#sunrise-critical
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I recently learned of a research on predicting the longevity of a marriage and it really helped me understand why anime InuKag was not at good as manga InuKag.
The research showed that fighting was not a problem, as lots of happy, long marriages had lots of fighting. The crucial aspect was whether the couple was mutually respectful during their fight. Observed disrespect was a very strong predictor of a short-lived marrriage.
The fundamental difference between manga InuKag and anime InuKag is how much disrespect was in the anime. InuKag bickered in the manga but I never cringed at their arguments, while in the anime there were insults randomly thrown in for the sake of more osuwari.
YES. I've always struggled to explain why manga Inukag's bickering / fighting made their relationship more endearing to me but @mustardyellowsunshine explained it perfectly:
"Their bickering (and even their genuine arguments) speaks to a level of security and trust in their relationship. They can disagree with one another knowing that it ain't gonna break the relationship." "Conflict in relationships is completely normal and unavoidable (and really shouldn't be avoided), it's really important to find a partner with whom you can be in healthy conflict. (Sometimes loving someone isn't enough to make a relationship work -- you've gotta be able to be in conflict with them too.)"
It's healthy to be able to be yourself around your partner and not constantly be afraid that a difference of opinion or a day when you're in a bad mood and you have a fight will break your relationship. Inuyasha and Kagome fight, they take some time to cool off, they potentially apologize to each other and then they move on.
As you pointed out, the big difference that turn their bickering in the manga into something unhealthy in the anime is the disrespect. Inuyasha is constantly insulting her to her face, and I can't blame anime-only fans for thinking Kagome doesn't deserve that. Sure it's supposed to be a joke, but Inuyasha is painfully aware of Kagome's insecurities regarding his "ex", and those are not treated as a joke in the series for the most part.
Sunrise's sense of humor is extremely childish and I'm just too old to find this endearing. I can easily explain Inukag's fights in the manga, but not this. This is just Inuyasha being unnecessarily mean to Kagome because some of the writers clearly didn't like her very much.
#ask#Anon#sunrise-critical#i also noted some other anime-only lines#where characters insult kagome#one time it was miroku and there was another time i can't remember#like those lines were not in the scene in the manga so a writer at sunrise literally just decided to add a jab at kagome#which makes it very clear to me they don't like her lmao
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"i don't know how to be lost in everything" ashton, baby, we're going to get you into meditation, we're going to find you a philosophical textbook by some zen guys, i promise, it'll be okay. there are cosmologies of cycles that are so ready for you.
#cr spoilers#critical role spoilers#critical role#punk 27 year olds having a religious revelation and acquiring a vague universalist ideology is how the world works#leylas kryn should get him into sunrise stretching and archaic ethical texts (she wrote half of them)#about what the power of primordial temporality means for you#they should raid nana morri's library and get really into some feywild philosophies that no one has espoused for centuries#get insufferable about change! have niche opinions on sectarian debates
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suzanne collins probably started tweaking - eye twitching, internal screaming, pulling her hair - when she saw the snow edits going around.
like,,,
i love the girlies, but the girlies missed the ENTIRE POINT with the ballad of songbirds and snakes. it was about how easy it is to control the masses with just a little bit of power and charm; it was about the illusion of beauty that hides the hideous intentions underneath and how it can lead to the oppression of an entire country of people. and y'all just... proved her point.
you were so ENCHANTED by some run-of-the-mill blond twink that you were willing to overlook how he INVENTED the hunger games as we know it; how he took an already cruel punishment against innocents and made it exponentially worse, but you know what? it's ok coz he's pretty.
think about that.
there's so much more about snow's character that should make him a subject of criticism and target of hate (his disgusting treatment and manipulation of Sejanus, his inhumane lack of emotion and sympathy towards humans, and his concern for his family name over his actual family members just to name a few), but it's all covered up by cute little edits featuring his witty little quips and his golden locks.
and don't even get me sTARTED on his "romance" with lucy gray. IT WAS NOT A ROMANCE. FROM THE VERY BEGINNING, IT WAS A MEANS OF CONTROL FOR SNOW. no, it didn't go awry when lucy gray figured out what snow had done - it was never "love" to begin with. if you read the book (which provides a more intimate insight into snow's internal monologue compared to the movie) you'd know that snow's idea of love was simply manipulation. he only cared about lucy gray because she was his medium of control - the moment she stopped serving her purpose to him, he did not hesitate to end her.
like... girlies please, STAND UP.
idc how pretty you find him, that is president coriolanus snow. the man who is responsible for over sixty years of bloodshed of children. over 1400 children died in the hunger games.
think about that.
i don't know about you, but it's the same people who can overlook that kind of information because they're so far removed from the actual suffering who can also overlook atrocities such as the current crimes being committed against Palestinians. before you try to blabber some bullshit about "obviously i know one is fiction and one is reality", let me remind you, our brains don't actually differentiate between the two. you are essentially desensitising yourself to human suffering and training it into idolising genocidal figures simply because you find them visually appealing.
FICTION INFORMS REALITY. THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME SHAPES YOUR PERCEPTION OF THE WORLD.
think about that.
ms suzanne wanted to put the pen down so bad but she saw the rabid behaviour of snow fans and had to pick the pen the fuck back up.
start thinking critically. stand up. free palestine.
#thought daughter#thoughts#rant#the hunger games#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#sunrise on the reaping#suzanne collins#coriolanus snow#literary analysis#literary criticism#free palestine#free gaza
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WHITESTONEâS FOR LOVERS, ZEPHRAHâS FOR FUCKERS
#critical role#critrole lb#'sunrise yoga' lmao#absolutely perfect#meanwhile pate's living his best life
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So i'm slowly catching up with Candela Obscura and Tide and Bone, and shoutout to @quiddie for the amazing world and characters you give life to there. The glimpses we got of Oldfaire and the bits and pieces of magic were just *chief kiss*.
