warnings | 18+ dark themes surrounding suicidal ideation and attempt, smut, angst, but also a whole lot of love to be had
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And leave me if I'm feeling too lonely
Full as the fruit on the vine
You know some girls are bright as the morning
And some have a dark turn of mind
"Dark Turn of Mind" by Gillian Welch
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“Thanks, kid.”
“You said the thick socks right? I wasn’t sure.”
“Yeah, these are good.”
“Is she doing okay?”
“I don’t know.” He doesn’t. He’s not sure if he wants to. Something ugly has settled in his skull. Not anger. Something that simmers lower, meaner. Hate might be the right word. He feels sick with it.
He hates that something as innocent as a bottle of expired aspirin, small, sitting in the bathroom cabinet, could make something this awful happen.
He hates that he had to do what he did. Had to get big and loud and quick, quick, quick with her. Overpowering, muscling her in his arms to keep her still, still, still.
He hates that she fought him until she didn’t. Snarling big, big, big, trying to wriggle back down to that deep, dark place he was pulling her out of. And then the blank wash across her face when she realized her own failure.
He hates that he knew exactly what to do. The feeling of her throat constricting around his fingers, her whole body a tight fist, and then the slackening of her heaves.
But maybe more than anything, he hates that he didn’t have a clue until the moment he walked into the bathroom. No signs, no warnings. Things were good, he knows it. Simple and so, so, so good. And she still wanted to leave so, so, so bad.
He hates all the things around her that he can. Lets it get big and bad in his brain, staring at the closed clinic door, knuckles flexing with each dark thought. He’d like to hate her too. It’d be so much easier. It’s why he hasn’t gone in yet. Because he knows the instant he sees her, this hate, this big, ugly something will dissolve into a simpering ache.
“Do you want me to stay?”
“No, kid. That’s alright. Thank you.”
He walks in alone. Cold white walls and cold bright lights and a sterile hand on his shoulder that he’d like to snap clean off.
She’s doing fine but–
Chronic and persistent–
May need to put in place a–
There isn’t much we can do.
Blink and nod, blink and nod. What is this world he has stepped into?
And then she’s there in a bed that crinkles white and it’s summer all over again and he needs to see her eyes open needs to get her awake for him, needs, needs, needs. And then she’s awake and she’s looking at him and he wants to scream and plunge his hands into his chest to pull out the crumpled mass of his heart wants to smear it all over these white walls so maybe she can understand what this hell he’s in is like. But he needs, needs, needs to stay calm needs to keep her with him.
So he’s careful. So, so careful. Kneeling down next to the bed that crinkles white and taking up one of her hands in his, so slack he can’t help the anxious squeezes he pulses through her fingers. And finally, he clears his throat of that sick souring so what he says to her can be simple, simple, simple.
“I thought things were good.”
“They were.”
“Do you know what this does to me?”
“It has nothing to do with you.”
“Please, June.”
“I can go. This isn’t good for you.” I’m not good for you. Unblinking, cool and calculated in what she says. Like she’s done this before.
“I don’t think I could stand that.”
“You can’t stand this either, Joel.”
“No, I can’t.”
He finally realizes something. That night, they were out in that field for two very different reasons. His was an acute hopelessness, something that felt close to logic. But hers was old, calcified somewhere deep inside her. Something that may have even been there twenty years ago, before any of this. Something she said, a thread he tugs on now. I’d always been like that.
No cause, no effect. No problem he can hunt down and solve. Both freeing and damning in this revelation. Because she has a mind that makes leaving seem like a good idea. And he’s hellbent on making her stay.
“What do you want, June?” The question seems to shock her, eyes widening and lips parting. And then all at once, she folds up into a sob.
It’s hard to catch, the warbled slur of her words muffled over his bad ear where his face is pressed into her neck, holding her close, close, close. But he can still figure out that it’s a pleading chant of the same two words. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
…
“How long?”
“A long time.”
“How many?”
“Too many.” There’s another question that hangs in his throat, one she seems to pull out of him without words.
“Someone needed me, so I stopped.”
“You don’t think I need you?”
“I’m scared that you do.”
“Why?”
“I’m no good, Joel.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You should.”
…
“How can I know?”
“How can you know what?”
“How can I know when it’s getting like that again?”
“I’m not sure I even know that.”
“Try, please.”
“It happens fast. Something just clicks.”
“Will you tell me? When it clicks?”
“I’ll try.”
…
His back hurts. He’s been sleeping curled around her in the white bed that crinkles all week because the doctors wanted to make sure she was stable. And while there’s no scar he can see on her skin, he finds remnants in the drawn darkness of her face, the weak hum of her voice, and the perpetual fatigue that seems to hang heavy down her spine.
But she’s home now, moving like a faded ghost, careful and quiet, her cheek perpetually propped in her palm.
“Is it your back?” The pot is simmering on the stove, something warm, something rich, something that will stick. And she’s sitting at the kitchen table watching him make something warm, something rich, something that will stick.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not moving like you’re fine.”
