#the second and third gifs... 🫠🫠�� | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trulybetty · 1 year ago

Text

Okay, I thought I was prepared for this week's installment...

I was not...

The tool belt sits low on his narrow hips, the faded denim shirt stretches tight over his shoulders and he’s looking around the bakery with a cautious frown.

Okay, took me a few attempts to get past this bit, but I’m back… I think I short-circuited with that visual... and this is just the start?!

“Thank you dear,” she replies, giving you a sweet smile as she puts her hand on top of yours, “Have you seen Mrs Morales lately?”

Say who now? I see you...

“I’m wonderin’ if you offer baking lessons here?

*yells* Yes. Yes, I do.

the green plaid flannel shirt he’s wearing hugging them tight

Sorry, blacked out for a bit there… back again.... just give me a moment with this gif before I proceed...

Joel’s grins and glances down at his hands holding the recipe, a pink shade creeping up his neck under the shirt.

This flirting had me squealing and curling my toes in glee!

“Just being honest, honey,” he says, taking another sip of his coffee and finally taking his eyes off you.

I’m melting here.

Joel gives you a warm smile, putting his phone back, “I’ve got plenty of material left over from that job, and my time is free for you, I’d be happy to build it for you,” he says but you shake your head.

This here. This has my heart.

One, competency kink 🙌

Two, having someone use their talents to make you something in their own time and they recognize a need for it? It’s honestly, to me, one of the best things someone could do 🥰

“Alright, no more getting locked into the fridge,” he says, testing the handle while you dust off your hands.

*flashbacks*

“Darlin’,” Joel says, his voice low as he sees your eyes move back up to his, “if you don’t stop looking at my lips, I’m going to have to kiss you.”

Edge. Of. My. Seat.

“Darlin’...” he whispers, his voice low and breathless, “Open your eyes.”

Okay, I wanted to highlight that whole kiss - because wow. I’m breathless from just reading it and may have read it back over several times.

“Your kisses are worth a lot more than you think, darlin'.”

This whole chapter is dreamy and like that pie has a little bit of everything thrown in but not too sweet that you can't go back for seconds or thirds 😏 - I could devour the whole thing over and over... 🫠

You’re doing an amazing job so far with this series and it’s making me excited for reading The Pilot and His Girl in the new year! (I’m bracing myself for the angst knowing I can come back to this for respite lol)

Now I’m off to add these ingredients to my shopping list for next week’s baking!

A Baker's Dozen - Three

Hi!

Look at all the love you guys gave Din last week! I'm completely overwhelmed and flustered and I'm so happy you guys love this little series of Pedro boys and, apparently, the luckiest woman in the world. I love exploring their voices and aaaaall the fluff and sweetness I want to cram into these stories. But before we meet Pedro boy number three I have to give a few shout outs: First to @maggiemayhemnj because of certain fashion choices in this story... Secondly to @trulybetty and @for-a-longlongtime who actually made Dieter's Millionaire's Shortbread from the first part! Dieter would be very proud of you both and then steal half the pan.

Series Master List

Now, enter Pedro boy number three, and look who it is...

You almost drop Mrs. Levinson’s bag of cardamom rolls when you see him stepping through the door with a hesitant look on his face. The tool belt sits low on his narrow hips, the faded denim shirt stretches tight over his shoulders and he’s looking around the bakery with a cautious frown. It’s like he’s stepped out of the pages of a calendar of sexy construction workers, and you mentally pick your jaw off the floor as he looks over at you.

“Here you go Mrs. Levinson,” you say, adding the last cardamom roll to her bag and forcing your eyes away from the man.

“Thank you dear,” she replies, giving you a sweet smile as she puts her hand on top of yours, “Have you seen Mrs Morales lately?”

“No, Mrs Levinson, I haven’t.”

“Ask her about her son the next time she comes in, he’s such a sweetheart,” she pats your hand a few times, taking her bag.

“Thank you, Mrs Levinson, see you next week,” you wave as she makes her way to the front door, the man with the construction belt holding it open for her with a polite, “Ma’am.”

As he closes the door, you take a few steadying breaths, and smile as he comes over to the counter.

“How can I help you?” you ask, trying to keep your eyes on his face and not let them stray to the freckles that disappear under the V of his shirt.

He rubs his hands together, wiping at a stain that won’t budge, and gives you a small smile.

“I’m wonderin’ if you offer baking lessons here?

His Texas drawl is smooth and low, a pleasant lilt to his baritone voice and it just adds to his attraction. You wonder if he’s aware of how good looking he is, he doesn’t have that air or attitude. Instead he shrugs his shoulders and puts one hand into his pocket, the other one twitching nervously at his side as he waits for your answer.

“I don’t do regular baking lessons but I’m sure I can arrange something,” you reply, “what did you have in mind?”

“Well, my daughter, her birthday’s comin’ up and I’d like to make her a cake or a pie or…or somethin’ that’s not just a supermarket cake,” he says, “But I don’t know the first thing about baking and I reckon I might need a bit of help or I’ll burn the kitchen down.” He furrows his brow as he talks, looking up at you with chocolate brown eyes, his hand still twitching by his side.

“That sounds like a very good reason to learn some baking, I'd be more than happy to help,” you smile at him and his forehead smooths out as he smiles back at you.

“Really? That’d be great, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem, and I’ll only charge you for the ingredients, not the lesson,” you say as you bend down and get your calendar out from under the counter.

“No, I can’t let you do that,” the man protests, “I have to pay you for your time.”

“How about you pay me with time?” you ask, looking at the tool belt around his waist, “I have a couple of small jobs around the place that are probably pretty easy, but I don’t have the right tools, maybe you can help me with that?”

“Yeah, sure, I'd be more than happy to help you out with that,” he nods and sticks out his hand, “I’m Joel, Joel Miller.”

“Nice to meet you, Joel Miller,” you smile back at him as you shake his hand, “How about next Monday? I’m closed on Mondays so I can give you the lesson then.”

“Umm….” he squints his eyes as if he’s thinking hard, “I think that works, afternoon alright for you?”

“Yeah, whenever,” you reply, “come by at one and I’ll be here.”

“Thanks, really ‘preciate it,” he grins at you, running his hand through his hair, making the dark curls stand on end as you resist the urge to reach up and touch them.

“Do you have a preference for what to bake? Or does your daughter have a preference?”

“As long as it’s easy and contains chocolate, we’re both happy,” he says, “It’s got to be easy, I’ve never done any baking in my life.”

“Easy, gotcha, I’ll make sure it’s fool proof,” you laugh, “I think I have some ideas already, I’ll make sure you don’t burn down the house.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles, “I’ll see you on Monday then.”

He gives you a wave and a smile as he leaves.

…

You can’t help but spend some extra time on your hair on Monday morning, picking out your cutest apron as you get to the shop and telling your reflection to get a grip as you apply some make up. But the man is just…you shake your head, focus now!

You’re putting the ingredients out on the workbench in the kitchen as you hear a knock on the front door. Joel is right on time and as you walk across the front of the shop he gives you a wave through the window. He’s got his tool belt slung over his shoulder and a toolbox in one hand.

