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sometimesanalice · 6 months

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Seeing Double

Summary: Two weeks had felt like more than enough time to come up with something. And now you’re costumeless and in a panic less than a couple of hours before you’re supposed to be meeting your boyfriend’s closest friends. You’re ready to call it quits when you’re suddenly hit with a burst of inspiration.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 6k

Warnings: fluff, allusions to smut, and Bradley Bradshaw in short-shorts (minors dni)

(This fic is a one-shot that is set before the Oh Christmas Tree, but you can read it on its own! Enjoy 🧡)

Looking at your closet, filled with everything and yet absolutely nothing, you’re beginning to realize just how totally and royally screwed you are.

The thing is you’d had time. More than enough time, in fact.

When Bradley had first invited you to go with him to this Halloween party, two weeks had seemed like plenty of time to concoct the perfect costume.

And then the more you’d thought about it, the more you’d overthought it, the more annoyed you’d gotten for overthinking it. A vicious spiral that not even hours of searching on Pinterest had helped to pull you from.

One that had left you costumeless for a party that was supposed to start in less than two hours with all of your boyfriend’s friends.

Fuck.

It was one outfit for one evening. You should probably be more concerned about Ciara from Marketing and her not-so-subtle scheming than what you were going to put on your body for the next five or so hours.

As you a sift through your perfectly color coordinated clothes, dragging hangers across the closet rod as if you’ve been personally victimized by the wardrobe you’d bought with your own money, you can’t help but wonder if you might have some self-sabotaging tendencies.

Bradley Bradshaw had snuck up on you when you were least expecting it. And what you thought was just going to be some summer fun had quickly turned into something more.

More often than not, you were thinking of him.

More often than not, he was texting you throughout the day.

More often than not, you were sharing a bed with him at night.

The last three, almost four, months had flown by in a summer haze and you liked Rooster more than any other man you had dated in the past.

You might even love him, but that was something you were keeping close to your chest for now. It felt too soon to be feeling the way you did about him.

He was more than just the pretty face and easygoing smile that had swayed you into giving him your number. He was more than just a fun night out and some no-strings-attached-yet-mind-blowing sex that you had tried to convince yourself it was.

He’d made it impossible for you to try and keep it casual in the way that he’d thoroughly swept you off your feet. You’d given up trying to keep him at arm’s length after your fifth date with him.

If you couldn’t beat him, you might as well join him. And so far, it was a gamble with your heart that was paying off.

Which was probably why you had given yourself the world’s worst mental block trying to figure out a costume to wear.

You’d met a few of his friends, like Natasha and Jake, during the nights he’d taken you to the Hard Deck. He’d told you that after one of their missions earlier in the year, the members on the squad had been in high demand. But this was the first time you’d be hanging out with them all at once.

So yeah, you were more than a little nervous about this evening.

And you didn’t just want to make a good impression, you wanted to absolutely charm and delight them. These people were so important to him, they were his family. They mattered to him and he mattered to you.

You pull out a black cocktail dress and debate whether you could pull together a Breakfast at Tiffany’s look with the pearls your grandmother had left you. It was a classic for a reason, right?

Or did it make you look like you were trying too hard? She was basically a callgirl after all.

The formfitting little dress goes back on the rack with a little more force than is necessary.

It’s just a causal get together, so why are your palms sweating?

You eye a silky pink slip dress and think about pairing it with one of your overpriced sleep mask. But you think you’d look less like you were flirty, thirty, and thriving and more like you forgotten to get dressed after rolling out of bed.

There are still a couple of cozy plaid button ups that you’d brought with you from home, but unless you carried around a roll of paper towels all night, it was an idea that might get you a more than a few perplexed looks. And there was nothing worse than having to explain your outfit for it to make sense to people.

Or worse, you’d be the one cleaning up spills all night.

You wanted your effort to look effortless.

Cool but not try hard. Thought through but not over the top.

You remember seeing some friend of a friend’s post from last weekend where she was dressed as Kim Possible. Green pants and a black top feel very doable. And she’d looked very cute and low maintenance, which was just the kind of vibe you were going for.

Remembering a pair of green khakis your sister had somehow talked you into the last time she came to visit, you go to your dresser and yank out the drawer you think they’d be in and toss it on the floor. You’re over trying to keep some semblance of order, that’s a problem for future you to deal with now.

Digging around in the pile, you will a flash of olive green to appear before your eyes. And when the items formerly nicely folded drawer and nothing but a heap of wrinkled, olive green-less chaos, you’re hit with the realization that the khakis that had seemed like a bad idea when you’d first gotten them had felt like a bad idea every time you looked at them and they’d ended up in the donation pile during your last closet purge.

You flop down and take in the carnage.

Half open drawers, random tops and skirts flung on your bed, the perfect rainbow of your closet now some technicolored disarray.

You’re almost afraid to pull out your phone to look at the clock, that pressure growing in your chest keeps getting worse. You can almost feel each individual second as they tick by. Glancing down you see that there’s a new message from Bradley, one that you missed in your frenzy to find something, anything to wear tonight.

Bradley, 9:52 AM: That wake up was worth the extra pushups I had to do for being late.

Bradley, 11:10 AM: Did I leave my shirt at your place this morning?

You, 12:22 PM: I’ll check when I get home and let you know. But I’m sure it’s there since I vividly remember the way you took it off last night.

You, 12:23 PM: And you only have yourself to blame for those pushups. (PS. I told you what time it was before I got in the shower, you were the one who invited yourself to join. PPS. I liked that thing you did with the shower head)

Bradley, 2:37 PM: As I said, worth it (PS pretty sure the only thing I heard you chanting was my name. Also I just ordered a new shower head for my place, one with a fancy handheld and everything)

You, 3:04 PM: I guess I’ll have to wake you up with my mouth more often then. (PS. just curious how many settings does it have? Asking for a friend.)

Bradley, 3:10 PM: Jesus Sweetheart, I’m up next to do a hop… (PS more than enough, and by enough, I mean 7)

You, 3:10 PM: 😘 (PS. can’t wait, I’m more than happy to product test)

Bradley, 3:11 PM: Yeah, I bet you are...

You, 3:11 PM: (Want to know the best part of working from home? I can get off any time I want. Have fun flying with that hard-on, Roos.)

Bradley, 3:12 PM: Baby, you’re killing me here

You, 3:12 PM: Fly safe ❤️

🔴 Bradley, 6:14 PM: Just got home, I can’t wait to see you tonight. What time should I pick you up? You might have to come down though, I don’t know if they’d let me in...

Skimming the previous messages from earlier in the day helps relieve some of the anxious energy that was thrumming in your veins. Because he’s just so Bradley.

He hadn’t been the only one who got to work late this morning. You’d actually worked from the office that day, but it had been more fun to tease him from your desk than draft the internal communications you were supposed to be working on.

The original plan had been to work a half day and then leave early and figure out your costume situation. But then you’d been pulled into an emergency PR meeting on your way out the door for one of the company’s biggest clients and had got home much, much later than you’d planned to.

You’d spotted Rooster’s shirt crumpled on the floor by the foot of your bed, from where he’d shucked it off the night before, the second you’d flown into your bedroom. Now it is carefully draped against the back of the soft blue tufted chair in the corner of your room. It was a colorful patchwork of beach themed vignettes in soft corals, teals, and dark blues. In addition to the palm trees and foliage, there were also planes and ships on it.

It was one of your favorites because you always felt like you were finding something new on it every time he wore it.

He’d told you once early on when you’d first gotten serious, after you’d teased him about his seemingly endless supply, that he’d even gotten curious one drunken night and looked up the resale value on some of his favorites and was shocked at the numbers. That it had taken him a month to put one back on because he didn’t want to ruin any of them on accident, now that he knew what exactly his father had left him.

You knew how much Bradley valued his collection, what they meant to him. You were even watching a few vintage ones in nice condition on Ebay to give him for Christmas.

Letting out a ragged sigh, you look back at the pile on the ground.

You’ve always prided yourself on being a problem solver. And the one time you needed to spring into action with a pivot plan is the one time you’re at a complete loss. You felt paralyzed by indecision and the kind of pressure that only you could put on yourself, which made everything that much more frustrating.

How you had kept the novelty six-pack tank top you’d taken home from a White Elephant exchange, but donated the green khaki pants was beyond you.

Out of the two, one would have been much more practical in this particular moment.

You pick it up off the floor and feel the fabric between your fingers. It was surprisingly soft for something that you’d expect to feel like sandpaper no matter how many times it got washed.

That tank top had never seen the light of day, yet always seemed to make it through your yearly purge unscathed. Probably solely on the fact that it made you giggle whenever you saw it. You always forgot about it, but it was a happy surprise when you pulled it out from where it was tucked away in the back of your dresser drawer.

You let it fall back onto the top of the pile.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard of your phone as you try to figure out what to say to Bradley, as you look back and forth between your mountainous mess and the empty text box.

You know you could call him and he’d pick up before the third ring. You knew you could text him and he would reply the moment he could. And you know, if you told him you were stressed about meeting all of his friends and wanting to impress them, to impress him, that he would understand. He’d tell you- in that soothing way of his- to not worry about it, that you could just wear whatever made you comfortable, no costume necessary.

He’d probably even ditch his own so that you weren’t the only one there in normal clothes, even though he’d been dropping teasing hint about his for days now. He was so excited for tonight, you didn’t want to bring the vibe down before you’d even arrived.

You close your eyes and allow yourself a couple moments to reset.

What you wore didn’t matter. But whatever you wore, you were going to have a great time with Bradley and the people he cared about. And that was the only thing that mattered to you.

You could throw on your little black dress, or a red and white striped sweater with a pair of glasses, or some skintight leggings and a leather jacket. But it didn’t matter because it was all going to end the same way: with you tipsy and giddy and in Rooster’s bed.

Already feeling much better you open your eyes again.

You’re greeted again with those perfectly sculpted abs of that silly little tank top that still sits on top of the mound of clothes on your floor. But out of the corner of you eye, those cheerful colors adorning your chair in the corner wink out at you.

The glimmer of an idea settles over you like stardust.

It’s on that the more you sit with, the more perfectly solidified it becomes in your mind. Oh, you can see it so clearly now.

It’s an idea that makes you feel like you could bubble over in excitement.

You shoot off a quick text to Rooster and set about grabbing all the things you needed. You’d be a little late, but not terribly so. Fashionably late.

And you’re hopeful it’ll be worth the last-minute change of plans.

There was only one thing you needed that you didn’t already have, and you knew just where you’d be able to find it.

Just a quick little pit stop on the way to the party.

On your way to Bradley.

When Rooster parked in front of Fanboy and Payback’s place he shouldn’t have been surprised to see the Spanish-style house they rented together absolutely covered in every type of decoration imaginable.

He’d heard Reuben moan and groan about it enough over the last few weeks.

Halloween was Mickey’s favorite holiday and there was nothing more he loved than going all out on a theme. It didn’t matter if it was St Patrick’s Day or National Cheeseburger Day, he always committed.

They’d all be pulled into the argument about whether or not a faux body bag filled with empty bottles should be strung up on the front porch. Fanboy lost that one by a mere two votes. And Bob had been the one to broker the peace by suggesting they make some ghosts to hang up instead.

Dozens of glowing pumpkin lanterns hung from the trees outside and lined the pathway up to the front door. The bushes were wrapped in fibrous looking cobweb material as lights flickered and flashed underneath them. There was a fog machine hidden somewhere because wisps of smoke were curling and crawling along the lawn. Custom gravestones littered the yard along with a few well-placed plastic skeletons. The front of the porch was filled with more pumpkins of various sizes and shapes and colors as well as those truce ghosts and a few oversized bats swaying in the chilly October night breeze.

Rooster wasted no time letting himself in the glowing entryway, rubbing his arms as he hustled to get inside. Normally he ran warm, but he’d been covered in goosebumps from the moment he’d gotten out of the Bronco.

His costume had earned him more than a few wolf whistles when he had stopped to get gas. He’d simply shot them a wink and a smirk as he’d strut past them to go inside and pay.

He looked damn good.

But there was only one person he’d wanted to show off this outfit to.

He didn’t know how it was possible but the inside was even more decorated than the outside of their place was.

There were stands and strands of colorful string lights in black, purple, and orange strung across the ceiling covered by gauzy black fabric. There were more cobwebs covering every exposed bit of the walls and flameless candles lining the floor of the hallway. And there was a mix of eerie forest sounds playing under the Halloween party soundtrack that Coyote had been roped into making for the night.

Bradley follows the hundreds of little plastic spiders decorated the wall leading him to the living room. And almost collides with someone as he rounds the corner.

The shorter man he’d nearly taken out had on an overly bleached and spiked wig with a goatee and was wearing more neon orange flames than any one person should be allowed to wear.

They were both eyeing each other waiting for the other person to lob the first comment.

Rooster sees the way Mav’s cheeks are twitching as he takes in the length of the shorts he was wearing and just how much leg he had on display.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s hear it, old man,” he snorts, reaching out and taking the drink from Mav’s hand and taking a swig from the mostly empty bottle before passing it back.

“Did they lower the drinking age and I missed the memo, kid?” Mav tosses back easily, pointing to Bradley’s clingy, red Rydell High School t-shirt. “Don’t need a Class A misdemeanor on my record, that file is already big enough on its own.”

“Laugh it up, Flavortown,” Bradley snorts, “You on your way out?”

“Yeah, just wanted to swing by for a minute before I go over to the Hard Deck to help Penny out for the night. She sent me with some treats too, they’re over on the table. Where’s your girl? I was hoping to see her before I left.”

“Oh, uh, she’s meeting me here. Said she got caught up in a last-minute meeting,” Bradley says rubbing the back of his neck. He was trying not to over think the text you’d sent him. “So what’s Penny dressing up as?”

Mav uses both hands and gestures to his costume, face flat.

“No shit,” Bradley laughs.

“Amelia hustled the both of us,” Mav says shaking his head fondly. “I’m telling you, kid, teenagers these days are a scary bunch.” He takes the last swig of his beer and passes the bottle to Bradley, patting him on the shoulder. “Make sure you and your girl try the candlestick cakes. The realistic ones are the ones that Penny made.”

“And the others?” Rooster asked with a smirk.

“Let’s just say I’m a better pilot than I am with a piping bag,” he says with a self-deprecating laugh. “Happy Halloween, Bradley.”

“See you on Sunday for brunch.”

He and his godfather exchange a hug before Pete strides out the door, giving him one more pat on the back before he leaves.

Rooster makes his way further into the living room and goes to check out the food situation and to grab a drink in hopes that it’ll help settle that anxious coil in the pit of his stomach.

He waves over to Fritz, Yale, and Omaha, who are dressed up as the Sanderson Sisters, as he makes his way to the dining room. Fritz has his arm draped over his wife’s shoulder who is dressed like a black cat and they’re all gathered around the keg in the kitchen like it’s a cauldron.

Under a display of floating candles, Fanboy and Payback’s dining table is filled to the brim with all kinds of party food. Breadsticks that looked like fingers, a charcuterie board being clutched by a skeleton, a carved pumpkin puking some kind of tasty looking dip, and rice krispies with an ungodly amount of red dye number forty wrapped up in plastic on Styrofoam trays. And of course, the candlestick cakes. It was obvious which one’s Penny had made and which were Mav’s handiwork.

He pops one in his mouth, making a mental note to text Penny about how good they are.

Off to the side there was a homemade cooler shaped like a coffin and a witch’s cauldron bubbling away with dry ice filled with something potent, if the patriotic punch from the Fourth of July was anything to go by.

He grabs one of the plastic syringes from the bowl that says free shots and sips it down easily, trying not to grimace at the ratio of tequila to cranberry cocktail, and then dropping the now empty syringe in the hazardous waste bucket that’s placed next to the bowl.

Checking out the inside of the cooler, he sees it’s been stocked with a good variety of beers and ciders, he even spots your favorite which he knows you’ll be excited about.

That is whenever you get here.

Bradley pulls out his phone from the back pocket of his tight-fitting shorts to see if there’s any new message from you yet.

No ETA, no update, no on my way. Nothing since his last text nearly forty minutes ago. He’s tempted to shoot you another one, but he doesn’t want to come across as overbearing.

Rooster knew you were a bit anxious about tonight, even though all his friends really liked you, but he was starting to think that maybe he might be deeper in this than you were. He was trying not to let his mind spiral about why you didn’t want him to pick you up, but the only thing he kept coming back to was that maybe you wanted a way to make an easy escape if you weren’t having a good time with him or his friends.

He was worried that you might have one foot out the door.

You’ve met most of his friends now, just at different times and never all at once.

After the Uranium Mission, their team quickly became very in-demand. Getting requests to join other training contingents, classified trials and testing of new tech in development, and smaller specialized missions. It’s very rare now that they’re all in the same place at the same time. It always feels like there’s always someone missing, they’re always going and doing.

His team has always been good about finding ways to let off steam.

Although, he’s been less frequently found behind the piano bench of the Hard Deck since he’s taking on a more starring role in your bedroom. His friends would tease him on base about keeping you to himself. But he wouldn’t apologize for wanting to spending all his free time with you than the people he already spent the majority of his days with. Bradley doesn’t want you to feel like he’s trying to keep you away from them, he just would rather soak up all of your attention than share you with everyone else.

He liked that you were his girl.

Sighing to himself, Rooster puts his phone back in his pocket and walks back out to the living room before anyone can accuse him of sulking.

Callie and her fiancée are dress up as Velma and Daphne and chatting away with Bob over by the fireplace that is filled with skulls and thick pillars of candles. Bob’s homemade chef’s hat is glowing lightly from the inside and showing the silhouette of a little rodent.

He watches as Fanboy in his Hamburglar costume heading over of the bathroom with a trash bag looking more than a little suspicious. Bradley is sure he has more than a few pranks up black and white striped sleeves tonight.

“Where’s your Sandy, Danny?” Nat asks, sliding up to him and passing him a beer.

“You know, I don’t actually know what she’s coming dressed as. She never gave me any hints,” he admits, taking a small sip as he takes in her costume. She’s got fluffy bunny ears on and her nose is painted pink. The only thing missing from her Lola Bunny ensemble is the basketball.

“Oh?” He can tell Phoenix is trying to school the surprise on her face. “I just figured with you wearing that and all.”

He just shrugs, his thumbnail picking at the label on the bottle.

Bradley had thought about floating a couple’s costume when he had invited you to come with him, but he pivoted at the last moment, not wanting to put pressure on you to agree to commit right away.

“Is she on her way?” Nat asks, looking at him out of the corner of her all too keen eyes.

“Hopefully, if she doesn’t change her mind,” he says ruefully.

“Why would she do that? Did you do something to piss her off?”

“Not that I know of. I know I’m reading into things, but I was supposed to go pick her up and she texted me last minute saying that she’d meet me here instead. And I don’t know what to make of it, it just isn’t like her.”

“Is that why you’re standing here look like a sad puppy? You know I’ve never been able to get through those ASPCA commercial without them getting my credit card information. Can I read the text?”

“Sure, have at it,” he says, unlicking and handing over his phone to her. “Uh, just the last few though.” He tacks that last part on quickly and she just gives him a pointed lift of her sharp eyebrow.

He feels dumb watching Nat skim the texts, he knows he’s overthinking things. But he also knows he’s not going to feel better about any of it until you get here and he can see your face.

“She said she’ll be here, Bradshaw. I don’t know how else you’re reading into this, but I imagine the mental gymnastics must be getting tiring.”

Bradley huffs a laugh, because she’s right.

As always.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair, “It’s just- I really like her, Nat.”

“Oh, we know. You moon after her with those big cow eyes all the time” she teases, nudging her elbow against his ribs. “But I’ve also seen the way she moons after you too, so relax.”

He can’t fight the small smile that works its way onto his face. The idea of you watching him the same way he knows he looks at you when you’re not looking at him makes his chest fill with warmth.

Nat peers around him and he spins to see who’s just arrived.

“Jesus, Rooster. Aren’t you worried about your dick falling out of those? They’re indecent,” Jake drawls, looking every inch the action hero he thinks he is.

“Please,” Bradley says with a roll of his eyes, “You wish you could pull these off, Bagman. If you got it, flaunt it.”

“I’m flaunting plenty,” Jake counters as he flexes. His shirt is unbuttoned all the way to the waistband of his pants. Although, Bradley is pretty sure Indiana Jones at least had sleeves. “Once your girl sees these abs she might be my girl by the end of the night.”

Seresin shoots him a wink and struts away, the plastic whip on his hip bouncing with every step. Rooster just shakes his head after him, watching as he high fives Javy, who is dressed as The Rock complete with a fanny pack and chain around his neck, in greeting by the sliding glass door that leads to patio.

“I still can’t believe you use to date him,” he ribs Nat lightly.

She plucks his beer out of his hand, claiming it as her own in retaliation. “Me neither,” she grunts, but he hears the hint of affection in her voice.

“Hey, you two look great! Do you need anything?” Mickey asks enthusiastically. His shifty eyes and overly wide smile instantly making Bradley edgy.

“Where’d that trash bag you had earlier go, Fanboy?” he asks warily.

“That’s for me to know and Javy to find out about later,” Mickey says slyly.

Rooster and Nat exchange a look.

This was the thing he was worried about when Cyclone had announced the news earlier in the week that they’d all tentatively have the next couple of months off through the new year. A well-earned break. No extra assignments. No extra transfers or additional training seminars.

Mav had told him in confidence that there was one small deployment that might get approved near Thanksgiving and that he was going to pull some string to see what information he could find out about it. Bradley was hoping that you might ask him to come home with you and meet your parents, so he had his fingers crossed that his name was left off that list.

The mood on base was already light. Mickey and Javy had started a series of pranks against each other that had slowly been escalating over the last few days. And Rooster knew that this extroverted bunch would be leaning in at full force and cutting loose tonight.

“Can you do me a favor, man? Can you hold off on the pranks for an hour, I don’t want you guys to scare her off the second she walks through the door.”

“She’s met us, she knows how we are.”

“I think that’s that point,” Nat quips.

“She likes us and we like her, so what’s there to worry about?” Fanboy asks rhetorically.

“Not all at once,” Bradley mutters.

“Lighten up, Rooster! I’m sure she’ll get here soon. In the meantime, go have some of the Potion of Peril punch that I made. I promise we’ll be on our best behavior. I won’t even ask her to grab something from the fridge for me,” Fanboy says that last part with a concerning laugh as he scurries away.

“You won’t what? Wait, Fanboy, come back,” Rooster calls after Mickey. He sees Payback dressed as Marty McFly coming down the stairs, and catches him. “Reuben, hey, what’s in the fridge?”

