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[midnightfictionlibrary]

Wishful Thinking - dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter 1 - Texas Sun

no outbreak | dad’s best friend | mutual pining and lust

Pairing : dbf!Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings : mdni 18+, pining, mutual longing, fingering, dirty talk, use of pet names, age gap (reader is 26, Joel is 48)

Word Count : 2k

Summary : A quick trip home to say hello for Easter leaves you breathless when Joel Miller makes his presence - and his needs - known.

Your dad throws his arms around you in an impossibly tight bear hug, and you grunt, rolling your eyes before lithley wrapping your arms around him in return. 

“You know, you saw me last month, dad.” You huff, rolling your eyes as you pull back. Your dad chortles in his very “dad” way, and shakes his head. 

“Too long, buddy. Too long.” He says, ruffling your hair like he used to do when you were a kid. You swat his hand away and laugh, rolling your eyes. 

“Are you gonna pester me all day, or can I come inside?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. Your dad grimaces, making his nose crinkle as he steps aside for you. 

“Jeeeez, grumpy.” He mutters, but you just laugh as you haul your duffel bag into the foyer. Your brother wasn’t coming home this holiday, so you figured why not? Don’t want the old man to get lonely. You set your duffel bag at the foot of the stairs, wandering into the living room as you slide your jacket off. 

“Hey, darlin’. Long time no see.” A gruff voice rings out, and when you look up, you freeze. It was Joel. You knew Joel, you’d known Joel for a long time. He was your dad’s closest friend, he had moved into your neighborhood the summer you turned 16. But this felt different. 

He had a blue flannel on, his brown eyes sparkling as he looked at you. The sun filtering through the window hit his graying hair and you felt…breathless. You clear your throat and nod. 

“Yeah, hey, Joel.” You say quietly, offering a small, sweet smile. His eyes flicker and you look away just as your dad comes back into the room, handing Joel a beer. You roll your eyes and glance at the TV. Of course, spring training, baseball. You sit on the arm of your dad’s recliner, eyes trained on the tv for a moment, then you sigh and stand up. “‘M gonna put my things upstairs.” You mutter, hauling your large duffel bag onto your shoulder again. You had taken the train to your dad, and you felt gross. A shower would wash everything away, including the weird flutter in your stomach that you felt when Joel had looked at you earlier. 

Joel. Why had you reacted that way when you heard his voice? It was as if all your senses had stopped working as soon as you saw him. No, as soon as you heard him.

You drop your bag in your old bedroom, rifling through and picking out a pair of shorts and an oversized crewneck. You pad your way to the bathroom, turning on the water, making it as hot as you can stand it. 

But it’s no use. It doesn’t help. Anytime you close your eyes to wash your face or rinse your hair, you keep replaying the moment Joel called you darlin’. Not that he hadn’t called you that before, but something about it felt…different. When you step out of the shower, you pat yourself dry and run a comb through your wet hair, drying your body until you can pull on your shorts and sweatshirt. 

Picking up your discarded clothes from the floor, you shuffle back to your room and throw them in the closet. You hang the towel on the back of the door and stretch. While Joel is still on your mind, you feel admittedly more fresh-faced than when you arrived. 

The golden sun looks so enticing that you grab the latest book you had been devouring, deciding to head out to the enclosed back porch. Heading down the stairs, you stop briefly at the bottom, where your father and Joel continue to watch baseball. 

Taking a deep breath, you pass, heading through the kitchen to the enclosed back porch, heading for your favorite spot, the couch. Peach colored, pilling, and old, it was the coziest couch you’d ever sat on, and it was your favorite place to read. You sit, tucking your feet underneath you and cracking your book open. You bend the spine, smirking a bit at the look of horror your book-loving best friend, Dolores, had given you when you cracked the spine of the book. 

Humming contentedly, enjoying the Texas sunshine coming through the window, you get lost in your book. 

So much so, you almost don’t notice when Joel leans against the doorway. Almost. Dragging your eyes from the heavy boots, to the jeans that hug those absolutely delicious thighs, all the way to the patch of chest hair peeking out of the top of his blue flannel, and you feel your mouth go dry as you settle finally on those dark brown eyes. 

“Now what are you doin’ out here, all by your lonesome?” He asks, stepping all the way into the porch and shutting the door quietly behind him. 

You raise an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same.” You say, untucking your legs and swinging them to the floor. You watch Joel scan your legs and smirk a bit. 

“Your dad’s snorin’ like hell in there -” He says, rolling his eyes and eliciting a bubbling laugh from your lips, which earns you a smirk before he continues. “So I came to see what a pretty thing like you’s doin’ out here.” 

You stop, heat flushing your face, and if you had to admit it, your core, too. You press your thighs together, trying not to let on how much he’s affecting you. 

But he must know. He must know, because he advances even closer to you, and you swallow as he stops right in front of you, close enough for you to touch. 

“So. What are you doin’ out here?” He asks. 

“Reading. What’s it look like?” You reply back, holding your book up briefly. 

"Yeah?" He breathes, eyes shifting down to where your extra large sweatshirt brushes the top of your thighs. "Be a sweet girl and spread those pretty thighs for me." 

Your mouth goes dry, as he leans down, one arm on the cushion behind you and one on the armrest, caging you in. Heat pools to your core and your gaze becomes a bit bleary as you stutter “I…what?” 

“Now c’mon sugar, do I need to ask twice?” He whispers, gruff voice smooth as honey as he takes one, large calloused hand brush against your collarbone before running up the expanse of your neck, gripping your jaw and tilting your face up to meet his. 

God, you almost moan, with how incredibly aroused you are. You lean back, legs falling open without much thought. No thought about where you were, that Joel was your dad’s best friend, just pure longing for the man with his hand around your jaw. 

You see the smirk on his face and he brushes his lips against yours, muttering. “Sweet girl, you need to give me permission before I do anything.” 

Eyes fluttering you nod. “I..yes.” And then he’s on top of you, lips claiming yours greedily, nudging your legs gently back up onto the couch, settling himself to hover over you. 

You kiss back, hand instinctively finding purchase in his hair as you both breathe heavily through the carnal lust that’s driven you to this point. You feel his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, and you lift your ass to help him pull them down. 

Tilting your head back, you feel Joel kiss the column of your throat and you gasp a bit, letting out a little strangled moan. You had no idea just being kissed could light every sense you had on fire, making you feel like you were drowning in longing. 

Joel trails a large hand along your thigh, higher and higher until swiping across the wet spot on your panties. “Jesus, mama, so wet for me already?” He teases and you huff out a breath. 

“Did you come out here just to tease me? Because I can -”

“Easy.” He says softly. “Easy. Let me make you feel good. No more teasin’, sugar, I promise.” Joel runs two fingers lightly on the outside of your underwear, pulling a whimper from you that he easily swallows with another kiss. It’s slower, more sensual this time, like he was building you up for the next sense he’d plunge your body into. 

He carefully pulls your underwear to the side, using his thumb to stroke your puffy clit. You gasp a bit, smiling into the slow, sloppy, sensual clit. Joel hums, enjoying that your body was so responsive to him. His tongue runs along your bottom lip before dutifully entering your mouth, kisses slow and saccharine while he made you feel absolutely filthy elsewhere. 

“God, so fuckin’ wet -” He murmurs, fingers rubbing along the seal to your pussy, eyes lighting up with desire when you squirm underneath him. 

“Please -” You gasp. “Need you, I really need you inside me.” 

Joel smirks, and then one thick finger pushes inside you slowly, pumping. The soft, squishy sounds of your pussy around his finger has you in a haze, and your lips leave his, head falling back against the cushion behind you. 

“Eyes on me.” He growls, using his free hand to snake into your hair and pull your face to his. 

With half lidded eyes, you whimper, mouth falling open in a silent squeal when he adds a second thick digit, curling upwards in a ‘come hither’ motion against the spongy walls of your pussy. Biting your lip, you reach down and grasp at his wrist, but he doesn’t relent. Pulling his fingers out of you, he makes sure you're watching as he brings them to the flat of his tongue, licking them clean. 

Your pupils are blown wide, and when his fingers reenter you, you want to cry from how good it feels. You buck your hips, breathing heavily as you feel the tension in your core quiver, and Joel speeds up his ministrations, watching your face closely as your breath hitches. His thumb presses hard to your puffy clit, making you whimper, biting your lower lip so hard you think you draw blood. He rubs, hard, all while curling his fingers so perfectly. 

“That’s right, mama. Give it to me. Come all over my hand, huh?” He whispers, dragging his nose down your jaw, pressing soft kisses there. 

You can’t take it any more, your eyes flutter, your head falls back, and your thighs close, walls clenching around the thick digits of Joel Miller’s hand. 

Joel whispers sweet nothings in your ear as you come,  sweet girl, pretty baby, sugar, doin’ so good for me. 

As you shake and shudder from the orgasm he brought you to, you open your eyes to see those dark brown ones watching you. 

“Hey there, sweet girl. Welcome home.” He says, pressing one small, tender kiss to your lips. 

You blink. “H..hi.” You croak, a bit breathless as he slowly pulls your panties back aside, sliding your shorts back up. He backs up, using gentle hands to help you sit up again, placing your book in your lap. He stands up, adjusting himself and clearing his throat. Joel faces you, leaning down to whisper in your ear. 

“Wait ‘til I get my hands on you next time.” And with that, he kisses your cheek and disappears back into the house. 

You sit there, breathless, aroused, and mildly confused. Next time? You lick your lips, head falling back onto the couch. Maybe this visit home would be worth it.

Opening your eyes, you shakily pick up your phone, immediately calling Dolores. You needed advice. "Lola?" You say immediately.

You needed more of Joel Miller. And that thrilled and terrified you.

[midnightfictionlibrary]

Wishful Thinking - dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter 1 - Texas Sun

no outbreak | dad’s best friend | mutual pining and lust

Pairing : dbf!Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings : mdni 18+, pining, mutual longing, fingering, dirty talk, use of pet names, age gap (reader is 26, Joel is 48)

Word Count : 2k

Summary : A quick trip home to say hello for Easter leaves you breathless when Joel Miller makes his presence - and his needs - known.

Your dad throws his arms around you in an impossibly tight bear hug, and you grunt, rolling your eyes before lithley wrapping your arms around him in return. 

“You know, you saw me last month, dad.” You huff, rolling your eyes as you pull back. Your dad chortles in his very “dad” way, and shakes his head. 

“Too long, buddy. Too long.” He says, ruffling your hair like he used to do when you were a kid. You swat his hand away and laugh, rolling your eyes. 

“Are you gonna pester me all day, or can I come inside?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. Your dad grimaces, making his nose crinkle as he steps aside for you. 

“Jeeeez, grumpy.” He mutters, but you just laugh as you haul your duffel bag into the foyer. Your brother wasn’t coming home this holiday, so you figured why not? Don’t want the old man to get lonely. You set your duffel bag at the foot of the stairs, wandering into the living room as you slide your jacket off. 

“Hey, darlin’. Long time no see.” A gruff voice rings out, and when you look up, you freeze. It was Joel. You knew Joel, you’d known Joel for a long time. He was your dad’s closest friend, he had moved into your neighborhood the summer you turned 16. But this felt different. 

He had a blue flannel on, his brown eyes sparkling as he looked at you. The sun filtering through the window hit his graying hair and you felt…breathless. You clear your throat and nod. 

“Yeah, hey, Joel.” You say quietly, offering a small, sweet smile. His eyes flicker and you look away just as your dad comes back into the room, handing Joel a beer. You roll your eyes and glance at the TV. Of course, spring training, baseball. You sit on the arm of your dad’s recliner, eyes trained on the tv for a moment, then you sigh and stand up. “‘M gonna put my things upstairs.” You mutter, hauling your large duffel bag onto your shoulder again. You had taken the train to your dad, and you felt gross. A shower would wash everything away, including the weird flutter in your stomach that you felt when Joel had looked at you earlier. 

Joel. Why had you reacted that way when you heard his voice? It was as if all your senses had stopped working as soon as you saw him. No, as soon as you heard him.

You drop your bag in your old bedroom, rifling through and picking out a pair of shorts and an oversized crewneck. You pad your way to the bathroom, turning on the water, making it as hot as you can stand it. 

But it’s no use. It doesn’t help. Anytime you close your eyes to wash your face or rinse your hair, you keep replaying the moment Joel called you darlin’. Not that he hadn’t called you that before, but something about it felt…different. When you step out of the shower, you pat yourself dry and run a comb through your wet hair, drying your body until you can pull on your shorts and sweatshirt. 

Picking up your discarded clothes from the floor, you shuffle back to your room and throw them in the closet. You hang the towel on the back of the door and stretch. While Joel is still on your mind, you feel admittedly more fresh-faced than when you arrived. 

The golden sun looks so enticing that you grab the latest book you had been devouring, deciding to head out to the enclosed back porch. Heading down the stairs, you stop briefly at the bottom, where your father and Joel continue to watch baseball. 

Taking a deep breath, you pass, heading through the kitchen to the enclosed back porch, heading for your favorite spot, the couch. Peach colored, pilling, and old, it was the coziest couch you’d ever sat on, and it was your favorite place to read. You sit, tucking your feet underneath you and cracking your book open. You bend the spine, smirking a bit at the look of horror your book-loving best friend, Dolores, had given you when you cracked the spine of the book. 

