot. You moan and tug at his grey-brown curls, and you feel him shudder against you. He pulls back, panting.

"Sweetheart," he says, leaning back as you lean forward to kiss him once more. He sounds so damn fond that you can't even bring yourself to be embarrassed at his rejection. "You should get some rest."

"M'fine," you say, voice breathy. "Really."

Joel gives you a gentle smile, rubbing a thumb across your cheekbone. You lean into the touch.

"I'd like to take you out," he says.

"Like a date?" you ask. You didn't think that happened anymore, not in this world. You've never actually been on a date, really.

Joel nods. "Only if you want."

"I just kissed you," you remind him. "Of course I want."

Joel grins now, his crows feet prominent. You smile too.

"Good," he says. "Get some rest. I'll talk to Tommy about puttin' you back on patrols. And I'll come by again, if that's okay. Just to check in."

You nod. You watch him lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. He pulls back far too soon for your liking.

"I'll see you soon," you say and Joel nods. His knees creak as he stands up and affection blooms in your chest.

"Are you sure this is fine?" you ask Joel for what's probably the fifth time. You're in your nicest pair of jeans and a fitted long sleeve. Underneath, you're wearing the nicest bra and underwear you own, both black and with lace trimmings although they're not a set. It's been almost ten days since you hurt your ankle, and it's almost fully healed now.

"S'more than fine, you look beautiful," Joel says and you smile.

"You know, if you just tell me where we're going, I'll stop bothering you," you say and Joel shakes his head.

"I told you where we're goin': out," Joel says and you groan.

"Like out to The Tipsy Bison? Or to Lola's cafe? Or to the barn?" you ask and Joel shakes his head.

"Out as in put your boots on and let's go," Joel says but his voice is gentle. You do slip into your boots and grab a coat. Although it's spring in Jackson, the air still has a light chill to it. Joel opens the door, gesturing for you to go first. When you're outside, he steps up beside you. There's a backpack leaning against your porch which Joel slips on, the straps tight against his broad shoulders. He looks so handsome. His hair is combed and pushed back from his face, and he's wearing a dark green flannel and dark wash jeans. He smells like laundry detergent and something smoky.

"When was the last time you went on a date?" you ask Joel as he leads the way to your mystery location. You watch him think for a while before he speaks.

"I think it was the summer of 2003," Joel says. "Went to a bar with someone Tommy tried to set me up with."

"Was it nice?" you ask, genuinely curious. You know it isn't proper etiquette to ask your date about their other dates but it was twenty-two years ago now so you doubt it matters much.

"It was alright," Joel says. "She didn't like it much that I was a single father so we both knew it wouldn't go anywhere."

"Oh," you say. "Well lucky me, then."

You watch Joel's mouth tug in a smile.

"How about you?" he asks and you laugh.

"This would be my first," you say. "Was pretty young when the world went to shit and dating wasn't really a priority after that."

"Well I'd better make it good then," Joel says and you hum.

"Lotta pressure on you," you say, voice teasing.

"Reckon I can handle it," Joel says, eyes dark as they trace over your face. Your stomach flips and you can feel your ears growing warmer. You hadn't even realized until now that Joel's led you to a clearing, near the far edge of the walled part of Jackson. It's beautiful. There isn't anything around except the shade of trees and fresh grass. Wildflowers are beginning to bloom everywhere, along with bunches of lavender and daisies. The sun in warm and the sky is the bluest you've ever seen it. It's a perfect day, really.

"Is this what you meant by out?" you ask and Joel hums.

"You've been cooped up at home because of your foot and I know Tommy's put you on schedule for patrols soon but I thought you might like bein' outdoors for a while. Thought we might have a picnic here," Joel says, rubbing the back of his neck. He seems almost shy, now.

"It's lovely," you say, meaning it. "This is perfect Joel."

He seems pleased, giving you a small smile. You both set up a picnic blanket and Joel insists you take a seat so you do, and watch him lay out the spread. There's a basket of fresh blackberries and sandwiches made with fresh bread and thick slices of cheese. He even has a tumbler of freshly squeezed lemonade. And then he brings out generous slices of chocolate cake, the frosting thick and shiny. You can't remember the last time you had chocolate. Actually, you can. It had been in your QZ, almost a decade ago now. You had traded a pack of cigarettes for a dry bar of chocolate and cried as you ate in your cramped, makeshift bed.

"Joel," you say. "You should have told me. I could have helped, brought something too."

Joel shakes his head. "No need for all that," he says. He hands you a sandwich and then takes one for himself. In between bites of buttered bread and soft cheese, you ask each other questions. It feels like the two of you have been doing this for a long while. There's nothing uncomfortable or awkward about it.

"You're tellin' me your favourite movie was The Princess Bride?" Joel asks and you nod.

"It has everything! Action, romance, drama, humour. It's perfect," you argue and Joel shakes his head, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"That ain't no action movie, sweetheart," he says and the term of endearment settles warmly in your chest. "Now Curtis and Viper, on the other hand."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Absolutely not, Joel. I've never even heard of it."

"Well then I'll just have to show you some time," he says and the prospect of another date, of multiple of them, makes your heart flutter.

"Fine," you say. "Only if you rewatch The Princess Bride with me. You gotta give it another chance."

Joel sighs, but you know he's not being serious.

"Deal," he agrees, passing you the lemonade. You take a swig of it, handing it over to him. You watch him place is mouth right where yours was, taking a drink. You track the movement of his Adams apple, suddenly feeling hot. The two of you haven't kissed since that first time, and if you're being honest, you've been desperate for him ever since. Joel tracks your movement, and you can tell there's a shift in the air. Something tangible between the two of you that you want to reach out and feel.

"I got this cake from Lola's cafe," Joel says, putting a slice in front of you. "So you were sorta right."

You smile, taking a bite. The chocolate is rich and melts on your tongue, the sponge of the cake soft and moist. You can't help but make a noise of pleasure, and when you look up at Joel, his dark eyes are trained on you.

"You should try some," you say and Joel nods. Before he can reach out for his own fork, you spear a piece onto yours and bring it to his mouth. Your gaze stays on him as he takes the bite from your fork, as he chews and swallows, all the while still watching you. It feels shockingly intimate, even more so than your kiss.

"S'good," Joel agrees, nodding. You spend the next few minutes swapping bites of the cake and talking some more. Joel tells you about how he wanted to be a singer, how his favourite colour is dark grey, about how he likes the movie nights in Jackson because the popcorn reminds him of the overpriced kind at AMC. In turn, you tell him about how you tried to dye your hair on your own when you were younger and how you had to end up chopping a good portion of it off, how you don't know how to swim even though it's a necessary survival skill and he offers to teach you. By the time you're done with the slice, you know so much more about Joel and it still doesn't feel like enough. You want to know everything about him, really.

The two of you pack up quietly, something buzzing in the air. You help put the used utensils in his wicker basket, and take turns finishing up the lemonade. When there's no other reason to dawdle, you clear your throat.

"I had such a lovely time, Joel," you say. "You set a high bar for any future dates I go on."

He cracks a smile, taking a step closer to you. You look up, to maintain meeting his gaze.

"Hopefully it's a bar that only I have to meet," Joel says, eyes tender.

"I think that's a fair assumption," you say, voice quieter.

"Can I kiss you?" Joel asks and you're barely done nodding before his mouth is on yours. This kiss feels just as feverish as the first, but there's something else there. Something more tender. He grips the back of your neck, tilting your head upwards, and you grant him access to your mouth. You whimper when his tongue touches your own and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You slot your legs between his, the seam of your pants and his strong thigh providing a delightful pressure against your core. You can't resist moving your hips, needing more. Joel lets you, his hand going down to grip your hip and guide the movement. He pulls back, looking down to where you're rutting against him and swears.

"Fuck," he says. "I'm trying to be a gentleman."

"I know," you say, leaning your forehead against his chin. "I wish you weren't."

"You deserve a bed, sweetheart. Not me takin' you hear like some sort of animal."

"I don't mind," you say. "Really. Maybe we can do it again, on a bed. Multiple times even."

You feel more than hear him laugh, his chest shaking against your own. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before he maneuvers the two of you. You let him. He lays you down on the thick picnic blanket, hovering over you.

"I won't have you like this," Joel says, voice gruff. "You deserve more than that." You're about to protest, tell him you really don't care but before you can, he begins unbuttoning your jeans.

"But I'll give you somethin' to tide us over, hm?" he says, and you lift your hips so he can pull them down to your thighs. You watch his gaze darken when he sees your underwear. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your clothed mound, pressing his nose right to your clit and you shudder.

"Joel," you sigh and he presses another kiss to you. You can feel yourself throb, feel the wetness grow even more. Slowly, he pulls the gusset of your underwear to the side, running a finger against where you're desperate for him. He then presses a kiss to your cunt before he runs his tongue over your sopping folds. You moan, arching your back. His large arm comes to rest against your hips and he settles himself on his front.

"Okay, sweetheart?" he asks, looking up at you. His hair, which was previously pushed back and neat, is messy now with strands falling against his tan forehead. You nod, tilting your hips subconsciously against his arm and he grins before he goes back down. He eats you out like a man that's starving, his tongue moving against you in a rhythm so pleasurable that you think this might be one of the best moments of your life. He presses his nose to your clit and you shudder, moving desperately against him. Slowly, you feel something breach your hole, a thick finger that slowly prods at your entrance. You whimper as he curls his index finger into, finding that spot inside of you that you can never find yourself.

"Oh my god, Joel," you moan, as his tongue and his finger move in unison. He groans against you, his breath hot, and continues his ministrations. He slips a second finger in and pulls back to watch you.

"You're takin' it so good, sweetheart," he says, his mouth glistening in the sun. "Would you take the rest of me just like this?"

You nod, pushing your cunt against his fingers. You can feel the pressure building inside you, a rubber band waiting to snap.

"Joel, I can't, I'm gonna come," you say and he moves back, pressing his mouth to your clit. You can feel yourself dripping onto the blanket below you, so wet that you're thighs are smeared with it too. You whimper when your orgasm hits, hips lifting up off the ground despite Joel's arm holding you down.

"Attagirl," Joel says, lifting up and watching as you shudder. You cover your face with your hands as the waves of pleasure wash over you, your nipples stiff against the material of your long sleeve.

It takes you a few minutes but you come back to yourself. You move your hands from your face and rest your upper body on your elbows, lifting up to find Joel watching you reverently. He gives you a gentle smile, pressing a kiss to where your thigh meets your hips before he moves you underwear so it covers you again. Then, he presses another soft kiss to your sensitive clit through the cotton fabric of your panties and you shiver.

"Okay?" he asks, and you nod, sitting up.

"Better than," you say and he grins. "I want to do the same for you."

You watch his already pink cheeks flush even more as he shifts up so that he's no longer flat on the ground. He kneels between your open legs, and something like embarrassment plays on his face.

"I, uh," he starts. "I'm already taken care of."