“Mickey has been collecting all of our empty jars for weeks now. He filled the damn fridge with jars of heads. It scared the shit out of me the first time I saw all of them. I haven’t been able to find the open container of mayo for days, and I’m tired of eating dry sandwiches.” Payback lets out the biggest sigh and rolls his eyes before he leaves them making his way over towards Coyote and Hangman still by the patio.

“See, Nat? This is what I’m worried about. We’re a lot, in more ways than one.”

Bradley pulls out his phone again, probably for the fifth time since he’s arrived and begins working on a text to send her. There’s nothing wrong with a little heads up and if he can get a little update from you then he’ll consider it a win.

“Well, if it ain’t Rooster,” he hears Hangman call out from across the room.

“We just did this, man,” he tosses back, not bothering to look up from his phone.

“Hey! Bradshaw’s girl has got a better set of abs than he does!” someone else calls out.

That gets his attention.

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” he grunts irritably, as he tries to put his phone back in his pocket.

He doesn’t get a response because Phoenix is already turning him towards the entryway, the room erupting in a series of hoots and hollers as the rest of the party takes notice of your costume.

You’re shifting a little on your feet under the attention, there’s a small shy smile on your face and you have your pretty eyes already trained on him.

Hangman wasn’t kidding when he said you had a better set of abs than him.

You’re wearing a pair of frayed light blue denim shorts with a truly impressive screen-printed washboard stomach is on full display tucked into them. Over that you had on the Hawaiian print shirt he’d left at your place on accident this morning, it was one of his favorites with all its bright colors, along with a pair of sunglasses dangling from the pocket.

There was no mistaking who you’ve come dressed up as, not with that striking press-on mustache you were wearing.

It’s all he can do to just stand there and stare at you.

You’ve always been so damn beautiful, and even with a felt mustache on your face, you can make his heart pound away in his chest. Not to mention, he really likes the way you look in his shirt.

Your face lights up as you take him in too. Your eyes sweeping over his two-sizes-too-small shirt and the white short-shorts that left nothing to the imagination.

There is such fondness on your face he can’t believe how he’d let himself get so twisted in knots.

He forgets about all of his friends and their commotion as he struts over to you taking your face between his hands and kissing you. You make a little noise of surprise that he uses to his advantage to slip his tongue into your mouth.

When one of his friends catcalls them, he waves them off with one of his hands, and then drops it down to your ass to pull you in closer to him.

A flash goes off, the light bright behind his eyes.

He can feel the laughter bubbling out of your chest before comes out of your mouth, even he fights to tamper down his own amusement in favor of kissing you more.

Pulling away Bradley gently takes your chin between his finger and thumb turning your head left and right to admire your costume of choice, up close and personal.

“I gotta say, sweetheart, you’re really working that mustache.”

“I get your attachment to it. I think I wear it pretty well,” you say looking very pleased with yourself. You reach up and affectionately brush your fingers along his own.

He’d thought about shaving it off for the sake of his costume, but ultimately couldn’t go through with it. And now he’s really glad he didn’t.

“It’s not just that ‘stache you’re wearing well,” Bradley says low just for her, toying with the hem of his shirt draped on you. “You know I like the way you look in my clothes.”

He can’t help up enjoy the way you’re getting bashful under his appreciative gaze and compliments.

“I had to make sure you got the shirt back somehow,” you say with a smile.

“So it can end up on the floor of my bedroom instead?” he teases, kissing your cheek.

“I like the sound of that, and not just because my bedroom looks like a crime scene.” He cocks his head at you, but you just shake your own at him in response before continuing, “But I’m letting you know right now, the mustache is staying on when you have your way with me.”

“You have yourself a deal as long as you share your routine with me,” he murmurs, running a finger down the line of the faux abs of your tank top. “Can’t say I remember seeing these this morning in the shower. I’ve got a girl to impress, so I’d be happy to show you how grateful I am for any tips and tricks.”

“Think you’re doing just fine in those short-short of yours,” you reply, taking a step back to give him a thorough once over, “What inspired this eyeful of an ensemble?”

“I knew the shorts would make my ass look good,” he says with a shrug that send you into a fit of giggles. He’s ready to skip the party all together, in favor of appreciating how good you look outside of your costume. Your eyes are dancing with amusement and he finds himself wanted to admit more, “And because, you know…”

He thought his costume idea had been pretty witty, but now he felt a little sheepish because he didn’t want you to think he was being corny. Sure the shorts had been the thing that sealed the deal, but he’d picked good boy Danny Zuko for a reason.

“No, Bradley, I don’t think I do. Will you explain it to me?”

“Summer lovin’ happened so fast and all that.”

“‘And all that’, huh?” And there’s that look of your, he was absolutely putty in your hands when you looked at him like that. “Ok, ok, but I need to know,” you pause for moment, and look up at him with a very serious expression, “Did you have yourself a blast?”

He watches as you bite your bottom lip trying not to laugh at your own joke.

And in that moment, he just knows.

The sureness had been taking up residence in his bones since he’d first convinced you that trying to keep it casual with you wouldn’t cut it for him.

“Would now be a bad time to tell you that I love you?” he asks, threading his fingers through beltloops to pull you in closer to him.

“While I’m wearing a tank top with a six-pack dressed up as you? Seems a little narcissistic, does it not?” He’s never seen your smile this big or this bright before.

He knows. He knows. He knows.

Rooster pulls you back in for a deep kiss.

“I love you too, Bradley,” you murmur against his lips.

He kisses you until he can’t keep the smile off of his face.

“Hey, Bradshaw!”

Surprised, he pulls away from you to see Nat waving him over. He takes your hand, ready to take you over with him.

“No, not you. The better Bradshaw,” Phoenix announces as she points at you, crooking a finger and holding out a shot syringe for you.

You pull him to you, giving him one more quick before floating over to join Nat near the kitchen.

He’s feeling more than a little dumbstruck in that moment.

And not just from the sight of your shapely legs in those cutoff jean shorts.

Bradley’s feet feel cemented to the wood floors beneath his black hightop converse as he watches you throw your head back in laughter at something Nat says.

He doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, but he thinks his last name looks good on you.

You smile wide and beaming, your eyes shining as you turn to look at him from across the other side of the room.

Yeah, it looks really good on you.

Happy Halloween, Friends! This little moment has been living in my head since I posted my first ever fic on here, 'Oh Christmas Tree'! I'm so glad to finally release it to share with you! Thank you for reading!

If you want to find out what happened next for these two, just follow the link above!

If you're curious about what all of their costumes look like, you can see them here!

You can read more of my stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader

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colourstreakgryffin · 3 months

Note

hi! Please ignore this request if you don't want to do it/your request are closed.

Do you think you could do a part 2 to hells angel? Or at least like more bonding moments between the two Im in love with father alastor sm 😭🙏

It’s not closed! It’s open, wide open and yes, I’ll happily write more for Papa Alastor! I’ll happily continue the little saga of Papa Alastor and his little fawn! Kinda short but I hope that’s okay!

Alastor- Shopping Trip

“Is this one something you’d like, Princess?” Alastor asks gently, his voice both menacing because of the radio effect and soothing because of the genuine love pouring out uncontrollably, as he draws down an adorable puffy old-fashioned but colourful little dress, long sharp fingers snapped on the small silky shoulder straps slightly. A outfit just the right size for a young girl

Specifically, his little girl. Leitora, a unique deer-featured soul born from pure powerful demonic magic. The one now forming his own soul and heart, he is so glad birthing the little devil darling was successful

His precious baby daughter, a seven year old with matching little deer ears and crimson red gradient in her pretty long hair. She has been waiting a long time to be able to spend time with her father and now, Alastor has taken the whole day off from duties at the Hazbin Hotel, to spend it exploring a wild wondering sinner-filled shopping institution with his babygirl

“Yes, Père! I love it!” You immediately pipe out soft yet eccentric back, excited and hopping right in front of the Radio Demon as he quickly hooks this little clothing present onto the size-appropriate hanger it was originally left on and hands it to you without another word. He currently has a few more shopping bags over his left forearm and an another much bigger shopping bag over his right shoulder as well as your needed travel supplies in a cute old fashioned pastel schoolbag over both of his shoulders

Your father doesn’t mind carrying everything nor does he mind overspending. After all

This is a father-daughter all-day shopping trip

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. A pretty clothing store, full of women’s to men’s to children’s fashion. The fifth store you’ve gone in with Alastor since the pair of you woke up early in the morning and headed over to the biggest mall in the Pride Ring, the mall both of you stand in at this very moment. He has been needing to get you some new clothing for a while now so being able to get your opinion on the cute dresses, tights, accessorises, pyjamas and much more he picks out for you is simply perfect

Alastor has truly missed being able to spend time with you, even if it includes milking his credit card. You’re worth far more than all the wealth he’s stolen and gathered

Taking your hand with a lean down, Alastor waits patiently for you to take his offer as you quickly readjust the clothing store hanger holding up your cute little present. Moving that hanger from both hands to your wrist, you reach up and immediately grab his much bigger hand. Two to three fingers are enough to hold your whole hand, the size difference is simply precious

“Père! Père! Look! Look!” Speaking with a adorable little French accent upon pointing out and chiming excitedly in fluent French, Alastor’s crimson red eyes sharply fling away from the cute rows of female children’s clothing to the single rack of children’s hair accessorises to jewellery. The reason you pointed it out, only seconds after taking your beloved father’s hand was because you noticed something really pretty you wanted your father to see

“What is it, Princess?” Alastor lets you drag him over to the colourful rack, his own eyes wondering around with tall fluffy deer-like ears flicking a bit as if an instinctive twitch. You still have the dress your father handed to you and you reach up as a sign for Alastor to help you. Following your little cute pale fingers, the Overlord picks out a set retro pearl tassel hairpins. Something he never thought you’d like but it may fit with your red hair

He isn’t sure if he wants the metal touching your skull however, so he holds the white cardboard support holding the hairpins still, just scanning over them a bit firmly and if not protective over you

Until your voice breaks him out of his intense thought. His ears shooting up in shock as your own ears draw back slightly, not necessarily concerned but wondering why just a pair of cute accessorises would possibly make him fall so deep into a thinking trance

“Père… What’s wrong?” You’re now the one asking your father to speak to you with big sparkly eyes looking up at him, he takes a few seconds of his head shaking in slight disorientation before he finally gets back to his senses and speaks out his opinion, uncertain but yet uncertain if he wants to reject you

Alastor is not good at saying no to you, he’s good at giving out needed discipline and can be rather strict about specific things but when it comes to mundane things like a pair of mere hairpins, he doesn’t like to say no

What can be said? Alastor is the type of father to spoil his daughter absolutely rotten

“Princess… are you sure you want this one specifically?”

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olive-fics · 7 months

Text

A day out with Abby (Fem reader)

You and Abby are finally out together, Abby had been busy with work all week and decided to treat you as an apology..♡

Not NSFW but not fully SFW..? Wtv..Mature readers please. MEN DNI! (pls!)

NOT PROOF READ—CORRECT ME🤍🦢

Abby Anderson had always been the kind of person who valued simple moments of happiness. Today was one of those days, a day spent leisurely strolling through the aisles of a bustling mall with you, her girlfriend.

You two had held hands as you made your way through the crowded shopping center. Your fingers intertwined with Abby's strong, calloused ones. Abby's tall, muscular frame contrasted with your smaller, more delicate one, but together you fit perfectly. Abby didn't mind the strange looks, she only cared about pleasing you and making sure you had a cute outfit...it didn't truly matter to Abby though... she was just going to take it off of you later anyways.

"Anything specific you're looking for, babe?" Abby asked, her green eyes peering into yours as she rubbed your hand with her thumb.

There were a few things you spotted while walking through the mall with Abby but you didn't want to overwhelm Abby with your shopping spree needs. Instead, you admired the charming storefronts adorned with colorful displays of clothes, accessories, and all things cute. You couldn't resist peeking into a few windows, ogling at the adorable dresses, quirky trinkets, and fluffy stuffed animals that seemed to beckon with the pearls and light colors..

"Not reall- Oh my god." That's when the most beautiful, white, lacy babydoll dress you have ever seen caught your eyes..You had to have it.

"Look at that dress, Abby!" You claimed, tugging Abby toward the shop. "It's absolutely gorgeous! Can we please go look at it?"

Abby chuckled, her heart fluttering at the sight of your excitement. "Alright, let's check it out."

You ran into the shop and giggled immediately checking out the dress in the display window.

$60.

Abby reached for the dress, gently lifting it off the hanger as she hid the price tag from you. The soft fabric cascaded through her fingers, revealing intricate patterns and delicate lace that made your heart skip a beat. "Let me help you into it princess." You couldn't help but laugh and kiss Abby's cheek, Shuffling as you both make it to the tiny dressing rooms with those shitty curtains.

Abby helped you take off your little Kami and jeans making sure to treat you gently, you were so fragile and perfect.. Abby honestly got nervous around you..

Abby's cheeks turned a soft shade of baby pink as she slipped the dress over your shoulders, her fingers brushing gently against your skin as she adjusted the straps with a delicate touch.

The dress, with its elegant design, hugged your form in all the right places, Abby couldn't help but stare.

"Fuck.. babe- you're so pretty.." Abby mumbled and became a flustered mess..

"Isn't it beautiful?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a gentle touch, she began to pepper your exposed neck and shoulders with soft pecks and kisses. Her lips were warm and tender against your skin. You closed your eyes, savoring the sensation and giggling softly..

"Abby.." You mumbled just watching Abby sprinkle the kisses all over you in the mirror..

“Buying this for you… now,” Abby murmured into your neck, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Her fingers traced tender circles along your waist..

“Love you..”

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mysteria157 · 1 month

Text

Chapter One

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

CW: Profanity, Hints of Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Comfort

Word Count: Don't worry about it.

Summary:

“I’m only going to say this one more time, Toji. I don’t do situationships. I don’t do friends with benefits or the occasional hookup. You want more? I want you to try. Earn me.”

His hands are so bloody, that if you ever knew the source, you would'nt want someone like him to try. He shouldn't be here, taking up so much of your time, asking for more. But he's selfish.

-or; Toji, a notorious hitman, moves to America for more money and a better life for his son. He didnt expect to sleep with you, let alone want more. When his dangerous life catches up to him, he takes on one final lucrative hit, but realizes this target has unseen connections hitting closer to home. Now he must navigate a perilous job while desperately keeping his criminal double life hidden from you.

Authors Notes: Hello! I hope you all enjoy this first chapter. As stated in the masterlist, this fic is a continuation from Maneater, so reading that will definitely help set the tone for this fic. I plan to dig deep with this story and really find my voice writing a different genre.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

…women like you drown oceans -Rupi Kaur

*** You ***

Pop!

The sharp sound of gum expanding and then exploding causes you to flinch, your eyeliner pen frozen just above your lid. Through the mirror’s reflection, you shoot a glare at the open closet door, where your cousin rummages through your clothes.

Pop!

She’s in her own little world. If this were any other circumstance, she would have been scolded for her habit of popping gum—a top offender on the list of annoying behaviors ingrained in both of you since childhood. You detest the sound, and if you were closer, you would have punched her in the stomach by now.

You and your cousin typically get along well, but she enjoys testing your limits to coax you out of your shell. The only way to shut her up is by letting her tire herself out during her talkative rampages or swinging at her when you’ve had enough.

Every day with her is a gamble of which will come first.

Your eyeliner is still hovering by your upper lid, suspended in place as you watch another sundress get haphazardly thrown against the closet wall instead of being put back on a hanger where it fucking belongs.

You can’t bother with trying to get violent with her, you’re way too preoccupied with other thoughts. More incessant thoughts like how to play it cool on a date. It’s not that hard, right? Be yourself, get a gauge of the man trying to impress you, entertain a few hours of your day and then back home to relax.

Easy.

If it were anyone else but Toji, then it would be easy.

You had buried yourself in double shifts and extended hours in the lab just to distract yourself from today. Anything to keep you busy and keep your mind off the fact that someone you are sort of interested in…wants to see you. And he reminds you every day when you look down at your phone.

Despite his admission of being a lazy texter, Toji is surprisingly consistent. But the messages take on a blunt form wrapped around a small pearl of care.

Toji: Eat breakfast. What good are you in a hospital if you pass out?

Toji: Stop taking on more shifts, its stupid. Go home and rest.

Toji: You better not be tired this weekend.

No matter how hard you try to force your face to stay immobile, each text makes your lips twitch into a small smile. He masks his words in harsh deliveries, but the intention is obvious. The satisfying jolt that shoots up your spine when your phone buzzes with a notification from him should be embarrassing. It should be.

But you love it.

It’s absurd, really. Only two weeks have passed since you met him, hardly enough time to form any meaningful connection. Yet, that night at your uncle’s was unexpectedly delightful. Toji was, against your better judgment, charming and attentive, almost to the point of clinginess. And, undeniably, he’s attractive. And a fucking fantastic lay.

So, despite your instinct to ignore a man and the way they flaunt their feathers for your attention, you want Toji to bring that same energy as last time.

You lean your elbows back into the shiny wood of your vanity, focusing your attention on your eye as you lower the eyeliner to your skin.

Pop!

The sound makes you jump, disrupting your focus and smearing the eyeliner across your temple.

“Rene!” you bark, slamming your eyeliner down on the vanity top with a force that makes your hand sting, and you yank a drawer open in search of a makeup wipe. “Stop popping your gum before I come over there and beat the shit out of you.” As you wipe off the smudged makeup, you catch the reflection of your cousin emerging from your closet.

She embodies a beauty that’s almost blinding, matched only by her lively personality. So naturally, heads turn when she enters a room, her chocolate skin seemingly radiant wherever she goes. With her thick, kinky hair always in a protective style and her unshakeable confidence in her intelligence and appearance, Rene caught Shiu’s attention immediately, and he’s been captivated ever since.

She is one of very few in your family who truly gets you, who sees the world with clarity and understands its nuances and how to navigate through it without compromising her ideals. Since childhood, you’ve stuck to each other like glue. She understands you and your guarded demeanor, you understand her and her loud personality. She’s one of your best friends.

But at this moment, as she stands before you in booty shorts and a tank top that accentuates her curves, her twist out cascading from a pineapple updo, and an outfit draped over one arm, she is pissing you off as she pops her gum againwith a cheeky expression.

“I like your makeup.” A sly grin stretches on her face, enhancing her soft features. You ignore her, feeling your defenses rise as she effortlessly peels back your layers. The liquid eyeliner glides against the smooth brown of your skin, forming a subtle cat-eye as you pretend not to notice her approaching you from behind.

She gracefully settles onto your vanity top, ignoring your lipstick casing that teeters over and rolls across the shiny surface. You shoot her another glare before moving to your other eye. “You should put on some mascara too. When you give him head later today, I’m sure he’ll love to see it run down your cheeks and—”

You swing at her not even a second later, landing a solid smack on the side of her thigh. “UM Ow?!”

“Um?? Shut the fuck up,” you growl, sneering at her with a leveling scowl that you hope cuts through her.

It doesn’t.

Rene snorts, shrugging off the vanity and moving to your bed to change her clothes. As she pulls your dark jeans over her thick thighs, you can’t help but wonder if you should dress more…sexy? Your jean shorts reveal enough skin, and the jersey fits snugly around your torso. You’re no stranger to dressing to the nines and making heads turn just like her, but you value practicality more than appeal. It’s a football game, after all, and you love football. Why bother looking overly sexy when you’ll be screaming and stuffing hotdogs and pretzels in your mouth?

Despite the logic, a hand of insecurity tightens around your throat.

Rene, like the annoyingly clairvoyant bitch she is, tastes the shift in the air and rolls her eyes at you through the mirror’s reflection. “You look fucking amazing. Toji asked you out—frequently, I might add.”

The memories of his persistence flash through your mind in a rush. Heated touches in the backseat of your truck, sweaty skin sliding against each other, and your mouth dripping with moans of satisfaction were constantly interrupted by his repeated question.

“Let me take you out.”

As if he couldn’t get enough. As if he wanted more. As if he wouldn’t leave your uncle’s house that night until you flat-out told him to leave you alone.

You haven’t entertained a man since your cheating ex, so your defenses remain high and guarded, fortified with brick and mortar, armed to fend off anyone who comes too close.

But in such a short time, Toji managed to advance further than others with hard skin resilient to your attacks, and a constant insistence to be by your side. He’s spoken to you in ways that would have landed others in the ER, yet his words were always laced with harsh care to make you confront your own overreactions instead of hiding.

“Stop acting up and let me be nice to you.”

“You’re not mean to men; you just don’t do bullshit.”

“It’s okay to be a little excited about this,” Rene interjects, slicing through the thick current of your anxiety.

And you are, excited and a little nervous, though you don’t respond to her, simply reaching for your clear lip gloss to finish your makeup.

By the time there is a knock on your door thirty minutes later, you and Rene are ready to go. Your curls are piled high on your head, tendrils falling to frame your face and your hairline slicked with curled edges. There’s a subtle shake in your hands wrapped around the handle of your front door, betraying the calm façade you wear. As you open it, expecting Toji’s familiar face, you’re met with Shiu, a toothpick in his mouth and a gentle smile playing on his lips.

You greet him warmly with a hug, letting him inside. He can only hug you for a second before rushing past you and toward the direction of your room, anxious to see his fiancé. “Don’t fuck on my bed!” you yell after him, loud enough for your cousin to hear.

It’s only a minute later when there’s a knock at the door that makes you jump, shocking you into reality again as you realize that you haven’t moved since inviting Shiu inside. In your stupidity, you look through the peephole and swallow the gasp at Toji’s distorted form.

“I can see your feet. Open the door,” his deep voice cuts, familiar and commanding.

Your fingers curl against the wooden surface of your door, nails scratching lightly along the veneer as you wrestle with the innate temptation to be stubborn. Besides Nanami Kento—another close friend and coworker—Toji is the only man you’ve let talk to you like this. He’s a little bit of an asshole, but beneath his rough exterior lies a tender core that beckons you to peel back the layers like an onion, eager to feel just how soft the bulb is in the center. You’re drawn to him in a way you can’t explain, and it’s a longing that ignites a hunger that you haven’t experienced in a very long time.

With a resigned sigh, you swing the door open to be welcomed by the sight of him, a picture that leaves you momentarily breathless. You swallow the drool that pools instantly in the back of your throat, curl your toes in your sneakers to resist the urge to spring forward and slant your lips against his, and bite the inside of your lip so the twitching on the sides does not turn into a gentle smirk.

