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babyonboard · 29 days

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Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend.

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps.

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you.

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix.

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always.

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation.

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher.

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar.

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men.

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin.

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest.

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after.

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out.

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor.

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along.

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock.

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly.

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck.

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited.

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers.

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

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babyonboard · 4 months

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ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni, jackson era

word count: 1k

summary: joel finally allows you to pamper him.

warnings: a very explicit and detailed blow job, cock worship, dirty talk

Joel doesn’t let you pamper him—ever. You hate that he doesn’t. But you also understand. This isn’t a world of soft caring touches and velvet tongues. He doesn’t mind spoiling you, however. He loves watching you quiver underneath him, especially loves hearing you beg when he makes you come over and over again, be it with his fingers or tongue.

That doesn’t change the fact that you want to be the one spoiling him for a change.

He changed during his time in Jackson. He’s more relaxed now—one might even say he’s happy.

Which is why, right before sleep, you decide to kneel before him as he sits at the edge of the bed to take off his boots. You look up with hungry and hopeful eyes.

“Darlin’,” he sighs. “What are you doin’?”

“Don’t say no.”

“I don’t even know what I’m sayin’ no to.”

You let out a soft exhale as his thumb touches your cheek. He caresses the skin softly. His chuckle comes out in a puff of air, the corner of his eyes crinkling, he smiles down at you.

“Tell me what you want.”

The side of your face drops to his knee, “I want to suck your cock. I want you to let me make you feel good.”

“You always make me feel good,” the soft timber of his voice makes you shudder, arousal pooling between your legs. Your eyelids flutter before you answer.

“You know what I mean.”

“Fine then,” he says in a faux exasperation. Joel spreads his legs and flattens his palms on the bed. “Do what you want sweetheart. I ain’t dumb enough to say no to you suckin’ my cock.”

You shudder at the words, you love it when he talks dirty, his voice dropping and almost hoarse whenever he does. Looking up, you slowly unbutton his pants and lower the zipper. He helps you out only by lifting his hips, you don’t bother removing them completely. There’s something mind-numbingly arousing about being half-dressed, as if the two of you might need to bolt at any second, or the feeling that you’re not supposed to be doing this.

But, of course, this is your home and the two of you can do anything. Still, the thought is enough to have you grinding down onto nothing.

His cock is beautiful. And you had told him as much in the past only for your words to be shrugged off. Lowering his boxers, you watch as his length juts between his legs, painfully hard and leaking. You press your lips to the side, sliding down, you allow the tip of your tongue to trace the vein. You smile as you hear a hitch of breath. Flattening your tongue against the underside of him, you meet his gaze with heavy lashes.

“I love your cock,” you say, voice embarrassingly horse. “You’d be amazed at how soaked I am right now.”

A choked-out sound leaves him, a sound you can’t quite decipher. You elect to ignore it and dip down. You press your tongue between his balls, taking the sensitive skin between your lips as you let out a half-muffled moan. His hips jerk, cock gliding over your face. He’s so warm.

Bringing a hand up, you cup him while continuing to swirl your tongue. You take him into your mouth, hallowing your cheeks. He’s getting louder now. However, you can still tell that he’s biting back sounds. You suck even harder, relishing in the way his thighs shake. You let go of them with a pop and bring your tongue back to his aching cock, you drag your lips until you reach the tip, wrapping your lips around him.

“Fuck— Sweetheart. . . Jesus fuckin’ Christ. You’re gonna kill me.”

Heavy drops of precome coat your tongue, moaning around him, you take him even deeper until the bulbous head reaches the back of your throat. His chest rattles with a growl, both hands coming up to each side of your head to push you further down. Your eyes water as you feel him inching down your throat, your lungs expanding as you try to breathe. Your thighs press together helplessly, desperate to relieve the growing pulse between your legs. You decide to bring one hand down but he stops you, only pulling back a little so you can breathe.

“You ain’t touchin’ yourself until I’m done. I thought you wanted to spoil me, honey. Don't go back on your words now. Don’t be a brat who’s nothin’ but bark and no bite.”

Much to your surprise, he drops his hands back down to his thighs, “Make me come, then I’ll take care of you.”

Your insides flutter, cunt clenching almost painfully at the hoarse tone of his words. You brace yourself by placing your hands on top of his, straightening yourself to get a better angle. Your head bobs up and down on him, the wet sounds of your mouth working around him blending with his ragged breathing. He’s so close, you can tell by the way his back tenses and his breathing becomes more erratic. Your hand sneaks underneath his cock, giving him a gentle tug.

With renewed fervor, you suck harder and faster, your tongue dancing around him, your hand squeezing his balls in perfect time with the movements of your mouth. Joel’s grip on his thighs tightens, nails biting into his own skin, and you can feel him throbbing in your mouth.

You pull back, gasping for air, and pump him faster with your hand, your mouth hovering just above him. Joel’s eyes meet yours and for a moment, you can see the tenderness and love there, buried under the lust.

With one final stroke, you feel him release in your hand, his body shuddering and his hands flying to your head, clutching at your hair. Thick spurts of come lands on your cheek, lips, and chest, dripping down your burning body. You kiss the head of his cock, swallowing the last of his hot come, savoring the taste of him in your mouth.

Reluctantly, you pull away, panting with your cheeks burning. Joel leans back on the bed, his chest heaving as he comes down from his high.

“I knew you’d be good at that,” he says with a chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

You smile as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, “I told you. You should’ve let me do it way before, you’re too stubborn for your own good.”

Joel grins and pulls you into bed with him, tucking you against his side as he begins to lazily play with your clit.

“I think it’s my turn to return the favor,” he murmurs against your temple, his one hand trailing down to your breast. Your breath catches in your throat as he fondles you, playing with the pebbled flesh.

And as he takes you over the edge, you can’t help but think that this is the kind of life you could get used to—spending nights with Joel, spoiling each other in every way possible, and maybe even falling in love a little more every day.

#bye your life. goodnight.

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babyonboard · 4 months

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finnick odair who loves watching you a little too much.

“that’s it, honey.” finnick had you laid on the mattress, thighs trembling, lips abused— red and bitten. but you were frustrated. finnick odair, instead of being on top of you, was sitting across the room; he had not laid a single finger on you the entire night leading up to this. he was resting comfortably on the loveseat that felt like lightyears away, refusing to just walk over and fuck you stupid like you deserved.

his legs were spread, repositioning himself whenever he would twitch—body telling him to get up and take you in all ways imaginable. but a sick and twisted part of him loved that feeling, the delicious burn under his hands as he gripped the armrests to force himself to sit still. he clicked his tongue, giving a wicked, all teeth grin. “honey… you can do it, don’t stop on me now. it wouldn’t be very,” he paused, watching your fingers slow down at your hot and bothered clit. like the tease finnick is, he let out a long, breathy moan to finish his sentence, “nice.” you strangled out a pathetic whimper, a nonverbal beg for him to please get away from that chair and finish what he started.

you had already orgasmed once, when finnick was gently talking you through—promised he’d take care of you after. he lied, and now you were trying to force yourself through a second, and finnick hasn’t even dared to touch himself. despite this, you could tell he was influenced by the sight of you; breath heavy and hot, biting his lips and brows knitting together when you’d arch your back or ask him oh so kindly to touch you. how much you needed him, it should have been written in the bible. your eyebrows furrowed, eyes closing in pure exhaustion and exasperation. “please, finn—“ you whined out, fingers lazily playing with yourself as your other hand traced up and down your stomach. you were desperate, attempted to taunt him closer, “i know you want to touch… to,” you whimper, two fingers slipping inside yourself, “kiss me, to fuck me.”

finnick’s eyes drank in the state of you as if you were the last drop of water in a chalice, his own fingers twitching against the armrests. “finnick,” you sighed, fingers slowly moving as your hips bucked against them, “you’re so mean to me…” and finnick loved the way your teary doe eyes opened and caught his, like you were speaking to his soul. his hands finally moved, rushing to undo his pants and move them down low enough to pull himself out. your eyes shifted down, letting out a quiet moan when he finally broke, thumb playing at his tip. “you know your way with words, sweet girl,” he praised, eyes fluttering as he got off to you pleasuring yourself.

neither of you lasted long after that, finnick talking you through your second orgasm as he tugged at his cock. “look what you do to me—fuck, keep touching yourself.” you incoherently sobbed out little ‘yeah’s’ and ‘’m so close, finn.’ after both of you came, calming down from the delicious highs of sadistic edging, you struggled out a weak, “i’m gettin’ rid of that chair.”

#SOMEBODY SEDATE MEEEEEEE

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babyonboard · 4 months

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When you run out of fics to read

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babyonboard · 5 months

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Snow With A Bimbo Reader

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

summary | Coryo loves how dumb you are. It makes him look even smarter

warnings | toxic!coryo, dumb!reader, slight innocent!reader, smut, slight housewife!reader

this is an eighteen plus fic. minors do not enter

divider by @princessbellecerise

When he first met you at the academy, it was safe to say that from the moment he saw you, Snow was obsessed

You weren’t in the same class as him, though there was really no reason you ought to be because you were not nearly as smart as the other students, but he still noticed you in some classes

Coryo figured that your parents must have bought your way in, because bless your heart you are so dumb

When he first meets you, it’s almost pitiful how he notices that you’re nowhere near his academic level, but that’s okay because you sure are pretty

And despite being insanely attracted to power and intelligence, Coryo finds himself focusing all his attention on you

He can’t think of anything else in class other than the way your pretty little face scrunches up because you’re not understanding any of it, or the way your lips pout because you’re beyond lost

You’re just so beautifully stupid and cute and Coryo can’t stop thinking about how he can’t wait to get his claws into you

So at first he starts by tutoring you as way to get closer to you

God knows that you need it, and when he offers of course you accept because hello—everyone knows that Snow is on top

So, he begins to tutor you, and that’s all it is at first

A few flirty remarks here and there, like him telling you your hair looks pretty or your outfit fits you nice

Nothing too crazy, but the more time Coryo spends with you, the more you drive him insane

He has amazing self control because even though he wants to do nothing but grab you and kiss you the entire time you’re talking, he holds himself back

He takes it slow as to not scare you or confuse your dumb little mind. After all, you can only process so much

Which is why he doesn’t actually tutor you—not the hard stuff anyways. He just finds little easy thing for you to accomplish so he can watch as your face lights up when you solve something he’s done a million times before

He builds you up before he plans on breaking you down, before he plans on molding you into his perfect partner

Coryo will gain your trust at first and only when he’s got it will he strike

Like a snake, you don’t even see his plan or see him coming until he’s right there in front of you, poisoning you with his sweet lips and kissing you one day

It comes so sudden for you that you’re shocked, not even kissing him back till he’s squeezing your jaw a little so you let him in

He’ll kiss you deeply so that you can feel what he feels for you, so that you know just how desperately he wants you

Through his lips, he’ll spread his venom, and since you’re not smart enough to even know that you’ve been bit, you fall for it easily

You kiss him back, and your giggles when you pull away make Coryo smirk. He loves seeing you nervous around him and fuck; does he love tasting your pretty lips

Once you start agree to start dating him, it’s already too late for you. And for Coryo, it’s just the beginning

Coryo already has plans that you’re not apart of, but he’s excited to carry them out because you are everything that he needs

He needs someone that won’t question him, that will obey him and do everything he says. He needs to be in charge and with you, he is

Like a good little girl, you do everything Coryo tells you to do. Miss class for him, sit on his lap, stop doing your assignments

Pretty soon, he’s got it to where all you do is hang out with him. Make plans with him. Do things for him

He’s got you wrapped around his finger and you don’t even know it. You’re just so happy with him that you don’t even question it when he tells you to quit

“Leave the academy and I’ll take care of you. I promise,” Is what Coryo says, so you do

You stop attending class, you drop out and slowly you move from your home to be with Coryo in his

It’s a little packed, but you make it work especially with Tigris and his grandmother

They both adore you, though Tigris is a little concerned with you dropping out. She’ll try and persuade you to continue your education but don’t worry—Coryo will never let that happen

When you tell him Tigris’ words, he simply scoffs and tells you that pretty girls like you don’t belong in academics. You don’t belong in that terrible, toxic work force

No, no, you deserve to stay home and to serve him. An easy job, he convinces you, and a soft life

“It’s what you deserve,” He tells you, so you give up on the idea of returning

Instead, you stay at home and wait for Coryo day and night. During the days, you’ll cook, clean and during the nights you’ll be there for him

In the privacy of your now shared bedroom is where he fucks you, the mattress squeaking from how hard he pounds into your tight cunt

Coryo loves it when you whine and beg, crying out how he’s too big for you

He loves to hear you praise him and for you to stroke his ego. With a hand wrapped around your throat, he’ll fuck you until you’re screaming his name into the mattress and until you realize that you belong to him

The love bites and marks he leaves on your thighs are a constant reminder. He tells you that you should be lucky, grateful that you don’t have to use your head anymore

Grateful to have someone like him to take care of you, and you are. Coryo gives you a life that people can only dream about

Once he becomes President of Panem, you’re spoiled with riches that you didn’t even know existed. Diamonds, silks, luxurious foods

And the best part is, all you have to do is smile and wave. After all, you are his best asset

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babyonboard · 5 months

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i'll be home for christmas | part one

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Having just caught your fiancé cheating on you, you decide to come back home from the big city to Austin for the month of December to try to figure out your next step. You had no idea you would be getting more than you bargained for with the handsome single dad who built your parents' house.

Chapter Warnings: no outbreak, modern day but Joel is 40, language, fluff, flirting, reader has a childhood nickname only her family uses, Hallmark tropes up the wazoo, soft!joel, reader's sister is pregnant, talks of infidelity, talks of divorce, alcohol use, kissing, (smut in part two)

WC: 9.1K

A/N: this is my take on a cheesy, fluffy, soft, smutty, Joel Miller Hallmark Christmas movie. It's just sweet and silly and makes me smile, and I hope it does the same for you. I also wrote this in less than 2 days and didn't really edit it much, so sorry in advance if there's any errors.

Found the pic on Twitter but can't remember the source, if you know please send me a message and i will credit them

Part Two | Part Three

It was the second week of December as you stood inside the airport in Austin, Texas, waiting for your luggage to emerge on the conveyor belt. You thought by coming home early, you would have avoided the holiday traffic, but you were wrong. All around you, people squealed with excitement and embraced, dragging their worn out luggage behind them as they made their way out of the bustling airport. You tried to keep the scowl from your face as you watched, but it was next to impossible, so you wrapped your Burberry scarf around your neck instead, hoping to hide your displeasure.

This was not the plan you had for Christmas. You should be in New York in a high-rise apartment in front of a roaring fireplace with a glass of wine and your fiancé - ex-fiancé - not back in Austin with your parents, who begged you to come visit for the holidays after you told them the news.

Coming home to visit wasn't your favorite thing, but you felt guilty having avoided the holidays with your family for so many years, and you would have ended up all alone in the city anyway. So you caved, using up all the PTO you saved for the wedding, and took the rest of the year off from work.

Your designer luggage stood out like a sore thumb when it tumbled down the conveyor belt. You winced after watching the impact and snatched it up quickly. Glancing around, you saw a beacon in the storm: a familiar green, glowing sign in the distance - Starbucks. The line was long, but your flight was early, so you waited and got a latte, hoping it would lift your spirits a bit before you had to face your parents.

You tapped the side of your coffee cup anxiously as you rode the escalator down to the first floor, scanning the crowd for your mom and dad. There were a few people holding up signs with names on them, and when you saw the sign that said "Bucket" on it, you cringed.

Your dad's tall, round frame came into view when the people in front of him dispersed. He looked almost exactly the same, except a little greyer. Still sporting a shockingly full head of hair and his signature thick mustache, he grinned and pulled you into a warm hug.

"Really, Dad? 'Bucket'?"

"Well, that's what we call you, ain't it?" he said with a smile. You rolled your eyes and tried to be annoyed, but you had to admit that you were happy to see him.

"Where's Mom?" you asked.

"She's waitin' in the car, didn't wanna pay for parking so we're in a pick up zone, let's hustle," he said, wrapping his arm around you as he led you outside. "How was the flight?"

"Long," you said, then gasped when the cold air hit you. "Wow, I didn't think it would be this cold yet."

"It's been a cold one so far this year," he nodded, directing you to the left where you could see your mom smiling and waving from the passenger seat of their white SUV. You waved back and grinned. Maybe coming home wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

"Hiya, Bucky!" your mom said happily, leaning out of the window to give you a half hug while your dad loaded up your belongings in the back.

"Hey, Mom," you replied. "I like your sweater."

She was wearing one of her tacky Christmas sweaters that she wore every year - unironically. It amazed you how some things never change.

You climbed into the back seat as your dad carefully exited the parking spot and joined the line of cars that were slowly inching towards the main road.

"We're so glad you decided to come home this year, you can finally see the new house!" your mom said excitedly. They had built a brand new house, and the way she provided updates and pictures to you over the phone for the past year, you felt like you had already seen it.

"Yeah, can't wait," you said, staring out the window.

"Hope you don't mind, but we're throwin' a party tomorrow night," your dad said, glancing at you in the review mirror. "Wanted to have our friends over to see the place and have an early holiday party. They'll be so happy to see you, it's been so long since you've been home, Buck."

You had been hoping to spend most of the next three weeks in bed moping and scrolling on your phone. The thought of a party and seeing all those people looking at you with pity made your stomach turn. Your mom must have sensed your discomfort.

"It's alright, honey. They won't say anything," she said softly, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

"Okay," you replied, your voice pained as you opened your eyes to stare at the passing traffic on the thruway.

You'll make an appearance for an hour, and then try to sneak back upstairs until the party ends, already fabricating a headache to blame it on.

The house your parents built was impressive, even you had to admit. It was a two story colonial with four bedrooms and three bathrooms. The open floor plan was stunning as you made your way from room to room. The first floor alone had a spacious living room with vaulted ceilings, a kitchen with an attached dining room, and a separate family room off the back. There was even a small office by the front door that you missed the first time around, and a pantry as big as your closet back home.

You cringed at the thought, reminding yourself that it was no longer your home. That was part of the problem. You had moved in with Will, and when you discovered he had been cheating on you, you crashed at your friend Melanie's place. When you tearfully told your parents the news a few days later, they asked you to come home. Just for the holidays, your mom had said. Just to give you time to figure out your next move.

"This is beautiful, Mom," you said honestly, admiring the fine details on the cabinets.

"Thank you, sweetie. Took a long time, but Joel built it just right for us," she said, beaming.

"Oh, the contractor, right?" you replied, distracted now by the backsplash above the counters.

"He's such a sweet man, he was so patient with us when we changed our minds a million times over every little thing."

"Well, tell him he did a great job," you murmured, opening and shutting different drawers.

"You can tell him yourself, he'll be at the party tomorrow," your dad said, opening the fridge to scrounge for some snacks.

"You invited your contractor to your holiday party?" you asked in disbelief.

"Sure we did. We either saw him or spoke to him almost every single day for a year. He's a good man."

"Okay," you said slowly, still finding it a bit strange, but reminding yourself that things worked a little differently in the south.

"Bucket!" you heard your sister call from the front of the house. A smile plastered across your face instantly as you rushed to the door, both of you squealing as you wrapped your arms around each other and jumped in a circle, unable to contain your excitement.

"Cassie!" you said, pulling back to look at her, brushing her sleek, dark brown hair over her shoulder. "You look fantastic!"

"Ugh, I feel like shit," she said, and you laughed, glancing down at her barely swollen belly.

"How far along are you again?" you asked.

"Twenty weeks, but I'm ready for this to be over! I'm so tired all the time, it sucks," she said, flopping down on the couch in the living room after she gave your parents quick hugs.

"Where's Josh?" your mom asked, referring to your brother in law.

"He's still working, he'll be by later," Cassie said, waving her hand. "Gives us a chance to catch up," she added with a wink.

"You girls do that, we need to go to the store for tomorrow night. Do you need anything?" your mom asked, and you shook your head, eager for them to leave so you could be alone with your sister.

"Tell me everything," Cassie said the moment the door clicked shut.

If it were anyone else, you wouldn't have been in the mood to talk about the mess that was currently your life, but you've always been able to talk about anything with your sister. You trusted each other implicitly and there was no judgement, no matter if you had cheated on a test or gotten drunk during prom, you told each other everything.

So you did. You told her how for months, you felt like something was off with Will. How he would stay out late and say it was for work, but none of his work friends ever posted about going anywhere those nights on social media. He grew more distant and you tried to ignore your paranoia, but when he collapsed into bed one night, too out of it to wash up, and you saw the lipstick on his neck the next morning, you lost it. He hardly even tried to explain himself, barely even attempted to lie, and you began to think maybe he wanted to get caught. Maybe he wanted you to do the dirty work and end things so he didn't have to. Fucking coward.

"What a piece of shit. I never liked him," Cassie said when you were finished. "He acted like he was so much better than everyone when he was here, do you remember the comments he made about the wine mom had? It was so fucking rude."

"Yeah, I know," you agreed.

"So why were you even with him?"

"We had been together since college, Cas," you said, exasperated. "I knew him before he was like that. He used to be sweet and fun. Then he got that finance job and met all those assholes and he became just like them."

"Well, I'm just glad you didn't end up married before finding out what he's really like," she said, shifting her weight on the couch with her hand cupping her small stomach. "That would have been a huge mess."

"It's still a huge mess, I have no where to live now, and I can only couch surf for so long," you said, burying your face in your hands.

"You'll figure it out, Buck. I'll help you look for places online while you're here. Maybe set up some appointments so you can tour them when you get back."

"Thanks," you said, giving her a weak smile. "That would actually be great."

"Now, on to more important things," your sister said, slapping her palms against her knees to stand.

"Baby names?" you asked.

"No! Let's figure out what you'll wear to the party tomorrow," she said, wiggling her eyebrows. "I wanna look through all your fancy designer clothes."

You giggled and stood to join her.

"Fine, but I'm still dropping baby names while you look," you replied.

After spending a majority of the next day helping your parents decorate and prepare food for the party, you finally were able to excuse yourself to shower and get ready. Cassie had picked out a Ralph Lauren lace cocktail dress that Will had bought for your birthday last year. You slipped it on, running your hands over the fabric as you adjusted the dress in the mirror. Just because he bought it didn't mean you couldn't wear it again. You snatched the glass of wine from your dresser and took a sip, trying to push the thought of him from your head as you made your way downstairs.

Cassie and Josh were already in the kitchen, munching on appetizers and chatting with your parents. Cassie let out a low whistle when you entered the room. You waved her off and gave Josh a big hug and kiss on the cheek.

"Good to see you," you told him with a smile. "All ready for the baby?"

"Getting there," Josh replied, wrapping an arm around Cassie's waist. You tried to ignore the ugly, jealous pit in your stomach as he told you how the nursery was coming along. You wasted so many years of your life on Will. Your sister was already married and starting a family, and here you were, basically homeless and starting over. Pathetic.

Family friends slowly began to trickle into the house, luckily being whisked away by your parents to give them a tour after you meekly greeted them and hid back in the kitchen. As more and more people arrived, you began to wonder how your parents kept so many close friends when you barely had a handful back in New York.

A few kids raced by you in the kitchen as you made your way to the bar to refill your wine. Even though it was loud, you could still hear your dad's booming voice as he regaled a friend with a fishing story. You wandered around a bit, trying to find Cassie and Josh so you didn't look out of place, but stopped dead in your tracks when you saw them chatting with Mr. Tanner and his son, Troy, backing away before they could see you. Troy used to have the biggest crush on you when you were kids. If he found out you were single, you wouldn't be able to shake him all night.

You eventually found yourself alone, back in front of the snacks. You picked at the chips on your plate, not really interested in eating but hoping to avoid any awkward conversations, so you kept your eyes down, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. Apparently, it wasn't good enough because you felt someone sidle up next to you.