“I’m fine, June.” Too much bite, his throat seizes with it.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. Let’s eat.”
This, something he can control. This, something he can fix. Each mouthful, a relief.
“Can I help?” Palms open, outstretched. He could never say no. Sitting between her legs with his back against the couch, her hands smooth over his shoulders, generating quick heat. And then she digs, the small moons of her fingers finding all those tangles, taut, taut, taut. His head tips back with it, a pain that pulses perfectly, catch and release in the way her hands move over muscle.
It’s sudden, startling, something that cracks in his chest and shakes his shoulders. He only realizes he’s crying when she tilts his chin back to see the tears.
“Oh, Joel.” He’s been holding it all, every splintered piece. But now he lays himself at her feet in a crumbling heap. On his knees. He’s on his knees and pressing his face into the soft hollow of her stomach and he’s crying so hard he can barely get a breath in.
“Please, June.” Please, please, please. Over and over, his prayer to her. Something, anything. He’d take anything she might give him.
The careful sweep of her palm, coaxing his face out from her shirt, her thumbs a kind arc, catching the salt dripping down his cheeks. It’s overwhelming, the care she so easily gives him, and it just makes him cry harder because somehow that’s true at the same time everything else is. And she lets him. Cradles his head in her hand and pulls him closer as he cries and cries and cries until he’s not really sure what he’s crying about anymore.
When all that’s left is a shudder in his ribs, she slips off the couch to sit with him, chest to chest, faces tucked into the crooks of necks, arms wrapped tight, tight, tight.
“I’m here.” Words stamped into the curve of his throat, her lips an exultant thrum.
“Don’t go.”
“I won’t.”
“I would follow you. I would too.”
“I wouldn’t want that.”
“Then don’t go.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise me.” Silence. The slight curl of her fingers at the back of his neck.
“Promise me, June.”
“I can’t, Joel.”
“Then promise me you’ll try.”
“I’ll try, I promise.”
It burns up in him. A need that turns liquid, molten until all he can do is seek out her lips in a kiss he hopes will bruise. She’s there to receive it, open, willing, her mouth easy and warm against the desperate snarl of his. And he isn’t being gentle. He can’t be. Not right now.
A button snaps off her shirt in his frantic fumbling, the light pop of it like a tooth coming loose and he wants to hear that sound again, a trail of ruin that leaves her bare to him. Lays her out right there, making this moment permanent with the harsh suck of his mouth, leaving himself across the jittery planes of her chest, the jolt of her stomach, the jut of her hips. She lets him. Lets him, lets him, lets him. Her eyes careful, wide, watching him beneath a crumpled brow as he takes and takes and takes.
Red like–
Dripping like–
But she’s sweet, so sweet. His jaw aches with it. Slipping down his throat with each hot drag of his tongue, all the muscle, bone, ligament he holds jumping under his palms. Singular, nothing else, just the taut curl of her spine, perfect pain, perfect pleasure. Something permanent in the way his name breaks in her chest when he pulls her over the edge. And even when her hips start to stutter like broken wings, he persists, his forearm a heavy cage over her pelvis.
Again. Take what I am giving you.
Again. Let me make you stay.
Again. Let me make this real.
Again. Let me, let me, let me.
He makes her cry with it. Revelation realized. And when she finally sobs out for him to come closer, please, please, please, he relents. Seeking out the salt on her skin with his mouth. Open, receiving, wanting.
Everything goes slow, syrupy, slipping sweet when his hips meet hers. And his heart might burst if he moves, veins splitting open and seeping out with how big this feeling is. But she’s steady beneath him, sure fingers brushing back the damp hair in his face, brushing over his scrunched shut eyes, coaxing them open.
“It’s okay, Joel.” Soft, simple, the song of a bird that beats against his ribs. And it’s devastating when he finally moves. Everything, all of it. He leaves all that he can at the gates of her hips. All of the anger, all of the hate, all of the despair, and all of that dizzying feeling he can’t quite name. She takes it, all of it, her lips a permanent press to his brow, arms holding him tight, tight, tight.
Her name, over and over. An invocation stamped into her skin. Stay, stay, stay.
His name, over and over. A prayer being met. Here, here, here.
They unravel so well for each other.
When all that’s left is drying salt and jagged heartbeats, still he remains. Keeping her close, tangled. And it isn’t really a kiss. Two mouths, open, receiving and willing breath from the other. The machinery of their bodies fitting together to create some new beast.
“I’m hungry.”
“You are?”
“Hmm.”
They stand in the kitchen, bare, sweat cooling in the hollows of their skin. Pears, some of the last sweetness before winter. Burning red that reveals pale flesh. They pass it between careful palms, teeth marking new, dripping wounds with each bite. Their lips turn shiny with it, seeking out syrup, smacking, greedy mouths that take, take, take. And when all that’s left are seeds and stem, they chase what’s left off each other’s tongues.