Humming contentedly, enjoying the Texas sunshine coming through the window, you get lost in your book. 

So much so, you almost don’t notice when Joel leans against the doorway. Almost. Dragging your eyes from the heavy boots, to the jeans that hug those absolutely delicious thighs, all the way to the patch of chest hair peeking out of the top of his blue flannel, and you feel your mouth go dry as you settle finally on those dark brown eyes. 

“Now what are you doin’ out here, all by your lonesome?” He asks, stepping all the way into the porch and shutting the door quietly behind him. 

You raise an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same.” You say, untucking your legs and swinging them to the floor. You watch Joel scan your legs and smirk a bit. 

“Your dad’s snorin’ like hell in there -” He says, rolling his eyes and eliciting a bubbling laugh from your lips, which earns you a smirk before he continues. “So I came to see what a pretty thing like you’s doin’ out here.” 

You stop, heat flushing your face, and if you had to admit it, your core, too. You press your thighs together, trying not to let on how much he’s affecting you. 

But he must know. He must know, because he advances even closer to you, and you swallow as he stops right in front of you, close enough for you to touch. 

“So. What are you doin’ out here?” He asks. 

“Reading. What’s it look like?” You reply back, holding your book up briefly. 

"Yeah?" He breathes, eyes shifting down to where your extra large sweatshirt brushes the top of your thighs. "Be a sweet girl and spread those pretty thighs for me." 

Your mouth goes dry, as he leans down, one arm on the cushion behind you and one on the armrest, caging you in. Heat pools to your core and your gaze becomes a bit bleary as you stutter “I…what?” 

“Now c’mon sugar, do I need to ask twice?” He whispers, gruff voice smooth as honey as he takes one, large calloused hand brush against your collarbone before running up the expanse of your neck, gripping your jaw and tilting your face up to meet his. 

God, you almost moan, with how incredibly aroused you are. You lean back, legs falling open without much thought. No thought about where you were, that Joel was your dad’s best friend, just pure longing for the man with his hand around your jaw. 

You see the smirk on his face and he brushes his lips against yours, muttering. “Sweet girl, you need to give me permission before I do anything.” 

Eyes fluttering you nod. “I..yes.” And then he’s on top of you, lips claiming yours greedily, nudging your legs gently back up onto the couch, settling himself to hover over you. 

You kiss back, hand instinctively finding purchase in his hair as you both breathe heavily through the carnal lust that’s driven you to this point. You feel his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, and you lift your ass to help him pull them down. 

Tilting your head back, you feel Joel kiss the column of your throat and you gasp a bit, letting out a little strangled moan. You had no idea just being kissed could light every sense you had on fire, making you feel like you were drowning in longing. 

Joel trails a large hand along your thigh, higher and higher until swiping across the wet spot on your panties. “Jesus, mama, so wet for me already?” He teases and you huff out a breath. 

“Did you come out here just to tease me? Because I can -”

“Easy.” He says softly. “Easy. Let me make you feel good. No more teasin’, sugar, I promise.” Joel runs two fingers lightly on the outside of your underwear, pulling a whimper from you that he easily swallows with another kiss. It’s slower, more sensual this time, like he was building you up for the next sense he’d plunge your body into. 

He carefully pulls your underwear to the side, using his thumb to stroke your puffy clit. You gasp a bit, smiling into the slow, sloppy, sensual clit. Joel hums, enjoying that your body was so responsive to him. His tongue runs along your bottom lip before dutifully entering your mouth, kisses slow and saccharine while he made you feel absolutely filthy elsewhere. 

“God, so fuckin’ wet -” He murmurs, fingers rubbing along the seal to your pussy, eyes lighting up with desire when you squirm underneath him. 

“Please -” You gasp. “Need you, I really need you inside me.” 

Joel smirks, and then one thick finger pushes inside you slowly, pumping. The soft, squishy sounds of your pussy around his finger has you in a haze, and your lips leave his, head falling back against the cushion behind you. 

“Eyes on me.” He growls, using his free hand to snake into your hair and pull your face to his. 

With half lidded eyes, you whimper, mouth falling open in a silent squeal when he adds a second thick digit, curling upwards in a ‘come hither’ motion against the spongy walls of your pussy. Biting your lip, you reach down and grasp at his wrist, but he doesn’t relent. Pulling his fingers out of you, he makes sure you're watching as he brings them to the flat of his tongue, licking them clean. 

Your pupils are blown wide, and when his fingers reenter you, you want to cry from how good it feels. You buck your hips, breathing heavily as you feel the tension in your core quiver, and Joel speeds up his ministrations, watching your face closely as your breath hitches. His thumb presses hard to your puffy clit, making you whimper, biting your lower lip so hard you think you draw blood. He rubs, hard, all while curling his fingers so perfectly. 

“That’s right, mama. Give it to me. Come all over my hand, huh?” He whispers, dragging his nose down your jaw, pressing soft kisses there. 

You can’t take it any more, your eyes flutter, your head falls back, and your thighs close, walls clenching around the thick digits of Joel Miller’s hand. 

Joel whispers sweet nothings in your ear as you come,  sweet girl, pretty baby, sugar, doin’ so good for me. 

As you shake and shudder from the orgasm he brought you to, you open your eyes to see those dark brown ones watching you. 

“Hey there, sweet girl. Welcome home.” He says, pressing one small, tender kiss to your lips. 

You blink. “H..hi.” You croak, a bit breathless as he slowly pulls your panties back aside, sliding your shorts back up. He backs up, using gentle hands to help you sit up again, placing your book in your lap. He stands up, adjusting himself and clearing his throat. Joel faces you, leaning down to whisper in your ear. 

“Wait ‘til I get my hands on you next time.” And with that, he kisses your cheek and disappears back into the house. 

You sit there, breathless, aroused, and mildly confused. Next time? You lick your lips, head falling back onto the couch. Maybe this visit home would be worth it.

Opening your eyes, you shakily pick up your phone, immediately calling Dolores. You needed advice. "Lola?" You say immediately.

You needed more of Joel Miller. And that thrilled and terrified you.

[midnightfictionlibrary]

Wishful Thinking - dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter 1 - Texas Sun

no outbreak | dad’s best friend | mutual pining and lust

Pairing : dbf!Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings : mdni 18+, pining, mutual longing, fingering, dirty talk, use of pet names, age gap (reader is 26, Joel is 48)

Word Count : 2k

Summary : A quick trip home to say hello for Easter leaves you breathless when Joel Miller makes his presence - and his needs - known.

Your dad throws his arms around you in an impossibly tight bear hug, and you grunt, rolling your eyes before lithley wrapping your arms around him in return. 

“You know, you saw me last month, dad.” You huff, rolling your eyes as you pull back. Your dad chortles in his very “dad” way, and shakes his head. 

“Too long, buddy. Too long.” He says, ruffling your hair like he used to do when you were a kid. You swat his hand away and laugh, rolling your eyes. 

“Are you gonna pester me all day, or can I come inside?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. Your dad grimaces, making his nose crinkle as he steps aside for you. 

“Jeeeez, grumpy.” He mutters, but you just laugh as you haul your duffel bag into the foyer. Your brother wasn’t coming home this holiday, so you figured why not? Don’t want the old man to get lonely. You set your duffel bag at the foot of the stairs, wandering into the living room as you slide your jacket off. 

“Hey, darlin’. Long time no see.” A gruff voice rings out, and when you look up, you freeze. It was Joel. You knew Joel, you’d known Joel for a long time. He was your dad’s closest friend, he had moved into your neighborhood the summer you turned 16. But this felt different. 

He had a blue flannel on, his brown eyes sparkling as he looked at you. The sun filtering through the window hit his graying hair and you felt…breathless. You clear your throat and nod. 

“Yeah, hey, Joel.” You say quietly, offering a small, sweet smile. His eyes flicker and you look away just as your dad comes back into the room, handing Joel a beer. You roll your eyes and glance at the TV. Of course, spring training, baseball. You sit on the arm of your dad’s recliner, eyes trained on the tv for a moment, then you sigh and stand up. “‘M gonna put my things upstairs.” You mutter, hauling your large duffel bag onto your shoulder again. You had taken the train to your dad, and you felt gross. A shower would wash everything away, including the weird flutter in your stomach that you felt when Joel had looked at you earlier. 

Joel. Why had you reacted that way when you heard his voice? It was as if all your senses had stopped working as soon as you saw him. No, as soon as you heard him.

You drop your bag in your old bedroom, rifling through and picking out a pair of shorts and an oversized crewneck. You pad your way to the bathroom, turning on the water, making it as hot as you can stand it. 

But it’s no use. It doesn’t help. Anytime you close your eyes to wash your face or rinse your hair, you keep replaying the moment Joel called you darlin’. Not that he hadn’t called you that before, but something about it felt…different. When you step out of the shower, you pat yourself dry and run a comb through your wet hair, drying your body until you can pull on your shorts and sweatshirt. 

Picking up your discarded clothes from the floor, you shuffle back to your room and throw them in the closet. You hang the towel on the back of the door and stretch. While Joel is still on your mind, you feel admittedly more fresh-faced than when you arrived. 

The golden sun looks so enticing that you grab the latest book you had been devouring, deciding to head out to the enclosed back porch. Heading down the stairs, you stop briefly at the bottom, where your father and Joel continue to watch baseball. 

Taking a deep breath, you pass, heading through the kitchen to the enclosed back porch, heading for your favorite spot, the couch. Peach colored, pilling, and old, it was the coziest couch you’d ever sat on, and it was your favorite place to read. You sit, tucking your feet underneath you and cracking your book open. You bend the spine, smirking a bit at the look of horror your book-loving best friend, Dolores, had given you when you cracked the spine of the book. 

Humming contentedly, enjoying the Texas sunshine coming through the window, you get lost in your book. 

So much so, you almost don’t notice when Joel leans against the doorway. Almost. Dragging your eyes from the heavy boots, to the jeans that hug those absolutely delicious thighs, all the way to the patch of chest hair peeking out of the top of his blue flannel, and you feel your mouth go dry as you settle finally on those dark brown eyes. 

“Now what are you doin’ out here, all by your lonesome?” He asks, stepping all the way into the porch and shutting the door quietly behind him. 

You raise an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same.” You say, untucking your legs and swinging them to the floor. You watch Joel scan your legs and smirk a bit. 

“Your dad’s snorin’ like hell in there -” He says, rolling his eyes and eliciting a bubbling laugh from your lips, which earns you a smirk before he continues. “So I came to see what a pretty thing like you’s doin’ out here.” 

You stop, heat flushing your face, and if you had to admit it, your core, too. You press your thighs together, trying not to let on how much he’s affecting you. 

But he must know. He must know, because he advances even closer to you, and you swallow as he stops right in front of you, close enough for you to touch. 

“So. What are you doin’ out here?” He asks. 

“Reading. What’s it look like?” You reply back, holding your book up briefly. 

"Yeah?" He breathes, eyes shifting down to where your extra large sweatshirt brushes the top of your thighs. "Be a sweet girl and spread those pretty thighs for me." 

Your mouth goes dry, as he leans down, one arm on the cushion behind you and one on the armrest, caging you in. Heat pools to your core and your gaze becomes a bit bleary as you stutter “I…what?” 

“Now c’mon sugar, do I need to ask twice?” He whispers, gruff voice smooth as honey as he takes one, large calloused hand brush against your collarbone before running up the expanse of your neck, gripping your jaw and tilting your face up to meet his. 

God, you almost moan, with how incredibly aroused you are. You lean back, legs falling open without much thought. No thought about where you were, that Joel was your dad’s best friend, just pure longing for the man with his hand around your jaw. 

You see the smirk on his face and he brushes his lips against yours, muttering. “Sweet girl, you need to give me permission before I do anything.” 

Eyes fluttering you nod. “I..yes.” And then he’s on top of you, lips claiming yours greedily, nudging your legs gently back up onto the couch, settling himself to hover over you. 

You kiss back, hand instinctively finding purchase in his hair as you both breathe heavily through the carnal lust that’s driven you to this point. You feel his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, and you lift your ass to help him pull them down. 

Tilting your head back, you feel Joel kiss the column of your throat and you gasp a bit, letting out a little strangled moan. You had no idea just being kissed could light every sense you had on fire, making you feel like you were drowning in longing. 

Joel trails a large hand along your thigh, higher and higher until swiping across the wet spot on your panties. “Jesus, mama, so wet for me already?” He teases and you huff out a breath. 

“Did you come out here just to tease me? Because I can -”

“Easy.” He says softly. “Easy. Let me make you feel good. No more teasin’, sugar, I promise.” Joel runs two fingers lightly on the outside of your underwear, pulling a whimper from you that he easily swallows with another kiss. It’s slower, more sensual this time, like he was building you up for the next sense he’d plunge your body into. 

He carefully pulls your underwear to the side, using his thumb to stroke your puffy clit. You gasp a bit, smiling into the slow, sloppy, sensual clit. Joel hums, enjoying that your body was so responsive to him. His tongue runs along your bottom lip before dutifully entering your mouth, kisses slow and saccharine while he made you feel absolutely filthy elsewhere. 

“God, so fuckin’ wet -” He murmurs, fingers rubbing along the seal to your pussy, eyes lighting up with desire when you squirm underneath him. 