"Those any good?" a deep, unfamiliar drawl spoke from your side. You looked up to find the softest pair of brown eyes you've ever seen on a man. Blinking, you took a moment as your gaze raked over his patchy beard and the dark, tousled curls on his head. They looked so soft, you had to resist the urge to reach out and touch them. What was wrong with you?

"Huh?" you managed to squeak out after you realized you had waited too long to reply. Idiot.

"The, uh, chips," he said, pointing at your plate before rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh!" you said, looking at your plate, completely forgetting you even had it. "Yeah, they're alright."

He nodded and glanced around the room, unsure of what to say next. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"How do you know Paul and Martha?"

Distracted, you watched as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, stretching the fabric of his red flannel over his shoulders, pulling the material taught. You had to remind yourself to pay attention and stop gawking at this man like he was a piece of meat. Jesus, maybe you should stop drinking.

"They're my parents," you said after a moment, your eyes flicking across the room, finding them with a group of their friends with your dad's arm wrapped around your mom's shoulder as she giggled and gazed up at him adoringly.

"Oh, you're Cassie," the man said, his eyes dropping from your face to your stomach, and you swore you saw a glimmer of disappointment.

"No!" you said quickly, your hand subconsciously resting on your midsection. "That's my sister, I'm their other daughter." You told him your name and briefly explained you lived in New York and were just visiting for the holidays.

"They must be real happy, havin' you home for so long," he replied, and you shrugged.

"Yeah, it's been a while since I've come home for a visit. I was feeling pretty bad about that," you said, choosing to leave out the biggest reason you were there. This stranger didn't need to be burdened with your love life drama. "Besides, they were so excited to show off the new house," you continued, waving your arm around the room.

"Took us long enough, but it finally came together," he replied with a smile.

"Oh! You must be Joel," you said, realization finally dawning on you.

"Yeah, sorry," he said, shaking his head and stretching out his arm. "That was rude of me, don't know what I was thinkin'." His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you shook his hand.

"My parents always have such wonderful things to say about you. The house is beautiful, I was blown away when I first saw it," you told him. "I especially love the little details on the cabinets."

"Thanks," he said with a soft smile, averting his gaze to look at the cabinet behind you. "I actually did that myself. It's kind of a hobby of mine. Closest to art I'll ever get, I guess."

"I don't think it's just 'close' to art, I think it is art. It's stunning," you told him, running your fingertips over the intricate floral design. "You're very talented."

"Well, thank you," he said sheepishly, rubbing his beard to hide his smile. You could see the blush creeping up his neck and you bit your lip with a grin, turning your head to try to give him a moment. Were you making him nervous? He was painfully good looking, could this guy actually be into you? Were you even interested? The break up was still so fresh and it had been so long since you've dated anyone besides Will, you hadn't even considered it yet.

"So, how long have you worked in construction?" you asked after a minute, discarding your plate on the counter to give him your full attention.

"Oh, my whole life. Me and my brother started the business when we were in our twenties. Only thing we were any good at, and luckily it pays the bills," he told you with a shrug, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "What do you-"

Joel's question was cut off by a young girl with curly brown hair in a red velvet dress bouncing up to him.

"Dad! Can Uncle Tommy take me outside so we can look at the pool?" she asked. Dad? You looked down when he pulled his hands out of his pockets, palming one of the girl's shoulders to quiet her down, and noticed the gold wedding band. Of fucking course.

"The pool? Sarah, it's freezin' out," Joel said, and she grinned.

"I'm not going in, Dad, I just wanna see," she said, rolling her eyes. She glanced over, noticing you for the first time, and smiled. "I really like your dress," she said.

"Thank you," you said, running your hand down the fabric. "I like yours, too."

"Uh, yeah, that's fine. Just make sure Uncle Tommy sticks with you, alright?" Joel relented, and she clapped her hands gleefully before running off again.

"She's cute, how old is she?" you asked him, looking around the room to see if Sarah had run back to a woman who could be Joel's wife.

"She's sixteen," he said, eyeing you carefully. He hadn't thought this far ahead and hoped he wasn't scaring you off.

You turned to him, startled, having guessed she was younger.

"You must have had her young," you said, the words slipping out before you could catch them. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean that like it sounded-"

"No, it's alright," he said with a chuckle. "I did. I'm forty."

You nodded and took a sip from your glass, letting your eyes drift away, rethinking your conversation. Maybe you misread him and he was just being friendly. There was no way he would be flirting with you at a party with his kid right there. But then he cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him.

"Listen, I hope I'm not bein' too forward, but are you here with anyone?"

You raised your eyebrows at him over your glass. There was no misreading that. Blinking rapidly, you tried to formulate a reply that wouldn't cause a scene. Was he seriously hitting on you with a ring on his finger? You put your glass down on the counter and opened your mouth to reply when your sister's voice interrupted you.

"Bucket! Come here, you remember Troy, right?"

You cringed, at both the nickname and the person in question, before slowly turning your body towards her and forcing a fake smile.

"Of course. How are you?" you said with a hug.

"Doing great, just got a new job with a law firm downtown," Troy said, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans and shifting his weight nervously. He began to ramble about his new job as your sister introduced herself to Joel behind you. You resisted the urge to strangle her, reminding yourself she was carrying your baby niece or nephew and that you'll have to wait until after she gave birth to kill her. She knew you couldn't stand Troy, but she probably couldn't get rid of him, either.

You stood there, draining your wine glass while he prattled on for the next twenty minutes. By the time Troy's dad walked over and ushered him away, Joel was nowhere to be found.

Probably for the best, anyway. You were getting really sick and tired of only attracting unfaithful men.

You hadn't considered how annoying it would be to have your parents hovering around you all the time, worried that you were slipping into a depression and trying to get you to join them on activities outside the house. After you felt forced to go sledding with them the day before, you decided to make yourself scarce today, which is why you found yourself at the mall in downtown Austin browsing for a Christmas gift for your future niece or nephew.

As you were looking through a storefront window, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Taking it out, you saw a text from a friend back home.

Sydney: You'll never guess who i just bumped into

You were typing out your response, chin tucked into your chest, when you felt someone knock into you. Startled, you looked up only to lock eyes with Joel the contractor.

"Oh!" you managed to stammer out. His deep brown eyes lit up and a warm smile spread across his face when he looked up and recognized you.

"Sorry, wasn't payin' attention," he said. "How, uh, how are you?"

"Good," you said, nodding and clutching your phone in your hand. "You?"

"Good. Was actually just thinkin' about you," he admitted, looking down and shifting the bag he was carrying from one hand to the other. "Never got to say goodbye to you the other night."

"Yeah, it was pretty crowded. I didn't realize my parents were so popular," you joked. "Is Sarah with you?"

"No, she's in school," he replied, and you bumped the heel of your hand against your forehead, rolling your eyes. Of course she was, it's the middle of the day.

"Duh," you said quietly, finding it hard to hold his gaze without getting butterflies, so you looked away.

"So, uh, I hope this doesn't sound creepy, but I asked your sister if you were seein' anyone the other night," he began, and you felt your face instantly heat up. Why didn't Cassie warn you?? "-was wonderin' if I could get your number."

"Huh?" you asked, your eyes widening as you tried to control your breathing. You glanced down at his hand again when he looked away and saw he was definitely wearing a ring.

"Thought we could go out sometime? If you're interested?" he asked, his own nerves wreaking havoc as he shifted his weight and chewed on the inside of his cheek, praying his face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Are you serious?" you asked him, narrowing your eyes. The audacity of some men!

"'Course I'm serious," he said with a nervous smile. "Thought we hit it off the other night-"

"Joel, listen. I'm not going to say what I'm really thinking for the sake of my parents and everything you did for them, but I am not interested in dating married men," you said with a scowl. He frowned, giving you a confused look before you turned on your heel and stormed away, joining the crowd of Christmas shoppers bustling by.

He looked down at his hand, making a tight fist before swiveling his head around, trying to locate you in the crowd before he lost you.

"Hey, wait!" he called out, pushing past clusters of people as he jogged to try and keep up with you. He called out your name as he got closer. You stopped suddenly but didn't turn around, causing surprised shoppers to have to redirect at the last minute to avoid running into you.

"Hey, I'm sorry-"

"You should apologize to your wife!" you said loudly, causing a few people to turn their heads in your direction as they walked past. Joel looked around nervously.

"I'm not married," he clarified quietly. You looked down at his hand again and he flexed his fingers.

"Can we get a coffee or somethin'? And I'll explain," he begged, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each second that passed as you considered your answer. "Please."

"Fine," you agreed, and his face relaxed once again.

You sat down at a coffee shop within Barnes and Noble as Joel ordered you both something to drink. As you watched him at the counter, you admired his long legs and broad shoulders underneath his brown coat and wondered what possible excuse he was going to come up with.

Oh my god, what if she died?

You rubbed your eyes, hoping you didn't just insult a widower in the middle of a crowded mall.

Joel joined you at the table and set your coffee down in front of you with a smile.

"Thank you," you said softly, fiddling with the cup and avoiding his eyes as he shrugged his coat off, revealing a navy blue V-neck sweater underneath. Your eyes drifted to the small patch of bare chest that was exposed and your stomach clenched. Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to meet his gaze, but he was staring down at his ring finger.

"I'm not married anymore, just wanna make that crystal clear," he began, still staring at his ring.

"Okay," you said slowly, waiting for him to continue. He sighed.

"We've been divorced for a few years now," he said, finally looking at you. "It was... hard. Really hard. I, uh," he scratched his beard as he struggled to find the words. "I've had a tough time lettin' go. Thought for a while we might get back together, so I didn't take it off. Then I guess I just got so used to it, I never thought... I'm sorry, I sound like a mess," he said with a sad smile.

"It's alright, I think I understand," you told him, and he looked at you with renewed optimism, encouraged to continue.

"I never took it off because I never thought 'bout askin' anyone out til now," he said. "Didn't realize how that would come across, you just took me by surprise that night and I couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout you."

You blushed and looked down at your coffee, trying to hide your smile behind your cup, but he saw it and grinned.

"Are you still in love with her?" you asked him. You didn't want to get wrapped up in something that would end up hurting you in the end.

"No," he said firmly. "I mean, I'll always care for her. She gave me Sarah, how could I not? But I'm not in love with her anymore."

You nodded as you absorbed his words, glancing around the little coffee shop before dragging your eyes back to his. He was looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to ask anything else that would make you comfortable with accepting a date from him.

"Well, thank you for being honest with me, but I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship just yet."

Joel tried to hide the disappointment in his face as he nodded in understanding. The first time in five years he asked someone out and he got shot down.

"It's not you," you clarified. "It's bad timing. I just got out of a really long term relationship. Well, I was actually engaged, and I caught him cheating," you explained with a wince, not expecting to bring this up today. "Probably why I was so sensitive about the wedding ring," you said with a half smirk. He nodded quietly and looked down at the ring on his hand, twisting the metal around with the pad of his thumb as you spoke.

"Sounds like we've both been through a tough time," he murmured, and you quietly agreed.

You sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping your coffees and trying to figure out how to end this awkward interaction without making things worse. You were going to lie about having plans so you could leave when he suddenly spoke up.

"No pressure, but, uh, what if we just went on one very casual date?" He looked at you with those soft, brown eyes and you felt your resolve crumbling. "Sounds like we could both use some practice. You're leavin' at the end of the month anyway. Could just be fun, help get us both back out there."

You paused, not expecting that. He had a good point. It's been so long since you've gone on a date with anyone, and it sounded like he was just as rusty. Besides, what else would you be doing with your time over the next three weeks?

"Okay," you agreed softly. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, parting his lips slightly as he straightened up in his chair.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you said with a grin. "Why not?"

Early the next morning, you heard your phone buzz on the nightstand next to your bed. With a groan, you cracked an eye open to look at the time, then reached for your phone.

"7:30? Who the hell..." you grumbled, squinting at the bright screen, your eyes widening when you saw Joel's name. You sat up in bed, fully awake now, and slid the notification over to open the text.

Joel Miller: Morning. Are you free tonight?

You grinned, flicking on your light so you could see better to respond, then you paused. Should you make him wait before replying? Would you look too desperate if you answered right away?

You shrugged, deciding to answer him. It was casual, you both knew it wouldn't go anywhere, so who cares how it looked?

You: Good morning, you're up early! And yes, what did you have in mind?

You chewed your thumb nail as you waited for his answer.

Joel Miller: This is nothing, I've been up since 5. For some reason, clients expect me to be at job sites early. How about ice skating?

You giggled and tapped out a reply.

You: I'd love to!

Joel Miller: Great - I'll pick you up at 7

Realizing you forgot to reply to Sydney the day before, you switched messages and shot her a quick answer before sliding back down under the covers to scroll on your phone.

You resisted the urge as long as you could - a whole fifteen minutes - before you typed Joel's name into Facebook. His name popped up with two mutual friends and you rolled your eyes. Of course your parents were friends with him. Clicking on his name, you scrolled down his page, tapping through photos of him and Sarah that looked out of date. He didn't seem like the type to update social media often, and his page reflected that hunch. He didn't have many pictures so it didn't take long until you scrolled all the way to the end, presumably his first photo from when he joined. It was a grainy picture of him with a huge smile and his arm slung around a woman with dark, curly hair, just like Sarah's.

She was pretty, you couldn't deny that, and you vaguely wondered why they broke up. He made it sound like he didn't want a divorce, and you figured he would have mentioned cheating since you brought it up.

You closed the app. If Joel wanted to tell you, he would.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way downstairs on the hunt for coffee. Pouring yourself a cup from the machine, you burrowed into the couch, wrapping yourself in a blanket as you waited for your coffee to cool down and flipped through the various streaming services your parents subscribed to.

"Hey Buck, you're up early," your dad said as he descended the stairs and headed to the coffee.

"Hey, Dad," you said, taking a sip from your mug and wincing as you burned your tongue.

"What're you up to today? You wanna come to dinner with your mom and me?"

"Actually, I have a date," you told him, bracing for the reaction.

"Whoa-ho! Been here not even a week and you got yourself a date? Don't tell me... Troy?" he asked with a big grin, sitting down at the other end of the couch.

"Ew, no!" you said, scrunching your nose. "It's, um, Joel," you said quickly, taking another sip from your mug.

"Our contractor?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, we met at the party," you told him. "Then I ran into him at the mall."

"Ran into who at the mall?" you heard Cassie's voice from down the hall.

"When did you get here?" you asked as she rounded the corner and gazed at your coffee enviously.

"Just now. Who did you see at the mall?"

"Joel," you said, glaring at her. "Got something to tell me about that?"

"Oh, yeah," she said, wiggling her eyebrows. "He was asking about you at the party. I made sure to let him know you were single."

"Yeah, he told me, thanks for the heads up, by the way," you said. "We're going out tonight."

"I didn't realize he was single, I just assumed he was married because he's always got Sarah around," your dad said, beginning to zone out to the movie that was on the TV.

"He's single," was all you said, picking your phone back up.

"He's cute," Cassie said, and you blushed. "I'm glad you said yes, mom and dad already love him, so he'll fit right in."

"I don't even live here. It's a casual thing, we're just hanging out," you told her.

"Yeah, okay," she said, giving you a wink. You rolled your eyes and pinched her as you passed by.

"I'm going to shower, then maybe you can help me pick out something to wear," you told her over your shoulder, walking back upstairs.

Joel arrived at your parents' house promptly at 7, just as he promised. He pulled into the driveway, checking his hair in the review mirror quickly before sliding out of his truck and making his way up the porch. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this nervous as he glanced down a the green flannel he wore, praying he didn't miss a button or a stain. He was with Natalie for so long that he could barely remember a time when he was nervous around her.

But with you, he felt the butterflies the moment he saw you at the party. You didn't notice him at first, but he saw you enter the living room and freeze in the doorway, your eyes locked on someone across the room before backing out the way you came, as if you were looking to avoid them. He couldn't catch who it was, having hardly known more than five people in the whole house, but he felt compelled to follow you. To see if you were maybe looking for a husband or boyfriend. But when he saw you alone in the kitchen, staring down at your phone, he couldn't stop himself from saying something to you.

Joel never did things like that. He always kept to himself, very quiet and reserved. He was content with his work during the day and hanging out with Sarah at night.

For the most part, he was happy. It was only at night when the loneliness crept up, when he tucked himself into his big, cold bed and tried his best to fall asleep as fast as he could, so he wouldn't lay there wishing someone who cared for him was just in the bathroom washing up.

Tommy had been encouraging him to get back out there, always offering to watch Sarah if he caught Joel looking a little too long at a waitress or a neighbor. Sarah was old enough to be on her own for a few hours, but he still asked Tommy to stop by, anyway. Maybe part of him wanted his brother to know that he was going on a date, if only so he would stop trying to set him up all the time with women he had no interest in.

Joel reached out to ring the doorbell, cringing when he noticed it was one of those camera doorbells. Paul must have installed it after the house was finished. He heard heavy footsteps on the other side of the door and held his breath, realizing he hadn't thought about your dad's reaction to your date.

Paul swung the door open, greeting Joel with a deep scowl as he leaned up against the doorframe.

"What's up, Joel?" he asked. Joel cleared his throat.

"Hey, Paul. I'm here to pick up your daughter," Joel replied, bracing himself. Paul just stared at him, breathing deeply as he looked Joel up and down. Joel wasn't a small man, but Paul had at least sixty pounds on him. He tended to have an intimidating look until you got to know him.

"Oh, yeah? For what?" Paul asked, clenching his jaw. Joel froze, wondering if there was a reason you didn't tell your parents about tonight, unsure what to say. Finally, Paul's face broke into a huge smile as he began to crack up, doubling over at the waist.

"I'm sorry, Joel, I had to," he wheezed, standing back up and clapping Joel on the shoulder. "Couldn't help myself. Come on in," he said, still laughing as he led Joel down the hall and towards the kitchen.

"Jesus, Paul, scared the shit outta me," Joel admitted, his heart racing as he rubbed his forehead.

"Beer?" Paul asked, and Joel shook his head.

"No thanks, I'm drivin'," he replied, and Paul raised his eyebrows with a nod.

"Good man, passed the first test," he said with a wink as he twisted open a beer for himself. "Hey, uh, in all seriousness, I just wanna talk with you before she comes down."

"Yeah, 'course," Joel replied, leaning up against the counter.

"I ain't sure what she's told you about the asshole she was with before, but he really hurt her. Now, I know it ain't got nothin' to do with you, what's in the past is in the past," he said. "But just keep that in mind, will you? I can't stand seein' my little girl hurt like that again."

Joel nodded solemnly, understanding completely.

"I ain't like that, I'll be respectful, I promise," Joel replied. "Besides, we both know she's goin' back to New York in a few weeks. We're just gettin' to know each other, is all."

"Yeah, she said the same thing to her sister earlier, but then she spent all damn day on the phone, pickin' out an outfit and gettin' herself ready," Paul said with a sigh. "I'm just sayin', be careful with her."

Joel felt a flutter in his chest and tried to hide his smile when he found out you had been thinking about him all day. He was glad he wasn't the only one.

"I hope you weren't waiting long," you told Joel as he backed out of your driveway.

"Not at all," he said with a smirk. "You're worth the wait. You look beautiful." He glanced down again at the light pink sweater with a small designer logo he was unfamiliar with in the corner.

You blushed and bit your lip, quietly thanking him and trying to hide your reaction behind your scarf, but he saw it. He always does.

Now that he knew you were looking forward to this date just as much as he was, he felt a little more confident.

"Did you have a good day?" he asked, giving you a sideways glance as he merged his truck into traffic.

"Yeah, did you?"

"It was alright," he said, slowing the truck down at a stop light. He turned to face you now. "Couldn't wait to see you, though."

You turned a darker shade of pink and he smiled, pleased to see that he could elicit that reaction from you, the same way you do to him.

"So, ice skating?" you said, trying to take the heat off of you. You looked at his hands on the steering wheel, noticing he made sure to take his ring off.

"Yeah," he said, pressing his foot on the gas as the light changed. "Thought you could teach me somethin'."

"Teach you? How do you know if I can even skate?" you asked teasingly.

"Just a hunch. Was I right?" he replied, his mouth turning up into a half smirk. You giggled and he felt his stomach tighten. He needed to hear that again.

"Yeah, you were right," you relented. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and slapped the steering wheel in victory, making you giggle again, and his chest filled with warmth at the sound.

"Where's Sarah tonight?" you asked him as he pulled into a parking spot at the skating rink.

"My brother's watchin' her," he replied, disappointed that you got out of the truck so quickly. He had planned on opening the door for you.

"Does she like to ice skate?" you questioned as he led you inside to the counter to rent your skates.

"Oh, of course she does. But I usually sit it out and just watch her have fun," he said, picking up your rentals and heading over to a bench.

"You should have brought her, I wouldn't have minded."

"We don't have to talk 'bout her, you know," he said quicky, and your fingers froze over your laces.

"Why wouldn't we talk about her? She's your daughter," you asked slowly, straightening back up to look at him.

"No, I know. What I mean is, I know it ain't every woman's fantasy to go out with a single dad and all the baggage that comes with that. So, if you don't wanna talk about her, I get it," he said, casting his eyes down as he focused on tying his laces. You reached out a hand and gently placed it on top of his, immediately making him freeze at your touch.

"She's part of your life, so I want to hear about her. You shouldn't think like that, Joel. It's really not a dealbreaker for most women," you assured him, gently rubbing your thumb over his knuckles, his eyes glued to your hand as he listened. "And if it is, fuck 'em."

His eyes snapped up to yours now, then a slow smile spread across his face.

"Okay," he said softly, and you smiled, pulling your hand back, leaving him wanting more.

"Besides," you said, standing up on your skates as you made your way to the rink. "You have no idea what kind of fantasies I have."

You turned to give him a wink as you effortlessly stepped out onto the ice, holding out your hands encouragingly for him to follow. It was a miracle he was able to move his legs after that comment, but he managed just because he knew he would feel your warm hands on his again.

Joel was a quick study. He was nervous at first, you could tell that he didn't want to embarrass himself, but he did surprisingly good. Especially considering how crowded the ice rink was and how fast people were skating by. After about half an hour, he was able to skate - albeit, slowly - around the rink next to you without any assistance. Part of you wondered if he pretended to need more help than he really did just so it would make you feel good.

"So, anyway, that's basically what I do for work. It's pretty boring," you said with a sigh.

"Not boring. Marketing in New York City sounds like a dream," he replied.

"Yeah, except I work on all the behind the scenes stuff. It's not really as fun as it sounds," you admitted, not missing work in the slightest since you've been back in Texas.

"Well, d'you work with some fun people, at least?"

You paused, considering his question for a moment, before shaking your head with a dry laugh.

"Not really," you said, but he still tried to help you find a reason why you would put up with it.

"You were able to take off almost a whole month, that's pretty great. Not many places'll let you do that, can't be that bad," he offered, and you scoffed.

"It's the time I saved up for the wedding I was supposed to have," you told him sadly, and he groaned.

"I'm knockin' it outta the park tonight, ain't I?" he said, rubbing his face before almost losing his balance. You giggled and he couldn't stop the huge grin that plastered itself across his face.

"It's fine, you didn't know," you said, waving him off. And for the first time, you really didn't mind talking about it. Something about him made it easier.

"What'dya say we get some hot chocolate?" Joel asked, jutting his chin towards the vendor where you first came in.

"Yeah, that sounds great," you replied. Joel turned towards the exit without looking when a teenage boy, who was speed skating around the rink trying to impress a girl, smacked right into him, sending him flying backwards on the ice.

"Joel!" you exclaimed, rushing to his side. He groaned, rubbing the back of his head.

"Hey, why don't you watch it!" you yelled angrily at the teenager, who had managed to only stumble a bit upon impact.

"Sorry, man," the kid mumbled before taking off.

"I'm gonna kick his ass," you said, about to stand up to go after him, but Joel reached up to grip your arms, holding you in place.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," he said with a chuckle. Sweetheart. Your heart skipped a beat at the term.