Thanks a lot for that.
#candela obscura#circle of tide and bone#critical role#co#Oldfaire#newfaire#workings of salt and blood#ancient sentinels made of sea water#a doorknob that rips open the fabric of space and time to lead to a cosy little office lighted by a nice drawing of sunrise on one wall#a soul trapped in gold and darkness a'd burned memories#a desperate kid who can only shouts her frustration to the sea#a ancient ancient sea who listens and helps#it's just so good
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I love tragedies but am scared of sad stories.
(Asking For Recommendations At The Bottom)
Tragedies feel so full of hope, so full of "it happened and it didn't change anything but it mattered anyway", full of people fighting against inevitability, full of people Trying and Believing in making things better.
Some examples of tragedies in media that I love:
They Both Die At The End by Adam Silvera
Exandria Unlimited: Calamity By Critical Role (featuring Brennan Lee Mulligan and Lou Wilson) (I cannot recommend this enough)
Hamlet (reading and watching and I love writing about this dude)
Fleabag (which if you've seen, go watch Crashing -her other show)
The Haunting Of Bly Manor
Hadestown (Orpheus and Eurydice in general, looking at you Hozier)
Dead Poet Society
etc.
I also love the more abstract or involved tragedies that happen in the middle of TV shows or books that people write about on here. What just made me want to write this was a post about Clara and the doctor and its mirroring of Hadestown and it just hit so right. what is weird about that is that I never thought I liked sad stories. I am absolutely terrified of reading A Little Life, The Giving Tree made me run out of the room as a kid because it made me so sad and mad.
Literally it is during writing this when I realised that it's not that I don't like them but that they just hit so hard. I was turning over an outlier in the back of my mind, that I love (though can't reread for another few years) The Book Thief by Mark Zusak. I can't classify it as tragedy because it just feels wrong to, it is tragic of course but in the sad way and it hurt in a way that didn't feel healing like I've come to associate and expect with and from tragedies.
I'm avoiding sad stories right now for the most part but I would love some tragedy recommendations.
Here is my current watchlist of sadness
Fellow Travelers
The Magnus Archives
What If It's Us
The Song Of Achilles
The First To Die At The End
Before Trilogy
If you want my fanfic tragedy recs ask and ill make up my list
#Tragedy#Tragedies#narative#haunted by the narrative#the magnus archives#tma#exandria unlimited#exu calamity#brennan lee mulligan#hannibal#nbc hannibal#Lou Wilson#Critical Role#dimension 20#fellow travelers#What If its Us#tsoa#the song of achilles#i dont actually know if#before sunrise#before sunset#before trilogy#are tragedies but they were recced to me by the same person who told me#me before you#was a rom com#so they lied#hadestown#hozier#orpheus#eurydice
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#lgbtqia#autism#fallout#taylorswift#blacktumblr#thebadbatch#transgender#thesunshinecourt#sonic#comics#dimension 20#genshin impact#sunrise#hades 2#israel#wellness#the sandman#taylor swift#cars#asoiaf#lgbt#the sunshine court#doctor who#the magnus protocol#dungeon meshi#critical role#watcher#yuri on ice#transformers one
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#before sunrise#richard linklater#didnât really expect this scathing criticism of capitalism from a romance film
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june 3rd/4th is some kinda holiday now i guess. lmao
#iykyk#finaloop's posts#post content is sarcasm or something. its just very unexpected and cool :)#atdas developer commentary is now perhaps accelerated. flr essay is perhaps also accelerated.#that or i might just post some of the mile-long ramblings ive done in discord to my friend who i am so thankful for putting up with it lmao#ill start digging some of those up maybe#and the references dissection doc. but the sunrise scene is SO layered there's shit in there that literally no one but me would understand.#hence why i haven't posted it up until now lmao. if i do director's commentary for 7/11/24 id probably clean that up#and probably do similar for everything else because there are a lot of layers with a bunch of those too#the argument also needs director's commentary mostly because snakeskins!feli's criticisms of flr!ciano work better as an essay than prose#but that's a whole other thing altogether lmao
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The scenes where Inuyasha is shown not eating in inns also shows Shippo either sitting in front of him or beside him eating, implying Inuyasha is giving him his portions. The anime ruined those scenes by constantly making them fight for food.
Inuyasha and Shippo fighting over food in the anime didn't really bother me because they were bickering like siblings even in the manga. But now seeing that Inuyasha actually gives him his food in the manga, I wish they had kept it that way đ
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writing the new one shot is much harder than I expected, every word I wrote seems to be not good enough
#anyway I drank three tequila sunrises so far#it's time to be the most harsh critic in the whole world for myself#welcome to the circus#the clown is me
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anon hate anon hate anon hate!!!
Don't anon hate me, I'm very fragile rn
#asks#befickleforever#tequila supremacy#I will not. take criticism#timo boll#benjamĂn vicuña#tequila sunrise my beloved
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tiger and bunny is set up to make such a nice criticism of media and the justice system and it just... never makes it. like the first ep says here are our corporate superheroes who are all under contract to sponsors and take orders from reporters on how to get high ratings out of arrests. heroes literally say "our job is to get points for how many arrests we make" and then none of that is ever actually explored and its just another yaoibait superhero show where the issue is One Evil Guy and not the show's institution of heroism
#also the pacing is weird#everything about the show is just weird like#it feels like sunrise gave someone a mecha with themes plot outline and that person was like yea ok but what if it was bnha#and thats what got aired#it might predate bnha idk#its just fun enough tho im gonna watch s2 and see if it gets better#im invested in the yaoibait#barnaby you can rail that old man i believe in you#also i wanna be clear everything is there ready to criticize heroes like kotetsu is a deadbeat dad bc of it#but every ep ends like haha actually its all ok bc hes a superhero and those are categorically good
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Should you worry about your dog throwing up?