“Please -” You gasp. “Need you, I really need you inside me.” 

Joel smirks, and then one thick finger pushes inside you slowly, pumping. The soft, squishy sounds of your pussy around his finger has you in a haze, and your lips leave his, head falling back against the cushion behind you. 

“Eyes on me.” He growls, using his free hand to snake into your hair and pull your face to his. 

With half lidded eyes, you whimper, mouth falling open in a silent squeal when he adds a second thick digit, curling upwards in a ‘come hither’ motion against the spongy walls of your pussy. Biting your lip, you reach down and grasp at his wrist, but he doesn’t relent. Pulling his fingers out of you, he makes sure you're watching as he brings them to the flat of his tongue, licking them clean. 

Your pupils are blown wide, and when his fingers reenter you, you want to cry from how good it feels. You buck your hips, breathing heavily as you feel the tension in your core quiver, and Joel speeds up his ministrations, watching your face closely as your breath hitches. His thumb presses hard to your puffy clit, making you whimper, biting your lower lip so hard you think you draw blood. He rubs, hard, all while curling his fingers so perfectly. 

“That’s right, mama. Give it to me. Come all over my hand, huh?” He whispers, dragging his nose down your jaw, pressing soft kisses there. 

You can’t take it any more, your eyes flutter, your head falls back, and your thighs close, walls clenching around the thick digits of Joel Miller’s hand. 

Joel whispers sweet nothings in your ear as you come,  sweet girl, pretty baby, sugar, doin’ so good for me. 

As you shake and shudder from the orgasm he brought you to, you open your eyes to see those dark brown ones watching you. 

“Hey there, sweet girl. Welcome home.” He says, pressing one small, tender kiss to your lips. 

You blink. “H..hi.” You croak, a bit breathless as he slowly pulls your panties back aside, sliding your shorts back up. He backs up, using gentle hands to help you sit up again, placing your book in your lap. He stands up, adjusting himself and clearing his throat. Joel faces you, leaning down to whisper in your ear. 

“Wait ‘til I get my hands on you next time.” And with that, he kisses your cheek and disappears back into the house. 

You sit there, breathless, aroused, and mildly confused. Next time? You lick your lips, head falling back onto the couch. Maybe this visit home would be worth it.

Opening your eyes, you shakily pick up your phone, immediately calling Dolores. You needed advice. "Lola?" You say immediately.

You needed more of Joel Miller. And that thrilled and terrified you.

[midnightfictionlibrary]

oh my gosh I am beyond honored to have my fic mentioned here! Ty ty! 😭❤️

what are ur favorite anthony bridgerton five

hi! i'm assuming this says fics, and i am SO HONOURED that you trust me to recommend my favourite fics to you!

first up… the amazing and fantastic @fayes-fics, one of THE MOST skilled writers alive. she never misses!

some of my personal favs from her are:

➥ a beneficial arrangement [ ⭐️ ]

a marriage pact with a viscount. what could possibly go wrong?

➥ rescue and ruin

anthony rescues something for you… and it will likely lead to your ruin.

➥ the friends+ series

modern AU. series of fics that feature anthony & journalist!reader’s burgeoning relationship.

those are just a few of my favorites, but READ HER ENTIRE MASTERLIST! you will not regret it, promise.

secondly, a series of fics by the wonderfully talented @rubysunnday, and once again, be sure to read all of her masterlist!

➥ take my hand

as much as y/n appreciates anthony’s matchmaking efforts, it’s hard to accept them when he’s the only man she wants. luckily for her, a fall in the lake allows her to voice her feelings in more ways than one

➥ a long, long time

y/n has waited a long, long time for anthony bridgerton to finally decide to get married. but by the time he finally decides to find a wife, y/n has run out of time and anthony is suddenly faced with losing her to someone else.

➥ it’s a bad idea, me and you [ ⭐️ ]

y/n was ready to give her entire heart to anthony bridgerton. only for him to shove her aside in favour for sienna rosso. but, now, sienna is gone and despite what y/n keeps telling herself - anthony truly does own her heart.

now, for the queen of the modern!anthony au, @eleanor-bradstreet! some of my favorites from her are…

➥ gala

you attend a charity gala with your boss who really is too much trouble in a tux.

➥ locked out

when you find yourselves locked out of your house in the middle of the night, anthony has some ideas for how you can kill time.

➥ take me instead [ ⭐️ ]

you and anthony find yourselves in the middle of a bank robbery on an ill-fated day.

next we have @colettebronte, BRIDGERTON SMUT AUNTIE HERSELF WOOO!

(warning, these fics are VERY mature, and include BDSM and other possibly triggering material).

➥ rise and breathe

newly arrived back in london after a long journey across the mediterranean sea, you encounter a pathetically drunk viscount bridgerton the night he is rejected by sienna rosso. after a sobering morning on all counts, you sense that he is indeed lost and in need of a new purpose and direction. through submission and service, he may just find it.

➥ what (who) are you doing on new year’s eve?

a mysterious benefactor invites you to ring in the New Year with them.

➥ kinktober day ten: blindfolded

your tenth evening with your client. day ten for kinktober. I’m going with two prompts tonight, blindfolded and massage.

finally, we have some individual fics that stole my heart.

➥ diamonds and pearls by @multiharlot

diamonds and pearls do not make up for the lack of love in your marriage.

➥ enamoured by @dreamwritesimagines

everything you heard about matters of heart and desire told you the same thing; love could lead to heartbreak at best and disastrous results at worst. yet, you were convinced that everyone was wrong. they had to be, because love was supposed to make everyone happier, no confusion or pain in sight. regardless of how naive it sounded, you were sure that you were ready to fall in love and lose yourself in the infamous bliss. that assumption right there was a terrible mistake, though. you were nowhere near ready.

➥ right person, all the wrong times by @wwinterwitch

you and anthony have been in love with one another from the moment you met, but it seems as though nothing will ever happen between you. after you catch the attention of another gentleman, he realizes perhaps it's time to finally do something about his feelings.

➥ right in front of me by @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

the only way he could rationally find a suitable wife was by removing love from the equation all together. courtship was game of jumping through hoops he really did not want to play, and he was a viscount. surely there would be a father with a more than suitable daughter he could simply ask for your hand and get it. or the one where your arranged marriage with anthony bridgerton isn’t a loving marriage… until it is.

➥ melt away by @healmydesires

the night you give your love and body to your husband.

➥ sham, pride, and illicit affairs by @peeterparkr

or, the story of how you rejected his proposal because you once loved him.

➥ enchanted by @imthebadguyyy

you and anthony don’t need words to converse.

➥ better man by @midnightfictionlibrary

anthony must rectify his rakish ways and wed, but he has a lot to think over if he doesn’t want to lose his dearest friend forever. 

➥ no longer in denial by @iwritefandomimagines

anthony has made no secret of not wanting to marry, despite it being more than clear that he is head over heels in love with you, his “best friend”. benedict decides he is fed up of anthony’s denial, and takes matters into his own hands — by inciting jealousy from his older brother.

➥ the language of flowers by @cinnamoodles (shameless self plug)

you and anthony have been friends for as long as you can remember, but what happens when his world turns upside down? will he open his heart and let the woman silently pining for him in?

AHH ok that was it, and these are the bridgerton fics i love with all of my soul. thank you so much for your ask, it was so nice to see all these wonderful fics again.

xo, lottie !

[midnightfictionlibrary]

Honey-Do [joel miller]

It’s Sunday, chore day, and Joel has a honey-do list item of his own: get his girl pregnant.

my masterlist!

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: pre-outbreak joel, married!joel, pure fluff and smut, slight au, body worship, some cock worship, handyman!joel, malewife!joel, joel “my wife doesn’t lift a finger in this home” miller, vague daddy undertones, overstimulation, joel miller is a munch, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected PIV (wrap it up unless you’re joel), creampie, breeding kink, actual breeding, talks of pregnancy, pregnancy kink, domestic bliss, joel’s love language being acts of service and by that i mean putting a baby in his wife, competence kink

word count: ~ 10k (someone stop me)

read on ao3!

a/n: hello, lovelies!! i received this ask ages ago and the idea inevitably snowballed because who is self-control?? does she go to a different school? anyway, this fic is pure plotless domestic fluff and domestic smut (is that a thing? yes!), so i really hope you all enjoy! pre-outbreak joel is very special to me xoxo

HONEY-DO

Your shared bedroom looks out over the eastern sunrise. A mutually-assured vigil, keeping one another safe—and timely. 

In the mornings, the golden light spills through the break in the curtains. It will peek slowly inside and gently warm your body awake, testing the limits of its power. When you roll over and make a soft groan of protest in your sleep, seeking more warmth, the little strip of sunlight will widen, directing you. You will find the body next to yours, nuzzling close, your nose bumping his bare chest, and settle happily against it. In return, his body will seek yours, symbiotic exchange, a greedy arm pulling you closer.

In frustration, the sun grumbles it way higher in the sky, shining brighter and spreading wider.

It takes a couple tries to get it right: to shine in just the right way to make you blink rapidly awake, squinting in the glow. You gradually come to life, your lungs sucking in the first deep breath of morning air, your naked body stretching like a cat in the sunspot. Dust hovers lazily in the air, heralding a Sunday occupied by chores. The room is still, silent, and kissed by morning rays. Peaceful.

You examine him in the light: tanned skin sparkling gold, plush lips slightly parted, broad chest rising and falling. His hair is pleasantly tousled from sleep. There are patches of silver beginning to thread through his dark brown beard, and in your self-sustaining state of affection, you gently put your lips to one of the patches of skin where hair does not grow. 

Your persistence grows with every second he refuses to wake. It may be a bit petulant, your lips smattering soft kisses across his jaw, beneath his ear, down to his neck and all its veins, but it begins to work. He stirs, groaning softly, turning onto his side and wrapping both arms around your waist. He does all of this without opening his eyes, resting his head on your belly and nuzzling against you as if he could get any closer—sated, for now, his body knowing nothing but the pull toward you. 

You comb your fingers through his messy hair and listen to him breathe while he listens to your heartbeat. 

“It’s ten,” you whisper.

“Hmph,” he says against your belly. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet; if you didn’t know his breathing patterns like they were mapped out in the lines of your palms, you would think he’s still sleeping. 

“We slept in,” you point out. 

Joel gently bumps his forehead into your stomach as if he were banging his head against a wall. “Shit,” he grumbles. 

You laugh as his moustache tickles your skin. “Do you want to get up now?”

Another grunt, accompanied by a shake of his head. Big, strong arms pull you closer. 

“I’ll make you breakfast,” you coo, stroking his hair away from his face. “Eggs… bacon… coffee…”

Joel presses his lips to your belly. “Don’t go takin’ my job, now,” he says, his voice groggy with disuse. “No girl of mine’s gonna run around gettin’ her own damn coffee.”

“Hmm. Means you have to move, Romeo.” 

This earns a playful smack to the side of your thigh, his big, callused hand kneading your flesh while he wakes himself up with mouthfuls of your scent—linen and vanilla—and gulps down the sunlight glowing on your skin. 

“Never mind,” you sigh, dreamy and complacent under his attention. 

His eyes finally crack open, peering up at you, honey-brown pools touched by the golden light. He rests his chin on your belly and keeps his arms wrapped around your hips. His fingers trace shapes up and down your lower back. “You got a honey-do list?” he asks with a crooked grin.

Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “That depends. Can I get you to mow the lawn without a shirt on?”

“What do I get if I do?” he teases, his hand moving to your hip, contouring his hand to the shape of you. 

You lift a brow, easing your legs apart underneath his body, letting him feel the warmth between your thighs. Like a moth to the goddamn flame, his eyes wide and eager, Joel crawls down your body with his mouth on your belly. Pausing just above your naked cunt, he blows cool air onto your clit and watches you squirm. 

“After,” you gasp. “After chores, honey. We’ll never get up if we start now.”

“Don’t think I can make my woman come in good time?” he challenges, his palms keeping your thighs spread. Your pretty pussy glistens before his eyes, better than any fuckin’ breakfast. He begins to salivate.

Your head falls back into the pillows. “I never said that.”

Joel isn’t listening anymore. He kneads your thighs as he peers at you above your belly, your tits, to the curve of your jaw as you lie comfortably. Good. His baby ain’t about to get herself worked up on a Sunday morning. 

He lowers his face just enough to let you feel his lashes tickling your lower belly, and you giggle his name, the sound pure adrenaline to his blood. You're so soft and supple under his fingers, moulding to his touch, letting him take care of you. You may be in charge of him, but this is where he takes control. 

He presses a soft kiss to your clit and you sigh, your head turning toward the direction of the sun. It warms your face while your husband slides his tongue through your wet slit, lazily and sleepily, as though he's operating on instinct alone. Gathering up your wetness on his tongue, he groans, his fingers dimpling your thighs. 

“Taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmurs. “Fuckin’ made for me.”

“Oh, God,” you whisper, your eyes fluttering. “Baby…”

That sweet little whine is poison. He cannot do anything but continue to drink you down, flicking his tongue against your clit. He's a sucker and he's always been. Your pretty fuckin’ smile from across the bar that first night; your tight black dress and the too-sweet cocktail you smooth-talked him into ordering that had his adenoids prickling; your instinct for sensing others’ troubles and your uncanny ability to make them feel like they have none at all. He never stood a chance. 