"Are you sure?" you asked, your brow furrowed with concern.

"Yeah, just gimme a hand," he said, and you stood to give his arm a firm yank, allowing him to stand.

"Let's get you off the ice," you told him, ushering him carefully to the exit and finding a bench.

"Does your head hurt?" you asked, sitting down next to him. Your fingers reached up to graze the back of his head.

"No," he said breathlessly, staring at you as you continued to study him for any injury. God, you were so beautiful, he couldn't force himself to look away.

"That's good. How about your vision?" you pressed, still so focused on the fall and not seeing the way he was looking at you. But when you finally locked your eyes on his, your breath caught in your throat.

All the laughter and playful yelling surrounding you faded. You couldn't look away from his heated gaze, his deep brown eyes boring into yours so intensely, you almost forgot to blink. He brought his hand up to gently cradle the side of your face, his calloused palm meeting your soft skin. Your lips parted to accommodate your sudden need for more oxygen, and his gaze fell to your mouth.

"Joel," you whispered, and the way his name sounded coming from you was so damn sweet, it almost did him in.

"Yeah?" he whispered back, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Kiss me."

He didn't need to be told twice.

He leaned forward, eyes sliding shut and slotting his lips against yours, deeply breathing in your scent so he could remember it tomorrow. He was determined to commit every second to memory, knowing that by morning he would be aching for you, aching for this. Against his better judgement, he pressed himself into your lips harder, unsure if he will ever get to feel like this again when you inevitably came to your senses. The idea of this feeling being taken away from him spurred him on, desperate and eager for every second you were willing to give him.

Your hand came up to the back of his neck, holding him against you as his lips massaged yours tenderly. You inched closer to him on the bench so you could tuck yourself into his broad chest. He was so warm and soft and strong that it was making you dizzy. Your fingertips stroked the curls at the base of his neck as you tentatively opened your mouth just enough to suck his lower lip between yours. The quiet noise he made when you did that made your insides clench with need, and against all odds, you felt yourself falling, completely losing yourself in him and the moment.

A startling voice over the loudspeaker announcing that the rink was closing in fifteen minutes finally snapped you out of it. You both pulled back but kept your foreheads pressed together as the world around you slowly melted back into focus. His hand still cupped your face and he lifted his thumb to gently trace your swollen lips.

"I should take you home," he murmured. At first, your stomach flipped, thinking he meant his home, but you realized he wasn't that type and he meant your parents' house.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and you sat back reluctantly, breaking away. His hand dropped from your face to the hand in your lap, his thick fingers wrapping around yours for a moment as he collected himself with a deep breath.

Finally, he forced himself to stand, still clutching your hand and helping you up. You glanced down at the floor and smirked.

"We should probably take our skates off," you said, and he chuckled, breaking the tension and sitting back down, his hand reluctantly letting go of yours to undo his laces.

After you turned in your rentals, his hand quickly found yours again, unwilling or unable to let you go as he led you back to his truck, this time making sure to open the car door for you. Thanking him quietly, you jumped up into the cab and watched him round the front of the car, running a hand through his hair and sucking in deep breath.

You grinned and bit your lip as he started the truck, swinging his arm around to grip your headrest and twisting his body to back out of the spot. It took everything in you not to scoot across the seat and tuck yourself into his side.

He let his arm drop loosely on the seat in between you as he drove down the street, one hand on the steering wheel. Your fingers inched forward, sliding your palm underneath his hand, lacing your fingers together. The corners of his mouth tugged into a smile and you drove in a comfortable silence, your hands intertwined the whole time, until he pulled into your driveway and cut the engine.

You sighed as you stared at the darkened house, already missing him and he wasn't even gone yet. He peered over at you, trying to think of a way to prolong the date, but aside from the obvious, which he wasn't going to do just yet, he was coming up empty.

"Lemme walk you up," he said finally, and you nodded, reaching for the handle of the door but he stopped you. You furrowed your brow, confused, until you watched him rush over to open the door, and you grinned, taking his hand so you could slide out of the seat.

You stared at the ground as he led you up the path to the porch, your heart pounding in your ears. You weren't sure what you had been expecting tonight, but it definitely wasn't this feeling. This was so much more.

"Well, thank you for tonight," you said as you reached the door, turning around to look up at him through your lashes. "I had a really good time."

"Yeah, me too," he said, his soft, brown eyes trailing over your face, locking away every little detail. Unable to resist, he stepped forward, his rough hand skimming around to the back of your neck. He tilted your face up, ducking down slightly to meet you halfway and brushed his lips gently over yours.

Your hands flew up to grip the collar of his flannel, keeping him pressed against you as you leaned against the front door. God, for someone who claimed to be rusty, he was a really good kisser. He was gentle and slow and it took your breath away both times. You knew you were getting in over your head, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. All you could think about was him and how badly you wanted more.

Nervously, you opened your mouth and flicked your tongue against his plush lips. He responded by parting his lips and allowing your tongue to dance with his own, his mouth applying more pressure than before as the heat flared between you.

Before you could stop it, a soft moan rumbled from your throat, causing him to pull back, panting slightly as his gaze flickered between your eyes. You gazed up at him, eyes dark and desperate, your fingers still gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly.

You weren't sure what he was searching for, but after a moment he seemed to find it because his mouth came crashing down on yours once again, this time with more yearning and desire. His tongue probed inside your mouth, licking past your teeth and in the back of your mind you realized he tasted faintly of mint and you wondered when on earth he popped a mint into his mouth but it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered except the two of you in that moment, each seeking something within the other that you never expected to find.

His chest ached knowing he would have to stop kissing you soon, or else he would never leave. He always considered himself a strong man, after everything he had been through, how could he not? But something about you made him realize he wasn't nearly as strong as he thought. Your lips were so soft compared to his, so sweet and perfect that it made him want to cry because in that moment, he knew he could never let you go.

2K notes · View notes

babyonboard · 5 months

Text

ਏਓ `cute little housewife

``a/n: I'm back, and I have so many good ideas for Coriolanus it is so crazy, so be ready for that. And also if yall have any ideas DM them or request them <3.

warning: p in the v, unprotective, creampie, somnophillia, breeding kink. ** (not proofread)

pairing: Coriolanus x wife!reader

word counter: 1.1k

It's been too long since you have seen your husband, he was always busy in the capitol.

You knew his schedule by heart, knowing he was mostly busy throughout the day and night. You tried to wait on the parlor, laying down on a velvety couch and resting your head on the armrest. It was already 12 when you looked at Big Ben's clock staring at you. Opening the fridge and placing the food in, stretching your body back. Before walking to the bathroom, turning the knob and the hot water flooded out of the faucet to the tub. Putting your hand in the water, it was warm. It was already too late to wait for him any further, so you thought to get ready for bed.

Putting some bath bombs inside, hearing the sizzling of the bath bomb, with the colorful colors diffusing into the water making it look vibrant. Turning off the running water, strip off the clothing on your body. Stepping inside the tub, relaxing your shoulders, and laying your head back.

Parting your legs, allowing your muscles to relax. "Finally" You whispered, closing your eyes and easing your joints. The steam of the water fogged up the mirrors, You laid down in there for an hour, before stepping out and wrapping your wet body with a warm towel. Putting your feet on the fluffy carpet. You did your usual routine changing into a light nightgown that draped your body fully, it was fairly hot today. Getting into your luxurious shared king-sized bed. Closing your eyes, You slipped into the dream world.

Coriolanus stepped onto the porcelain flooring, as it was the large doors were closed by guards. Coriolanus felt pent up from work, walking down to your guy's shared bedrooms. Taking off his shoes and throwing his jacket somewhere else, loosened his tie as he walked to the bedroom. Immediately looking at your peaceful figure on the bed. He found it cute, walking to your side and looking at your calm sleeping face.

He felt ashamed feeling the need for you, your nightgown was skimpy and it was see-through. Exposing every curve of your body and your breasts. His hand touches your face gently. You did stir from that sudden movement. The sudden movement lifted the blanket from your body, making your body more visible to his eyes, making you stir a little bit. His eyes widen at the lack of panties you had, his hands flipping your nightgown over revealing your slit. The cold air makes you almost wake up before he traces your folds making you tense up, your legs locking in his hand. "Haah~" you moan through your lips at the feeling, Before he gently opens your legs, sliding one of his fingers into you, he hears quiet moans from your lips.

Making him more excited, thrusting a few more digits into you, more moans came out of your mouth, as he heard some groaning. Feeling your cunt getting wetter, he felt you tensing up against his finger before he withdrew. Your were deep asleep, rubbing your legs together. Looking at your figure, your body was hot and a blush covered your face, heavy breathing coming from you. "Please–" you murmured out.

He hovered himself above your sleeping form, being careful to not wake you up, playing with his belt slipping off his pants then his boxers. He line himself to your slit, and before thrusting into you, he groaned out in pleasure. He slid into you before his hips collided with yours, your moans becoming louder, "Fuck" he whispered.

Ripping off the top of the nightgown, rolling your nipples with his finger, feeling your nipples getting harder as you got tighter around him. Placing the palm of his hand on the bed, his hips smacking yours, his ball hitting your lower core. Your walls massaged his cock, as he groaned pushing his cock further into you. "Haah~" moans rolling off your tongue, "Corio~" You murmured.

He grabs your thighs and presses them down onto your chest, he gets on top of you, his chest pressing yours, as he thrusts into you, feeling you tighten around him, his ears hearing your heavy breathing.

You woke up almost as soon as he was getting to his climax, "Honey?" your tired eyes looked at him, rubbing your eyes. Your eyes felt heavy, as you moaned. "Fuck, I just really need you" he growled into your ear, moving out and in, before his lips touched yours, in a hot kiss. a string of saliva between both of your lips, looking down at your core, his cock slipping out of you and forceful going back in, making you jolt. "Corio—" you moaned.

His hips smacking onto yours, his hands putting your legs onto your chest, into a better mating press. He looked at your fucked out face, your body feeling ecstasy and pleasure. You felt his pace slowing down, feeling his climax coming in soon, your eyes looking at the messy scene in between your legs. "I'm going to give a little cute baby inside of you" He groaned into your ear, groping your tits.

Realizing your nightgown was gone, your body is unveiled to him. Feeling his hot load painting your gummy walls, he shoved himself into you, fucking the cum into your hole. Your hands gripping the sheets, as you cummed too, feeling a rush of hot liquid dripping out of you. Before he slips out of you, his soft cock is pulled out of you. You missed the warm length inside of you. The erotic scene of your naked exposed body and your pussy dripping from his cum, your dewy, sweaty body, and the ripped fabric around your body.

You were still tired, and weary. You tried to lean onto the headrest but failed, your back laying onto the soft mattress, Looking down at the mess between your legs. Rubbing your eyes, yawning. "Come" You motioned him towards you, patting the side of the bed, "Lay down"

The way you looked made him hard again, the lewd and vulgar scene of your body, white liquid dripping out of your pussy, your breast decorated with little hickies and bites. Bruises and marks on your waist and your hair were a mess. Sounds of panting echoed in the chamber of the room, he obeyed laying next to you still in the nude. He pushed your body close to you, rubbing your waist gently. Feeling him pressed onto your ass. Feeling him close to made you feel safe, his hand secure around you, you felt your eyes drooping down and falling asleep again, with his hands around you.

#bruh.#goodbye.#I died.#coriolanus snow imagine

2K notes · View notes

babyonboard · 5 months

Text

between blurred lines

best friend's dad!/dad's best friend!joel miller x f!reader

(pre-outbreak)

↳ warnings: this is rated for 18+ only! minors, please do not interact. smut, unprotected pinv, fingering f! receiving, cockwarming (!?!?!?) uhh dom!joel, significant age gap, dad's best friend mixed with some best friends dad (?!!?!?!?). i think that's it, let me know if i forgot anything.

↳ a/n: I LOOK PRETTY GOOD FOR A DEAD BITCH (she's alive!). im back from my tumblr break bearing a gift! i missed you all like crazy. gonna spend finals week catching up (procrastinating) on all the reading ive missed out on for the last month. i hope you guys like this one.

AND a very special thanks to @joelsversion for beta reading this in it's very early rough, rough stages. my ride or die fr 🤞

↳ summary: joel miller has always been...there. never different, always sporting a brooding scowl etched into his handsome face. he's your best friend sarah miller's dad, arguably worse, your dad's long time buddy. things are never different. not until this summer. not until now.

↳ follow @livingemkaydenotifs if you would like to be notified about more fics like this. love ya'll big time

↳ if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist

“You shouldn’t be in here.” “No,” you agree breathlessly. “I shouldn’t.” He slots himself against you, his other hand grips your hip and pushes you back into him. You gasp softly. “Let it go.” You realize he’s talking about your dress. You squeeze your eyes shut. His lips skate against your neck in a way that makes you dip your head to the side in a silent surrender. “Let it go,” he repeats.

You grew up with Sarah Miller.

Soccer teams, high school football pep rallies, prom, homecoming, college acceptance season. Even though it turned into long distance facetime calls, and text chains nine messages long once college hit, Sarah Miller will forever and always be your best friend.

It’s good to be back in Texas. Both you and Sarah moved back into your childhood homes the second after graduation hit. It’s good to be back, good to see her, your parents, and…Joel.

You hadn’t seen him in a while. The last time you remember spending more than five minutes in his passing presence was when you and Sarah decided on that Chinese place for a post-high school graduation ceremony meal. He’s close with your dad. In an old school kind of way. In a lets raise our kids together kind of way and a the wives can go shopping together kind of way — before Sarah’s mom split, that is.

Joel Miller, always brooding, always gruff and quiet. He’s never different. Though, you can’t help but think things might be different now—

No. You almost have to remind yourself out loud. He’s not different. He never is. He’s Joel Miller and you’re — you’re just a kid. You’re as old as his kid.

Sarah, despite your hardened efforts, managed to drag you out of bed and into the shortest dress you own for a night at some club halfway across town.

“Sarah, are the shot glasses still in the top cabinet?”

You reach for the knob, barely getting onto the balls of your feet before slipping on the cold laminate tiles in the kitchen. Your open palm balls into a fist and makes the cabinets shutter. Sarah responds with something from her room equally as unintelligible as your question was to her. You can feel your dress starting to ride up a little in your efforts, but you rifle through the Miller’s cabinets like it’s your own home. In some ways it is.

“Hey, kid.”

You spin around, and quickly shuffle the hem of your dress back down. He nods his head in a lazy greeting.

“Hey.” You’re breathless for some reason. It’s not because of the shot glasses.

“Been a while,” Joel says, shuffling into the kitchen and setting a mug in the sink. He looks the same. Tousled hair and a beard just beginning to tinge gray. He’s always — always the same.

You clear your throat. “Yeah. Been a while.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Good to have you back,” he mumbles, settling back against the kitchen counter. You can see his arms flex when his palms settle onto the countertop. He’s strong, so much bigger than you. You never really noticed the big broadness of him until now. You’re not used to guys like him. All the boys you ever really experienced were clean shaven, soft in a way that told you they’ve never hauled ass through a day’s work. A lifetime of work.

“Good to be back.” He clocks your outfit. You try to change the subject. “How are things?”

“Same ol’ same ol’.” He grabs a beer from the fridge. “Your dad’s gettin’ into golf. Tryna make me go out with him.”

You laugh. “Not your scene?”

“No, not quite.” He shakes his head, sipping on his beer with a smirk that almost makes your knees weak. “What’d you study again?”

You scoff playfully. “Like you remembered in the first place.”

“Play along.” He smirks.

A knot sticks to your stomach, just below your navel. His voice is sickly sweet. Syrupy and Texan. His voice is like medicine.

“Education. Just applied for jobs in the fall.”

“You teachin’?”

“That’s the plan,” you let out with a breathless kind of laugh.

“Smart girl.”

His head cocks, and tilts it to the side. Your breath catches in your throat, palms sweaty against the black fabric of your dress. “Hardly.”

He pauses, eyes you. It’s fleeting—you might think you dream it. You pick at the skin of your own thumb.

“Your dad know you’re goin’ out?”

You scoff. “I’m an adult. Don’t need my dad’s permission.”

“Don’t be a smart ass.”

You eye him, a smirk plays on his lips.

“I’m not—just…grown up, I guess.”

Something unreadable spreads across his face. “I guess.”

You hitch a tough breath.

“What’d you need?” He swigs at his beer.

“Oh.” You look back towards the cabinets, then. “Shot glasses.”

“Moved ‘em,” he nods and stalks forward, backing you against the counter. He’s got a dark swirl of something warming behind his gaze. You don’t try to scoot away. Even when he reaches up next to your head and you hear the clink of two shot glasses brush up against each other in his fingers.

“Don’t have too much fun,” he whispers while he pushes the glasses into your hands and leaves the kitchen.

You desperately, for your life, cannot keep up with Sarah Miller.

She drinks entirely too quickly, efficiently, and practiced for your poor alcohol tolerance to keep up with. She’s a machine, and after three shots in, you’re already wasted. It wasn’t even midnight when your vision started to pull in a sideways direction and everything seemed a little slow. You knew things were taking a turn for the worst when the blonde quaffed frat guy with a Texas A&M polo shirt started sounding a little too funny. He was glued to your hip the entire night, though you aren’t sure you even remember his name correctly. You have your bets set on Colter, but then again, after your second shot, everything started to sound a little fuzzy to your rosied ears.

And when Colter called you and Sarah an Uber at three a.m., you didn’t have the guts to ask him his name, only shooting him a half hearted thanks over your shoulder—your liquid courage having sobered up by the time the Uber rounded the corner to the Miller’s house.

Even though Sarah Miller can throw back shots like it’s her day job, she passed out onto her bed as quickly as you both left her childhood bedroom while running late for your driver to the club.

Before she promptly fell asleep, she mumbled something almost unintelligible into the pink sheets of her twin sized bed. But you could make it out enough to spring back from her words while your heart skipped a beat.

“Get a shirt from my dads room.”

So you knock, quietly, almost too quietly, and when you rap your knuckles against the wood of Joel Miller’s bedroom door a little harder, it pushes open slightly. The crack of it floods black, you can’t see inside, only the dim night sky illuminating the window sill and curtains in its wake.

When you push it open a little further, the door creaks so loud you push your eyebrows together with worry and freeze in your timely steps. But it’s empty. The bed isn’t entirely made, the covers a little rumpled and haphazard. You spot his dresser and make a quick beeline for it, itching to get out of your uncomfortable dress.

The drawer slides open with a shift of wood on wood and you snatch up the first black t-shirt you find sitting neatly on top of the pile. Subconsciously, you bring it to your nose—sunlight, and evergreens, and a little hint of musk that peaks through the laundry detergent. The worn, soft cotton of it makes you sigh deep into the dark bedroom. You close your eyes, ball your fist up around the collar and lean into the dresser with your palm fitting against the edge of wood. Just as you turn around and move to close the drawer in your exit, a voice pulls your eyes up from the darkness.

“What’re you doin’?”

You jump, almost instinctively bringing his shirt to your chest. A sinking, uneasy feeling settles right under your throat. It’s almost like you’ve been caught red handed—you most definitely were.

You don’t say anything. The light pouring in from the hallway surely illuminates you enough. Joel’s eyes trail down to your bare legs, then to his shirt you have clutched in your hands.

“That my shirt?” He points to your chest with a vague gesture of his hands. You look down at the material balled up in between your shaky fingers, then back to his eyes.

“I don’t—” You shake your head even though you know your efforts are fruitless. The least you can do is tell the truth.

“Sarah—she’s—she’s sleeping. Told me to get clothes in here.” You make a slight nod of your head towards his open dresser. He doesn’t say anything, but he takes a step towards you.

“Sorry, I can just—” You point towards the door behind him, and move to leave.

“‘S fine,” he mumbles in that deepened, soaked drawl. All honey, and velvet, wrapping you up into something warm and inviting. It tugs at something just beneath your belly.

When he gets closer, your breath punches out in a staggered rise and fall of your chest. Your fingers don’t move from clutching his shirt. When he nears, he slips a hand past you, brushing your waist, and shuts the drawer closed with a soft thunk.

Your breath catches in your throat, his eyes trail your figure.

“Fun night?”

You clear your throat, nod, slowly, still studying his darkened gaze. “Yeah.”

You clock how close he is when you put your weight on one hip and his jeans brush up against your bare thigh. His breath swirls on your eyelashes. He tugs on his shirt in your hands and lets out a hearty sigh. Shifting from one foot to the other, then again. It seems like you both stay like that for years.

Brown. His eyes are brown—maybe a little darker than they normally are. His eyes try not to roam, but that hint of something is gone before you can blink.

He backs away then, towards the door. Most likely seeing you out. He settles near the entrance and looks back at you. Your bare feet shuffle through the carpet. He nudges the door open with a rough palm on the doorknob, leaning against the frame as you approach.

You’re about to leave, but he catches your elbow, and you spin back to him in a desperate kind of way.

“You look pretty,” he whispers to your surprise. “Forgot t’mention it earlier.”

Pretty.

He thinks you’re pretty. You didn’t even think pretty was in his vocabulary.

You didn’t think he would notice.

You don’t say anything. Your eyebrows furrow with want. You study him, eye his brown stare and the way his chest rises and falls under the navy blue t-shirt he’s wearing. And you slowly—slowly push the door shut. You both watch it close. It clicks, the sound of it deafening to your ears.

He would never, ever make the first move. You’re smart enough to know that for certain, but—pretty. He thinks you’re pretty, and after all this time, it’s still always Joel.

So you turn your back to him, swipe your hair over one shoulder and turn your head to the side. You can hear him silently swear under his breath.

“You mind?” you say, gesturing to the zipper of your dress. His soft steps pads on the floor. You can almost feel his chest against your shoulder blades.

His fingers toy with the zipper, hot and rough but—hesitant. He pulls it down slowly anyways, exposing your back to the crisp air conditioned air, and the heat of his gaze. The straps fall as the zipper does, he curses again, succumbing to your decided fate.

You hold the front of your dress to your body on instinct, even though the only thing you want to do right now involves him ripping it off you.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t do anything else—doesn’t back away or come closer or leave. So you reach your hand backward to find him and gasp softly when his fingers tangle with yours. You pull his hand to your body. He locks onto your waist like a leech.

“What’re you doin’?” He rasps against the shell of your ear, almost like he’s pleading with you. He sounds like he’s in pain. Maybe he’s torn between pleasure and good judgment. You want him to forget about the latter entirely.

Your stomach drops, you glance to the side again.

“I thought—”

“You thought, what?”

Your face goes hot, stare at your feet instead. His hand doesn’t leave you.

“I don’t…”

“You thought this was a good idea?”

You don’t say anything. For some reason you didn’t think it was a bad idea. Not when his hand reaches around to grab your hip.

“What would your daddy think?”

“I don’t really care what he thinks.” An admission more than anything.

He sucks in a breath. A quiet contemplation. The look on his face doesn't read pissed, but it's a far cry from happy. You don't know what is behind his gaze.

“Nothin’ but trouble.” He breathes out in a heavy sigh. “Ain’t ya?”

His voice is so much deeper now. His accent shows through, silken and so southern it makes you grip your dress a little harder on instinct. You’ve lost count of how many times your breath has gotten caught up in the tightness of your throat.

“‘S one word for it.”

He almost growls, his hand skits down to the hem of your dress and pushes his fingers under it, trailing upward, but stopping before he meets lace.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“No,” you agree breathlessly. “I shouldn’t.”

He slots himself against you, his other hand grips your hip and pushes you back into him. You gasp softly.

“Let it go.” You realize he’s talking about your dress. You squeeze your eyes shut. His lips skate against your neck in a way that makes you dip your head to the side in a silent surrender.

“Let it go,” he repeats.

You drop the hand on your chest and his t-shirt with it. Your dress falls to the floor in a black blanket of smoke. You gasp when his hands are on you, inching slowly from the hem of your underwear to grasp your breast in a rough, teasing palm.