…
His back hurts. He slept curled around her last night. On the floor in front of the couch. His body draped over hers warm, warm, warm. She’s perfect like this, peaceful beneath the weight of him, only stirring with the soft brush of his nose along her jaw. Eyes flickering open and she’s here, really here, with him.
Every chapter leaves me more breathless than the last. No fucking joke. Honestly I could comment it line by line but I’d be posting your whole story so I narrowed it down to some of my favorite bits!
So the first bit, I’m normally not the brightest pea in the pod but I knew instantly what happened the moment he mentioned the bottle of expired pills and it broke my heart that he is so familiar on what to do and getting her to throw them up. I just hurt so bad for her bc as someone who’s reached for a bottle of pills before, I just broke for her 🥺
And poor Joel. How agonizing it must be for him to think things were good and all of a sudden he’s sticking his fingers down her throat and just—UGH MY HEARTS FOR THEM BOTH
This was just so beautifully written, haunting to take a peek into his feelings like this but gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous imagery 💔
I love how their dialogue is so simple, but there is so much behind it that packs a punch.
This was the bit that really broke me, when he broke I think we all fucking broke 💔
AGAIN. So simple, but enough to knock the wind out of my lungs.
This entire chapter was just so so so good.
You are a fucking incredible writer and I honestly think this is a contender for one of my all time favorite stories I’ve ever read. Period.
when javier peña takes credit for your lead, you take revenge.
good thing you know javier can't resist a girl in red lipstick.
author's note:
first javier fic, based on taylor swift's "i can see you". if you enjoy, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging! gif by @pedropascalito
content warnings:
explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), dub con - sexual activity under the influence of alcohol, alcohol consumption, no use of y/n, female masturbation, oral sex - male receiving, dirty talk, praise, lots of lipstick kink, pet names, sex while standing, teasing, semi-public sex (file room at work), vaginal fingering, mouth covering. please let me know if i've missed any!
You storm into the office, boots clicking on the linoleum as you make a beeline for Javier’s messy desk. He’s on the phone as you approach, ever present cigarette dangling from his lips as he speaks to whomever is on the other end of the line. You rip the receiver from his hand and slam it into the cradle.
“What the fuck?” Javier snaps, stubbing out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. “What if that had been an important call?”
“Fuck you, Peña,” you hiss, planting your hands on his desk with enough force that several papers slip from precarious piles to the floor. “Where the fuck do you get off taking credit for my lead?”
His eyebrows go up, his lips tilting in a condescending smirk that you want to smack right off his face. “That’s what this is about? We’re a team, alacránita. It was our lead.”
Little scorpion, he calls you, because of your quick temper. He uses it when he wants you riled up, wants you angry at him, because what else is a scorpion to do but fight back when provoked?
“Oh, really? So, you were the one who stayed up ‘til three in the morning reading transcriptions, huh?” You tap your chin. “No, wait. That was me.”
Javier stands, grabbing his gun from the desk and tucking it into the waist of his jeans at his back. The action has his button down shirt stretching right across his chest and your eyes linger on the view. When you meet his gaze again you know you’ve been caught, the insufferable man grinning like a cat that got the canary.
“Look, do you want to keep arguing or do you want to actually do something with your intel and go catch some narcos?” He asks, breezing by you. You grind your teeth together as you watch him leave.
“If it’s any consolation—“ Steve starts to say, but you cut him off.
“Shut up, Murphy.”
That night after a long day of work and one beer too many you find yourself staring at the ceiling of your bedroom, your thoughts drifting to Javier and his annoying smirk and the stupid way he carries his gun and his dumb aviators and his gorgeous brown eyes and how good he feels between your—
Fuck.
You try not to think about the first time you met Javier Peña. The real first time, not the awkward handshake and forced smile as he introduced himself as Agent Peña.
The first time, when he sat beside you at a bar and introduced himself as Javi and you thought that it must be a common enough name, there was no way this handsome stranger was your soon-to-be partner. He told you he worked in environmental services and you claimed to be a teacher. He bought you a drink and his eyes never left your mouth as you wrapped your red lips around a beer bottle.
A couple hours of conversation later, his hand slid to your knee and he looked at you with brown eyes full of fire as his fingers curled into the flesh of your thigh exposed by your skirt. He asked if you wanted to go someplace more quiet and when you said your apartment was across the street, his smile was full of promise.
As your mind replays the memory in vivid detail, you slide your hand beneath the elastic of your panties, hissing as your fingertips graze your sensitive clit. You circle the bundle of nerves slowly as you continue to imagine that night.
You think back to the feel of his hand in yours as you dashed across the street to your apartment building, how he pressed against your back and nipped at your neck as you unlocked your door. He made a comment about the boxes still scattered around your apartment, some joke you can’t remember as desire fizzles through your veins.
“These pretty red lips,” he said, pulling you close and tracing his thumb along your bottom lip. “Been staring at them all night, wondering how they would look stretched around my cock.”
“I could show you,” you responded, sliding your hands down his chest until your fingers encountered the cold metal of his belt buckle. You unfastened it, pulling the leather loose from his sinfully tight jeans and tossing it to the floor. “If you’d like?”