“You look good, baby,” his words roll off his tongue effortlessly, his gaze sweeping over you with a knowing intensity. It feels as though he’s studying a heavily guarded masterpiece that he finally has his hands on to steal. He notices every stroke of paint, every blotch that makes you who you are and it’s with a concentration that leaves you dizzy enough to grip the door tighter in your hands.

Though only a week has passed since you last saw him, his presence still grips you with a force that borders on intoxicating. Clad in a black shirt that accentuates his commanding presence, his broad shoulders exude a magnetic strength that summons you, stirring a primal desire to dig your fingernails into him like you did that night in your truck. One of his hands is tucked in a jeaned pocket, the other is behind his back, and jet-black locks brush his cheeks as he chuckles, undoubtedly amused by the dumbfounded stare that you’re still shooting his way. His scar cradles the side of his lips in a seductive curl as he smirks.

God, he’s so—he’s so—

His presence seems to fill the entire room, a tangible force even without crossing the threshold of your home. An urgent ache surges within you, craving the warmth of his embrace, the security of his strength.

“You gonna let me in or just keep your mouth open for the flies?” His voice breaks the reverie in your mind, a well-known blend of annoyance that fills your chest immediately. You’re reminded of how effortlessly irritating he can be, yet there’s a strange allure in his confidence.

At this point, you don’t have a quip loaded up quick enough to shoot back at him. So, you step aside and hold your breath as his large body crosses the threshold of your home.

The last time he was at your door, he barged inside with a barely contained fury and pulled you into an argument that stemmed from your unwillingness to be vulnerable and his lack of expertise in expressing himself. It was a weird song and dance that marked the beginning of something you still don’t fully understand. Now, he’s here with a slightly different demeanor, calm and self-assured as he plants a firm kiss on your cheek as if he’s a hardworking husband returning home just in time for dinner.

You gape at his nonchalance, watching in disbelief as he kicks off his shoes and pulls his hand from behind his back, presenting you a bouquet of flowers in a manner that feels both rushed and sincere. You look down at the flowers, wide-eyed and blinking to make sure the reality you are currently in isn’t actually a simulation.

Daisies.

Not the cheap, wilted blooms you kind of expected from him, but fresh, vibrant flowers. Their white petals gleam softly, each grain of pollen in the yellow center visible in the light of your kitchen. The stems are freshly cut, wrapped in a simple red bow and your chest is fluttering with a severity that unsettles you.

“I didn’t know what kind you liked. And I don’t trust Shiu with an honest answer so…” His words trail off, leaving unspoken sentiments lingering in the air.

Your lips curl around words that won’t form, and you mentally sort through your book of tricks. It’s a book you’ve spent years filling after countless experiences. Men will do just about anything for pussy. There’s no reason to be shocked at why they do the things they do—they’re all the same.

But even from that first day you met, you have already shuffled through your book when it comes to Toji. Every time you look up whatever trick he tries to pull, you come up with an empty page. There’s never a solution or a pre-written response that you can use. You have no choice but to figure this out on your own and fill in the pages later.

“If you don’t like them, you don’t have to take them,” he cuts into your thoughts, words edged with a trace of embarrassment that he’s trying to cover up with frustration. “Just give them back—” He reaches for the flowers, and you reflexively pull your arms away, much to your own shock at the way your body moves on its own.

“I like them,” you blurt out, your voice not as strong as you want it to be but thankfully steady as the words leave your lips. “They’re very nice, Toji. Thank you.”

He drops his hand, shoves it deep into the pocket of his jeans before clearing his throat and giving you a sharp nod. His eyes take in your face for only a second before they flit away to focus on a random spot in your living room, a hint of blush on his cheeks that makes the fluttering in your chest pick up in speed. It’s a weird feeling that will consume you if you don’t stay in control.

So, you push it down, swallow the pool of saliva in your mouth so it can help the glide, all the way down to the pit of your belly to extinguish the embers that threaten to lick to life. You shuffle past him and into the kitchen to fetch a vase, your mind sorting through the symptoms of various pulmonary diseases to distract yourself from the giddiness of him getting you flowers.

A normal thing. The bare minimum for a man. But it makes you feel great all the same. They aren’t your favorite, not even close, but it’s a gesture that shatters your preconceived notions about Toji that probably shouldn’t be there in the first place.

“What are they?” he asks, face still pink below his eyes that linger on the countertop instead of at you. You untie the bow at the stems and slide the daisies into an antique vase with crystalline ridges, shooting him a questioning raised eyebrow in response. One of his hands gestures wildly to the vase you are filling with water. “Your favorite flowers.”

“Snapdragons.” Toji throws you a quizzical look, his eyebrows pinched together in a clear display of confusion that makes you chuckle. You push the now full vase of flowers to the center of your kitchen countertop, the sight warming your stomach no matter how much you try to stop it. “They aren’t in season, but there’s a vendor here that sells them in the Spring and Fall. Growing up, we lived right next to a river where they would grow. My father would pick them every year and bring them to my mother as a gift. Whenever they wilted, he picked more and replaced them…over and over until they weren’t in season anymore.”

You dig your teeth into the wet flesh of your cheek to stop yourself from rambling, the need to talk more about yourself is at the tip of your tongue. He’s quiet as he takes in your response, eyebrows twitching with fleeting emotion before they smooth out into their usual calm expression. Maybe it’s your eyes playing tricks, but he looks as if he’s locked away your little nugget of information and is ready to move on to the next thing.

More of you.

That gaze is now free of shyness and taking you in, sharp and cutting and rough around the edges, his green irises sliding down to the exposed skin of your thighs, and they must beckon him because he makes his way towards you with a dominating presence that tightens your throat. He walks around the countertop, avoiding the sharp edge from biting into his side and now he’s standing in front of you, looming and dwarfing you without even trying. You catch a whiff of his cheap cologne—a different scent from what you smelled before—but still rich with bergamot undertones that make you more curious than bothered at his frugal mentality.

“Can I kiss you? Or you gonna smack me instead?”

Even though he’s teasing, he displays the growing knowledge of your boundaries and the lengths you will go to protect yourself.

“What, you want to get smacked, Toji?” you retort, lifting an eyebrow at him, your neck tingling from the strain of looking up due to his height. God, he’s such a big man. Big and burly and just enough to overwhelm you in a way that you crave so, so much.

“Nah. I want a kiss,” he confidently responds, blowing away the cloud of lust from around your head.

He’s too close and yet not close enough. He smells too good, looks too good with a voice that’s too deep and melodic for you to ride on logic for a full day, but you need him closer, so much closer and—

Your back brushes against the edge of the kitchen sink, making you tense at the realization that he’s backed you up against it and is looking down at you with that nasty smirk you entertain more than you should.

“You…” you begin, trailing off when one of his muscular arms reaches past you to rest onto the counter on one side, still giving you an escape route even though you’ll take being trapped against him any time of the day. “You already kissed me on the cheek when you walked in without asking me. Don’t be stingy.”

Toji clicks his tongue in disappointment, the sound pushing a rush of electricity down your spine that’s generating too much energy between your legs. He shrugs, broad shoulders pulling up and down, stretching his shirt in the most delicious way. “That’s not enough.”

Although lust is darkening your thoughts slowly despite your resolve, you still have enough common sense to remember the kind of woman you are. You’re someone unwilling to tolerate fuckboy behavior and would rather humiliate a man than give in to temptation that would only embarrass you in the future. You have to stay in control. Just for the rest of the day to measure his intentions with a level head. Even though you feel heavy with lidded eyes, you slip into that second skin of yourself with ease.

“Ask nicely,” you whisper.

He takes the bait—like they always do—and slinks further into your space, his broad and muscular form brushes against your softer one. Your gaze remains indifferent as he asks to kiss you in a sing-song voice that’s borderline annoying and teasing, threatening to make you laugh despite your resistance.

You take in his question with a noncommittal hum and slide a hand up the soft fabric of his chest. The muscles underneath flex and twitch beneath your palm, echoing memories of that unforgettable night when you could slide your fingers on the sweat of his abs as you rode him for all he was worth.

Your hand rests against his cheek, watching as he slowly falls for your trap, inhaling deeply with his lips a mere breath away from yours before you speak calmly and softly.

“No.”

You stroke his cheek in a soothing manner before patting it a little too hard that’s close to a smack, yanking a grunt of frustration from him as he pulls away with an bothered growl. You relish in the sigh of his scar twisting when his face curls with annoyance, his eyes rolling and his arms folding across his chest like a child being denied dessert. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your lips, growing in intensity as his eyes narrow at you.

“You’re so damn annoying,” he pouts, and the fact that he truly looks put off for not getting a kiss only makes you laugh harder.

***

The sight and sound of cheering fans excite you, filling you with childhood memories of games with your father. As the four of you make your way through the large parking lot and in the direction of the stadium, you take in the display of emotions that cross Toji’s face as he is immersed in a part of culture unfamiliar to him. The intricacies of American sports are puzzling to Toji, you realize. While you wave excitedly to the fans who are tailgating and grilling food and playing cornhole, he looks on in disbelief. When you explain the concept of tailgating to him, his expression deepens even more. He doesn’t like the hecklers that litter right outside the entrance and try to sell nosebleed tickets twelve times the market price. He thinks porta-pottys are foul as he takes in the long line of people who wait along the side of the large parking lot. You can tell he’s a little overwhelmed, and aggravated by the new things he learns. But he doesn’t complain, content to listen to the three of you as he watches his surroundings.

Despite the array of emotions that engulf him, he keeps you by his side without a second thought. The closer you get to the stadium, the thicker the crowd gets. When you make it through security and begin the long journey up the stone circular walkway of the stadium, Toji wraps a muscular arm around you and rests his hand on your hip in a grip that conveys a protective strength that shoots fluctuating reactions through you.

At first, you think he just wants his hands on you, and you’re prepared to smack his touch away. But then your perception shifts; a random man bumps into you with a sharp elbow into your arm and he turns around with an angry expression ready to yell. The glare that Toji levels at him leaves the man sputtering and apologizing before he slinks back into the crowd.

Normally, you don’t thrive off blatant displays of masculinity, but the sight of the man running away from Toji’s imposing stare makes your stomach fill with a deep-seated lust that surprises you. Like you’re a cavewoman, watching her caveman beat at his chest when another caveman gets too close to you. Toji grumbles to himself about the sheer number of people, his voice tinged with frustration even though his reassuring touch is gentle as he guides you through the throng of people toward your seats.

Thankfully, they aren’t nosebleeds, and they give you a good view of the field, with players already warming up. There is a large group of kids who hang off the rails, squealing in delight as their favorite players come and say hello and sign their jerseys and footballs. The speakers boom with music and commercial ads, the warm air carries the smell of popcorn up your nose, and your blood pumps in excitement.

It has been a while since you attended a football game, distant memories of sitting on your father’s shoulders as you both cheered in the stands. Since his death, you haven’t had the drive nor the time to attend another. So, to be in this position again with a man you are still trying to understand, it’s odd. But it’s not unwelcome and you’re going to enjoy every minute of it. When you watch football at home with your family, you’re a different person. You are loud and unashamed to express your feelings when you watch the games unfold. You stand up and sneer and bark at the officiant who can’t even hear you. You argue with your family about plays and players who will never know you. You love every emotion that the game brings out in you, and you’re unashamed to hide it. Toji is going to see a side of you that will either push him away or make him slink closer for more.

So, when the game begins with the kickoff, you join in the collective screams of the crowd, waving a towel in the air adorned with the yellow and black of your favorite team that is playing.

To your surprise once more, Toji did his homework. He effortlessly explains the rules as you both watch the first quarter together, looking to you for approval to make sure he’s correct. His attentive nature transforms into active participation as he cheers alongside you, his voice deep and booming compared to your screeching.

In the second quarter, there’s an injury on the field and the clash of pads ceases for long enough that fans leave their seats for food and to stretch their legs. Shiu and Rene disappear to get themselves a drink and it’s just you and Toji in the middle of empty seats.

“You’re a screamer,” he teases, his voice low and appreciative as he leans on his thigh with a cheek resting on his fist. His hair flows in the warm air before settling on pale cheeks.

“Too loud for you?” you retort, even if mildly curious about what he thinks of this side of yourself.

Toji purses his lips as he regards you with relaxed eyes. “It didn’t take me long to realize you’re not a dainty little thing. And besides,” A smile stretches across his face, white teeth glinting with a sinister disposition before his lips load with a remark you know will be salacious. “I like my women loud.”

You can be loud if he wants you to be. Preferably in another place besides your car where he can thrust like a man mad between your legs and dig those gleaming white teeth into the skin of your neck—

Oh.

For fuck’s sake.

Your blood simmers in your veins at the suggestion in his words. His eyes watch your throat when you swallow a thick pool of spit and that smile grows impossibly larger, a Cheshire cat looking at you with nasty intent. He’s too aware of the effect he has on women, and you have to look away from him to resist succumbing to the seductive charm that he wields naturally.

You steer the conversation back into your hands. “You were so curious about me when we first met but I don’t know much about you. Are you here in America for a reason? What do you do for work?”

In your own line of work, observation is key; every subtle cue from your patients holds significance, revealing layers of truths that they usually try to conceal. So, when you notice the tension in Toji’s jaw at your question, the way his features contort subtly, it’s a detail you slot into a drawer of curiosity that takes part of the file cabinet of Toji in your mind.

“I’m a private investigator,” he confesses harshly, catching you off guard. It’s a revelation you don’t anticipate. His imposing features give you the impression of a firefighter or maybe even a cop. Not someone watching others in his car, bugging houses and apartments, and gathering evidence. A PI? You open that drawer of curiosity again and slot away this information as well. He shrugs away the awkwardness that your silence brings, nonchalant and dismissive, avoiding your gaze. “It pays the bills. The hours suck sometimes but…the work is easy.”

“So…naturally I can’t really ask about the things you do?” you don’t hide the inquisitiveness that coats your words.

“It’s nothing glamorous enough to talk about.” And that’s all he offers you in response.

You have a myriad of questions swirling in your mind, each vying for attention from a man who is as tight-lipped as you. How did he even get into this kind of work? Who are his clients? Cheaters, embezzlers…or criminals?

That and so much more brew in your mind, tumbling over the other but ultimately dissipating when you sense his reluctance, evident from his still-averted gaze and tense shoulders.

“What about family? You asked me about mine, but I never got to hear about yours.”

Granted, you only told him about the members of your family who danced in your backyard when you both were wrapped in one another two weeks ago. He doesn’t know about the more intimate parts of your family life. He doesn’t know about your father’s death, or the estrangement of your stepfamily. But that can come later. Toji hasn’t given you enough of himself.

Toji’s features now morph into disdain, souring the air between you. The bright emerald of his eyes dims with a grayish overcast, the liquid of the irises hardening like cooling lava.

His response is terse, laced with palpable displeasure that intensifies the acrid taste in the air. “There isn’t much to tell. I don’t get along with them, and they do their best to not get along with me either.” The timbre of his voice is lower, menacing enough to let you know it’s a subject he won’t entertain. At least for right now.

You open your mouth to speak again, to maybe apologize for making him uncomfortable, to reassure him that you wouldn’t judge him over something like this. He shifts in his seat, clasps his hands together and absentmindedly picks at a callous on the side of his thumb. The pink flush on his cheeks is not one of bashfulness, but of frustration and embarrassment. From the sliver of his eyes you can see, there is something simmering beneath the surface that might take you a while to unveil.

“I do have a son, though.” The sentence shoots into the air and down your spine with a chilling clarity, breaking the flow of your thoughts as you blink in astonishment.

Pardon???

Considering he’s a grown man a few years older than you, it’s understandable. But the notion of him being a father never crossed your mind. The concept of children isn’t foreign to you; you see and take care of them every day. It’s the concept of children coming from him that’s a new development you have to consider.

While you believe you can handle a relationship with a single father, you’re upset at being told now, rather than before.

“You were with me all day two weeks ago and you never took the time to mention you have a son?”

You don’t hide your irritation. Once your trust is lost, it’s almost impossible to regain. Why would you give away sacred pieces of yourself to a man you wouldn’t trust to hold those pieces with care?

Despite your frustration, you rationalize.

Maybe Toji was nervous to bring it up? Some people may like to ease into such topics. This relationship, or whatever this is, is brand new and smooth. There haven’t been any cracks caused by arguments or behavior that is damaging.

But this isn’t about having a job that he’s not proud of or admitting that he is not financially responsible. This is about an entire child, a facet of his life that he cannot hide away. How long would he have waited to tell you if the topic of family hadn’t come up so soon? Would he have told you? Would he hide his son away and push him off to a babysitter on date nights so you are never aware? Would he sleep over at your house, so you can’t see the room that’s decorated for a child or the toys scattered about the floor?

As you wrestle with the growing anxiety that crawls across your skin, Toji fumbles for something in his pocket, his face a satisfying beet red as you watch him hand you his open phone. Bright from the illumination of the screen, you take in a picture of a young boy who bears a striking resemblance to Toji. His raven locks spiky and disheveled, his green eyes sharp and ethereal, and he wears a bored and calm expression just like his father. The chubbiness of his cheeks and innocence in his eyes tug at something in your chest; he can’t be any older than six years old. The sight of the boy makes you think of the many kids you take care of every day, and some of the frustration subsides within you.

“His name is Megumi,” he informs you, shy despite his rough exterior. He picks at the callous on the side of his thumb again, and one of his legs begins to shake in place.

The frustration dies down more. It’s a beautiful name, and as you look at the picture, a small smile tugs at your lips. You wonder what kind of a boy he is.

“Fuck listen—just I-I’m shit at this.”

You look up at him and take in the apprehension on his face. His lips are downturned in a gentle frown, the scar on the side of his face warped along with the muscles of his mouth. There’s a sense of shame in his gaze, and it somehow makes you feel relieved to know that he can feel just how upset you are.

“I don’t date women…I fuck them and stay around until they want me gone.” He doesn’t bother to sugarcoat his words. They shoot out of his mouth, piercing your skin with their directness. It’s a little painful, and you struggle to absorb his blatant honesty, feeling flashes of anger and indignation fill your chest as your lips part, ready to respond with directness of your own. “But you’re the first woman in a long fucking time that’s made me want more. So just…” he trails off, stuttering over what to say before ultimately growling low in his throat into silence.

You hesitate, lips flinching and syllables of fury dissipating in the small space between your top and bottom lip. “You gonna let me meet him?” you snap because you’re still mildly irritated as you give him his phone and pinch the muscle of his bicep with a harshness that reflects your fading anger and your desire to see him squirm for his actions.

He swats your hand away as if you’re a pest, moving his arm from you with a sneer that holds no malice. “No let me just lock him in my closet every time I want to see you—of course, I’ll fucking let you meet him.”

You throw him a withering glare, ignoring his sarcasm, and the smirk that slides onto his lips only makes you want to either smack or kiss him. The fact that you can’t decide on which only annoys you more.

*** Toji ***

“Gimme two hot dogs and a pretzel,” Toji mutters to the concession stand attendant. It’s halftime, and the walkways behind the stands are crowded with fans hurrying to go to the bathroom, or for more food and alcohol. You stand close to him, a welcome warmth that he wants more of but refuses to ask for on the off chance you deny him. He doesn’t feel like pouting for the rest of the day.

“And what’ll it be for the lady?” the attendant asks with a level of humor that is off-putting, a smile on his face that Toji knows you itch to smack off.

“It is for the lady,” you correct, a hint of condescension falling from plush lips that you still won’t let him taste. The attendant sputters, his face red as a tomato as he takes the rest of Toji’s order, doing his best to ignore the deadly glare you shoot him as he counts Toji’s money. A snort rattles from Toji’s chest as he watches you. He’s known from the beginning that you’re fiery, but seeing it firsthand fascinates and arouses him at the same time.

This environment is different for him, odd in every way, and a foreign ground that he’s unsteady on. The celebratory atmosphere reminds him of the loud laughter and fireworks from festivals that he could hear outside the Zenin compound throughout the year. He thinks of the Tanabata festivals he never got to experience or the years of Hanami that he was forbidden to enjoy. He could only take a small bit of pleasure in cherry blossoms in the Zenin gardens, blooming and scattering their petals on the well-kept grass to mark the beginning of the season. As a child, he was never allowed much. He was seen as ‘inferior trash’ that was insignificant and unworthy to be looked at let alone talked to unless it was to yell or belittle. Naturally, his family didn’t want others to see where said trash came from if they could help it.

He can’t think about it right now—he won’t. The thought of his family brings a tight coil of pain and anger in his chest, a coil he had used as fuel to cope with his dangerous decisions.

There’s so much more that he needs to focus on, like the fact that you’ve already taken a big bite out of one of your hot dogs. Half of it has disappeared from your hand, and there’s ketchup on the edge of your mouth as you chew. He notices the way you shift your hips from side to side in your seat, and the satisfied hum that escapes your throat. You’re satisfied, and while you eat with manners, you don’t hide your boisterous enjoyment, finishing one hot dog and moving on to the next, your pretzel wedged between the meat of your seductive thighs.

He’s been trying to be respectful all day ever since you denied him a kiss in the kitchen, but you’re tempting him. When you answered the door earlier in the afternoon, the hand that was in his pocket pinched the side of his thigh until the shameless thoughts could fade away.

You’ve graced his presence with shorts and a jersey, a yellow and black number that lays against your chocolate skin in a way that still seems to make you glow in the setting sun. No braids this time, your natural curls have fallen from your bun after screaming so much, framing your face and causing your gold hoops to wink at him. You didn’t wear makeup that night when he met you, so the sight of eyeliner on you today, and the way it accentuates the curve of your eye and the heaviness of your long lashes, it makes him shift in his seat.

He’s had to clench his jaw and bear the pain of his teeth grinding against each other to stop himself from ogling at the mouth-watering canvas of your legs. You’re all curves with dimples at the bottom of your thighs when you sit, and his gums ache to sink into the flesh so you can squeal and beg for him to touch you where you want it most. It’s been weeks since that night and he’s feigning for more. When you smile at him or shoot him a glare, it reminds him of that commanding aura you had in the backseat of your truck, and the back of his neck prickles with sweat.

While the thought of you skinning him alive if he decides to be a Neanderthal turns him on, he wants to be civil. In your kitchen earlier today, you allowed him to get close enough to feel the heat radiating from your skin, to catch the scent of coconut from your curls, tantalizing his senses until your firm ‘no’ sobered him up immediately. It was a stark reminder of who you are, and how little you tolerate.

He'll behave.