“Afternoon,“ he smiles and you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your eyes from drifting over his wide shoulders, the green plaid flannel shirt he’s wearing hugging them tight. It looks as if he’s just showered, his dark curls are damp and brushed away from his face and his scruffy beard looks a little bit neater today.

“Afternoon, you’re right on time,” you smile at him, leading him back into the kitchen where he puts his tools down in a corner.

“Nice kitchen you’ve got,” Joel says, looking around the utilitarian workspace, “I never knew baking included so much equipment though.” He’s looking into your large dough mixer on the floor, the one used for big batches of bread.

“Baking is a very equipment heavy sport,” you laugh, “I’ve got so many gadgets with only one use, it’s ridiculous. But don’t worry, you’ll only need three things.”

“Sounds good,” Joel smiles at you and comes over to the counter where all the ingredients are laid out, “What are we making?”

“Texas Trash Pie,” you say, looking at him for his reaction and it doesn’t disappoint, he furrows his brow and looks thoroughly confused.

“Did you say ‘Trash Pie’?”

“Yep, a Texas Trash Pie,” you laugh, “Don’t worry, it tastes a lot better than it sounds. And it’s one of those ‘use whatever you feel like’ pies so you can adjust it to your own taste.”

“Ok, I see pretzels and pecans and chocolate, all things I like, so I’d say I’m good with that.” He smiles at you, “What’s first?”

“First we wash our hands,” you wave him over to your sink and let him clean up.

“So I’ve got two options for you, I’m going to teach you how to make the pie crust now, but you can buy a ready-made one too if you’re worried about making it from scratch,” you say as you point him to the recipe sheet you’ve printed for him, “Go on, follow that and I’ll help you out if you need it.”

“Ok, throwing me in the deep end, huh?” he chuckles and starts rolling up the sleeves of the flannel shirt.

“It’s sink or swim, Joel”, you grin, leaning next to him by the workbench, glancing down at how the sleeves of the shirt hug around his forearms when he’s got them folded up, you swear he’s flexing them on purpose, but he just leans down on the bench and picks up the paper.

He carefully reads the recipe in silence for a few minutes before he grabs the flour and gets to work. He doesn’t need any help from you in the first few steps, putting all the ingredients in the bowl and working them all together as you add cubes of cold butter. You don’t want to distract him so you stand next to him in comfortable silence while he consults the recipe every other minute to make sure he’s got all the steps.

“Alright, I think that’s holding its shape right?” he asks you after working the ingredients together into a dough ball.

“Looks very good to me,” you say, “Now, flatten it into a disc and wrap it in plastic, we’re going to let it chill for a bit.”

“Right, boss,” Joel replies, and it makes your cheeks heat up, as you try to suppress a giggle.

“We can get the filling done now but then we have to wait for a bit,” you explain as he puts the dough in the fridge.

“Ok, let’s do that and then I’ll see what you need help with around here.” Joel replies, double checking on his dough before closing the door, “Didn’t think pie dough was that easy, people make it sound real complicated.”

“No, once you’ve got a good recipe it’s easy. And this next part is foolproof.” You hoist yourself up to sit on the workbench.

“Don’t tempt me, I could still burn down your kitchen,” he chuckles, coming to stand next to you and you catch a whiff of his warm cologne. His eyes are level with yours now and you can’t help but reflect on how much like chocolate they are as he smiles at you.

“Lucky thing I know a contractor who can rebuild it then,” you smile back at him and he gives you a wink.

“Lucky you indeed. Do I know him? I could tell you if he’s any good,” he replies, picking up the recipe card.

“You might know him, he’s tall, dark hair, cute smile, built like a barn door,” you smirk, feeling your butterflies erupt up as his own smile widens.

“Cute smile huh? Must be from out of town, I don’t know any contractors with cute smiles in this place.”

“He’s really bad at baking, but he’s got potential, might be an alternative career path if his construction thing doesn’t pan out.”

Joel’s grins and glances down at his hands holding the recipe, a pink shade creeping up his neck under the shirt.

“Yeah, I might know him,” he chuckles, looking up at you again, “Is he getting lessons from a real pretty baker girl, kinda makes her customers nervous with her own cute smile?”

“Yeah,” you giggle, “that’s the one.”

“Alright, good to know,” he smiles and your eyes are still locked together, both of you trying to contain your grins.

Finally Joel breaks, clearing his throat and tapping his finger on the recipe card.

“So, this is foolproof, even for me?” he asks, bending down to read the recipe as you nod.

The kitchen is quiet for a few minutes as Joel checks that he has everything he needs and then he looks up at you again.

“Really?” he asks, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline, “That’s it? Dump all the stuff in a bowl and mix?”

“Told you it was foolproof,” you reply, “and you can mix in other things if you prefer.”

“Ok, but I’ll follow your recipe for now,” he says, “ ‘one cup semi sweet chocolate chips’.” He grabs the measuring cup and the chocolate chips.

You watch him as he carefully measures out the ingredients in the bowl and then mixes it all together.

“That’s it?” he asks and you nod.

“Yup, that’s it, now grab the dough from the fridge and roll it out to fit that pie form,” you point him to the form you’ve placed on the bench for him.

“Alright, never used a rolling pin, but I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Joel grins as he unwraps the dough. You watch him weigh the rolling pin in his hand as he cocks his head and looks at the dough, as if he’s sizing it up, figuring out how he’s going to tackle it.

“Any special tricks I need to know?” he asks, looking over at you.

“No, just keep even pressure and try to roll it out into a circle but don’t stress too much, it doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“Ok, here goes then,” he laughs and starts rolling. He’s tentative at first, squinting at the dough every other time he rolls over it.

“Put your weight behind it, Joel,” you smile at him, “it won’t break.”

“If you say so, you’re the master baker,” he replies, adjusting his stance and putting more force into it. The green plaid of his flannel stretches across his back as he starts rolling in earnest across the dough, and you can’t help your eyes flitting between the way his hands grip the rolling pin and the tight seams of his shirt.

Far too soon Joel’s got the dough nice and smooth, rolled out into a neat circle.

“You’re a natural at that, Joel,” you laugh and give him a quick pat on the back that makes him puff up a little.

“Tell my daughter, she’s never going to believe me when she sees her old man with a rolling pin in hand.”

“I’m sure she’ll be very impressed,” you say, handing him the pie form, “So next step is to roll the pie dough onto the rolling pin and drape it over the form, then we bake it.”

You tell him how to move the dough into the pie form and he gives you a proud smile as it settles neatly.

“Now cut away the overhang and we’ll get it in the oven.”

While the pie crust bakes you make Joel a coffee and treat him to some of your leftovers.

“It’s not fresh but they’re still good,” you say, handing him a pain au chocolat, his large hands dwarfing the pastry.

“I’m really not complaining,” he chuckles, biting down into the flaky dough, “I’ll bring my daughter next time I come, she's got an even bigger sweet tooth than me, but not until after her birthday, or she’ll catch on to my surprise.”

“If you find out her favorite I can teach you how to make that next time,” you say, leaning against the counter with your coffee while Joel smiles at you.

“You’re being far too nice, you’re gonna ruin your business if you keep giving away baking lessons.”