It takes you a second to understand what he means. He came from eating you out. You feel a throb of want between your legs and before you know it, you're pulling him down, pressing your mouth to his in a desperate kiss. He tastes different now, something muskier coating his plush mouth. He groans when you push your tongue into his mouth, wanting to taste more. He angles your jaw, pushing at the hinge so your mouth widens and it's almost as if you're both trying to devour each other. You can feel your cunt throb once more. When he pulls back, his chest is moving with the deep breaths he's taking.

"You're gonna kill me," he says and you grin, pressing a kiss to his chin.

"Good thing I'll be on patrol sometimes," you say. "It'll help keep me distracted from you."

Joel hums, pressing another soft kiss to your mouth. You like the way his mustache tickles your skin. Slowly, the two of you part. He helps you button your jeans and slip on your coat. You run your hand through his hair, fixing the messed up strands so that they're no longer falling against his forehead. The two of you pack up slowly, sharing small smiles and warm glances. When you begin walking back to Jackson, Joel pulls you to him, his large arm draped over your shoulder. He tucks you into his side like you're something precious.

"I am sorry about how I went about it but I can't say I regret the outcome of me tryin' to keep you off of patrols, sweetheart," Joel says and you laugh.

"Me neither," you agree, and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

On your first day of patrol, Joel comes by early to give you a pair of soft, leather riding gloves.

"Stay safe," he says, as watches you slip them into your coat pocket. You nod, giving him a smile. You lean up and press your mouth against his own, a gentle kiss.

"You too," you say as Joel returns your smile.

[barnesdreamcatcher]

Nothing’s quite enough

jack abbot x f!reader

summary: another anniversary spent alone makes you spiral. jack comes home and is faced with how his neglect is ruining you.

cw: heavy angst, alcohol intoxication, vomiting, small injury (glass cut), implied depression/(brief) suicidal ideation, non-sexual nudity

wc: 2.4k

a/n: not beta-read yet, we die like, uhh, robby’s will to live

now playing: begged – Olivia Rodrigo

All that I want Is to sit here silently And watch movies on TV

What a shame you're not here Here to witness my devotion And my endless well of needs

I'm an anchor in the ocean You know I could never leave So I'm patient, you're learning Pretend it's not hurting

And they say it's a virtue To not let good love slip away 

Your makeup has faded. Black mascara smudges around your lash line, having bled from tears that fell like gravity itself demanded it. 

This is hardly the first anniversary you’ve spent alone. Far from it, actually. 

Anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, Christmases—you name it. There is a story to be told about each one of them, a story of how you sat on the couch, nursing a glass of wine while waiting for Jack. 

If he wasn’t saving lives in the ER, he was risking his own. It doesn’t matter that you’ve knelt in front of him, the hardwood cool and unforgiving, as you pleaded for him to take a day off. Just one. 

There is always something. A colleague who has children and needs that day to take them to Disneyland. Or a patient who only trusts him. A shift he just has to cover.  

You’ve heard nearly every excuse possible and smiled like it didn’t matter, like you didn’t matter, because maybe you didn’t. 

When you and Jack first started dating, he warned you that surgeons are the worst kinds of doctors to date because of their pretentiousness. He seemed to have forgotten to mention that ER doctors came in second on that list. 

It wasn’t the desire for fame or hubris that made Jack so careless about your feelings. It was his devotion to everyone but you. 

Sure, he’d kiss you and make you feel special—on a day when he could afford it. When he wasn’t chasing the high of being needed by strangers who’d maybe not even remember his name once he had saved them. 

You know the placement of every freckle on his body, and still, it doesn’t change anything. 

The third glass of wine doesn’t taste as bitter as the first. You don’t particularly like this brand or year or anything about it—you just know that Jack had bought it for today, back when he was still telling himself that he’d be home to celebrate with you. 

As the cap of the bottle dances between your fingers, the metal now warm from your body heat, you glance at the clock. 

Three hours and twelve minutes.

God, you’re a fucking loser. 

Maybe it would be a different story if you were married. Maybe you could forgive yourself for your desperation, your constant attempts to convince yourself you mattered to him as much as he mattered to you. If there were a little bit of proof of his commitment, you’d be able to look into the mirror without feeling sick with shame. 

But there is no ring on your finger or the promise that one will come one day. Jack doesn’t want to get married again. He says you two don’t need that. 

Three hours, thirteen minutes. 

You slosh the wine in your mouth while the darkest of thoughts creep in. It’s just a little fantasy you’ve curated and perfected over the years, and it’s an insane one, but you love to lose yourself in it every now and then. 

Jack comes home. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Goosebumps creep up his arms and neck as he calls out your name. When no answer comes, he runs up the stairs and finds the bathroom door ajar. Light seeps out under it, along with a small pool of water tainted light pink. 

Fine. You’re a little melodramatic. Maybe Jack’s neglect has driven you to regress into your teenage self who also fantasized about this whenever her dad yelled at her. 

Once the fourth hour starts, the wine bottle is empty, and you’re so drunk it feels like time has stopped. The tears certainly have. They’ve been replaced by this hollow laugh that echoes through the house while you watch the trashiest TV show you could find. 

While the alcohol courses through your veins, your eyes zero in on the women’s lip and cheek fillers. It stands out to you like black ink on white paper. 

You wish Jack would’ve been a plastic surgeon instead. You wouldn’t care that he sees women’s naked breasts and gives BBLs on a daily basis if that meant that he was home in time for dinner. 

Once you stand up to get a new bottle, you feel all the blood rushing to your head. Your legs are unsteady, and your forehead and nose feel so heavy, like they’re pulling you forward. 

You find out just how firm the fridge is when you knock against it. 

It’s not like you feel it anyway. 

The next bottle of wine is closed with a cork stopper. You’ve seen Jack open this kind of bottle with that metal apparatus that looks like you could find it in a gynecologist’s office. You have no idea how to use it. So you take a knife and start hacking away. You only miss your fingers by pure, dumb luck. 

That luck runs out when you try to pop out the cork stopper by hitting the bottom of the wine against the kitchen counter. 

What used to be the bottle is now a bunch of shards and a cold, wet feeling seeping through your socks. 

You laugh hysterically and drop to your knees, not half as careful as you should be. Something pierces your big toe, but you don’t care. 

The front door opens. Jack steps inside. And his eyes widen. If anything, Jack has always had one hell of a timing.

You’re a fucking mess. 

“Jackie,” you slur. 

You try to get up, but your muscles protest. 

“Jesus, what the fuck?” he hisses. 

He is by your side in an instant, stepping over the glass carefully. It crunches underneath his boots when he picks you up by your underarms and puts you down on the counter. 

“Baby, what the fuck happened?”

You giggle. You fucking love it when he calls you baby. 

“Oopsie,” you whisper. 

Jack stares at you with disbelief. His fingers catch your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his.  For a second, his mouth opens, and you await the lecture that never comes. Instead, his eyes dart over your face, taking it all in—the smeared makeup, the heat radiating from your cheeks, the glassy, far-away look. 

“Are you drunk?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly. 

You try to bite back a smile as you reply, “As a skunk.”

He lets go of your chin and takes a step back, running a hand through his hair.  You let yourself slide off the counter, trying to close the distance again. 

“Stop,” Jack yells.  His arm snaps forward, pushing you back. For a moment, you stumble. Your back hits the counter, and you look up at Jack with a hurt expression. Then your eyes follow his, and you realize that you almost stepped into the glass. A stupid smile spreads over your face.

Jack’s expression falls. 

“Hey,” he says sharply. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What are you doing, huh?”

He grabs you by your biceps and pulls you away from the sharp mess on the floor. You only feel the closeness as his fingers dig into your skin. 

“I missed you today,” you murmur dreamily.  Even to you, your own voice sounds far away. Or maybe only to you? You can’t tell. 

Jack stares at you, his eyes searching for something. Anything. 

“Talk to me,” he demands. “What is going on? Why are you wasted on a fucking Thursday?”

Oh, that one blows.  On a Thursday. Yes, a random Thursday.

You giggle so hard your throat hurts. 

“You’re never gonna believe this, but—” As you pause dramatically, Jack’s eyebrow twitches, “—it’s kinda an important Thursday. Like… really important.”

It’s almost visible how the wheels in Jack’s head start turning. They spark, creak, and squeak as he searches for the answer that’s written all over your face in the runny mascara and that look bordering on insanity. 

 His face falls when the wheels come to a stop.

“Fuck,” he whispers. 

As his eyes dart to the calendar pinned to the fridge, you feel your stomach turning. 

“Yeah,” you say.  Your mouth feels dry now, and nothing’s quite as funny anymore.

Jack looks at you, but you don’t meet his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” You believe him. That’s the worst part. But it doesn’t matter how sorry he is, because you’re sorrier. To the little girl you once were who thought she’d be happier than her parents ever got to be.

You shift your weight and wince softly. 

Jack’s eyes widen.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.  His voice comes out rough. 

“No,” you murmur. 

Jack pats you down anyway, his hands searching alongside his eyes as he inspects your legs. At the end, he finds a small shard of glass stuck in your big toe.  You're holding onto Jack’s head as he looks at your foot. His ears have grown red. 

“You are hurt,” he mumbles. “I—Lemme…”

Torn between another apology and his worry, Jack picks you up. His arms slide under your back and your knees. The room tilts dangerously—you had almost forgotten that the contents of an entire wine bottle were coursing through your veins. 

“Rollercoaster,” you whisper.

He shushes you as he carries you to the upstairs bathroom where you keep the first aid kit.  The bright, white light flickers to life and hurts your eyes, making you groan. Jack only glances at you with more concern before he sets you down on the bathroom counter. 

“Hold still,” he instructs.  His arms keep you in place for a few seconds, like he is trying to show your body how to keep balance. “Don’t fall, please,” he adds, a little gentler. 

Then he crouches down, grunting a little as his knee pops. Somewhere through the haze of the wine, you remember that he just worked for sixteen hours. But then again, it’s your anniversary, and your empathy for his exhaustion is outweighed by your own misery. By far.

 He finds the first aid kit and takes a pair of tweezers before he catches your foot with his other hand. 

“It’s not too deep,” he says quietly. “Maybe that’s why you didn’t feel it until you moved.”

Yeah, you think to yourself, that’s definitely why. 

“Spoken like the doctor you are,” you answer. 

Jack looks up at you for a second, his lips pressed together. He murmurs something you don’t quite catch and then pulls out the shard.

You gasp as the pain shoots from your toe to your knee and pulls up high into your hip. 

“Ow, what the—?” you hiss. 

Jack keeps your leg still and rubs your shin slightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“Not for that.”

The air in the room grows cold.  Jack straightens up, and his knee pops again. 

“I’m sorry for today, too,” he begins.  He doesn’t get very far because you immediately hold up your hand. 

“No,” you bite out sharply.

For a few seconds, you just sit on the counter, your legs swinging slightly. Jack watches, fumbling with his fingers as he searches your face. 