A small sound escapes past your lips. His other hand, quick to respond, slots over your mouth, silencing you and your whiny moans.

It’s — rough. The way he pushes his palm into your face to quiet your whimpering, forcing your head back to rest against his shoulder. The way he pushes your underwear down your thighs to rest with his forgotten t-shirt, and your all too tight, too short dress. It’s rough, but so, so gentle.

It feels like heaven.

You pitch your back, arching into him in a desperate way. Writhing against him when he finally pushes a calloused finger in between your dripping folds.

“Jesus.” He shakes his head. You can feel the scratch of his beard against your temple. You wonder what that scruff might feel like between your thighs. “Been wantin’ it all night, huh?”

It’s a question, but not one he needs an answer to. The mess between your thighs is evidence enough.

Joel. You try to plead, but he’s relentless in his quieting attempts. The pad of his finger brushes against your clit and you’re keening against him. You can feel him smile.

“Quiet,” he whispers into your ear, then lifts his hand from your mouth, hovering, waiting until the inevitable moan to escape past your lips. But you try your hardest, bite at the skin on the inside of your lip, and he rewards you. He’s a gentleman like that. He sinks his middle finger into your cunt, rubbing tight circles on your swollen clit with his thumb. Everything about him is just so, just right.

Maybe, usually, with other guys, you’d be disappointed if they’re stingy with the foreplay. But you walked throughout the bar all night with slick dripping through soaked lace just at his words in the kitchen. Smart girl. So you push back into him and beg him—

“Joel.” You’re breathless. You plead at him with your body, with everything you have. “Please,” you whisper simply.

Something like desperation and want and a little twinge of anxiety settles in your stomach when he releases you. He walks you back to the edge of the bed. It smells like him when you lay down and the softness of the blankets kiss the edges of your face. You can hear the clink of his belt buckle and you suck in a tiny breath.

“How do you want it, baby?”

You push him back, and his eyes go wide. It’s the first reaction you’ve gotten out of him the whole night. A peak behind his brooding mask. And when you settle each leg on either side of his hips, he groans. It makes you a little more brave.

“Like this,” you whisper, placing your hands on his chest. He grabs at your wrists, and pushes them under his wide palm to his stomach so you lean forward down to him. He pushes his boxers down and you try not to look, but you make a small sound at the sight.

“Look good—” he grunts. You take his tip and notch it at your entrance. “Always look so pretty.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. Everything is different. Everything is new.

Pretty.

“Fuck,” you whisper, glancing down at just the sight of him. The size of him.

“You’re okay, angel.”

Your gaze snaps to his face. He nods. You believe him.

“I—ah—” you whimper. “I can take it.”

“I know you can,” he grunts when you sink down an inch and take the tip of him. Your hips cant at the feeling, taking more of him through groans and pressing whines. He lets you set the pace. Let's you take your time. Even when he’s panting through his gritted teeth and tight lips.

You sink down on him until there’s nothing left to take. It’s almost painful. But he’s right there, playing with the pearl of your clit, massaging your hips. He knows how much you can take and when you can take it. He seems to know alot about you while knowing very little.

“Shit,” you groan. “Oh my — god.”

You can hear him muttering something along the lines of perfect.

It feels that way—perfect. He fits inside you with a tight stretch but nothing compares to the feeling of his throbbing length resting inside you. You would die here with your wanton moans and you would wake to find nothing less.

“Joel,” you whine, clenching around him, the stretch starts to sweeten.

“That’s—fuck—yeah, good girl,” he whispers. He sounds like something sweet and dark and rough. You fist at his t-shirt. Just like the one left forgotten by the door. You don’t remember what you came in here for anymore. Not when you’re dangerously close from his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit.

“Fuck. Yeah?” He can feel it. From the inside. “Y’gonna come, baby?”

It’s embarrassing. That you could come like this, with him waiting patiently inside you. You don’t have it in you to lie, you don’t have it in you to bounce up and down or move at all. He turned your legs to jello.

“I-I don’t—”

“C’mon,” he grunts and grips your hips to keep him flush to your body. “Know ya want it.”

It only takes one swift rock of your hips. His hands, broad and sprawled out across the plushness of your sides. Your body stalls out on top of him. He sits up to wrap his arms around you and brings you close on instinct. If your brain wasn’t so hazy and you weren’t so lightheaded your heart might swell at the thought. You bite out something sounding somewhat like his name—it’s a garbled whisper and cut of words but you think he gets the gist.

“I—Ngh—fuck,” he whispers into the crown of your hair. You can feel him throbbing inside you. You chuckle something halfway coherent and let him flip you over, settled on your stomach with your face in the sheets. His fingers skip over your backside.

“Joel,” you breathe. “I—”

“Relax,” he says behind you, spreading your folds and staring at the way your cunt clenches around nothing. “Just relax, angel.”

So you do, you sink boneless into the mattress and let him press you down into the sheets. He feels so broad. He feels so good. You tell him quite as much, in not so many words. You feel the weight of him settle behind you, his hand coming up to brace himself by your head.

“God, you feel so fuckin’ good.” He sinks in, inch by inch. It’s not so much of a stretch anymore. Carving a place for himself inside you. It feels like he belongs there. You think to yourself that he probably does. You’re squirming beneath him, wringing your fists in dark blue sheets.

You clamp your eyes shut when he bottoms out. Even more so when he finds a pace he likes and sets it. You don’t have to beg him anymore. Your legs shake beneath his hips, even more so when he hikes your leg up on the bed so he can push deeper.

Something deep rolls through you again. It shocks you. Most of the guys you’ve been with haven’t made you come once, let alone twice.

“I can’t—” you whine. “I—fuck.”

He picks up the pace.

“Y’can,” he grunts. “Know y’can, c’mon, baby.”

You nuzzle your face in cotton. His hips chase his release and you know you’re close when he nudges against your g-spot.

“Don’t stop,” you whine. “Please don’t fucking stop, Joel, please, it—ah."

When you come, he grunts through ragged breaths. White hot pools in your stomach and you whine so loudly you’re worried about the neighbors. His hand comes to brace against the back of your neck. You’re so fucking soaked he slides through you easily.

“Jesus, fuck,” he growls. He bears down on you and your hips and sinks to his elbows when he can’t keep himself up anymore. You feel the cotton of his t-shirt brush against your back. It sends a shiver up your spine. He comes, pulling out and spilling over your back. You try to hide your disappointment.

He lays beside you for a minute, you barely reach your hand up from the bedsheets to brush against his bicep. He studies your face and pants through a slack jaw. He’s scruffy and broad and — perfect.

Your gaze flick to his mouth, then his eyes. You silently realize he never kissed you.

“Gonna get me killed,” he whispers. It’s almost weirdly affectionate in a way only Joel Miller could say. Still stuck in a limbo between pleasure and reality. You smile, softly.

He climbs off you, and slinks to the bathroom. You wait with baited breath until you hear the water run. He emerges with a soft looking towel, damp with water, clinging to his fingers. You watch him and shiver when the towel touches your back.

“Okay?” he whispers when you sit up and turn to look at him.

“Yeah, okay.”

It feels like something is supposed to happen now. You’re not used to this. Everything slowly comes back as the pleasure ebbs and you blink back to reality. You open your mouth, then close it. He does the same.

You can hear Sarah’s door open and you both freeze. His brown eyes search yours through a furrowed brow. Your heart goes back into normal rhythm when you hear the bathroom door shut. Then nothing.

He snags a new shirt from his dresser and tugs it over your body.

The Texans.

“Cute,” you gesture to the shirt. It’s soft underneath your fingers, worn. A gentle kind of faded navy blue. Joel picks up your dress off the floor and folds it into your chest while scoffing.

“Shut up,” He shakes his head, but he can’t hide the smirk on his face. “Get outta here.”

It’s all oddly playful. Like you both can’t believe it and are giddy at that fact.

“Same time next week?”

Something deeper flicks across his gaze at the doorway. “Is that a promise?”

“You can’t answer a question with another question.”

You turn when you leave the doorway and settle into the hallway. He’s got his hand on the doorframe, leaning into it—towering over you and already burning something hot through you. Again.

“I just did,” he grumbles with a smug look, and then shuts the door.

#I died I’m dead #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

babyonboard · 5 months

Text

good to me, part two | joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | kofi | follow @swiftispunkupdates for fic notifs

pairing: gynecologist!joel miller x female!reader rating: 18+ explicit word count: 3.7k

summary: when the results of your pap turn up inconclusive, you once again find yourself in dr. miller's office. warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] doctor/patient shenanigans, smut for real, oral (f receiving), medical kink, reader has anxiety, literally just getting a pap smear (again) and all that entails, dirty talk, pet names, sexual tension, competency kink, praise kink, panty kink, squirting, glove kink, one (1) pov swap, reader is described as wearing a dress. no use of y/n. disclaimer: obviously i am not a gynecologist ya'll so i make no guarantees that the language used here will be one hundred per cent accurate. this is wish fulfillment, not medical school. anyway this is just supposed to be a bit of silly, horny fun so pls just take it for what it is or scroll on by if it's not your thing thank you love you bye

a/n: thank you to everyone who showed part one so much love. you're all too good to me.

special thanks to @knopes-waffles for mining the depths of pinterest to find some pictures for this instalment. i love you!

(part three coming soon?)

You cannot believe you're here again.

Cowering under doctor's office lighting barely a week after your mortifying appointment with Dr. Miller. An appointment you can't seem to forget - no matter how hard you try.

His hands, his lips, his delicate touch, the feel of his hard cock pressing into your stomach...you can't shake him. Even if his hasty departure had left you humiliated and worse, unsatisfied.

When you'd touched yourself that night, you'd thought of paper sheets beneath you, gloved fingers opening you up, a low drawl telling you, good job, darlin', doin' so good...

And you know, you know that when that damned receptionist had called to tell you, "Dear, we're so sorry, your results were inconclusive. There's no need to panic, but we'll need to have you back," you should have just said no, found another doctor so you never had to show your face in that office again. Only then she'd said, "Dr. Miller is still in, are you okay to see him again?"

And despite your better judgment, you'd found yourself agreeing, a little too enthusiastic at the prospect of seeing him again. Maybe your...outburst hadn't scared him as much as you'd thought. Surely if he hadn't put you on a medical no-fly list, what you'd done couldn't have been...that bad. Right?

No, it was bad. It was very bad. You know that. But it occurs to you, the longer you sit nervously in the same examination room where you'd kissed him last week, that maybe that's exactly what you'd liked about it.

You're more daring this time, or perhaps just more practical, donning a simple sundress and a flouncy pair of lace underwear - mostly for confidence. You know he won't see them.

Your foot taps anxiously against the tiled floor until a light knock finally comes at the door, and Dr. Miller is stepping through, clipboard in hand.

You audibly gasp at the sight of him. He wears no white coat today, just an ivory button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, thick, tanned forearms glowing even in fluorescent overhead lighting. His salt-and-pepper curls are loosely combed back out of his face, and whereas last week he'd entered the room with a sweet half-smile, today his features are hard, eyes cast downward at the files in his hand until the door is firmly shut behind him.

You watch with nervous exhilaration as he locks it.

Neither of you says a word as he places the clipboard on the desk beside you, turning his back to you to prepare his tools before going perfectly still, broad shoulders rising and falling as he sucks in a long breath.

Maybe the scolding is finally coming. You know you deserve it.

But then at last he turns to face you, striding towards you with slow, deliberate steps until he's close enough to touch, towering over you. You watch with bated breath as he extends a hand and gently cups your face.

You straighten at his touch, electricity coursing through you.

"On the bed, please," he whispers.

You want nothing more than to obey his command but -

"I'm still wearing my underwear," you protest, already breathless.

Dr. Miller just shakes his head, dropping his hand to step away from you and gesture towards the examination table.

He waits until you stand before nodding and turning away again, this time to take his place on the wheeled stool and rummage through a drawer by the foot of the bed. You warily perch yourself on the edge of the table, watching as Dr. Miller slowly slips a pair of blue latex gloves on. You swallow tightly at the familiar elastic snap, swinging your legs up on the bed in front of you and folding your hands in your lap.

"I'm sorry to make you do this all again," he says, his back still to you. "It was my fault your specimen was damaged. Got distracted and - "

"That's okay," you assure him honestly.

Dr. Miller chuckles, putting you at ease and taking you right back to last week, arousal sparking in your core in an instant.

"It's not," he contends, swivelling to face you with a soft smile. "But thank you for comin' back."

He places a hand on your ankle and you jolt at the touch, latex dragging across your flesh as he slowly glides his palm up your leg to your knee.

"Lie down," he breathes.

Your breath stutters and you do as he says, unfolding your spine down onto the paper sheet beneath you. Dr. Miller taps your shin gently.

"Little closer, darlin', you know the drill."

Fuck. You shimmy further down the bed, your knees curling upwards until you feel your toes hit the edge of the mattress.

"There ya go," Dr. Miller hums.

"I'm also sorry..." he continues, both hands now languidly sliding up the outsides of your legs till his fingers find the lace edge of your panties. "For how I left things last time - lift up for me, sweetheart."

Your heartbeat hammers in your ears, unflinchingly lifting your hips up off the table to let Dr. Miller pull your underwear down your thighs, up and over your knees to your ankles, past your feet where he finally lets them fall into a heap on the floor.

"Just caught me off guard, is all," he says, coaxing your knees apart with no resistance from you this time. Your sundress pools at your waistline, leaving your already wet pussy on full display for him once more.

"Fuck," he sighs, a sound almost pained.

You crane your neck to watch him staring openly at you, feeling yourself warm at his ravenous gaze.

"So you...you weren't mad at me?"

He tears his eyes from your pussy to shoot you a small half-smile. "Not at all. Couldn't stop thinkin' about you, actually."

"Me neither," you admit, returning his smile.

"Lie your head back," he tells you then.

It's nearly impossible to look away from him, but you work to obey his orders, letting your head fall into the mattress beneath you, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"Gonna touch you now," he whispers, the same gentle warning he'd offered you last week.

"Please," you softly croak.

You hear his low chuckle and then you feel his hand trail up your inner thigh, taking his time as he inches towards your cunt.

"You know I have to ask..." he says, just as his fingers make contact with your folds, making you gasp, too loud. Whereas last time, he'd swiftly spread your lips apart and carried on with his work, this time he is slow, gently raking his digits from your hole to your clit, up and down, arousal squelching lewdly under his touch. "Have you been sexually active since your last visit?"

He's still absently running his fingers over your sex, so your responding, "No," escapes you in the form of a choked squeak.

"Didn't think so," Dr. Miller chuckles and now two fingers do spread you open, tracing wet patterns over your sensitive lips, setting your skin on fire as he touches everywhere but your clit. "Still just as wet for me."

"Mhm," you agree, not even bothering to deny it.

"Should make this easy, then," he murmurs, retracting his fingers to retrieve the speculum beside him. "Deep breath, now. Need ya nice and relaxed, darlin'."

Your chest rises and falls in a shaky breath as Dr. Miller nears your entrance with the shiny, metallic tool. Your eyes squeeze shut out of habit.

"Still with me?" he checks in.

"Yes."

He touches the end of the speculum to your hole, the cold making you flinch just as it had last time.

"I know, sweetheart, I know," Dr. Miller coos. "Just a little pressure now, okay?"

"Okay," you say through gritted teeth.

"I got you, I got you," he softly soothes, pushing the speculum into you in a practiced, careful motion. It aches, the discomfort unavoidable, and your muscles tighten instinctively at the intrusion.

"There..." he's humming as he adjusts the arms, opening you up for him and locking the nasty thing in place. "Y'alright?"

"Yes - yes, Dr. Miller."

He groans at that, a sound that goes straight to your cunt, your walls fluttering around the sharp, uninviting edges of the speculum.

"Goddamn," he whispers to himself as he turns to gather the spatula. You peek up at him, watch as he deftly preps the tiny tool and swivels back around to hunch between your open legs.

"This perfect fuckin' pussy..." he marvels, leaning in close to rest the fingers of his free hand at the hinge of your hip, nearing your opening with the spatula. You shiver with anticipation, your head once again falling back behind you.

"You must...see a lot of them," you muse breathily.

"I do," Dr. Miller confesses with a grin, his voice low. "Couldn't get yours outta my head, though."

At that, wetness pools around metal and your core aches with emptiness. Dr. Miller seems to notice.

"So needy," he hums. "Just beggin' for some attention, huh? Someone to make her feel good?"

"Dr. Miller - please - "

"Shh," he cuts you off and it's just as well, you suppose; you're not even sure what you're asking for anymore. "Gonna feel a little pinch, okay?"

"Okay - okay."

He moves quickly now, but no less gently, slipping the spatula inside you and scraping at your inner walls with a feather light touch, pulling back just as fast to stash away the sample.

"Alright, all done," he announces. "Stay still, now, baby."

Baby has your fucking head spinning but you do as he says, frozen where you lay as he makes quick work of loosening the arms of the speculum and carefully easing it out of your dripping hole, setting it aside along with your sample.

He's back on you in a flash, gloved hands finding your thighs and holding them open so you couldn't even move if you wanted to.

"Stay still," he repeats. "Wanna do somethin' for you."

"Please."

Tell me to stop, he thinks. Tell me to stop and I will.

Maybe part of him wishes you would put a stop to this before he crosses yet another line. Because he really shouldn't be doing this here, not when you're still so powerless on the bed before him, not a lover but a patient. Hell, he's got another appointment lined up in just ten short minutes - though, admittedly, he's certain it won't take him that long to give you what he's hoping to give you.

Of course, if he were a stronger man, he'd stop himself. But he's not, so he doesn't.

Instead, he leans into the apex of your thighs, your soaking cunt calling out to him like a siren, pulsing expectantly right before his eyes. God, you need this.

He knows better than to jump right in with the obvious. How much more there is to work with. He's spent his whole goddamn life studying this part of the human body, the keys to making it feel good no exception.

And you need to feel good.

So he starts with a tease, pressing his lips into your inner thigh, hearing your quiet gasp above him, the sweet sound egging him on as he drags his mouth along your skin towards your core, licking his lips before planting a tender kiss against your folds.

"Oh," you whimper quietly, a breathy little noise, laced with desire.

Perfect.

He moves his hands closer, thumbs spreading you open so can see your tight, leaking hole and your aching, puffy clit. He breathes you in for a moment, lips hovering over your heat before his tongue darts out to lightly trace your entrance. His eyes slip closed at the taste of you, salty-sweet and warm against his tongue as he begins to lap at you in wide, sweeping strokes. You're squirming now, slick gathering on his tongue - just as he'd expected.

It's all about the build-up. He knows this.

"Taste so good, baby," he tells you earnestly, placing another wet kiss over your lips before pulling away.

"Dr. Miller - please," you whine, voice rising in volume as your desperation grows. "Don't stop."

"Shh, m'not," he assures you. "Stay quiet for me, though, okay?"

He reaches up to grip your hand against the paper sheet, squeezing down in a silent reminder.

"Mhm," you nod frantically, clamping your free hand down over your mouth. He smiles.

"S'Joel, by the way," he whispers. "My name."

Your breath hitches behind your hand and at last, he presses forward, closing his lips around your needy clit. He begins with patient little flicks of his tongue, up and down over the pearly bud. Your breathing quickens then, huffed hot through your nose and Joel smirks against you, eager to give you more.

He flattens his tongue as he begins to work over your clit in broad, languid circles and god, you like that, if the clenching of your stomach muscles and the binding grasp you have on his hand are anything to go by. So he applies more pressure, all while maintaining that same even pace as he swirls his tongue around your most sensitive spot.

It's something far too many men get wrong, he's learned. Harder doesn't mean faster. Gentle doesn't mean soft. It's all about intent, patience, attention to detail.

It doesn't hurt that he loves it.

It's why he's in no rush as he moves his lips lower to tongue at your hole again, plastering his mouth over your folds to reverently make out with your pussy. He knows the warmth can be stifling, a hot mouth closed over a hot cunt, knows it must feel all the more dizzying to feel his nose prodding at your clit as he daringly presses the tip of his tongue inside you.

Sure enough, your hips rise up off the bed to meet his mouth, a whimper getting caught behind your hand when it drives his tongue deeper into you. Joel hums his approval, sucking at the slick that pools at your core in response.

You're so fucking sweet.

He reaches up to press your hips down, never unlatching his mouth from you as he resumes his place over your clit. Only then does he increase the pace of his ministrations, now that he can tell you're starting to fall apart.

He just wants to try one more thing.

He pulls away from your cunt with a wet pop and you whine in protest, your eyes snapping open, wide and blown-out with lust. He pays it no mind; you'll be thanking him a second.

He untangles his hand from yours to swipe his gloved fingers over your soaking folds, watching you twitch as he grazes your clit, so sensitive. Then he focuses, touching the tip of his middle finger to your hole before slowly sinking it inside.

In his periphery, he sees your head fall back into the mattress.

"Yeah, that's it," he encourages you quietly, pumping his digit in and out until slick coats the latex. "You want more, baby?"

He sees you nod, hears you hum something that sounds like yes and it's all the encouragement he needs to add a second finger alongside the first. You cover your mouth with both hands now, fighting to contain a moan at the stretch. Joel smiles. He'd love to hear what you sound like when you're not trying to be quiet, to discover all the sweet noises he could draw from you.

Luckily, Dr. Joel Miller doesn't need words to know when he's on the right track.

Because now his fingers are searching, curling and beckoning inside you while his eyes scan your face, watching for the moment you -

"Hmmmm!"

There it is, he thinks, while the tips of his gloved fingers nudge at that spongy spot inside you and a series of high pitched sobs turn to muffled sighs against your palms. Your thighs quiver beside his head while your walls clench around him, confirming what he already knows to be true.

"Feels good, don't it?" he coos lowly. "Right there?"

You drop one hand from your face to clutch at his curls, tugging softly, pulling him in closer.

"Yeah?" he whispers, pressing forward to ghost his lips over your clit again, fingers still expertly working your g-spot. "I got you."

And he does. His mouth engulfs your clit and now he swirls his tongue over it in deliberate little circles, harder and faster than before, chasing your release now. His free hand sprawls out on your tummy, feeling it flex and loosen with each pulse of your walls around his fingers.

Should he make you squirt? He knows he could, if he just pressed down a little right above your mound, if he kept prodding at your g-spot and sucking at your clit the way he is right now. Already he can feel wetness dribbling over his knuckles, the fist you have knotted in his hair yanking hard enough to make his eyes water - all the telltale signs of a powerful impending climax.

Maybe not here, he decides, softening the press of his palm on your lower belly and instead sliding it up under your dress to roll one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

And - fuck, that seems to have its desired effect. You cant your hips into his mouth as the squeaks catching in your throat begin to rise in pitch.

He hums against you, long and low, his eyes fluttering closed. Savouring you, because he knows it won't be much longer now.

A few more precise circles of his tongue and your body is seizing up beneath him, walls pulsating around his fingers. He doesn't let up his efforts as you come, drawing it out, taking care to make sure it lasts as long as possible. You tremble, shake with the force of it, thoroughly silent as release rolls over you, but Joel still knows. You do gush for him, just a little, warm liquid trickling down into his palm as he coaxes out the final waves of your orgasm.

He doesn't stop till he feels your muscles slacken and you're clawing at his scalp and while he'd love to keep going, to make you come again and again and again...he notes the hour on the clock on the wall and knows this is neither the time nor the place.

So he heeds your wishes, retracting his mouth first and then, slowly, his fingers. He removes his drenched gloves and tosses them in the trash, watching you carefully as you finally free your mouth from behind your hand to sit up.

"Fuck," you pant weakly, scooting hurriedly down the bed to meet him at the edge of it. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into an endearingly appreciative kiss.

You moan when he licks into your mouth to let you taste your come and all at once, his own desire catches up with him, feeling his cock strain behind the zipper of his trousers. He stands, kicks the wheeled stool out of the way and takes your face in his hands, hinging at the waist to kiss you deeper while you bow your spine to do the same.