“Get on your knees,” Javier said as he unbuttoned his fly, working the waist of his jeans down enough to free his hard cock from the denim. You dropped to your knees quickly and his dark laugh echoed through the room. “Stick your tongue out, baby.”
You remember the salty taste of him on your tongue, the way he slowly fed his thick length into your mouth as you gazed up at him from your position at his feet. Your fingers circle your clit faster as you think about how he’d traced your lips where they stretched around his cock with his thumb, gently pushing at the corner of your mouth.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled. You whine at the memory as you inch closer to your release with each swipe of your hand. “Mouth built for sin, isn’t that right?”
You plunge two fingers inside of you with mounting desperation as your mind continues to replay the memory like a movie - the way his dark eyes fixated on the slide of his cock in and out of your mouth, the intoxicating sounds that spilled from his lips, and how he had pulled back from you when he was close to finishing to show you the lipstick stains you’d left behind.
“Dirty fucking girl,” he said, dragging you up from the floor and kissing you breathless.
It’s the memory of his lips pressed to yours that pushes you over the edge, your cunt pulsing around your fingers as you shatter, biting back Javier’s name as it claws its way up your throat. In the aftermath, staring up at your ceiling, a thought pops into your head.
You know just how to get Javier back for taking credit for your lead.
As a field agent for the DEA, it’s not often you wear more than jeans, a blouse, and a practical pair of boots to work. After all, carrying a sidearm in a dress or running in heels isn’t ideal.
Today, however, you’re willing to make an exception. With a series of meetings on the calendar this afternoon, the risk of jeopardizing your work for the sake of fashion is, thankfully, slim.
You’ve put on your tightest dress, black polyester hugging your curves and balancing the fine line of work appropriate. The heels you dug out of your closet make your ass look fantastic but the cherry on top of the whole ensemble is the bright red lipstick you slicked on with careful precision.
Steve does a double take as you enter the cluttered office space, your heels clicking on the linoleum. Javier is at his desk, his back turned to you as he speaks to someone on the phone.
“Lookin’, uh, lookin’ good,” Steve says with a cough. “Did I miss a memo or somethin’?”
“Nope,” you reply, your lips popping in emphasis.
You hear the click of the phone being placed back in its cradle with impressive force. You try to keep your eyes focused on the file you’ve got open on your desk but you can feel Javier’s heated gaze burning over your skin. You glance up, briefly, but it’s enough for you to find his dark gaze and see the tense cut of his jaw as he grinds his teeth together.
Once the meetings start rolling, you don’t have much opportunity to think about Javier, but you know he’s thinking about you. You have fun with the attention, leaning forward to make sure the man can get a good view down your dress, biting the cap of your pen, and licking your lips after each sip of coffee. With each new tease, you notice the way his hand curls into a tight fist on the table or how he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
When Messina asks him a question, the usually calm and collected man stutters his response, earning him a raised eyebrow from the woman in charge. You have to bite back a satisfied laugh at his expense, watching as his neck turns a blotchy red in his embarrassment.
Once the meeting is over, you’re discussing the next plan of action with Steve as you leave the boardroom, Javier trailing behind the two of you. Steve asks Javier a question and a glance over your shoulder earns you the satisfaction of knowing he had been staring at your ass, his head snapping up so fast a flinch of pain flashes across his features as he replies to Steve.
Working through the pile of paperwork on your desk comes with the ever present weight of Javier’s gaze on you from across the room. He fields phone calls most of the morning, cigarette held to his lips as he converses in smooth, rapid fire Spanish that has you pressing your thighs together beneath your desk.
When he turns away, you grab a stray piece of blank paper and scribble a note before lifting it to your face to press a red kiss mark to the smooth surface. You fold it twice and keep it held tight in your hand as you stand and saunter over to Javier’s desk.
His dark eyes are fixed to the extra sway in your step as you approach, his grip tightening around the receiver. You set the note on his desk, leaning over just slightly to slide it across the wood towards him. You tap it once before straightening and walking back to your desk to resume your work, watching Javier from the corner of your eye as he unfolds the note.
Stop staring.
Javier crumples the note in his fist in frustration, keeping it pressed to his palm as he frees another cigarette from the pack on his desk. The rush of nicotine in his veins mingles with the white hot lust he’s been trying to beat down ever since he caught sight of you in that tight little dress, and you’ve not been making it easy.
You never make it easy. Ever since walking into work six months ago to a face that shouldn’t have been familiar sitting behind his new partner’s desk, he’s been fighting to remain professional. It doesn’t help that you’re one of the best agents he’s ever worked with - smart, resourceful, and capable of standing up to men trying to pull rank on you.
Today is testing his patience. The dress and heels are one thing, but the lipstick? That’s a low blow. All he can think about is the last time he saw you wear it, that night at the bar that turned into that night in your bed, all the pretty red color faded from your lips because you marked his cock with it instead. He spent the entire meeting with Messina trying not to watch the way you wrapped your lips around the tip of your pen, thoughts drifting to what it would be like to have you on your knees again, staring up at him with less venom and more desire.