“Can I clean your cut, please?” he asks.  You shake your head vehemently. 

“It could get infected if I don’t,” he retorts.

You open your mouth to argue, but the words don’t come out. Instead, a wave of nausea hits you. 

“’m gonna be sick,” you mumble. 

Jack’s eyes widen before his hands land on your waist.  He half-carries, half-drags you to the toilet and makes it just in time as the wine comes back up, tasting ten times as bad as it did when it went down. 

“Shit, baby,” Jack curses. He gathers as much of your hair as he can save and rubs your back as you throw up once, then twice. 

It’s all liquid, too, because you haven’t eaten in a few hours—you were planning on having a big dinner with your boyfriend after all, as one does on their anniversary.  As your stomach cramps, you think about the muffins that you ordered, lemon batter and raspberry icing. 

The third time your tummy revolts, it’s just dry-heaving. 

Spit dribbles down your chin, and your hands tremble. You’re somehow sweating and shaking simultaneously. Jack whispers and shushes, but you don’t want his comfort. You want to keep drinking until you pass out. 

“Leave me alone,” you murmur, your hands flailing weakly. 

“And let you knock yourself unconscious? No, thank you,” he replies. “You’re so fucking drunk, you’re lucky you haven’t given yourself alcohol poisoning.” It’s clear he’s aiming for dry and sarcastic, but you hear the fear in his voice. 

“Get out,” you rasp. Your throat might as well be on fire.

“No,” he snaps. 

“You don’t care if I crack my head open,” you accuse. 

His grip on your arm tightens. “Hey,” he says sharply, “That’s not true. I care very much.”

You groan and rest your chin on the toilet seat as your head begins to spin again. 

“Then why are you never here?”

The silence that follows is only broken by your renewed retching. 

Once you’ve emptied your stomach, Jack leaves you by yourself on the bathroom tiles for a few seconds. His eyes keep flickering back to you as he turns on the shower, testing its warmth with the tips of his fingers. 

He returns to your side and flushes the toilet for you. 

“Can you stand?” he asks.  You’re surprised at just how soft his voice is. 

You shake your head. He doesn’t sigh. 

Instead, he nods quietly and maneuvers you against the wall. 

“Put your arms up, baby,” he instructs quietly. 

Piece by piece, he removes your clothes. You feel how his fingers tremble as he unhooks the clasps of your new bra, all black lace and clearly bought for today.  Once you’re down to nothing, he starts undressing, too. He leans his prosthetic against the wall and then manages to get both of you in the shower. 

The tiles are cold underneath you, but the warm spray from above keeps you quiet. Jack doesn’t say anything as he sits next to you, his grey curls slowly growing darker as the water hits. He doesn’t reach for you either, but his knee presses against yours. 

“You love me?” you whisper. 

Jack braces next to you. You feel the tension travel up from where his leg touches yours. 

“I do,” he murmurs. 

You swallow hard. “Then why do you never choose me?”

❤︎ just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog ❤︎ ☆ find my masterlist here ☆

[alexs-ummers]

ma'am, miss, teacher!

pairing: superman x teacher!reader summary: superman is smitten enough to grant a stranger a favor (although he doesn't know exactly what he's agreed to). words: 3k content: fluff! reader is a high school english teacher. note: random idea i had (self indulgent as fuck). i'd love to explore this pairing more though so if u like it lmk and send me ideas! :O

The television played in the background of your kitchen every morning. Always the local newstation. Coffee dripped from the machine. The muffled honks from the cars down on the street still heard from the fourth floor. The morning traffic of Metropolis. You were late. 

The kitchen table moves an inch. “Fuck!” You scream, hopping off the pain as you gather up your bag from the living room. The coffee cup is grabbed off the counter in a hurry, drips of the liquid staining the countertops. Feet are shoved into shoes. You paid no attention. If you were paying attention, it probably should have been to the TV. A superhuman fight near 15th Street and Metropolis Ave. Right in the middle of your walk to the high school. 

You hurried, but probably not as much as you should have. It was too close to summer for you to really care that you were going to be fifteen minutes late. The kids didn’t show up for another forty five minutes. Lesson plans were prepped. You were wearing two different colored socks. Whatever, it didn’t matter. You sip the too-hot liquid, hissing at the heat, and not looking where you’re walking. 

“Ma’am, you really shouldn’t be here right now.” It’s said through his teeth, holding back part of a… Was that a fucking concrete wall? “This part of the street, it’s blocked off.” A crash from up ahead nearly steals your attention, but Superman is right in front of you. You’re sort of dumbfounded. You had never met him despite moving to the city a couple years ago. It really shouldn’t shock you as much as it does. I mean, he was sort of the protector of Metropolis. But you really didn’t expect him to look so cute up close– “Ma’am.” His voice is desperate. An entire street pole is diverted by his hand. Okay, maybe it’s less of his good looks and the fact that you might have walked into a warzone. You catch glimpses of Hawkgirl in the sky. “Ma’am, you need to move.” There’s that authority. 

“Oh. Oh my god. Yeah, I’m so sorry. I’m being so–” Another crash. A ‘Superman’ yelled in his direction. “It’s just– I’m late, ya know, to work.” And you want to continue to explain that you take the same route every day and unfortunately you aren’t a fan of breaking a routine. And oh my god, you should’ve checked the news. It was a common occurrence for something to disrupt Metropolis and things usually carried on as soon as the fight was over, but they weren’t usually right in the way of you getting to work. 

Clark doesn’t quite have the time for this, but his eyebrows knit together at your rambling. Typically, he wouldn’t let himself get so distracted over something so trivial. Clark can’t seem to help himself. “Just– just wait here. Stay out of the way.” He throws a look behind his shoulder then spares another glance at you before he’s shooting off into the air. 

So you move back toward the last intersection and watch the rest of the fight play out. It really doesn’t take very long when he has extra help. You glance at your watch. Ten minutes have passed. A whoosh behind you. “Ma’am.” His deep voice startles you out of your thoughts. You turn around to meet his gaze. 

Clark probably could have been offering his help to clean up the destruction, but Guy had said something irritating earlier and Clark could hold a grudge. There were no civilian casualties and you were the only one who had stuck around instead of taking a different route. He was curious. Plus, it probably didn’t help that he thought you were pretty. He couldn’t tell exactly where you might’ve been going for work, but your outfit had caught his attention. Plaid slacks, a white blouse with long billowy sleeves. Brown loafers. You almost looked ready for the Daily Planet, but he’s sure he would’ve noticed you by now. You clutched the strap of your bag to your body. You were nervous.

Superman looks just as put together as he did 10 minutes ago albeit a little more dust on the blue of his suit. His hands are clasped behind his back. “What were you saying earlier?” 

Your face grows warm. Oh gosh. Did he really think your ramblings were important earlier? You did stay where he told you, did that maybe signal you wanted to talk again? “Oh, it’s really nothing.” Your hands come up in front of you, waving through the air. When you felt awkward, you talked with your hands. Could this get any more embarrassing? 

“Well, it seemed like I really disrupted your day.” Superman is frowning at you. Eyebrows drawn together, taking a step closer to you. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Clark is playing it up, but he can’t help it. He likes the way you stumble over your words. If he wasn’t in the suit, he’d probably be doing the same thing back. He just has a disguise to hide under. “I can fly you to work if you want? You said you were late?” What was he doing? He didn’t typically offer free rides to civilians. Sort of a lawsuit waiting to happen. 

You could melt into a puddle under his gaze. Blue eyes, dark hair, cape sort of billowing in the wind. God, you should’ve pulled out your phone and got an exclusive. Probably a pretty penny to be made on Superman photos and with your salary– “Oh gosh. No. I–” You glance up to the sky then at the roofs of the nearest buildings. “I don’t think I could stomach that.” Your eyes meet his again. “I mean, I haven’t even had breakfast either. And it sucks dry heaving and nothing comes up.” Could you talk any more? You shut your mouth. Stare at him. 

“I can walk with you?” Clark tries again. There were probably more pressing matters to deal with. He did not care. In his mind, he would write it off on being a man of the people. I mean, that’s what he was. Today it just looked a little different. “Unless of course, you’d rather–” 

You can’t seem to stop yourself, “No, please. I’d love that.” A smile pulls across your lips. Were you about to get personal escort to work from Superman? “Then you can tell them why I’m half an hour late to work.” A perfect excuse, how would your principal fight with Superman over your time management? Well, you could see her doing that. Not even Superman could reason with her. 

“I’d love to.” A grin, all teeth and dimples. Clark holds out his hand to you. You stop, raise your eyebrow. Was he offering his hand to– “Your bag?” Oh gosh, he was really playing this up. Did he have no tact? Was he so blatantly flirting with a civilian he had just prevented from getting caught up in the middle of a metahuman fight? He would beat himself up over it later. For using his alias for talking with pretty women. No backing out now. You hand over your bag. “What is it that you do?” His eyes roam over your figure again as you begin walking. He could use his x-ray vision to examine the contents of your bag, but he had already overstepped so many personal boundaries today. 

“Oh!” You glance up at him. You had tried to keep your eyes forward. Everytime you looked at him, you risked tripping over your feet. Oh, but would he catch you? You have to shake the thoughts from your head. “I swore I mentioned that.” You frown. “I’m a teacher!” A sort of pride always emerged when you told people your profession. Now that you’re next to Superman though, you feel a little overshadowed. Who cares that you’re a teacher? He was saving the entire human race next Thursday. “Usually people tell me I’m like a superhero and now that I’m standing next to one; I feel pretty lame.” You laugh. It didn’t actually bother you. Just put it into perspective now that you have met one. The most popular one at that. At least to you.

“Well, you sort of are.” He clears his throat, tossing a smile your way. Clark had always wondered if he would have the bravery to do anything if he wasn’t Superman. Sitting at a desk and writing articles really wasn’t that brave. Parts of it had him stepping out of his comfort zone, but he could never imagine being a teacher. Wrangling twenty or more kids for eight hours straight, five days a week. Clark had super human strength. He could fly faster than a bullet. All that would be really great if he was doing what you did. But you did that without any of the extra help. And that was just the physical side of things. He had teachers who had helped him overcome insecurities, that helped pave the path that he was on today. It was not something to brush off. “I could never do what you do.” 

A scoff as you’re walking beside him. “Oh, come on! You are such a good role model!” 

Clark can’t help the way the tips of his ears turn pink. He shrugs, brushing off your compliment. “I mean it. What you do is important.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek, considering asking him if he would come in and talk to your class, but you’re already at the entrance of the school. The steps you usually loved walking up looked a lot less exciting today. Especially as you’re staring up at Superman and he’s looking back at you with a sort of admiration, lips twisted up in a smile. That right dimple tugging at his cheek as he smiles. “Well, this is me.” 

