Almost, Maybe [Part 3]

Might fuck around and write some hobama fanfic idk guys

Masterlist!

Fluff - ❀ | Angst - ✮ | Smut - ❥

Jschlatt

Series ೃ⁀➷

midnight. you come and pick me up, no headlights. (ao3) ❀✮❥ Almost, Maybe ❀✮ Big Bad John ❀✮❥

Readers ೃ⁀➷

tattooed!reader Supercut (COMING SOON)

Dividers: thecutestgrotto

Almost, Maybe [Part 1]

1,373 words Summary: Fem!reader x teen!Schlatt. You’ve had a crush on Jay since you were twelve, unsure if he feels the same. Inspired by The Summer I Turned Pretty.

A/N: I’m severely missing summer right now. Part 2 - Part 3

Divider: dialilimoon

June was always your favorite month. June meant bright blue skies and a shining sun. It meant no school. It meant spending time at the lake cabin your parents bought with their friends. It meant seeing Jay. 

Jay.

You have had a crush on the nerdy teen boy since you were both twelve and he brought you soup when you felt ill. That’s all it took. Looking back, he probably only did it because his mother forced him to, but you didn't care. That one action had you whipped for life.

You’re not sure if he feels the same. No one even knows you have feelings for him - other than your mom, your younger sister, and your best friend Robin. You tell them everything. 

This summer is the summer before you go off to college and you’re determined to make a move of some sort. 

You stuff a few cute swimsuits into your duffle bag and finish packing. You sling it over your shoulder and rush downstairs and outside to where your father’s pickup truck is parked on the driveway.

“Y/N, are you ready?” your dad asks, holding out his hand to take your bag.

“Yup!” you say, handing it to him. 

“Alright, get in the car,” he says, throwing your bag in the bed of his pickup.

You open the back door of the pickup and jump into the seat behind the driver. Your sister, Maggie, is sitting in the one behind the passenger seat. 

Eventually, your parents finish packing the car and get into the front seats, and you’re finally on the road.

You pop in your earbuds and play some music on your phone. You look out the window as you ponder the trip ahead. You haven’t seen or spoken to Jay since last summer. What will you say? What will he say? Maybe you’re thinking too hard about this. He’ll be the same as he always is. Why wouldn’t he?

You feel nervous yet excited as your father pulls into the driveway of the lake cabin. You get out as soon as he parks and grab your bag from the back. 

“Y/N! Maggie!” Jay’s mother, Susan, squeals, running out of the house to greet you two. 

You drop your bag on the pavement as Susan pulls you in for a hug. 

Your parents share the lake cabin with two other couples. Susan and Todd and Frank and Julie. Frank and Julie live in Maine near you and your family. They have two kids - their daughter, your best friend, Robin, and an older son named Gabe. Susan and Todd live in New York and Jay is their only child.

Susan was always your favorite of the parents - other than your own, of course. Her warm hugs and excellent cooking is unmatched. 

“Where’s Drew?” Susan asks. 

“I think he’s coming later this week,” you say, though you're unsure if he’s even coming. Your older brother Drew is about two years older than you and goes to a college in Massachusetts. He doesn’t visit home often. He said he would come to the cabin this summer, but he’s said that before and not shown up.

“Well, I’m making dinner later,” she says. “You girls go put your bags in your room and I’ll help your parents unload.”

You nod and promptly walk to your room with Maggie. 

“You think Drew will actually show up?” Maggie asks as you set your bag down at the end of your bed and throw yourself onto the sage green comforter. 

“I don’t know,” you say. “I hope so.”

“Hey, guys,” says a familiar voice from the door. You look up to see Jay leaning on the door frame. He looks different than he did last summer - slightly taller, a bit more muscular. Did he start working out? You realize you’ve been staring and quickly look away.

“Hello, Jay,” you say, sitting up. 

Maggie mumbles a greeting, but doesn’t pay much attention to him as she unpacks her bag.

“Gabe, Robin, and I are going to the beach after dinner, care to join?” Jay asks.

You smile. “Of course,” you say.

“Great,” Jay says, smiling. He turns away and you watch as he walks down the hall.

“You are so down bad,” Maggie says, chuckling.

Your face flushes as you throw a pillow at her. “Shut up.”