He sets the note on his desk, pointedly ignoring it while you’re in the room. He knows you’re looking for a reaction and he’s not going to give you the satisfaction of one.
At least, not yet.
“Murphy, you still need that file we talked about? I’ve got another to pull,” you announce, standing from your seat. The blonde man looks up and nods.
“Yeah, see if you can find it while you’re in there,” Steve replies. You give him a little salute of acknowledgment before leaving the shared office space and making your way to the file room.
Once inside the windowless room at the end of the hall, you pull on the cord connected to the singular lightbulb in the ceiling meant to illuminate the dank space. It smells like paper and dust and it constantly looks like a bomb went off - cabinets half closed with how much has been shoved inside of them, stray stacks of folders that someone couldn’t be bothered to return to their proper place, and a wastebasket overflowing with crumpled paper.
You lose yourself to the task of locating the files you and Steve needed, distracted enough that you don’t hear the click of the door opening and shutting behind you. It’s not until there’s a low murmur of your name in a hauntingly familiar timbre so you realize you’re not alone.
You turn to find Javier standing in front of the file room door, dark eyes fixed on you as he removes his suit jacket and drops it to the floor. Your mouth goes dry as he rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, exposing deliciously tan forearms and muscles that flex hypnotically.
“My eyes are up here, baby,” he says, a smirk on his lips that sends anger through your veins but lust to your belly.
“What do you want, Peña?” You ask. Your voice wavers the slightest bit and you hope he doesn’t notice, but the tilt to his head and the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips says otherwise.
“I think the question is, what do you want?” He’s standing toe to toe with you now, your back pressed against a metal cabinet. “Or do you need me to show you?”
“Show me what?”
Javier chuckles. “What playing with fire will get you.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, tilting your chin defiantly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do that doesn’t involve harassing our coworkers.”
But he doesn’t back up, doesn’t give you the room to breathe that you so desperately need. Instead his large hand cups your hip, sliding slowly up your body, a trail of heat running from your waist to your breast until his palm settles against your neck. He rubs his thumb across your lips.
“What do you call wearing this, then?” He holds his thumb up for you to see the smear of red across his skin. “We both know what you were thinking when you put it on this morning, cariño.”
He presses his thumb to your lips, slipping it inside your mouth this time. You give the digit a tentative suck as he presses it forward and back across your tongue, a crude approximation of the memory that replayed in your head as you touched yourself.
Javier smiles triumphantly and you can feel his other hand working at the hem of your dress, hiking it up higher until his fingers skim the bare skin of your thighs.
“Tell me to touch you,” he demands, pulling his thumb free from your mouth. You press your lips together, fighting the overwhelming need to give into him as his knuckle skims your pussy through the fabric of your panties. “Stubborn alacránita,” he growls, circling your clit harshly and making you cry out.
His palm covers your mouth, your eyes going wide as he continues his tortuous attention. “Tell me to touch you,” he says again, brow pinched as his eyes search yours. It hits you that this man is just as desperate for you as you are for him, and the rush that knowledge gives you has you nodding your head.
He removes his palm, cupping your cheek and pressing his forehead to yours before whispering into the space between your mouths, “Say it.”
“Touch me, Javier,” you murmur, rolling your hips into his hand. “Please.”
He wastes no further time, hand slipping under the elastic of your panties and dragging through your slick folds. He grins at you, boyish and feral in equal measure as he slips a thick finger inside of you while his thumb presses to your clit.
“Christ, so fucking wet for me already, huh? Sitting at your desk getting worked up thinking about pulling one over on me with this little dress?” He adds a second finger and the stretch of it makes you moan, his palm returning to cover your mouth. “If this is your idea of a punishment for that lead, I’m not feeling too apologetic.”
You try to glare at him but the curl of his fingers inside of you and the press of his thumb to your sensitive bundle of nerves has your eyes rolling back instead, your head hitting the cabinet behind you. Your hips chase his hand with each pump of his fingers and it doesn’t take long for that wave of pleasure to crash over you, your muscles going tight as you pulse around him and your chest heaves with deep breaths you can only take through your nose thanks to his tight grip on your mouth.
Javier murmurs praise into your ear that you barely register as you come down from your high. He removes his hands from you to unbuckle his belt, freeing his hard cock that you only get a glimpse of before he’s urging you to turn around, pulling your hips back toward him and moving your panties out of the way. He runs the head of his cock through the mess he’s made of you before positioning himself at your entrance and pressing in, in, in.
You brace yourself against the filing cabinet, the sheer size of him making you gasp as he bottoms out. He smoothes a hand down your spine, giving you a moment to adjust before drawing his hips back and slamming forward with a sharp thrust.