He knows for a goddamn fact every man in the bar that night wanted to do to you what Joel is doing now: lapping up your juices with his tongue, spit mingling with arousal, warming his body between your thighs under the watch of the mid-morning sun. But he got you. Joel. He bought you a drink and he took you on a date. He got to taste your pretty pussy and he got to sit you on his dick—after the second date, that is. 

He's the one who gets to wake up with you, share matching gold bands around your fingers, kiss you freely. As far as he's concerned, he's the luckiest guy on the fuckin’ planet. 

He feels particularly green when your back arches, your lips parting around his name, relishing in the feeling of his mouth on your clit. You're unashamed to take pleasure, never shy about telling him Oh, fuck, yes! Right there, honey! Joel, yes, that feels so good, baby. 

Joel preens with pride. His hot tongue glides over your clit, smooth and wet, easily coaxing you to a languid high. The golden spotlight through the curtains shines on you. You're the starlet and he's the adoring fan. From the first day, he knew he'd do anything to make you notice him. 

“This wasn’t your first bar fight, was it?”

Plucking pieces of glass out of his bloodied knuckles, you looked up through your lashes at Joel, who had been staring at you since you sat him down in the bathroom. Okay—a little longer than that. 

He shook his head. 

You just smiled at him and gently shook your head. About as much reproach as he would get. “This might sting. Just hold on tight if you need to.” 

“Like the sound of that,” he said quietly, and if you heard, you didn't comment. You guided his hand under the warm water and washed the rest of the blood from his knuckles, gently smoothing the pads of your fingers over his rough worker’s hands. Capable, you thought, idly watching the blood swirl into the drain. He barely winced when you put his hand under. 

“Wanna tell me why you did it?” you asked him, your tone soothing and sweet. 

Joel shrugged. Big, broad shoulders. Humbly strong, until someone made him show it. “Ain't manly to touch a woman like that.”

You lifted your brows. “But it's manly to beat the shit out of the guy who touched her?”

Joel studied your face. Cherry-red lip gloss. Gently flushed cheeks from a healthy couple drinks. The instinctual rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the lighting shifting gently over your collarbones. It was fascinating just to watch you breathe. Even cleaning his bloody knuckles, you slowly circled the pad of your thumb over the back of his hand, like an innate urge to comfort. Your eyes had an old wisdom to them; a particular gleam a person gained when they were familiar with the hardships life had to offer. 

He wanted to ask you. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to do more than beat up some asshole who thought he could get away with pinching your ass. 

But he would earn it. A real man earned what he got. 

“Didn’t beat the shit out of him. Just roughed him up,” he says. 

He watched you bite down on a smile. “You're a little twisted, Joel.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, eyes flicking to your dewy lips, coated with that gloss. “Think so?”

“Yeah.” You licked your bottom lip and he wondered if you tasted like cherries. “But I'm going to ask you on a date anyway.”

Your fingers curl in Joel’s messy hair, making him groan into your pussy. “Oh, baby,” you gasp, cracking your heavy eyes open to watch him lap at you, practically petting his hair away from his face as his big brown eyes remain fixed to yours. 

He purrs, suckling your clit between his lips, his eyes eagerly drinking in the sight of your flushed, tightening body. Making you come is one thing. Watching it is another. Your back arches and your fingers pull on his hair. Scalp prickling, Joel grips your thighs tighter. He’d let you peel away pounds of his flesh if it made you happy. He’d go eagerly to the grave knowing he had put some good into the world, put some light in your eyes. 

“Joel, I’m… I’m coming—ah!” you cry, your thighs squeezing his head, your sensitive clit pulsing under his tongue as your pussy contracts around itself, seeking something nice and big to grasp onto. His cock is aching, his hips grinding idly against the mattress for relief, his head fuzzy from the pleasure of making you feel good. Your body slowly melts into the bed, your limbs twitching as the tension in your muscles loosens, your lips parted permanently around his name. 

Eyes drooping and teary, you try to find him between your thighs, gently stroking his hair away from his face as it begins to fall into his big brown eyes. “Need a haircut,” you croak.

Joel hums, his head listing to the side, using your soft thigh as a pillow. He nips you playfully, your skin a golden path he intends to follow to the end. His hands caress your hips, helping you come down to Earth. You admire the delectable convex slope of his nose, the way it curves deliciously against your skin when he kisses, bites, inhales. He’s freckled and indented with the signifiers of a lived-in life; a good life. His is a likeness you could trace with your eyes closed. 

It’s eleven o’clock, and your stomach begins to grumble. 

Joel chuckles, pressing a long kiss to your belly. “Gettin’ up now,” he says. “Promise.”

He pulls on a pair of sweatpants, tucking his hard cock away to be dealt with later. Padding down the stairs, Joel is quick to tend to your needs, putting on a fresh pot of coffee. After so long together, his mind operates on autopilot, steering him from the cupboard to the refrigerator and back to the steaming pot, occupied with the menial task of making a good cup. The gentle clinking scrape of the spoon as he stirs your milk into the cup wakes him up until he feels practically revitalised. He keeps his coffee black.

He hears the soft tread of your feet behind him, feels the warmth of your body as you crowd his space, smiles at the way you smooth your palms over the planes of his muscled back in unadulterated admiration. His shoulders are wide, tapering down to the soft belly you’ve nurtured through years of cooking. He’s sturdy and strong and all yours. The sight of him always makes you a bit giddy. 

“So handsome,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your face between his shoulder blades. The buffed claws of his woodsy pine scent hook into the spaces between your ribs. 

Joel lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses the wedding band on your finger, the engagement ring above it. “Sit down, baby. Coffee’s ready.”

You grin against his back, nudging your nose into his tanned skin. “Mmm. That sounds good. But I wanna stay here. ‘s nice and warm.” 

“Girl of my dreams,” Joel murmurs, reaching around his back and patting your ass. “C’mon, I’ll keep you warm.”

You grumble your way to the little circular table in the kitchen, tucked into the alcove at the front window. It’s a souvenir from your parents' garage sale when they decided to sell their home and move to Austin. As a girl, you’d draw, scratch, and paint on that table, endlessly entertaining yourself by marking things up. Even now, there are remnants of your childhood in the worn grooves and chipped varnish. It fits nicely into your home, perfectly suited to two. It could even fit one more. 

You ruminate as you watch Joel carry two mugs to the table. He knows which cup is your favourite: green ceramic decorated with tiny flowers, perfectly contoured to the shape and size of your hands, warming your palms just nicely between sips. Joel’s mug shows its age: white but slightly yellowed from years of use, bigger than yours. The steam of the coffee gently curls into the air, a dance of silvery ribbons in lock-step. They twist together as you purse your lips and blow. The rich, smooth caramel hue of your coffee contrasts the tar-black of Joel’s. 

Since you dragged yourself out of bed on shaky legs, you shrugged on the navy T-shirt he tossed aside last night to give his greedy wife access to his chest. You'd carved some decent marks into his skin, now that you're properly looking: tiny bruises sharpening to purple, faint pinkish scratch marks that you don't remember making. 

“Baby, I don’t mind,” he says, watching you scan his chest with a frown creasing your brow. 

“But it looks painful, honey. You should let me—”

“You don’t gotta do anything,” says Joel, “‘cept come over here.”

Your brows lift coyly, your body sliding out of the chair and into his lap, legs bracketing his strong thighs. His hand finds a home on your lower back, bunching the hem of his shirt up to find your ass bare, your wet cunt sitting nice and pretty on his hard cock. You gasp when the generous length meets your puffy clit with heavy pressure. “Joel…” 

Your voice is a mere whimper, a soft little plea for more, or for mercy. Joel’s always had better restraint than you. 

“Warmer now?” he asks, like a real arrogant asshole, slipping his hand under the shirt on your body and splaying his fingers over your ribcage, thumb grazing the underside of your breast. 

You do feel warmer, crushed up against him like this. You reach behind you and grab your coffee mug, taking a small sip. Your other hand winds around his neck and scratches the tousled hair at the nape of his neck. Joel hums, leaning close, nuzzling his face between your tits. 

“Gimme the list,” he says, voice muffled. 

You keep on stroking his hair and drinking your coffee between list items. “Mow the lawn. Clean out the eavestrough. Fix the sink.”

“Hmm, easy work,” he says, his other hand sliding up and down your back. It makes you melt into him even more, giving him the chance to tease a nipple between his teeth through the fabric of your shirt. You huff, wiggling your hips, but he's a brick wall. He does not budge. “Gimme yours, baby.”

You recall the items on your own list. “Vacuum the house. Go for groceries. Touch up the paint on the front door. Do the laundry. Cook dinner. Cut your hair,” you add with a playful smile. 

Joel frowns against your chest, pulling back to look up into your eyes like a grumpy, needy dog. “You put all that down for yourself?”

You try to placate him with a kiss on his nose. “You work so hard, sweetie. I could use some hard labour once in a while.”

Joel shakes his head. “You aren’t doin’ all that by yourself.”

“No?” You lift your brows. “Wanna buy it off me, Mr. Miller?”

“I’ll win ‘em from you,” he says, tilting his head back to kiss your jaw. “Name the price.”

You bite your lip and chase his mouth, plush and soft under that dark moustache. “I’ll think on that. Meantime, you can get to work on that lawn while I watch from the comfort of the front porch. That sound fair?”

Joel’s old Southern values rear up every now and then, imparted by his mother and his father’s mother before. Putting in an honest day’s work will make his wife comfortable and happy. He doesn't want you lifting a finger around this home if he's perfectly capable of doing the job himself. He works with his hands all day, gets dirty and sweaty. You shouldn't have to—not when you work so damn hard every other day of the week. 

Joel nips your chin. “Fine. But I ain’t gonna forget that I owe you.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, baby.”

Joel finishes his coffee, but you take your time with yours, changing into a short blue sundress while Joel, regrettably, puts a pair of jeans and a shirt on. Curling your legs up on the porch swing, you watch your man start the lawnmower, enthralled by the rippling of his back muscles with every pull. You know that some of it’s for show—knowing you're watching makes him want to impress you. Sometimes, he's still the man with the teenaged crush on the girl, doing everything he can and going out of his way to make you smile. It works. 

He’s methodical: making lines up and down the lawn, shearing away the too-long blades of grass under the motor. As sweat begins to bloom under his collar and his brow, he wipes his forehead with his forearm and you lick your lips, saliva pooling in your mouth at the thought of running your tongue all over his strong, naked body. Jesus. You finish off your coffee and force your eyes away from your husband for a moment. It isn't too hot from where you sit on the wraparound porch, but your chest feels sticky. 

You rush inside to fill up a glass of water for him, hastily scrubbing your mug clean and putting it back in the cupboard. Maybe you should be occupying yourself with your chores today; you worry nothing will get done if you continue to watch him work in the Texas sun. 

He’s just finishing when you shoulder your way back outside, his neck glistening with sweat and golden noon-hour light, warm and tempting. You set the glass on the railing and wait for him to come your way, squeezing your thighs together as your eyes trail up and down his body. 

He's always been a capable man, broad and tall—so good at his job that he was offered a promotion after a few months. But it isn't just his strength or his doggedness when it comes to getting his work done. It's the way he’s so eager to finish things, to check off the items on your list, to please you. He frowns at the idea of you doing too much work. He parades you around town with a puffed-up chest, as if to announce, This is my wife. I’m her husband and I’m fucking proud. He takes your pleasure so seriously that it feels like a competitive sport—always outdoing himself, always striving for more. He loves selflessly, and yet he loves just selfishly enough to make sure the world knows you're his. 

He’ll be a good daddy.  

You glance down at your belly and let yourself picture it: swollen and round, ballooning big enough to fit a new life inside. You imagine smoothing your hand over a growing bump, Joel’s warm palms feeling the undulating kicks of a little baby inside, half of him and half of you. You picture back aches and swelling feet and insatiable cravings and expended energy. And not a part of it deters you. Not a speck of your willpower wavers, the way it would have mere months ago. 

Something has changed. It may have been gradual and it may have been sudden. But it's new, all the same. It’s been this way since a week ago, when you looked in your nightstand at your little pink pill organiser labelled by weekday, and decided: No more.

Watching Joel make his way back to you, shielding his eyes from the light, you idly place your hand on your belly. Something new. A welcome change, you think, to have someone new sitting at our little table. 

Joel climbs up the steps to the porch and gulps down the glass of water. “Thank you, baby,” he says, wiping his mouth. Your lips part as if to taste the air around him, to chew, to savour, relishing the richness. 

Your pupils expand, taking in more of him, and Joel notices, placing a rough hand over yours where it rests on your belly. “You’re lost in thought, honey. Wanna tell me what's in that pretty head?”

“Just…” Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “Thank you for doing that. I know it's a big job.”

“Ain’t nothin’,” says Joel, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Got any idea how I can win those chores off you?”

Hands grasping your hips, sliding over your sweat-slick spine, saccharine noises slipping from your throat onto your tongue and out into the open air. Fingers imprinting permanent fixtures into your ribs. The heady weight of his big, fat cock wrenching you open, as it always does, slow until it isn't anymore. Desperation kicking in, a switch flipped, pummeling and brutal and unforgiving. Uncompromising. Hips pressed flush to your ass, nothing spilling out. Not a drop. 

Everything sealed in tight as promises are exchanged as whispers in the dark. 

