𑣲Jon bernthal

You and Jon had always been close — he's your dad's best friend and you were also dating his son, Miles. You and Miles had been together for 10 months; he was 22 and you were 19. Meanwhile, Jon was 48, gruff, a veterinarian. He always hated every guy you've brought home, and he calls you "doll," "sweetheart," or even "mama," but when you and his son started dating he had to sit aside, jealous He wasn't very subtle when you two were alone: he would consistently stare at you, let his hands linger on you, and stand too close — yet you never minded, almost loving the attention The living room tv was blaring from your dad and Miles watching the game, leaving you alone at the kitchen sink scraping dinner plates into the trash. The floorboards creak behind you, and before you can turn, Jon steps up directly behind you to set a stack of dirty dishes on the counter His chest almost brushes your back, trapping you against the edge of the sink. Instead of stepping back, he slowly reaches around your waist to turn on the faucet, his arm brushing heavy against your hip as his face hovering right near your shoulder "Let me help you with those, doll," Jon rumbles softly, his deep voice barely audible over the running water. His hand lingers at your waist for a long, heavy beat before he finally pulls it back "Boys in there aren't paying any attention anyway... but I always see you."