After dinner, you return to your shared room with Maggie and Robin. You grab a pale pink bikini out of your dresser and take turns with the other two girls changing in the bathroom connected to your room. 

“Oh, lord,” Robin says as you exit the bathroom. “Jay is going to love that.”

You scoff. “Shut it, Robin,” you say, rolling your eyes a bit.”

“I’m serious, Y/N,” she says. “If he hasn’t noticed you before, there’s no way he won’t notice you in that. Plus, you have changed a lot since last summer.”

“Really?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Robin says. “You got skinnier, your hair is longer, you’re glowing.”

“Well, thank you,” you say.

“You guys ready to go?” Maggie asks, grabbing a few towels for the three of you.

“Yup,” you say, cracking a smile.

The three of you make your way downstairs, meeting Gabe and Jay by the back door. You swear Jay’s gaze lingers on you a bit longer than normal as you approach.

You step out into the cool night air, the dirt below your feet a familiar and welcome feeling. You missed nights like these - longing for the simple moments with your friends.

You all fill Jay in on your lives since last summer. Him living so far away from you during the school year meant you don’t talk to him too much when you’re not at the lake. Though, you wish you could.

You fill him in on your classes, friends, and the general chaos of your senior year. Robin chimes in with her own stories, and Gabe throws in the occasional sarcastic remark, making you all laugh. Jay listens intently, nodding along, and every now and then, you catch him looking at you.

The five of you reach the beach. The moon casts a bright light over the waves lapping on the shore, and the air is cool but not cold. It’s perfect.

You lay down your towels. Jay takes off his shirt, revealing that he has definitely started working out. You try not to stare. Robin nudges you and wiggles her eyebrows. You roll your eyes and playfully hit her arm with the back of your hand.

Gabe is the first to sprint into the water, yelling like a lunatic as he dives in. Maggie and Robin follow, laughing as they wade in a shallow area before fully submerging themselves.

“Are you coming in?” Jay asks, standing beside you, his expression unreadable. 

“Yeah,” you say, stepping toward the water. The water envelops your ankles. It's cold, but you force yourself to keep going. 

Jay follows you as your toes sink into the wet sand. Soon, the two of you are waist deep. Maggie, Robin, and Gabe are further out, already splashing each other like little kids. 

You look over at Jay. The light of the moon reflects on his face perfectly, lighting up his best features. Before you can stare for too long, he speaks up. “So,” he says, clearing his throat, “college next year, huh?”

You nod. “Kind of crazy, right? Feels like just yesterday we were kids building sandcastles and arguing over who could hold their breath underwater the longest,” you laugh. 

Jay chuckles. “You always beat me. Not fair, by the way.”

“You just have weak lungs.”

“Maybe,” he smirks. “Or maybe you just liked beating me.”

You tilt your head, considering. “Maybe you're right.”

There's a pause. Then, Jay sighs. “I've missed this,” he says. 

Your heart skips. “Me too.”

You stare at each other for a moment. There's something in his gaze that makes you feel like the whole world just narrowed down to this moment. Before either of you can say anything else, Gabe splashes water in your direction. 

“Come on, guys,” he shouts. “Get out into the water.”

Jay looks back at you and smiles before following Gabe farther into the water. 

You smile. Maybe this summer will be different.

Next Part

Big Bad John [Part 2] - Cowboy Like Me

1,415 words Summary: Cowboy!Schlatt x original character. Dollie and John get to know each other a bit more. A/N: Sat my ass down and managed to write this chapter in about three hours. 💪

[Part 1] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Divider: elleisdesigning

“You're a bandit like me

Eyes full of stars

Hustling for the good life

Never thought I'd meet you here

It could be love

We could be the way forward

And I know I'll pay for it”

“cowboy like me” by Taylor Swift

Dollie leads John upstairs and shows him her spare room. It’s not much - quite small, the wallpaper is tattered and coming off the wall in some places, the furniture is quite old, and the bed squeaks when you sit on it. But it’s a place to sleep.

“Well, here’s my spare room,” Dollie says.

John grunts in response. He walks into the room, looking around before sitting on the bed with a loud squeak.

“My room is just down the hall,” Dollie says. “If you need anything just holler.”