Is he blushing? You wonder as he begins to speak again, “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for you? I could pick you up something to eat, I know you said you didn’t eat and–” And now Superman of all people is rambling. Maybe you were rubbing off on him or he wasn’t as suave as you originally thought. His mouth clamps shut. A swallow as he watches for your reaction. 

A glance to the school. “Actually…” You trail off, rocking on the balls of your feet. “Tomorrow. Would you come talk to my class? I think they’d really love it. Meeting a superhero and all.” You’re looking up at him through your lashes and hoping you’re playing this right. Hope he finds you just as cute as you find him. The coffee you had this morning must make you nervous and out of your mind and now here you were asking Superman for favors.

“Of course.” 

“Really?” You’re cheesing, hard. You want to jump up and wrap your arms around his shoulders. You never thought you’d ever secure the best guest speaker ever. All the other teachers were gonna be so jealous and you could finally tell Mrs. Dollway to suck it– “Wait, here, let me write down the time and date and this address.” You’re stepping into Superman’s space to grab your bag. The strap hangs off his shoulder as you dig around for a pen and a post-it note. You scribble down the information as he watches with a smile. Clark hadn’t felt this excited in ages. Not so much for the classroom talk, but the fact that he had figured out how to see you again.

You trade the sticky note for your bag. Clark’s face is twisted in confusion before that dimple is taking up residence on his face again, teasing. Oh god, you could kiss that thing– “Huh?” You ask, his voice drawing you out of it.

“Your name?” He offers the note again. You scribble it on, face warming again. From embarrassment and the thoughts that were plaguing you. Stupid Superman and his stupid good looks and good heart and– “Thank you, Miss.” 

“Thank you, Superman.” An irregular heartbeat in your chest and a quick touch to his upper arm before you’re bounding up the first few steps of the school. “Thank you, really. I can’t wait!” The giddiness in your voice is unmatched. 

The smile doesn’t leave Clark’s face. The sticky note is clutched into his palm as he shoots up into the sky. The pretty teacher is the only thing on his mind. 

— 

The receptionist at the front desk did nothing to hide the shock on her face when Superman walked in. Clark was quick to explain that he was here as a guest speaker for your class. A call to your classroom, a gesture to sit in one of the chairs, and she was quick to begin gossiping in the next room. Clark tuned it out and instead tuned in to the click of your shoes against the hallway floor. He caught the flutter of your heart as you pushed the door open. 

“Hi, Superman!” You grin. He stands to meet you. You settle for a handshake as Clark’s eyes catch on your badge. Metropolis Middle Senior High School. Were you a high school teacher? Clark’s eyes widen when he realizes what exactly he’s gotten himself into, but you’re already leading him down the hallway. 

Clark can’t help the weird anxiousness that builds in his belly. “I really thought you had meant, you know, kids.” Superman is walking with you down the hallway, boots sort of dragging along the linelmoun floor. They catch on the floor, squeaking. You cringe. 

“Um, sorry, should I have elaborated on that?”

Superman puts on a smile. “Oh, uh, of course not. It’s just you know, it’s usually the little kids that like me so much.” 

You grin. “Don’t be nervous. I think the older kids will love you.” You stop in front of the classroom: room 120. “Thank you for doing this. Seriously. Now, I didn’t exactly give them a heads up that you’d be coming.” A nervous laugh. “I wanted it to be a surprise.” Your bottom lip is tugged between your teeth, chewing as you think. “I hope I don’t regret that. Anyway, just be yourself!” 

Clark can’t remember the last time he was this nervous, but he decides to take your advice and relax. How bad could it be? They were just kids after all. 

Except as soon as you’re opening up the classroom door to relieve the teacher across the hall from your 1st period English class; the entire class is silent. For once. And not exactly in awe. 

“Um, teacher, what the hell is this?” 

You do a lame excuse for jazz hands with only one hand free as you tug Clark the rest of the way into the classroom. “It’s Superman!” Your hand rests on his upper arm. As soon as you realize that you’re touching him, you tug your hand away like it’s on fire. No reason to give them any ammunition. Except they don’t need any. A classroom of fifteen and sixteen year olds can come up with their own. 

“It’s Supershit!” 

“Is it really true about your parents?”

“No way our teacher is dating Superman.” 

“What’s the beef with Lex Luthor?” 

“Wait, do you know Batman?”

The excited voices build on one another until the volume of the class is out of control. Superman’s face is the same shade as a strawberry and his eyes find sudden interest in the ceiling. You hadn’t expected it to go like this. This is what you get for not prepping them for a guest speaker. Arms crossed, you raise your voice to meet theirs. “Is this how we treat a guest?!” The voices die down, a few whispers being passed. “I’m disappointed. He’s got plenty else to do if you guys don’t want to take this seriously.” Groans throughout the classroom. “Thank you. Now have some respect, please.” You glance at Superman. He’s engrossed in the way you’ve seemed to corral the room like unruly livestock. “They’ll be nice, now.” You whisper to him as you take a seat on your desk, watching the rest of the interactions play out. 

Once the class actually settled in, they had come up with several thought-provoking questions for Superman. Clark had taken it as serious as any other press release or a meeting with the president. And the questions were just as hard-hitting. He hadn’t known that kids this age would be keeping up with news even if it was in the form of videos and memes. It was refreshing. He had looked to you for advice on some of the questions too, wanting permission before he talked about certain topics, but all you did was nod to give him the go-ahead. 

“It certainly wasn’t what I expected.” He’s telling you once the last of the kids had filtered out after the bell. “And I definitely have a deeper appreciation for teachers. Especially the ones dealing with this age group.” You laugh. “Actually, I was thinking, I have a friend at the Daily Planet… If your students would be interested in talking to a journalist. They definitely have the hard-hitting questions down.” Superman offers. He might have needed an excuse to see you again. But then he's worrying, what if you don't like Clark as much as you like Superman? He already needed a backup plan.

“Oh, wow! I couldn’t ask you to do that. You’ve already done so much.” 

“Well… You could repay me. If you’d let me take you out.” Superman was back to his self-assured attitude. He would leave the nervousness for Clark next week. 

“Oh!” You nervously slide your hands over your blouse. “I didn't know Superman dated. How does that work?"

“A time and a place. I’m sure to meet you there.” He clears his throat. Clark had never thought about it. Had never met someone he liked so much as Superman. It was different. It seemed like it might complicate things more than he was used to, but he’d find a way. Clark had a feeling it was gonna be worth it. “You didn’t seem fond of flying last time or else I’d offer to pick you up.” 

“That definitely seems like a third date activity.” You’d be an idiot to pass up a date with Superman. “Okay. I’ll go out with you.” You shuffle around your desk and pass him a stack of post-its with a pen. “A time and a place.” 

Thankfully, Superman was a quick thinker on his feet.

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

seeing double

summary: when your ex-boyfriend makes a surprise visit to ptmc, your boyfriend and the rest of your co-workers realise you might have a type…

pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader & ex bf!mark sloan x fem!reader

warnings/tags: established relationship, implied age gap between abbot & reader and mark & reader, flirting, fluff, swearing, mark don’t give a fuck that the reader is in a relationship, but reader is respectful of boundaries, defs a bit of jealous and insecure Jack if you squint

notes: hot hot hot hot hot give them both to me now thanks!! also massive shoutout to the anon that requested this 🙂‍↕️

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masterlist

“Ew.”

The word left you before you could stop it as you sunk your teeth into a granola bar.

You grimaced as you turned over the wrapper, examining it like it might explain why you felt like you were currently eating a stick of glue.

“Are these expired?” You asked through the mouthful.

McKay barely glanced up from where she had half her body buried in the fridge, rummaging past several abandoned containers and a suspiciously wet paper bag.

“Nope, they’re just a by product of the drywall factory down the road.” She answered.

You stared at the bar for another second, trying to muster up enough willpower to finish it given you hadn’t eaten lunch.

After abandoning that mission in under 10 seconds, you leant over the bin and spat out the mouthful with as much decorum as you could before unceremoniously dumping the rest of the bar after it.

“Those things aren’t that bad.” Whitaker mused as he wandered into the breakroom with Santos hot on his heels.

“That’s because you were raised on hay.” Santos remarked dryly.

“They’re raspberry flavoured.”

“That’s not helping you Huckleberry.”

You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.

He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.

You: Are you coming in early today?

JA ❤️: Always.

You quickly typed out another message.

You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible

The reply came almost instantly.

JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.

You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.

JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.

You: are you psychic?

JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.

Your smile widened as his reply came through.

You: thank u 🩷

JA ❤️: 👍

“What are you smiling at?”

You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.

“What?”

“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”

“Nothing.”

Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.

Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”

“What?”

“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.

“That?” Whitaker supplied.

“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”

You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.

“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”

Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”

You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”

Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”

Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."

You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.

“Never give your triggers away Santos.”

“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.

You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.

You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.

“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.

“You all good?”

“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”

“Not for a little while.”

“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”

“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”

You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”

Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”

You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”

“Apparently so.”

You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.

Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.

“Hey.”

You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.

“What?” You asked warily.

Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”

“The what?”

Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.

“Absolute smoke show.”

Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”

Your brows knitted together.

“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.

“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.

You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.

At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.

And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.

“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.

You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.

Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.

Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.

“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”

By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.

“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”

Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.

“Well I’ll be.”

That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.

“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”

Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.

“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”

“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”

“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.

He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.

"Someone has to."

Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.

“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.

"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.

“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.

“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.

Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"

Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.

"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"

"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"

"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."

McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.

"No." McKay shook her head.

"Yes."

“You don’t seriously think….” Whitaker trailed off.

“Oh I do” Santos nodded. “I really do.”

Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”

You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.

“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”

You snorted. “Please.”

“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”

You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”

He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."

He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”

You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”

“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."

"No."

"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”

"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.

“Wait let me guess.”

Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.

His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”

He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”

From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”

Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep bulging as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.

Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.

For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.

Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”

Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.

“I’m right."

You didn't answer.

"I am."

“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”

“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”

“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”

Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."

"He also has excellent aim."

"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."

And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.

"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.

“You’re happy?”

You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.

“I am.”

“He good to you?"

You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”

Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”

For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.

You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”

“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.

"So the usual then?"

“The usual.”

He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”

“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."

Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”

“Sloan.”

The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.

Mark's grin returned instantly.

“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.

"A lot less hair since I last saw you."

Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”

Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.

Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.

“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”

“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”

“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”

Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.

“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”

Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”

McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”

“I second the good taste thing.” Princess murmured as she appeared beside McKay.

Perlah took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I third that.”

The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."

Robby’s eyes narrowed as he gestured between you and Mark.

“You two know eachother?”

“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.

“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.

Robby's confusion only deepened. “Cupid…?”

You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.

“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“

“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea right about now."

Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."

“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”

Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning smugly as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.

You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.

He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.

"Ex?"

You sighed. "...Ex."

Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”

“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”

Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.

You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.

“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.

Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.

You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.

When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.

“Don’t you dare say a word.”

She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”

You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.

For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.

By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.

“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”

You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.

“The old lady with the chest pain?”

“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.

You frowned. "That sucks."