His eyes catch you guzzling down five heaping gulps of your beer, the foam coating your upper lip. You wipe it away with your finger, sucking the digit into your mouth, and popping it out completely oblivious to how sinful you look and Toji’s catapulted into that day when you sucked your own cum off his fingers.

He has to behave.

The vibration of his phone in his pocket sours his mood immediately, turning his gaze from your form as he digs into his pocket. It’s the third time it’s buzzed today, and he knows who it is. No matter how hard he tries to ignore it, he can only put off his job for so long.

Unknown: Good job on the assignment last week.

Unknown: Your pay should be in your account by tonight.

Unknown: There’s another contract for you if you’re interested. Message me back and I’ll send you details.

“Everything okay?” Your voice pulls him from his phone, and he meets your curious gaze, one of your elegant eyebrows lifting in question as you assess him. “Something with work?”

“Yea,” he replies and regrets it immediately.

Lie #1

It’s not a complete lie—it is work—but the details…

Toji takes a long swig of his beer, attempting to soothe the shame that washes over him.

You really are a screamer.

Toji sits back in his seat, watching you with a wicked smile as you unleash a torrent of colorful language that makes his cock twitch. Even though you roar with the crowd, your voice rises higher.

“That’s a fucking flag! I should come down there and officiate for you instead you stupid piece of shit!”

Your curls brush the skin of your cheeks that puff in your frustration, your arms folding across your chest as you cock your hip and growl beneath your breath. You’re easily the loudest one in this section of the stands. Rene revels in it, egging you on by rooting for the opposite team and giggling when you bark at her. Shiu is content to watch the display, a fresh toothpick in his mouth and an arm over Rene’s shoulders as he idly twirls a lock of hair at her nape. You’re all yelling and sputtering indignation as you watch the game unfold, your team losing by what Toji has learned is a touchdown.

He knew this side of you was there. He could tell in the weight of your gaze that night. It's a side of you that he did not expect to see so soon. He soaks it in. He takes in the way you cuss out the man three rows down who won’t stop glaring at you. He absorbs how high-pitched the screech of your voice makes his eardrums shake, and he revels in the smile that forms on your lips when your team scores the game-winning touchdown.

When there are lulls in the game, you tell him about your career. You’re a pulmonary pediatric fellow at a hospital here in town that’s only a year and a half from completing your fellowship. You smile when you talk about the kids you take care of and your associates at work. You’re proud of your research and of how far you’ve come.

All of it, every part of you that you show him, is comforting. Warm despite how cold you appear. It’s a comfort he didn’t imagine having…ever in his life—especially a dreary life like his. But he soaks up this—you—as much as he can.

When the game is over, you’re elated and giggling, tucked into his side as he guides you through the drunken crowd. The moon is high in the sky, and it bathes your skin and makes you stand out in the crowd. You look up at him, smiling softly with a buzzed gaze that’s two beers deep.

“Did you have fun? Not bad for your first American game?”

“You screamed the entire time,” he teases, chuckling at the way you gape up at him and then sneer before turning away. He throws his arm around your shoulders, using the touch as a safe territory to keep his hands to himself, and pulls you closer.

You demand cotton candy which he indulges in as well before you both part ways with Rene and Shiu. The journey back to your apartment is a quiet one. As Toji drives, the warm July air fills the car, mingling with the faint strains of classic rock playing on the radio. Toji watches with flickering glances as you hum along, your eyes closed and the breeze wafting through your curls loose around your shoulders.

Something inside of him rattles. Whatever it is, it’s long-forgotten and buried deep within him, surrounded by cobwebs and dust that have accumulated over time since that dark day years ago.

*** You ***

From the short journey of his car to inside of your apartment, you repeat to yourself that you have to take this slow, for your own peace of mind.

You keep the most intimate parts of yourself locked away and only those who are worthy of you have a copy of the key. But somehow, and in such a short time, Toji has stolen a copy for himself and slotted the key into the door. But thankfully, the door is caught against the wall, hinges rusted over and ungiving.

You have to know more about him before you let him in to look at those parts of you. If you jump the gun and give him more so soon and end up hurt, it will throw you into a depth of pain that you promised yourself to never touch again if you could help it.

“You have a good time?”

Toji’s voice breaks the silence, his arms folding tightly across his chest, betraying the restlessness in his hands. His messy black locks, tousled by the late July humidity, partially hide his emerald gaze, which flickers briefly to meet your own before darting away.

Your socked feet pad across the hardwood floor, closing the space between you, and your head slowly tilts to look at him. Despite his façade of composure, his scar curves against his lips in a slight twist, twitching as he tries not to frown. Thin eyebrows pitch down in frustration, and you catch the way his fingertips drum against the skin of his biceps. He’s fidgety—nervous. Is he upset with himself? Ashamed that he couldn’t take you out on a proper date with dinner and a movie like everyone else expects?

Hopefully, he will learn that you go against the grain of proper in so many ways.

“I had a great time,” you confess softly, noticing the subtle relaxation in his stance at your words. The thrumming of his fingers stop, the tension in his shoulder fades. “You wanted to take me out and I let you. That all you want from me?”

He’s such an expressive man.

His face twists, perturbed by your bluntness and the prospect of delving into emotional territory. “I told you already that I want more.”

His declaration sends a fluttering through your heart that is reminiscent of the feeling you had when he surprised you with a slice of yellow cake. It’s comforting, and you want to lean into it. But it’s not enough to overwhelm you. You’re still in your right mind and still aware of your expectations even though he captivates you.

You press your finger into the firmness of his chest, hard so that the muscle pillows around your digit. The gaze you shoot up at him is unyielding, serious, and menacing enough that he straightens his spine just a little.

“Listen to me, because I’m only going to say this one more time. I don’t do situationships. I don’t do friends with benefits or the occasional hookup. I’m not saying things need to be serious with us but…you need to show me that you mean it.”

As you speak, you assess Toji, who shows no signs of amusement or ignorance. His posture is rigid, his back ramrod straight, and his deep green gaze locked onto yours.

“That night we had was great. I won’t deny that but…I won’t compromise my expectations and I don’t tolerate bullshit. I’m not going to let you fuck me just because we did it before. You want more? I want you to try. Earn me.”

You relish in the way his eyes widen, contemplating your words and the severity beneath them before his face smooths back into its usual cool demeanor. He unfolds his arms from his chest, and you curse inwardly at the way you immediately watch his shirt stretch across defined pectorals.

“You know you’re a feisty little thing.”

Heat from the way he speaks and annoyance at his lack of attention flare within you like wildfire. You open your mouth to yell, to bark at him to be serious, but the sound of his laughter extinguishes that fire inside of you instantly.

He doesn’t offer an apology for his comment and you don’t need one. You know you’re feisty and steadfast. It’s the only way you can function around men to survive, to stay afloat and still have a grasp of who you are. And if Toji couldn’t handle it, you definitely wouldn’t have slept with him or entertained a date that you thoroughly enjoyed.

“I’ll try,” he finally offers, voice soft but filled with conviction. Normally the small remark would offend you, but surprisingly coming from Toji, it’s enough.

Observing his behavior today and a little bit two weeks ago, you note his acceptance of your quirks and individuality—at least the bits you allow him to see. He marveled at the amount of food you ate and joined alongside you. He let you babble to him about every single player on your favorite team and how many championships they had won. He let you display your strength in your voice and personality, didn’t try to control or overshadow you like so many other past experiences you’ve had before learning how to rule the men in your life.

He let you be yourself.

And that thought makes you finally open your mouth to give him something he had asked for earlier, something you had previously denied despite your own desires.

“You can have your kiss,” you offer with a shrug, feigning nonchalance even though your heart picks up in speed as the implication registers on his face. “So you better do it right.”

It’s an invitation that he snatches away from your imaginary hands and tears open with thick fingers, greedy and growling with finality.

His sharp gaze traces the contours of your body, unabashed in its appraisal, leering at the pieces of skin visible to him. You know he’s been looking at you all day, but his observation now is intense, heavy and without reservation and you’re fumbling from the sudden rush of longing that pumps hot through your veins.

Toji inches closer, your hands instinctively find their way to his chest, his towering presence overwhelming your small stature. His height ignites an evolutionary desire in you that makes your mouth water, makes your cunt pulse with need beckoning for him to fill the mold he left inside two weeks ago. You’re still not used to climbing up the summit of him, so the air is thin once more, pulling the oxygen from your lungs and stuttering in your chest when a large hand cups the side of your neck and tilts your face up to him like an offering.

When his lips slide against yours, your fingers in his shirt tighten. His touch singes the ends of your nerves, boils the blood in your veins that pump fast throughout your body. Your skin is burning, searing when muscular arms hoist you up and wrap your legs around his thick waist before your ass is sliding on the cold marble of your kitchen counter, your lips still sealed against his.

There’s so much of this that feels like that night at your uncle’s. So much and yet not enough.

He drowns you with his touch, digs his fingers into the plump flesh of your thighs before yanking you, hard and with unforgiving impatience, closer to his body. The fabric of your jeans rubs too harsh against your wet panties, digs against the sensitivity of your clit and you repress the insatiable yearning to roll your hips against his.

Toji’s large hands slide up your body, traversing the mesh of your jersey that hugs you before cupping each side of your face again to tilt you sharper in the way he wants. Blue raspberry from the cotton candy you both indulged in after the game coats his tongue that licks your bottom lip in a silent request for entrance, and you grant him access, surrendering a whimper into his mouth as his tongue slides sinfully against yours. Tastebuds kiss your own, slide against them with whispered promise of satisfaction if you just relax and melt further into him. Just a little.

But you can’t, god you can’t.

You’re losing control and you have to stay strong. You have to stay above the waters of logical thinking even though you’re sinking with every stroke of his tongue, with every sweet, hot breath into your mouth, with every inch of flesh that your fingers dig into his chest because you need more. More than a kiss, more than what he’s offering, and you know he can give it to you. Toji can pull you into the inferno he’s raging inside of your body until your clothes are scorched off and his skin is sliding against yours sweaty, sticky, and undulating with every roll of his hips.

But he doesn’t give you more. He doesn’t pull you further into that fire.

The intensity of his kiss dies down slowly, his lips pulling away from yours with a wet smack as you pant along with him. Toji kisses your lips once, then twice, nips your bottom lip to seal everything he’s given before smirking down at you. Too devilish and arrogant and you don’t have a working brain cell in your head right now to correct him. His hands that cradle your cheeks slide down to your upper arms, giving them a gentle squeeze before he speaks.

“You still gonna let me be nice to you?”

His words are an echo of that night, his own way of telling you that he’s here. That he wants more—that he wants to give you more. You just have to let him.

With your head still swimming and the pulsing between your legs refusing to calm, you want him to be more than nice right now. But remembering the boundaries you have set, you nod instead and sigh into him when he kisses you one last time, sweeping his blue raspberry-flavored tongue against yours before pulling away, acting as though it’s nothing, as though you’re not sweaty at the small of your back and trembling with desire.

“Lock the door for me,” he commands, words devoid of a questioning tone, but filled with a sense of security and protection that you lean into.

“O-okay,” you manage to breathe, your heart slowing back into sinus rhythm, only to jump again as he places one final kiss on your lips, then your nose. You frantically bat him away before you lose consciousness, because any more and you’ll drag him into your room and disregard everything you said five minutes ago.

You watch him saunter away, pull his keys from his pocket, and twirl them in his hand before winking. “I’ll text you.”

It sounds so ridiculous coming from his lips, from a grown man who looks as if he doesn’t even know what a cellphone is, let alone a text message.

But it still makes your heart jump all the same.

You can only nod in response because your throat is too dry and heavy in the back of your throat with each swallow you take. You follow him to the door and roll your eyes at his annoying smirk before he closes the door behind him, casting your apartment into silence.

Your fingers wobble as they turn the locks of your door into place. You’re lightheaded, brain flitting through salacious memories of what you both did weeks ago and what you could easily be doing now.

You throw your back against the door and sag to the floor with an annoyed sigh.

*** Toji ***

Unknown: There’s another contract for you if you’re interested. Message me back and I’ll send you details.

Toji: I’m interested. Send me what you have.

175 notes · View notes

ereardon · 10 months

Text

She Calls Him Daddy [Bob Floyd x Reader]

DILF Bob Floyd

Summary: Coming home from college for winter break, the last thing you expected was to run into your best friend’s father while out shopping for new lingerie to surprise your fuck buddy with. You had always tried to hide your attraction for Mr. Floyd because he was Anna’s father. But all rules are thrown out when Bob invites you over on Christmas Eve while Anna is at her mother’s house. You’ll never be able to look at your friend’s dad the same way ever again.

Pairing: DILF Bob Floyd x Reader

Warnings: Just pure filth and smut, cursing, age difference, power imbalance

WC: 6K

Your fingers brushed along the array of pastel lace before you paused, reaching out and selecting a hanger.

It was perfect. Silky black straps with delicate lace bra cups that led to a sheer lace middle cut high on the hips in a thong. You smiled. Jonah was going to lose his goddamn mind when he saw you in this.

You turned, instantly colliding with a person who had been right behind you, their back to you, your skimpy bodysuit flying to the floor as you began to fall. But the person you had crashed into reached down instantly, catching you before you absolutely ate shit in the middle of the store floor.

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed as the man’s hands caught your waist, hauling you to standing. “Thank you!”

A gasp left your mouth as you looked up.

“Mr. Floyd.”

“Y/N.” His voice was deep, sultry. You felt your face flush with embarrassment. He leaned down and retrieved the discarded hanger and black lingerie from the floor. But instead of handing it to you, he held it up and examined it.

“I’m, uh, buying it for a friend,” you lied.

Bob Floyd’s blue eyes met yours. His tone was patient, his mouth in a hard line. “Is that so?” he asked. “Not Anna I hope.”

“No, of course not.” At the mention of Anna, your best friend and Bob Floyd’s daughter, you wanted to crumple into a million pieces. You could never tell her that her father had caught you buying lingerie or that you had literally fallen into his arms like a damsel in distress.

Even if it made you ache between your legs. Even if a part of you had been crushing on Mr. Floyd since you were sixteen.

You couldn’t even admit it to yourself that sometimes, when you slept with Jonah, your college fuck buddy, you pictured Bob Floyd’s face when you closed your eyes. Same when you had your vibrator pressed tightly against your clit beneath the covers in the privacy of your dorm single. It was Bob Floyd’s face looming in your mind as you let yourself break apart.

Bob gripped the hanger tightly. He looked at the bodysuit and then at you. You felt like you could melt from the intensity of his gaze, even if it only lasted a second. “That would look good on you,” he said, voice low and you felt your heart beating erratically in your chest. “But this would look better.” He reached out and pulled a bra and panty set from the next rack over. It was a white bra with sheer demi cups and a matching high-waisted thong with a thick waistband and tiny pearls dotting the band. Clipped onto the hanger was a lace trimmed garter.

Words escaped you. Your jaw was practically hanging on the ground.

Bob stepped closer. Somehow, it was just the two of you in the entire store. You realized you never asked why he was in a lingerie and pajama shop, so close to Christmas. Bob leaned one muscular arm against the wall to his left. “Y/N. Do you have a boyfriend?”

You shook your head.

His eyes flitted to the black one piece that you had discarded on the rack. “So why are you buying something like that?” he asked. It was almost condescending, the way he said it. “To impress someone?” Bob added after a moment.

You nodded. “Maybe.”

Bob frowned. “I don’t like it.” Yes, he had made that very clear. Now for the rest of your life you would avoid black lingerie like the plague simply because you knew Bob Floyd didn’t like it.

You wanted to please him. It was sickening how badly you wanted his approval. Perhaps because your own father couldn’t care less where you ran off to on any given day and Bob cared deeply where Anna was at all times. He was a good father. A better father than yours.

Or perhaps it was the way he was looking at you. Like he was trying to memorize you so he could chisel you from marble later.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Bob reached out, brushing your chin with his rough fingertips. You shuddered, need pulsating in your body like a pinball machine. “Don’t be,” he murmured gruffly. “I just don’t like the idea of you getting all dressed up for some boy who doesn’t know how to please you.”

You couldn’t believe that Bob Floyd of all people was looking at you like this. Like he wanted to rip off your clothes. You thought he saw you as a daughter. As just one of Anna’s little friends. He and his wife had gotten divorced nearly ten years ago. You had long known Bob Floyd as simply Anna’s dad. All of the single mothers at your school went crazy for him, but he didn’t give them a second glance. His focus was on Anna and getting her into a good college. But she had done that. She was at Brown. She was happy.

So what was he doing now?

Apparently, he was cornering you in an upscale lingerie boutique two days before Christmas. And the worst part was, you didn’t hate it. You didn’t hate it at all.

“Y/N,” Bob said. “Wait outside. And here, wear this.” He shrugged off his wool coat, draping it over your shoulders. You drowned in it. He was far taller and larger than you and you felt like a little girl wearing her father’s clothing. “I’ll meet you in a minute.”

You did as you were told, stepping out of the store and waiting, impatiently, until Bob returned a few minutes later with two store bags in his hands.

He handed you one and you looked up with shock. “Here.”

“I, um, I can’t.”

Bob slid his hands into his pockets. “Then return it if you want,” he replied. “Or you can come over tomorrow night and I can show you what those boys at Yale never could.”

Your mouth hung open. Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

Bob smiled, for the first time during your interaction. “Tomorrow, eight o’clock.” And then he was gone, leaving you standing under the striped awning wearing his heavy coat as he disappeared into the snow.

***

“Isn’t Anna at her mother’s house for Christmas?”

You shook your head, turning down the hall. “No, she was there for Thanksgiving.”

“That’s right,” your mom replied, rubbing her hands together mindlessly as she followed behind you. “Are you sure you want to spend Christmas Eve at her dad’s house? What about our annual pie bake off?”

You sighed, leaning one arm on the wooden door frame to your room. “Mom, please. I’ll be back first thing in the morning, I promise. I never get to see her anymore.”

“I know sweetheart.” She put her hand on your cheek softly. “Well, have fun and be safe.”

She closed the door and you rushed over to your closet, sliding it open and pulling out the bag from the lingerie store. With bated breath, you pulled out the neatly wrapped bundle, breaking the cloth tape seal on the tissue paper.

Inside, just as you had expected, was the white set that Bob Floyd had recommended. Bra, panties, matching garter and thigh highs.

There was also a small white card. You flipped it open.

Merry Christmas, Y/N.

-BF

You couldn’t help but be disappointed. You thought there would be something else. The invitation was to spend the night, wasn’t it? Or had you somehow misinterpreted what he said?

But the lingerie sitting perfectly in the box was a different story. That was the nail in the coffin.

Quickly, you got dressed, zipping your duffle bag shut and bidding goodnight to your parents, promising to text them once you got to Anna’s.

Your heart was beating erratically in your chest for the fifteen minute drive, and you thought you might spontaneously combust the moment you pulled into the familiar driveway. It was hard to unsee the history of your friendship with Anna outlined everywhere you looked.

The two of you tanning on the front lawn in the summers. The curb where you hit your head roller skating and had to get five stitches. How many times had you parked your old car in their driveway, waiting for Anna to slide into the passenger seat? How many times had the two of you snuck out of that house late at night for parties, scantily clad and carrying water bottles full of liquor you had pilfered from Mr. Floyd’s office where he kept his alcohol stash?

You parked the car and leaned back. You were really doing this. You had been thinking about Bob Floyd ever since you were a teenager. Now, you were nineteen. You had slept with other guys. You knew exactly what you were doing.

Which is how you found yourself with an overnight bag in one hand, knocking on the all-too-familiar wooden front door as snow fell softly around you in clumps.

The heavy door swung open. Bob Floyd stood wearing a blue cable knit sweater and a pair of ironed trousers, wool socks, his hair combed back neatly, his wire glasses square on his nose. He smiled. Behind him, the house was warm. It practically glowed. “Y/N,” he said softly.

“Mr. Floyd.”

“Come in,” he said. It was a demand. He grabbed the overnight bag from your hand seamlessly, leading you through the door, one hand on your back as he guided you into the hallway that opened up to the large living room in the back of the house. “I’ll take your coat.”

You shrugged out of the Italian wool overcoat and handed it to him, standing in a pair of ivory knee-high boots and a white turtleneck dress that clung tightly to your curves. Bob’s gaze rolled over you slowly.

“Have a seat,” he said. “Do you want a drink?”

“What do you have?”

Bob returned from the hall closet. “Honey, you know better than anyone what I have. Don’t think I didn’t know the two of you were sneaking into my liquor cabinet all those years.”

You flushed, turning around halfway on the couch to peer over the back at him, mouth agape. Bob chuckled, heading for the kitchen and returning a few seconds later with two glasses and a bottle of chilled champagne. “You knew?” you asked, aghast.

He sat down on the other end of the couch, pouring a glass of champagne and handing it to you. “Of course I knew,” he said, his voice thick and rumbling.

Bob poured himself a drink and then leaned back against the couch, one arm stretched out over the back.

“You think I didn’t watch you and Anna closely?” he added as you took a sip. It fizzed on your tongue and in your throat. “I’m her father, Y/N. It’s my duty to protect her. And you.”

Protect. The word rang in your head on repeat. Your eyes flicked down to Bob’s hands. So strong and lean, with veins running on the back of his hands toward his sweater-covered arms. You squirmed unintentionally on the couch.

Bob’s blue eyes were locked on yours. But instead of looking away, you let him in. God, he was beautiful. Jonah and all the other guys you had slept with had nothing compared to Bob Floyd. The small crinkle of skin next to his eyes was the only thing that betrayed his age. He was practically flawless. You weren’t the first person to notice how drop dead gorgeous Bob Floyd was. There were whispers behind Anna’s back. But Bob Floyd didn’t date. And besides, you were twenty years younger than him. What could he possibly want with you?

“Mr. Floyd,” you said and Bob smirked.

“Y/N,” he said, deep voice punctuating the air. “You can call me Bob.”

You shook your head. “It sounds wrong.”

He reached out a hand, nudging his thumb beneath your chin. “Does it feel wrong?”

“No.”

“Good girl.”

You practically whimpered. Bob’s azure eyes never left yours as he dropped his hand and rubbed his palm over his thigh in his khakis.

“Did you like my gift?”

You nodded.

“Are you wearing it now?”

Another nod. Bob’s eyes grew wider, darker. He shifted in his seat, setting his champagne glass down on the fancy wooden coffee table.

You crossed your legs, noting that Bob’s gaze followed you as you slowly lifted up one leg, crossing it over the other, adjusting yourself on the sofa a few inches closer to him.

Bob stood up, running one hand through his hair. He spun around.