Common causes and treatment of vomiting
Your canine companions may have minor stomach ailments from time to time, and while some get healed on their own, others could be due to serious infections and may need a veterinary expert's advice. The content, frequency or colour of the puke can offer crucial insights into any underlying health of your âpawsomeâ friend. While green or yellow vomit can indicate towards digestive issues or acid reflux, spotting blood in it can signal a serious issues requiring a vet's opinion. Persistent vomiting that lasts for more than 24 hours must be addressed urgently.
#PetCare #PetHealth #PetParent #PetParenting
Common causes of vomiting in dogs:
Sensitive stomachs: Watch out for bile đĄ Usually a distinct yellow or greenish in color, bile is relatively easy to spot upon inspection. While bile in vomit can stem from temporary factors like eating too quickly or on an empty stomach, it is also often linked to conditions like acid reflux or a sensitive stomach. Fortunately, bile is not usually a serious condition by itself and can effectively be managed by including easily digestible meals in your dog's diet like boiled chicken, pumpkin, oatmeal, and rice.
Spotting blood: A red flag for problems đ©ž If you notice fresh blood or coffee ground-like vomit in your dog's vomit, it could indicate a more serious problem, demanding immediate veterinary attention. Do not be overly alarmed. It is worth noting that in many cases, a small amount of blood in vomit is entirely harmless. However, it is advisable not to overlook the situation and instead seek medical evaluation.
Symptoms like lethargy, drooling, anxiety đ If there are accompanying symptoms like lethargy, drooling, and unusual vomit colors, the underlying cause is likely to be much more serious. Pay attention to their daily behaviorâis it business as usual, or are there signs of distress? If bile spotting in your dog's vomit coincides with lethargy, loss of appetite, or abdominal pain, it could signal serious underlying issues like gastrointestinal disorders or infections that demand prompt veterinary consultation for evaluation and treatment.
Recognizing the risk of dehydration đ§ When vomiting is severe, dogs can lose significant amounts of fluid and electrolytes, increasing the risk of dehydration. Watch out for lethargy, sunken eyes, dry mouth and nose, and loss of skin elasticity, along with reduced urination, panting, and weakness. A simple pinch test can help assess hydration levels: gently pinch a fold of skin on your dog's neck or between their shoulder blades. If the skin snaps back immediately, your dog is likely well-hydrated. However, if the skin remains tented or takes longer to return to normal, it could indicate dehydration - this test isnât perfect though so donât rely on it entirely.
Chronic vomiting, a critical concern đš Chronic vomiting in dogs, especially if episodes occur more than once in a day or persist for more than 24 hours, should be examined and then diagnostic tests undertaken. It can be an early indicator of a life-threatening situation.
Article Credits/Inputs: HT
#dimension 20#genshin impact#fallout#sunrise#hades 2#israel#wellness#the sandman#taylor swift#cars#asoiaf#comics#lgbt#the sunshine court#doctor who#the magnus protocol#dungeon meshi#critical role#watcher#yuri on ice#transformers one
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someone to be thankful for
DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader
summary: Itâs Thanksgivingâwhen dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your fatherâs best friend, Joel Miller.
warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20âs, i do not specify her age, but sheâs a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50âs). Readerâs a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Readerâs parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) readerâs family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, readerâs parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines sheâs a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) readerâs dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (readerâs dad), implied toxic marriage (readerâs parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joelâs recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states sheâs on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlinâ, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?
PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isnât your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.
MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.
word count: 11.5k
a/n: yeahâŠidk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.
You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.
Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.
Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.
Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.
And somehow, someone will still find something.
Something to point out.
Something to comment on.
Something to criticize.
If not your appearance, itâll be something else.
Because someone always had something to say.
âShould you be eating all of that?â
âAnother year gone and still no boyfriend?â
âDonât you want to get married?â
âWhen I was in my twenties, I had two children.â
Boundaries didnât exist on Thanksgiving.
Actually, for your family, boundaries didnât exist at allâsomehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why youâd decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.
âSweetie!â Your motherâs shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. âI need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!â
You groan outwardly.
Thereâs still plenty left to do?
Howâs that even fucking possible?
Youâve been cooking and baking since sunrise.
âDonât you think itâs too early?â youâd grumbled at five oâ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to beginâeven though itâd be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. âMom, whyâs there so much food?â Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, youâd started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. âAre we cooking for all of Texas or something?â
âVery funny,â she had glared at you. âOf course we arenât.â She started unwrapping the turkey. âWeâre simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? Weâre hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I wonât accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?â
Thirteen hours later, sheâs still driving you insane.
Youâre only home visiting until the end of the week and then itâs back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?
You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. âIâm coming, mom!â you call back. Itâs difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. âOne minute!â
Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in orderâthere is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots youâd packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.
You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. Sheâs donning a festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress, and her hairâs still up in rollers. âFinally, there you are,â she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living roomâmen donât lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. âI need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dadâs at the head of the table. Oh and donât forget to bring out the childrenâs table for all your little cousinsââ She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. âWhat in the world are you wearing?â
Frowning, you look down at yourself. âClothes?â
Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.
âHoney, that skirt is too short. Itâs inappropriate.â
You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. âItâs like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? Itâs not like itâs a miniskirt, mom.â As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide youâre not in the mood to argue and say, âOkay, fine. Iâll go upstairs and change into something else thenââ
âNo, no, forget it,â she shakes her head. âWe donât have the time for that.â Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holdersâsheâd special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. âHere. I wrote down all the names of everyone whoâs coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of theââ
Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if thereâs one thing to be thankful for today itâs the fact that your motherâs given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you donât want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until heâs passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.
You get to the bottom of the list and canât help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. âJoel Miller?â
She nods, returning to her board.