“You got any spare clothes?” John asks.

Dollie juts her head toward the wardrobe in the room. “Should be some clothes in there, but don’t count on it. I don’t get visitors a whole lot.”

John nods. “Alright, thank you,” he says.

“Don’t mention it,” Dollie says before shutting the door and walking to her room.

Dollie lay awake that night, her mind restless as she thought about John. He wasn’t what she expected. Not at all. The stories painted him as some ruthless outlaw, a gunslinger with blood on his hands, but the man sitting in her saloon tonight had been quiet, almost careful. There was something in his eyes - something thoughtful, something tired.

Her father wouldn’t see that, though. He was the sheriff, and to him, an outlaw was an outlaw. If he found out she had given John a place to stay, there’d be hell to pay.

The next day, Dollie gets up bright and early to open the saloon. She makes a quick breakfast for herself and leaves some out for John when he wakes up. 

She goes downstairs into the saloon and does her normal opening tasks before her first customer walks in.

John finally joins her about midday. The folks in the saloon give him wary glances as he walks up to the bar.

“You heading out?” Dollie asks.

John sits down at the bar and looks up at her. “Think I’ll stick around for a few more days if that’s alright.”

“‘Course,” Dollie says. “My saloon is always open to ya, John.”

John smiles. “Good to hear,” he says. 

“Can I get ya anything to drink?” she asks.

“Just a whiskey.”

“You bet.”

Dollie pours him a drink and goes back to serving other customers. 

She’s not sure how much time has passed, but eventually the sun starts to set. Golden rays of light pour in through the saloon’s windows. 

Just as she’s about to start polishing glasses, a group of three men burst into her saloon. They all wear similar tattered clothes and each wear a cowboy hat. She doesn’t recognize them, but she gets plenty of folks she doesn’t recognize in her saloon all the time.

“How can I help you, boys?” Dollie asks.

“We heard Big Bad John’s in town,” one man says. “Heard he might be here. Just wanted to pay him a visit.”

By the way the man is looking at her and how he said John’s name, Dollie isn’t sure these guys are looking for a friendly chat. But before she can say anything, John gets up and approaches them.

“That would be me,” John says. “What can I do you for?”

“Well, you see,” says another man. “We caught wind of you passin’ through town. You killed our brother a couple years ago. We’ve come to get payback.”

John looks like he’s sizing the three men up. He’s studying them intently, planning his next move. She notices a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. 

Dollie doesn’t like it.

Silence settles in the saloon - thick, heavy. Some patrons back away, some leave entirely. Dollie herself isn’t sure what to do. 

One man shifts on his feet, his hand moving toward his holster.

John takes notice. “Now, I don’t want any trouble,” he says, putting his hands up. “If you boys are smart, you’ll walk away.”

“Is that so?” the man who spoke first - likely the leader - asks. “Funny. Last I heard, Big Bad John doesn’t walk away from no fight.”

Before John can respond, Dollie slams her hand down on the table with a loud thud. The men look at her. 

She shakes her finger at the leader. “That’s enough,” she says. “I don’t care what unfinished business y’all think you got, but it ain’t gettin’ settled under my roof.”

“This ain’t your fight, lady,” the leader sneers.

“It sure is when it’s happening in my saloon,” Dollie retorts. “Now, unless you boys are lookin’ for a drink, I suggest you run along.”

The man who had been reaching for his gun scoffs. “You think you can just send us packin’?” he asks.

“I don’t think,” Dollie says. “I know. This is my saloon. You start trouble, I promise you won’t like how it ends.”

The leader scoffs and juts his chin toward the door. “Let’s go,” he says. “But this ain’t over.”

“It is for now,” Dollie says.

The men make their way toward the door, glaring at Dollie as they do so. She watches them leave and listens as the sounds of their heavy boots get quieter and quieter. 

After a few moments, the saloon goes back to its normal hum of conversation. 

Dollie turns back to John who has returned to his seat at the bar. “You sure do know how to attract trouble,” she says.

John smirks, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Not my fault folks don’t know when to let things go.”

She rolls her eyes. “Next time, don’t bring it into my saloon.”

Later that night, Dollie and John stand on Dollie’s balcony, sharing a cigarette. The cool night air feels good on her face and she can just barely see John in the moonlight.