“Who said I’m giving them away, I’m charging you next time,” you laugh, “this first time freebie was just to get you suckered in, now I’ve got you hooked.”

“You’ve sure got me hooked, darlin’,” Joel drawls, winking at you, and heat rushes to your cheeks.

“You’re a real flirt, Joel,” you giggle, trying to contain the butterflies that have erupted in your stomach again as he keeps his eyes on yours, looking up through his dark eyelashes as he smiles at you.

“Just being honest, honey,” he says, taking another sip of his coffee and finally taking his eyes off you. You feel like you can breathe normal again, resisting the urge to fan yourself with your hand as you sip your from your own mug.

In the kitchen you hear the oven ping and you set your mug down as Joel looks up, “The crust is ready, time for the last step.”

“I feel like you’re going easy on me,” he chuckles, “shouldn’t baking be harder than this?” He follows you into the kitchen as you smile at his comment.

“You’re on beginner level, Miller. You’re not gonna let me build a house the first time I use a hammer right?”

He laughs at that, his eyes squinting as his shoulders jump.

“Alright, point taken, darlin’,” he chuckles, taking the oven mitts from you, “I’ll stay on the easy stuff for now.”

“And I’m actually giving you a challenge,” you point out as he carefully lifts the pie crust from the oven and sets it down on the workbench, “I could’ve given you a recipe that required no oven.”

“Wait, you’re telling me I could’ve done this lesson with no oven?”

“Sure, but here we are, and your pie is ready to be baked,” you smile, “Just dump the mixture into the crust and smooth it out as best you can, it’s going to even itself out in the oven anyway.”

Joel does as you say, dolloping the sticky mixture into the pie crust and pressing it down lightly.

“All done, but, there’s one extra addition I like to do that’s not in the recipe,” you say, nodding as he puts the final touch to the pie. “You can sprinkle just a little bit of sea salt over the top, it’s a nice contrast to the sweetness of the pie, especially with the caramel and the condensed milk.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Joel says, “if you say it’s good, I’ll trust that.”

You hand him the container and he grabs a pinch, “Just a sprinkle?”

“Just a sprinkle, try to get it evenly over the top.”

“And now in the oven?”

“Yep, just in the oven and then we wait.”

As you watch, Joel carefully slides the pie form back into the oven and closes the door and you set a timer.

“Alright, let me clean up and you can show me what needs fixin’, I’ve already seen that shelf in the corner,” he says, nodding over to your bookshelf that doubles as an office, holding all the paperwork for the bakery.

“What’s wrong with it?” you ask and Joel walks over to it and gives the corner of it a gentle kick, making the whole thing sway.

“Oh, ok,” you say as Joel grabs the shelf to steady it, “please fix that.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it stable, but you might want to consider replacing it, that cheap Ikea stuff will always start to wobble after a while,” he says, washing off and moving his tool box in front of the bookshelf as you start to remove some of the contents.

“Actually,” Joel says, looking around the bakery’s kitchen, “You don’t have an office, do you? Where do you do the paperwork for the business?”

“On the workbench,” you say, pointing to where Joel’s bowl still is, “or I just take it home with me.”

“You know, I did a job a few months ago, built a small fold away office set for a bedroom,” he says, giving the kitchen an appraising look, “If you get rid of the bookshelf, I could build you a new one and include a desk that you can fold away, it basically works as a door for the shelf when you put it up, and a desk when it’s down. Here, let me show you.”

He pulls out his phone and shows you a picture of what he means, the office set up is a sleek custom build in a small bedroom.

“Wow, you built this?” you ask, “It’s beautiful, but I could never afford something custom built like that, I’m sorry.”

“Really, Joel, that’s too much, you’ve already offered to fix things around the kitchen, I can’t let you build that too.”

“Please, stop being so infuriating and just accept the damn thing,” Joel chuckles, bending to pick up a screwdriver from the toolbox, “Plus, it gives me an excuse to come back here after we’re done with this pie.”

“You don’t need an excuse to come back, Joel,” you smile as you watch him begin tightening the screws holding the old bookshelf together.

“I don’t?” he asks, still focused on the screws but you see him glance over as you pull out what you need to make the foundations for a wedding cake for next weekend.

“Of course not,” you smile, “you’re welcome anytime, baking lessons or not.”

“I might take you up on that then,” he says with a grin, giving the bookshelf a shake. “Ok, it’s sturdy now but I’m going to take some measurements for your new one.”

“Thanks Joel, I really appreciate it,” you reply as you begin measuring the ingredients.

“You’re welcome, and it’s no bother, really,” he smiles as he comes over to you and looks over your shoulder, his arm touching yours as you move back, but he doesn’t back up, the warmth from him seeping through the layers of clothes.

“What are you making?” he asks and you tilt the bowl towards him.

“Sponge cakes, they’re the bases for a wedding cake I’m delivering on Saturday.”

“That must be the master level of baking,” he says, looking at the sketch of the cake you’ve made alongside the recipe, “It looks complicated.” The cake has four layers, each layer decorated with different coloured macarons and intricate flowers made from sugar and Joel traces his finger over the pattern, “Incredibly beautiful, I’d love to see it when it’s done.”

“I’ve got pictures of a similar one on the bakery’s Instagram page,” you say but Joel shakes his head.

“I don’t have Instagram, but my daughter keeps buggin’ me about it, says it’d be good for business if I had pictures of the stuff I make on it. But I don’t know…” he shrugs as if the very idea of social media is beyond him and it makes you laugh.

“She’s right though, it would be good for business,” you say and he shrugs again.

“I might get an account just so I can see your cakes though,” he grins and you smile up at him. He’s still standing very close, leaning his hip against the bench, his eyes flitting down to your lips and back up. Your head fills with the image of him leaning closer, soft looking lips parted as his hand finds your waist.

But he bites down on his plush bottom lip instead, the faintest shade of pink tinging his cheeks, turning to face the kitchen, “I’d better get a start on paying you back,” he says, grabbing hold of his tool belt.

“Ok,” you breathe out, momentarily flustered as you turn back to the cake batter, pulling your eyes away from the way he tightens the belt around his waist, hanging low on his hips.

Joel quickly spots a few other things that need fixing around the kitchen, things you hadn’t even noticed, and gets them sorted in quick succession, a wonky wall shelf, an exposed wire, the squeak on your back door and the glitchy handle on the inside of the fridge.

“Alright, no more getting locked into the fridge,” he says, testing the handle while you dust off your hands.

“Thanks, Joel, really, that one’s been giving me trouble for a while,” you say and he gives you another warm smile.

“Anything else you need help with?” he asks, “Maybe the AC? It’s boiling in here now.” He unbuttons his green plaid flannel and shrugs out of it, the gray t-shirt below is showing sweat stains as he hangs the shirt on your coat hanger.

“Uhm…” your brain stalls as he turns around and looks at you with a hand on his hip, “No, no, the AC works fine, it’s not on though, makes the kitchen too cold.”