âYou remember Mr. Miller, donât you, sweetie? He and your father went to college togetherâheâs one of his oldest and dearest friends. Donât tell me you forgot about him? Youâve met him plenty of tiââ
âYeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,â you mutter, cutting her off. âDidnât he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?â Youâd been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joelâs wife and daughter. Surely, itâd just been a mistake on her part, though. âI had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didnât mention it to me at all.â
âTheyâre not.â She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. âJoel moved back to Austin, heâs been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they umââ Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, âThey got divorced.â
Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. âWhat?â
âI know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,â your mother remarks, shaking her head. âI ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those twoââ
âWould get right with Jesus,â you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. âShe says that about everything, mom.â
âWell, she isnât wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldnât be broken. Itâs not right.â Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. âAnyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarahâs spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didnât want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I donât want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?â
You canât help but scoff a little. âIâm not a child.â
She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.
âNo, youâre a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?â
Of course she didnât have to remind you about last yearâs fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.
âThatâs an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,â sheâd remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. âDonât forget, dearâa moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.â
You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your motherâs fine china at her. âI wouldnât really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,â you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. âMuch less when your husbandâs stepping out and eating someone elseâs pie when heâs away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.â
That comment hadnât gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.
âWell?â
âShe deserved that,â you say, shrugging lightly.
âSheâs family.â
âSheâs a jerk.â
âYou crossed a line.â
âShe crossed it first.â
Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.
âJesus, we donât have time for this!â Your motherâs eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. âOh no, people are arriving and Iâm still not ready!â She makes a beeline for the hallway. âGet the door and greet our guests, Iâll be down in five minutes!â
She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just canât possibly miss that.
You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but itâs not.
Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.
Heâs broader than you remeber, so much broader.
The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frameâstretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. Heâs holding a box of store bought something or other but youâre much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume itâs some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box heâs got in his hands.
After a minute, you realize youâve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. âHello Mr. Miller,â you greet him politely. âItâs very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.â
He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. âYou remember me,â he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him insideâas he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; itâs intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if youâre not careful. âIâm surprised. Sâbeen a real long time since you last saw me.â
âIt hasnât been all that long,â you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalanceâas if you arenât one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. âHas it?â
He thinks about it. ââBout four and a half years.â
âThatâs really not that long.â
âSânot,â Joel admits with a chuckle. âBut with how much Iâve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasnât sure if youâd recognize me, yâknow? I look a lot different than I used to.â He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. âI must look like an old geezer to you now, donât I?â
Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. Heâs got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrowsâhe does look a lot older, but heâs so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.
You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. âI donât think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.â
âWell, youâre sure as hell makinâ me feel like an old geezer by callinâ me that, darlinâ girl.â He gives you a little wink and youâre not quite sure if itâs that, or if it was the way heâd used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. âPlease, just call me Joel.â
You nod and shyly agree to it. âOkay, then. Joel.â
âSâmuch better.â His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.
Thereâs a silence that follows, but itâs not awkward or weird. Itâs comfortableâbeing in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.
Joelâs always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limitedâkind, quick helloâs in passing on Sundays whenever heâd come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But youâre older now, no longer the child who greeted her fatherâs best friend because it was bad manners if she didnât. You donât want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.
But you suddenly remember heâs not here for you.
Heâs here for your father.
Joel!â Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollersâand put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box heâs still holding. âOh, it is so good to see you! Itâs been far too long!â
You force back a small, amused snort.
As if she hadnât been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.
Itâs performative, too over the top to be sincere.
âSâgood to see you too.â He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. âPicked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I wouldâa tried to make it myself, but the kitchenâs still all packed up in boxes.â He pauses, laughing again. âThen again, I ainât really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,â he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother canât help but stare a little.
Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, âDidnât I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?â
Joel lightly pats his stomach. âBrought that too. In fact, I didnât eat a thing all day long. Iâm absolutely starvinâ right now. Could eat a whole horse.â
âGood! Dinnerâs going to be served soon. Williamâs in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, Iâm sure youâre eager to see him.â Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. âSweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?â It isnât a request, itâs an order masked as a requestâitâs the kindest sheâs been to you all day. She takes Joelâs arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, âAnd please set the table!â
You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.
Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. âEveryone! Itâs time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,â she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until thereâs complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your fatherâs. Youâre on his opposite side and Joelâs right beside you. âI think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.â
Nodding, your father begins the prayer.
âHeavenly Father, bless this food we are aboutââ
Youâre not listening. Youâre distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joelâs. His hand dwarfs yours and itâs rough and calloused, but somehow itâs the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your handâyou open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. Youâre convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like heâs savoring the touch.
Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.
His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. Thereâs an unmistakable desire thatâs already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you canât extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your fatherâs best friend. His best friend.
ââŠthrough Christ our Lord. Amen.â
âAmen,â your relatives chime together in unison.
You force out the declaration. âAmen.â
âAmen,â Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesnât want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesnât want to let it goâand he doesnât. He doesnât let it go until the sound of your fatherâs loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.
Dinnerâs fairly uneventful.
You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.
Part of you wonders if itâs because youâre sitting in between him and your father, the only person that heâs most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, youâre just about to ask him if heâd like to trade places when he turns to you and says, âYour dad told me you went to school in Chicago.â
Heâs just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. Heâs friendly. Thatâs all. It doesnât mean anything.
âYeah. I did.â You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping itâll ease the nerves. âI graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.â
âYou became a teacher?â
âYeah. I teach kindergarten.â You smile proudly.
âCan you believe that, Joel?â Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. âI spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?â He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. âNow my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.â He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. âNot too sure where I went wrong with this one.â
You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.
âDad.â
Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. âOh, come on, honey. Iâm just kidding around. You know that I donât mean it.â He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. âDonât be so sensitive,â he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.
But he does mean it.
His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.
Joel nudges your arm with his. âYâknow somethinâ, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, âspecially to kids that age,â he states in a matter of fact tone. âSomeone whoâs real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.â
Warmth radiates through your entire body. Itâs not just his words, but itâs the sincerity behind them.