Javier reaches up to grip your shoulder, giving himself more leverage as he pounds into you, using your body to chase his pleasure. You bite your lip to stifle your own sounds as the room echoes with the snap of his hips against yours and the grunts he can’t contain. The hand on your shoulder moves to your throat, pulling you up and arching your back until he’s holding you against his chest.
You turn your face over your shoulder and his lips crash against yours, his teeth digging into your bottom lip and making you whimper.
“Cum for me,” Javier commands, the hand on your hip moving to circle your clit again. As you start to pulse around him, he smiles against your lips. “Fuck, that’s it. Just like that, baby.”
Javier presses himself deep as his own release courses through him, filling you to the brim with warmth and stealing your breath. He kisses your shoulder, a sweet gesture that’s so at odds with what you’ve just done.
When he starts to go soft, he pulls out and fixes your underwear into place before smoothing the skirt of your dress back down your hips, the sound of him buckling his belt following suit. You turn to face him, prepared for some sort of self-satisfied remark from the egotistical man, but to your surprise he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you towards him for a deep kiss.
As he draws back and your eyes flutter open, you notice the smear of red across his lips, the sight making you smile. You lick your thumb, using the moisture to rub away the remnant of your time together.
“Thank you, alacránita,” he murmurs, gently grabbing your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm. You catch a glimpse of your watch, noting the time.
“Don’t you have a meeting right now?” You ask Javier. He checks his own watch.
“Fuck!” He hisses, grabbing his suit jacket and rushing from the file room, the door slamming shut behind him as you laugh and laugh and laugh.
Maybe your plan worked better than you expected, after all.
Javier slips inside the boardroom and takes the seat beside Steve as inconspicuous as possible, straightening his jacket and smoothing down his hair as he does. As he’s trying to focus on the words being thrown around the room, he feels a tap at his shoulder.
Steve leans closer to whisper, “What’s that all over your hand?”
He looks at the hand he’s rested on the table, noting the smear of red that extends from his palm to the thin skin between his thumb and forefinger. He clenches his hand into a fist and sets it in his lap instead.
WOOOOO alright HERR WE GO! I’ve been super hyped to read this ever since you so graciously fed me some snippets! I loved this idea and you know what I think Vee now has a lipstick kink 💋
this was EVERYTHING! Hot, of course but also so funny and comedic like the number of times that I cracked up?
Honestly, brilliant nickname and brilliant reason behind it. 10/10 we love our little scorpion
I love your characterization of Javi. I also adore the kind of Javi whose grin you just wanna backhand right off his handsome face
POOR STEVE lmao idk this just made me cackle I loved it
His dumb aviators 💀this whole paragraph had me dying but then we get into where she’s thinking about their first encounter and let me tell you the dumb grin was slapped right off of my face because that was such a hot scene 😵💫 100/10
TEEHEE I remember this snippet, just as good as the first time around. We love to see a flustered lil mess of a man
I have nothing funny to say about this I honestly just admire your writing and how you describe the scene, it literally was so easy to picture it in my mind!
That entire scene was just so fucking hot and amazing and UGH. CHEFS KISS. 🤌🏼
but you know the killer doesn't understand (Joel x F!Reader) Series Masterlist
Pairing: Post!Outbreak Neighbors, Joel x F!Reader
Summary: You're Joel's new next-door neighbor when he settles in Jackson, and you're determined to add some positivity to the grumpy old man's life. When Joel meets you, he knows right away he's fucked. (Full request)
Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI Explicit Sexual Content, Soft!Reader, Joel is bad at feelings, Innocence Kink vibes, Language, Fluff, Angst, Mutual Pining, Denial from Joel, Age Gap (Reader late 20s, Joel 56), TW mentions of previous miscarriage
Playlist
Joel Miller masterlist
Part I || Part II || Part III || Part IV (More Parts Coming Soon)
It's that time of the month again where I post all my favourite Pedro Character stories I've read this month! July was a busy Joel Miller month for me. Not that I am complaining...
Please all find the stories linked below, with the writer, give them some love by re-blogging and commenting. I've grouped them into specific characters so they're easy to find as we all have our particular Pedro boys that we favour.
Some stories are ongoing as of posting this, so they may not be completed yet.
If you didn't make the cut this month, it's probably because I've saved it to read later or I haven't found your work yet, so please make yourself known to me so I can read. Ta muchly!
Thank you to all the writers for sharing, and continuing to share, your wonderful work! ❤️
⚠️Please read the tags/pairings/smut warnings etc... on the individual stories themselves. Some of them may not be suitable to your particular tastes.
Helter Skelter Series - @mothandpidgeon
Ezra's Journal Entries - @littlemisspascal
Persistence - @insomniamamma (Check out their Masterlist, there are some great selections & lots of Ezra!)
Ache - @littlegreendove
Akrasia - @sp00kymulderr
Fade Into You - @guess-my-next-obsession
Maintenance Man Joel Series - @gracieispunk
Talk Me Down - @hellishjoel
Poor Baby - @walkintotheriveranddisappear
Joel Miller Masterlist - @darkroastjoel (All of Vee's Joel writings are fab FYI, check them all out.)