“Alright, you’ll just have to put up with my sweat stink then,” he says, “Should we get back to the pie or does it need more time?” His cheeks are pink and he absentmindedly rubs his hand over his scruffy beard as he waits for your answer, his lips curving up in a smile as he catches your eyes drifting over his shoulders, the t-shirt pulled tight over the width of them.

“Ah..umm…no, I don’t think so,” you stutter, attempting to slap your brain back into shape. As a means to distract yourself you walk over to the tall shelving system that holds all your bigger equipment, reaching up to lift down your biggest cake container, “It probably needs about twenty more minutes, I set a timer.”

The container catches on something out of sight up on the shelf and you tug at it but it’s still stuck.

“Oh c’mon, don’t make me get the ladder,” you grumble, tugging at it again.

“Hang on, let me help you,” you hear Joel behind you just as you give the container another pull, and the whole shelf creaks, starting to tilt towards you, a metal bowl clanking onto the floor, hitting your shoulder on the way down.

“Oh!” you gasp, putting up your hands to stop the whole thing from falling on top of you, the heavy Husqvarna shifting and sliding above your head. Suddenly Joel is right behind you, his chest pressed up against your back as he grabs the shelf on either side, pushing it back up against the wall, making the equipment rattle.

“You ok, honey?” he asks, still pressing the shelf back, trapping you between his arms as you exhale.

“Yeah, thanks, I’m good,” you huff, “Fuck, that scared me,” you give a shaky laugh as Joel carefully releases his grip on the shelf and takes a step back, letting you turn towards him, “Thanks for catching it, that could’ve been bad.”

“That could’ve been really bad,” he nods, looking at you with concern, “If that thing hit you, you wouldn’t be walking away. I’ll get it secured to the wall for you right now.”

“It was attached to the wall, at least the guys who remodeled this space said they attached it,” you say as Joel steps to the side of the shelf and looks up at the brackets attached to the wall.

“Yeah, they might’ve, but the screws are coming out of the wall now. Do you have a ladder?” he asks, turning back to you but he frowns as he sees you. “Darlin’, you’re looking a bit pale,” he puts his hand on your cheek, his warm palm making nerves of another kind shiver inside you.

“C’mon,” he says, gently leading you back to the workbench, helping you hoist yourself up to sit on it, “looks like you had a bit of a shock, can I get you somethin’, water maybe?”

“No, I’m good, thanks,” you say, giving him a small smile. The shelf tipping had scared you but now it’s his closeness that’s making you jittery. He smells so good, even with his sweaty t-shirt you can smell his cologne, and when he smiles in return, your stomach clenches and you glance down at his lips.

“Darlin’,” Joel says, his voice low as he sees your eyes move back up to his, “if you don’t stop looking at my lips, I’m going to have to kiss you.”

You almost lose your words as his hand finds its way to your cheek again, the thumb caressing across your heated skin.

“Please,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes are dark as he leans in, searching yours, and when you put your hand on his arm, his skin is warm, flexing under your fingertips. The scruff on his chin tickles your lips as he brushes his nose over your cheek, prolonging the moment before his eyes slip closed, and he takes a shallow breath.

You don’t know what to expect, a soft peck maybe, a careful first kiss, but not this. His lips finally land on yours with a gentle press, warm and plush. But his hand on your cheek holds you close as he slowly parts his lips and you feel the hot tip of his tongue lick across your bottom lip, begging you to open up. You let him in with a low moan, your hand slipping up his arm, over his shoulder, and you tangle your fingers in his hair. His tongue is gentle but insistent, letting you open up for him, but he doesn’t hold back when you do, every bit of space you give him, he claims. One hand lands on your hip, pulling you closer before he slides it up to your back and you mimic him, feeling his muscles move under the thin cotton of his t-shirt as you run your hand over his shoulder blades. When he steps in between your legs, the full length of his warm chest pressed up against yours, you’re almost embarrassed by how loud your moan is in the quiet kitchen. But Joel licks into your mouth, pulling you closer as if he wants to pull another one from you, letting you swallow down his own groans.

Minutes pass, your face feels hot, flustered, your body weightless as your lips tingle under his. You can hear his heavy breaths into your mouth, his pulse thrumming under your fingertips as you caress his neck, rake through his soft curls. And you can feel his excitement in the way he’s pressed himself against you, you’re just one bold move from hooking your legs around his waist and pulling him back onto the workbench with you.

You don’t know who pulls back first, maybe it’s the sheer lack of oxygen that makes you both separate just a little, foreheads leaning together, your eyes still closed as he runs his fingers across your cheek, tracing your lips.

“Darlin’...” he whispers, his voice low and breathless, “Open your eyes.”

You look up at him, he’s smiling softly, almost in stunned wonder, and you know he’s mirroring the look on your face.

“Will you let me take you out for dinner some time?” he asks, still letting his thumb trace the outlines of your face, “I would very much like to do this again.”

“Any day, Joel,” you reply, leaning into the warmth of his hand as he cups your cheek again.

“Alright, darlin’, then let me get that shelf secure so that you don’t end up killing yourself before I get a chance to do more of this.” He bends to your mouth again, and you part your lips in anticipation, his tongue slipping eagerly into you with a low groan.

Your head spins when he pulls back with a sigh after too short of a time pressed against you.

“You’ve got a pie to take care of too I guess,” you smile at him and he chuckles.

“I’d all but forgotten ‘bout the pie, honey.”

Right on cue the timer goes off and Joel reluctantly pulls away, grabbing the oven mitts from the counter.

“Let’s see this masterpiece then,” he grins, stepping over to open the oven door and pulling out the pie. He puts it down on the counter and gives a low whistle. “That’s a mighty nice pie, if I do say so myself,” he chuckles, looking very proud of himself.

“It’s a fantastic looking pie, Joel, you did great,” you smile and he grins at you.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, darlin’. And I’m really looking forward to trying it but I should get that shelf attached to the wall first.”

He smiles at you again, giving your thigh a quick squeeze before he turns and crouches down over his tool box, digging through it.

“You said you have a ladder?” he asks, looking back at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, out in the back room, I’ll grab it for you;” you reply and jump off the workbench. The ladder is tucked away in a corner and as you pull it out you hear Joel start up his power drill.

“Here you go,” you say, putting the ladder next to the shelf and Joel gives it a shake, testing the stability.

“Might wanna invest in a new ladder too, honey,” he says, “these cheap ones are not too stable. I’ll pick you up a new one at the hardware store, I get a good professional discount there, save you some money.”

“You’re coming in here and just fixing everything, Joel,” you smile and he gives a little chuckle, shrugging as he gets up on the ladder.

“I just like to make sure everything’s working, don’t wanna see you get hurt over something I could easily fix,” he says.

“I really appreciate it, Joel,” you say and he winks down at you.

“Now, cover your ears, darlin’, this is gonna get noisy.”

You do as he says and he gets to work. It doesn’t take him many minutes to make new holes in the wall, fill up the old ones and make sure the shelf is securely screwed to the wall again. When he gets back down onto the floor he gives the structure a hefty shake and it doesn’t budge.

“Alright, there you go, no more death traps in your kitchen, honey.”

“Thanks Joel, really,” you say, “I feel like you’ve done way much more than I could ask of you, just for teaching you one pie.”