You shoot him a small, grateful smile.
The two of you wind up talking to one another.
Joelâs moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesnât bring Connie up onceâperhaps itâs too painful for him? Itâs hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesnât appear heâs mourning his marriage; but itâs difficult to believe heâs not missing her, the woman heâd spent three decades of his life with. It shouldnât even matter to you whether heâs missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you donât know why. Or maybe you do know why, but youâre too ashamed to admit it.
âDo you like Chicago?â Joel questions, curiously.
Shrugging, you respond, âYeah. Itâs a cool city.â
âYou plan on stayinâ out there permanently?â
âIâm not too sure,â you admit. âItâs too expensive. I donât want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I donât think that Iâll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.â
Joel seems hesitant about his next query. âDo you ever think âbout cominâ back to Austin at all?â
Suddenly, youâre not too sure about that either.
Youâve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. Thereâs a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.
Realizing heâs still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. âI donât think Iâll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.â
âOh. I see.â He sounds disappointed. âAre youâdo you plan on visitinâ home again for Christmas?â
âI do. Iâll be here for Christmas and New Yearâs.â
Heâs being friendly. Heâs being friendly. Heâsâ
âItâd be real nice to see you again then.â Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if heâd said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear heâs nervous. About what heâd just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?
Theyâre both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that itâs one of his secretaries. Heâs got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware heâs on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.
Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. âIt would. Itâd be very nice, actually.â
Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, âWeâll talk âbout it later, then. That okay, darlinâ?â
Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smileâbut the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that itâs useless.
He knows how heâs making you feel. He likes it.
Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, âShould you be eating so much bread, dear?â Ines, whoâs sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. Thereâs a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like youâd done last year.
For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like itâs water.
Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but itâs not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. âDonât you listen to her.â He says it loud enough for her to hear him. âYou just enjoy yourself, alright?â
Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. âWell, Iâm just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.â
Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.
âAre you fucking kidding me right now?â You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the childrenâs table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.
Your mother says your name warningly. âDonât you start,â she hisses, shaking her head. âBe quiet.â
Angrily, you round on her. âSeriously? Youâre going to let her say that to me? You donât care that sheâs making comments about my weight?â You almost laugh. Of course doesnât care, she has never cared and she never will. âIâm your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?â
âShut your mouth!â Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasnât put his hands on you since you were nine, but heâs as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. âYou hear me?â
Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your fatherâs chest, he mutters, âHey now letâs take a step back from her, alright?â He guides him back down into his chair. âAinât gotta be in her face like that, Will.â
âIâm sick and tired of her ruining everythingâcanât get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking childââ
You canât bear to sit there and hear another insult.
Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. Itâs about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but thatâs the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing thatâs hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years oldâit wasnât until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that heâd hung one up.
You sit down, hands curling around the rope thatâs so old and weathered itâs beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that youâre concerned about it snapping. Youâre so busy trying to keep it together that you donât notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see itâs Joel.
âHey there, darlinâ,â he says, gently.
You stare at him in surprise.
âWhat are you doing out here?â
âNeeded to make sure youâre okay.â
âIâm fine,â you grit the lie through your teeth.
Joelâs expression softens. âYou ainât gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.â
His concern is genuine. Itâs real.
You donât quite know how to handle it. Accept it.
âIt got real ugly in there, âspecially with your dad.â
Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. âFuck, Iâm sorry, Joel. Iâm so sorry.â
âSorry?â Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. âThereâs a few people who need to be apologizinâ for what happened, but darlinâ you sure as fuckinâ hell ainât one of them.â
Itâs odd. Feels foreign, even.
Youâre not used to someone being on your sideâit prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, itâs useless. You manage to whisper his name. Itâs a feeble warning, one thatâs telling him to go back inside before heâs caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.
But he doesnât budge. He waits. Joel knows youâre about to break and heâs ready to catch the pieces.
Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. Youâre holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that youâve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.
âSâokay to let go,â Joel encourages you and youâre certain heâs not just referring to the swing. âListen to me, darlinâ girl. I ainât gonna let you fall, alright? Iâm right here to catch you. You can let go. Iâve got you, okay?â
You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. âJoel,â you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.
He feels like stability.
He feels like security.
He feels like safety.
Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.
âSâalright, sweet girl. Iâve got you. Iâve got you.â
He repeats his reassurance over and over again.
He wants you to believe it.
And you do believe it.
Joelâs as patient as can be. Itâs growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldnât care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.
âShit,â you mumble when you pull back and notice youâd left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. âI ruined your shirt.â
âSâokay. Nothinâ the dry cleaners canât take care of for me.â Joel chuckles and lets go of you. âYou feel a little better now, darlinâ?â
âI do.â You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, âI donât want to go back in there, though.â
He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. âWell, yâdont have to go back in there,â he states. âIs there somewhere I can take you? Friendâs house, maybe?â
âMy best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,â you explain, sighing again. âAnyone who didnât leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I donât want to bother them.â
Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. âWell, donât know how comfortable youâll be with the idea, but my place ainât all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if thereâs no one out on the roads.â
âJoel, thatâs so nice of you to offer, but Iâve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,â you say, sheepishly.
âSweetheart, you didnât ruin a fuckinâ thing for me tonight. And you wouldnât be puttinâ me out at all,â he promises. âSâgettinâ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.â Holding out his free hand, he adds, âAnd comfortable.â
âBut Joelââ
âI can be real stubborn too, yâknow,â he teases you with a playful grin. âWeâll be out here all night long freezinâ our fuckinâ asses off.â
He isnât going to take no for an answer.
âOkay,â you relent, accepting the offer.