“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.

“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."

Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”

Your eyes narrowed.

"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.

"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."

"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.

"I hate all of you."

Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"

Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.

You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.

You waited a couple minutes before moving.

The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.

A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“So… that’s your ex.”

“That’s my ex.”

He nodded. "You left out a few details."

"Such as?"

His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.

“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”

Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"

Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."

Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”

“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”

“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”

“You’re not.” You insisted.

Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.

You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”

“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.

Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.

"Jack."

"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”

You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.

“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.

“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.

“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”

You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”

Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.

“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”

His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”

“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”

The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”

“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”

His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”

Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.

“Well, lucky for him it worked.”

The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.

He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.

“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”

You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”

“Yes.” He answered plainly.

You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”

Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.

“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”

You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”

Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”

Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.

“Did you eat?”

You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”

Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”

“I will.”

“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”

Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”

“Of course.”

You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”

His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.

“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”

You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.

You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”

You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.

“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”

Jack raised a brow.

“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”

“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.

“I know I am.”

“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.

You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.

Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile spreading across his face.

As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍

[inmoonsblood]

my girl - kara zor-el

1.1k words , kara zor-el x fem!reader , suggestive (16+) , implied vigilante!reader , established relationship , reader mentioned to be chatty and mouthy (like once) , reader wears a dress .

synopsis: kara finds out something very interesting about you and how you react when she says the words 'my girl' ; aka pari self indulging for a thousand words straights (not) because i need her so viciously.

notes: this is . fully self indulgent and also very gay because . i am very gay. erm, yes, this movie has revived me and my will to write but i have no idea how long it's going to last so please enjoy! as usual, expect grammar mistakes bc i do not have a beta reader and in true wattpad girl fashion english is not my first language.

The first time it happened, Kara honestly thought it was a fluke.   

Your breath hitched and your heartbeat picked up the second she called you “my girl” but you never said anything about it, so naturally, Kara assumed it was the hand on your waist and her lips on your neck.

She didn’t think much of it; honestly, all she could think of at that point was the way you leaned into her and your voice calling out her name—like it was the only thing you could say. So she went back to kissing along your neck, not really thinking about the specific words at all.

The second time it happened, the two of you were arguing about something stupid. Something along the lines about you getting hurt and Kara dropping her post on the mission to come and rescue you. And it isn’t that you’re not grateful—as you try to tell her in the middle of the screaming match—it’s just that she can’t keep leaving her post during an active mission for you. 

Kara yelled back, “Well I don’t care! If my girl is getting fucking shot at, I’m going to run to her—”

She cut herself off as she narrowed her eyes at you, because Kara is always perceptive, especially when it comes to you, and she heard the spike in your heartbeat again, and the way your eyes widened very slightly—almost unnoticeable to the human eye—and your breathing got shallower. 

But there’s still not a lot Kara could do about it that time because it was only for a second and then you were yelling at her about how you could take care of yourself again and she had to push that out of her mind. 

Really—the third time it happens is when Kara can actually take advantage of it and actually push the limits to see how far your little . . . quirk can go. And of course she does exactly that; why not see her baby get all flustered over her? 

Clark is hosting a stupid barbeque and for once Kara attends because it’s her stupid cousin’s birthday, and she can be nice (sometimes). Of course, she drags you with her, because she doesn’t want to be there, she just wants to be home with you. Of course, you look gorgeous in a long floral dress. Of course, Kara has to physically stop herself from touching you all the time because Clark is right there and she really doesn’t want to deal with his nagging.

Like all events that include Clark, this one includes a lot of socialising. A lot of introductions of herself as Kara Danvers, Clark’s cousin from Smallville. The only thing that makes it tolerable is the fact that you’re there, smiling and nodding along and every time someone asks who you are, Kara can grab your waist and tug you closer and introduce you as “my girl.”

This time, slight hitch in your breath, the pickup of your heartbeat and the way you try to suppress your blush is very evident and there’s very little distracting her from it. And yeah, Kara is having the time of her life watching you try to hide it from her, even though she’s literally got superhearing. Especially as you cough behind your arm as her thumb brushes against your waist, or when you quickly volunteer to help Lois any time you catch her staring at you.

It’s very close to the best thing ever: watching her normally composed and mouthy girl turn into a stumbling mess because of her, because of two words that she mutters like it’s habit—because that’s what it started off as. Of course, she’d call you her girl, that’s what you are (alongside with pretty girl, pretty baby, her gorgeous baby, her sweet girl and so so many more that Kara has not stopped taking advantage of).

It’s a little funny—very funny to Kara—how that’s all it takes (yes, Clark is side-eyeing her with his stupid ‘omg my cousin’s in love’ grin. No, she does not give a shit).

As the night begins to finally wind down, with most of the guests either leaving or choosing to get wine drunk with Lois, it’s very easy for Kara to corner you at the kitchen as you’re putting some of the dishes away so that her cousin has one less task to deal with after everyone’s gone (and she won’t admit it, but seeing you do something for her family? That tugs on her heart strings and makes her smile want to kiss you stupid).

You’re near the cabinet when Kara suddenly appears behind you, hands caging you in with her chest pressed into your back. She kisses along your neck, starting at the base and making her way up to your ear. You’re already blushing, breathing gotten shallower, as you lean into her embrace, letting go of the plates so you don’t accidentally drop them. But then her hands move to your waist, gripping them and her mouth moves to your ear, and in that low voice of hers that she knows you love, she whispers:

“How’s my girl doing?”

And Kara can feel the way you freeze. With the way your breathing staggers and your heart rate picks up and she has to hide her absolutely jovial smirk with another kiss against your neck. 

“What?” she asks again, “cat got your tongue?” 

You can’t do anything, really. You’re caged in between the counter top and your way too smug girlfriend right now, with another super with super-hearing literally not that far away. You really don’t want to give anything away more than you already have, because this little secret of yours is out of the bag.

“Kara,” you say, tone a bit bashful as you try to stand up straight. She doesn’t let you, of course, pulling you back into her. 

“Yeah?” she mutters again, kisses on your neck resuming. 

“Clark—” You try to remind her that her cousin also has super hearing and you really don’t want him to catch you two getting frisky in his kitchen, but it seems like your girlfriend doesn’t really care right now.

“Not my name, baby,” she says as she bites your earlobe, slowly dragging her teeth down. “Or is my girl suddenly shy? Hmm?”

There it is again—those two words. Your absolute undoing. Kara isn’t sure if they’ll have an effect on you right now, with the neck kissing and the teasing, but she’s pleasantly surprised when you shudder and close your eyes, like out of everything else it’s those two words that get to you the most.

Clark calls her name out, and she takes a step back, still with the biggest shit eating grin on her face. Doesn’t matter if her cousin’s found you two out, doesn’t matter if she had to stop this show—because now she knows exactly what gets you, and god save you because Kara Zor-El is about to use that weakness. 

If only confirmed by her quick kiss and a promise for taking care of her girl later tonight at home.

Yeah, you’re cooked. 

[mevlliflous]

Kara who barely bothers to brush her hair + gf who looooves doing Karas hair & dressing her up = Kara enjoying being doted on (pls give my girl a break fr + I need supergf fluff loll)

i just failed my final exam and brought peaches instead of apples so enjoy the little blurb as my try to save my day

kara is definitely in a toxic relationship with hairbrushes. if she even owns one. the first time you spend the night in her ship and wake up with a total mess on your head, you think about using a fork, cause there's nothing else to help make you look like a human being again.

her blonde waves somehow accepted their faith and adapted to looking very good while being a complete mess. whenever is the sunglasses holding them up or maybe kara found a hairtie somewhere and put them up, they look good. it's a crime how good they look, without her having to try.

you, on the other hand, had always been a fan of styling your hair, not only doing waves or curls but the coolest braids you can ever imagine. french ones, viking ones, small braids going only halfway up and freely down, pirate ones or boxers. you name it. kara said multiple times how they look badass and how you are some kind of a magician to be able to do them by yourself.

and that's how kara ended up first with small braids in between her blonde waves. then one time, when she got drunk under a red sun and was very close to throwing up, you did a french one on her while she was kneeling besides a toilet. it survived the night and the next three days she didn't take it off (by the third, it was like a ghost of the braid but she liked it too much and said it was comfortable).

at some point, it became a tradition that whenever she was leaving to do something in space she would ask you to braid her hair. she liked having few strands in her face and rest braided in whatever you felt like doing. kara would sit between your legs, almost zooning out when you would play with her hair. she learned her lesson that she can't move even an inch or you will scream at her. but it was okay, you were content with your work, her hair looked better than ever and she had a chance to stop caring about anything else. also, your smile every time she would come back with the braids still in place was her favorite thing in the world.

[inmoonsblood]

Could you do a kara x f!reader based on Drop Dead or Stupid Song by olivia rodrigo?

drop dead ; kara zor el

1.7k words , kara zor-el x fem!reader , making out , vigilante!reader (i wrote it with bat!reader in mind but nothing's mentioned), first kiss , drunk kissing , reader has a crush on kara , reader is a HUGE nerd

synopsis : you've had a crush on kara zor-el for a few months, and you fully believe nothing will come out of it, until it's after the first mission the both of you have together and kara invites you for a drink on a red sun planet.

notes : drunk people . kissing !! i actually am very fond of this one, tysm anon for the req and i hope i did it justice <3 i would actually love to write for stupid song too, but no promises. anyways, same rules as always, i hope you enjoyed this <3

The bar closes at two in the morning.

A fact that you’re well aware of, if only because of the patrons warning you and a very drunk Kara about this an hour in advance. Sadly, time starts to slip away from the grasp of consciousness as the space whiskey finally sets in, deep into your bones and you’re laughing alongside the Supergirl that got you here in the first place.

On a red sun planet. Far away from your home. 

It doesn’t matter, though, because Kara’s shooting down another drink and somehow you’ve landed up with your legs on her lap, sitting too close. You don’t want to move—even though you probably should because this is your first time fighting alongside her and it feels like a bad impression waiting to stick on your bones, but Kara doesn’t seem to want you to move either with the way she’s gripping onto your calves. As you shoot down another drink, Kara’s hands start to trail up and up, near your thighs, not sexual, just massaging them. 

You would be lying if you said you weren’t a little starstruck with Superman’s cousin, especially after everything you’ve read up on her in her file—yes she has her own file that documents her known adventures. It’s a little cool. Cool enough that the quiet admiration turned into a tiny crush that resulted in you collecting newspaper clippings about Supergirl’s recent adventures on Earth, that your siblings would always tease you about until you learned to hide them: just in case they ended up meeting her too, just in case you two were paired up for a mission and she walked you home at the dead of night. 

Yet, when you actually meet Kara, she’s everything you imagined and so much better (more too, but that was expected; people are always more than what you expect). You would also be lying if you said that you weren’t nervous about going on a mission with your literal crush, but surprisingly it goes well. Extremely well. Well enough that she offers to buy you drinks on a red sun planet where she can also get drunk. 