They sit quietly for awhile, just taking turns with the cigarette.

“So, Dollie,” John starts. “How’d you get to own the saloon?”

“Grandpa owned it before me,” she says. “I practically grew up in the saloon. Mom died when I was quite young and dad didn’t know what else to do with me while he was working, so he’d dump me here durin’ the day. Grandpa taught me how to tend the bar when I was about eleven. He taught me everything I know. After he passed, I inherited the saloon. Been runnin’ it by myself ever since.”

“Sorry about your grandfather,” John says.

“Don’t be,” Dollie says, taking a drag of the cigarette before handing it to John. “It happened a while ago.”

The two are quiet for a moment, taking in the night breeze.

“What does your dad do?” John asks, breaking the silence.

Dollie chuckles a bit. “He’s the sheriff, actually.”

She looks over at John - even in the dark, she can see his eyes go wide. 

“He doesn’t know you’re here,” Dollie says. “My dad and I… we ain’t on the best of terms. He don’t approve of me runnin’ the saloon. In fact, he wanted to sell it after grandpa died, but legally, it’s mine. Now, Dad’s set on marrying me off to some guy and convincing him to sell the saloon. But he ain’t found anyone to marry me yet.”

John nods, not adding anything.

“How’d you get into the cowboy life?” Dollie asks.

John exhales, watching the smoke swirl into the night air. “Didn’t have much of a choice. My old man worked cattle. Taught me how to ride and shoot. Figured out real quick that life ain’t always fair. You either get tough or get left behind.”

Dollie studies what she can see of him for a moment, seeing something deeper in his words. “That why you left? To find something better?”

John smiles softly. “Something like that.”

Dollie leans on the railing, very aware of the way John’s side presses against hers. “You ever think of leavin’ the cowboy life behind?” she asks.

John turns his head, his gaze meeting hers in the moonlight. “Some days,” he says.

Neither of them says anything for a moment. The air feels heavier, charged with something neither of them are quite ready to name. 

Without thinking, Dollie shifts closer. John hesitates for only a second and leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. The kiss is slow and tentative, almost like they’re feeling this out, trying to figure out what the other is thinking.

When they pull apart, John chuckles. “I didn’t see that comin’,” he says.

“Me neither,” Dollie says, smirking. But she definitely doesn’t regret it.

Previous Part - Next Part

To add onto this, I was thinking about maybe doing it in first person and make it sort of diary-esque? And I might purposely put the chapters out of chronological order. So one chapter may take place in September 2021 and the next in November 2019 idk.

Hear me out.

I want to write a Schlatt fic in which the chapters are out of order (each takes place at a different point in time). The MC and Schlatt are sort of in this situationship. It takes years for them to finally realize their true feelings for each other. (Sort of inspired by One Day except there's no sad ending because I don't like sad endings.)

I hope this made sense. I can't wait to start writing it. 😜

Thinking about cowboy!schlatt. May need to let the brain worms take over and write it.

BIG BAD JOHN IS FINALLY FINISHED! REJOICE 🙏

Big Bad John

Summary: In the town of Ghostridge, Georgia, Dollie Sheppard runs a quiet saloon where nothing ever really happens. That is until Big Bad John passes through town. He’s supposed to be a legend, a ghost story. But he’s real, he’s handsome, and nothing Dollie expected. With tensions rising, Dollie finds herself caught between the law, her past, and the man with a reputation that could ruin them both.

The Devil Went Down to Georgia ❀ Cowboy Like Me ❀✮ Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy ✮❥ But Daddy I Love Him ❀✮

“Saying me, me, me, me, me more cowboy than you!”

“Me More Cowboy Than You” by The Brudi Brothers

Divider: elleisdesigning

Big Bad John

Summary: In the town of Ghostridge, Georgia, Dollie Sheppard runs a quiet saloon where nothing ever really happens. That is until Big Bad John passes through town. He’s supposed to be a legend, a ghost story. But he’s real, he’s handsome, and nothing Dollie expected. With tensions rising, Dollie finds herself caught between the law, her past, and the man with a reputation that could ruin them both.