“I want you to put a baby in me.”

All right. You could have been more delicate about it. Not precisely how you wanted to approach the topic, but it seems to get the job done. 

Looking down at you, Joel slowly lowers the empty glass, mouth opening as he searches for words. “What?”

There’s no point in shyness or hesitation. You know your body, your mind, your heart. You thread your fingers through Joel’s and let them stay connected over your stomach. “I want you to give me a baby, Joel Miller,” you say softly, your gaze locked to his. “That's my price.”

Joel swallows thickly, his mouth still gaping. “I heard you,” he rasps. “Just… you… you mean it?”

You try not to melt over the tone of his voice: low, bordering on desperate, wanting. There’s hunger in the sound of it. “We’ve talked about it,” you offer, conciliatory. “Lots of times.”

“Yeah, we have.” Joel steps closer, his eyes dipping from your eyes to your mouth, your throat and collarbones, to your belly. His hand flexes. “You gotta be sure. You gotta know it's what you want.”

You cup his face and give him your best smile. It's the sort of smile he remembers from the very first night you met. The sort of person who is unashamed to show their joy on their face. “Honey, I want it all with you.” Your fingers squeeze his. “We’ve waited so long and I don’t want to wait anymore.”

His ears are ringing. All Joel can do is sweep you into his arms and grin into your throat, his hand firm on the back of your head, curling around a fistful of hair. “Girl of my fuckin’ dreams,” he mumbles against your skin. “I’ll make you a momma. Give you just what you want. Everything you want.”

As you close your eyes and open your ears to his ramblings, your erratic heartbeat settles. Serenity finds the pair of you, locked together on your front porch, and the next part of your life begins. 

“Don’t think this gets us out of doing chores,” you tease. 

“You aren’t gonna lift a goddamn finger,” says Joel fiercely, his lips still littering kisses all over your neck. “You’re havin’ a baby.”

“Honey, I’m not pregnant yet,” you laugh. “I don't need to get all lazy right away.”

“Yeah, you do, and you will. I’m gonna make you the laziest momma in Texas,” says Joel, smiling into your throat, the scratch of his moustache making you dizzy with laughter. “Gonna look so fuckin’ beautiful with a baby in you. Gonna glow like a goddamn firefly. Shit, we need to paint the spare room. I need to build a crib, get time off work—”

“Joel,” you coo, scratching your nails up and down the back of his neck. “We’ll have time to do all of that.”

He pulls back to look down at you, eyes so buttery-soft in the shade of the porch that you impulsively reach for his cheek and run your fingers through his patchy beard. “What’s next on my list?” he asks, holding you around the waist. 

You tap your fingers gently against his cheek as you recite each item over again. Joel’s arms tighten, pulling you closer, pupils widening. 

“And then what?” he says gruffly.  

You beam, and he's so fucking in love that he may keel over, doubled by the intensity of his affection. “And then, you're going to take me to bed and put a baby in me.”

This phenomenon should be studied: how quickly Joel Miller speeds through his chores when he has enough incentive. The anticipation of bending you over on the mattress and wringing every drop of cum from his balls until your stomach swells drives each flick of his hand as he touches up the forest-green paint on the front door, weathered slightly by morning sunlight over the years. The image of his hips pressed flushed to you as he grinds deep, spilling his cum into your womb and forcing it to take, motivates every turn of the steering wheel as he drives you to the grocery store in his clunky Chevy. 

He’ll need to drive to Benny’s, get the suspension fixed up; no way in hell he's going to let his pregnant wife sit on the old bench of a bumpy pickup truck, not with the speed bumps dotting the neighbourhood. At least there's a good preschool nearby. He pictures taking his baby to school and he preemptively feels the inevitable first swoop of dread into his gut knowing he'll have to watch his little girl disappear behind those doors. He knows, somehow, that it’ll be a girl. There's not a doubt in his mind. 

“What are you thinkin’ about?” you ask him, playing with his fingers as he holds your thigh. Joel is a great driver; he steers so easily, one palm sliding smoothly over the wheel, his eyes alert and his speed under control. It’s a little sexy, and it makes you antsy from where you sit on the bench. Sure, there are chores to do and there’s dinner to make, but it’s getting harder to push your innate needs to the back of your mind. You don't know if you can wait all day to get him inside you. 

“Names,” he says. “Got lots of ideas.”

“Yeah? Fire away.” 

“Well, I like Eleanor. Good, strong, classic name, y’know? Little wordy, maybe. Then there's Mary, Marie, Hannah, and I can tell you don't like any of ‘em,” he finishes with a laugh, squeezing your thigh. Your silence has always been a tell.

“They're very sweet names,” you concede, “but they don't feel like my baby.” 

Joel’s hand slides up to your belly and warms you beneath your dress. “Maybe we’ll feel it,” he says, “when we make her.”

“Think it’ll happen on the first try?” you wonder aloud, watching the scenery whiz by outside. It's a sunny, temperate day for Austin. You think about taking your baby for a walk, lounging lazily in a stroller while you say words that fall on deaf ears, but will resonate in due time nonetheless. You think about a little girl that will cling hard to her daddy’s leg when she gets scared of the storms outside, the way you did when you were little. You think about long nights shushing your sweet baby girl to sleep, about those same nights spent nestled into Joel’s body, the three of you dozing idly on the sofa. A unit. 

“If it doesn’t, I’ll just have to try again.” You watch his fingers creep back down between your legs and snap the waistband of your panties. 

You smack his hand. “If you keep playin’, Mr. Miller, you're gonna have to take me right here, in this truck. You want to give your wife a bad back?”

Joel grunts, patting your thigh. “Dirty play.”

“That's what I thought.”

Back at home, Joel vacuums the house while you manage, some-fuckin’-how, to convince him to let you do the laundry. He fishes debris and runoff out of the eavestrough, then gets down on his bad knees to tighten the plumbing underneath the sink. 

“Let me help, sweetie. At least hand you a wrench or something. You'll hurt your back again.”

“I got it,” he grunts from under the sink. “Just a loose pipe. I’m peachy.”

You just sigh and let him carry on, the stubborn bastard. When he stands, the job done, he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead, and you get a generous glimpse of his belly, the trail of dark hair directing your gaze down, down—

“Joel?” you squeak, wringing your hands together. 

He drops the shirt back over his abdomen and steps closer. “Yeah, baby?”

“Are you, um… Are you hungry?” 

He understands the particular glint in your eye, the telltale widening of your pupils, the hollow of your throat dipping as you swallow, your lashes fluttering gently. Blood surges down to his cock and it begins to fill out his jeans at the thought of taking what he's waited for all day. “No,” he says, licking his bottom lip. You eye every minute movement with meticulous precision. “Think dinner can wait.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you say, crowding him and tugging at the hem of his shirt. He watches you prowl slowly toward him, gaze locked to the heady pull of your eyes. His cock twitches with a vested interest in the body now pressed up against him. Joel cannot look away from the siren now calling him to sea. 

“That so?” he rasps, bunching the fabric of your dress so it rides up your hip and gives him a good look at your panties. “You dressed up all pretty today. For me?”

You're as coy as a flirtatious schoolgirl, trailing your fingers up and down his muscled bicep. “Always for you.”

“That’s right, baby. You like me lots, don't you?”

“Mmm, I do,” you purr, your hand sliding up his abdomen to his chest, admiring the hard planes of his strong body. “So handsome, strong, generous…” You get lost in your exploration, eyes dipping to his throat, your lips instinctively seeking the delectable vein that pulses with every beat of his heart. “Such a good man. Gonna be such a good daddy.”

Joel’s breath shudders out of him when he feels your soft, warm mouth on his neck, indulging in the taste of him. “Jesus,” he croaks, gripping your hips hard. “Jesus, honey, you gotta go easy on me. Lemme take it slow—”

—or I swear to God, I’ll blow a load in my jeans. 

“You wanna undress me?” you say, like a real fucking tease, pulling away and tugging playfully at the straps of your dress. Joel’s nostrils flare, and he’s walking you back into the wall, cupping the back of your head to protect it, and slanting his mouth over yours. 

He’s salty with the sweat that drips from his temples and he still smells of fresh-cut grass. He’s all Joel, all yours, the first gulp of air you breathe in when you wake and the last sigh you exhale before you sleep. 

You moan into his mouth as he parts your lips and dips his tongue between them to taste yours. You taste like mint and coffee and he clutches you tighter, wrinkling the fabric of your pretty little dress in his fist. The sunlight filters through the windows, intrusive, bleeding into the moment as if taking a snapshot. Joel kisses you so deeply that your throat feels stained with the gasps of breath you exchange. 

You're sweet enough that it makes him ache, bending your back to fit you to him, craving more. Closeness is not enough—he needs possession. 

Joel’s kisses are bruising, unforgiving, merciless, but they are also slow, careful. He isn't sloppy; he does precisely what must be done to get you riled. And when he breaks away, his forehead resting against yours, you tug his hair with a pitiful whine. 

“I wasn't done,” you tell him. 

Joel pouts, mocking. Fingers pull at the straps of your dress until you're watching it pool at your feet. His big hands find your tits immediately, squeezing out all his frustrations, tweaking your nipples and lowering his mouth to your throat. 

Your fingers curl into his hair, glueing him to you while he marks your throat, sucking blood to the surface, retribution for the hickeys all over his chest. His warm palms explore your tits the way he likes, and you curve into him, giving him all the access he wants. “Joel, honey—”

Your voice is nectar, warmth from a fire on the Fourth of July, the stomach-cramping laughter around the flame. Joel groans, blindly searching for your hand with his face still nuzzled in your throat, sucking a particularly aggressive bruise that you’ll scold him for later. But he threads his fingers through yours and feels the cool kiss of your twin wedding bands, and your sweet, wispy sighs have him grinding absently against your thigh. You don't have half the mind to get mad at him for a goddamn thing. 

He pulls away with a great yank of his self-restraint, still holding your hand. “C’mon, baby.”

You follow dutifully, staring up at your husband with the same moony eyes you gave him on your wedding day. The third stair creaks a bit, the way it always does. The bedroom door is first on the left, and it's a good fucking thing, because Joel can't wait any longer. 

He walks you to the edge of the bed, stalking, a predator on prey, focused solely on his task. “Goddamn beautiful,” he says to himself, scanning your mostly-naked body and feeling his eyes droop in arousal. 

“Think so?” Your hand drops between your bodies and palms his erection over his jeans. “Yeah, you really think so.”

His nostrils flare. “Sit.”

You lower yourself onto the mattress, primly placing your hands on your thighs and straightening your spine. Joel hums appreciatively, approaching you and slotting himself between your legs. There's a dark wet spot pooling in your panties. “Sweet thing. So needy all fuckin’ day.”

“So were you” is your retort, packing little punch due to the way you push your tits toward him like a fucking whore. 

Joel presses his big, warm hand to your sternum. “Remember what you said to me the first time I got you in bed?”

“‘Let’s go again’?”

“The other thing.”

“'Let me suck your dick’?”

“Try again, baby.”

“‘Wrong hole’?”

Joel snorts, shaking his head. “Goddamn smartass,” he mutters. “Told me you wanted me from that first night. Told me you woulda let me fuck you against that bathroom mirror.”

His hand begins to move, rolling your nipple between his fingers like a cigarette, playing with you the way he likes. “Said you’d let me do whatever I wanted,” Joel says quietly, not meeting your eyes, transfixed by the way your body seeks the touch he gives you. “That still true?”

“I meant it then, and I mean it now,” you tell him, pulling your lip between your teeth. “I’m yours, Joel Miller.”

He tilts his head slightly, satisfied. “You got somethin’ you wanna ask me?”

You hook a finger in his belt loop. “Can you get naked now?”

He laughs, guiding your hand to the buckle on his belt. “Go on. Do what you wanna do, baby.”

He belongs to you. He’s yours to mould the way you want. 

Your fingers do away with his belt, whipping it out of the loops and hanging it around your neck. Joel’s hands flex at his sides as you toy with the hem of his shirt, bringing it slowly up his torso with your palms flat to his tanned skin. 

You imagine you're sculpting him like clay, bringing your hands over the contours and admiring the work when all is done. It’s the artist’s pride of finishing the work and none of the self-reproach when something comes out wrong, because it’s Joel, and wrong becomes negligible. 

You bring the shirt over his head with his assistance, lifting his arms for you, tossing the thing aside with little care. His eyes haven't once wavered from you. Next are his jeans, the scrape of his zipper and the delectable anticipation of hooking your fingers in the waistband and guiding them slowly down his hips. 

His cock springs forward, thick and heavy and so hard it must ache, as you shuck his jeans down with his boxers. He grunts above you, his cock bobbing at the sight of your pretty lips parting. But you don’t take him into your mouth. You grasp the base of his cock and gently nuzzle your cheek against his length. Something like a strangled whimper leaves his throat. 

“Baby,” he chokes. 

“Yes, honey?” you say sweetly, looking up at him through your lashes. 

“Jesus,” he says through his teeth. “You’re so fuckin' sexy. Fuck.”

You hum, slowly stroking your hand up and down as your tongue darts out to lick his balls. Joel’s hips stutter, his hand flying out to catch himself on the bedpost. “Goddamn. Jesus—”

Your coy smile knocks him askew, your lips pursing as you spit on the head of his cock, spreading your own saliva around the tip with your thumb. “I just wanna thank you”—a soft kiss to the tip has a rumbling groan crawling out of his throat—“for everything you do for me. I just want you to know how much I love you.”