Fuck, he wants you. A thousand different ways and a thousand different times. Your fingers begin to fumble with the buckle of his belt, arousal punching him hard in the gut but he knows -

It's neither the time nor the place.

"Shit, wait, baby," he sighs, sounding unconvincing, even to himself. Still, he fights to regain control. He pries your hands off him and places them at your sides, chuckling at the sight of you pouting up at him. He cringes internally when he remembers how shocked and dejected you'd looked when he'd left you last week - he won't do that again.

"Please," you beg softly and he almost caves - almost.

"Not here, sweetheart," he soothes, his hands once again cupping the sides of your face, thumbs stroking lightly over your cheekbones.

"Then where?" you press him and he chuckles.

He traces the slope of your lips with his fingers, memorizing the shape of you.

"Did I make you feel good?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod.

"Do you want me to make you feel good again?"

"Please," you repeat, your voice oozing need.

He bends to press his lips to yours again - not quite a kiss, but something more like a promise. He swallows, reining himself in as he reaches behind him to grab a card off the desk. His card.

"Call me," he tells you as he turns back to face you, holding it out to you with one hand while he uses the other to gently stroke your hair. You stare up at him doe-eyed as he speaks, his tone all measured and even. "Let me take you out on a proper date, yeah? Bring you back to my place and show you all the ways I can make you feel good. What do you think about that, sweetheart?"

It'll be better that way, he thinks - for him and for you.

"Okay," you whisper, keeping your eyes on his face as you take the card from his outstretched hand.

Joel hums, leans in to kiss you one more time and then finally steps back. He straightens out his collar and runs a hand through his hair, scrubs a hand over his face and feels his scruff is still sticky-wet with your release. He smiles to himself when he thinks of how the scent of you will be trapped in his moustache while he tends to all his other patients today.

He collects his things and just about makes it to the door before he notices your underwear still bunched up on the tiled floor. He crouches to pocket them without giving it a second thought.

When he turns to face you this time, your face is all awed, mouth agape and eyes wide, fingers loosely clutching his card. He nods towards it with one hand on the doorknob.

"Call me," he says again. "M'serious."

"I will," you promise him, nodding fervently.

"Good," he winks, and despite how desperately he wishes he could stay, Joel steps through the door with one final steadying breath, leaving you behind - at the very least, more sated than last time.

To be continued...

#bruh.#bruh #bye #I died #Joel miller

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babyonboard · 5 months

Text

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩

MASTERLIST

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

summary: perhaps you’d bitten off a little more than you could chew when you agreed to let Snow pretend to court you. (title from attention by doja cat)

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, oral sex, thigh riding, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here (and pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

taglist: tags are open, comment/send an ask if you’d like to be added! 💌

important note about tags!

chapter one

chapter two

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babyonboard · 5 months

Text

the slut, the whore, and the cunt

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babyonboard · 6 months

Text

🎃 trick or treat 🎃

summary: it's halloween and joel's taking your girls trick-or-treating with you in a family costume. feeling uncomfortable in his clothes and his skin, he's on edge most of the evening but does his best to disguise it in order to not spoil the fun. back at home, when his girls lightheartedly tease him about everything he already thought about himself, you're sure to end the night showing joel exactly how you feel about him and his body.

wc: 10k (oops?)

warnings: established relationship/married, canon divergent (no outbreak, ellie & sarah are both his kids, sort of obscure with if they're both his bio kids/your kids - basically y'all are a cute lil family either way! also joel is ~40, no age mentioned for reader!), halloween, family/group costumes, DOMESTIC JOEL!!!, fluff, body insecurities, age insecurities, joel has minor sensory issues?, his kids poke fun at him, sensitive joel, SMUT. it kind of is a thing for the basically the second half, descriptions of joel's body, tummy & thigh worship, oral (m receiving), cowboy rule (for a costume), unprotected piv, lowkey sub!joel for a lil bit, reader is "giving cunt" according to bestie el, then quickly gets back to dom!joel as he gets his confidence back, joel gets that strength in an adrenaline rush that moms get lifting cars off babies but his is for chasing a nut, also, dirty talk!

a/n: my contribution to spooky season, basically at the buzzer lol. this started with me thinking how cute it would be for joel to dress up and go trick-or-treating with his kids, and ended with wanting to s*** his d*** big time. anyways, enjoy my version of halloween with joel, and thank you to @kiwisbell for screaming about this scenario with me and as always a big thanks to my sweet, sweet girlfriend @northernbluess for beta-ing!!!!

Brought on much later than the northern states, fall in Texas is not quite an impactful sight. The one thing that can’t be beaten though is the Texas sun; shining across expansive horizons all times of year, temperatures of the light shifting with the seasons. Orange evening sun stretches across the sky and seeps down in between the leaves speckled with changing colors while Joel’s truck coasts down the neighborhood street. Kids retreat from running around in the road when his car approaches, returning right back to their gameplay when he’s through. Half are dressed up, a medley mix of witches, zombies, vampires, Power Rangers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Disney Princesses, and countless outfits that he has no idea what they’re referencing.

Fibrous, white faux spiderwebs litter the front porches of the houses lining the street, Jack-O-Lanterns carved and lit up stack on the stairs or create a path along the front walkways. Some of the pumpkins’ faces are wrinkly and sagging, signs of overeagerness from when the fall season started earlier this month. A handful of scarecrows find themselves pitched in the middle of yards with hay spilling out of them, and some of the houses have turned out an expense to get those motion-sensor decorations — the ones really intended to scare the kids that will be unleashed on the neighborhood to trick-or-treat this evening.

Rolling to a stop as he turns into the asphalt driveway, throwing the truck in park, he sits in the cab for a still moment, staring at the signs of life scattered around his family’s house. Four pumpkins, gutted and showing off their faces, a family feud that reached a compromise when it was decided that yes, they would carve pumpkins but no, they would not sit to rot on the front porch all month long; the corn stalks wrapped around the posts of the porch, tied with burlap twine and arranged with sprigs of fall foliage; pots of colorful mums framing the path up to the house, carefully selected by your eye and less delicately planted in their terracotta vessels by Joel’s hands.

Aside from the seasonal decorations, the usual markings of the Miller family were easily spotted: chalk drawings on the shared sidewalk in front of the yard and along the driveway, replaced every weekend by Sarah once the old was washed or worn away; Ellie’s bike discarded on the front lawn, small tire tracks digging up the grass, no matter how many times Joel and you have asked her to put it away when she’s done; the porch swing that Joel built for you, swaying in the breeze and now unoccupied — unusual for the evening routine around the time that Joel comes home from work. He’s normally greeted by his girls, not merely their artifacts. But tonight is a different night, much busier than the slow, molasses life Joel gets to enjoy in the colder weather.

Gathering his lunch bag from the bench seat and bunching up his jacket in the same hand, Joel climbs out of the car and walks into the open garage, leaving his tools behind in the flatbed to be dealt with tomorrow morning. Passing your parked car, he shakes his head with a subtle smile as he closes the driver’s side door of your SUV left open. He can picture you now, running around after picking the girls up from school, mental space occupied by getting everything and everyone together to make it out the door before the sun went down completely.

There’s a trail of evidence to support his musings: a lonesome plastic bag filled with groceries left on top of the car, Sarah’s purple jacket looped through the handle of the garage fridge, probably left behind after she went looking for a juice, and Ellie’s army green backpack tossed on the ground in front of the shoe racks lining the wall next to the door. None of that would fly had you been your usual focused self — more often than not, you’re the parent to put their foot down and keep the girls in line while Joel is the total pushover.

Along his way inside, he picks up all the left-behind items, balancing everything in his hands while he steps into the mudroom. Ellie’s backpack gets shoved into her designated cubby, and Sarah’s jacket gets wrapped on a hook screwed into the wall as Joel kicks off his work boots. After depositing his own belongings in their spots, lunch bag in his cubby and jacket on the hook next to Sarah’s, he grabs his boots in one hand, leaning out the doorway to place them on top of the shoe rack. Closing the door behind him, he picks up the singular bag of groceries left on top of your SUV and pads across the tile further into the house. Immediately, he’s embraced by the warmth radiating from the kitchen, the smells of tomatoes, onions, garlic, and more wafting into his nose causing a smile to stretch across his face and his stomach to rumble.

Every year that he’s known you, without fail, you use Halloween night as an excuse to cook up your family-favorite chili recipe. Sure, it doesn’t get too cold for October in Texas, but damn, does he look forward to the night every year simply for a bowl of it. Laboring over the prep and slow-cooking it all day long, anyone who tries it can taste the care in each bite; like a warm blanket wrapped around his shoulders that lasts with him for the entire evening spent outside with the kids.

The pleas of his stomach lead him straight into the kitchen, his smile growing wider when he sees you standing over the kitchen counter, affixing a sheriff badge to the cow print vest laid out in front of you. He strides over to your side, resting his palm on your lower back and swiping his thumb against the material of your shirt while he leans in to press a kiss to the top of your head, drinking in your scent and feeling the ache of missing you all day. Losing focus from your task, you turn toward him with a bright smile, a quiet sigh leaving your lips, and your shoulders relaxing from their tensed position. Wordlessly, he folds forward, catching your lips in a lingering kiss. Heat pushes against his chest through his denim shirt, your hands skating from his pecs, up and across his shoulders, and down his arms to rest on his biceps. The motions raise goosebumps in their wake, trailing down his spine with a tepid drip.

Joel steals another kiss before he stands up straight again, voice rasping from yelling over powerful tools all day and volume low to keep the semblance of a private moment between the two of you for as long as possible; anything louder would expose his arrival, bombarding him with questions and conflicts to resolve between his daughters.

“Hey, baby.” He greets you with one fleeting kiss pressed to your forehead, hand at your lower back now rubbing side to side, fingers carefully lifting the fabric and pressing the tips of them into your deliciously soft skin.

Turning back to the vest, you drop your hands from his arms not before giving them a gentle squeeze, “Hi, Joel. Good day?”

He shrugs, unable to step away from you just yet, “It was fine — much better now. And I take it yours has been a busy one?”

Joel holds up the plastic bag of groceries with two fingers, one corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smirk. His hip pops out as he leans against the counter, the smirk turning into a smile when you grimace. His heartbeat skips when your laugh fills his ears, the sound still exciting him after all these years, and you stand over the bag to take a peek inside.

“S’all good. Non-perishables.” It’s Joel’s turn to laugh, shaking his head with a breathy chuckle as he places the bag on the counter, unloading its contents into the pantry while you go about recapping your day for him.

In the midst of you speaking, the tumble of footsteps down the stairs draws his attention away, eyes focusing on the open threshold that leads from the living room into the kitchen. As the quickened steps grow closer, Joel turns to you and holds up three fingers, counting down with them. When he lowers his last finger, a mop of curly hair, a bouncing ponytail, and a whirlwind of chaos disrupts the initial peace of his return home.

“Hi girls, how was today?” he starts before a cacophony of noise fills the kitchen. Skidding to a stop in front of him, he exchanges a look with you before facing his daughters, already overwhelmed with their two voices talking over the other.

“Dad, Dad, Sarah said—”

“Dad, Ellie’s saying that I said—”

Holding his hands up, he flicks his eyes between his two girls. Sarah, the older of the two at eleven years old, stands in front of him with her arms crossed and brow furrowed — a look he is all too familiar with, the similarities between him and her emphasized with her annoyance. Ellie, your youngest, stands with her fists clenched at her sides, her mouth twisted up in frustration and the same furrowed brow as her sister. She looks so much more like you at the moment, only a nine-year-old version, calling back on times Joel can remember of you giving him that very look.

However, with their tempers, there’s no doubt that they’re his kids.

Dropping his hands back to his sides, he rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath before addressing them.

“So, what’s going on now?” he asks, brows raising and head tilting when the girls each take a sharp inhale, about to speak over each other again, “One at a time. Ellie.”

Sarah rolls her eyes at her younger sister being called upon first, expectantly looking at her sister with annoyance still painting her face. Ellie shoots her a smug look before turning back to Joel, drawing a pout onto her lips to sell her story. He can’t say it doesn’t work for a second, it always will with these two and they know it, but with a quick glance in your direction, he sees you turned away from your task, watching the drama from the sidelines. Mustering the strength to stand his ground against the sweetness of his girls, he clears his throat and listens with his best poker face as Ellie begins explaining.

“Sarah said she wouldn’t trade all her Skittles for my Three Musketeers even though she knows I hate Three Musketeers and she said last week when we were getting our costumes that she would—”

“I never said that, Dad! She’s lying—” Sarah gestures with her hands as if to physically point out the obvious falsehoods in Ellie’s story. Spiraling back out of the fleeting control he had over the situation, the kids get riled up again, yelling over each other, and inching closer. The dad-instincts kick in and he grabs one of each of their shoulders, separating the two of them and turning them to face him again as he puts on what you affectionately call his ‘no-bullshit’ voice.

“Okay, okay, okay! Enough arguin’ about candy that you don’t even have yet. Ellie, you don’t even know if a single house is gonna give ya Three Musketeers, and you don’t even know if Sarah is gonna get any Skittles. Save the trade negotiations for tonight or tomorrow morning. ‘Sides, you gotta pay the Dad Tax before either of y’all get to trade around your pickings.”

“What?”

“No way!”

Joel smiles, waving his pointer finger between his daughters with a single nod of his head. “See? Something y’all can agree on. Now go get washed up for dinner and plot how you can hide your candy from me and Mom.”

As quickly as they came in, they rush right back out, this time a united force scheming against their parents. Joel huffs out a breathy laugh, shaking his head to himself as he turns back to face you. Met with a growing smile, you unravel your arms crossed in front of your chest to pick up the vest from the counter.

“Nice conflict resolution there, hon. Now I won’t see a single piece of candy.” You throw a pout at him, bottom lip jutting out as he steps over to you, one hand splaying on your hip and thumb rubbing languid circles.

“Don’t worry, baby, I think I know every single one of their hiding spots from how many times they had to move their candy last year. They won’t even notice anything's gone.” With a quick wink, he leans in for a kiss, short and sweet. Standing up straight, the smile on your face mirrors his, your left index finger reaching up to fit into the valley of his dimple.

“Are we bad parents to be scheming how to steal from our children?” you question, biting back a laugh.

“I think that’s just part of parenting, darlin’.”

The laugh you held back escapes you, rolling your eyes playfully at his facetious answer; the vest in your hands catches his eyes again, and he sighs to himself as he holds a hand out for it.

“So you really did find a cow print vest for me? How lucky.” Sarcasm coats his tone and you lift the material, depositing it in his open palm.

“It is lucky, isn’t it? I think you’re going to look great in your costume. Got all the perfect parts, plus you can wear your own jeans and boots. Economical.”

“You sure you need me for this group costume?”

“Joel. You’re literally one of the main characters from the damn movie. And the girls really want you to dress up and take them trick-or-treating. Plus it’s probably going to be one of, if not the last year that we get to do all this as a family. Our kids are growing up.”

“Don’t remind me, means m’getting older too,” he grumbles under his breath, eyes falling to the fabric in his hand.

It’s true what they say about having kids: the days are long, but the years are short.

At times, Joel wishes he could pull each hair out of his head instead of dealing with the shit his kids bring to him sometimes — “Dad, I got called into the principal’s office.” “Dad, I threw a softball and broke the window.” “That’s so unfair, Dad! Why do you have to be so mean?” It’s easy to get lost in the mess that is his family, but it’s a mess he loves. It feels like it was only yesterday that he was becoming a father when Sarah was born, getting a grasp on the whole thing and then Ellie came along. What he would do without you there by his side, he doesn’t have a clue.

Like flipping through a scrapbook, he can remember every year prior for his girls. In a flash, they’ve grown from dressing up as princesses and unicorns — a dragon for Ellie — to being Spy Kids and vampires. His oldest is verging on becoming a teenager, and if he knows his daughters, he knows that once Sarah quits dressing up each year, when she asks to go to her friends’ houses instead of spending the night with Mom and Dad, Ellie will want to do the same as her older sister, always looking up to her despite their differences.

There’s only so much more time for his kids to be kids, even if they may always feel like the tiny baby girls he held in his arms. All he wants to do is to protect them, keep them under his eye as long as he can, but he can hear your voice prying his grasp away from them, encouraging him to let them grow, let them experience the world as he got to do when he was younger. You’ll remind him that you were a teenage girl once, reassuring him that they’re always going to need him. He knows it’s all going to sneak up on him; one day, he’s going to pull into the driveway and notice the lack of chalk drawings. He might even be happy at first about Ellie’s bike being put away, but when he goes into the garage to work on some of his projects, he’ll notice the smallest bit of dust on it from disuse.

Stepping away from him to shuffle across the kitchen, you reach on your tiptoes to pull out four bowls from the cabinet. Joel steps over behind you, a hand on your back as he intercepts your movements, grabbing the ceramic dishes and handing them to you.

Like a shadow, he follows behind you as you walk over to the pot filled with dinner, eagerly watching over your shoulder with his chest pressed against your back and hands on your waist as you lift the lift. Aromas waft with the steam rising, the delectably rich dish slowly bubbling as it finishes melding altogether. It smells like home, always the mark of the changing of the seasons in the Miller household, and one of the little traditions that he so appreciates you creating for your family. Just like the way you make crinkle cookies and still sign presents from Santa at Christmas, despite the fact that your daughters found out about that a couple of years ago from a yappy kid at school.

Joel was very close to driving over to his house and letting his parents know how he felt about their kid murdering the magic of Christmas for his girls.

All he can hope is that these little traditions continue even when the girls are grown up; the four of you gathering around the table for your annual chili dinner before they head off to hang out with friends and you two are left to watch cheesy Halloween movies and hand out candy to children that remind you of your daughters.

With another deep breath, warmth surrounds him. Joel’s lips find the spot just under your ear, kissing gently before he rests his chin on your shoulder, “Smells so good, baby. Have I told you how much I love you?”

A breathy, incredulous laugh falls from your lips as you stir the pot’s contents around, your smile sticking around as you counter, “You’re only saying that ‘cause I’m feeding you.”

A dramatic, exaggerated gasp sharply inhales into his lungs, standing up straight and patting his hands on your sides, “Absolutely not, darlin’. I love you all the time—”

“But especially when I feed you,” you finish, turning out of his arms to grab the stack of bowls. He stops your motions by wrapping his arms around your waist, feeling the press of you against his torso and relishing in the heat of your body against his. Curling up like a cat in the sun, he nudges his nose against your hairline, peppering kisses along the contours of your face.

In between kisses, he says word by word, over and over, “I. Love. You. My. Beautiful. Wonderful. Incredible. Wife.”

“Alright, alright! Gosh, you’re clingy,” you tease, leaning back to look into his eyes with a playful glint in your eye and a smirk held tight in your lips, “I love you too, my beautiful, wonderful, incredible husband.”

Your free hand smooshes his cheeks together and tugs him down gently to exchange a tender kiss. It ends much too soon for Joel, him chasing your lips and pouting when you turn away to start serving up dinner.

“Better go tell the girls dinner’s ready before they’ve finished plotting how to stow away candy in the floorboards.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, punctuating the conversation with a cheeky smack to your ass, scampering away quickly before you can pretend to scold him.

Tugging at the material across his stomach, Joel combs his eyes over his reflection in the mirror of your en-suite bathroom. Rolling his shoulders back, the fabric of the yellow and red plaid flannel pulled taut, lifting the hem a couple of inches and showing off the skin of his softened tummy. Dark curls of hair litter the center of the sliver of skin, trailing down under the waist of his dark wash jeans. He doesn’t bother tucking the shirt in, giving himself the breathing room of the few inches at the hem. Fingers grip the thick fabric, sharply pulling it back down to lay over his jeans again.

Picking up the cow-print vest you were adorned with the plastic gold Sheriff badge downstairs in the kitchen, he’s taken back to a few weeks ago at the Halloween store.

You and he had opted to spend Saturday morning taking Sarah and Ellie to pick out their costumes for the holiday, letting them run free until they decided on a shared costume for once. Sarah quickly picked out her size in the Jessie costume, and all of the family agreed to be different characters from the Toy Story movie.

Ellie wandered the aisles, searching for the perfect combinations to create her ideal costume, which was, of course, the mechanical spider toy with the baby doll head that the kid Sid builds in the film. She returns to where Joel is standing with you, staring at the walls of costumes to find something for the both of you; he looks down at his youngest, jumping minutely when he’s faced with a mutilated baby doll mask, shiny plastic reflecting him in the surface.

“Ellie. You can’t be the creepy baby doll,” he sighs, hand falling to his hip as he rests his weight on it, the other leg stepping out while he slowly shakes his head.

Tipping the mask up to the top of her head, Ellie stomps her feet, shoulders falling and head leaning back as she groans in complaint, “Why not, Dad?” She draws out his parental title, kicking the toe of her shoe against the buffed tiles of the storefront that remains empty eleven out of twelve months of the year.

“You’re gonna scare the little kids, and it’ll be your mom and I who are dealing with the angry parents.”

Ellie huffs out a breath, reaching up to snatch the mask off, turning on the heel of her sneaker, and stomping off to go find another costume. Turning his attention back to you at his side, he notices a cheeky smile on your face as you find your size in a woman’s Buzz Lightyear costume.

“What? What are you laughin’ at?” he questions, his lips tugging up in a grin.

“Oh, nothing. Jus’ that you told our daughter she can’t be the creepy baby doll 'cause you’d be the one scared of her.” A laugh takes over the end of your sentence, a flash of your bright smile widening his own.

“Did not. It’s ‘cause we’d have a bunch of crying little kids and judging parents to deal with.”

“Sure, honey, sure. It’s okay if you’re scared.”

Stepping closer to you, he pinches your side playfully, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you against his side. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, speaking softly, “Know me too well, baby…”

Your free hand pats his chest affectionately and you unravel from his hold. Joel takes your hand before you get far, intertwining your fingers together while you both shuffle along the wall of costumes. The plastic bags shine, displaying cartoonish outfits of various characters. The exaggerated smiles of the models give him the heebie-jeebies, shuddering his shoulders at the thought that any grown person would be that excited to wear itchy polyester once before letting it collect dust in their closet and giving it away before next Halloween.

Halting in front of the costume you were looking for Joel, you bend down to flick through the sizes, your lips pulling together in a thoughtful pucker. Standing back up straight next to him, your teeth toy your bottom lip left to right, eyes scanning for any other options before you turn toward him.

“Can’t find what you’re lookin’ for, baby?”

With a shrug, you respond, “They have the costume the girls wanted you to wear, but they don’t have your size. Think I can find some stuff at the thrift store or TJ Maxx or online to make the costume up if that’s okay—”

“Whatever you need to do. S’fine.”

“I’m sorry, hon, but you don’t need to worry about it, I’ll find everything.”

“Said s’fine, darlin’. Don’t even need to dress up, really.” A small seed of shame is planted in his gut, insecurity watering it and causing it to grow, branching off to tangled in his chest. Comfort eases him out of the spiral when your hands find his chest, rubbing softly and tilting your head to meet his gaze with pure affection.

“Still gotta dress up with us, hon. Who’s gonna be the Woody to my Buzz if it isn’t you? Can’t dress up as one half of the best friend duo without my best friend,” you grin, standing on your toes to catch his lips in a gentle kiss, which ends too soon for his taste despite being in the middle of the shop.

Vest shrugged onto his shoulder, and he gives himself another once over in his full outfit, the same insecurity from a few weeks ago pouring down to cultivate his shame. He doesn’t look the same as he did when he met you, even the same as he did last year. Graying hair and salt and pepper beard, lines next to his eyes and across his forehead, only deepened when he furrows his brow at the look of him in his costume.

He looks ridiculous.

Better to get this night over with, let his girls enjoy themselves, and attempt to forget his discomfort in the outfit. Picking up his cheap cowboy hat that arrived in the mail earlier that week, he avoids another look in the mirror before he slips out of the bathroom, eyes focused on the toes of his boots while he walks out the door of your bedroom, past the full-length mirror next to your closet and the small round one on your vanity.