“Make it up to me then,” he smiles, “I’ll get a babysitter and you let me take you out for that dinner on Saturday.”

“How is that me repaying you?” you laugh as Joel steps closer, capturing your chin between his thumb and finger.

“Because it gives me the chance to kiss you some more,” he smiles, bending to find your lips again.

“You’re a very cheap contractor, Joel,” you mumble into his mouth as he brushes his nose against yours while he teases your lips.

“Your kisses are worth a lot more than you think, darlin'.”

Part Four

If you want to try out Joel's Texas Trash Pie, here you go!

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn

#betty recs #joel miller fanfic rec #this whole series is just delicious

225 notes · View notes

gretagerwigsmuse · 1 year ago

Text

you really got me with this one! like the set up and the suspense of being like ‘wtf did she DO!?!” was So Good and So Clever! and i know someone else used a gif of this in their reblog, but i was also thinking of the original taylor swift speak now purple dress when you described what she was wearing! more below 💕

But you really had no choice but to wear it. It was Bradley’s favorite, after all. And you know that it’s just a silly dress, but it’s important for him to see you in it right now. - i’m totally doing this after reading it once before so kind of cheating but the “it’s important for him to see you in it right now” has me melting

A range of emotions pass through those entrancing brown eyes of his, so quickly that you have a hard time deciphering all of them. You think you see a brief flash of relief and happiness, but it goes away so fast, you can’t really tell. - you can tell it so goes against his nature to still not rush up and spin her around and hug her, but alas!!

You have had six long weeks, every possible scenario playing in your head of how that night went, and how it did. - oh i bet you ran this through your head, him too 👀

You look at him eagerly, but he avoids your gaze. He sits across from you and picks up his fork without another word. Your thighs clench. - 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 like she’s so desperate for him that it’s turning her on

“You wore my favorite dress,” he finally murmurs, slipping his finger under the strap and running the back of his knuckle against your skin. - i loved this line, like the dialogue, the dialogue tag, the description of his hands? it’s so good

Bradley scoffs with a shake of his head even as he looks at you with clear appreciation. “No underwear, sweetheart? I should have known.” - 🫠🫠🫠🫠 sir

Bradley never takes his eyes off of your motions and it makes you even wetter. You press down harder, knowing that the more you pleasure yourself, the more pleased he’ll be. Your pussy clenches around nothing, aching to be filled. After another moment of teasing circles, you dip your middle finger inside yourself. It’s nothing compared to how you know Bradley feels inside of you, but it’s enough to make you gasp. - goodBYEEEEEEE this is so hot i’m obsessed like ‘nothing compared to how you know bradley feels inside of you -“ BYEEEE

You whimper, but you do as you’re told - as you’re commanded. - COMMANDED 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 pls i’ll do anything you command lc bradshaw

“Please,” you whisper. You rub your thighs together to try and relieve some of the ache that you felt. “Let me earn it?” “Make it good” - jesusfuckingchrist

You meet his eyes in the mirror again, and for just a second, he’s staring at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. It makes all of this so worth it. - ALL OF THIS!! so worth it!!!! ALL OF THIS! this is so good i love it (tbh this was my final confirmation that this was a scene between them, it was so well done)

He slaps your pussy for a third time just for good measure and then sets his attention on torturing your wet, swollen clit with his fingers. - slap the bag? no, slap the 🐱

The look of love in his eyes reflected back at you is the catalyst, but the words are truly your undoing. - AHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE IT!!! and his little hi sweetheart soon after AHHHHH

You snuggled closer to Bradley on your shared bed, your leg sliding between his. His fingers traced shapes into your bare lower back. “Tell me how it will go again?” - i loved how you set this up, it was so clever and different and i haven’t seen this in tgm fic yet before. it’s so odd to say, but this part reminded me of an old hollywood/hitchcockian mystery film? like the lovers concoction their plot in bed 😉 so so good

Clandestine Meetings

Summary: Bradley was coming home today. Six weeks on a no-contact deployment, stuck on a carrier in the middle of some non disclosed body of water, and he’s finally coming home. Normally, you’d be bursting at the seams with happy excitement. But the two of you had left things in an...interesting place. When he’s finally standing in front of you, you can tell by his cold and dark eyes that he remembers, too. But he’s had six weeks to think of exactly how you can earn his forgiveness, and you’re all too willing to do anything it takes.

Warnings: Language, masturbation, oral (male receiving), rough sex, degradation.

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.3K

Notes: A special surprise birthday one shot for @mak-32. I hope you love it, babe!

-------

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. He was quiet despite being the only ones in the house, his voice nothing but a whisper floating in the space between your bodies.

Your breath stuttered out of you and your mouth was dry. You knew this was different from anything you had ever done before. You weren’t sure you’d be able to come back from it. It made you nervous. But you couldn’t deny the heat that settled low in your tummy at the thought of going through with it, either.

“I’m sure,” you whispered.

---

It’s fitting, you suppose, that it’s a rare cold day in Southern California. The wind feels like ice on every inch of your exposed skin and goosebumps prickle your entire body. You think it might even rain, the clouds above you darkening with every minute. You almost regret your outfit choice tremendously right now. The flowy purple dress you wore was thin and short and did nothing to combat the cool breeze. But you really had no choice but to wear it. It was Bradley’s favorite, after all. And you know that it’s just a silly dress, but it’s important for him to see you in it right now.

He’s coming home today. Six weeks on a no-contact deployment, stuck on a carrier in the middle of some non disclosed body of water, and he’s finally coming home. Normally, you’d be bouncing on the balls of your feet, too excited to care about the cold. And then the moment you saw him, you’d launch yourself at him, the comfort of his embrace warming you from the outside in.

You swallow thickly at the memory of previous reunions. They were always sweet. Loving.

You don’t think today will go like that.

You’re a cold, trembling bundle of nerves in a flimsy dress by the time the ship finally docks and men and women in khaki uniforms start to disembark. Your eyes dart through the crowd, looking for the familiar mustache and head of curls. You’re standing where you always do when he comes home, something you agreed upon after your second deployment together when he wandered around for almost an hour trying to find you in the sea of people. You hope that he still thinks to look for you here.

You hope that he’d still expect you to be here.

You don’t have to wait too much longer to find out; your breath catches when you see him. He looks so good. Tired, like he always does after a deployment, but a sight for sore eyes nonetheless. It takes everything in you not to run and jump in his arms like you’ve done so many times before.

A range of emotions pass through those entrancing brown eyes of his, so quickly that you have a hard time deciphering all of them. You think you see a brief flash of relief and happiness, but it goes away so fast, you can’t really tell. He stops in front of you and for a moment, you both just stare. He lifts an eyebrow with a slight tilt to his head, like he’s trying to read you. You adjust the chain around your neck, drawing his gaze downward for a moment. You suddenly feel like the jewelry is suffocating you and your mouth feels like you were chewing on cotton balls.

“Surprised to see you here.”

You nearly flinch at the words, biting back a gasp. The cold, accusatory tone of his voice cuts you deeper than the wind ever could. Because of course you would be here. Where else would you be?

You have to swallow several times to get the words out.

“I’m…I’m here to…apologize.”