Joel exhales hard, struggling to remember how breathing works when he's got his wife playing with his cock like it's your favourite toy. “How much do you love me?” he demands. 

You wrap your fingers around the head of his cock and twist your hand up and down his shaft in a couple slow strokes. You're driving him fucking crazy. His vision is whiting out. 

“I love you,” you purr, licking a broad stripe up the underside of his length. Joel’s chest is heaving with the effort of holding back. “Love you so much. Love you enough to make you a daddy.”

Joel caves, threading his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck and stroking his thumb along your jaw. “Fuck, baby. Please…”

“Do you love me?” Batting your lashes, you scatter measured kisses from his tip to the base, teasingly licking his balls. 

“Christ, I—” His hips jut forward instinctively. “I love you. Fuckin’ love you, baby.”

You flick your tongue against his slit and relish his groan, revelling in the sight of his flushed chest, his pink cheeks, the sweat on his brow. His jaw is tense, his nostrils flaring. He’s trying not to take control. 

You slap his cock twice on your tongue and finally take it past your lips, sealing your mouth over the head. Joel moans, white-knuckling the bedpost, his other hand now stroking your hair. You fondle his balls in your free hand while the other grips him at the base, and he’s going to come embarrassingly soon if you keep looking up at him this way. 

Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock while your lips seal tight, greedily suckling at his tip. Oversensitive, skin prickling with salty sweat, Joel practically breathes through his teeth. “Gonna kill me,” he manages. “You’re gonna kill me, honey.”

“Mmmm,” you reply, happily taking him deeper, his length sliding along the warm wetness of your tongue. Joel’s fingers tighten in your hair. 

“Fuuuuck. You love this cock.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Love takin' me into your mouth like a little slut.”

“Mmmmph,” you agree, pushing your tits out. 

His hand drifts down to the belt hanging around your neck and he wraps his fist around both ends, tugging so you’re forced to take him deeper. You splutter, breathing hard through your nose, your arousal dripping onto the mattress. 

The sloppy sounds of your mouth working his cock send his head spinning. Drool dribbles from the corners of your lips, your eyes squeezing black tears from dewy lashes. And when you take him down your throat, the sound of your choked moan leaves Joel with little choice but to pull out before he comes. 

You whine, squeezing your thighs together. He swipes his thumb underneath your eye and shows you the black smudge from your mascara. “Doesn't take much to get you cryin’. You like me that much?”

You bite your bottom lip and beam up at him. “Did I do okay?”

Your faux-innocence makes his dick twitch in your face, and you flick your tongue out to lick at the tip once more. Joel grunts, grasping his belt and tossing it away. 

“‘Did I do okay,’” he murmurs, tweaking your nipple between his fingers. “Got no idea after all these years. No idea what you do to me.”

“I just wanna take care of my man. He works so hard, you know, keeping me safe and happy.” You run your hand over his soft belly, the trail of hair that leads down to his cock. “He’s always liked to give me things.”

Joel backs you farther up the bed and crawls over your body, lowering his head to bury his face in your throat. You smell fresh and sweet as vanilla, and when he playfully bites into your skin, your saplike laugh has him grinding helplessly against your thigh. 

He loves to give—always has. It’s all he knows. It took a long while for you to get him to unlearn some of his blind selflessness, to let you take control sometimes and care for him instead. Your Joel provides; he does not take. And the prospect of getting to give his wife a baby is turning him to putty in your hands. By the time he gets to work, he’ll be dead-set on his task, hard-pressed to pull out of you. He’ll want to get the job done on his first try, refusing to see you upset if the test comes back negative, but the id will still scratch and claw for another chance to fill you up. 

Joel sucks a hickey into your neck and soothes the mark with his tongue, the slow, soft pleasure compounded by the way his warm body covers you, your fingers carding through his locks. 

Your voice oozes, honeyed, down his spine. “I love you, Joel.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and crushes his nose in your throat, his hand smoothing down your hair. “I love you.”

“You want to make a baby?”

He rears back slightly, his nose bumping against yours. “Yeah. I really fuckin’ do.”

You grin, lacing your fingers together at the back of his neck. “Will you fuck me? Please?”

Joel brushes his thumb across your chin. “Use your words.”

“I want to be a mom, Joel.” You give him a long, gooey stare, eyes warm and soft as running water. A look like that will make a man give you the goddamn galaxy. 

He nods, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. “I know, baby. I’ll help you. Hands and knees, now.”

The gentle direction moulds your body to the shape of the words. You go easily, your back arching as you rest your weight on your forearms and spread your thighs. The bed dips behind you as Joel settles in, his hands grasping your ass and making you jump. 

Your body trembles with excitement. You’re going to be a mom. He's going to get you pregnant. You feel dizzy, bending deeper at the hips and shaking your ass at him, deluded with your own arousal. 

But Joel doesn't fuck you right away. No, he bumps up against the backs of your thighs, warm hands branding your skin, and rubs two fingers over the wet spot darkening your panties. 

“I do this to you?” he says smugly. 

“You know damn well—”

“Wanna hear you say it.” The no-nonsense command triggers a submissive response. “Who did this to you?”

Your body melts against him, presenting your pussy to him like a needy whore. “You, Joel. It’s you, baby. Only you.”

Your babbling makes him squeeze handfuls of your ass, spreading your asscheeks apart to get a good glimpse of the way your pussy drools into your panties. Shuffling backward and lowering himself to his knees on the floor, Joel’s tongue darts out and licks you through your underwear. 

“Ohh, fuck!” you gasp. “Joel…”

He hums, tasting your tang through the fabric and finding your puffy clit, sucking gently. You cry out, your fingers grasping the sheets, and Joel moves your panties aside to slather his spit all over your dripping pussy. The languorous movements of his tongue are indulgent, achingly slow; he loves the taste of you as much as you enjoy having his mouth on your cunt. 

“Oh my God, Joel… fuck, honey, please—!”

Your thighs are trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up, the strokes of his tongue turning your muscles to soup. He stops to take your panties off, guiding them off your legs, and by now, you're so wet that your juices glisten halfway down your thighs. Joel dives back in and licks up the rivulets of arousal from your skin, all the way back up to your weeping hole. 

“So goddamn sweet,” he grumbles, kneading your ass in his hands as he flicks his tongue over your clit a few more times. 

“Joel, I’m…” You’re drooling, grinding pathetically into his face, already close to an orgasm, and he isn't fucking letting up. 

He wants you as wet and needy as possible, his own cock leaking onto the bedsheets at the prospect of sliding into your creamy pussy. 

Your cheeks burn and your muscles lock as Joel makes out with your pussy, his tongue laving over your pearl in slow, aching circles. He drowns in the pleasure of making you feel good. He soaks himself in kerosene and lights the match. 

“Oh, fuck!” Your thighs shake around his head and your toes curl, ears ringing with the force of your high. Grasping feebly at the bedsheets, you try not to list, but Joel isn’t fucking stopping, cleaning you up with his tongue like you're a piece of goddamn pie. 

His fingers dig into your ass, rapacious as his mouth, and you climb high to a space that transcends the sky, feeling nothing but the linen underneath and the man above, softly kissing your poor, used clit. 

He doesn’t let up until you reach back and gently shove his head away, grasping his damp curls. “Baby, let me rest,” you gasp, “just for a second.”

Regretfully, he pulls away, pressing a kiss to each knob of your spine, dragging his nose up your back. “‘m so fuckin’ lucky,” he murmurs against your skin. 

“Lucky you didn’t kill me.” You laugh breathlessly, your hips already sore from keeping your ass in the air. 

“Makin’ sure you’re ready,” he says innocently, sliding his thick fingers through your slit. You gasp, trying to escape his grasp despite yourself. He just clicks his tongue in reproach. “Nuh-uh, baby. You're gonna stay right here, let me make it good for you. Hmm? Wanna feel good?”

You nod your head frantically. “Yeah, yeah, I do. Wanna be good.”

“Mmm, now, you know that ain't your job tonight,” he says in a mock scold. In the meantime, his fingers soak themselves in your wetness. “Don't think you're ready for me yet.”

“No! No, I’m ready,” you pant, grinding against his erection. Joel grunts, holding your hip in place. “Baby, please, I’m ready for you. Need you so badly.”

“Shhh, sweetheart. I'll give you what you need. Just be patient.” Hands smooth over your ass, between your thighs, and then two fingers are teasing your hole. Joel tilts his head to watch the way he spreads your folds wide. “Gonna fill this up.”

A strangled noise spills from your mouth, your cheeks burning hot at the way he exposes you so tenderly. “Please,” you croak, hiding your face in the crook of your elbow. 

He grasps himself and teases the already-wet head of his cock over your pussy, spurting precum onto your hole. “You want a baby?” he asks, low and dark. You luxuriate in the velvet-soft tone. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want a baby,” you whisper, “please. Please give me a baby.”

He readies himself at your tight cunt and the excitement briefly overcomes him, forcing his hips forward and pushing past the wet, gummy seal of your pussy. You gasp, held in place by his hand on your hip. 

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“I want to make you a daddy!” you sob. “I want to have your baby and make you a daddy.”

“You want to be a momma?” he says through his teeth, tunnel vision narrowing his focus to the way he slowly guides himself into you, wrenching you open. At this angle, with how wet you are, the glide is delicious, white-hot, his balls heavy with the need to empty inside you. “That it? Want everyone to know who put a fuckin’ baby in you?”

Your husband is so fucking big, so strong, and the way he pins your body down feels close to primal. “Yes! Yes, Daddy, yes! I want to be a momma. Please give me a baby.”

The words put a chisel to his self-restraint and crack down. He’s gone, baring his teeth, pulling your hips toward him and impaling you on his cock, relishing the give of your tight walls and the way he sits snug against your cervix. You mewl, reaching back to find a purchase on his hip. “Joel, fuck…”

He establishes a punishing pace, driving your body farther up the bed with every thrust. “That’s it,” he groans, sliding his palm up your spine. “Gonna look so goddamn beautiful with a baby in you. You were fuckin’ made to take this cock.”

Your moan is syrupy and pitched low, your cheek buried in the mattress, letting him fill you up again, again, again—

“I’ll get you fuckin’ pregnant,” continues Joel, panting through his words, sweat beading on his brow as he runs his hands over your skin. “Stuff you so goddamn full you'll always feel me.”

“Uhhh!” you moan, fisting the sheets, your body practically folded in half to accommodate your husband’s huge body, his thick cock.

Joel wants this, too—has for a long time. It’s hard not to notice the little details. He places his hand on your belly when he isn't even paying attention, his lips finding the soft skin there when he first wakes in the morning. You knew he would have dropped everything to give you a baby the second you demanded it, but you realise you may have underestimated his need. 

Joel is growling like a dog, sweat dripping from his temples and back pinching with effort as he holds your body close, glueing you to him, his cock reaching deep, deliberate, mind going numb, intent the only tangible feeling he can grasp onto. Intent and the white-hot drag of his cock against your walls. 

You’re going to grow swollen and round with his baby. He will watch your tits grow heavy, your belly bulge, your cheeks take on a ruddy, dewy glow, the telltale mark of his success, his devotion. He’ll wake up every morning wrapped in the scent of your body, your hormones, his palm finding sanctuary on your soft, warm belly. He’ll bury his face in your throat and you’ll smile and the sun will warm the golden spot where a new life grows. 

Fuck, he’ll never let you do laundry again. You could hurt your back. 

Your head spins at the wet slap of his balls against your clit, the obscene squelch of your pussy around his impressive length, the way he grabs at you. He’s greedy, hands mapping each rib, each vertebrae, every curve and contour that makes you. 

Your pussy sucks him in, just as needy, breathless moans and squeals punching out of your throat as you croak out pleas: Joel, baby, please. I want a baby so badly. Wanna have your baby. Please, please, fill me up! And Joel listens, his palm sliding around your waist and down your belly, rubbing your sensitive clit with two fingers. 

A real man gives his wife everything she wants. 

He moans at the feeling of your cunt squeezing him, his fingers wet and insistent against your little clit, coaxing you toward your climax. “C’mon,” he grunts, “come for me, baby. Fuckin’ choke me. Wanna feel it. Come and I’ll give you the baby you want so goddamn bad. C’mon, baby.”

His words seep into your bloodstream, an uncontrollable tremor racking your body, your arms giving out as he bends over you and sinks his teeth into your shoulder. “Ohhhh, God! Oh my—!” 

Joel’s hands squeeze your tits, his entire body covering yours, a warm, protective blanket, slick with sweat and heart thundering against your back. His lips are on your skin, feverishly kissing and nipping. You can’t breathe, can’t move, and it feels so fucking good. You soak his cock, muscles seizing, pinned down by his strong body. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans. “That’s it, baby. Goddamn, keep on squeezin’ me like that. Not gonna leave this tight pussy until you're fuckin’ pregnant.”

“Joelllll,” you whine, your orgasm prolonged by his words, his unrelenting thrusts, the jolt of his balls slapping your clit. “Want it so bad. Wanna give you a baby. Come inside me, please. Please give me your cum, oh, God—”

The broken sound of your voice, weak and raspy, goes straight to his dick, and his balls are pulling up, his head bombarded with the smell of sex, perfume, linen, you. He rests his forehead between your shoulder blades as you milk his cock, turning his thrusts sloppy and desperate. He needs to come. He needs to make it real. 