The Devil Went Down to Georgia ❀ Cowboy Like Me ❀✮ Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy ✮❥ But Daddy I Love Him ❀✮

“Saying me, me, me, me, me more cowboy than you!”

“Me More Cowboy Than You” by The Brudi Brothers

Divider: elleisdesigning

I'm not going to lie, I love writing long fics. I cannot for the life of me write one-shots. They always turn into longer fics. I wish I could write one-shots, but I physically cannot.

I’d let him

Pairing: Jschlatt (Jay) x fem!reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Southern Gothic setting, suggestive themes, longing, age-appropriate obsession, minor religious guilt, emotionally charged romantic tension, kissing, not entirely innocent thoughts, suggestive content, TWINK SCHLATT!!!

Summary: You’ve always watched him from afar. Jay, the loud-mouthed boy with bruised knuckles and a laugh that makes you feel dizzy. You’re sweet, or at least you were, before he looked at you like that. Now you can’t stop thinking about him. And worse, he’s finally started noticing you back.

A/N: Hope this ruins you in the softest, most Southern gothic Ethel Cain way possible. 😘 fr though I love this song with schlatt and this plot/setting just screams twink schlatt to me okay- like all of the skinny trashy boys I had a crush on in high school who smoked way too much weed

You saw him for the first time the summer you turned eighteen, when the heat came in thick and slow like molasses, and the pavement outside the gas station bubbled under your sneakers. You were elbow-deep in freezer burn, rearranging popsicles behind the counter, when the bell above the door rang and your world tilted just a little.

He walked in like he owned the place, all long limbs and loud voice, laughing at something one of his friends said. God, that laugh. Big and brash, like the kind of boy who didn’t apologize for anything.

He was wearing a cut-off tee with a band you didn’t know and a backwards hat that barely contained the curls at the back of his neck. You watched from behind the freezer glass, pretending to look busy as he strutted past the aisle of honey buns and beef jerky, jaw chewing absentmindedly on a toothpick like it had done something to offend him.

He didn’t look at you. Not then.

But you looked at him.

And you kept looking.

⸻

Jay wasn’t the kind of boy you brought home.

He was the kind you watched from across the parking lot while pretending to count scratch-offs. The kind of boy your mama warned you about when she told you to keep your legs closed and your eyes down.

But you couldn’t help it.

He was loud and messy and wild in a way this place wasn’t. The kind of boy who’d get in a fistfight for fun and then kiss you in the fallout. He wore his meanness like cologne and spat sunflower seeds at your feet without saying sorry.

You didn’t know him. Not really.

But you wanted to.

⸻

You made a habit of knowing when he’d show up.

His truck would growl into the lot just after 7PM, rattling like it had a death wish. You’d hear it before you saw him, bass turned up too high, the windows rolled down even though the AC worked fine.

He always parked sideways like rules didn’t apply, and strolled in with two of his friends trailing behind him like bad ideas. His voice was always the loudest. Sharp, cutting, dipped in something vulgar and funny.

You kept your eyes low. Played it safe.

But you felt it.

The pull.

The ache.

The heat that bloomed somewhere just below your ribs and spread like spilled syrup when he walked too close, smelled like smoke and gasoline.

And you started dressing different.

Just a little.

Gloss on your lips. Baby tee tucked tight. A daisy clipped behind your ear.

All soft, sweet things.

Things you hoped he’d want to ruin.

⸻

One day, he looked at you.

Really looked.

You were leaning on the counter, chin in hand, flipping through a trashy tabloid when the bell jingled and Jay swaggered in alone. No friends this time. Just him and the thick heat and the sound of cicadas screaming outside.

You didn’t glance up fast enough.

But when you did—

He was already looking.

Right at you.

His eyes dragged over you, slow and lazy like he had nowhere to be. His smirk curled, and he walked right up to the counter, chewing on nothing, eyes half-lidded and cruel.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you before,” he said.

You blinked. Swallowed.

“I work nights.”

“Shame,” he muttered, tapping the counter with a ringed finger. “Guess I’ve been missin’ out.”

Your face burned, but your voice stayed steady. “You want anything?”

He grinned. “Yeah. What’s your name?”

You told him.

He said it once, trying it out. “Pretty.”

You should’ve laughed.