Bradley lets out a single sharp bark of laughter, shaking his head like he can’t believe you. This time, you do flinch.

“That’s rich. You didn’t seem very apologetic six weeks ago, sweetheart.”

Right, you thought.

You flashback to the night before he left, when this had all started. He’s right, you remember - there wouldn’t have been any apologizing then. Instead, it was antagonizing words and insults flying out of your mouth, trying uselessly to defend yourself when you had been the one to mess up. To manipulate him into believing that maybe it was all his fault. You have had six long weeks, every possible scenario playing in your head of how that night went, and how it did.

“I - I know,” you stutter.

He raises one of those thick, endearingly perfect eyebrows. You stare back at him, transfixed at having him in front of you. You want to touch him, but you know you can’t. You aren’t used to having him so close yet so far away, especially on the days he comes home. You’re so caught up in your thoughts that it takes you a minute to realize he looks like he’s waiting for something. Oh. Right. An apology. “Bradley. Baby, I -”

A crack of thunder rings in the air, and you both look up to the sky just in time for the first raindrop to fall. It’s followed quickly by a second, and then a third. You look back at Bradley, eyes wide. He lets out a sigh and adjusts his duffle on his shoulder.

“I’m not going to let you stand out in the rain, no matter how mad I am,” he says. You feel relief at the words, even if his tone suggests maybe he wanted to do otherwise. He extends his hand, and for a second you think he’s asking for yours. Heat crawls up your neck when you realize that’s not what he was after. Wordlessly, you extract the keys from your dress pocket and hold them out. You gasp when his fingers brush yours when he grabs them. Electricity and warmth shoot through you at the touch. Your eyes meet, both of you frozen. The cold indifference on his face slips, replaced by a longing that makes your heart clench. Your breath catches when he shuffles a step closer to you. You think maybe he’ll forget all of this and lean forward and kiss you, or at least touch you with some sort of intention. Anything. But then another rumble of thunder has the warmth fading from his eyes and he steps back.

The drive back to your house is silent, the tension in the front seat of the Bronco thickening with every mile. His jaw is clenched as tightly as his grip on the steering wheel. You can see the veins throbbing with the effort and you swallow at the flash of heat that flares through you at the sight. Your thighs press together on instinct and you think Bradley clocks the movement because you feel him watching you, though you can’t tear your gaze away from his hands. They’re one of your favorite parts of him physically. They’re so capable and strong and versatile, providing the roughest of touches along with the softest carasses. Desire pools in your tummy just thinking about it. You missed his touch. You missed him.

The quiet doesn’t dissipate when you walk through the front door. You’re used to him hauling you into his arms and carrying you back to your bedroom, or the closest mostly-flat surface you can make it to. This time, Bradley doesn’t even look back as he makes his way to your shared room. He closes the door behind him, and the message is clear: he needs more time.

You feel something prickling under your skin. There’s anxiety, certainly, but there’s a simmer of heat that you can’t deny either. Part of you feels ashamed of it, being turned on at the anger he’s emitting in your direction.

You suppose that’s the point.

You busy yourself with making dinner, some of his favorites that you know he craved when he was away. You serve up two full plates once you’re done and it’s five minutes of sitting alone at the table, waiting, before he comes out. He’s showered and changed, his curls still damp on his head. You know the shirt he has on is one of the softest that he owns. You look at him eagerly, but he avoids your gaze. He sits across from you and picks up his fork without another word. Your thighs clench.

When he’s done, he sets his plate in the sink and pours himself some of the expensive whiskey you bought him for his last birthday. He moves into the living room, leaving you all alone to clean up after the meal. Both of you have yet to speak since walking in the front door.

You take your time doing the dishes by hand and wiping down the countertops. Your heart is pounding in your chest by the time you go out to join him. He’s sitting on the couch, those long legs of his spread, the glass of liquor halfway gone in his hand.

God, his hands.

You stand in front of him. You pick at your fingers and chew on the inside of your cheek so hard that you can taste blood. Bradley watches you with a raised eyebrow, bringing the glass to his lips another sip of the dark liquid. You watch his throat move as he swallows.

“What can I do?” you ask. You know you sound desperate, but you’re so close to breaking. You aren’t sure how long you could do this. You need guidance, direction - you need him.

“I don’t know that there’s anything to do.”

His words make you want to cry or drop to your knees or both. “Please, baby,” you whisper, “I’ll do anything. Please.”

He’s silent for another moment and your will power is rapidly leaving you. But then he throws back the rest of his whiskey and lets out a long suffering sigh. The glass clinks hard against the end table and he stands to his full height. You don’t dare move as he walks over to you. His gaze makes you feel like you’re going to burn alive.

“You wore my favorite dress,” he finally murmurs, slipping his finger under the strap and running the back of his knuckle against your skin. You nod slowly. He hums in consideration before taking a step back. You nearly whimper at the rejection, but then he speaks.

“Take it off.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “What?”

“Take it off,” he repeats, leaning against the arm of the couch with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I-right here?” you ask, looking around like you aren’t alone in your living room.

“Right here,” he confirms with a nod. When you don’t move, he motions you to hurry up, looking impatient. “Go on.”

It’s a challenge. He’s pushing to see how far he can go, and you’re going to let him. Your hands shake as you reach for the hem of the short purple dress he loves so much. You tug it over your head and let it float to the hardwood floor. The look you give him when you’re done is a little shyer as you wait for him to tell you what to do next.

Bradley scoffs with a shake of his head even as he looks at you with clear appreciation. “No underwear, sweetheart? I should have known.”

The words make you feel hot with embarrassment. But you also feel the heat flaring up in your core.

“I thought you’d like it,” you tell him.

He pushes off the couch and steps forward until his body is practically flush with yours. You aren’t blind to the juxtaposition you make with him fully clothed while you’re completely naked. It makes you feel a bit like someone to be used - like someone who wants to be used. You squeeze your thighs together in anticipation, and then your lips part in a gasp when his fingers lightly wrap around your neck, forcing your head back the slightest bit until you meet his eyes. He pauses for a moment, tilting his head just the slightest bit, considering you. The shaky breath you let out is laced with anticipation and arousal and without needing to even think about it, you lean into his touch. Just like that, his face hardens again and he moves.

He releases your neck and trails his fingertips down your body, starting at the column of your throat and traveling between your breasts and down your fluttering stomach. His touch is so featherlight it’s almost not there, but if anything, that turns you on even more. You’re aching for him. By the time he passes your belly button, you’re audibly panting for it. You can feel your arousal starting to coat the inside of your thighs. But he stops right above where you need him the most.

“You say that you’re sorry? That you missed me?” he asks quietly. You’re nodding before he’s even done with the first question. Bradley trails his eyes down your body again. His eyes are darker when he meets yours. “Go back to our room. Lay down on the bed.”

Our room. It’s the first thing he’s said that acknowledges that you’re still an “our”. It sends your heart pounding and your feet moving down the hallway to the other side of the house. When you walk into your room, you notice that he had unpacked his bag. The dirty clothes hamper is nearly overflowing with things that need to be washed. His phone is plugged in on his nightstand, where the picture of the two of you he always takes with him on deployment is sitting back in its rightful spot.