You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesnât let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram thatâs parked behind your grandfatherâs silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. âSorry, sweet girl. Itâs a bit of a trip up into the seat,â he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldnât be sexier. âGood up there?â
âYeah, Iâm good.â
Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driverâs side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. âSeatbelt,â he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, âYou warm enough?â
âI am. Thank you, Joel.â
ââCourse.â He nods and pulls away from the curb.
As Joelâs driving you further and further from your parentsâ house, all you feel is sweet relief.
âMâsorry the place is such a mess.â
Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.
Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, âIâd hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.â You take a look around his townhouseâmost of his furnitureâs still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; heâs been sleeping on the couch, or at least, thatâs what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. âIf you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.â
You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.
âSâit pretty bad?â
âMy roommateâs a kindergarten teacher too. Youâd be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.â
âIf youâre tryinâ to make me feel better, itâs workinâ like a charm.â Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. âGo on and make yourself comfortable, darlinâ. You thirsty at all? Iâve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,â he adds, jokingly.
âWhat kind of beer?â you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.
He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.
âLone Star.â
âIâll have one. If itâs not too much trouble.â
ââCourse itâs not too much trouble. Not at all.â
Itâs hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench togetherâhis back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collarâthis man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you canât help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks yâ
âHere you go, darlinâ.â
Joelâs deep voice shatters your train of thought.
Heâs standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which heâd uncapped along with his own.
Blood rushes to your cheeks. âThank you,â you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that youâre holding ontoâit wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.
âSâit too cold in here for you?â he asks. âI normally keep the thermostat pretty low.â
âItâs a little cold,â you admit. âBut itâs not a probââ
Itâs too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. âThat a bit better, sweetheart?â
âYou didnât have to do that.â
He shrugs. âYou said it was cold.â
He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.
âYou feelinâ alright?â
âHuh?â You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. âOh. Um. Yeah, Iâm alright.â
Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. âYou sure?â
âNo. Not really,â you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. âBut Iâll get over it. I donât have a choice but to get over it.â Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.
âMâguessinâ your familyâs got somethinâ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?â
âBingo,â you deadpan. âI was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like Iâm such a fucking disappointment.â
He frowns. âYouâre not a disappointment, though.â
âMy parents think Iâm a disappointment. My dadâs never told me heâs proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.â There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. âDo you know what itâs like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone whoâs supposed to love you unconditionally?â
Joel knows itâs a rhetorical question, he knows itâs not something youâre expecting him to answer.
But he does answer, because he does know.
âI do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.â
He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his fingerâwhere he once wore a wedding band. You donât even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, âYouâre good enough, Joel.â
He canât help but laugh a little. âSheâd disagree.â
âSheâs wrong.â
âYou donât know what happened.â
âI donât have to know what happened.â
âThat ainât how it works, sweetheart.â
Stubbornly, you lift your chin. âI donât care.â
Joel laughs. âYâthink you know me, darlinâ? Yâthink you know what kinda man I am? Hm?â
âI do know.â You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. âYouâre a good man, Joel Miller. I know that youâre a good man.â
âYou couldnât be more wrong âbout that.â Thereâs a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, âA good man wouldnât be sittinâ here just fuckinâ dyinâ to kiss his best friendâs daughter.â
You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. âYouâyou want to kiss me?â
âSince the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.â Joel shakes his head. âSânot right.â Heâs riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. âI ainât a good man at all. Youâre half my fuckinâ age and I shouldnâtââ
You cut him off, softly uttering his name. âJoel?â
âYeah?â His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.
âCan youâwill you kiss me? Please?â
You need more than just his kiss, so much more.
You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars canât be choosers and if one kiss was all youâll get tonight, then youâll fucking take it.
Joel swallows dryly. âThat really what you want?â
His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.
âYes,â you breathe in reply. âPlease. Kiss me.â
He leans in, and thereâs brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. âWe shouldnât be doinâ this.â His warm breath fans over your lips; theyâre parted, eager to meet his own. âI shouldnât let this happen. IâI should take you back home to your family before I do somethinâ real stupid.â
Your heart sinks. âThat really what you want?â you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing thereâs a chance his answer could be the answer that you donât want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.
Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. ââCourse itâs not what I want.â His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. Heâs studying, memorizing them, as if heâll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line heâs about to cross, youâre both about to cross, that just might be the case.
The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.
You exhale shakily. âThen just kiss me already.â
He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and heâs gentleâtoo gentle. You want to tell him youâre not made of porcelain, but youâre much too preoccupied with how Joelâs mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. Itâs a silent request.
He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access heâs seeking. Joel doesnât waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, youâre lying on your back and heâs settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.
You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chestâsuddenly, heâs not being so gentle. He isnât being rough. But he is hungry, heâs possessive, and heâs letting it show in the way heâs swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.
Your mind is racing, and yet, you canât think at all.
Itâs not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. âJoel,â you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.
âFuck,â he curses, pulling back. âMâsorryââ
The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.
âNo! Please donât be sorry,â you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. âI want this, you know I want thisâdonât you?â
Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his armsâyou want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where youâre aching for him most.
He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.
âBaby, yâneed to think real hard âbout thisââ
âI want this,â you repeat yourself. âI want you.â
Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joelâs shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.
Your touch erases all the uncertainty heâs feeling.
âWanna feel you too, baby.â Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. âChrist, you look so fuckinâ soft.â
He doesnât even realize heâs saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. âJoel,â you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.
Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. Heâs a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.
Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.
âJoel, please. I need youâI fucking need you.â
He tears away from your nipple. âWhere, baby?â
You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties youâre wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.
Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joelâs able to halt them right in their tracks.
âYouâre too fuckinâ beautiful, sweetheart,â he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. âSo beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckinâ perfect.â
You watch as he makes himself comfortableâwell as comfortable as he canâin between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.
âKnew I shouldâa put the damn bed together. But I been puttinâ it off and puttinâ it off all week long.â
You giggle breathlessly. âWho needs a bed?â
Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.
Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.