“I can drive you home,” he said, “if you’d like. It’s snowing and it’s late. I realize now I didn’t ask if you wanted to come here.” He shook his head. “If you’re uncomfortable, we just pretend this never happened. You’re still Anna’s best friend, I’m still her father.”

You stood up, smoothing your dress with your hands and stepping closer. Hesitantly, you reached out, placing one hand on his chest. “I wanted to come.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded. “You do know you’re the hot dad that every girl in our grade had a crush on, right?” You rolled your eyes. “Anna hated it.”

Bob smirked, one hand coming up and toying with your fingertips pressed against the soft fabric of his sweater. His fingers circled your wrist, tight, and you gasped. “Is that right?” he asked, voice husky.

“Mmhm.”

“What about you?” His fingers slipped past your wrist, up the sleeve of your dress, dancing lightly along the thin skin of your forearm. “Do you think of me?”

“Yes.” It was the truth. You flushed.

“When do you think of me, darlin?” he rasped. Bob shifted closer so you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

“When I'm alone,” you admitted softly. “When I touch myself.”

His fingers slid out from beneath your sleeve and you thought for a brief moment that he was going to turn you away, send you off on your merry way out into the snow with bruised pride and unseen lingerie.

But instead, Bob mumbled something underneath his breath before his eyes were piercing yours again, his hands finding their way to either side of your neck, tilting your head up toward him.

“Darlin’,” he groaned. “Trying to kill me?”

“Well you are old,” you murmured, "wouldn't be too difficult." He chuckled.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he whispered. “If you want to stop, we stop.”

You nodded, heart pounding wildly in your chest as Bob Floyd leaned down, sliding his mouth against yours, his fingers curling around your neck. You placed your hands on his arms, melting into the kiss.

Kissing Bob was like unlocking an entirely new facet of sex. His lips were soft, practically caressing yours, and his fingers pressed just deep enough into your neck and the base of your head as his tongue swirled in your mouth.

To your surprise, Bob groaned, stepping in closer, pressing his body against yours, pinning you against the wall as he towered over you, across you, every inch of your body on fire.

Bob pulled back, eyes wide, his lower half still pressed against yours, his face and shoulders leaning back a few inches. “Y/N? Do you want this?”

“Yes, Mr. Floyd.”

“Then take off your dress and get on your knees.”

Bob stepped back as you carefully lifted the hem of your white dress, pulling it up and over your head, dropping it on the ground and crossing your arms over your chest sheepishly.

He shook his head, reaching out and prying your arms off of your chest, exposing your breasts in the whisper of white mesh and lace, the dainty sheer g-string, the sheer thigh highs that you had worn to please him. “Fuck,” he murmurred, letting your arms go and trailing one fingertip over your right breast, circling the hardened nipple. You whimpered, aching for him. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment before they snapped open and Bob’s hand was drawn back. You sank to the floor, wetness already pooling in your panties.

“Go ahead,” Bob said, his voice almost gritty it was so hoarse. Your hands reached up for his belt, undoing the clasp clumsily before pressing ahead the button of his pants, unlooping it. Your eyes widened as your fingers wrapped around the metal zipper, tugging it down over his hard bulge. Bob groaned as your fingers drew over his cock, even through his boxers, and you tugged the waistband of his khakis down, kneeling back slightly. “You ready for my cock, darlin’?”

You nodded, skimming your fingers under the band of his boxer briefs, tugging them down as Bob’s hard cock sprang to attention. You audibly gasped and above you, Bob smirked. He was thick and impossibly long, angry red head seemingly staring at you, taunting you.

Immediately, you reached out and licked the tip with your tongue, swirling it around his leaking tip, your eyes locked on Bob’s. His hands stayed at his side like a mummy, but his blue eyes bore into yours.

You opened your mouth wider, pressing your thighs together as you leaned in, one hand on the base of his shaft while you pushed his cock into your mouth and throat, gagging around his length as his tip bashed against the back of your throat. Your eyes started to water but you kept your eyes on Bob, pulling back and gasping before taking him back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, sucking on him harshly.

“Fuck!” he grunted as you gagged around him, your fingers tight on the base of his cock. He reached out, threading his fingers into your hair carefully, pulling you back, wiping the frothy saliva from your lips as you kneeled at his feet, chest heaving. “You like that?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yes, Mr. Floyd.”

His eyes darkened. “Open,” he commanded and you opened your mouth as Bob fisted himself, pushing his cock all the way into your mouth and throat, fingers holding the back of your head in a gentle cradle. “Now put that pretty little mouth to good use,” he whispered, “and make me cum down your throat.”

Bob watched as you placed your hands on his hips, steadying yourself, using your head and neck to bob back and forth on his cock, sucking his length repeatedly.

Your right hand slid around the base of his cock, jerking the parts of him that wouldn’t fit into your mouth as you groaned, the vibrations sending Bob into the stratosphere. As you became more comfortable, you reached down, cupping his balls, squeezing them tightly before letting go as Bob panted above you.

Bob’s hand cradled your head and you opened wider as you felt him taking control, snapping his hips forward, thrusting his cock deep into your throat, causing you to sputter around him. “You can take it,” he murmured, pulling out a few inches before filling your mouth and throat again. “Such a good fucking girl, taking my cock. Now make me cum.”

You nodded, eyes watery, and Bob groaned, one of his hands bracing himself against the wall, the other preventing your head from hitting the wooden paneling as he drove his cock into your throat, letting out a string of curse words as you felt him stutter above you, his hot cum filling your throat and mouth, spilling out of the corners of your lips, mixing with the tears that were streaming down your cheeks.

Bob collapsed forward, resting his forehead on his arm, pushing his cock deeper into you one last time before pulling out as you swallowed his salty spend. He leaned back, panting, and swiped one thumb over your lips. “Come here.”

You stood, slightly wobbly, and inhaled sharply as Bob spun you around, placing his hands over yours against the wall. There was the sound of him pulling his pants back on, clicking the buckle, before his hands were back on your waist, thick fingers slipping into the lacy garter band, one hand traveling up and cupping your breast as he pressed against you from behind, his breath warm in your ear.

“Tell me what you want.”

Your eyes were closed. All that you could feel were Bob’s hands exploring your body. “You.” It was a whisper.

Bob spun you around until your back was against the wall and your eyes popped open. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours, tasting himself on you, his fingers wrapping around your waist.

The next minute you were in Bob’s arms, your legs wrapped around his waist, his lips still on yours as he carried you through the living room, down the hall toward the master bedroom.

You had been in Bob Floyd’s bedroom once before.

A few years back, Anna had invited you over for a sleepover when Bob was away for a work trip. Her mother was also busy, which led the two of you to stay in the house alone. Anna had suggested sleeping in Bob’s room because it had a large TV mounted over the fireplace.

But after the movie marathon and once Anna fell asleep, you snuck off to the bathroom, opening a bottle of Bob’s cologne, inhaling his scent, wondering what it would be like to smell him up close.

As he laid you down on the king bed, you caught a whiff of that familiar cologne. Duc De Vervins Houbigant. You could clearly picture the sheer green and gold bottle. You had never thought you'd get this close to him.

Bob laid you down carefully. You sat up on your elbows, looking at him as he stood at the edge of the bed. Gently, Bob placed one hand on each of your knees, spreading your legs apart, his hands smoothing over the lace of your thigh highs, up to the garter straps which he snapped against your skin. He leaned forward, pressing his mouth to your exposed stomach, kissing the skin. You felt anticipation and desire pooling between your legs as Bob’s fingers dug into your hips.

“Please,” you begged and Bob lifted his head.

“Please what?”

You wanted to blush or feel embarrassment, but you couldn’t. Not with the way that Bob was looking at you. Like you were the only person he had eyes for. “Please fuck me Mr. Floyd.”

He practically growled. Bob leaned back, standing up straight and lifting off his sweater to reveal a pair of perfect abs. He looked better than any boy you had ever fucked, even at forty, and you found your mouth watering as he removed his pants, cock hard again. Bob kicked away the discarded clothes, crawling onto the bed, hovering over you before bending over, ripping the lace of your bra down to expose your nipple, taking it into his mouth and sucking harshly as you writhed beneath him.

“Oh!”

He licked the bud, nipping at it gently, as your hips jumped up uncontrollably, a throaty moan falling out of your mouth. Bob popped off of your nipple with a smirk, reaching beneath you and unclasping the bra, tearing it off and tossing it on the ground. His large hands massaged your bare breasts before one hand trailed down, brushing over the lace garter, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties.

Bob’s thick finger slid over your slick folds and you cried out as he nudged your clit before sinking down, teasing at your opening.

He pushed his finger into your cunt as you whimpered beneath him, the only sounds in the room were your pants and the loud smack of Bob’s knuckle hitting your opening as your juices dripped down to his wrist, your walls gripping his finger tightly. “So fucking tight,” he muttered, adding a second finger, stretching you wide as you twitched below him, pressing up against the heel of his hand, desperate for more contact. “Shh,” he whispered condescendingly. “You’ll cum when I want you to.”

You let out a groan, flopping back on the bed, letting Bob finger fuck you, hard, until you could feel yourself building to an orgasm.

And then he pulled out as you gasped, raising his fingers to his lips, sucking them dry before reaching down and tearing the panties at the side, flinging them off the bed.

Bob looked down at you. His gaze was so intense your first instinct was to look away. But instead you skimmed your fingers over his bicep where he had one arm outstretched near your head. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, groaning as you wrapped your legs around his waist, your wet core brushing against his erection.

“Darlin’,” he murmured. “You’ve never been fucked properly a day in your life, have you?”

You shook your head.

Bob reached over for a condom, tearing it open and rolling it over himself seamlessly. He dropped down to his forearm, face close to yours, other hand stroking your hip gently before maneuvering his cock until the tip was pressing against your entrance. “You want to stop, we stop,” he said softly. You nodded and Bob sank into your wet pussy, filling every inch of you as you whimpered, burying your face in his chest, small grunts as he pressed further inside, holding behind your knee, sinking into you.

Once he was fully sat inside of you, Bob moaned.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, brushing the hair back from your face, fingers resting on your cheeks, thumb pushing away the small tears that had gathered at the corner of your eye. “You’re so fucking tight.” You whined as he pulled back an inch, thrusting back into you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he plunged into your wet, welcoming cunt, a low string of curses on his tongue as he felt you stretch around him, your hands on his biceps, grounding yourself to him. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured, “fucking take this cock.”

“Bob!” You screamed as he leaned back on his knees, scooping up beneath you and pulling your chest in toward him until you were straddling him on the bed, Bob holding you steady as he fucked into you, your bare breasts slapping against his chest.

He grunted. “Fuck, yes, God you feel so fucking good.”

You wound your arms around Bob’s neck, your eyes on his as he held you close, his cock brushing that small spongy part inside of you that made you start wailing in pleasure. “Yes, yes!”

“Don’t cum,” he growled and your eyes filled with tears as he slowed down, pulling you off of him.

“What?”

“Get on your hands and knees,” he demanded and you turned over, scooting your ass back toward him, practically screaming as he filled you again in one thrust, his hands on your hips, pulling you back to meet his every thrust. “Good girl,” Bob said as you tipped your head down, feeling his sticky thighs press against the back of your own legs, his balls smacking your puffy, aching pussy lips.

“Please,” you begged, snaking one arm down, your fingers finding your sopping wet clit.

Bob grabbed your arm, pinning it to your stomach, pulling you up until your back was pressed against his chest, his arm tight against your chest, fingers gripping your left breast tightly. “You need to learn, Y/N,” he said, smoothing his other hand down between your legs as he continued to thrust into you from behind, “that a real man makes his woman beg, but he doesn't make her work for her orgasm. Now spread your legs for me, baby.”

You tipped your head back as Bob’s fingers brushed over where you craved them the most, instantly finding your clit, rubbing tight circles over the bud. “Fuck, oh my god, oh holy shit, yes please.”

Bob’s voice was throaty in your ear, his lips hot against the skin of your neck. “Cum all over my cock, baby. Fucking soak me.”

And then you were screaming, hot desire pooling in your stomach, bursting, your breath stalling as your breath caught in your throat and Bob pumped himself into you as your legs shook.

You started to fall forward but he caught you with both arms as you rode out your high on his cock, your body trembling with the aftershocks.

Bob loosened his grip on you, laying you down gently before rolling you over again, this time never letting his cock fall from between your legs as he repositioned the two of you so he was hovering above you, cock plunging into your exhausted cunt.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurred, head dipped down, kissing your neck as you whined. “Can you cum for me again, baby? Milk my cock.”

You were spent. But then Bob lifted his head, his gaze locked on yours, and his lips found yours, kissing you deeply, his free hand coming back between your bodies, thumb pressing gently over your clit as you whimpered into his mouth.

“That’s it,” Bob said, “right there darlin’. Want to watch you while I fucking fill you.”

He thrusted into you, hard, as his thumb slid over your clit and you found yourself shaking around him once again, crying out as Bob groaned loudly, hips stuttering, filling the condom with his hot cum as your walls massaged him, clinging to him tightly, your fingertips sliding down his sweaty and toned back, pulling him closely. Your leg was hooked around his waist and he collapsed onto you, face buried in your neck, his cock slowly softening inside of you as your heartbeat continued to rage on.

After a few seconds, Bob leaned up, pulling out of you slowly. You winced as he removed his cock, feeling empty and sore as he discarded the condom.

Bob laid back on the bed and instinctively you rolled into his side, slinging one leg over his thigh, head resting between his shoulder and arm. His fingertips stroked your side. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “Was that good for you?” you asked quietly.

Bob chuckled, and your head bounced around at the movement. “Yes, honey, it was good. It was better than good. You’re so fucking sexy.” He smoothed one hand over your waist. “I want to fuck you everywhere, every way that I can, until you can’t remember what it was like to fuck anyone else.”

You smiled. “Trust me, I’m not going to forget this.”

Bob grinned, sliding out of bed carefully. You frowned but he held out one hand. “Come on, let’s go get cleaned up.”

In the bathroom, Bob turned on the enormous two-person shower as you unclipped your thigh highs and garter, stepping into the marble shower, Bob joining you a second later, shutting the door. You stood under the hot water, letting it smooth over your skin and hair before turning to him. Bob looked at you with such an intensity you thought you might melt.

“Y/N,” he grumbled. You cocked your head to the side. “Sit down.” Bob pointed to the marble built-in seat on one side of the shower. You sat down with a frown. But then Bob sank to his knees, nudging open your legs, and you grinned. “I can’t stand it. I have to taste you.”

You leaned back with a loud moan as Bob’s sharp tongue flicked over your folds, finding your clit, circling the puffy, exhausted nerve as his large hands held your knees apart. “Mr. Floyd,” you begged and Bob looked up, eyes dark.

“Yes, darlin’?”

“You gonna make me cum again?”

Bob smirked. “As many times as I can, until you can’t even stand anymore.”

And then he was back between your legs, one finger in your cunt as his tongue flicked in circles over your clit while you leaned back, crying out when the heat started to pool in your stomach, threatening to break. “Mr. Floyd!” you screamed as you came all over his face, his lips and chin dripping with your cum when he pulled back, your thighs shaking.

Bob pulled you to standing, spinning you around until your hands were on the cool marble wall of the shower as he nudged your legs apart, rubbing his hard, massive cock against your ass cheeks before delivering a sharp slap as you gasped. “Are you clean?” he asked.

You nodded. “And I have an IUD.”

“Good.” Bob reached down, sinking into you in two quick thrusts, stuffing you impossibly deep as you groaned. “I’m going to fill you up, make you mine.” And then the two of you were gasping, panting, moaning as he fucked you from behind, your bare breasts pressing against the cool marble, Bob’s grunts loud in your ear as he lost himself inside of you. “Fucking perfect pussy,” he whispered, “so fucking tight, how does it feel to be fucked by a man, hmm princess? Could a boy ever make you feel like this?”

“Only you,” you whimpered, one cheek squished against the shower wall as Bob railed you from behind.

“Say it again.”

“Only your cock, Mr. Floyd!”

“That’s my girl,” he groaned, fingertips gripping your hips so hard you knew they’d leave bruises but you didn’t care. All you cared about was the unbelievable pleasure of having Bob Floyd fuck you senseless. “Where do you want me to cum?”

“Cum in me,” you begged. “Please?”

“Fuck.” Bob’s hips lifted and he cried out, spilling his warm cum inside of you, painting your walls, thrusting a few more times sloppily as your walls clenched around him, milking every last drop from his hard cock on his way down.

After the shower, Bob gave you a towel and you wrapped yourself up, sitting on the edge of the bed. He appeared in the doorway in a pair of pajama pants and no shirt, towel drying his hair.

“Did you bring pajamas?” he asked.

You cringed. You had brought everything else: makeup, makeup remover wipes, an extra pair of shoes, clothes for the next day. But you had forgotten pajamas. You shook your head.

Bob nodded, stepping toward a wooden chest of drawers and pulling out a long sleeved henley, handing it to you, along with a pair of boxers. You pulled them on as he stood with his arms crossed over his chest. “Are you hungry?”

You were starving. In the kitchen, Bob pulled out the makings for a grilled cheese and you sat on the counter, legs swinging against the lower cabinets, watching him prepare the sandwiches. How many times had you done the exact same thing as Anna raced around, making the two of you an afternoon snack?

Bob flipped the sandwiches in the pan and then turned to you. “What are you thinking?”

“You’re not going to tell Anna, right?”

He shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Because it doesn’t mean anything?”

Bob’s gaze hardened. “Is that what you think?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Isn’t that what you wanted? Just sex. Just tonight.”

Bob lifted the sandwiches onto plates and turned off the burner. He stepped closer, placing his large hands on your knees. You thought back to twenty minutes ago when he had done the same thing in the shower and despite the fact that you had three orgasms under your belt for the night, excitement and lust started to creep into your bloodstream again. “Y/N,” he said, voice low and slow and it made your body ripple with excitement just hearing your name on his lips. “You mean something. You’re not just some random woman. I care about you.”

Your heart lifted.

Bob’s fingers pressed tightly against your skin before lifting off. He handed you a plate. “Now eat your sandwich, please. So I can take you to bed and fuck you again.”

You bit into the sandwich and groaned. It was good. Almost as good as the feeling of being fucked by Bob Floyd.

Bob stood on the opposite side of the kitchen, casually leaning up against the counter, eating his sandwich, his eyes never leaving yours.

You finished your grilled cheese, rinsed off the plate and washed your hands. Bob did the same and you smirked at him. “Mr. Floyd?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Can I suck your cock again?”

Bob smiled. “Still hungry, huh?” he asked. “Go on then, get on your knees, sweetheart. Make daddy cum.”

Tag list (also reusing my list from Friend Don't aka my general Bob list so if you don't want to be tagged in Bob fics going forward just let me know!): @wkndwlff @bobfloydsbabe @teacupsandtopgun @blue-aconite @clancycucumber230 @yanna-banana @whisperofsong @marvelshauntedhouse @that1nerd-20

@double-j @topguncultleader @momc95 @hangmandruigandmav

@minamisulemisa @shawnsblue

@seresinhangmanjake @brehonodea @babyminghao @crthurston

@angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @mizzzpink @mygyn @sadpetalsstuff @averyhotchner @oneelleandaneye @shanimallina87

@wittywhispers @wildlyobserving @eyesthatroll @localhockeygirl @xomrsalliej4787xo @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox

@sexytholland @djs8891 @rxmtoon @darkestbeforethedawn16

@cactajuice @purplevortexx @dempy @lemur46

@louie-bug @arson-tm @valkyrja-siren-blog @avengers-fixation

@fudge13 @phantomxoxo @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @not-two-shrimp @emorychase @horseshoegirl @abaker74 @evans-dejong @storysimp @emma8895eb @briseisgone @katiedid-3 @beacheybabes97 @mandylove1000

#dilf bob floyd #dilf bob #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x reader #bob+floyd+x+reader #bob floyd smut #bob fucks #top gun fanfiction #top gun x reader #top gun smut

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wholoveseggs · 2 months

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Better than flowers♡

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

♡♡ Happy Valentines Day ♡♡

You've always hated valentines day until Elijah changes your mind with a magical date.

3.2k words - Warnings: smut, oral, so corny and romantic it hurts …

You always hated Valentine's day because most of the time, you were alone. Last year, you'd just been dumped, so you spent the entire day in bed. It wasn't until you saw everyone's pictures from their cute dates that you really felt bad.

Even though you were dating someone new, you didn't expect anything. Elijah was always sweet and thoughtful, but you didn't want him to feel like he had to go over the top for this holiday. You had only been dating for a few weeks, so you were happy with just a card and a bouquet of flowers.

It was naïve of you to think that would be enough for him. He was the most romantic guy you'd ever been with. He would randomly buy you things or take you to dinner just because. He even planned a weekend away with you, which was the best.

So, when you got home from work on the 13th you found a garment bag on the bed and a note, you couldn't hide your excitement.

Y/n, I know you dislike Valentine's Day, so I wanted to show my appreciation for you the day before. I'll pick you up at 8. -Elijah

He liked to leave notes like that for you. It wasn't surprising that he did this. He was such a romantic man. Sometimes it made you uncomfortable because it felt like it was out of a fairy tale, almost surreal.

You were curious about what was in the garment bag and carefully opened it, the hanger still on the inside of the sleeve. The beautiful blush-colored dress inside made your jaw drop. You gently ran your hands over the fabric, a slow smile spreading across your lips. It was romantic and flowy, the kind of dress you would see in an old Hollywood movie.

You took your time getting ready, making sure every part of you looked perfect. Elijah was worth going all out for. When you went to get dressed you noticed he had also bought you lingerie. It was incredibly luxurious, the set probably cost more than your rent.

You smirked to yourself as you slipped into the lingerie. You checked yourself out in the full-length mirror. It fit perfectly, and the color matched your dress. You weren't the lingerie type of girl, but sometimes you could appreciate how good they made you feel.

When Elijah knocked on your door, you finished putting in the pearl earrings he bought you when he asked you to be his girlfriend. The memory made you blush, he'd been so sweet when he asked.

You put your feet in your matching shoes before heading for the door. Your breath was taken away when you saw Elijah. His hair was perfectly styled, and his dark eyes were shining. He dressed for the occasion.

"Hi," he breathed out, giving you that cute lopsided grin. "You look- you look beautiful."

You returned his grin, pressing your hand to his cheek, enjoying the feel of the stubble there. "Thank you. So, where are we going?"

He reached up and held your hand in his, bringing it away from his face and placing a kiss against your knuckles. You could never get tired of that.

"It's a surprise," he said as he led you down to his car.