Jet & You Shook Me All Night Long - @macfrog
A Hungry Dog On A Very Short Leash - @iamasaddie-fic
Phone A Friend & Self Indulgent Tendencies - @strang3lov3
The Light Of All Lights - @toxic-seduction
I Know It When I See It - @bageldaddy
Movie Night - @palioom
It Pours From Your Eyes - @the-blind-assassin-12
DBF!Joel Series - @sofiaispunk
Lost & Found - @divinehedons
Good Luck Charm - @javiscigarette
Trial & Error Series - @thetriumphantpanda (Featuring Tommy Miller)
Stripped - @thot-of-khonshu
Hungry Hearts Series - @atinylittlepain
The Vagabond Gladiator - @dark-scape
Go on, I Dare Ya - @chronic-ghost
Marks - @notjustjavierpena
Stress Relief - @palioom
It's Never Too Late Series - @javierpena-inatacvest
Cafe Creme - @ladamedusoif
Part Of Me, Apart From Me - @tieronecrush
The Worthwhile Fight - @swiftispunk
Born To Run Series - @whataperfectwasteoftime
Bad Day - @trulybetty
Relaxation Techniques - @mandoblowmybackout
Attending Mr York Series - @popcornforone
My Girl - @foli-vora (Featuring Frankie Morales)
Above & Beyond - @zeldasayer
The Hottest Day Of The Year - @toomanystoriessolittletime
I'll Always Wait For You Series - @musings-of-a-rose
The Weight Of The World - @boliv-jenta
You Found Me - @yespolkadotkitty Zach Wellison
When It Comes To You - @flightlessangelwings Comandante Veracruz
Vete A La Mierda - @wannab-urs Comandante Veracruz
Blood Makes Noise - @chronic-ghost Max Phillips
The Sweetest Taste Masterlist - @dindjarinandlysakane Din Djarin
hello hello! this is all still so new to me, to be positng fic on tumblr. but interaction is low on ao3 so i figured why not migrate things over here as well. these are the pieces i’ve been working on the last few months, i’m really excited to share them with y’all
they are self indulfgent to an extent, but that’s a part of life, no? i hope they bring something to you if you decide to check them out!
any and all likes, reblogs, comments, asks, shoutouts are so so greatly appreciated ♡ please feel free to reach out if you feel so inclined ♡ i’d be happy to chat with y’all
pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x paranormal investigator!female reader
summary:
Joel Miller buys a foreclosed historic house, intending to fix it up and make it a home for him and his daughter, Sarah. However, Sarah experiences some creepy things she can’t explain, leading her to reach out to a local Youtube paranormal investigator to come see if there’s anything worth being afraid of in the old home.
Preview below! Will be posted to my writing page, @proxima-writes
Series Summary / Grief is a strange thing. In the beginning it had been all-consuming. There wasn’t a moment of the day where you didn’t cry, didn’t ask yourself why it couldn’t have been you instead. And no-one ever explains the guilt you feel when it isn’t anymore. When it’s just a dull ache and you can finally breathe again, when you can start letting people get close to you again. People like Joel Miller.
Pairing / Joel Miller x Widow F!Reader
Word Count / 4.4k
Warnings / as usual, not much to warn here apart from soft!Joel being incredible soft and sweet, some very brief allusions to smut but nothing explicit as well as mentions of alcohol and food, mentions of loss/death as well.
Authors Note / I won't lie to you but this chapter was a struggle. I have THE PERFECT idea on what I want to happen for the next two/three chapters, so this really is just a filler, working to set up the drama that is about to come your way, so I'm sorry if this is boring after such a long wait for it to arrive with you. It's crunch time for me with university deadlines too, so I'm just trying my best to get through everything - so it might be a bit of a wait between updates for the next month or so. As always, if you liked this, please consider dropping comments, reblogging or popping over to my ask box with some love and as always, thank you for your continued support of my work. Love y'all.
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
It’s late and Joel is stretched out in his living room, feet up on the coffee table with his guitar on his lap. He chuckles to himself that he’s got his feet on the table when he knows if Ellie tried to do this, he’d be swatting her legs and telling her off, but she’s not here, so he thinks he can get away being rebellious tonight.
He’s thoughtlessly strumming at the strings when he hears a tentative knock at his door. He thinks for a second that he might have misheard, he’s fairly deaf in that ear after all, but a few seconds later there’s a louder knock at the door, so he sets the guitar back on its stand near the wall and heads to open it.
Of all the people he expected to see at his front door at this time of night, it hadn’t been you. He can tell almost immediately that you’ve been crying. Your eyes a bloodshot and he can see redness of tear tracks down your face.
“Is everything alright, sweet pea?” He asks, he can’t help but soften immediately into your company.
“Can I come in?” You murmur.
“Of course you can.” He smiles, that warm smile that he always has on his face when you’re around.