âJoel.â
Any traces of humor vanish. Youâre both reminded of the next wall thatâs about to be broken, the next line thatâs about to be crossed.
He looks down and groans. âSuch a pretty, perfect little pussy,â he remarks, his voice low, husky. âBet sheâs nice and wet for me, ainât she baby?â He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. âOh, sheâs fuckinâ soakinâ, sweet girl. Sâthis all for me?â
Foreplay wasnât in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that heâs taking his time, teasing youâmaking you really want it to the point where youâre willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Millerâs the only man youâd ever beg for.
He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like heâd done with the other. âTell me darlinâ sâthis where you need me? Right here?â
Frantically, you nod your head.
âWords, honey. Gotta use your words for me.â
âYes!â you choke out. âThatâs where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddyââ
You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldnât really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.
Joel raises an eyebrow. âDaddy, huh?â
Your face is on fire. âIâit slipped,â you stammer. âI didnât mean to call youâIâm so sorry, Joel. Iâm not even sure where that came from. Iâve neverââ
Youâre on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when youâd called him that. Youâre taken aback.
He fucking likes being called Daddy.
âSweetheart, there ainât nothinâ to be sorry âbout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.â
You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.
âAinât allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.â There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. âThat understood?â
You nod obediently. âYes.â
âYes what?â he prompts.
âYes, Daddy.â
âGood. Thatâs a real good girl, honey.â
For a split second, you canât breathe.
This man will surely be the death of you.
Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.
âPlease,â you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.
âPlease what?â he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. âTell Daddyâtell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.â
âYour mouth,â you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. âYour mouthâI need your mouth. Please.â
Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like heâs a ravenous, starved man who hasnât had a thing to eat in days. âWhat a good girl,â he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. âBet you taste as delicious as you fuckinâ look, donât you, pretty girl?â
He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. âOh fuck,â you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.
He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into youâyou feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that heâd ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.
âFuck, yes, just like that,â you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. âYes Daddy, fuckâfeels so fucking good, please donât fucking stopââ
Itâs not like you have to tell him what to do.
Joel knows exactly what heâs doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joelâs quick to learn your bodyâs cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you lessâwhen he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.
You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as heâs fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.
Youâre milliseconds away from release.
âJoel, Iâm so fucking close. Iâm gonna comeââ
His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.
One last, broad stroke of Joelâs tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, whoâs face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slickâand somehow it it ignites another fire and youâre ready for more, so much more.
âSweet girl,â Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue
You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.
You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.
Tearing away from you, he grits out, âBaby. No.â
You immediately snatch your hand away from him.
âYou changed your mind?â you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.
Youâre just so fucking greedy for this man.
He offers reassuranceâand an explanation.
âNo, that ainât it at all. Sâjustââ Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. âSâjust that, well, I ainât got condoms on me, darlinâ.â
Relieved, you assure him, âItâs okay. Iâm clean.â
âMe too. But that ainât what Iâm worried about,â he admits, his face going from red to maroon.
You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.
âIâm on birth control.â
Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of itâtaking your cunt bare. âYâsure you want this?â He rasps out. âI need you to be a hundred percent sure âbout it.â
âIâm a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything Iâve ever needed in my life.â
Thatâs all he needed to hear.
Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like itâs your first time ever seeing a dick, but if heâs as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.
He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.
You swallow harshly. Heâs fucking massive.
âLike what you see, sweetheart?â Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. âHm?â
Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards himâJoelâs cock hasnât been anywhere near you and youâre already fucking walking side to side. âCome here,â you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. âThis okay?â you ask him, breathily. You canât be sure as to why youâre suddenly feeling a bit shy, like youâre not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.
âMore than okay.â Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. âGonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?â
You gift him with a cheeky grin. âYes, Daddy.â
The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.
Joelâs hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. âWasnât aware that my girl was such a little fuckinâ tease,â he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.
âYour girl?â you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. âIs that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?â
âSâthat what you want, honey?â Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that youâve shared all evening. âYâwanna be my girl?â
Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.
âI do,â you mumble against his lips. âI really do.â
Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. âBreathe, baby,â he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. âChrist, youâre so goddamn fuckinâ tightââ
The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. âJoel,â you whimper, biting back a loud cry. Youâre fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. Youâre so full of him.
One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.
âThis where youâre feelinâ me, pretty girl?â he coos gently. âThis where you feel Daddyâs cock? In your belly?â
âYes,â you sigh out contentedly. âFeels so good.â
You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.
Joelâs head falls back onto the couch. âChrist.â He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once heâs managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you canât find a single trace of brown. âGo on, then,â he rasps. âGo on, sweetheart.â
The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly youâre desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.
âYeah, thatâs it baby,â Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quickâmuch too quick for his liking. âJusâ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckinâ good for me. Just like I fuckinâ knew you would be.â
âFuck,â you whine. âYou feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside meââ
Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.
âJoel,â you whisper his name over and over. Youâre both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. Thereâs no chance to warn himâyour mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.
âMâso fuckinâ close,â Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. âWhere? Where do you want it, pretty girl?â
âInside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,â you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge heâs teetering on. âFill me up, Daddyâplease, want every drop of you inside meââ
Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.
He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.
âYou alright, sweetheart?â he asks after a minute.
âMâperfect,â you mumble against his chest. Youâre not sure if itâs because youâre coming down from a high or if itâs because heâs tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.
âLet me get the blanketââ
Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.
âNo, please donât,â you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he canât move you off to the side if he really wanted to. âIâI want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.â
âBut baby, youâre coldââ
You donât bother explaining to him that youâre not.
âJust hold me. Please.â
And thatâs exactly what he does.
Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joelâs hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, youâre nearly soothed into sleep.
âJoel?â
âYeah, darlinâ?â
âI hate Thanksgiving,â you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.
âDo you, now?â
You nod. âI do. But Iâm really thankful for you.â
Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, âWell, mâthankful for you too, sweet girl.â He pauses momentarily. âI ainât all too sure how Iâm sâpposed to just let you go home. I know I have to butââ
Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.