Your orgasm leaves you pliant and loose in his arms, and he fondles your tits, squeezing them hard in his hands as he pictures them growing, swelling heavy with milk he’ll feed your baby. His baby. Idly, you moan, letting him use your body to get off, his teeth grazing your neck. 

“Gonna come. Gonna fuckin’ fill you up, give you a baby. Gonna—Jesus, goddamn—”

Maybe it's the pent-up frustration of not having come all day. Maybe it's a renewed sense of purpose, knowing he's got a job to do, keeping every drop safe inside you. Maybe it's the sheer fucking excitement of getting to give his wife what he's wanted to put in you for so long. But when he comes, hips flush to your ass, he comes so much, for so long, that the rapid rush of blood from his cock back up to his head has him nearly keeling. 

Kissing your cervix, the head of his cock spurts rope after rope of hot cum inside you, and you mewl, your back arching to deepen the angle, luxuriate in the liquid warmth. Joel isn’t so loud now, not so cocky. He’s reduced to strained groans and whimpers as your body depletes him, greedily taking every drop of cum he has to offer. 

It feels like minutes before it finally stops, but with your ass up in the air, none of his cum spills out. Your hips are sore, your ass bruises from his hands, your tits still sitting warmly in his hands. The cool kiss of his wedding band soothes the too-hot press of his body on top of yours, your doubly-slick skin meeting indecently. His lips are on the back of your neck and he thrusts shallowly, wringing the last of his cum from the tip until he's wholly empty and bordering on oversensitive. 

You're the first to speak, your throat clogged with drool and some of your own tears. 

“Thank fuck I was at the bar that night.”

Joel’s laugh scrapes down your spine along with his beard as he drags himself upright, knowing he’s crushing you. “Never would've had to patch me up”

“Mmm, you're sexy when you're mad,” you point out, your thighs twitching as he carefully guides you onto your side, back to his chest, his cock still acting as a plug for his cum. You’re deliciously full, and you hum happily at the feeling of his warm belly against you, his big arms cradling you close. 

“Shouldn't enable violence,” he grumbles. His lashes flutter against your shoulder. 

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please.”

He chuckles. “You feel okay?”

“I feel good,” you muse, running your fingers along his forearm, the prominent veins under his skin. “I feel excited.”

His grin curves against your skin, the scratch of his moustache sending a shiver up your spine. Outside, the sun begins to dip, and your twin golden rings glimmer in the fiery light. 

“Me, too,” he whispers, and you lace your fingers through his, squeezing, both of you practically giddy. 

There’s a lull, and for a moment, you think he’s fallen asleep. The sun creeps behind a home across the street, and its watch ends for another day. 

“Hey, Joel?”

His mouth meets your throat in a sleepy kiss. “Yeah, baby?”

“I like the name Sarah.”

THE END.

tags: @cavillscurls @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @cupofjoel @northernbluess @tieronecrush @joelmillers-whore @bastardmandennis - thank you all so so much for showing excitement for this fic!! kisses for you all 🫶

[midnightfictionlibrary]

COMING SOON - A No Outbreak, dbf!Joel Miller Fanfic

| "Yeah?" He breathes, eyes shifting down to where your extra large sweatshirt brushes the top of your thighs. "Be a sweet girl and spread those pretty thighs for me."

[midnightfictionlibrary]

Do I Wanna Know? - Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel Miller x f!reader

Content : smut, minors DNI, loneliness, anxiety/depression, sex, fingering, piv intercourse

Summary : When Joel finds you freshly bandaged and upset, you end up comforting each other in more ways than one.

Word Count : 2.2k

A/N : Gosh I took this and just ran with it. Like and reblogs are always appreciated, and I really hope you enjoy this fic.

You looked at yourself in the mirror of your dingy bathroom. Tears pricked your eyes, and you slammed back the rest of the little bit of alcohol you had left in your glass. You look down at your arm, bandage wrapped tightly. You were so tired. Tired of the end of the world, tired of the constant bandages, tired of the not knowing. And most of all, you were tired of being lonely. 

Not that you didn’t have a few friends and partners, of course you did. But you longed for a deeper connection. You missed having someone to wake up next to, to hold and leave sweet kisses all over their face as a sweet wake-up routine. There was one person that you felt like this about in this hellscape, but he was a friend and you didn’t want to lose him entirely with your ridiculous fantasies about him. You were too busy being his to even think about anyone else, even if you knew it would never happen. 

You trudge to your kitchen, uncorking a bottle of wine and taking a swig from the bottle directly. It was sweet, and stained your lips the faintest bit of red. You press the back of your hand to your forehead, letting out a mirthless laugh at how pathetic you must look right now. At least that was the benefit of solitude. No one to see you in your lowest, most embarrassing moments. You weren’t even sure why you were so upset. You look down at your bandaged arm again, knowing that you got hurt all the time in your business, but this time…this time it felt like something more. Who was there to worry over you when you were hurt? To tell you it would be okay, to kiss you softly and promise to protect you? 

No one was. 

So you sat at your small, recycled kitchen table and drank your wine, humming to yourself. Until there’s a knock at your door. You hesitate slightly. You were already pretty tipsy, and opening the door as a woman who lives alone wasn’t really in your routine. 

You hear the person on the other side of the door call your name. “It’s Joel. Open this damn door, mama.” You swallow at his sometimes-nickname for you, and you stand up slowly, crossing to the door and trying to hide the clear upset on your face. 

The door swings open and Joel says “Hey, there you-” He stops in his tracks, looking at you in disbelief. He’d never seen you like this, and his eyes catch the fresh bandage on your arm. Immediately he’s concerned and he walks in, grabbing your elbow gently and pulling you to the table, right as you swing the door shut again. 

“What happened?” He says, his voice tight, holding your bandaged forearm gently. Your eyes were slightly glassy from the wine and you glance at your bandage. He seemed genuinely upset that you were hurt, but you couldn’t tell if the wine had you imagining things. 

“Some men got me in a skirmish.” You say simply, hand reaching out immediately to grab his arm as he stood up. He stops, looking at you with his brow knit. “Don’t.” 

Your defeated demeanor was starting to worry Joel, and he looked at the half empty wine bottle and then your face. Really looked at your face. He sat slowly down on his cracked pleather dining chair again and moved in so that one of your legs was between his legs. He leaned in towards your face, searching for something. You weren’t sure exactly what. 

“What?” You say, somewhat defensively, trying to look away from him. Joel’s brows have been furrowed this whole time, and to take his intense gaze off of you, you say, “Your face is going to get stuck like that.”

Joel shakes his head. “It’s the middle of the afternoon, mama. Why are you sittin’ here drinkin’ wine with the only light comin’ from the kitchen window?” You duck your head and he leans in further, gently taking your face in his hands and turning you to face him. “You’re really startin’ to get me worryin’. What. Happened?” he punctuated the last phrase, forcing you to look at his face. 

You feel yourself crumple, and you drop your head in your own hands, shoulders shaking violently as you sob. Joel is bewildered. He never wanted to see you like this. Your small frame crying wrenched his heart and all he wanted to do was protect you, hold you. He always thought of you, it was why he had dropped by randomly. Something about your presence comforted him, making his racing mind ease. You were like an anchor for him, and you pulled him back to reality when old, painful memories resurfaced. It was time for him to return the favor. 

You feel his rough, large hands clasp around your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face. You look up, tears running tracks down your face. You find Joel’s dark eyes on you, and you sniff, something about his expression makes you take pause. 

“I’m so tired, Joel.” You say, and he reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. 

“I know it’s been a lot lately, I know I-”

“No.” You cut him off. “I’m tired of being lonely. Of having no one. Of coming home here and falling asleep with you in my dreams.” You look at him, gauging his reaction. Did you want to know? Did you want to know if he felt the same way about you? 

Joel blinked. He didn’t know what to say to you. Of course, he felt the same way, but his goal was to keep you safe. If he had you, if he held you now, he was afraid that he would become even more overbearing about your safety than he felt like he already was. Fuck it. Just…fuck it. 

He takes your face in his hands again and your breathing picks up, watching his every move. He leans in, his lips connecting to yours. You kiss back at first, but pull back and shove away from him, standing up quickly. Joel follows, stepping close to you again. 

You hold your hand out, and there it is again, his dark brows knitting again. “Don’t. Don’t. I don’t want your pity kiss.” You say vehemently. Joel grabs your hand and pulls you to him, looking down at your face. 

He wipes your tears away gently, his thumb lingering on your bottom lip for a moment. 

“I’ve dreamt about you every day I’ve known you.” He says, as he cradles your face with his hands. You watch his face and you can see he’s being sincere. 

So you do the only thing you can think of, you kiss him. 

Joel kisses back instantly, one hand going to cradle the back of your neck, the other moving to wrap around your waist. You let his tongue enter your mouth, pushing against him slightly to deepen the kiss, and you slide your hands up his chest, gripping lightly at the collar of his shirt. You tug at it, moving backwards towards your couch. Joel follows your lead, laying you gently on the couch, hovering over you so he doesn’t crush you with his weight. 

He finally breaks free of the kiss, looking down at you underneath him. How many times had he dreamt of having you in this exact position? “I never thought you felt the same about me.” He breathes, and you crack a smile since the first time he arrived at your apartment. He continues, “You bring somethin’ out of me. A will…a hope? I guess that would be the word for it.What I’m tryin’ to say is that-” he pauses, uncertain. You run a thumb across his lips and kiss the corner of his mouth encouragingly. “I’m tryin’ to say that I don’t think I can live without you anymore. Every time I convinced myself that you couldn’t feel the same way, I just kept comin’ back to you. I think about you every night and day.”

His eyes settle on you again, and you smile the most genuine smile you’ve managed in weeks. It’s so overwhelmingly beautiful to Joel that he kisses you again, and you feel your breath speeding up. He trails his hands down your body, playing with the waistband of your pants. “Is this okay, darlin’?” He mutters, moving to kiss down your neck. You nod, lifting your ass for him to slide your pants off. The heat at your core was growing, and you hadn’t felt this way, about anybody, for a while. 

Once your pants are off, Joel keeps his lips on you, your neck, shoulders, and finally your lips again. His fingers move your panties aside and he swipes his finger up your sex, finding you slick already. 

“So wet already, mama,” he whispers against your lips. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.” He says, pushing a finger into you, watching your face as you gasp lightly. “That’s right, baby.” He whispers and you whimper slightly as he curls his finger inside you, moving faster and faster as he kisses you, all tongue, sloppy, hungry kisses that you never wanted to end. He lets another of his fingers stroke your bud lightly as he fucks you with his fingers, and you moan loudly. 

“Joel, please, please,” You beg, as he continues to pump his fingers in and out, curling a finger again inside you, and your release happens without your control. Your thighs clench, and you moan his name as he strokes your nub through your high. When you finally come down, legs shaking, you opened your eyes to see Joel looking at you. Your face flushes and you sit up slightly. 

“Joel..” You start, but you stop when Joel moves closer again and wraps his arms around your waist, capturing your lips with his. His fingers toy with your panties and you moan into his mouth slightly, feeling him smile against you. He pulls back, pulling his own pants off. You see the hard bulge in his underwear as he leans over you again, kissing down your neck. You palm his cock, rubbing slightly. He bucks his hips involuntarily and you bite your lips. 

“Joel, I need you.” You moan breathily, and he pulls back to look at your face. He nods slightly, understanding that you meant you needed him in more ways than one. You push his underwear down with your free hand, kissing his neck and shoulder. Having him hold you like this was no longer a distant dream, and you never wanted to let him go. You stroke his cock gently and you hear his breath hitch, and he whispers your name. Your actual name, not a nickname. Somehow, this solidifies for you that he’s yours, and you are his. He reaches down and pulls your hand away, lacing your fingers together. He uses his other hand to grip your waist and slowly push his cock into you, both of you sighing in pleasure as he fills you up and you take all of him. 

“Fuck.” He grunts, starting to move slowly. Agonizingly slowly in and out of your cunt, and you whimper and moan his name. 

“Faster, Joel” you manage, caught in the throes of ecstasy, and he knows exactly what your body needs. He runs a hand up the arm that had your hand holding onto the back of his neck and presses a kiss to your wrist. 

That was all it took for you to come undone again, a shaking, moaning mess. Joel followed suit, whispering affirmations to you all the while. “That’s right mama, I know it feels so good - oh, fuck. Fuck -” He groans, pulling out and letting his seed spill over your stomach. He pants, raising his eyes to meet yours. You smile at him, pulling your shirt off the rest of the way to clean the mess. You toss it across the room, too satiated and cozy to deal with it at the moment. Joel sits up, pulling you with him, and you cross your legs, looking at the handsome man on your couch. 

Joel was intoxicated by your presence, drunk on the noises you made under him. He leans his forehead against yours, his nose rubbing yours slightly. When he pulls back slightly he kisses your bandaged forearm. 

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’m not going to let you feel so alone ever again, okay?” You were still looking down slightly, and you felt him grab your chin and direct you to look at him, thumb running over your cheek gently.  

“Okay?” he says again, and you lean into his touch, nodding. 