All the nervous energy has disappeared by the third shot that burns your throat, replaced by dropping subtle hints that you’re into Kara (that include staring at her lips, moving closer to her, propping your legs on her lap, and so many more things you’ve done but can’t remember).

By your sixth shot, Kara realises that the bar is about to close and she nudges your thigh as you make a face at her. Because this feels so good, you two are laughing and talking about growing up and living up to family expectations and what it means to the both of you—but simultaneously discussing how the colour Orange is stupid and the fruit should be named something else and tangerines shouldn’t exist or while the number Eight might be a bisexual woman, the number Seven is a straight man. 

You don’t want to leave. Kara has created this bubble around the two of you, and you’ve never felt this warm in such a long time. 

“Come on, pretty,” Kara says with an airy laugh, words slurred slightly—still, definitely holding up better than you—”I wanna go pee, come with me.” She too, it seems, doesn’t want to leave your side.

Girl code, it seems, is universal, because you’re not letting her go to the bathroom alone when you’re both drunk. It’s less that you’re worried something’s going to happen and more of just a social instinct (and you kinda want to discuss that with her too, because what does Kara think about the way you two are socialised? Oh my god, you have so much that you want to know about her—away from Supergirl. Away from being a certain archetype. Just Kara). 

You stumble slightly once you reach the bathroom, leaning against the wall as Kara goes to take a piss. Your eyes are closed—and you cannot open them—until you hear the flush of a stall behind you and the tap being turned on. You open your eyes to Kara washing her hands. She immediately smiles when her eyes meet your half lidded ones and her grin makes you grin too, wide and uncaring. 

You reach out to her, and Kara takes your hand after she wipes it on her pants. The song from the bar—now a slow one to encourage people to leave—is bleeding through the walls of the club and for some reason it feels weirdly magical and romantic, like this is a dream that you’ve imagined. 

Kara walks closer to you, her hands trailing to your waist when you sway and that makes you laugh out loud, head clunking against the wall with a dull thud! that makes Kara look at you in concern and pull you away from the wall. This makes you stumble into her, leading to your hands resting on her shoulders, and close. So close.

You’re laughing again, this time, a finger slowly tracing the lines of her face right now, like you can memorise the amusement in her eyes to recreate in your dreams.  “Are you a dream right now?” You say with a giggle as your other arm hangs off her shoulder now. “Because,” your words are so slurred oh my god, “you definitely feel like one?”

“Wanna put money on it?” Kara asks, all charming and glamorous (wow is this what having a crush does to you?) despite her slurred words, as she pulls you closer now, both of you almost pressed up against each other.

“No, I’ve spent too much of yours tonight. You’re not earning it back from me.”

At your words, Kara snorts. “Well, by that logic you know I'm not a dream.”

You kind of want to argue because that makes no sense, but the slow song playing in the background makes any arguments die down in your throat and you suddenly sway the both of you on purpose—the super strong Supergirl is just human underneath the red sun, after all, might as well take advantage of it. Besides, it makes Kara laugh.

One particularly harsh swing catches her off guard as she tries to match your momentum, causing the both of you to stumble, and as she tries to make sure the both of you don’t faceplant on the floor—and not because she doesn’t want to be laying down with you, but because the floor is kinda disgusting—somehow, you end up pressed up against the bathroom wall, with Kara almost caging you in. 

What in the fucking Hallmark movie? 

Kara doesn’t seem to care—or mind your flustered expression—she just has her hands return to your waist, with her actually pressing you up to the wall this time. Her drunken smile is gone, and she’s staring at you with a weird concentration in her eyes like this is her trying to memorise you. Like you’re not the only one with a weird infatuation that has reached a boiling point. 

You really can’t think, though, because she looks so gorgeous like this. Her blue eyes are trying to capture every inch of your face as though she’s never going to be this up close with you again—which is ridiculous, if it was up to your drunken self you two would always be this close—and her thumb is brushing against your waist. You could just look back into her eyes and grin, play it off cool, totally try to stick to the platonic and safe side of this woman you’ve met literally once before in your life but it’s something about her that makes you drop another—and final—hint. 

You look at her lips, where she can clearly see it. Where she can’t hide behind the excuse of ‘she didn’t know’ if this were to ever come up in the future. It’s a final play, a silent way of asking Kara to make the move because you’ve put all your cards on the table.  

You’re both drunk. You both met on a mission earlier. You both spent the last four hours talking about everything and nothing at the same time. You really want Kara Zor-El, Supergirl, to kiss you right now. 

And the second your eyes flicker back to hers, she closes the gap. 

A few months ago, when you first started looking into Supergirl, you had a dream of Kara kissing you. Of her sliding a hand into your hair and tugging your head to deepen it, of her other hand pressing you against a wall as you two makeout. The dream kiss was so good that it woke you up feeling empty in a way you had never before, but right now?

The real kiss is so much better. 

Kara doesn’t immediately lick into your mouth—no, she takes her time like she wants to drag everything out, like she’s trying to retain this memory by focusing on the extremely small details. But when it happens, when her tongue finally meets your lips, with Kara pulling away slightly so she can lick them properly? Your brain short circuits, because you want more. More of her, as much as she will give you, as long as this magic lasts but she doesn’t fucking let you and it is annoying until her hand cups your jaw and her tongue finally meets yours. 

The hand on your jaw traces alongside it, reaching up to your chin as Kara doesn’t let you break the kiss. Her other hand roams your waist, pressing you further into her like she never wants you to leave. You pull away to breathe for a second but Kara doesn’t let you fully have your second of oxygen, instead she chases your lips, this time actually pressing you up to the wall. 

Finally, the barkeep bangs on the washroom. “Closing for the night,” she yells, “if you’re left here you’re locked up!”

Kara pulls away, resting her forehead against yours as the both of you breathe heavily, still grabbing onto each other, still unwilling to let go. 

“Stay the night?” she asks you, voice hoarse from the drinks. “Don’t go back to Earth. Stay with me.”

Well, what else can you do but nod?

[cloverkittens]

IN LOVE ╱ with KARA ZOR-EL x F!READER

summary clark finds out about you and kara

warnings suggestive themes

“Listen, okay?”

Kara knows how this looks. Clothes strewn from the hallway to the foot of her bed, Krypto snoring from the living room instead of his usual place in her bed, and, most damning of all, the girl beside her, sleeping peacefully on her stomach with an arm draped over Kara’s waist.

Kara gently extracts herself from the bed and trips across the floor, pulling on a random pair of jeans before stumbling into the hallway with Clark, closing the door behind her.

“It’s not what you think,” Kara says. 

“And what do I think?” Clark whispers back, eyes wide.

“You tell me!” Kara defends. She can’t come up with something at all reasonable to say without exposing herself and subsequently, the lie she’s been telling Clark. A secret most of the time, dipping into dishonesty on some of the nights he asks to see her and she’s brushed off with a lame excuse.

Giving Krypto a bath. Cleaning the apartment. Wanting to turn in early.

“It looks like you got drunk and hooked up on a planet with a yellow sun! Fully powered, Kara!” Clark admonishes. And yes, okay. From his perspective this is all entirely reasonable and completely appropriate to be worried about. But Kara has just been pulled from her bed at eight in the morning after a very late night, and she can think of nothing else besides climbing back onto the mattress besides you.

“You and Lois—”

“Lois knows!”

“And—that’s—whatever!” Kara flings her arms up and sighs. “Look, Clark, I appreciate the concern. But really, it’s not necessary. Everything is fine.”

“Kara, I know you’re used to doing these things off-planet,” Clark tries. He sets his hands on her biceps, gripping softly. “But here on Earth…things are different. People talk. Superpowered beings are—”

“Kara?” The bedroom door creaks and you step out, wearing only Kara’s Blondie t-shirt. Just seeing you makes her blood pressure drop.

“Hi, baby,” she murmurs, pulling away from Clark and moving towards you. “You sleep okay?”

She cups your cheek in one hand, smiling softly as you lean into the touch.

“Mhm. You run so hot, the bed’s cold without you.”

“I’ll be right back, promise.” She leans down and kisses your forehead, letting her lips press longer than necessary. You hum happily.

“Don’t be too long. You can kick Clark out, right?”

Kara snorts and rests her chin against your head. “For you, yes. If you need incentive to be patient, I can offer a reward.”

“You’d give it to me no matter what,” you tease. 

“Go wait,” Kara says, shooing you back into her room. “I’ll kick him out.”

When the door closes, she takes a moment to rest against it. Deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth. It’s just Clark. She can do this. She’s fought literal monsters. This is nothing.

(But truthfully—monsters are the easy part. A direct, violent target that needs to be taken down. Heartfelt talks are harder, tangled, always a mess. There’s no defeating the enemy hurting you, there is only the hitching breaths in the silence and the burn of unwanted tears.)

Kara turns around, and is surprised to find Clark watching. He looks—odd. Off. Face softened with slow understanding.

“She knows,” he says softly. “Doesn’t she?”

Kara exhales noisily. “Yeah. She knows.”

“How much?”

“I…” Kara looks around uselessly. How does she even begin to describe it all? The gentle tugging of your love on her soul. Giggles and sloppy kisses on the way home from a bar she can barely get tipsy at. Your hands combing through her hair as she whispers about Krypton, lips brushing your chest. 

I love you whispered for the first time by you, in Kryptonian, pressed against Kara’s ear. 

“She knows everything,” Kara says. 

“You love her?” 

And he’s—Clark’s looking at her like he knows. Something in Kara’s chest twinges. Months, she’s been hiding this from him. It was ‘just friends’ in the beginning, Kara unstable and volatile and off-center. She didn’t know she could love like this. That she could have someone to come home to every day, to smile at her or hold her and tell her that everything would be okay. 

She was so unsure that she’d be able to keep it. That something wouldn’t drive you away. Kara doesn’t have people. She has herself, Clark. And now: you. And you’ve shown that you’re staying. That you want to be here.

“More than anything,” Kara replies. Her eyes sting.

Clark leaves soon after, and Kara comes back into her bedroom, Krypto darting past her to throw himself onto the bed with you.

“Oh, hi,” you coo as Krypto throws himself wildly back and forth across the bed. “C’mere. You missed us, huh?” 

Kara collapses onto the mattress beside you. “Hey, what about me?”

You laugh and reach out a hand to stroke Kara’s hair. “Are you feeling neglected?”

“Yes,” Kara moans. She rolls over on top of you, resting her head on your chest. “Give me attention.”

You lean down and kiss the top of her head. “Anything for you.”

notes i'm so in love with kara omg. i need everyone to get more supergirl pilled rn

[bluercherry]

'Green Sun Problems'

Kara Zor-el x green lantern!reader

While helping Kara in her mission to find Krypto's antidote, you both stumble upon a green sun, fatal for kryptonians // hurt/comfort // angst-ish with happy ending // settled in supergirl 2026 but doesn't really spoil anything // wlw

a/n: this was for a request (my first request ever yayyyy) thanks @supergirlswife for sending the request <33

The moment you saw the yellow bright sun hide behind the mountains your tired eyes just accustomed to the lack of light.