You hadn’t considered the fact that maybe he wouldn’t have put it back, if he had even ended up taking it with him at all.

You don’t get long to overanalyze or get in your feelings that maybe things, your relationship, is salvageable after all, because you hear the old floorboard in the hallway creak under his weight and know that he’s on his way. You rush over to the bed. Your head has just hit the pillow when he appears in the doorway.

You want to say something, anything, to get further confirmation that everything was okay. But you don’t dare move. He doesn’t look anywhere but in your eyes as he pauses at the foot of the bed. There are goosebumps all over your skin as you wait for his next direction in this game you’re both suddenly playing.

“You want my forgiveness?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes. Please. I’m so sorry.”

He chews on his lip and drops his gaze down to your open legs. He groans, and you almost sigh in relief that you’re having this effect on him.

“Earn it. Show me how much you missed me.” His voice is rougher than it has been all night, that deep and raspy tone that you enjoyed so much. You nearly gasp in delight as pleasure races through your body at the sound of it.

Earn it.

Splayed out naked on your shared bed, your legs spread for him and with wetness threatening to pool on the duvet under you, you know exactly how you can do that.

Despite the nerves you feel, you take a deep breath and slowly trail your hand down your body. With one more imploring look from him, you slide your fingers through your wetness. You moan when you make contact with that bundle of nerves.

You swirl your swollen clit in soft, slow circles, the pads of your fingers quickly becoming slick with your own arousal. Bradley never takes his eyes off of your motions and it makes you even wetter. You press down harder, knowing that the more you pleasure yourself, the more pleased he’ll be. Your pussy clenches around nothing, aching to be filled. After another moment of teasing circles, you dip your middle finger inside yourself. It’s nothing compared to how you know Bradley feels inside of you, but it’s enough to make you gasp. You arch into the feeling, immediately adding another finger. Your entrance has to stretch to accommodate them and you can’t wait for the delicious burn you’ll feel with his cock, if he even lets you feel that tonight.

You let your eyes flutter closed the longer you pleasure yourself. You think maybe, maybe, you’ll be able to make yourself come like this. You’re climbing toward it, slowly.

“Stop.”

You whimper, but you do as you’re told - as you’re commanded. You withdraw your fingers and immediately your pussy clenches, wanting more. You open your eyes and moan at the site you’re greeted with. He had shed his clothes while you had gotten lost in your own touch and he stood, his cock heavy and thick in his hand, stroking slowly. You see a pearl of precum at the tip and your mouth waters, wanting to taste it. It’s been so long since you tasted him. You can’t stop yourself from crawling to the end of the bed. You’re practically drooling by the time you scramble off of it and drop to your knees in front of him. You want to reach for him and replace his hand with yours, but you stop yourself at the last second. Instead, you look up at him between your lashes.

His gaze is hungry and predatory and focused solely on you. His chest is rising and falling quicker than it was before; he’s just as turned on as you are.

“Please,” you whisper. You rub your thighs together to try and relieve some of the ache that you felt. “Let me earn it?”

His eyes darken and in one quick movement, Bradley takes a step forward, letting the swollen red tip of his cock hit your lips.

“Make it good,” he growls. You open your mouth and take him in. The taste of him mixed with the weight on your tongue and his heady scent is making you dizzy in the best of ways. You want to savor it, to just stay here on your knees and keep him warm, but you don’t want to disappoint him, so you don’t waste time. You dip forward, trying to take more of his length into your mouth. Your hands splay on his thick, muscled thighs, and with a deep inhale through your nose, you pull back before sinking forward and then repeating the motion. You take him a little deeper every time, swirling your tongue and sucking as you do. You’ve been in this position so many times before, and you quickly find the rhythm that you know he prefers. You gag when he nudges the back of your throat, but you don’t let it deter you.

Spit trails down your chin and you know the sounds you’re making are vulgar, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You get lost in it quickly, each moan and curse from above you going straight to your own core. When his hand falls heavy to the back of your head, you think he’s going to guide your movements. You’re surprised when instead, he yanks you back by your hair. His cock falls from your mouth and you gasp. It hangs in front of your face, thick and hard and wet with your own saliva. You go to take him back between your lips but he keeps his grip firm in your hair. You don’t resist when he pulls you to your feet.

“On the bed,” he demands, and you take some satisfaction out of how breathless he sounds. “Hands and knees. Facing the dresser.”

You do as he says, anticipation racing through you like a trail of fire. You’re barely in his desired position when you feel him squeeze the flesh of your behind in both of his hands. “Oh god, please,” you whine, arching into his touch. Only the feeling stops, and your eyes pop open with a gasp of surprise.

You look over your shoulder. His eyes are as dark as they’ve been, but through your lust you see a gleam in them now. Something playful and hot. It’s accompanied by a slow building grin tugging at his lips.

“B-Bradley?”

He tsks mockingly, giving a slow shake of his head.

“Bra-“

His hand connects with your asscheek so harshly and so suddenly that you fall forward, barely catching yourself before face planting into the duvet. But your pussy clenches and the fire in your belly increases and the moan that escapes you is long and drawn out. He drapes himself over you, his weight pressing your entire front into the mattress in the most delicious of ways. He’s completely surrounding you and for a moment, every fiber of you relaxes, forgetting about the anger and the apology.

But then he presses a kiss to your ear, and the words he whispers has it all rushing back.

“Beg for it. For me.”

You can’t turn to meet his eyes with how he’s holding you down, but when you look forward, you realize why he had specifically picked this placement. The mirror over your dresser provides a perfect visual of the two of you tangled together over your forest green duvet. You moan at the sight, and without a second thought, you do just as he requested.

“Please, Bradley. Fuck me. I’ll do anything you want. Please. Use me. I want your cock so bad, baby. Please, please, please.”

Pleading continues to fall from your lips, so jumbled together you lose track of what you’re saying. But Bradley delights in every word. The vein in his neck throbs as he picks himself up, hauling you back to your hands and knees. He looks so large and strong behind you and as he drags the head of his cock through your wetness, you shiver. You watch through half lidded as he lines himself up.

And then he starts to push into you. You both moan at the feeling. It’s always amazing being with Bradley, but that initial stretch that comes with being apart for however long is something special. He’s so big that you can’t take all of him at once, but just like he knows you like, he barely pauses, inching himself in until he’s buried all the way inside of you. You sigh with pleasure and relief, finally feeling full for the first time in six weeks.

You meet his eyes in the mirror again, and for just a second, he’s staring at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. It makes all of this so worth it. “Bradley,” you whisper, softer than you had all night. You wonder if it will ruin everything, but you say the words bubbing on your tongue anyway. “I missed you so much.”

The breath he releases comes out shaky and he squeezes his eyes shut. You hold your breath as you wait, wondering if this is all about to come to an end, if your words had impacted him that much. But he shakes his head in a way that almost seems like he’s trying to rid himself of your words, and you know before he opens his eyes that you’re nowhere near done.

“I bet you did,” he grits out, and then he pulls out almost all the way before harshly snapping back into you.