“Okay.” You whisper, pulling him in to kiss you again. You did indeed want to know how he felt about you, and feeling his lips against yours had all the pain and loneliness fading away. When Joel pulls back, he presses a kiss to your forehead, and that’s where you sat. Him holding you, both of you finding comfort and solace in the end of the world. 

[midnightfictionlibrary]

i swear this weekend i will post every finished wip I have 😭

[midnightfictionlibrary]

Better Man - Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Better Man - Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Content : angst, fluff, friends to lovers, jealousy, sexual tension

Word Count : 2.4k

Summary : Anthony must rectify his rakish ways and wed, but he has a lot to think over if he doesn’t want to lose his dearest friend forever. 

A/N : I’ve been reading/watching Bridgerton again, so I had to write for my lovely Anthony. As always, pls like and reblog if you enjoy! 

Anthony raised his glass to his lips as he watched the rest of the “eligible young ladies” at the ball circle him, grateful for your presence at his side. 

“My, my. It is almost as if you are a vulture's prey.” You tease, fixing a delicate button on the wrist of your perfectly crisp, white glove. 

Anthony snorts at your comment. “Please, my lady. Vultures are much more interesting than the ladies circling my person.” He pauses, looking down at you fiddling with your button. He reaches out gently, “If I may,” he mutters quietly, reaching out to fix the offender. An electric jolt passes through you, and you have to keep your eyes on your glove to resist the urge to pull away quickly. You did not wish him to know how you felt about him. 

“Thank you, my lord.” You respond, nodding your head politely and giving him a small smile. He regards you for a moment before bowing and offering you his hand. 

“May I have this dance?” 

“I suppose.” You say, taking on a teasing tone again. Anthony outright smiles at this, leading you to the ballroom floor. It always came easy to dance with you, Anthony realized. It was as if you both could read each other’s next movements perfectly. After all, you had been friends since you were wee babes, crawling through the Bridgertons’ lush garden. You regard him slightly before saying “Have you found a suitable wife yet, Anthony?”

Anthony’s dark eyes settle on yours, and he has to keep from swallowing thickly. Something about the way you settled all of your attention on him had always made him nervous, always making his heart beat a bit too fast. “No.” he says quietly. “None of them are suitable. This is not to be a love match, strictly business, but I cannot imagine any of the women here as my life partner.” He looks down at you again, unable to read the look on your face for the first time in what felt like quite a while. 

“Well.” You say. “On my front I do not have any prospects. No one seems to wish to marry me.” 

“Why would that be?” Anthony questions, too quickly, he thinks. 

“It may have something to do with the fact that we seem to be attached at the hip at every ball we happen to grace with our presence.”

We. Anthony wants to shiver at that word, thinking about you being attached to him was too good to be true. You were much too good for a rake such as himself. His eyebrows knit together and he tilts his head slightly. “Should I leave you here amongst all these people on the ballroom floor?” Now he took on a teasing tone, secretly satisfied that he can pull an eyeroll or annoyed look from your otherwise prim and proper stature. 

You do roll your eyes, shaking your head at him slightly. “You leave me on this dancefloor by myself and I have no doubts even the most boring high society lady here would turn their nose up at you.” You pretend to sniff, as if your feelings were hurt. “And to think, I was under the impression you were my dearest friend.” 

Anthony dips you slightly as the song draws to a close. The vanilla perfume wafting from your exposed neck and up to him. It’s intoxicating to him and he rights the two of you quickly, clearing his throat as he steps back. “I thank you rather kindly for the dance, my lady.” You nod to him, watching as he walks away with a broad step. 

You furrow your brows, wondering why his attitude had changed suddenly, when you are approached by Lord Nikolai Andros, who asks you for a dance. You smile at him graciously, pleasantly surprised that he had approached you, and you would be able to dance with someone other than Anthony for once. 

Dancing with Anthony just made your feelings all the stronger, and you did not know how much longer you could endure being his dearest friend. You curtsy to Lord Andros, following gracefully as he spins you across the ballroom. You wondered idly why he so suddenly expressed an interest to dance with you, but it was exciting to dance with someone else. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel guilty, as if your dance card was to be filled by Anthony Bridgerton and Anthony Bridgerton alone. 

From across the ballroom, Anthony had his hands clenched at his sides, watching Andros spin you across the ballroom. You were much too good for Andros, and if he was a rake, Andros was a bigger one, known for not being particularly faithful to his late wife. 

Benedict slides up next to Anthony, following his gaze. “I say, is that Andros?” 

“Yes.” Anthony replies, voice clipped and tight. 

“Hm.” Benedict huffs, “She seems to be rather enjoying herself, wouldn’t you say, brother?” 

“It would appear so, yes, Benedict.” Anthony replies, trying to keep his voice from sounding too strained. 

Benedict smirked. “Yourself, however..” clamping his mouth shut with an innocent shrug when Anthony gives him a look suggesting he could kill. However, Benedict continues on, nudging his brother’s shoulder. “You love her.” 

Anthony opens his mouth, then closes it again, his perfect jaw set in anger, denial, or perhaps both. He shakes his head at Benedict, as if to say not here. He knows he has to be a better man for you, but the thought is too painful to bear at the moment, while you spin across the floor in another man’s arms. 

Benedict raises his hands slightly as he backs away from his brother, nodding his head in your direction again, where you were curtsying to Andros. Anthony feels heat rise in his chest as Andros maintains eye contact with you, and before he can comprehend what he’s doing, he strides back over to you. 

“My lady, would you like to promenade with some of the other young men and women in the garden? They have taken to admiring the rose bushes.” Anthony doesn’t wait for an answer before he gently grasps your elbow and steers you towards the open doors to the garden. Both of you pretend not to feel the butterflies that appear when the two of you touch. 

“Anthony, whatever are you doing?” You half whisper. “You did not even acknowledge Lord Andros.” 

Anthony leans in and whispers, almost harsh with you. “You cannot court that man.” 

You stop walking, pulling your arm out of his grasp. “I do not believe you are the authority on that matter, Lord Bridgerton.” 

“Do not use my title because you are vexed at me, little bird.” Anthony says, his childhood nickname for you slipping from his lips effortlessly. You narrow your eyes at him, and he knows that this is you demanding an explanation. He licks his lips and glances around at the other ball guests milling about. None of them seem any the wiser of the tiff the two of you were beginning to have. 

“I will stand here for as long as I possibly can. This overprotective nature is not unlike you, but you have never outright sought me out to tell me to not court a gentleman.” 

Anthony sighs, starting to become frustrated. “He..is of the rakish variety.”

You snort. 

Anthony’s perplexed eyes meet yours and you shrug. “And you are not, Anthony?” 

“He is worse. He had many a mistress while his wife was ill in their marriage bed.” 

You grimace and Anthony nods almost smugly. “See. You are much too good for a man like that.” 

“If I am much too good, why am I yet to be wed?”

“I…” Anthony starts, faltering over his words. He had no answer. 

You step closer to him, your voice low. “I will tell you the reason. It is because of you.” 

Anthony swallows, looking down at you. You are much closer to him than he usually allowed himself to be, and your intoxicating scent and god, the way the light in your eyes trapped him made him more than nervous. “Me?” he questions. 

“Yes, Anthony. You. Every person in the ton believes me to belong to you. They pity me. Oh poor girl,” You start to mock, affecting your tone “that Lord Bridgerton is just stringing her along.” Your nostrils flare. “However, here you are, deciding to marry, using me as a pawn to get these most delightful young ladies to leave you alone.” You feel tears starting to sting your eyes, the hurt of not being the object of Anthony’s affections threatening to spill over. “I am not willing to be your pawn any longer, Anthony.” 

Anthony watches your face, devastated as he realizes that you feel the same longing for him as he feels for you. “Little bird, I-”

You hold up a hand. “No. I do not wish to hear what you have to say to me any longer. It is time I retire, anyhow. Goodnight, Lord Bridgerton.” You say, turning on your heel quickly, just as hot tears begin to flow down your cheeks. Rushing out to your carriage, you ignore your mother, choosing to spend the ride home in heartbreaking silence. Your mother says nothing, just clasps your hand gently, which makes you cry all the more. 

The next morning, Anthony is pacing in his study, wondering if he should call on you. Would you even want to see him? Should he just leave you be? Would it be better to give up everything the two of you shared so he did not cause you such pain again? 

Before Anthony can make up his mind, you walk through the door to his study. His back is turned to you, and you can hear him audibly sigh. 

“Benedict, I truly do not have the mind to-” He stops as he turns around, mouth dry. There you stood, a beautiful pale purple dress accentuating the very air of loveliness that seemed to follow you wherever you went. 

“Hello, Anthony.” You say quietly, watching as he fumbles, setting his bourbon glass down shakily and coming around the front of his desk. 

“You have given up calling me Lord Bridgerton, then?” He asks, his voice sounding strangely strained. 

“Yes. I apologize for being cross with you yesterday evening. I just..” You pause, and Anthony takes this as his opportunity to come toward you. He comes close, looking down at you with his beautiful dark eyes. 

“What is it?” He asks, afraid of what your answer may be. He was expecting you to tell him that you never wished to see him again, and he would have to accept that and let go of you. He desperately prayed that you did not come to lock him out of your life forever. 

“I have fallen in love with you, Anthony. I know how you feel about love, because of your father. But I cannot sit by idly while you look for a wife that is not me. I am going to court Lord Andros, and you will have to accept that, because I cannot allow you to look over me, when all I have wanted for as long as I can remember is the reciprocation of my feelings from you.” 

Anthony stood there, shocked beyond belief. You did feel the same way about him. He was not making up the pained look you had on your face at the ball the previous night. He felt as if someone had reached inside his chest and squeezed his heart, and he could hear his ears ringing. He did not know what to say. 

“I will take my leave from you.” You say, turning and making your way back to the large oak study door. 

Suddenly, Anthony snaps out of his stupor. “No!” He almost yells, quickly moving to place his hand on the door, barring you from opening it. This is the closest the two of you have been in quite a while. Your bodice touching his chest, his nose almost touching yours. You inhale sharply, gazing up at him. “Let me explain my wretched behavior darling, but please do not take your leave of me.” Anthony pleads, his voice dripping with desperation. Taken aback, you give him a tiny nod, still mesmerized by the proximity in which the two of you stood. 

Anthony glances at the door, then to your face, and then he gently brings his hands up to cradle your face. Your eyes widen, and his brows furrow. 

“I…”He bites his bottom lip, his eyes flicking to your lips before sighing. “I long for you. I long for your attention. I cannot sleep without thinking of you. I cannot read a book or discuss politics without thinking of what you may say or how you may react. I long for your company when I awake in the morning and long after I have gone to bed. My soul desperately aches for you as if you are a piece missing from it. Seeing you with Andros solidified this feeling for me even more. Watching another man take your hand in his…I could have sobbed at the sight of it. You haunt every part of my being and I cannot deny it any longer.” 

“Anthony…” You breathe out, eyes roaming his beautiful face. 

“I love you. I love you, I love you.” He says, bringing his face closer to yours each time he says it. “I am terrified of love, my little bird, but I love you so deeply that if you will have me, I will spend the rest of my days cherishing you.” He breathes out, as if he had been holding in a breath, and he leans his forehead against yours gently. 

You reach up, using a finger to smooth the furrow in his brow. “I love you most ardently, Anthony Bridgerton.”

Anthony is so relieved, he leans in and captures your lips in his without thinking clearly. Worried he may have made a mistake kissing you before you were to be wed, he tries to pull away. 

You grab his lapel and keep him close, smiling into his lips. 

“Marry me.” He breathes out, running a finger along your bottom lip after you’ve pulled back from him. 

“The answer has always been yes.” You whisper back, gazing at him lovingly. Anthony grins, pressing a kiss to your forehead, cherishing the feeling of having you in his arms. He cannot wait for you to be by his side for the years to come. He hums contentedly, hugging you as he should have done so very long ago.

[midnightfictionlibrary]

voting is almost over!

I have 2 short one shot/fics that I can post, but I'd like to know which one you guys would like to see first.

[midnightfictionlibrary]

I have 2 short one shot/fics that I can post, but I'd like to know which one you guys would like to see first.

[midnightfictionlibrary]

Next Up

I have a Anthony Bridgerton fic that I've been working on, and I think it may be more than one part. Secondly, I have another part of the Jamie/Roy/Reader love triangle coming at some point. Finally feeling a little bit of inspiration again.

[midnightfictionlibrary]

I have 2 short one shot/fics that I can post, but I'd like to know which one you guys would like to see first.

[midnightfictionlibrary]

Incomplete List of Moments from the TV Show "Brooklyn Nine-Nine" for which Andre Braugher Should Have Won Every Available Award

Went back to my inactive xwitter to find this incomplete and out of order thread of moments for which Andre Braugher should have won an Emmy. Gem after gem after gem. God dammit he was so good dude this sucks!!

[midnightfictionlibrary]

I'm laying here sick and just found your fics, I love them! Could you do a Dick Winters taking care of sick reader?💕

I don’t know how I just saw this but I will most def be writing this!

[midnightfictionlibrary]

Heeyyyy checking up been a month how you doing or how's life rn in general?

hello hello! Wow a lot has been going on for me rn but I’m hoping to get back into writing when I have some time off coming up!! How are you??

[midnightfictionlibrary]

ive been mia for so long and I need to finish all my WIPs omg