“Always with the surprises," you teased.

Once you were sitting in the passenger seat, he smiled over at you, and started the car. He reached over to place his hand on your thigh as he drove. You turned on the radio, surprised when the song you always sang along to came on.

Elijah gave you a soft squeeze when he heard you start singing. He probably thought it was funny, you knew you were not the greatest singer, but you couldn't help but sing along to songs you knew by heart. Elijah always thought it was cute.

When you realized he was taking you outside of the city, your curiosity growing.

"We're almost there," he told you, and squeezed your thigh again.

He parked in a gravel parking lot, there was no buildings near by, just a forest path. You weren't sure if you should be nervous, but you felt calm around him. He was always protective and sweet.

"If we are going on a hike I didn't wear the right shoes," you joked as he helped you out of the car.

"Not that kind of hiking, not tonight anyway," he commented, and you were a little relieved by that.

His hand held yours as you started down the gravel path. It was dark, you used his phone to shine a light. Your heels didn't do the best on the uneven ground. You stumbled a bit and Elijah scooped you up, making you giggle.

"If you are planning on murdering me in the woods, this is the most romantic way someone has ever done it," you joked, you couldn't help thinking of the worst-case scenario, it was just in your nature.

He chuckled and kept walking, his hands supporting your thighs and back as he carried you. "I wouldn't put in this much effort to just murder you in the woods, love." He teased.

You arrived at a clearing just before the sun was beginning to set. There was twinkle lights strung in the trees and a few lanterns that provided light. At the center of it all was a large wooden table set with plates, champagne, and roses. Candles were lit in every corner of the space.

There was a trail of red rose petals that lead from where you stood to the end of the table, disappearing into the dark of the woods. The moment was surreal.

"Whoa," you muttered, looking around in awe.

Elijah carefully placed you on your feet and held your hand. "You like it?" He asked, his eyes searching yours for approval.

"Elijah," you breathed out his name and placed your hand on his cheek, "This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I love it."

His hand reached up and cupped yours against his cheek. You could feel his blush. He always got so nervous and shy around you, and it was honestly the cutest thing.

Out of the woods came a few servers that began to put food on the table and fill your glasses with champagne. You smiled up at Elijah as he thanked the servants. He led you to your seat, and you grinned as he pulled out the chair for you.

"Such a gentleman," you cooed at him before sitting down. He sat down beside you, turning his chair to face you.

"I would do this for you every day if you would let me," he whispered, his hand sliding across the table and taking yours.

You didn't know how to respond to that so you took a sip of champagne and smiled. He continued smiling back at you, both of you growing more comfortable in silence. You talked for a while about each other's day and you finished off a bottle of champagne by the time the food was ready.

The meal was incredible. Everything was so good. You didn't even notice the sun had set because the whole area was lit up. Elijah had planned it all out and he was amazing.

The table was cleared and moved out of the way so you had room to dance. A violist came out of the trees and started playing, slow jams that you and Elijah could sway to.

You knew he'd been planning this for a while, all the trouble he went through, the lengths he went, just to make tonight special.

"You really didn't have to do all this, all I was expecting was flowers," you confessed.

His mouth brushed against your ear and you felt yourself growing warmer from the intimate gesture. "If I didn't do any of this, then you would continue to hate this holiday. I'm going to show you that it's worth celebrating."

"Show me then," you murmured, wanting his lips against your skin.

He pressed his lips to yours, his tongue lightly brushing against yours before slowly pulling away. "I'll show you every year, every holiday, for the rest of our lives," he promised.

"I can live with that," you purred and sealed your promise with another kiss.

"I do have a confession," he whispered, his fingers weaving through your hair.

You pulled back and looked up at him. His dark eyes were soft, relaxed. You sighed contently, feeling happy and loved. "I'm listening."

"I have another surprise," he muttered, and you hummed at him curiously.

He stepped away and held your hand, leading you toward the trail of rose petals. You held on tightly and leaned into his body. You couldn't stop the silly smile that was spreading across your lips.

Once you got passed the line of trees you could see the cabin. The rose petal trail ended on the porch. It was simple and quaint. Just as beautiful as the romantic clearing you were in just minutes ago.

He scooped you up in his arms. "Elijah!" you squealed, but quickly wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.

Elijah quickly carried you up the steps to the door and set you down. You were both laughing and kissing. He smiled against your lips, his nimble fingers unlocking the door.

You let out a gasp as you took in the place, flowers were everywhere, their smell sweet and welcoming. There was a four-poster bed with vines of roses that were climbing the columns. A fireplace was already lit, making the entire place warm and cosy. The place was only one room, with the bed off to the side. There was a ottoman near the fire and even a telescope to look out into the night sky.

"Elijah... This is amazing." You sighed as you felt his arms slip around you from behind.

"You like it?" He inquired, his lips pressed against your cheek.

You rested your hands against his, leaning back against him. "It's gorgeous, thank you."

He took your hand and led you to the fire, where another trail of red rose petals guided you to the fluffy carpet at your feet. There were more gifts for you laid out, a massive teddy bear and a stack of chocolate bars. It all made you laugh.

"You are ridiculous," you teased, hugging him.

"Is that a good thing?" He mused, holding you and kissing you.

You hummed and sighed. "Yes, yes it is," you assured.

You felt butterflies fill your stomach, knowing what came next. The two of you had only had sex a few times, it was still new, and you were still shy around him when it came to intimacy. He'd always been respectful and sweet. It wasn't as if you were new to this, but he was unlike anyone you'd been with before.

You looked up at him. He gave you that smile that made you weak in the knees. You brushed your fingertips against the creases around his eyes, you loved how they deepened when he smiled.

He leaned in and kissed you slowly, softly, guiding you to the bed as his fingers unzipped the back of your dress. You pushed at his jacket, helping him shrug out of it. Your hands ran over his chest, fumbling with his tie. His hands pushed the straps of your dress down, kissing the newly exposed skin.

He helped you to step out of the dress, gathering it up to fold it carefully before he placed it on the ottoman. Always so organized, everything in place, clean, perfect.

But him seeing you in the sexy lingerie made him drop the dress. The look on his face was unlike anything you've ever seen. For a second it was almost as if he didn't know what to do. He seemed frozen in place, all he was doing was stare.

You felt your cheeks heating up under his gaze and you looked at him shyly. "Thank you for this," you told him, gesturing to the sexy underwear.

"It was a purely selfish purchase," he chuckled, closing the distance between you, his hand coming to rest on your waist.

He traced his fingertips across the see-through pink lace. His touch was gentle and loving. You were growing impatient. You were getting turned on by the way he was touching you, his eyes drinking you in.

You started working on the buttons of his shirt, undoing them slowly. He leaned down and kissed you again, his lips capturing yours. He walked you back to the bed, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the mattress.

He gently guided you to lie down, his mouth following yours, not breaking the kiss. You helped him to undress, removing the last of his clothing and tossing it aside.

You ran your fingers through his hair, admiring the way his dark hair was a little messed up. He smelled so good, like the cologne he always wore and just the faint smell of his natural scent.

He was on top of you, his hands holding yours. His lips were trailing soft kisses down your neck. His hips moved, rubbing himself against you. You let out a soft moan, your breath hitching in your throat.

"I love hearing the sounds you make," he confessed, his lips against your ear, sending a shiver through your body.

You felt the warmth of his fingertips brushing against your inner thigh. Your body tensed in anticipation. He was taking his time, teasing you. He kissed you slowly, his tongue gently slipping between your parted lips.

You wrapped your arms around him, keeping him close as his fingers teased your panties, pushing them to the side. He was still being slow, driving you crazy.

He groaned against your mouth as he felt how wet you were. You whimpered, feeling his fingers brush over your clit, circling it slowly, watching your responses. He loved the way you were looking at him, the sounds that were escaping your pretty little mouth.

He began moving down your body, kissing your neck, your collar bone, between your breasts. You reached up, trying to unhook your bra, but his hands stopped yours.

His lips closed around your nipple through the sheer fabric. You ran your hands through his hair, pulling on it, urging him to continue.

He continued to move lower, down your belly, smiling against your skin as he spread your legs, settling between them.

He hummed at the sight of your arousal, your wet panties clinging to your skin. He kissed along the waistband, his tongue peeking out to taste. You could feel his breath, as he moved the delicate fabric to the side.

Your hands tightened in his hair as his mouth found your clit. You couldn't help but rock your hips, pushing against his mouth. His hands moved over your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he devoured you. You moaned softly, your toes curling as his tongue slid inside of you.

He looked up at you, his eyes watching as you started to fall apart. He wanted to stay this way forever, with the taste of you on his lips, the sounds of your pleasure filling the room.

Your breathing was becoming uneven, your moans growing louder. Your thighs were trembling, your back arching as his tongue flicked against your clit.

You let out a soft cry as your orgasm hit you. Your eyes shut tight, your hands gripping his hair, trying to keep yourself together. His tongue was still on you, working you through the wave of pleasure.

He kissed his way back up your body, his lips capturing yours, his fingers caressing your face, pushing your hair back. He was looking at you like you were the only person in the world, and it made you melt.

He was resting between your legs, his erection pressing against you. He was still for a moment, his gaze soft and warm, just gently kissing you.

"I love you," he murmured.

You couldn't stop the smile that was spreading across your face, and neither could he. You ran your fingers through his hair, holding him closer.

"I love you, too," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

He pulled your panties off, his eyes never leaving yours as you pulled off your bra as well, tossing it aside. You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks as his gaze fell upon your naked body.

His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, your legs wrapping around him. He eased into you slowly, watching your eyes widen then turn hazy with lust.

His lips found yours, kissing you passionately as the two of you moved together. Your hands were tangled in his hair, pulling on it as you formed a perfect rhythm.

You looked down to watch him slide in and out of you. He was holding back, trying to make this last. He was always so focused, his expression almost stoic, his breathing even.

Your hands ran down his shoulders, gripping onto his biceps, your eyes never leaving his, not even to blink. You didn't want to miss a second of this.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ghosting over your lips.

You felt your face grow hot from his words, and you kissed him to avoid making eye contact. You could feel his heart beating in time with yours. He caressed your cheek, tilting your head to look at him.

You couldn't hide from him. He was looking at you so intensely, all of his love pouring out of him. He smiled at the sight of you, flushed and sweaty, you were gorgeous.

He cupped the back of your neck and held you in place as he kissed you again. Your legs began to tremble as another orgasm crept up on you. You moaned against his mouth, trying to keep your breathing even.

You couldn't hold back anymore, not with the way he was looking at you, the way he was touching you. You came, moaning his name, his fingers laced with yours, your foreheads pressed together.

He followed right after, letting out a low groan that made your skin prickle. He kissed you, his mouth swallowing up your cries.

You wrapped your arms around him, clinging to him as the two of you rode out the high. Your heart was still racing, your breaths ragged.

The light of the fireplace cast an orange glow over the both of you, your bodies intertwined in the low light. You smiled at him, kissing him softly.

"That was a lot better than flowers," you giggled, feeling a little silly and lightheaded.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "I'm glad you enjoyed it." He hummed, kissing you again, his fingers caressing your cheeks.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Elijah," you whispered, nuzzling his nose with yours.

He brushed his lips against yours. "Not yet, it's still the 13th," he reminded, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"Does that mean we have another night?" you purred, giving him a playful smile.

"I like the way you think," he teased, kissing you again, rolling you on top of him.

He held you close, the both of you giggling as he kissed you all over, making you shriek and squirm.

You'd never had a Valentine's Day quite like this one. But you hoped that this was just the first of many.

♡♡ Today is my three month anniversary on here & I just want to say thank you so much for all the love ♡♡

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

♡ @gorgeouslydangerous ♡ @starkleila ♡ @lydia1369sworld ♡ @notleylaaa ♡ @vampiresluv ♡ @vamprium ♡ @myanmy ♡ @xflowerbombxo ♡ @maryvibess ♡ @always-and-forever-daydreaming ♡ @criminallminds ♡ @theesexystallion ♡ @rosemarypotion ♡ @spnaquakindgdom ♡ @amournoir ♡ @loving-and-dreaming ♡ @meeom ♡ @damienmorton ♡ @wickedmuse ♡ @sunkissedebony97 ♡

#elijah mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #vampire diaries #tvdu #elijah mikaelson smut #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikealson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd #the vampire diaries x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine

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fleetingtemper · 4 days

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how kafka tells you she loves you

fem! reader, fluff, suggestive, pet names, implied sexy times

the doors to your room slid open and the tall burgundy haired woman strutted through, tossing her coat over the hanger. she walks toward your near asleep form and cups your face. “y/n dear? have you been waiting for me?” kafka coos into your ear.

you were too cute. your silky sheets were strewn across your body resting in a fetal position. the strap of your tank top was ever so slightly off your shoulder, revealing your lover’s fun. kafka licked her lips at the sight of your exposed skin, painted with dark hickeys littered across your chest.

she sighed fondly at the memories of last night.

you stir as your eyes blearily adjust to the figure standing above you. a smile tugs at your lips at the sight of your lover. the clock next to you read 4:03 a.m.

kafka sits on her knees by your bed “you’re too good to me,” she presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles before getting up. she quickly changes into an intricate, black slip dress with pearls positioned upon her bust. she settles her pearl earrings on the nightstand and moves into bed to face you.

without her contacts, you can see the emotions behind her eyes. normally glazed over mauve irises were now replaced with a softer glint in her eyes. she looked at you with an unspeakable fondness. “i love you kafka,” you whisper, moving a strand of hair behind her ears.

she gave you a closed eye smile. kafka never said ‘i love you’, because a stellaron hunter was not supposed to fall victim to the simple mundanities of ordinary people. a stellaron hunter was not allowed to have an exploitable weakness.

but kafka made an exception. you weren’t anything but her pet beyond these doors but it was necessary. if any harm came to you because of her, kafka would need more than sam, blade, and silver wolf to hold her back.

behind these doors, you’d always be safe in her intricately strung cocoon. “i have a day off tomorrow. i suppose i should reward you for waiting so patiently for me, pup ♡”

#hsr kafka #hsr x reader #honkai sr #kafka x reader #kafka x you #honkai star rail #hsr x you #honkai x reader #honkai kafka #kafka x female reader

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mechtasims · 1 year

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Hey loves! Here's a cute lil set for you guys. I'm sorry for not posting sooner! I hope you enjoy and as always, let me know if you run into any issues. ^-^

Download [Patreon - Free]

Instagram ♥

#ts4 #ts4 cc #ts4cc #s4 #s4cc #s4 cc #thesims4 #ts4 custom content #sims4 #ts4 download #ts4 custom objects #sims 4 objects #s4decor #s4object #s4 custom content #simblr #ts4 alpha #ts4 build #ts4 buy

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tightjeansjavi · 7 months

Text

Slow Hands | Chapter 5

“be still, my foolish heart”

A/N: so originally I was going to write more for this chapter, but like @morning-star-joy says, sometimes a story tells you how it should be written so I’ve decided to end the chapter where I feel it felt most natural. The slow burn is still slow-burning but there’s definitely some development happening! 🤎🤎

~word count: 6.0k~

Pairing | Joel Miller x f! reader

Summary: you meet Joel’s horse, Tex while Joel opens up to you about his past further. Your connection begins to develop as you grow more comfortable with one another

Warnings: angst, anxiety, trauma, mentions of death, stress induced thoughts and feelings, fluff, awkward flirting, internal thoughts/dialogue, slow burn, mental health, remorse, forgiveness, soft! Joel, protective! Joel, in his feelings! Joel, readers nickname is beanie (coffee beans) ends on a bit of a cliff hanger, no age gap, +18 minors dni! Let me know if I missed any warnings please!

main masterlist series masterlist playlist

Joel Miller was fast asleep on your couch. In your home. He felt comfortable enough to doze off at your kitchen table. Well, of course he was exhausted. He was out at the late hours of the night patrolling with Tommy, and then he spent the early morning hours with you on your rooftop.

Nonetheless, he was asleep on your couch.

You couldn’t help but feel giddy like a little school girl that was developing her first crush at recess. Joel was handsome, ruggedly handsome and there was no denying it. He reminded you of a pearl. Something so beautiful, yet hard to obtain as a pearl is always guarded by the outer shell of an oyster. You couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of you as you stepped outside of your home. The air was still brisk and there was a fresh layer of frost coating the ground. Spring was on the horizon with the sound of chirping chickadee's that gossiped in the treetops above. New life was beginning to sprout and blossom through the frost. Soon Jackson would flourish in green.

You triple checked your front door lock as a forced habit. When you felt relieved that the door was in fact locked, you quietly walked down the wooden steps that were far sturdier now as Joel insisted on replacing some of the rotted planks.

As you started the short walking distance to the stables, you remembered Joel telling you that he would often count his steps as a grounding system. In turn, you found yourself doing the same. There was some innately comforting being around the horses. The barn smell didn’t bother you, in fact you relished in it. From the sweet smelling grain, the earthy scent of Alfalfa, and the horses natural aroma. All of these scents permeated your senses in an indescribable warmth. There was no sign of Ellie or Dina when you stepped into the stables and you were greeted with soft nickers, and curious expressions before the horses returned to their breakfast.

Tommy’s horse, Timber, was a leopard spotted appaloosa that truly had the goofiest human-like personality. Sometimes you wondered if there was actually a human trapped inside of his four-legged body just from the way he would look at you. You stopped in front of his stall and reached into your coat pocket to pull out a handful of sugar cubes that laid flat in your palm.

“Hey, pal.” You softly cooed as Timber lifted his head from his grain pan. “Did you see anything exciting last night? Any stories for me?”

Timber snorted softly as his velvet soft muzzle rested in your palm. He wasted no time to gently snatch up each of the sugar cubes before he was nuzzling your pocket for more.

“Wow, five racoons? How exciting.” You giggled as you playfully and gently nudged his muzzle away. “Were you scared?”

Another snort and a hoof pawing at the ground. “Oh, alright. Just one more, okay?” You snuck him one last sugar cube followed by a gentle pat on his neck before you strode away from his stall. Your mare, Tess, was a flea bitten gray QH. Shortly after outbreak day, you found her wandering through your abandoned neighborhood and you were drawn together like moth to flame. She was your special girl, your beacon of light through the darkness. Her darker counterpart, Tex, was always at her side. He was always at her side, brooding like a shadow but he had the most gentle brown eyes despite his rugged demeanor. Tex was a jet black mustang, and unbeknownst to you, he was Joel’s horse.

You stopped outside of Tess’s stall first and your mare already had her neck outstretched over the stall door to greet you. She nickered softly as you gently wrapped your arms around her fury neck in a tender hug. “Good morning my special girl.” Your tone was so soft-spoken, sweet like the sugar cubes that laid in your coat pocket. Sometimes you felt a bitter-sweet melancholy thinking about how much time you had spent with this mare and the trials and tribulations you went through together. Maybe one day when your mind and heart were calm, you’d be able to go outside beyond Jackson’s towering walls on her back once more.

You wiped your brewing tears along the sleeve of your hoodie as you fed Tess a few sugar cubes. Your fingers gently twirled the soft tendrils of her forelock between your fingers as your forehead came to gently rest upon her own.

You were torn from your present mourning thoughts by the sound of Tex’s hoof pawing at the ground. His ears were attentively flicked forward in your direction.

“Do you want some sugar cubes too?” You softly asked the jet-black mustang as he pawed at the ground once more.

Your forehead slowly dropped from Tess’s as you reached into your pocket once more and pulled out a helping of sugarcubes. Despite Tex’s brooding nature, he was incredibly gentle as he ate the sweets from your tender palm. His velvety soft muzzle and wispy whiskers tickled your skin. His eyes held so much warmth, so much kindness, and you swore this horse was staring into your very soul.

Joel had awoken shortly after you had departed for the stables. He vaguely remembered the handwritten note nestled in the worn fibers of his flannel pocket. He slowly swung his legs over the side of the couch with a heavy grunt. His hand reached for the mug of coffee that he downed in one gulp as the muscles in his back strained tightly. He let out a grumbled sigh as he carefully folded the quilted you had laid upon him. He grabbed both the empty mug and plate and brought them back into the kitchen. He’d be damned if he wasn’t a respectful house guest. He couldn’t help but feel that warm tingle in his heart creeping through the morning chill as he stepped outside. How sweet you were to leave him a treat and a note.

He headed off in the direction of the stables and the sight he saw warmed his heart even further as he observed Tex gently nibbling on the lapels of your coat as you were braiding individual sections of his charcoal black mane. Joel and his horse counterpart were very similar in the sense that they had a protective brooding nature. Hardened exterior yet soft in the middle. Weathered and mysterious, yet docile and gentle.

“Y’know darlin, if y’keep feedin’ me’n Tex sweets like this, you’re gonna fatten us up.” Joel softly chuckled as he stepped further into the barn. He hoped that he had not frightened you, or ruined the moment you were sharing with his horse entirely.

You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks as Joel leaned up against the side of Tex’s stall with one of his broad arms leaning against the side of the wooden stall door. His expression was playful in nature as your eyes finally met his softened gaze.

“Tex is yours I presume?”

“Mhm. He’s got an apparent sweet tooth jus’ like me as well. Think he’s taken a particular likin’ to ya Beanie.” He murmured silkily.

“I have to admit..you do look alike. Tess has taken a liking to him as well.” You responded with a smile tugging along your lips as you finished braiding the last section of his once unruly mane.

“How so? You’ve got me intrigued now darlin.’” He paused momentarily as his eyes flitted over at your mare. “Tess is yours? I had..no idea.”

“Your eyes. They’re the same as his..that same deep shade of brown..like cinnamon. Tess is mine, yes. I found her after the outbreak day, after the government bombed the major cities. She was wandering through my abandoned neighborhood and were just drawn to each other.”

Tex and Tess.

Joel could feel a newfound sense of emotions wash over him as he cleared his throat against the sleeve of his coat. “Well, she’s..a real sweetheart. I can see why Tex likes spendin’ time with her. What about my eyes now? They’re like cinnamon? Wish I could see the world from your eyes darlin,’ cause to me? My eyes are just brown. Like the dirt. Ain’t nothin’ special to ‘em.” He rolled his shoulders into a half shrug.

“She is a sweetheart. She’s my special girl. Joel, brown eyes are beautiful. Have you ever seen them in the sunlight? They melt into golden rays, like sticky warm caramel. There’s nothing boring about brown eyes. They’re extraordinary.” You murmured as your eyes casted downwards to where Tex was still gently nuzzling his face into the warmth of your coat.

Unbeknownst to either you or Joel, Dina and Ellie were up in the hay rafters laying on their stomachs as they eavesdropped.