No need to foul his mood and spoil the fun. It’s for his girls.

The screams and laughter of children echo into the deepening night sky, the street bright from the lamps lining it along with porch lights staying on, open garage doors, all signaling a welcoming to the trick-or-treaters to come and grab their haul from each vast bowl or cauldron of candy.

Blurs of costume cross below Joel’s sightline as he walks hand-in-hand with you, kids running around blindly, the safety of such a crowd in the small neighborhood blanketing them with trust that they’ll be able to find their way home wherever they end up. Sarah and Ellie are ten paces ahead, moving quickly and efficiently to “maximize their candy collection”. Ellie’s words, after she presented her hand-drawn map of their neighborhood and the one across the main road, highlighting which houses are notorious for King Size treats and noting which ones give out toothbrushes or nothing at all.

The collar of his flannel is tightened around his neck from the string of his chestnut cowboy hat. Pulled down to rest on his clavicle, the body of the hat swings against his back as he walks, only adorning the top of his head for a few photos that you insisted on dragging out the tripod and self-timer for in the middle of the living room. He took the rest of the photos you wanted, maybe a bit too eagerly getting out of the frame and relaxing the slightest bit behind the camera. Photo evidence of how laughable he looks does not need to exist en masse. With a sigh, he reaches a hand up to tug the string down for what feels like the tenth time in thirty minutes of walking, relief felt for a few seconds before it slides back up to the base of his throat, flipping up the collar of his shirt with it.

Denim from his dark wash bootcut jeans starts to dig into his hips, roughening the skin there from his strides and their inch-too-small size from the year prior. These were deemed his “nice” jeans, per your request, only pulled out a handful of times a year for occasions that he was meant to look nicer than his raggedy Levi’s, covered in spots from paint, wood stain, oil, or dirt, the fraying, white strings hanging from the hems and ripping when caught under his step — all the signs of his day-to-day life. What he’s comfortable in.

These — these are not comfortable, not worn in enough to feel buttery against his skin, and not returning to his size even after washing and line drying. These are stiff, formed to his skin and resisting a tightness with each swing of his legs. The fresh material rubs against his bare skin underneath, the waist of his boxers falling an inch or two down to create the perfect space for the waistband to chafe. He’s tempted to pause the two of you walking along, long enough to tuck in the material of the flannel, but quickly decides against it when he thinks about the exaggeration of his stomach with the form-fitting, tucked shirt stretched over it.

Occupied in his thoughts, he barely notices that you've slowed down until you come to a stop at the end of a driveway, two streets over from your own home, waiting as your daughters wait in line for their packaged sugar.

You hold onto his bicep with your opposite hand, leaning your weight against his side. Like a weighted blanket, in the interim of a hug from you, he takes on the change to his equilibrium, relishing in the comforting press of your body against him. Easing away his anxieties and his insecurities that, of course, had to be present for this wholesome, once-a-year family night; he rests his chin on your head, breathing in the smell of your rosemary and mint shampoo, tingling his nostrils and drinking down the scent he’s so familiar with.

His focus draws to Sarah, hair in a French braid pulled away from her face and cherry red cowboy hat on her head, and Ellie, lime green face paint that she insisted on and an antenna sticking up from the top of her head and exaggerated, pointed green ears all attached to the same headband. The two of them are near the front of the queue for candy at this particular house, the process a bit more involved with a haunted graveyard required to pass through to earn your sweet reward.

All she’d been saying the whole night since getting dressed had been “The claaaaaw!” or “I have been chosen!”. She screams the latter in the face of a teenager who pops out from a bush to scare her, completely unphased as she sneaks past him, grabbing a handful of candy for her and Sarah, running back down the path with her older sister before they pause to distribute the goods.

Joel lifts your joined hands, hooking his arm over your shoulder and laying your arm across your chest as he gathers you closer.

“So how many cavities do you think we’ll be paying for ‘cause of tonight’s candy haul?” he wonders aloud, a smile ticking up the side of his mouth when you giggle at his joke. It never gets old, being able to make you laugh, and it’s like a weed whacker to the strangling vines of his insecurities growing tightly in his chest. A looseness that gives him the chance for a deep breath, gratitude wilting the branches as he studies the grin on your face, the admiration twinkling in your eyes.

“Probably should be callin’ the dentist to see if they have a two-for-one discount.” It’s his turn to laugh at your response, tautening his arm around your shoulders to tow you closer to him, your head tilting back as you swing your front toward him. Joel bends his neck, pecking your lips with a smile before he looks back toward his daughters walking back to the two of you.

Annoyance thumbs the bruise of shame, driving his frustrations higher; his hand reaches up again with a huff, yanking the string away from his neck, “Thing’s like a damn noose…”

“Jus’ take it off, hon, I’ll carry it for you,” you sweetly suggest, swinging your joined hands between your bodies.

“But, you got it for me…” he mumbles guiltily, a worry in his voice over your potential irritation with him. Ever the masochist, Joel argues with you, not wanting to disappoint. He knew he should have just kept his mouth shut—

Pausing in your steps, you hang behind him long enough to snatch the hat off his back, releasing it from around his neck and depositing it on your head in one smooth movement. Taking his hand again, you continue, unphased by his complaints and happy to hold onto the new accessory.

At the next house, the two of you wait at the end of the driveway for the girls; Joel taps the side of his pointer finger on the brim as you look up at him, a cheeky smile growing on his face as a thought distracts from his festering doubts. His voice lowers, rasping as he speaks only to you, attempting to disguise the conversation from all the people milling about.

“Y’know, there are consequences for stealing a cowboy’s hat, baby.” Wetting his lips with the quick swipe of his tongue, his hands drift to your waist, fingers stretching to skim the top of your ass, dangerously close to grabbing a handful in front of everyone.

“M’well aware of those consequences, cowboy. Why d’you think I took it?” You shoot him a wink that goes straight down below the belt, a brazen flash of mischief in your eyes, the reflections of yellow lamplight lighting them up further.

Gripping his biceps, your nimble fingers squeeze gently while your thumbs rub massaging circles into his slightly flexed muscles. A nearly inaudible hum of a moan rolls from your chest, one of his hands gathering the polyester material of your dress tightly at the sound. Beckoning him to fold forward with one look, he molds his lips to yours in a supple kiss. It lasts only the length of an inhale, drinking in the taste of your lips before your warmth is fleeting, hands patting his chest in a signal to wrap it up.

He grumbles, irritation heating under his collar as he itches to get home and for the night to be over, now for more than one reason. You laugh softly at his annoyed pout, poking his chest as you tease, “What? Mad ‘cause you got a snake in your boot?”

“More like in my jeans…” he mumbles under his breath, loud enough for you to hear and playfully jab his arm, shaking your head as you breathe out a chuckle from your nose.

“Nice, Miller. In a costume for a kid’s movie no less.”

He matches your laugh, shrugging when you turn in his arms, back to him as you await your daughters to make their way back to the both of you. His arms drape around your hips, tugging you into his chest to press against him comfortably, the plush-filled wings of your costume padding you against his torso. Lips find your ear, chin resting on your shoulder as he responds, “What’s the saying from the movie? To infinity and beyond? Reckon that’s where I’ll be takin’ you by the end of tonight.”

“Joel!” you attempted to chide, your laughter exposing your real feelings over the suggestive comment, laying your arms over his. The girls walk toward the two of you, and he takes a second to press an open-mouth kiss to your neck, nipping at your skin before unfurling himself from you. A light smack on the side of your ass is the punctuation to the teasing, Joel standing up straight and taking your hand.

“Giddy-up, partner,” he murmurs before turning his attention to Sarah and Ellie, overly excited and completely calm. “Whatcha y’all get this time? Anything good?”

They answer over each other and he nods along, corralling them to start to walk to the next house, “Alright, mission accomplished at this house. Onto the next, we gotta get this wagon a-movin’! Only got another hour in me, girls.”

Protests whine against his announcement and your daughters start to walk faster, determined to complete their hit-list for the houses with the good stuff. You laugh to yourself, shaking your head as Joel looks over at you, feigning innocence.

“What? Got a bad back, bein’ out in the cold makes it worse.”

Now back at home, the four of you are gathered in the living room, costumes all on still as you seek out the comfort and warmth of the soft furnishings and blankets. Joel lounges on the couch, you next to him, back leaning against his side while your legs stretch out on the rest of the sofa. Ellie and Sarah have taken to the floor in front of the coffee table, massive pillowcases dumped out and beginning to be sorted. Every so often, you or Joel get up with the sound of the doorbell, passing out candy to the dwindling number of trick-or-treaters. Eventually, the intrusion stops completely, the TV playing a bad, kitschy Halloween movie per the request of the girls.

They trade their earnings, and you and Joel steal on the sly, both from the bowl you were handing out and from Sarah and Ellie’s piles. Wrappers are strewn around the floor and across the surface of the coffee table, the sound of another torn open by the girls making you sigh and sit up.

Holding out your hand, you shake your head, beckoning for the treat with your fingers, “Okay, Ellie. No more candy. You’re not going to be able to go to sleep if you keep eating it now, it’s too late.”

Ellie whines, rolling her head back with a groan before pleading her case, “Please, Mom, just this last one! And then I’ll be done, promise. Please.”

Joel chuckles when she shoots you the same puppy dog eyes that he gives to you to get what he wants, knowing his smirk grows wider when you fold easily. Shooting your head over to him, you announce to the whole room, “No more candy for anyone. C’mon girls, put it all back in your bags.”

Calmness finds itself back in the room once all the complaints are lodged with you, the girls lying down to watch the movie while you continue to sit with Joel. Spaced out as he focuses on the film, his attention is grabbed when he hears the crinkle of wrappers and glances around to find all three of his girls indulging further.

With the remote from his lap, he pauses the movie, pouting as he exclaims, “Hey! What happened to not havin’ any more candy? If I can’t have anymore, y’all can’t either.”

Sneaking the last bite of her fun-size Snickers bar, Ellie giggles and shrugs, always the smart aleck, “Well, you are gettin’ a little pudgy, Dad, maybe less candy’ll help.”

Sarah and you giggle at her lighthearted teasing, and Joel waves it off with a breathy chuckle, leaning back against the cushions as Sarah chimes in with her jests, “Yeah, think you’re getting a little fluffy, Dad. Better to lay off now than at Christmastime with all Mom’s cookies.”

Joel attempts to defend himself from the teasing by threatening their candy supply, eager to end the conversation as the back of his neck heats up, “If m’already gettin’ pudgy then I guess that permits me to eat all your candy.”

They both are in a fit of giggles, continuing to tack on silly comments as Joel sits quietly on the couch, trying to mask the way the words worm their way in, feeding the shame and insecurity that was already festering in his chest from the last few weeks.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head with a smile as you laugh softly, “Alright, alright, enough. Think that’s the sign that it’s time for bed. C’mon, up up up.” Before standing, you pat Joel’s thigh and shoot him a carefully concerned look, but he wipes away your worry by sending you a warm smile back, laying his hand over yours and squeezing gently.

Joel stays downstairs to clean up, the girls both saying goodnight before you follow them upstairs to get them ready for bed. Gathering candy wrappers in his fists, he throws them away in the kitchen, stomach rolling as he replays the small comments from minutes ago. He knows it was teasing, all in good fun as it always is between his girls and you, but he can’t shake the heaviness inside of him, the hot prickles of shame when he passes by the mirror in the hallway on his way back to the living room.

The bowl of extra candy you were handing out gets placed back on the coffee table, his silly cowboy hat from the evening deposited on top of it to hide the contents. Not that he was going to eat anymore, he couldn’t stomach even the thought of anything else when all he could think about was how much he desperately wanted to shed his skin at that moment. Breathing shallows when he settles on the couch again, one of his hands pressing onto the left side of his chest and willing his heart to slow down, for his brain to silence itself.

The skin of his palm meets the scruff of his beard, scratching against the roughened, worked skin. Grays in his hair, salt and pepper beard, wrinkles on his forehead and at the side of his eyes, softened tummy from years of love and care, from an easy life with you.

He certainly isn’t the same Joel that you met all that time ago, that you fell in love with. Have you noticed the changes as much as he has?

He swears you haven’t aged a day; all the more beautiful with each passing day.

Light steps carry you back downstairs, the sound shaking Joel out of his thoughts as you swing around from the staircase and through the entrance to the living room. Joel relaxes on the couch, the same spot he was occupying before, only sinking further into the cushion, shifting to pull the fabric of his shirt away from his stomach. Glancing up at you, away from whatever was playing on the TV that did nothing to distract him from himself, he sends you a tight smile, stretching an arm over the back of the couch to welcome you in.

Accepting it, you sit next to him, curling up into his side with your legs under you, leaning against his frame with your comforting weight. Your hand rests on his chest, your head on his shoulder while you both watch the TV movie playing. Silence falls between the two of you, minutes passing by with only the noise from the speakers, the volume turned low so as not to disturb the kids upstairs.

Joel feels your hand move against his chest, curling up to leave your pointer finger extended, the pad of it skimming against his flannel. He ignores the feeling, figuring it’s you fidgeting as you do while you focus. The same thing as twirling your hair while you’re reading, tapping your foot as you cook.

But when your hand stairs to wander, his eyes flick down to watch its path, your gaze still facing forward and quiet. With your thumb and index finger, you work open the first button on his shirt, trailing down with the rest undone in your route. Slipping under the material, your cold hand presses against his chest, nails scraping against the skin there. With a sigh at the contact, Joel finally uses his hand to gently caress your chin, turning you to face him.

Low and rasping, he questions, “What are you doin’ exactly, darlin’?”

Innocently, you shrug, bottom lip bit down on while your touch moves lower again, skimming across his stomach and reaching the waistband of his jeans, “Well, I still have to face the consequences from stealin’ your hat, cowboy.”

Fingers dip below his belt line, toying with the elastic band of his boxers. Slipping away, he almost protests at the loss, biting his tongue when you move next to him, sitting up on your knees while both hands reach for the button and zipper of his jeans. When his button pops from its secure place, he warns with a breathy exhale, “Baby…”

“Mhm, yes, honey?” you reply, words trailing up at the end, feigning naivety. Through your lashes, you send him a pout, tongue poking out to dampen your plush lips that he stares at, his mouth parted with heavy breaths. His blood is rushing from his head, leaving him feeling light, as it all pumps to his cock, your delicate and teasing touches getting him half-hard.

Before you can tug down his zipper, you pause, taking your hands off of him; he holds back a whimper, the sound dying as a low hum in his throat.

“Don’t worry, baby, m’not done yet. Let’s go to our room, yeah?” Your voice is soothingly saccharine, an eager nod being his only response.

Shutting off the TV, you stand from the sofa and take his hand, snatching the cowboy hat from the coffee table before pulling him to stand and follow you across the main floor, down the hallway into your first-floor bedroom. Joel shuts the door behind him, your nod toward the handle serving as a reminder for him to flick the lock.

“Y’know, honey, you’re always showing me how you feel about me. I think it’s time we had a night that’s all about you…” He’s holding in a breath as you stalk closer to him, shaking his head as the back of his neck heats up.

“No, baby, you don’t—I don’t…” he stutters before trailing off, ashamed that he can’t think of any other excuse than the truth of why he does not want the attention on him tonight.

“You don’t…?” Running your hands across the expanse of his chest, he drops his shoulders in, curling around to make himself smaller, one foot stepping back but he doesn’t move from under your touch.

Shaking his head, he avoids your eyes, faintly confiding, “I don’t feel like I deserve it. I jus’, I’d rather give to you, baby.”

“Oh, Joel…you deserve it and more, honey. Why wouldn’t you?” Your fingers graze up, skating across his skin and carding into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’m not…not the same. I don’t look like who you fell in love with. Everything’s changing, catching up to me. Got gray hair and white in my beard and wrinkles and a beer belly startin’ and my back hurts all the time. M’not who I used to be but you—”

“Have changed, too. It’s not just you, Joel. Everything’s a little softer now, I’ve got wrinkles too. Found like four gray hairs yesterday and had a mild panic attack before I got into the shower. M’curvier and—”

“And you’re fucking beautiful, baby. You’re as beautiful, if not more beautiful than the day I met you.” He’s quick to defend your negative self-talk, his hands running delicately along the curves of your sides and around your lower back. Enveloping you in his arms, he presses your foreheads together, nose notched next to yours.

“That’s exactly how I feel about you, Joel. Don’t listen to us teasin’ you, especially me, ‘cause I wouldn’t change a thing about you…” As you tilt your head back, your nose grazes against his cheek, feeling a rush of heat from your breath as your lips hover over his, deliciously close to a kiss, “Can I show you what I think about you, honey?”

Joel nods, wordlessly waiting in anticipation; in the next breath, your lips crash into his, drinking him down deep while the hand at the back of his head tangles further into his hair and tugs. He moans, parted lips allowing you to lick into his mouth, whining at the taste of him before you push the flannel material from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor as you continue to dominate the kiss.

Pressing your hands against his strong chest, you push him back with a step. Joel follows your lead, carefully moving backward, your tongue melding with his. All he can focus on is the taste of you — sweet, fruity, with the tang of citric acid from all the sour candies you stole from the bowl, the softest hint of chocolate as an aftertaste from his indulgences. The flavors of you coat his mouth, the scent of your perfume and shampoo mixing in his nose, and the feeling of your soft skin in his rough palms when he hikes up the skirt of your dress, grabbing a handful of your ass; it all stirs together, creating an intoxicating cocktail of you that he can seem to taste enough of. Joel’s legs hit the edge of the bed, and he’s being pulled away from your mouth with a pop when you ease him to sit down. Curiosity flashes in his mind, the sight of you over him with kiss-swollen lips growing the bulge in his undone jeans. Eager hands find your hips, grazing over to your ass as he looks up at you standing over him.

“Whatcha wanna do, beautiful?” His voice is lecherous as it comes out in a rasp, dripping with desire and a bit of wonder over what exactly you’re going to do with your night in control.

You shake your head at him, standing up straight and reaching for his hands, placing them at the hem of your dress, “Go ahead, baby. Take off as much as you want.”

His choice is obvious, tugging the fabric over your head with your help, a hand around your back yanking you to stand close, between his spread legs, while his fingers work open the clasp of your bra. Sitting back on his hands, he observes greedily as you let the straps fall down your arms, dropping the bra entirely onto the floor.

“These too?” Your thumbs hook into the waistline of your panties, doe-eyed and biting down on your body lip teasingly. Cotton-mouthed, Joel nods slowly, lips parted with shaking breath as you strip completely, sinking to your knees in front of him before he can reach out for a handful of your curves.

He lets you work his jeans down to his thighs, his boxers following in their wake, his cock springing free against his bare stomach. You keep eye contact as you kneel in front of him, his keen stare unblinking as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips, the need to see every single one of your movements outweighing the drying of his eyes with his slow, infrequent blinking. Scooting to settle comfortably on your knees, you stand up straighter, gaining enough height to bend your head over his lap, lips meeting his soft tummy and hands gripping onto his thighs. Delicate kisses and ghosting touches on his skin raise goosebumps, a warm shudder trickling down his back at your tenderness.

“So handsome…” you whisper, grazing your teeth into the flesh of his torso, biting down to nip. “Y’know I think about doin’ this all the time, baby. Every time you take off your shirt, jus’ wanna sink my teeth into you.”

His cheeks heat with sincere attention, muscles in his abdomen flexing when you litter lovebites and heated, open-mouth kisses all over him, the gentle touches and desire to relax his anxieties slowly. The focus on your mouth drops to his thighs, turning your head to the side when you sit back on your haunches, licking a stripe up toward his aching cock, a quivering exhale from his mouth drawing your eyes to his face. A satisfied smile stretches across your face, kissing his inner thigh before mirroring the actions on the opposite side. His fingers curl into the duvet, gripping hard as your lips wander closer to where his stiff cock drips needily, throbbing for any kind of reprieve.

“You’re so pretty, baby. So strong, solid.” The sweet nothings tickle at the back of his neck, words that he’s sure you’ve spoken before, but at this moment, they raise his body temperature and lighten his head, the only thoughts being how much he needs you.

Standing on your knees again, you bend your neck over Joel’s lap, eyes flickering up to his face to look at him through your lashes. Your lips part, spit dribbling from your mouth and onto his waiting cock, the sensation making him hiss with urgency. One of your hands wraps around him and strokes slowly. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, mouth opening in a small gasp at the languid stimulation. One swipe of your thumb across his tip drags the beads of pre-cum from where they’re leaking, melting them into the mix of your saliva that lubricates your motions.

Searing needles pierce into his skin when you finally give in and press hot, open-mouthed kisses against the soft skin of his swollen length. Your thumb brushes against his tip again, another hiss of pleasure escaping from between his teeth. One of Joel’s hands finds the back of your head, tangling fingers into your hair. He doesn’t move to guide you, simply wanting to touch a part of you to ground himself.

Your free hand gently cups his balls as you press a featherlight kiss to the tip of his hard cock. A kitten-lick swipes up the fresh dribbles of pre-cum that have collected and Joel’s fingers tense against your strands. Humming satisfied with the reactions you’re drawing from him, he looks down at you meeting his gaze, feeling the splotches of redness growing across his cheeks and neck at the frustration of your light teasing. He groans out your name as your mouth works to tease him more, not having taken him fully in.

“Fucking hell, baby, quit teasin’, please.” Joel rasps as he watches your methodical seduction. He applies the smallest pressure against the back of your head when your lips finally wrap around just the tip of him, a moan of relief rolling from his chest.

Your eyes stay glued on his face, and he’s lost in the delicious warmth of your mouth, unabashed in every response that he’s having to your mouth working him. Starting a slow bob up and down, he moans at the weight of him on your tongue, saliva coating the underside of his cock as he feels you curl the muscle against every vein. With half of him with your mouth, your hand working what isn’t initially fitting inside. His noises grow louder and in quicker succession, hyperaware that his cheeks are likely visibly warm and eyes dark with a craving when he looks down at you again.

“Such a sweet girl. Look so pretty with my cock in your little mouth. Think you can take more, baby? Think I can fit in your throat?” You shift in your position slightly, thighs rubbing together and a chuckle rolls from his lips, smug in the need he’s drawing from you simply from enjoying his pleasure. A sigh exhales around him in your mouth as your thighs rub together to relieve some of your aches.

The rhythm of your head brings his cock deeper, his tip brushing the back of your throat. You swallow around him and it squeezes him just right, a loud moan rumbling from his chest, the reverberations sending aftershocks to the tips of his ears. At that point, he gets lost in the high feeling, his composure leaving him when his large hand at the back of your head pushes you down onto his cock, taking him down your throat further and causing you to gag. Tears spill from your eyes and spit drips from the sides of your mouth, the blow job quickly turning sloppy as Joel takes more control.

“Fucking hell, darlin’. Taking me so well on your own, being such a good girl for me,” he whines, heading tilting back as his eyes squeeze shut, shallow thrusts meeting the rhythm of your head. “Gonna fuckin’ come, baby, holy fuck, I—”

A moan around him gurgles to nothing when he thrusts again, hand tangled in your hair pulling you back until his tip rests against your lips, “Don’t wanna—please—” His words are lost on the tip of his tongue, pleasure hazing his mind as he searches for the plea he wants to make with you.

You giggle from your knees, swiping your fingers to wipe away the drool from the corners of your mouth, a satisfied smirk on your face. Bracing yourself on his thighs, you push yourself up, standing in between his legs while your hands find his shoulders, scraping your fingernails against the curve of them.

“You wanna come inside of me? Not my mouth? Is that what you were trying to say, baby?”

“Yes,” he exhales, relieved to find the word he needed, blinking open his eyes to look up at you. Your thumb skates across his bottom lip, holding onto his jaw as you study his features.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, Joel. Anything for my perfect, doting husband. D’you know how fucking good it makes me feel to make you feel good?” you question curiously, tilting his head as he lets you mold him whichever way you want. “Tell me how you deserve to have me like this. ‘Cause you’re so fucking good to me, tell me that you’re gonna let me fuck you, let me take your come inside of me.”