Running on the rough sand of the planet, you searched for the Brigand's ship, where you and Kara had gone to get the antidote for Krypto.

You sensed something weird, and slowly, the surface of the planet was tainted with a shade of icy green that froze you in place as you realised what it meant.

"Shit- Kara!"

You took off flying, searching for her in every corner of the planet, even passing by the Brigand's ship. But right now you didn't care. You had to find Kara.

When you found her, she was laying on the sand. Heavy, ragged breaths shook her form. You heart raced with anxiety and unadulterated fear.

You quickly stepped down to meet her eyes. They were glassy, unfocused, and starting to close.

"It's okay, it's all right, Kara. You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you" you grabbed her limp form in your arms, and flew to a nearby cave.

Maybe if she was inside it wouldn't affect her that much, right? You really had no choice, anyways.

You layed her down in a corner, and pushed a strand of her blonde hair out of her face. Her face was sticky with sweat, and she was ungodly pale. You let a shaky breath out.

Your ring starts beaming with light, almost impossible to notice in the already green light of the sun covering everything. You look down at it, and start forming a construct covering around you and Kara.

You settle yourself between her and the entrance of the cave, blocking the direct sunlight in hopes of helping. You knew either way that kryptonians have weakness because of the radiation more than anything. You caressed Kara's cheek softly for a while, your own breathing never evening out completely. You constantly checked her breathing worriedly.

You felt a movement before you saw it. Her lashes softly brushed your hand as she slowly opened her eyes.

"Where-" she tried sitting up, but her head seemed heavy, and everything was dizzy "where are we?" she managed to whisper.

"I tought maybe the radiation would affect you a bit less here" you admitted.

Kara looked at you with those blue eyes. Eyes that pierce you trough and trough every single time. And she looked at you as if you were the only thing left standing in the world. Like you were the one who hung up the stars for her. And you felt horrible each time, because you weren't sure if you were all that. Who you were in her eyes.

"I'm sorry I dragged you here" she confessed.

You caressed her cheek again, and she unconsciously leaned into the touch. "You didn't drag me anywhere, Kara. I go where you go" she nodded, almost imperceptible, "And we're gonna get out of here, get Ruthye, and save Krypto" you assured.

"What if I can't make it?" she whispered, a stray tear travelling down her face to where your hand was resting on her cheek.

"Kara, don't-"

"Be realistic" she took a shaky breath in, "because it could happen" her voice was a broken whisper, almost not there.

"And just in case... I- I wanted to ask you something"

"What is it?" you whispered too, in response.

"I want to kiss you. I refuse to die without having kissed you"

Your heart stopped, but at the same time it started beating faster. Without thinking it further, you slowly leaned down and hovered with your lips above hers. She reached out to grab your face, and closed the distance between you.

The kiss was soft. Tender. A lot of unspoken things on it.

Your lips danced together, and for a moment you forgot your current situation. The whole world faded, and all that was to it now, were Kara's lips against yours. She caressed your arm softly, and bit your lower lip teasingly.

You parted the kiss, breathless, and rested your foreheads together.

You felt the air warm up a bit, and looked out of the cave.

"Look" you said "you're not gonna die" she looked outside too. Her face immediately relaxed at seeing the yellow sun rising again. She sighed in relief as she felt the green radiation leave her body, and quickly stole another kiss from you before you engulfed her into a hug.

"Let's save those girls"

"And Krypto"

a/n2: I hope this is what you were looking for. first time writing for a woman and it's kind of a big deal for me! happy late pride month to evryone out there. you are not alone.

©bluercherry

[cloverkittens]

ANTARA ╱ with KARA ZOR-EL x F!READER

summary with you drunk and overly-expressive in your love, kara becomes reassured of your relationship

warnings drunk!reader drunk! x sober! kissing

Kara took one look at you and decided that she would be taking you home. She knows it’s a bit spur-of-the moment and possibly ill-advised—you’re tipsy, flushed, and she’s painfully stone-cold sober after three drinks and a pre-game shot. But nothing has to happen. It would be nice just to have you in her space.

“Kaaaaaara,” you singsong, pausing to hiccup and giggle. You lean against her, so much in her space there could be another person sitting on your other side. “Kara, Kara, Kara. Kar-Kar.”

Music pulses and thrums overhead and she leans in close. It’s too loud in here—chatter, music, glasses slamming onto counters, slurping. No off-planet bar was ever this loud to her, another red sun advantage she sorely misses.

“What?” she shouts against your ear.

“I love this song! ‘All the Things She Said!’” 

Kara knows. It’s one song she learned shortly after meeting you because you have a habit of blaring it on repeat in your car.

“You’re drunk!” Kara shouts back with a laugh. You’re cute like this. Someday she’ll take you to another planet, one with a red sun, and you can have a night of (alien) liquor together. 

“Only a little,” you argue with a pout. “Can we get more fries? I’m hungry. I want more fries.”

Kara orders another plate of fries and watches with amusement as you stick two in your mouth and mimic a walrus. You press a third against her lips and she takes it gently, teeth skimming your finger, and grins when you giggle and turn away, embarrassed. Gods, she loves you. 

“I wanna go home,” you declare after swallowing the last of the fries. Kara takes your drink and downs the dregs.

“Then let’s get you out of here.”

Outside is so much—quieter. Sure, there are cars and people and light, but it’s spread out and blanketed with warmth. You stumble into Kara enough times until she wraps an arm around you to keep you close. Humming and swaying, you keep darting looks at her.

“What?” she asks eventually, faintly amused.

“Nothing!” you press your face into her shoulder. She’s so warm. You wonder, briefly, if she gives off heat literally, like a human furnace. Maybe it’s a Kryptonian thing? Maybe Clark will let you test your theory out next time he comes round. “You’re pretty.”

“You’re pretty,” Kara says softly, as if the words are fragile. It’s far from the first time she’s said it. Yet something about the words, the whole idea of this relationship with you, still makes her heart race. You stayed for Kara Danvers of Metropolis, stayed for Kara Zor-El of Krypton, and are still here for just Kara. Some days that feels like nothing short of a miracle.

“We’re going to your apartment,” you say abruptly. “Right?”

“We can,” Kara says, tilting her head. That had been her plan from the beginning, but you asking to go “home” had thrown her off her game a bit. You smile to yourself and look down at the sidewalk.

“Okay.”

Kara could fly you home. Wrap you in her arms, your face tucked against her collarbone, and make it to her apartment within seconds. But this is just…better. She gets to walk slowly through the streets with your warmth bleeding through her jacket and your soft humming in her ear.

When Kara pushes open the door to her apartment, you stumble in and drop to your knees to embrace a wiggling Krypto.

“Oh, hi, puppy, hi! We missed you,” you coo as you scrub along his neck with your palms. Krypto barks and jumps, flying in a twisting figure around the two of you, much to your amusement permeated with laughter.

Kara gets a glass of water from the kitchen, watching as you clumsily fall onto the couch and invite Krypto into your lap, marking his white fur with lipstick kisses. When she walks into your view, your face immediately lights up.

“Kara!” you cheer. You reach out and make grabby hands towards her. “C’mere. Wanna cuddle.”

She makes you drink water first, well aware of the “delicate sensibilities” (Clark’s words) of humans compared to herself, but then settles on the couch with you between her legs, curled up against her chest. 

“Kara?”

“Hm?”

“You’re my best friend,” you sigh. “I love you.”

Kara smiles softly. “I love you too.”

You giggle and tilt your head back. “Can I have a kiss?”

She can’t refuse you. Not when you look like a painting: cheeks flushed, eyes shining, hair a mess.

“Of course.” Kara gives you a gentle kiss and then settles back into the couch with you cradled in her arms. “Now get some rest.”

note sorry if the ending feels off I debated it forever and finally just gave up haha! also reader likes attss because i like that song and i can put whatever i want in my fics <3 if you have any kara requests, lmk! I'm thinking about autistic!reader x kara who isn't used to having her superhearing 24/7....

[frightboy]

PINKIE PROMISE?

Kara Zor El X Fem!reader- established relationship

Warnings: mentions of blood and injuries, hospitals, talks of grief and death, basically just hurt and comfort man, swearing, slight spoilers! But not really?

Summary: When you get badly injured during the final battle with Krem, Kara becomes terrified of losing the person she loves most in the world.