“Why don’t you ever talk about my eyes like that El?” Dina softly teased as she lightly poked Ellie’s shoulder.

“Because I'm not a poet, Dee.” Ellie whispered back with a smile tugging on her lips.

“Well, Beanie sure is. I don’t think I've ever seen Joel blush like that before. He’s as red as a tomato.” Dina whispered as her and Ellie quietly peeked over the rafters to get a better look.

“That’s cus’ Joel likes her. Isn’t it obvious? He’s always spendin’ time with her. I can’t blame him honestly because she's like really really pretty.” Ellie murmured as she rubbed her hands together to keep them warm. “Not as pretty as you of course.” She quickly added feeling heat rise to her cheeks. Dina and Ellie were just friends but lately there was something else there that was beginning to simmer between them. The last time Ellie felt for someone in a romantic sense was Riley..and now? Well, only time would tell what laid ahead for the two teenagers.

Joel was unable to find the words that he could respond with to your generous compliment. His brain felt like it was re-wiring as if the circuit had been cut through. He didn’t want to leave you hanging like a stray leaf on a dead branch that was holding on for dear life as a ferocious wind tried to tear it from the stem. He blinked, cleared his throat as his thumb swiped across the tip of his aquiline nose. “So, I take it that you like my eyes then?” He mused with a slight arch of his brow as both of his broad arms came to cross against his chest.

“Yeah, I suppose you could frame it that way.” You responded a bit sheepishly as you peered up at him through soft lashes.

“Well, that was a mighty fine compliment t’give me. I never thought of brown eyes in that mindset. Maybe I outta start tryin’ to see the world through your eyes, huh? Anyway, I didn’t get much’of a chance to give Tex a proper groomin’ after patrol..you wanna help me out?”

“If you’re looking to live life with your head up in the clouds like me, then I recommend you adapt to my mindset. See the small beauties that what’s left of the world has to offer. Like the changing of seasons for example. Winter is so cold, so dark, yet it is beautiful. The way that the snow hugs the branches on the trees and the jaw dropping sunsets that paint the sky.” You trailed off before responding to his question, “Sure, I'd love to help you out.”

Joel was in awe to say the least. For someone who had been through so many unspeakable horrors, you truly did see life in all of its beauty. He could listen to you shamelessly for hours if you’d let him. He pushed himself off of the side of Tex’s stall as he maneuvered around you to bend down and pick up the grooming box. “I never really was all that a fan of winter. Holds a lot of bad memories f’me. I do see what you mean about the beauty in it. I love fall the most. When the colors in the sky begin to change and the leaves transform into all of these brilliant shades of orange, yellows, and reds. It was always Sarah's favorite time of the year as well. She’d drag my ass to the nearest pumpkin patch as soon as the first leaves began to fall.”

“I’m sorry that winter holds bad memories for you..but i’m a firm believer that everything heals with time. I think out of all the seasons fall is probably my favorite as well. Was Sarah a big fan of Halloween? She seems like the kinda kid that would go crazy over getting to dress up.” You wanted to nurture this conversation that Joel was openly having with you. You could only imagine the emotional toll it brought upon him when talking about Sarah.

“Oh, she absolutely loved Halloween. She’d have her costume pretty much planned out months in advance. We watched all of the movies together as well. Beetlejuice was her favorite. What can I say? My kid has some damn good taste.” He chuckled softly as he quietly unlatched Tex’s stall. “I’d take her trick-or-treating and then when we’d get home I'd help her sort through all of her candy and make her pay the ‘dad tax.’” His eyes crinkled in the corners when his mind encapsulated an image of a ten year old Sarah in her Lydia Deetz costume. “Daaad. You can’t eat all of my candy! You have to save some for me!” “Yeah, yeah dontcha worry, kiddo. I ain’t gonna eat it all, but you gotta pay the dad tax, baby girl. That’s the rules.”

Joel had just slipped Tex’s halter over his ears when he felt your hand gently grasp his bicep through the material of his warm jacket. He had zoned out after recalling the memory and you were just trying to bring him back down to earth. “Joel?..” You attentively asked as he looked over his shoulder at you. “Sorry darlin.’ Didn’t mean to zone out like that. Jus’ y’know get a little emotional thinkin’ about her is’all.” He murmured.

“Hey, it's okay. Sounds like you have a lot of wonderful memories of her, Joel. I have to ask..what the hell is the ‘dad tax?’”

Joel felt a warm chuckle creep up his throat as he latched the metal clip around Tex’s halter. “Oh, the dad tax? S’jus’ a silly thing I came up with after she made me carry all of her candy bags for hours. Felt like it was only fair if I got a few pieces of her loot.” He responded with a casual shrug as he let Tex out of his stall so it would be easier to brush him down.

“Oh, I agree. That sounds perfectly fair. Man, I'd absolutely kill to have a Reese's peanut butter cup or a kit-kat. Did you end up being persuaded to dress up with her as well?” You picked up the curry comb from the grooming box before gently rubbing soothing circles into Tex’s furry coat to lift up any dirt or debris.

“Fuck.” He nearly groaned. “Reese’s were my favorite. I used to stick a few of them in the freezer and eat them after they got nice and chilled. It was like my guilty pleasure midnight snack. Oh, yeah I dressed up with her alright. Used to go all out with my costume as well. Whatever was gonna make her happy, y’know?”

“Oh my gosh, I used to do the same thing too! I’d stick an entire roll of them in the freezer. That was really the only way to eat them.” You softly giggled as Tex let out an appreciative grunt when you had found an itchy spot near his withers. “Was there a favorite character that you dressed up as?”

Joel pondered for a moment as he flipped through the memories in his mind of all the Halloween costumes he had dressed up in with Sarah. “Damn, that’s a good question darlin.’ There was one year we dressed up as Iron Man and the Hulk. Sarah insisted on being the Hulk of course. We did Sherlock Holmes and Watson for one year as well.”

“Wow, I would have definitely given y’all all of my candy if you trick-or-treated on my block. All the neighborhood kids had some lame costumes I swear. The best one I ever saw was a trio of girls dressed up as the Sanderson Sisters. I nearly gave them my whole goddamn bowl of candy.”

“Woah. The Sanderson Sisters? Those chicks are wicked.” He chuckled warmly. “Although, Binx was my favorite character out of the entire movie.”

“Oh, I loved Binx too. Dani was my personal favorite. She was such a cool kid.” You peeked over the top of Tex’s withers as you finished currying the dirt from his coat. You felt the heat rise to the highest point of your cheeks when you found that Joel was already looking at you. He looked away quickly of course and cleared his throat.

A comfortable silence washed over the two of you as you got into a groove with brushing down Tex.

Joel broke the silence a few minutes later after he had finished picking out clumps of dirt and rocks from Tex’s hooves. “So, now that the weather is changin’ and Spring is gonna be here soon..I won’t be on patrol during the late night shift. So uh–we can..spend some more time together if you’d like? M’sorry that I've been absent for a while. Maria told me that you were wonderin’ about me.”

You paused your present actions with a soft sigh as you dropped the brush into the grooming box with a soft thud. “Sometimes I struggle with having a rational thought. I–assumed that maybe you were blowing me off or something. Or that maybe you didn’t want to be my friend. It was so fucking silly for me to think that way, but my brain is a warzone a lot of time. It plays tricks on me..Maria told me that she assigned you, Tommy, and a few other men on the late night patrol because..you found something disturbing in the woods?..”

Joel could feel his jaw clench inwards as his fist tightened around the brush that he was holding. Images of those charred women sprung into his mind as he shook his head tightly. “Darlin,’ i’m sorry that it seemed like I was blowin’ you off. I would never do that to ya. I don’t think it is silly for you to think that way. My brain does shit like that too. S’okay that you were feelin’ that way. I jus’ genuinely felt bad, but it was out of my control y’know?” His head drooped slightly as he let out a slightly agitated sigh. It wasn’t directed at you, it was just his present frustrations. He and Tommy had lost track of the raiders and where they were headed. He felt like he had failed you, and the town.

“Joel, Maria wouldn’t tell me what you and Tommy found in the woods that night. Can you please tell me? I know it was out of your control, and when Maria told me the reason why I genuinely felt terrible. I can only imagine how exhausting these past couple of months have been for you.”

The energy seemed to take a drastic dip as Joel met your gaze once more. His jaw unclenched from the tight position it was currently held in. He wanted to tell you what he saw. He really did, but he promised both Tommy and Maria that he would not disclose the details to you. His lips parted as a sigh slipped past. He looked defeated as his shoulders slumped inwards. “Beanie, I'm sorry but I can’t tell you what we found.” He uttered softly.

“Joel, why can’t you tell me? I know I shouldn’t pry, but Maria told me that it was concerning and that–”

He cut you off with a gruff response as he raked his fingers through his salt and pepper dusted hair. “Beanie, I can’t tell you. Please don’t ask me again.” He nearly pleaded as his eyes bore deeply into yours.

“Okay.” You meekly responded. “I–won’t ask again. I’m sorry.” You sounded just as defeated as he did.

Fuck.

This is where Joel struggled the most in conversations. When every fiber in his being could sense the mood shifting and churning, he didn’t know how to bring it back to a calm place. This was usually the moment where he would snap and say the wrong thing. He could feel the word vomit pulsating on his tongue like bile. He didn’t want to keep secrets from you. Not when your friendship was just starting to bud like new sprouts through the permeating frost.

“I’m sorry too. I don’t want to keep secrets from ya darlin.’ I jus’ hope you can understand.”

Please. Please understand.

“Joel, it’s okay. I understand, and I'm not going to hold this against you or anything I promise.” You responded reassuringly.

He let out a visible sigh of relief as he dropped his hand from tugging at the roots of his hair to his side. “Okay, good.” He softly rasped.

After you finished brushing down Tex, Joel led him back into his stall before latching the door shut. “I take it you never found Ellie or Dina? Maybe they’re at breakfast already.” He set Tex’s halter back on the hook alongside his stall before he shoved his hands deep within the pockets of his worn out faded jeans.

“I didn’t see them when I came in. Maybe they are at breakfast like you said? Regardless, I appreciate you suggesting last night that I go and spend some time with the horses.”

“Of course darlin.’ I jus’ know what it’s like to struggle n’feel like you ain’t have no one there to support ya. Horses are good listeners. Better listeners than I am.”

“I disagree. You are a good listener, Joel. You didn’t make me or my feelings feel small or insignificant last night. You’re a good friend.” You meant every word as a small smile tugged on the corner of his lips.

“Well, thank you. Guess I can do somethin’ right huh?” He chuckled softly.

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, okay?”

“I won’t darlin.’” He seems the least bit convincing as his eyes are averting from making contact with you. You’d accept his response, for now.

After leaving the stables, Joel accompanied you to your shop. He could have gone home, but after not seeing you for quite some time, he felt like he could sacrifice his sleep a little longer. So while you were whipping up two lattes, he was rearranging your back storage area so that there was no chance that a sack of sugar would potentially fall on your unsuspecting head.

“Hey, Beanie?” His voice sounded slightly strained from the heavy lifting he was doing.

“Yeah, Joel? Everything alright back there?”

“Peachy.” He grunted softly as he set the sack of sugar down. “Got a question for ya.”

“Shoot.”

“Your horse, Tess. Did ya name her yourself or did she have that name previously.” He was curious. It was evident in his tone as he wiped a bit of sweat that had beaded upon his brow.

“I named her myself. Why do you ask?”

“Jus’ wonderin.’ I uh–had a partner named Tess. Tommy and I met her after outbreak day. The three of us became a ruthless team. Anyway, we were together for as long as I can remember. We relied on each other heavily. ‘Specially after Tommy up n’left me for the fireflies. She was my partner n’crime. The brains of our operation and I probably wouldn’t have survived very long if it wasn’t for her. Your horse..just reminded me of her s’all.” He missed Tess. He missed her more than he liked to admit and even though time had passed since her death, he still wished that she lived. He imagined that she would have found ultimate peace in Jackson. She deserved that and more than what Joel thought he could offer her.

His voice was less strained and sounded closer in proximity as you turned and faced him with a mug outstretched towards him. “Did..she die?” You softly asked.

He somberly nodded as he gently grasped the mug in his hand. The steam slowly rose from the top and kissed his skin as he leaned back against the counter. “She went out a goddamn hero though. Saved me and Ellie from a hoard of infected. Sacrificed herself so that we would live. She was g’nna die anyway. Got bit. Still feel like sometimes I failed her. Coulda done more to keep her safe. She deserved fuckin’ better.” He bitterly sighed with a shake of his head.

“Hey, I'm sure Tess wouldn’t want you to be feeling like this Joel. She doesn’t think that you failed her. She doesn’t think that at all. She’d want you to forgive yourself Joel.” You reached over and gently touched his bicep as he choked back a strained laugh.

“Yeah? Maybe. Jus’ never was able to give her what she truly wanted.”

“What couldn’t you give her, Joel?” You softly prompted him.

“My heart.” He uttered just above a whisper as his gaze slowly fell upon your face. You could see the glassy look in his irises as his lower lip ever-so slightly wobbled under the soft glow of the fairy lights dangling above.

You could feel your heart straining against the figurative strings in your chest cavity as you looked upon his sunken features. “Joel, it’s not too late to tell her how you feel.” You murmured.

“What?” He looked puzzled as his brows furrowed. He let out a soft sniffle as he dragged the tip of his thumb across his nose. “How can I do that?”

“Write to her. Write her a letter straight from your heart Joel.”

“How’s that supposed t’work? She ain’t ever gonna see it.”

“You just have to believe that she will see it. If you write down how you feel, and all the things that you wish that you could have told her, you’ll be letting that part of yourself go. That part where you feel like you’re to blame for her death. Pen and paper. Write it all down.” You softly encouraged him.

“Will you read it..after I write it?” His tone was timid, unlike his natural gruff nature as he picked at the skin around his cuticles out of a nervous habit.

“If you’d like me to read it then I will.”

“Pinky promise?” He softly requested.

You were already offering him your pinky as he slowly wrapped his thicker weathered finger around your own and gently squeezed.

“Pinky promise, Joel.”

Spring was in full bloom now as the earth turned green and sprouted new flowers and life in every corner. Joel was only having to patrol in the early mornings with Tommy. The sun was warm on his skin as he was hunched over in the tall grasses with a leather notebook and pen resting in his lap. Both Tex and Timber were peacefully grazing a short distance away as Tommy was cleaning his rifle. He glanced over at his brother with a curious expression on his face as he watched him scribble something on one of the blank pages.

“Whatcha writin’ in there big brother?” He asked with piqued interest.

“A letter.” Joel murmured.

“To who?”

Joel let out a sigh as he closed the notebook on the pen before looking over at his younger brother.

“Tess.”

Tommy had an unreadable expression on his face as he tightly nodded. For a moment Joel thought his brother had nothing else to say until a hand reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder.

“Say hi to her for me. Will ya? Miss the hell outta her.” Tommy mumbled softly.

“Me too. I miss her a lot. I just hope she’s with her husband and son. Hope they’re all together.” Joel responded mournfully as he opened the notebook once more.

Tommy felt a tear slowly roll down his cheek before he quickly wiped it away.

Godspeed Tess.

Joel found himself getting lost in his present thoughts and emotions as he poured his heart out onto the parchment. His words bled like the ink from his pen that was clutched tight in his fist. His knuckles transformed to a stark white shade.

Hey, Tess. It’s Joel. I’ve never fuckin’ written a letter in my goddamn life, so I apologize if this is absolute horse shit. I’ll salvage what I can. It’s the least I can do for you Tess. Anyway, lately i’ve found myself doin’ a lot of reflectin.’ Can ya believe that? Me? Joel hardass Miller expressing his emotions? Ellie and I made it to the fireflies. I’m sure by now you know what happened so i’ll spare the details. Do you remember when you told me to save who I could save? Well, I did. I saved her. I’d do it all over again if I had to. Man, I used to think of that kid as cargo. Now, I think of her as if she was my own daughter. They were gonna kill her, and I couldn’t let that happen so I did what I had to do. Ain’t proud of it, but she’s alive and that's all that matters to me even though she hates me. I couldn’t live without her. The truth is, I wish you were here. You’d love Jackson. This community has it all figured out. We coulda lived a life at peace together, you and me. You deserved the world, and I'm sorry I could never give that to you. You never asked anythin’ of me. Never begged me to feel for you back, but fuck, I loved you. I loved you Tess. I think you knew. It was unspoken between us, but it was there. I should have told you when I had the chance. Well, I'm tellin’ ya now. I know one day I'll get to thank you for savin’ Ellie and I. You went out a fuckin’ hero. You’re the reason why I'm alive. I know I need to forgive myself for your death. I know I can’t go on livin’ and blamin’ myself. It’s hard. It’s so fuckin’ hard, but i’m going to try. I hope that you are at peace. Y’know I ain’t believe in there bein’ a Heaven, but I hope that’s where you’re at. I hope your husband and son are there with you. I hope you get to hug them tight. Sarah too. Bill and Frank. I hope you’re all together now. If you see my baby girl, can you please tell her that daddy loves her? Keep her safe. Hold her close f’me.

I’ll see ya again one day. Till then, I'll do better. I promise.

- Your Texas

Joel let a few tear drops drip along the paper before he wiped them away. He felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders as he was releasing the burden that weighed him down. It lifted from his being, floating like a cloud in the sky as it dissipated to dust. Tess never blamed him for her death. She never held it against him. She only wished that she had more time with him in this cruel unforgiving world.

When Joel returned from patrol in the late afternoon, he found himself in your shop. The door was propped open with a heavy ceramic pot as a warm spring breeze drifted past his covered shoulder blades. Your shop was peacefully quiet sans the record player crackling to the tune of Queen. The song playing was ‘You’re My Best Friend’

How sweetly fitting.

He could hear your soft humming through his good ear as he walked around the counter. “Beanie? Y’back here darlin?’” His voice traveled like the breeze as you looked up from the mug you were currently painting. Normally you’d paint in your shed at home, but today you decided to kill some time and paint at the shop.

“I’m back here Joel.” You softly responded as your paint brush delicately dragged across the ceramic.

The first thing you noticed was Joel’s bare arms in your peripheral and the way his hair had one stray curl that dangled over his forehead in a soft swoop. His cinnamon brown eyes landed in a soft gaze across your face as he leaned his arm up against the wall. You liked to call this stance the ‘Joel lean.’ Although, this information was kept private.

“What’re you paintin’ today?” He asked intriguingly.

“Vines and tiny little flowers.” You held the mug up in his direction so he could observe what you had completed so far.

“Beautiful.” He rasped. “Listen, you got any plans this evenin?’” He was fidgeting with his fingers now as he awaited your response.

You gently set the mug down on the little drying table before wiping your hands on your paint stained apron. “I was going to head home in an hour or so to make dinner and then settle in with a good book probably. Why do you ask?”

“Come with me to the Tipsy Bison.” He blurted out suddenly, catching you off guard.

“I’ve never been.” You murmured sheepishly.

“S’okay. You ain’t even have to drink. Jus’ would love to share your company. There’s music n’dancin.’ There’s no pressure or nothin’ but it would be fun.”

Was..Joel Miller asking you out on a date right now? An unofficial-official date?

Am I askin’ her out on a date right now?

Yes, you are.

No. I ain’t.

You are.

“Won’t I stick out like a sore thumb if I'm not drinking?” Truthfully you were looking for a way out of this. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go spend time with Joel. You were just intimidated by the thought of having to socialize with other community members of Jackson. You could already feel your anxious thoughts creep up and stain your mind with self-doubt.

“Darlin.’ everyone there is g’nna be too drunk to care. If anyone has somethin’ to say, they can say it to me. Again, no pressure. I don’t wanna stress ya out or anythin.’”

Be still, my foolish heart.

You chewed down on the inside of your cheek, gnawing on the soft flesh as you could taste copper beading along your tongue. How bad could it really be? Besides, Joel wouldn’t let anyone fuck with you. Maybe he would even share a dance with you?

Be still, my foolish heart.

“Okay.” You finally responded. “I’ll come with you, on one condition.”

“Name your price darlin.’” He was holding back his grin that was threatening to spread across his lips.

“You have to dance with me at least once.” You requested.

“Deal.” He didn’t even falter on his response as he outstretched his hand towards you to grasp. “We’ll dance the night away.” He shot you a subtle wink.

His hand was warm in your grasp as he gently eased you up from the chair you were sitting in. You could feel the rough ridges from years of scarring, but despite this, his hands were beautiful. The ridges reminded you of mountain peaks that would nearly touch the clouds. His scars were littered about like constellations in the night sky. Some were deeper than others and you could only imagine how many times the skin on his knuckles had been split open. How many times they bled, how many times he’d hiss under his breath as the healing scabs would flake off.

How would he react if he saw your own scars? Would he shy away or would he trace them delicately? Kiss the pain away with gentle words. Promise you that no harm would come upon you again. Would he hold you close? Murmur into your hair an oath kept against his heart. Would he protect you? Kill for you?

Of course he would.

You just hadn’t a clue what this night would bring.

One thing was for certain, you were eager to find out.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤎

Tex, Tess, and Timber:

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zialltops · 9 days

Text

honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

masterlist | ao3 | spotify playlist

You chance a glance over at the outlaw in the driver's seat while he scans his surroundings like he’s done this before, the rear view mirror and the road ahead never leaving his sight. “What if they catch up to us? I don’t want to get arrested, Joel!”

a/n: howdy folks! I’m pulling my head out of my ass and getting back into writing. These last few weeks have been leveling put for me and I’ve been feeling a lot better compared to how my life HAS been. These two were the perfect break even though this took my two whole months for only a few thousand words. I’ll be back sooner than last time with an update, but you’ll see me before then for another wip. Much love, hayhay 🤍

Chapter 8: What Was I Thinkin?

Three hours ago, if you asked Joel how the night would come to its end, he’d tell you he’d probably be in the cabin, laying in his cold bed, staring up at his ceiling fan, alone—with his right hand working his dick to the tune of the farmer’s daughter. In fact, three hours ago, he’d told Tommy something similar.

“Joel, man—I promise It looks fine.”

He adjusts the buttons on his shirt another time, stuck between leaving one undone and letting the opening linger down his chest. “Fine ain’t gonna cover it, Tom—ain’t no way in hell I’m walkin’ up to her lookin jus’ fine.” Tommy huffs from behind him and starts to go through the closet beside Joel while he stares at himself in the body length mirror behind the door.