“Baby, I don’t think that—” he starts, palms pressing into the backs of your thighs as he looks up at you.

“Tell me, Joel. You said you wanted to be the one giving to me tonight. That’s what I want.” You use his earlier, shy request against his negative thoughts, and the intensity in your eyes bends him to your will.

“M’gonna let you have my cock, gonna let you fuck me and show me how much you love when I take care of you.” The words roll foreignly on his tongue, unconvincing coming from his mind to his mouth. You bend a knee, bringing it up to rest next to his thigh, nodding along to encourage him to continue, “I give you whatever I can give to you, and always gonna, baby. Now’s your turn to take care of me, right?”

“That’s right, honey. I should show you how much I appreciate you more often…you work so hard, give us exactly what we need, and provide for us. My big, strong man. You do so much for me, baby. Gonna show you how thankful I am for you, how grateful I am that you’re lettin’ me have this cock,” your words breathe hot against his ear, your other leg now straddling him on the bed, cunt hovering over his waiting cock. A hand leaves his shoulders, reaching between your stomachs to wrap around him, guiding him to your entrance. His breath catches in his throat when you ease down onto him, pushing through the wet seal of your slit.

Wet heat envelopes him, taking in a few inches of him; Joel groans under you, head falling forward onto your breasts, forehead pressed into your sticky skin. One hand tangles into his curls, dragging his head back to look into your eyes. Your hips start to move, adjusted to his size easily and taking more of his cock, letting it split you open inch-by-inch. His eyes wildly search yours, seeing the pleasure overtake your mind, lips parting to match his as you both breathe out shallow, hot breaths.

“Fuck, Joel, so fucking big…” you whine for the first time tonight and the sound goes straight to his cock, twitching him inside of you as his hips jerk up, giving you another inch. Lust clouds his mind, nodding confidently as you take him, desperate to feel your tight, dripping cunt around him entirely.

“I know, baby, I know. Should’ve let me get you ready. But I bet you like the stretch, like a lil’ bit of pain, huh?” he coos, arm snaking around you to hold you closer, your eyes fluttering closed above him as you nod languidly.

“Fuckin’ love it, makes it feel even better,” you whimper when his arm tugs you down further, only an inch or two away from him being fully sheathed.

“C’mon, be my good girl, baby. Show me how you sit on my cock.” He leans forward, bending you backward with his force and holding you tight, his lips attaching to the soft, velvety skin of your breasts and biting, “Gotta face your punishment for stealin’ my hat. Take a cowboy’s hat, gotta ride the cowboy, babygirl. I don’t make the rules.”

You giggle, eyes clearing as you’re pulled out of your cloud of pleasure, gripping onto his shoulders and holding eye contact as you finally sink completely down, burying Joel’s cock inside your soaked pussy. Moans echo in the room, bitten down before they get too loud, your hips immediately finding a quick, sloppy pace to chase your highs. The slick glide of your walls grip his cock lusciously, your flooding arousal coating his balls as thighs as you ride him. Little noises slip from your mouth, simmering the coals burning in the base of his gut as he feels the familiar bliss building.

“Is this what I’m supposed to be doin’, cowboy?” you wonder, hips continuing their pace and mouth twisting as you hide a smile. Joel is unashamed, a wide grin on his face as he unravels one arm from you, picking up the hat from the corner post of the bed, and setting it loosely on top of your head. Giggles erupt from the both of you, your pace faltering as the muscles in his stomach cramp from use.

Recovering from the interlude, your thighs rub against the outside of his as you bounce, nails digging into his shoulders as your rhythm picks back up, the slap of skin against skin the only noise save for your airy breaths that get shallower and shallower. Flames have ignited in his gut, licking inside and burning hotter and hotter the closer he gets. Nearly at the edge, he needs more, body taking over and lifting you with him as he stands, holding you up on his cock as he thrusts hard and quick into you, dripping for him and gripping him tight to keep yourself up while he fucks into you.

“Oh—fuck, Joel! Right there, m’gonna—oh!” Your desperate pleas in his ear pitch up as you moan, cunt tightening with a flutter around him as you come, soaking his dick as he continues his hard pace, selfishly chasing his high.

A growl rolls from his chest when you come, his fingernails biting into the flesh of your ass, the slap of his balls against your skin as they draw up. His eyes squeeze shut as he moans your name, the first rope of his come released into your cunt, smaller whimpers following in its wake as he fucks one, twice more, filling you up as deep as he can.

Limbs feeling heavy, he turns you both around, pulling you off of him and dropping you gently onto the mattress. He flops down next to you onto his stomach, blissfully out of it as you move to straddle his back, fingers working the knots and soothing the aches growing there after a long week of work, and a night spent corralling your kids.

The warm press of your body against his back makes him hum contently, your breasts at his shoulder blades as you lay on him, one of his hands reaching the rub his fingers softly against the outside of your thigh.

“You know I think you’re the most handsome, right, honey?” you ask with a hint of worry in your voice, barely above a whisper. He nods, rolling over to his back underneath you and meeting your eyes, brow furrowed with concern.

“I know, baby. Jus’ was feeling weird this whole week. You made it a lot better, though.” A knuckle nudges your cheek, and you take the hat off, Joel chuckling again as you throw it off to the side of the bed. Laying down on him again, he strokes your hair while you hug yourself to his torso, both your eyes and his fluttering shut with exhaustion, from tonight and life in general.

Before drifting off, Joel speaks up, cheekily asking, “So…can I wear this costume next year, too?”

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babyonboard · 6 months

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Pedro at SNL tonight

#oh my fucking god #jesus christ #oh my god #omg.#pedro pascal

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babyonboard · 6 months

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Ultraviolence | part 1

Bradley Bradshaw x F!Reader x Jake Seresin

Summary: You and Bradley loved each other, and Jake was just your old friend from high school who you tried to pay no mind to. At least that's how it used to be.

Word Count: 9.7k (for one part? oops!)

Warnings/tags-18+ MDNI, infidelity, some alcohol abuse, emetophobia, talk of body image, so much cussing?? smut, oral, Bradley is so sexy but also a dick. Jake is a dick but also so sexy. Enemies to Lovers (ish), slowburn(ish)

You weren’t the only person who thought Jake Seresin was completely and fully infuriating. He was cocky, he had a loud mouth, his cologne was entirely too strong, he made everything about him, and, worst of all, he was insatiably alluring. You’ve known him since high school, which is about 8 years longer than you’ve known your husband Bradley. You could swear under oath that Jake’s ego grows every passing second. But truly, who could blame him? A blonde, tan skinned Texan with an old Hollywood smile. Wealthy parents and always top of his class. The only thing, the only person that has ever given him an ego check, was you.

When you were 23, you moved into the apartment next to Bradley. At the time, he was just your insanely hot neighbor who also happened to be a navy aviator. To him, you were his sweet, absolute doll of a next-door-neighbor who smelled like vanilla when he passed you in the hallway and would never in a million years be interested in him. The two of you engaged in occasional small talk in the elevator, he helped you move your new desk up the stairs, and he asked you to feed his dog when he would leave for the weekend. Eventually he started inviting you over for wine after he got off work, his smile made you feel more tipsy than any moscato ever could. Before long, you were sleeping in his bed just as much as he would sleep in yours. You cooked him dinner after work, and he would bring you flowers on Saturdays. Bradley was so sweet in the beginning. He still had his class-clown charm, but he was warm and charismatic. Anybody would have fallen under his spell, and you were no exception.

Bradley was so excited to bring you around his friends. You were funny and sexy as fuck, and he wanted to show you off. He brought you to the Hard Deck to meet them all for the first time. Well, meet them all except one for the first time.

When your eyes fell on Jake Seresin, his unmistakable smile plastered on his face as he took a swig from his beer, your jaw fell open. “Is that Jake Seresin?” You gasped. Even though you asked it as a question, you knew the answer. That Texan with blonde hair and a visible attitude was undoubtedly Jake Seresin.

Bradley’s stomach dropped. “Oh god, you know hangman?” He could have gotten on his knees right there and prayed to god that you weren’t Jake’s ex girlfriend, or ex hookup, or ex anything at all. A part of him actually hoped that you hated him.

Jake’s eyes scanned the bar, coming to a stop on you. His eyes widened and his brows furrowed, and a wide mouthed smile started to spread across his face. Y/N. Y/N from high school. You looked so different, but still exactly the same. He beelined for you, shaking his head as he approached. The warmth that your smile stirred up in his stomach was oh so familiar, the same warmth that Rooster felt everyday.

“Y/N L/N” he chuckled.

“Jake Seresin.” You laughed.

“You two know each other?” Bradley interjected.

“We went to high school together.” You said, setting your arm on Bradley’s shoulder. The feeling of your gentle hand on him calmed whatever possessive jealousy was coursing through his veins.

Bradley was not jealous of Hangman. Nope, not at all. He didn’t care that the two of you knew each other 4 years ago, and he definitely didn’t care that Hangman bought you a drink “for old times sake.” It didn’t bother him that the man who proposed the most competition in the sky was now chatting up his girl, proposing a completely new type of competition. Not one bit.

“You jealous?” You approached Bradley from across the bar. He shook his head, unclenching his jaw. He grabbed you by your belt loop, beer in his other hand, and pulled you towards him. “Should I be?” He asked. Quiet, diluted venom laced his words. You dropped your act, he was actually mad. Realizing that it might not be as funny as you thought it was, you brought your hand up to his neck.

He didn’t look you in the eyes, his gaze completely past your face and on the bar behind you. This upset him more than you realized. “I promise you it’s not like that. I’m with you.” He looked at you again. You used your grip on the back of his neck to pull his face towards you. “Plus he’s a dick.” A smile finally cracked on Bradleys face, and the two of you laughed. His hands slid down your back and onto your ass. He hoped Hangman was watching.

“And…” He squeezed your ass “I’m the one who gets to fuck you every night.”

Hangman was watching, not even by choice at this point, more so because he just could not tear his eyes away from how your ass looked in those jeans. But he didn’t actually care that you were Bradley’s. Sure, you were sexy as hell, and he liked giving Rooster a run for his money, but he wasn’t dead set on having you. At least not tonight.

Rooster took you home that night and he tore those jeans right off of you. He fucked you good, made you tell him you were his. And you did, you repeated it like a mantra. I’m yours Bradley. All yours, no one else's.

From that point on you understood that there needed to be a boundary with Jake. You knew that since you and Bradley were together, you would see Jake a lot. Out at the bars, military balls, absolutely anything work related, but also socially because Bradley and Jake really were friends. You kept your distance from Jake when you saw him, only talking to him in groups and letting Bradley hang all over you when he was around. This, in turn, drove Jake crazy. Thinking back on his life, you were the only girl that he truly could not have. Back in high school he was never really that interested in you. You had mutual friends and saw each other at parties. He was in your prom group and he was your assigned lab partner in sophomore chemistry. You never particularly caught his eye, but he never caught yours either. He kicks himself now on the missed opportunity, but how was he supposed to know you would turn into the smokeshow you are now? It drove him up the fucking wall.

As time went on and Bradley and Jake got closer, it became more socially acceptable for you to talk to Jake. North Island was a small town, and while a lot of the aviators left to different bases, Bradley and Jake stayed. Maybe it was maturity, or maybe it was because he stopped caring, but Bradley didn’t pay any mind to you and Jake anymore. You were open to talk to him whenever you pleased, as long as you let Bradley come up and kiss your neck at some point in the conversation. Jake became your beer pong and darts partner, and the two of you were frequently laughing over old high school memories. He talked far too much about his high school football career and how great he was. Thinks he could’ve gone pro, but chose to be a military hero instead. Of course, Jake was still arrogant with unhealthy levels of confidence. He talked to you like you were in love with him and he knew it, which could not be further from the truth.

One night in particular, at one of the many military award balls, you thought about re-establishing that boundary you used to have. Bradley looked so good in his dress whites, and you complimented him so well in your floor length, shimmery gold dress. Bradley had done exceptionally well that year, he was receiving praises all night from his fellow aviators and whatever military big-shots that chose him to win awards. While he was off accepting these gracious compliments, reasonably leaving you alone at the table, Jake approached you. He didn't say anything, he just pulled out the chair next to you and sat down. He also looked incredibly good in his dress whites, but in a different way than Bradley. You mentally scolded yourself when you thought about how good looking he was. He sighed next to you, neither of you acknowledging the other at first. Your gaze was on Bradley, who was graciously shaking someone's hand and laughing. You sipped your wine, finishing the whole glass. “You clean up nice.” He said, finally looking over at you. You could smell his cologne. It was musky and clean and it burned your nose.

“Likewise.” You smiled softly at him. He looked at you like he needed to say something, like he was dying to. A smirk, or maybe a smile played on his lips. Your gaze rested on his mouth for a second, discerning between the two. “What?” You giggled to ease whatever tension was hanging between you.

“Nothing.” He continued his heavy gaze on you. “Just memories.” You wanted to roll your eyes, he is so cliche, but you decided to be nice. His blue eyes were hard to tear your eyes away from, but you did, and looked around to see Bradley, who was now talking to a girl who was one of his copilots.

“If I remember correctly, that dress is the same color your prom dress was.” He gestured down at your golden dress, now dragging on the floor and stuck under your chair.

You straightened your back. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

He nodded with a smile. “I knew it.” Another moment passed, and you subconsciously looked back to where Bradley was, but you didn’t see him anymore.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Jake leaned his arms against the white table cloth, bunching it up under his forearms as they slid a little closer to you.

“Yes…” You tilted your head. His cologne was burning your nose and your eyes and lighting your skin on fire. Jake Seresin was beautiful to admire from afar, but now, he was up close. He was close to your face, close enough to touch, close enough that if you wanted to kiss him you could grab his face and do it.

“I really liked you back in high school.” Whatever smile-smirk he had was spreading across his face. Like a wildfire, the smirk spread onto your lips too.

“That’s not true.” You looked down, this moment sending you straight back into your 17 year old persona, shy and bashful. Maybe Jake was also taking on his 17 year old persona, or maybe he’s still the same charming and confident boy he’s always been.

“It is.” He said. You didn’t know this, but he was lying. He was indifferent about you in high school, but he does wish he would have paid more attention to you back then. Maybe then he would be the guy with the girl in the gold dress, not Bradley.

“You never paid any attention to me in high school. And you always had a girlfriend.” You reached for your glass to give you something to do with your hands, even though it was empty.

“So? I remembered your prom dress, didn't I?” He did not, in fact, remember your prom dress. He had recently stalked your facebook. “You looked so gorgeous that night.”

You could do nothing but try and push away your smile. Jake Seresin was a hypnotic, poisonous virus that could work its way under any girl's skin, and once again, you were absolutely no exception.

“I mean, you looked almost as good as you look tonight.” He finally broke eye contact, a subconscious attempt to seem coy.

Snapped out of the blue eyed trance, you shook your head. “Thank you, Jake.” You said. Clearing your throat, you wanted to change the subject, to get rid of this strange feeling in your stomach. "Where's your date? Jessica, right? Oh no, wait, Jessica was who you brought to the bar last weekend. Emma is your date tonight, right?" You weren't trying to embarrass him, it was more an attempt to figuratively slap him in the face for flirting with you.

A scoff broke through the laugh he let out. He couldn't deny these claims, they were obviously true. "I don't really know where she is." He looked around in a fake attempt to find her. "And I don't really care right now." He looked back at you, and you had to look away. It was entirely too much, his cologne, his dress whites, his eyes, and his flattery. It stirred up your stomach in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. “I’m gonna go find Bradley.” You breathed out. You stumbled as you stood up and walked away.

It wasn’t wrong, you weren’t doing anything. Jake complimented you and you talked about high school, what else is new? But for some reason, you couldn’t shake that guilty feeling out of your conscience, even when you found Bradley and he looked so hot and you forgot about every other man that existed while he fucked you that night, the dress that Jake loved oh so much bunched up around your waist.

When you and Bradley got married, Jake was one of the groomsmen. He stood right by Bradley at the altar, he teared up at his vows. It was around this time that Jake started to treat you differently. He was nicer, gentler, and didn't treat you like a sexual venture. He still infuriated everyone else, but he was softer with you. He brushed off what he felt for you as a protectiveness. You were his best friend's wife, he knew you since you were 15. He knew a different side of you, and he felt the need to protect you. And he told himself that’s all it was. Even if it was something more, he would never act on it. He knew he would just have to settle for occasionally thinking you were hot when he saw you, and occasionally thinking about you while he had another girl underneath him, wondering if Rooster fucks you the way he would. The way you deserve. He knows he doesn’t.

You didn’t really get much time to talk to Jake on your wedding day, but to be honest, it never really crossed your mind. Not until you were at your way-to-expensive open bar, ordering another cocktail, and he came up behind you. “Hi there bride.” He said.

You turned to face him and the air leaving his lungs was almost audible. Oh my god did you look beautiful. Your hair pulled away from your face, a few strands hanging in your face from dancing. Glitter on your eyelids, your lips slightly puffy from so much kissing and singing and talking. And you smiled when you saw him.

“Jake!” You smiled. Yes, you were tipsy, but you would have been excited to see him regardless. You swung your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. Your perfume and his cologne mixed in the air around the two of you. He wrapped his arms around your torso and tucked his nose down on your shoulder.

“You look gorgeous, Y/N.” He said against your ear. You closed your eyes and hummed.

He felt like a sticky mouse trap that you couldn’t pull yourself away from. “Thank you.”

Whether it was subconscious or not, you forced yourself to break the hug and turn back to the bar to get your drink. All he could do was watch as you gave him a drunk wink and walked away.

Back in the real world, Bradley smiled when you came into view. “There she is!” He grabbed your hand and spun you around to the music. He sang to you and held you around the waist. The music was loud and your vision was slightly hazy and you were the happiest you had ever felt. Bradley kissed you every chance he got, calling you his wife even more than that. How could you, much less anyone not love this man?

A cute little house on North Island, not far from the ocean. Two dogs, a newlywed couple, and lots of love to go around. That’s how it was for a year or so. You wouldn’t say picture perfect, because every family has its flaws, but it was perfect for you. Bradley would go to work, you would go to yours, and when you got home the two of you would eat dinner and watch a show together. Bradley loved getting home from a long day and fucking his wife good and long until he was scared the neighbors might hear. It was simple, but it was nice.

You simply cannot pinpoint the exact time things started to change. To be fair, you couldn’t expect things to go perfectly in your marriage for the rest of your life, but you wish they didn’t go the way this one was. He would come home from work later, say he already ate, and leave you eating by yourself at the kitchen table. He never wanted to shower with you anymore, which used to be his favorite activity. He didn’t fuck you as much, or as good as he used to. It was half-assed, almost like it was a chore. Missionary in bed a few times a week, and there were a couple of times where he didn’t finish, which left you embarrassed with a vulnerable pit in your stomach. You thought he was just getting bored, which people had warned you would happen, so you pulled out all the stops. You bought new fancy lingerie, you sent him absolutely filthy texts while he was at work, you wore no underwear and told him as you were leaving the house. All things that used to rile him up. And sometimes it worked. Sometimes he would get one of those texts at work, come home and see you on your bed in deep red lingerie, and he would crawl on top of you and all would be right in the world. But it always ended up fizzling back out into you wondering what in the hell you were doing wrong. You wanted nothing more in the world than to please him, and you couldn’t even do that. He still told you he loved you every day, and he still kissed you on the forehead before bed, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Like any other person with a brain, the possibility of him cheating on you had come to mind several times. But you were always able to shake it off, he would never. Not Bradley, not your Bradley.

On Bradleys 29th birthday, you threw him a party. All of his copilots were there, Phoenix even drove in from Seal Beach. Jake was there, of course, he only lived a few blocks away. He brought Bradley a birthday present and he brought you a bottle of wine. He said it was because he knew you worked so hard on the party, and you couldn't wipe a star struck slap happy smile from your face. You knew Bradley would be getting messy that night, he had always been a drinker, especially around these pilots that you considered family. When it was only 8pm and he was already slurring his words and stumbling into furniture and had sunglasses on inside, you caught him in the kitchen as he was pouring himself another screwdriver.

“Hi baby.” You smiled, approaching him, an attempt to slow his drinking down.

He didn’t look up at you as he continued pouring vodka into his cup. “Hi sweetheart.”

You walked over to him and set your hand on his back. “It’s early, why don’t you slow down a little. Maybe have some water or eat something, then pick up where you left off?”

He continued making his drink. “How about…” he set the bottle back on the counter and stumbled away from you “You leave me alone.”

Immediately taken back, your eyebrows furrowed. “What?” Whether he was bored with you or not, that was completely and totally unlike Bradley to say.

“Get off my fuckin’ case.” His sunglasses slid down his nose.

Javy stuck his head in the kitchen. “Rooster, beer pong, come on.” He said. One look at your face and his expression changed, figuring he must have walked in on something. “You good?” he asked. He must have saw your glistening eyes or maybe he heard your pounding heartbeat that you could feel so clearly in your ears. Bradley walked past you and towards Javy. “She’s fine. You know how girls are.” he mumbled, disappearing out of the kitchen. “Ol' ball and chains.” you heard him say down the hallway.

You could not stop your mouth from falling open. The boredom you could take. You could tolerate him not treating you the same way he used to, but where did this sudden resentment come from? You wanted to cry. You wanted to lay on the floor of your kitchen and curl up in a ball and cry because you threw such a nice party for your husband that you loved and the only thing he said to you all night was to leave him alone. But, you can’t cry. At least not right now. You walk back out into the party, faking a smile and finding a spot on your couch to sit.

“Hey party girl.” Jake sat down next to you.

“Hi Jake.” You smiled.

He tilted his head down and quirked his eyebrow. “What's the matter?”

You shook your head in surprise that your fake smile was not in fact working, narrowing your eyes back at him. “Nothing.”

“Come on…” He poked your side, causing you to squirm away from him. “What’s wrong?”

You sighed. “It's nothing. Just- I’ll tell you later.” you had no intentions of actually telling him later, you just wanted him to stop asking, stop seeing directly through you.

Why Jake could read you like an open book? You didn’t know, but he could. It felt like he could read your mind, which you prayed wasn’t true, because then someone other than yourself would know about the pit in your stomach, or between your legs, that you got when you were around him.

You watched Bradley as he played beer pong, shouting and laughing and drinking. It made you smile, seeing him happy. It feels like it was just yesterday when you would’ve been right up there next to him, having fun with him. You wish you knew what changed.

“How’s your new job going?” Jake's deep voice shook you out of your trance.

You looked over at him, slightly taken back. You did not expect a single person at this party to ask you a question about yourself tonight. They were always too busy talking about their latest aircraft or their latest achievements in the field. “It’s good…” your voice was raised over the music and the shouting of the party. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

He looked sarcastically offended. “What? How could I forget?” He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t going to admit that he had been reading online about you, looking a little too long at your headshot on the law firm's website. He read an article about you from a local news site, it was really about one of the lawyers at the law firm that you worked at, but you were mentioned as the paralegal. A small picture of you and the lawyer was fit in between paragraphs, and he would be embarrassed if anyone found out how many times he had looked at it. A feeling of pride swelled in his chest whenever he did.

You looked down at your lap and smiled. He was pressed up against you on the living room couch, you could smell his beer and you could feel his thigh against yours. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked again, his voice merely a rumble beneath the music.

You nodded. “I’m fine.” Looking up at him, he gave you a look. A look he had probably given you in high school chemistry at some point when you answered a question with something that didn’t make sense. His blue eyes burned holes through your soul and you felt like all of your thoughts and secrets were floating through the air, being breathed in by him. “Its just…” you looked over at your husband, who was now chugging a drink out of a red solo cup, Javy and Mickey cheering him on as usual. “Bradley.” You wanted to continue, to tell him everything, but you didn’t want to start crying.