Word count: 1.72k

~~~~~~~~~~~

Kara's world had died, and with it, everything she had ever known and loved. Krypton had slowly rotted and succumb to disease and sickness. That fact would always remain true, nothing could bring her home back— her people, culture, entire life as she knew it, was all gone.

Nothing could replace Krypton— she would forever have an Argo City shaped hole in her chest.

Then somehow, albeit slowly, you had managed to fill that hole. You couldn't fill it perfectly, there was still gaps that forever remained. But you were something similar, something that made her feel whole again. Eventually, you managed to become everything to her, a new and different world that only she could call her own.

In you time together, you had made her realise that parts of earth, especially its people, could become things she cared for— as deeply as she did those on Krypton.

To her, you were now everything; she rotated on your axis, orbited round you like the sun.

It was because of that fact, when she saw the blade pierce through the vulnerable flesh of your stomach, Kara felt like her world had shattered all over again. Images of her mothers veined and slowly dying face flashed behind her eyes, instilling her with pounding grief she had tried to drown out with liquor and red suns.

Mind altering substances didn't aid her in this moment, nor as she carried you with bloodied hands to her ship. Stone cold sober, she had Ruthye put as much pressure her small hands could muster onto your wounds, desperate to staunch the blood as it fell in thick rivets— down you suit shirt, down the girl child's arms and finally, down you chin as it dribbled from your lips.

"Kara! The frequency in which her blood is being expelled isn't reducing, you must do something more severe and soon," Ruthye had always been a girl with a mind far greater than her age, but in this moment, she was reduced to her more child like attributes— the pure and utter fear in her voice echoed that fact.

Over the long and draining course of your intergalactic venture with the aforementioned girl, a bond had grown between you both: in the beginning, you found her utterly posh and theatrical, but since shedding blood and sharing experiences along side her, part of you had softened exponentially.

Your new found care towards the child was the sole reason why you restrained the inhumane groan that threatened to rip from your throat as she pushed on you weeping stomach, the pain was overwhelming, it numbed you to reality until all you could feel was the fire like burning radiating from you lower half.

In mere moments after the demand left the younger girls lips, Kara was there.

Kneeling by your bedside with shaking and bloodied hands, her eyes were wild and untamed as they dragged over ever single inch of your form. She pushed Ruthyes' hands away and replaced them with her own firmer ones, commanding that she leave and go strap herself into the co-pilots seat as the ships jet engines began to rumble into full throttle— soaring you through space as quickly as it could muster.

A thin sheen of sweat has begun to line the top of your pale forehead, Kara moved to wipe it away with her fingers but only managed to smudge a red streak over you clammy skin, whining deep in her throat when she realised, "Kara?" You mumbled, eyes bleary and throat dry.

"Hi, baby," She whispered, thumb rubbing constant stroked against the apple of your cheek, "Its okay, im here."

The alien girl looked down, for she couldn't bare to look at you in such pain, to watch as agony coated your features.

"Why are..you crying?" Your breathing was short and laboured, each new syllable seemed difficult for you lips to wrap themselves around, like a heavy weight had been tied around your tongue.

Thin trails of salty moisture had carved paths down the soft ivory of Kara's cheeks, her eyes were reddened with emotion and her mouth twisted into a deep frown, she hadn't noticed the tears had begun, too focused on the way you were essentially dying before her.

"I just got something in my eyes, its nothing," the Kryptonian was trying to be comforting, it seemed through the blood loss you had become rapidly confused, part of her was relieved that you couldn't feel the damage, but a larger part of her felt like sobbing even harder because she knew the confusion meant dangerous levels of haemorrhaging.

Tough shaking, you lifted a blood streaked hand, and tried to wipe the tears from you lovers cheeks, as softly as you could, making a noise of discontent when she sobbed out even harder at the action.

Just as Kara opened her mouth to say something, your head jerked hard, a convulsion rippling over your entire body as your eyes rolled into the back off your head and your consciousness finally sub combed to the fatal injuries you had endured.

Kara panicked instantly, choking on her breath and trying to shake you awake, pushing her fingers beneath your ear and remembering the suck air into her lungs when she felt your heartbeat, even if it was sluggish and struggling, "Fuck!"

—————

The next time you woke up, all you could hear was a steady, albeit rather grating, beeping coming from your left hand side. Beneath you was some government issued hospital bed, you could tell because the mattress was as hard as thick bricks under your already aching back.

It was late, window blinds being drawn shut and blocking the dark room out from the rest of the world, a shoddy night lamp being the only illumination in the entire room, painting the ceiling in soft hues of orange.

There was a pressure on your hand, and when you looked you realised a person was sitting, asleep, with their face pressed into your thigh— using it as a makeshift pillow. Kara's hand was interlocked with yours and she had drawn them both against her chest, so tightly you could feel each even beat as it thudded through her t-shirt.

Her cheek was smushed and flushed pink with sleep, you laughed softly at the sight, she still managed to look endlessly beautiful with her hair curled and messy, supersuit traded in for casual clothes. Movement of you stomach made pain spike through you, all the way up to the tips of you fingers.

You gasped lightly as the pain slowly faded, you pulled the sheet down as quickly as you could and let your eyes drift over the stitches holding your skin together with thin black thread.

Memory's rushed back in then, fragmented and blurry— a sword, sliding through you belly with ease before being pulled out gracelessly, you remembered bright and hot lights as Kara laser-ed offender away from you, then the pain and a familiar bed.

After that it gets misty and disjointed, flashes of red and blonde hair, you remembered the feeling of Kara's cheek as you held it— but nothing else, just darkness.

All the moving of the sheets, even though subtle, must've awoken your girlfriend and her keen alien senses.

At once, she was awake and staring at you with wide eyes and an open mouth. Without waiting, she pushed froward with insane speed and wrapped her arms tightly around your shoulders, pressing her face deep into your neck. Simultaneously, your own arms raised and mirrored hers on you.

"Holy shit, you awake." Kara mumbled the words into your neck, her happiness was apparent, so was the thick sound of relief in her tone. The girl pulled back then, meeting your eyes, leaving just inches between you as her arms stayed strong around your shoulders, "Don't you ever do that again or I swear to Rao, ill kill you myself."

A soft smile spread onto your mouth at her words, "I love you to Kara."

Wetly, she laughed at your words before moving closer and smashing your mouths together, kissing you like shed lost you, and she nearly had. Kara poured all the words she refused to vocalise inot the kiss, hoping with her entire being that you could understand them.

Moving a hand, you cradled her jaw in your palm, sitting up slightly so you could kiss her deeper, taste more of her, over and over and over— until your breath ran out and darkness threatened to slip back in.

The blonde kissed you one last time, deep and loving and everything you needed in that moment, before pulling away and settling back into the chair— not before pulling it closer to the bed so she could hold your hand more comfortably.

"Where Ruthye and Krypto?" You asked, missing them both already.

"At Clarks appartment, they needed sleep." Shrugged Kara.

A wince overtook your features, imagining the chaos, "And how is Clark fairing with a spoiled super-powered dog and a teenage alien?"

"Probably terribly, but that's not my focus right now," she smiled, "You are."

With a squeeze of your hand, you questioned the girl, "Are you okay, Kar?"

You watched as Kara swallowed thickly, and pushed fingers through her messy hair, ripping through the deep knots as they appeared, "You died. It was just for a few seconds, barely even four," a tremble had settled over her words, "But it felt like my world disappeared all over again, and i cant stop thinking about it."

You tugged at her hand, pulling hr up from the chair and moving over so she could slip onto the bed with you, laying so you faced each other. At the proximity, you could see the creases of anxiety as they dug into her features, the scrunch of her eyebrows and the frown tugging at her lips.

"Im so, so sorry Kara," you pushed some hair behind her ear and intertwined your legs, "But im not going to leave you, I refuse to."

"Promise?"

You lifted your pinky and met hers, locking them together before brining hers to your lips and kissing it in protection, "I promise."

She kissed you again then, sweet and soft, tasting of peppermint and strawberry gum, it lingered even as you both closed your eyes and let sleep take over.

[kentcant]

heyyy i love ur fics :) would u be up for doing a kara x reader smut of kara edging reader til she's crying and some like sweet condescending praise and stuff 👀

god, would i 😮‍💨...

patience | kara zor-el

summary: kara’s teaching you that good things come to those who wait

word count: 1.1k

tags: straight up smut, mdni, 18+, fem!reader, kara edging reader, reader has a praise kink, tears but the good kind, maybe overstim?, kara calls you a good girl

· ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶· ─ ·

"Aww, what's the matter, baby?" Kara's voice sounds almost treacherous.

Her fingers had been working you for the last several minutes, building you up to near ecstasy just as she'd done with her mouth just moments ago. And just like she'd done moments ago, the contact ends with an abrupt disconnect. Her fingers slowly pull from your soaked cunt, a glistening string of your wetness still connection you to her fingers.

Your body gives, chest heaving out a disappointed whimper. Your eyebrows have started to hurt with the way they're stitched together by this point. You couldn't even remember what you'd said to push her over the edge and get your way, but whatever it was led you here. Writhing beneath her touch, vibrating beneath even the slightest brush of her against your overly sensitive and excited body.

"Kara, I—" your legs try to squeeze together and give yourself absolutely any amount of pressure you could get. It's subconscious, your body trying to fulfill your needs.

"Oh, absolutely not, beautiful." Kara laughs, her prying your thighs right back apart. "You've been such a good girl for me, taking exactly what you asked for. Don't stop now.”

"Wanna cum…" you whine in disagreement, knuckles tingling from your harsh grip on the sheets beneath you.

You'd try anything to get you through this. Your body is pleading for me, begging her to touch you again, to let you finish what she'd starting. The longer she waited, the further your orgasm slipped away. It's just what she wants.

"And you will, baby." She chuckles, kissing your cheek before taking two of her fingers and sliding them up between your folds. "You just need a lesson in patience, but you'll get there."

Your back arches, trying to bring your cunt into as close of contact as she'll possibly allow. Kara grins, looking down at your stretching body and allowing you to wriggle more now. Her fingers sink into your core with no regard, down to her second knuckles and your clit pressing into the heel of her palm.

You take advantage of her allowance, grinding your hips against her palm and gasping as you receive her once more. Kara's lips are parted, curled into a half smile as she admires her view of you from above. Absolutely melted, mind lost in the sea of restless, horny confusion that she had put you in. You're an unraveling mess. It's one of the hottest ways she's ever seen you be.

Every time you feel her graze over your clit it's like a rush, straight to your spine that was starting to lose pace. Your body finds itself in a state of overwhelm again when her fingers are pumping in and out and showing no signs of stopping this time. Then again, you didn't expect it anytime she'd done it.

"Kara..." you mutter, voice fragile.

Kara's free hand comes to your hip, gently pushing you down onto the mattress so your brain can purely focus on climax. That, and to prevent you from having an orgasm sooner than approved. Without the pressure to your clit, the climax is slipping away again.

"Shhh…" her voice is quiet, eyes following your every move. "Behave."

Her fingers slowed their rhythm, feeling your body trembling with her touch. You bite your bottom lip, finding it the only possible way to keep yourself from pleading her name any more. Trying to control your breathing you take in a deep breath.

Kara's nodding, her fingers curling into you with a great approval. "That's a great job, take your time."

Your exhale is shaky, eyes closing as she picks up the pace again. Her other hand sinks between your thighs, tips of her middle and ring fingers connecting with the swollen bud of your clit and creating another pattern for your body to keep up with.

Biting your lip harder, your hips jolt, but have learned to fall back into place and let her do her job. This is the right reaction, your mind notes.

"Oh, fantastic job, sweetie." The praise comes physically too, her fingers circling your clit with more intent. "See what you get when you're being good for me?"

It's so much. So perfectly too much. Her consistent denials that were dealt with a quiet tsk and reassurance that you'd do well soon. Her fingers pumping in and out of you at a pace that was unmatched the whole night thus far. Her finger tips rubbing a deep and calculated pressure over your severely sensitive clit. And just… her. With her sweet words, and beautiful smile. Her gaze down at you as she pushes you to your absolute limit, like you're the most wonderful sight she's ever seen.

And, again, your body reacts. You feel tears pooling in your eyes as your body can't possibly decide what else to do. With the next thrust of her fingers into you, your head falls back and your mouth falls open, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"You're doing a much better job for me," her voice is low, warm. She leans down, kissing the mound of your breast in a quick comfort. "Such a good girl. You ready to cum now? Ready to release all this energy you've pent up?"

You whimper, nodding frantically and breathing still a mess as she elicits more and more and more. She takes the response, never really needing it anyway, and finally allows your climax.

Your spine holds its upward curve as you cum, clenching your fingers around her wrist in the tightest grip you can manage. It's a grip that feels feathery on Kara's wrist, but still encourages her. Her other hand leaves your clit, licking your slick from herself before coming up to wipe the tears from your face.

"Good job, baby." Kara coos, her fingers slowly pulling out from your cunt with a sticky sound. "You did so well, letting me fuck you like that."

You lean into her touch, your muscles relaxing into the mattress with finality. Your heart is pounding in your chest, yet still skips with her praise. She's too good.

"Thank you," you whisper, kissing her palm.

Kara tilts her head, looking at you with a wicked grin and faux confusion. "What're you thanking me for, baby? We've only just started. You've got so much left to learn about patience."

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