“What about this one?” Tommy beams, He’s holding up a black shirt on a hanger, slight dust on the shoulders from it’s lack of use. He’s half surprised the moths haven’t gotten to it yet. Its buttons are made of iridescent pearls that snap in place, labyrinthian embroidery adorning the breast pockets. “Ain’t worn it since before the accident.” He lifts one of the sleeves in his hands, lingering on the fitted cuff.

His mind takes him back to half forgotten nights under neon lights, long neck bottles and ropers calluses on his rodeo-worn hands. To money wasted on buckle bunnies and broncs, to years taken off his life under the sharp hooves of a one ton animal—years he’ll never get back. Years he wishes he’d never taken for granted.

He was a more confident man then, not cocky—but proud of his abilities in the arena, proud enough to walk tall, speak surly. He was a master in his sport because he trained religiously, fully immersed in the idea that this was his only shot at making it. He still believes that, even now. He wishes you could have met him then, when he was that Joel—Rodeo buckles and spurs, cowboy hats and stadium lights. When he was a white straw hat and chaps, an unsullied grin with a thirst for adrenaline and belt buckles.

He holds the black cotton between his well worked fingers and longs to be that man again—if only for one night. Would you like him? A cowboy in his prime with worked muscles, before his beer belly and the softness in his chest really set in? “This one’s good,” he huffs, brushing the dust off the shoulders before unbuttoning it enough to remove it from the hanger. “Lemme help you.” His brother offers. Joel’s not naive, he knows the fear is visible atop the surface of his flushed skin, in the deepened frown lines and the shake in his hands.

Tommy is a lot of things, but once in a while he softens around his selfish edges and he bends a little, reaching out for the weeping limbs of his brother, struggling with all his might to keep himself standing up straight in the storm, a resilient and irrepressible figure to look up to. Tommy sees the way the longing shines through the perforations in his irises, the way his shoulders slump with oppressive burden—and he takes pity on the older man. “I’ll wash it real quick while you shower. It’ll be good as new, fresh outta the dryer by the time you're done.” He looks up at Joel, who’s still transfixed in the forgotten token of his former youth, of the man who he used to be. Items he’d left in storage down in Austin that Hank had so graciously shipped to Jackson.

He almost wishes he’d never gotten it all back, it was easier then—to hide from who he was when he wasn’t reminded of his past every single day, but once in a while—that reckless, spotlight chasing cowboy grasps for the surface. And tonight? Tonight is your birthday, the town dance, where you’re going to be, probably looking like something Joel doesn’t have a shot in hell with. It’s your damn birthday and he wants to ask you to dance but he’s not sure the fee quick dance lessons he got will suffice. What if he stumbles? Steps on your pretty little feet? Drops you?

“Joel—“ there's a snap in front of his face and he pulls himself out of the chaos inside of his mind. “Man, you are loosin’ it. I’ve never seen you this wound up over some girl—“ his eyes snap up to his brothers and he huffs lowly. “She ain’t just—some girl. She’s Hank and Lou’s daughter, people I think of as family. She’s smart and resourceful, sometimes a little reckless but she makes me feel like…like I’m alive for once.” Tommy sets the black shirt down and sit on the side of Joel's bed. Beside him, Joel's weight sinks onto the mattress. “M’gettin’ old, Tom. I don’t have a lot of good years left in me and I don’t know if I’ll ever have a opportunity like this again.”

Tommy takes a glance over at the distant look in his brothers eyes. “Opportunity?” Joel's eyes flick over and he sighs. He wishes Tommy had a little bit of what he had built inside of him, the innate goal of settling down, finding where he belongs and who he belongs with.

“At bein’ happy. Good memories for my restless nights.” If he fucked this up and missed his chance, he’s not sure he’ll have it in him again, if it will ever feel like this with anyone else. He thinks he’s done, thinks you’re it. He thinks he could give you forever if you’d let him.

“S’that why you’re so messed up in the head? What, do you think she’s going to shoot you down?” Tommy’s voice picks up in pitch, offense used like a weapon to get his point across and Joel appreciates the gusto. “Think I’m gonna go home alone tonight. Think it’s just gonna be me and the crickets and this damn hand again, dreamin’ bout how damn sweet she is.”

Tommy’s hand reaches into the breast pocket of his shirt and he retrieves a silver flask, offering it to his older brother who takes it with unsure fingers. “Just be yourself, man. Walk up to her like you belong there. Just need a little bit of confidence, don’t let her think you’re second guessing yourself. I don’t know her like you do—but I know that girl is more than willing when it comes to you.”

Joel takes a long swig of rot-gut whiskey, lets is sink into his bones and find the will to drag himself into the shower and wash away the saw dust lingering on his skin from the floor of the dance hall, ease some of the soreness in his knees and back from learning how to dance.

When he’s finished, there's a clean shirt and a flask laying on his bed. Joel finishes off the whiskey before he fastens the first button.

Liquid courage is the only thing that gets him to town.

He’s everywhere—everywhere. His hands burn on your thigh, on your hip where they dig in just a little too roughly when he pins you to the wall beside the back door. The second it closed behind you, there was a desperation clinging to the early spring air, perforating the slight chill until it shimmied beneath it and took life in the form of heat dripping across your exposed flesh. It was sticky and hot, sucking you in like a vortex straight to the center of what your world revolved around—Joel Miller and his touch that feels like fire.

He tastes like alcohol and tooth paste and part of you wonders if that’s what's changed about him, why he was so willing to let go of his reservations in-front of half of the town. He’s been drinking, drowning his insecurities enough to throw himself at you bravely.

Will he still be this Joel when you open your eyes in the morning? Will he regret it?

His teeth dig into your bottom lip and your brain goes fuzzy, stars forming behind your closed eyes. Insecurities can wait until tomorrow, you decide. His hips press forward ever so slightly and the outline of his cock can’t go unnoticed, not with the way it makes the fabric of your panties drag against your clit tantalizingly. Behind your closed eyes, the stars morph into crackles of fireworks, filling your senses with bright pleasure and desperate desire to chase those lights into the night.

You hike your legs higher, trying to drag him into the delicious delirium with you. The movement pulls a guttural groan out of the broad cowboy. “Joel—Joel,” you need his hands to leave brands on your skin where they’ve touched you, setting fire to your soul. “I know—fuck, baby, I know.” Is he crumbling like you, throwing himself into this very moment right here? Is he as desperate as you are? Does it feel like a travesty and a triumph? The yearning you’ve endured, for the victory of finally knowing what he feels like when he kisses the breath from your lungs.

It’s more than you know how to articulate—more devastating than you anticipated and yet—it’s still not enough. It won't be enough until his heart beats in time with your own and you feel him wrapped up in your body

His teeth dig into your jaw and your body reacts before you tell it to, searching for the release only he can bring you.

“Touch me, please—please, touch me.”

And suddenly, in the time it takes to flip on a light switch, he’s gluttonous, insatiable and voracious—a wild predator set loose just to turn on its careful handler. The only thing that comes to mind, in comparison, is a pack of wolves frenzied to sink their teeth into the supple flesh of their prey.

In your case—Joel is the starved pack—and you? You are but an unsuspecting doe, practically sacrificing yourself to his uncontrollable famine.

Those thick digits, adorned with callouses earned from laborious work, hastily push aside the fabric of your dress in search of your covered center. He feels so fucking good when those digits push their way past the hem of your panties and he gasps against the shell of your ear. Like it feels just as good to him, letting the pads of his index and middle finger tease the seam of your lips before slipping between and dragging those rough digits over your hardened clit. It’s all the built up want, longing, needing that makes him feel so other-worldly, you’ll never experience something like this, the rush of relief to finally be his.

His fingers dip lower, searching for the source of all this slick adorning his knuckles, when his thumb drags idly over your already sensitive clit. Its like an electric shock straight to your sternum, arching you forward in search of anchorage to this reality altering interaction. There's a hint of alcohol swimming behind your fluttering eyelids, but his shuddering groan is sickeningly sobering. You want to say something, tell him how good he makes you feel, but the words bubble up in your chest and hang in your throat in the form of a silent sob, your mouth hanging open and your toes curling against your shoes.

“There it is, huh? S’what finally gets you quiet? Just needed me to touch your pussy, didn’t you?” Where the hell has this Joel been hiding? He’s never been so vulgar, so vocal and confident in himself. His fingers tease the soft ring at your opening, smearing slick around on his fingers when he leans against your front to press his face against your heaving chest and neck. His fingers plunge in—and your body jerks against his solid form. He lets you shudder and tighten up against him while his thumb moves steadily, never coming off the peak of your nerve—locked on it with such perfected percussion that there is no jerky catch, just steady—drowning pleasure. His rough pant of breath paints your shoulder in sticky warmth and your thighs tighten around him, begging to draw him into your desperation.

“She’s just cryin’ for me, ain’t she, Honey?” His drawl sounds like sweet tea on a hot summer afternoon, like your sight set on the Austin sunset from the seat of an old saddle, driving cattle through tall grass and endless horizons.

Being touched by Joel Miller feels like coming home.

He finds a steady pace, working his fingers in and out, each drag punctuated by the ridges of his knuckles and the rough pads of his finger tips. Just faintly, you can make out the wet sound your sex makes every time he fucks his fingers into you intentionally. Its instantaneous the way heat blooms in your pelvis, knotting up in your stomach until you’re so overwhelmed, you’re trembling in his grip. “She’s so fuckin’ greedy, pretty little cunt needs to be stuffed, don’t she? G’damn, you’re quiverin’—you gonna cum f’me already?” His words are like a dirty secret, never meant to be revealed—knowing exactly what kind of storm that truth would bring. Let the rain pour down, let the thunder crack and the gusts rip the apprehension from your bones—because Joel Miller wants you and you’ve been waiting for this moment for two years.

You’ve imagined this a million times, slipped your fingers between your legs to the mere idea of this revered and dignified southern gentleman—more once you’d put a face to the elusive cowboy. No matter how deeply you lost yourself to your imagination, none of it will ever amount to the way cold brick feels against your exposed back, the way denim jeans ruffs up the insides of your smooth thighs, the way a felt Stetson bumps against your temple when his fingers curl against a spot inside of you no man has ever found, dragging the air from your lungs, robbing your vocal cords of their melody. With your eyes rolled back and your desire strung tight, you manage to string together enough sound to produce words.

“Yes-Yes, Joel—make me cum! Please!”

A third, assured finger slips in right beside the other two and slam forward, sending you spiraling down that one way path towards pure ecstasy. His fingers curl again and his thumb quickens, pushing you up and up until you’re sure you’re about to melt through his finger tips, a weeping puddle at his feet. “That’s it, pretty girl—cum on these fingers, let me feel her squeeze me.”

His command is your saving grace, the final twist that undoes the well wound rope holding you together. A variation of his name rips from your throat and consumes the space around you, invoking a bright euphoria that shrouds every nerve ending you possess. He doesn’t even know what he’s just subjected your body to—a life altering experience that you will never be able to recreate with another person. “S…s’the best orgasm I’ve ever had,” is the only thing your mind conjures up once you’ve come down enough to speak. He’s still holding onto you, slowly slipping his fingers out and letting you down with a satisfied chuckle.

“Wunna taste you,”

How will you handle another assault from that honed attention? How will you ever unsee that unruly tousle of curls between your thighs?

He doesn’t give you long enough to form a protest before he’s rushing you through the parking lot, a determination in his step that you’ve never seen. He’s surpassed the point of antsy when he yanks open the passenger door and finds leverage on your hips to hoist you up, then toss you down on the torn upholstery. You should say something—tell him to slow down before you pass out from the burn of his hands—but fuck you don’t want him to stop, consciousness be damned.

Instead, you watch him set his cowboy hat on the dusty dashboard, the silver trim of the band shimmering with luster in the golden street lamps. He drinks your body in visibly, relishing in every curve and inhale of breath. When his vision finds yours, they are nearly black with desire—his pupils having consumed every inch of bourbony brown. When his big hands find your thighs again, the resistance bleeds away and gives way to insurmountable, greedy hunger.

“C’mere, girl.” The hands on your thighs dig into the flesh, leaving finger shaped dimples in your sensitive skin. “Lemme see that fuckin’ pussy.” Jesus christ.

If your friends could see you now, they’d all laugh at how easy you are, but right now—it’s just you and your cowboy—you’ll never be anything but easy for him.

His hands move with fever, hastily pushing your dress up your hips. “I’m going to fucking ruin you, babygirl. Only word you’ll know is my name when I’m finished with you.” That same ferocious want consumes you, possessing your hands to work on their own accord, helping Joel shimmy your panties down your thighs and over your heels.

You have enough time to register the way he stuffs the black lace into the front pocket of his wranglers before that head of his is forcing its way under your dress. He spreads your legs easily, pushes and pulls with his hands until his mouth seals over your clit, drenching your nervous system in blinding heat.

He’s good, so good at this. His tongue slides through your dripping folds with a tedious, monotonous rhythm. He’s licking for a taste, for his own glutinous thirst based on the way he groans and sighs against the softness of your lips. His eyes flick up at the same time your body starts to quiver, trying to adjust to so much honed desire narrowed in on you. “J-Joel, please don’t st-top.” Your eyes start to leave his in favor of rolling back in your head when your chest arches out, searching for a breath of sobering air, for something to hold onto so you don’t crumble apart. “Feels so good—you feel so good.”

His mouth closes over you and he sucks, pulling your clit against the smoothness of his tongue as he flicks it over and over, soothing the sensitive bud, while actively robbing you of any coherent train of thought. The only sounds that leave your lungs are sharp gasps and whines, fueled by the low groaning sound he’s muffling between your thighs. He releases you and your body reels, drawing in breath after breath to catch up with your racing heart.

“Wunna split this little pussy open on me,”

Oh fuck, oh fuck fuck—fuck.

You have long enough to gaze down at him, watching as he slides the flat of his tongue through your lips, over the sensitive bud, before your head is dipping back again.

“I’ve been practicing—I got, oh, fuck Joel, like that,” you heave and he pulls away completely, shocking you into a mewling, whining mess. “You got what, baby, use your words.”

Your body bares down on nothing, /wish he would just give it up already, unbuckle that belt, push down those wranglers and fuck you like you deserve. Joel grunts while he watches, letting it rumble through his whole body. “Got a toy that’s as big as you so I could practice. So I'd be able to take you.”

His whole demeanor shifts, alternating from this brazen, confident cowboy to the man suddenly lost between your thighs, sucking and slurping, licking and moaning to himself. He’s gutless, starving and desperate, he whimpers when you squeeze your thighs and cry his name, holding on tight until the flash of blue and red and the sound of a loud voice rips him from his mission.

“Jackson Police department, step away from the vehicle!”

Joel rips himself away from your body before you even have a chance to cover yourself. “Fuck-fuck,” he looks around sharply, eying the lone officer in a tan blazer with flashing lights fastened to its hard top. The sheriff has a light in their hand, leaning over the side of the blazer. You manage to pull your dress down and scoot back, trying to hide yourself from the light shining on the two of you.

Joel's gaze falls away from the officer, parked behind the truck, blocking it in. Instead, he looks forward, into the clearing in front of the parking lot, half lit by the street lamp. His jaw clicks and he looks set on whatever is going through that big brain of his. “Put a seat belt on.”

What?

Joel grabs his hat and slides across the bench seat quickly, slamming the door behind him. He makes it across you and throws himself in front of the steering wheel, finding the ignition quickly to turn the keys in the shaft.

The chevy roars to life at the same time that he slams the gear shifter into drive and plows over the parking block. Before you have a chance to register what's happening, the blue pickup is sliding through mud and grass, leaving tire tracks in the field as he cuts through it towards the highway.

“Joel, what in the—fuck!“ you shout, reaching up for the oh-shit handle, while the other hand reaches for the solid form beside you, grasping him by the bicep as he snorts nervously. “Just—calm down for a second, we’ll lose ‘em.”

Your heart races and your nerves radiate through your entire body. You’re a good kid, you’ve never ran from the cops before, never been in trouble for crying out loud. You did your best in school, tried to make your parents proud despite your small side of rebellion. And yet, here you are—trying your best to hang on while he cuts corners and runs stop signs, old alleyways and back roads through the thickets. The truck roars past speed limit signs, loosing rodeo flyers pinned to telephone poles when he slams the gears—orange papers fluttering in the settling dust.

He snorts, taking another random left and speeding down the street. “Ain’t gonna get arrested, honey. Just trust me.”

Trust him? How could he even ask you that, like that wasn’t what this was all along. You trusted him like you trusted the sun to set and rise again, like you trusted the birds to sing and the rivers to run—you’d trusted Joel with your family’s dream and he never let you down.

Somewhere along the way, you lose the ability to fight off your grin, Joel manages to leave flashing red and blue in a cloud of dust. He cuts through a group of trees leading into a clearing and shuts off the lights. He drives by moonlight, effectively covering his tracks and making his way onto another road, leading up the mountain towards the ranch. He pulls off another dirt road that is cut out along the side of the hill, but he isn’t in as much of a hurry as he was before. He takes a last left, bringing the truck to the edge of the hillside that overlooks the entire town of jackson—from the dance hall—to the bar—to the red and blue set of lights on the south side of town, still looking for you and your cowboy.

The world grants you a few silent moments to catch your breath, before it completely robs you of tingling in your muscles, the conscious connection between the two of you. The reality of being truly alone with him is sobering, with nothing but the trees and the wildlife to offer a distraction.

Now that the air has cooled and your heart has finished pounding in your ears, you can make out the faint hum of the stereo, the FM dial lit up by the soft glow behind it. The station is still the same as it was when you were a girl, riding in your daddy’s pickup, playing old country music like it did in the days of your youth.

Now, it rings in your ears with the nerves seeping into your bones, settling into an uncomfortable dust. Right now, of all times? Anxiety has to claw up your chest and wrap around your throat while his saliva is still drying on the inside of your thighs?

Fuck, his beard is still glistening in the green-glow of the stereo.

“You’re starin’ at me.” He says almost quietly. You expected him to tease and flirt, maybe boast, but his voice waivers halfway through and you start to pick up on his slight nerve. Under all that charm and intensity is starting to give way to a much more vulnerable Joel—a man you know all too well.

“You’re just, uh—“ you swallow thickly and try to find the courage to meet his deep brown eyes. “Your beard is…wet.” When you do find his irises, his mouth picks up in a half smirk. If he’s as scared as you are right now, he’s doing a good job of hiding it. He’s giving it everything he’s got to hide it from you.

It’s been so long and you need this. Need to be touched, appreciated, worshipped.

The look in his eyes tells you that he’s eager to kneel.

“And who’s fault is that, hmm?” That sweet, sultry accent drags you in, sliding closer on the seat until you're nearly tucked into his side, leaned back against the seat while he looms over you. He’s still nervous, you can see it floating around in his dark eyes, but his jaw clicks like he’s trying to rein something in.

Silence falls upon you once more, but unbeknownst to the cicadas and the crickets, your dancing gazes say everything you need to hear. His eyes drop to your lips and yours to his. His tongue peaks out unconsciously, wetting his bottom lip ever so slightly—like he’s tasting you there.

His mouth clicks shut and it's then that you glance up. His eyes are back on yours, suddenly so much softer with a lulled arch to his eyebrows. In the depths of his eyes you find renewed hunger, fire burning in those pools of smooth chocolate. Your body relaxes, succumbs to the form of his plains of muscles adorning his body. When you tilt your head up to him in offering, you sink so deeply into those dark pools you can nearly taste the sweetness of him like velvety candy melting against your taste buds.

“Joel—“ you choke out, deciding then that if he waits a second longer you’ll suffocate.

There's things about this life that can never be stopped, inexorable phenomenons that are unavoidable. The seasons will always change. The storms will always come, lightning will always strike. The days will always end and the sun will rise again on the next.

And Joel Miller will always, always break when you say his name like that.

He falls into you with a sharp intake of breath, crashing his mouth against yours with surprising accuracy. It’s so easy to let him take over with the perfect combination of rush and savor he puts into the way he envelops you. His mouth is soft, but persistent, wrapping around your bottom lip when he sucks it between his teeth for a soft bite that makes you want to live in this moment forever.

You nearly do because you get absolutely lost in kissing him, you don’t protest when he leans you back on the bench seat, you don’t put up any sort of fight when he spreads your thighs with his wide hips. When his hands grip your knees, you know you’re completely done for.

He pulls away from your mouth and his eyes find yours in the low green glow and there, you find everything you’ve ever longed for.

“I…I think,” Joel shifts, looking down at his hands like he’s just woken up from sleep walking straight into your heart and soul. “I think I should get you home, s’gettin late.”

Late? Your poor muddled brain cannot keep up with how quickly he fades in and out of doing anything to have you, to be terrified to touch you. How quickly he slips into a starved desire to shaking in his boots.

Not for the first time, you wish you could reach right into his brain and pull out whatever it is that makes him think you don’t want those rough hands all over your bare body. He’s already had a taste of you, already kissed you—what more could be standing in his way?

“Home? Joel, we were just getting started—“ he clears his throat and sits up, trying to slide away from you but your heels dig into his tailbone and drag him back. “Started down a road we both know only leads to nothing but trouble and regret.”

What, the, fuck?

“I’m—you think this is a bad idea?”

The uncomfortable air settles back in between you and your legs around him loosen. “Think you're going to realize really quickly this ain’t what you want and this—I’ve got…too much on the line.”

He has too much on the line? What about the ranch? Your childhood home about to be lost to the bank? What about the dance hall where he’s built a new floor to make you smile? Does it all wash away with his assumed doom?

“What are you saying? This…this was a mistake? Joel I still have your fucking spit drying on my pussy and you—you regretted it already?” The realization feels like a dull blade straight to your gut, forcing it way in and twisting you from the inside out. It burns with shame and agony and you pull yourself out from under his sturdy build.

“I didn’t mean—I regret anything, fuck knows I don’t—“ no, no. You’ve given this man so much of yourself, committed so much to be thrown around and have your feelings stomped on.

“Then what the fuck does it mean, Joel! You—you made me cum while telling me you wanted to stuff my cunt but now you think this is…” you have a realization then, that maybe—just maybe, he does actually regret it. What does he think, you’d turn around and throw him out on his ass? If he truly thinks that low of you then maybe…

“This was a big fucking mistake.” You say coldly, making up your mind as you right your bunched up dress and adjust your fixed gaze on the passenger side window.

“Take me home.” It’s not a request.

It’s not an invitation, either, Joel understands as he watches you close the front door behind you later that night, settling his made up mind.

He presses his palm to his crotch twice and comes in his pants right there in the driveway, just like he knew he was going to.

And he feels like a fucking fool.

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