Jake nodded in understanding. It pissed him off that Rooster was doing this to you. You didn’t deserve this. He didn’t know for sure what was going on, but everyone could sense that something had changed with Bradley in the past year. Jake thinks it's because he’s gotten a lot more cocky since their last mission, he thinks he's too good for the dagger squad now. Whatever it was, it was effecting you, and that was crossing a fucking line.

You and Jake stayed like that on the couch for a while longer. You enjoyed his comfort and company, and he didn’t want to leave you here upset. In a desperate attempt to see you laugh, he tried to tell you a story from high school, involving your old best friend. It made you crack a smile, your warm soul glowing through your teeth and nearly blinding him. It made him feel better to see you smile, but he could not shake the anger he was feeling towards Bradley right now. He wished he could get up and walk over to Bradley, grab him by the shoulders, and yell at him that he doesn't even know how good he has it.

As you suspected, Bradley was entirely too drunk by 11. Like, laying on the floor of the bathroom drunk. While you were in the bathroom taking care of Bradley as he threw up, the party guests slowly made their drunk exits. Bob nearly had to drag Phoenix and Payback out your front door, not before wishing Bradley one last happy birthday and thanking you for throwing the party. Everyone else stumbled out to their ubers, leaving you basically alone on the cold bathroom floor, completely sober.

You sat next to Bradley and rubbed his back while he was bent over the toilet. The main goal at this point was to get him upstairs to his bed. Once you presumed he was done, you patted his sweat covered hair. “How about we get you to bed, huh?” He nodded, his eyes closed.

It took some strength to help him up off of the floor, but this wasn’t your first rodeo. You held him up while you stumbled out of the bathroom and into the living room. You weren’t expecting to see Jake, but there he was. He was holding a trash bag and was picking up the cans and solo cups that were littered all over. Startled, you immediately felt bad. “You don’t have to do that Jake, seriously. You can go home, I’ll get it tomorrow.”

He looked up to see you holding Bradley up, his head hanging and barely coherent. “Oh, I don’t mind. It’ll only take me a minute, then I’ll be out of your hair.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he stopped you. “Really. It’s fine. Go put him to bed.” He was stern, almost demanding. You nodded and continued dragging Bradley to your bedroom. The stairs were the hardest part, it felt like you were lifting dead weight. You didn’t want to wrestle with changing his clothes, so you settled for getting his jeans off, leaving him in his shirt and boxers. You got him into bed, and pulled the covers up over him. When tucking him in, it was impossible for your heart to not swell, or maybe ache, in moments like this.

He mumbled something, it didn’t even sound like english. “What’d you say baby?” You reached your hand up to push his hair off of his forehead.

“I love you.” He said, crystal clear. It felt like some type of weight was lifted off of your heart, making your eyes soften. You continued to stroke his hair for a moment, basking in his words.

“I love you too.” You said softly. He didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch.

For a few moments, everything was okay. You and Bradley were married and happy and he loved you. You’re not sure how long you sat there petting his hair. Definitely a few minutes. The sound of Jake putting away the folding table downstairs made you get up. You pulled a trash can next to Bradley and took one last look at him. You weren’t sure if you should smile or cry.

Back downstairs, Jake had made quick work of cleaning everything up. “Jake, you’re seriously a saint.” You breathed out.

“Only for you” he said, pushing a chair back to its original spot. Not taking time to dwell on whatever that statement meant, you helped him move that last few pieces of furniture.

“Okay. Dishes.” He said, walking past you into the kitchen.

“Jake-” You followed after him “You can go home, you don’t have to help, there isn’t even that many-”

“It's okay. I want to help you.” He said, turning to you with a simple smile. You didn’t want to force him out of your house. In fact, you didn’t want him to leave. Music was still playing from the party, but it was much quieter now. It was yacht rock, Bradley’s favorite.

Jake cleaned the dishes, you dried them and put them away. “You know,” He started, rinsing out the bowl he was holding. “I wish I had a girl in my life who threw me birthday parties and carried me around when I was drunk.”

You didn’t look up from the plate you were drying off. "You're telling me one of your many girls isn't dying to do something like this for you?"

He laughed softly, but shook his head. "That's not the same."

"Why not?" You crossed the kitchen to put away a cutting board.

"Because you guys are married. I wish I had a wife. Someone like you."

Maybe it was because something about Jake makes everyone feel vulnerable, but you felt like you could tell him all of your problems, like some type of truth serum was laced in his voice. “I don’t even think Bradley wishes he had that.”

You opened the cabinet to put the plate away while Jake looked at you. “Is everything okay with you two? I don’t want to pry or anything.” But the thing was, he did want to pry. He wanted to know everything about your relationship, he wants to know how often Rooster tells you he loves you, what he says to you when he fucks you, and everything in between.

“Um…” You thought about how honest you should be. “I mean, everythings okay on my end. It’s just… I don’t know what’s going on with Bradley. I think he’s getting bored of me.”

“I don’t think that's possible.” Jake said, handing you a bowl, the water from his fingers dripping onto yours. “That can’t be right. Nobody could ever get bored of you.”

You sighed and put the bowl in the cabinet in front of you. “Then I don’t know what’s going on. He’s more distant, not as talkative, he doesn’t-” You stopped yourself, unable to talk to Jake about your sex life with Bradley. Jake was your friend, but it felt wrong.

“He doesn’t what?” Jake asked. There were no more dishes to be washed, so he leaned his hands against the counter. Looking over at him was a mistake. He had a smug look on his face, the one he always wore. You swear it gives you goosebumps. It was clear that he knew what you were talking about. “He doesn’t fuck you the same anymore?”

Completely unable to break eye contact, you simply nodded. The sound of the sink running was the only thing breaking the silence between the two of you. “Does he fuck you at all?” He spoke slowly, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Yes. But not as often. And not the same.” You weren’t lying, you weren’t necessarily crossing a line, you weren’t doing anything wrong. That’s what you were telling yourself.

Jake looked down, his hand coming up to rub his jawline, subconsciously drawing your attention to it. Tongue in his cheek, he nodded. “Huh. What a shame.” He looked back up at you, your cheeks hot and most likely getting red. “You don’t deserve that.”

All you could do was nod once again. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it was thick. It was hot and it filled your lungs.

“Does he even make you cum anymore?” His words were heavy. Meticulous but outright impulsive. Like he had wanted to ask you that for so long, but the sentence finally fell out of his mouth without permission.

Your mouth suddenly felt dry, and you tried to swallow. Blood was rushing to your face and your ears and making your heart speed up. This conversation felt wrong. No, it was wrong. But your conscience was muffled by the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the fluttering in your stomach. “No.” The word rolled off of your tongue and out of your mouth.

He was standing so close to you and you thought that if he wanted to bend you over this counter right now, he could. “That must be…” His hand came up to your arm and his fingers trailed along your skin lightly. “So frustrating.”

Inexplicably, Bradleys face flashed in your mind, laying in your shared bed right above the two of you. You cleared your throat and looked down, grabbing the last plate that needed put away. Detaching his fingers from you, you reached up and put the plate in the cabinet. He looked down at the counter, then turned the sink off. The only sound was coming from the radio.

As if almost on cue to change the subject, as if that last interaction didn’t happen at all, Jake pointed to the speaker. “Oh! Duet time.” Jake smiled.

“What?” You laughed. Then you heard the song “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” playing on the radio. Before you had time to protest, Jake was already across the room, turning the speaker up. When he turned back to you, he started singing Elton John's part. He pointed to you when it got to the girls part, and you laughed. “No, Jake, I can’t.” You spoke over your part.

He furrowed his eyebrows and swayed over to you, he was not the best dancer, but you already knew this. He sang his part and reached out for your hands. You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t keep your laughter down. You gave him your hands and he pulled you into the middle of the kitchen. He danced around with you, and you sang when it got to your part. The goofiest smile sat on his face, it was so much different than his usual smug smile. The two of you sang and danced and spun around in the middle of your kitchen. And you laughed. You really, truly laughed. And that alone made Jake's heart swell.

By the end of the song, one of Jake's arms was around your waist, the other was holding your hand, swaying you to the music. As the song ended, you set your forehead against his shoulder, a way of surrendering. His shirt bunched up under your nose, and you had to fight the urge to turn your head against his neck and breathe in his cologne. His hand on the small of your back was gentle, almost like he was trying to not hurt you.

You lifted your head up and met his eyes. You could feel his heart beating under your hand and the skin on your waist burned under his fingers. “I’m scared that Bradley is cheating on me.” You blurted out before you had time to think about what you were saying.

He exhaled, you felt the air on your face. Miraculously, he shook his head. “I don’t think he would do that.” His face was angled down at yours.

Nodding, you looked down. It made you feel better to hear it from someone else. Jake was still holding onto you, and your hand was still on his chest. “You can go now. Thank you for helping.” You said weakly, not meeting his eyes. You gave his hand a squeeze and ripped yourself away from him.

The next week was completely normal. Bradley would kiss you goodbye without looking at you and then go to work, come home late and complain about being tired, then crash in bed immediately. You had sex once, it was on the couch on the one night he stayed up to watch a show with you. Friday morning was the same. You tried to chat him up while he waited for his coffee to brew, he just grumbled a response. No kiss this time, but that wasn’t totally unheard of. It was this same Friday when something abnormal happened.

I need to talk to you.

It was a text from an unknown number showing up on your apple watch. You read it during a meeting, and spent the rest of the time not listening and trying to figure out who that text could be from. When you finally got the chance to look at your phone, you saw the previous texts you had with this person. A text from over a year ago told you what you wanted to know.

Hey. This is Jake. Rooster is really drunk. Can you come get him?

Completely ignoring your work now, your heart skipped and then dropped at the possibilities of why Jake was texting you.

Okay, is everything alright?

You checked your watch while waiting for a response. A quarter to five, you could leave now if you wanted to.

Can you come by my house? Or can I call you soon?

All of the different possibilities raced through your mind. You couldn’t even think about the possibility of another woman right now. But you focused on the fact that he did not confirm that everything was alright.

I can try and come by later. What is this about?

Okay let me know when you’re coming. It’s Bradley.

You knew it. Fuck, you knew it. Wasting no time, you packed up your things and left your office. The radio was too loud and too much as you made your way home, so you drove in silence. In a rare occurrence, Bradley’s range rover was in the driveway when you got home. Weird, you always got home first.

What happened inside was nothing short of a bible level miracle. The first thing you saw when you opened the door was Bradley sitting on the couch, leaning on his knees like he was thinking. He whipped around at the sound of the door opening and he slapped a smile on his face. He stood up, grabbing a bouquet of flowers that had been laid next to him on the couch.

“Hey baby.” He smiled, coming around the couch to greet you at the door.

“Hi…” You couldn’t help the confusion that echoed in your greeting. He walked up and held the flowers out to you. You smiled, a polite smile, and took them from him. It felt abnormal, ingenuine, or something of that sort when he leaned in and kissed you.

“What’s this for?” You broke away from his lips.

“Oh, nothing.” He waved his hand. “I just wanted to get my wife some flowers.”

You nodded. It felt good, really good, to get this attention from him. You wanted to play along, to pretend like this wasn’t weird, but a little voice in your head was screaming at you. A strange feeling settled in your stomach and left a weird taste in your mouth.

“I was thinking,” He reached out and grabbed your free hand, pulling you over to the couch. “You want me to make my pasta for you, or do you wanna order something in? You choose.”

All you could do was stare at him. It was weird, this was the way you had been hoping and praying he would start treating you again for the last 4 months, but now that it's right in front of you, you couldn’t help but question it. “Pasta.” You said with a simple nod.

By the time he was in the kitchen, 80s music playing while he started to prepare dinner, you still sat frozen in your spot on the couch. Jake's text message kept running through your head, you knew it had to be related to what’s going on. More than anything, you wanted to stay here, go hug Bradley from behind while he cooks, eat dinner with him, and let everything be normal again. But you couldn’t.

“Hey, um I’ll be right back.” You knew you had about 30 minutes before he would be done cooking.

“Where are you going?” he sounded alarmed, like he didn’t want you to step foot out of this house.

The door was already open and you were already halfway out. “I have to um… go get gas.” The door shut behind you, giving no time for him to answer.

It was about a 3 minute drive to Jake’s house, but you were about to make it in 1. The sound of tires screeching notified Jake that you were there. By the time he made it to the door, you were walking up his driveway. The look in his eyes was enough to make you sick. “What happened?” you asked breathlessly.

He said nothing, simply opening the door and motioning for you to come in. “Jake.” You said sternly. “What happened?” You repeated as you entered his house. This was not your first time in Jake's house, but it's the first time in a while. It smells like him but you don’t have time to dwell on that.

“Come sit.” He gestured to his living room. Jake has a dog, a big golden retriever, and she came up to sit by you on the couch. Eyes stinging, stomach churning, you put your face in your hands. “He’s cheating on me, isn’t he?” Your voice was muffled by your hands but Jake heard what you said and it made his jaw clench.

“Listen.” He sat next to you.

“Oh my god.” You breathed out. You knew it. You called it.

He sighed and gently reached for your wrist. He pulled your hand away from your face and into his lap. He held onto your hand and he took a deep breath. “When we were leaving today, I heard someone yelling in the parking lot. I only caught the tail end of it, but it was Bradley and some other girl. He was begging her for something, I don’t know what, and she was crying. She was yelling at him, and she said she didn’t know he had a wife. She kept saying ‘you’re married’ or ‘why didn’t you tell me’ and then she asked him if this was all a lie. He said no, but then he saw me, and he tried to get her to quiet down and get in his car, but she wouldn’t. I texted you right away. Right when I got in my car.”

It all made sense. Every piece of the Bradley Bradshaw puzzle fell into place, and you saw it so clearly. The boredness, the bad sex, the resentment, the getting home late, the flowers, the way he’s trying to make it all up to you now that things fell through with her. She must have threatened to tell you, or left him completely, and now he’s left with just you. He probably feels guilty, and wants to try and make it up to you. The first thought that ran through your mind was how could you have been so stupid. Jake held onto your shaky hands and you cried. You cried harder than you think you ever had. Wordlessly, he pulled you into him, and you cried into his shoulder. The only word you could get out between your sobs was “why.”

So many thoughts ran through your mind. You wanted to know who this girl was. Was she pretty? Was she prettier than you? Was that the problem? Does she know Bradley the way you do? What was so wrong with you that he had to get someone else?

How many times did Bradley fuck her and then come straight home and fuck you? That thought made you pull away from Jake, nearly pushing him off of you. “Y/N’ He reached for you and you stood up. Were there times where he thought about her while he fucked you? Was the sex with her so good that he couldn’t even finish when he was with you?

You shook your head and covered your mouth with the back of your hand. Calmly at first, you turned and walked down his hallway, your speed quickening with every step. Jake's footsteps echoed behind you, he was saying something but you couldn’t decipher it. The door to his bathroom hit the wall from how hard you pushed it open and you fell to your knees. You threw up, Jake appearing in the doorway as you did. Through all of this, you still found time to be embarrassed that he was seeing you like this, but he didn’t seem to mind. He knelt next to you and pulled your hair back away from your face. “It’s okay.” He whispered.

When you were slightly calmed down, you set your forehead on your arm. Jake's large hand was rubbing up and down your back. “What do I do?” You said to the ground.

Jake cleared his throat. He thought the answer was clear, but maybe it wasn’t to you. “Do you want to stay with him?” He asked.

Your eyes squeezed shut at the thought of either option he was presenting. Leave Bradley, or stay with him and always know what he did. “I don’t know.” Your voice was strained.

To Jake, this was a stupid answer. He thought you would say no, he thought that any person in their right mind would say no. “Oh.” His eyebrows furrowed.

Before you made a decision, you knew you needed to talk to Bradley. Maybe this was a misunderstanding, maybe it was a mistake, maybe he’ll do everything in his power to earn your trust back, and then you’d have the old Bradley back. Reaching up to flush the toilet, you stood, Jake following suit.

“I need to go talk to him.” You said, walking past him out of the bathroom. He followed hot on your tail, trying to think of what to say. Once you reached the front door, you turned around to him. “Thank you for telling me.” He said nothing, only nodded. When you hugged him and his arms wrapped around you, you allowed your eyes to fall shut. You were lucky to have him.

“If you don’t want to stay there tonight, I have a guest room.” He said into your hair. He felt you nod underneath him, then let you go.

The car ride home was dead silent. You weren’t crying, you weren’t yelling, you weren’t listening to music. You felt nothing short of dead inside, like every good piece of your life just got pulled out from underneath you. Slowly, you pulled into the driveway. You wanted to sit in the car and not go inside, not find out the truth, but you knew that wasn’t an option. The reflection looking back at you in your rearview mirror did not look like you. It was scary. You wiped under your eyes and your mouth, then forced yourself to open the car door. Your legs were moving, but it was completely muscle memory, and you were surprised you hadn’t fallen to the ground yet.

When you opened the front door, you tried to act normal. Music played through the house and you heard dishes clinking in the kitchen. Kicking your shoes off, you couldn’t ignore the two dogs that ran up to you. It made you want to cry even harder, the way they climbed on you when you bent down to pet them, like they could sense something was wrong. “Hey baby, you’re back.” You looked up and saw Bradley in the doorway to your kitchen. He was smiling, but for some reason, you almost felt better when you saw him. When you looked at him, you were reminded of the man he was on your wedding day, he gave you that same smile at the altar. It was the same smile you fell in love with, the same smile he had when he was merely just your neighbor when you were 23. “What’s wrong?” He asked immediately, his smile faltered slightly.

Looking back down at the dogs, you couldn't bring yourself to fight with him right now. You couldn’t let yourself lose him. “Nothing.” You shook your head. “I just had a hard day at work.”

“Oh, honey.” He walked towards you. This was by far the most attention you had gotten from him in months, and it was addicting. It is how you always wanted things to be, how you hoped and prayed they would end up. He pulled you into a hug and you could have melted into his arms. He hugged you, really hugged you. “I’m sorry you had a hard day.” He pulled back and brought his hands to your face. For some reason, for some weird, strange reason, you smiled. The feeling of his thumbs on your cheeks absolutely flooded your mind with memories, and it was enough to make you want to forget that he ever did anything wrong. Sure, there was a pit in your stomach and you were still unbelievably sad, but if this is how he’s gonna act from now on, you don’t want to leave.

He kissed you and you were suddenly hyper aware that you had just thrown up less than 15 minutes ago. He leaned his forehead against yours and you were positive that he could feel the heat from your cheeks on his palms. “Dinners gonna be ready in like 5 minutes, okay?”

You nodded and he let you go. You turned towards the stairs and he was heading back to the kitchen, and he slapped your ass as you walked away, and you can’t believe it, but you laughed. When you got upstairs, you went into your bathroom and leaned against the counter. The shame that you felt for not standing up for yourself was intense. It weighed your heart down and made you dizzy. You almost couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror. You had to confront him about this, right? He would apologize and you would accept it and everything would be okay. But you couldn’t just not say anything. You met your own bloodshot eyes in the mirror. Aware of the taste of throw up in your mouth, you reached for your toothbrush.

That night, you ate Bradleys criminally delicious pasta and the two of you sat at the table for almost an hour just talking after you were done eating. After that, he suggested you start that show that the two of you had been meaning to watch. He turned the fireplace on and cuddled up with you on the couch, your dogs occasionally trying to make their way in between the two of you. As the night went on, you thought about what he had done less and less. You didn’t let yourself think about whether he just fucked that girl or if they loved each other. You tried your hardest not to dwell on the fact that all of this attention was just his guilt manifesting into real life.

When the episode ended, the two of you sat still in your spots on the couch. His hand was in your hair, and your arms were wrapped around him. You wondered what he was thinking about. You hoped it wasn’t her.

He grabbed your chin and turned your face towards him. “I love you, you know that right?” He asked, his voice was low and gravely. You sighed, looking in his eyes. He didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve the love you were desperate to give him. “Yes.” you replied. “I love you too.”

He kissed you slowly. It reminded you of the way he used to kiss you when the two of you still lived in neighboring apartments. It was so passionate, you could feel it. You kissed him right back, basking in the feeling of being wanted by him. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth and you hiked your leg up higher against him, he broke away with a smile. He lifted you up off the couch and you squealed. “Bradley!” You laughed “Put me down.”

He laughed with you and carried you up the steps. Halfway to your bedroom, you gave up trying to squirm out of his strong grip. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he held you tighter. Once the door to your room was swung open and you were tossed onto the bed, Bradley crawled on top of you. He kissed you again, but it was a different type of kiss. It was rougher, insatiable. The kind that made your mind foggy and your core heat up. His body was hot on top of yours and it felt so good but it was so hard to enjoy. He wasted no time pulling your sweatpants down, sitting up to pull them over your feet and throw them off the bed. He pulled his shirt over his head and, no matter how hurt you were or how mad you were at him, you could not deny how fucking sexy he is. His skin was tan and he looked like he was glowing from the hallway light reflecting off of him. His rough hands wrapped around your thighs as he adjusted himself in front of you. This undoubtedly made you so excited. Your heartbeat sped up as his mustache scratched your thighs. He nipped at the skin on your leg, making you squirm. He looked absolutely gorgeous in between your legs. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and hooded. “You want me to be gentle or rough?”

As much as you wanted him rough, your heart needed him gentle. “Can you be gentle?”

“Of course I can, sweetheart.” He kissed the inside of your leg again. And gentle he was. He licked a slow stripe up your pussy, taking his sweet time. You couldn’t look away, and you had such a perfect view propped up on your elbows. When he started working on your clit, you had to drop your head back. He knew your body like the back of his hand. He knew what you liked, what you hated, how to make you squirm, how to make you cum in less than a minute. His dark curls were sticking to his forehead as he started to sweat. The grip on your thighs tightened, like he was pulling you closer. He was so far buried inside your pussy that his nose was going to be covered in your slick by the time he was done. He was stalling, you could tell. This was maybe his millionth time doing this, and he was giving you just enough to keep you on the edge, and he knew it. Even worse, he liked it.

“Please, Bradley.” You whined, letting your arms drop to your sides and falling onto your back. He shook his head into you, not relenting in the way he was licking you up, almost like he couldn't stop. You tried to grind into him, but his arms kept you in place.

It was almost like he could not get enough of you, which would honestly make sense. You genuinely couldn't pinpoint the last time he had done this for you. Well, done it and actually tried.

One of his hands unwrapped from around your thigh, coming to push his fingers inside you. “Oh my god.” You groaned. Now that his mouth had full focus on your clit, and his fingers were stuck inside of you curling upward, both of you knew you were close. “Bradley, oh my fucking god.”

His pace was steadily increasing, making your back arch completely off of the mattress. You could feel him smiling against you. Your orgasm all but crept up on you, starting off slow and then completely taking over your whole body. Eyes closed, your whole body pulsed, falling over you like warm water.

Inexplicably, at your highest peak, Jake Seresin wearing his dress whites came into your mind. And it made you cum harder. When you came to and realized what the fuck you just did, your eyes popped open and your face heated up. You couldn’t help but slap your hand over your mouth. You just came from your husband eating you out, and you thought about his best friend.

Bradley crawled back on top of you and you pulled your hand away from your mouth. He said nothing and kissed you. You could feel him panting and his chest heaving, yours was too. “Was that good?” He said an inch from your mouth, giving you a soft peck after.

“Mhmmm” Was all you could get out.

“Do you want more?” He said in between soft kisses. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

All you could do was nod.

He fucked you slow and sweet. He kissed you a million times and told you he loved you even more than that. Afterwards, he fell asleep with his head on your chest and your hands in his hair. His head moved up and down with your breathing, like the sun set and rose for you. His arms were wrapped around your torso, so you could barely reach your phone when you heard it buzz. Straining, you picked it up off your nightstand.

How’d it go?

The text made your stomach drop and subsequently knocked you back into reality. You can’t go on pretending like everything's okay because Jake knew. That girl is still out there, she knows. The man with his head on your chest knew. God knows who else knows about it. You turned your phone off and closed your eyes.

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