The pace he sets is vicious, demanding everything you can give to him. The room is filled with the sounds of your fucking. It’s filthy and wet, your skin slapping together. The reflection you see in the mirror is a sight to behold. Your breasts shakes with every thrust, your necklace hitting against your skin. The veins in his arms bulge as he grips your hips. You both shine with sweat. You let yourself get lost in the pleasure and your eyes close as it starts to consume you. And then all at once, you feel the sharp sting of his hand connecting with your asscheek while the other twists itself into your hair, retching you up so your back is flush with his chest.

“You better keep those eyes open. I want you to watch while I’m fucking you. I want you to know it’s me making you feel this way. Because I’m the only one who can, aren’t I, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, yes, only you.”

“By the time I’m done with you, you’ll never question that again.”

He lets his teeth trail over the pulse point on your neck, biting down slightly. Another whimper falls from you. Despite being flush against him, you’re desperate to be closer. You reach an arm back, slinging it around his neck. The angle is a little awkward but you’re grateful when Bradley doesn’t seem to mind. He settles one hand on your hip while the other comes around to your front, tweaking your nipples and sliding down your sweat-slicked body.

You aren’t prepared for his next move, and the scream you let out is ringing in your ears by the time you register it had left your lips. You clench around him as your clit throbs from the slap he just delivered. You’re desperate for the painful pleasure it caused.

“Again,” you beg, fingers tugging at his curls. You brace yourself this time, and the sting is somehow even better. He slaps your pussy for a third time just for good measure and then sets his attention on torturing your wet, swollen clit with his fingers. You gasp lightly, only to let out another scream when he slams into you again, harder than before.

“You feel so fucking good wrapped around me,” Bradley rasps. You think you say something in return about how good he feels inside of you, but you’re to the point of pleasure where you can’t be sure. You can feel every vein and ridge of his cock as he pounds into you, fucking you in earnest. You can’t do anything but take it, and you do so gladly. The tightening in your core starts and you know you’re close. The pressure of it builds and builds with each stroke in your throbbing cunt and you know you won’t be able to keep it at bay for much longer.

“I’m close,” you manage to choke out, feeling the need to warn him. At your words, Bradley stops, pulling out of you completely. You moan at the loss, preparing yourself for what’s coming. You expect him to deny you, or to taunt you, make you beg and plead and prove that you’ve earned it. But he doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, before you have time to dwell on what you’re sure is your fate, he flips you onto your back and sheaths himself back inside of you in one smooth movement. At the same time, he presses his mouth to yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, pushing yourself further into him. His tongue tangles with yours and it’s messy and desperate, but it’s the first time he’s kissed you since he left six weeks ago, and even more so than feeling him deep inside of you like he is, this feels like coming home. You nearly sob into the kiss.

He’s panting harshly when he breaks away, as are you, but the look in his eye is different now. It’s more familiar, softer, and your walls flutter around him. “You’re so good for me, sweetheart,” he rasps, and you arch into the praise. He kisses you again, his thrusting becoming more erratic now. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you come all over my cock. I need it.”

“Bradley,” you breathe.

“I love you,” he whispers, “come for me.”

The look of love in his eyes reflected back at you is the catalyst, but the words are truly your undoing. You scream his name as the cord inside of you snaps and you gush around him, your body nearly convulsing at how powerful of an orgasm this is. It’s six weeks of built up tension and anticipation, thinking about his return and how it would transpire. It’s six weeks of longing and missing him, and being without him. He fucks you through it the whole time, chasing his own end. Through the haze of your pleasure, you feel his thrusts become jerky and quick, and when he lets out a hoarse shout of your name, you feel his hot cum spill inside of you, filling you up.

For a long moment, you let yourself float, completely surrounded by this feeling of relief and euphoria and home. Your breaths mingle together as he rests his forehead against yours. He places a soft kiss to your lips as you both come down from the high you reached together. And once your breathing is a little bit more controlled, he pulls back just slightly, and you watch as he glances down to where he’s still buried inside of you. The sigh he lets out is full of content. It’s reflected so clearly in his deep brown eyes when he looks at you.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says.

You hum softly, your body tired and completely relaxed. You scratch lightly at his back, delighting in the goosebumps that appear under your touch. Your voice is hoarse from how loud you had gotten when he fucked you. “Hi, baby.”

Bradley presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose, and then another on your cheek before finally placing one against your lips, so featherlight you almost don’t feel it.

“I missed you,” he whispers, followed by another kiss. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.”

“Are you alright?” he checks, a tinge of worry filling his voice. “Was I-”

“I’m perfect,” you cut him off before he can spiral too much and ruin the bliss that you had both fallen into. “You were perfect.”

He nods, letting out a breath of relief. He doesn’t pull out of you yet, knowing how much both of you need the connection after he’s been away and after a scene. You had always been adventurous in bed, and role playing was one of your favorite things.And this one was intense. Instead, he shifts so you’re both laying on your sides, the front of your body flush with his, his cock still buried in your warmth.

“That was…”

“Yeah,” you breathe out a laugh, shaking your head. You flashback to six weeks ago and can’t help the shiver that goes through your body.

You snuggled closer to Bradley on your shared bed, your leg sliding between his. His fingers traced shapes into your bare lower back. “Tell me how it will go again?”

“It’s a six week no contact deployment” he told you. “And when I come home, it’ll be like we had a massive falling out before I left. And you have to earn my forgiveness. I’ll be mad at you. Degrading. And you’ll…you’ll be desperate for me.” You could feel him hardening against your stomach as he described it, and you shivered in return.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. He was quiet despite being the only ones in the house, his voice nothing but a whisper floating in the space between your bodies.

“I’m sure,” you whispered.

“Wear the purple dress, and the necklace with my initial on it, if you’re sure,” he told you anyway, and your heart swelled, knowing he needed the extra validation. Your comfort was always his number one priority. “If you don’t have them on, I’ll know that you don’t want to act it out anymore. But if you do…”

“Then I’ll be ready.”

----------

Main Masterlist

Notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAK!!! Keeping this a secret from you was one of the hardest things ever, I swear. The amount of times this almost got sent to you on accident...man oh man.

Thanks to @roosterforme for all of her help with this! Literally would not exist without you!

Tag List: @roosterforme @mak-32 @wildxwidow @gretagerwigsmuse @lilyevanswhore @too-fangirl-to-fuction @fav-fanficssss @notroosterbradshaw @teacupsandtopgun @sometimesanalice @sunflowersteves @littlezee80 @je-suis-prest-rachel @khaylin27 @infamous-reindeer @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @yanna-banana @avengersfan25 @wkndwlff @sylviebell @lt-spork @indynerdgirl

@mssleepy876b @kassieesworld @mizzzpink @a-serene-place-to-be @sexualparkour @sadpetalsstuff @almostgenerallyalways @alilstressyandlotdepressy @ccbb2222 @taytaylala12 @shelbycillian @mavrellover91 @vici111 @lunamooncole @blackwidownat2814 @pisupsala @bellaireland1981 @jynxmirage @shanimallina87 @greatszu @na-ta-sh-aa @callsign-magnolia @chaoticassidy

#bradley fic

514 notes · View notes