Instead, you stared at the way his lip curled around the word, the way he leaned forward like he was gonna say something awful, something filthy, and you would’ve let him. You would’ve listened to every word.

But he just winked.

Grabbed a cherry soda from the fridge and left a crumpled dollar on the counter.

No change.

No goodbye.

You watched him walk out into the heat, long and golden and made of sharp edges.

You didn’t breathe for a whole minute.

⸻

You started writing about him in your journal.

Nothing serious.

Just little things.

Like the way he scratched the back of his neck when he was bored. Or how he always seemed to know when someone was watching him and looked smug about it. You wrote down the songs he played when his truck idled in the lot. You imagined what his voice would sound like in your bedroom, saying things you weren’t supposed to want to hear.

You didn’t love him.

You just wanted to kiss him so hard your teeth ached.

You just wanted to be his, even if only for a night.

⸻

Two weeks later, he showed up again.

This time, he leaned on the counter and said, “You ever been out to the creek?”

You blinked. “What creek?”

“The one past Miller’s farm. Little spot with the rope swing.” He smiled like he knew you wouldn’t say no. “You should come.

You didn’t ask why.

You just nodded, heart jackhammering against your ribs

.

“Tonight,” he said. “Ten sharp. Don’t be late.”

And just like that, you were his.

⸻

You told your mama you were staying at a friend’s.

Put on your shortest skirt. Slicked on lip gloss that tasted like strawberries and sin. Walked barefoot down the gravel path until his headlights found you.

He didn’t say hi.

Just opened the passenger door and looked you over like he’d won something.

You climbed in, silent and sweating.

The cab smelled like sweat and spearmint and a boy who never cared what time it was.

He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting just a little too close to your thigh.

The radio played something low and slurred, and he tapped the beat on his knee like he didn’t even notice you were staring at his hands.

You were.

You couldn’t stop.

⸻

The creek was quiet.

Moonlight hit the water in soft ribbons, and the trees whispered secrets to the wind.

He cut the engine and leaned back in his seat, one arm slung lazily behind your headrest.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

You shrugged.

“Nervous?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

You glanced at him.

His eyes glittered in the dark.

He grinned.

“You watch me a lot,” he said.

You froze.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb. You think I didn’t notice? Thought it was cute.”

You looked away, heat crawling up your neck.

He leaned in.

“Gotta admit,” he murmured, “I been watchin’ you too.”

You turned to him, lips parted, but he was already there—mouth on yours, hands rough on your hips, kiss sweet and sharp like peach candy and bad intentions.

It wasn’t gentle.

But it was good.

Too good.

And when he pulled back, eyes hooded, lips shiny, he whispered, “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this.”

You didn’t say a word.

Just climbed into his lap and kissed him like you were starving.

⸻

You weren’t a good girl.

Not really.

You wore white dresses and said thank you and smiled at old ladies in church.

But under it all, you ached.

For him.

For something real.

And Jay?

He was real in all the worst, best ways.

He bit your bottom lip when you teased him. He pulled your hair when you got too mouthy. He kissed your neck like he was marking territory.

You let him.

You wanted him to.

⸻

You met like that every week.

Sometimes at the creek.

Sometimes behind the old laundromat where the lights flickered and the pavement smelled like bleach and burnt rubber.

He’d press you against brick walls and tell you how pretty you looked when you blushed. He’d call you baby and trouble and sweet thing like it meant something.

And God, it did.

To you, it meant everything.

He wasn’t your boyfriend.

Not really.

But he called you his.

And when he drove you home with one hand gripping your thigh and the other curled around the wheel, you felt like you could die right then and be happy.

⸻

You never told anyone.

Not your friends. Not your mama. Not even yourself, not really.

Because to say it out loud would make it real.

And you weren’t sure you could survive that.

He was your secret.

Your summer sin.

The thing you prayed about in the quiet, trembling on your knees with dirty thoughts and clean hands.

You were the girl who watched him from afar and wanted him anyway.

And now?

Now he wanted you back.

⸻

Some nights, you still lie awake and think about the way his hands felt on your waist, the way he laughed like the world was ending and he didn’t care.

You think about the way he said your name—low, rough, reverent.

Like a prayer.

Like a promise.

Like you were something worth breaking for.

And maybe you were.

Maybe you still are.