He doesnât mean home to your parentsâ house. He means Chicago.
You graze his beard with your thumb. âIâm coming back in a few weeks,â you remind him, gently. âIâve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.â
âYouâd do that for me?â
âOf course I would, Joel. Iâm not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I donât want them catching onto us.â
âCâmere.â Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. âIâll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and Iâll figure it out.â
divider credit to @saradika-graphics đ€
#asdfghjkl BYE#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller#joel miller x reader#dbf!joel#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x you#joel tlou#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#joel miller x y/n#joel miller au#dbf joel miller#dbf joel x reader#fic: someone to be thankful for
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Cool Girl
Ghoap x female reader / 18+ / previous
The sunrise stabs under your eyelids with malicious intent.
You donât have much of a hangover, but your face is still puffy, under eyes swollen. Youâve been crying all night, and itâs painfully obvious.
Not to mention the lack of sleep. The vomit induced by your overwhelming anxiety, the bile still scorching your throat. You havenât slept more than an hour. You look like the walking dead.
You tried to have a serious talk with yourself around two oâclock in the morning. You told- no you promised- yourself youâd leave well enough alone. Youâd put them out of your mind. Youâd move on.
They never wanted you. So why are you so insulted that they did exactly what they said they would? You werenât theirs. Youâd never be theirs.
Good enough to keep in bed. Good enough to keep out of sight. But not someone theyâd consider theirs.
Youâre no oneâs. Youâre just⊠yours.
Which is fine. Itâs more than fine. Youâre cool. You donât need them, or anyone.
Your hand wonât stop shaking though. It shakes when you turn on the water for the shower, shakes as you try to shave. It shakes through your first cup of tea and then your second, shakes when you curl up the couch and huddle under your blankets, staring blankly at reruns of some laugh tracked sitcom. Itâs because you havenât slept or youâre hungover or something-
And it only stops when your doorbell rings.
You slam your eyes shut. Youâre not expecting anyone, and that alone makes you feel like thereâs probably someone on the other side of the door that you decidedly do not want to see.
The glance through your peephole confirms your suspicions.
Itâs Johnny. Heâs standing squarely in front of your door, bouquet of flowers in his hand.
Your head starts to pound, and he knocks on the door.
âI know yeâre home, bonnie. I saw yer car in the garage.â Youâre frozen on the other side, separated by a piece of metal and wood that suddenly feels less substantial than it ever has before.
When the lock doesnât click, he knocks again. ââm not leavinâ until I see ye.â You groan.
âStalking me now?â You spit when you open the door and he grins sheepishly.
âNaw...â He doesnât elaborate and you stand in the frame of the door, trying to block him from peering over you- though itâs no use. You watch his critical gaze take inventory of what he can in your flat, and then he returns his attention to you, holding out the flowers.
Theyâre tulips. Maybe twenty, twenty five stems, all in a spectacle of color. Theyâre beautiful, and your favorite.
It surprises you. That they even know that about you. That they would remember a comment you must have made in passing.
It gives you pause. Itâs confusing.
âGot these for ye.â Heâs⊠such a boy. A grown man, a decorated military man, a strong man but still⊠such a boy. Heâs never looked more like a boy than he does now, eyes wide and nervous, shifting his weight from leg to leg. He blinks, eyelashes feathery and dark, and youâre left to wonder if he gets it from his mom or his dad. Does he have sisters? Brothers? Nieces or nephews? You ached for those pieces of them, before.
Now, the lingering questions fill you with embarrassment.
He steps forward, and you shrink back. His gaze flickers, and then clears, holding the overflowing bundle of colors towards you.
âThanks.â You say stiffly, careful to avoid his fingers when you pull it free.
âCan I come in?â
âI donât think thatâs a good idea.â He chews on his lip.
âYe look tired, love. Did ye get any sleep?â You sniff, hand resting on your hip.
âIâm fine.â
âYe dinnae look fine.â
âWhy are you here?â Youâre cracking with exasperation, legs going weak. Youâre not strong enough to stand here and survive an onslaught.
âNeed to talk with ye, like we said last night.â
âThereâs nothing to talk about, like I said last night.â You parrot with a irritated exhale.
âYe know thatâs jusâ not true. We need to talk about what ye saw, what ye think ye saw-â
âWhat did I see? Since apparently you know what Iâm thinking now.â Youâre too tired for this. You donât want to do this. You want to crawl back into bed and hide under your blankets.
âYe think ye saw us with another woman, or on a date, but-â
âI saw your hands on another woman. I saw her smiling at you like-â you shake your head. âIt doesnât matter what I saw,â he swallows, mouth pressing into an uncomfortable line, âI always knew this wasnât real, that it didnât mean anything but-â
âYe agreed. Ye always said ye didnae want a relationship.â He reminds you sharply, and you nearly swallow your tongue.
âYeah, I didnât, so.â The lie is foul on your tongue, rancid and spoiled, but you give it life regardless. Fuck them. Youâre fine.
âBut yer mad ye saw us with another woman.â He raises an eyebrow, and you never wanted to punch someone so badly.
But instead of a rising tide of anger, you get an overwhelming wave of despair, and tears prick at the corner of your eyes.
âAh, no, love. Please, please dinnae cry. âm sorry, this is such a mess. We never meant for any of this.â Your hand starts shaking again, trembling against the plastic wrapped around the stems, and Johnnyâs expression changes from sad to worried. âWhatâs this?â He tries to reach, fingers grazing the back of your arm.
âN-nothing, Iâm just tired.â
âLove-â
âJust⊠go away.â Your patience snaps, shatters, and his face falls. It almost makes your feel bad.
Almost.
#peaches writes#Ghoap x reader#simon riley#simon riley x reader#john mactavish#john mactavish x reader
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