He moves from the door, stepping aside to let you in. When he’s closed the door, he finds you looking around his living room. It’s not quite as bare as it had been weeks ago when they first moved in. Ellie’s been drawing all sorts of pictures that they’ve stuck to the walls, and he’s been trading here and there for things to make it feel more homely, like the lamp on the side table, which is bathing the room in a warm, orange glow.
He comes up behind you and places his hand on the small of your back, just like he had done when you’d gone to the bar together. It startles you a little, and he’s muttering a quick sorry for frightening you, “Why don’t you sit down?” He asks quietly, “I can get you a drink if you’d like?”
You sit yourself on the edge of the sofa whilst he’s looking through his kitchen cabinets, “I can do coffee, whiskey or water?” He calls out from behind a cabinet door.
“Coffee,” You say, but for some reason your voice breaks and it comes out of your mouth in little more than a whisper, you clear your throat and try again, “Sorry, coffee please, if that’s okay.”
“Course it is sweet pea.” He’s speaking over his shoulder as he’s making up a pot.
In no time he’s sat on the opposite end of the sofa, his own mug of coffee in hand. You look down into yours and you can see he’s splashed some milk into it and your heart swells in your chest. You’d never told him you like milk in your coffee, in fact, you’re pretty sure you’ve only drunk it that way in front of him once. Why is this man so observant that he remembers all the tiny details of you? His own mug is what catches your attention next, even in his hands it’s large, white with what looks to be a hand-painted owl on it, with a big ring of reddish-brown paint along the rim.
“You really interested in owls or are you tryin’ to avoid somethin’, sweet pea?”
“Just never pegged you as a patterned mug kinda guy, is all.”
“I’m nothing if not full of surprises,” He chuckles, “Truth be told I’m not really, it was just the biggest mug in the house.”
A comfortable silence sits between the two of you as you sip at your coffee, “I’m sorry, Joel, about the other night.”
“That’s okay, sweet pea, it’s me who should be sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep a mark or anythin’.”
You shake your head, “You didn’t overstep anything Joel,” You sigh, “In that moment I wanted nothing more than to kiss you, to be perfectly honest it’s all I’ve wanted to do since, but I need to be honest with you.”
“Okay, shoot, I’m listening.” He’s turned his body on the sofa a little bit, he’s looking directly at you now.
“You’re a good man Joel, and I don’t say that lightly, and you kiss like your life depends on it, but when I closed my eyes all I could see Mark, and that’s not what you deserve, you deserve a woman who only ever see’s you.”
“But sweet pea,” He sighs, “You’re the only woman I want.”
You sip your coffee, “Can I ask why?” You murmur, “I just don’t know what it is you could possibly want from sad, little old me.”
“I want to make you happy,” He shrugs, looking at you, “There have been these glimpses I’ve had of you, when you smile, or when you talk to Ellie about your life before, or when you reminisce about Mark and you become this beacon of light, you glow sweet pea, and I would do anythin’ in this world to be the person that does that to you every day.”
You can feel a single tear slip from your eye, what on earth had you done in this world to deserve this man at your feet?
“Listen to me,” He’s put his coffee on the table and moved closer to you, his big, warm hand is on your knee, “I’m not going to pretend that I can be him, no-one is ever going to be him for you again, but I want to try and be somethin’ different for you, I’m not going to try and replace him, just add to him,” He pauses before he adds, “If you’ll let me.”
Your hand slips over his own on your knee and you squeeze it, “I want it Joel, Lord knows I want it, but I don’t know how long it’s going to take, before it’s you I see when I close my eyes and not him, will you be patient with me?”
“Of course I will, sweet pea,” He breathes, “I’ll give you all the time in the world,” He’s turned his palm up so you’re holding hands now, “And it’s not a bad thing, y’know?” You make a sound for him to carry on talking, “Still seeing him – sometimes Ellie’ll do somethin’ and it’ll be exactly like Sarah, and I’ll go right back to standing in my house in Austin with her, keeps her memory alive, right?”
“I get you,” You smile at him, “I’m so grateful for you, Joel, I hope you know that.”
You reach out a hand and he reaches his own out to gather your hand in his. He’s scooting along the seats of the couch, coming to rest just far enough away that your legs aren’t touching, but close enough for you to feel the heat emanating from his body, “I know, sweet pea, I’m grateful for you too.”
You turn to properly look at him for the first time that night. In the dim glow of his living room lamp he’s just as devastating as he always is. The dreamy chocolate of his eyes, the slope of his nose, that full bottom lip that you want to kiss. He’s reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, before his impossibly large hand is running through the hair to rest on the back of your head, “Can I maybe try again?” He asks quietly.
You don’t need to ask what he means, not with the way his eyes dart from yours to your lips and then back up again, “I’d really like that.”
He uses the hand resting at the back of your head to pull you gently towards him, you watch closely as his eyes flutter close as his lips press to yours. You’re almost frightened to close your own after what happened before, but his other arm is snaking around your waist and pulling you closer to him and you can’t help but follow his movements, letting your own close as you tentatively open your mouth to him.
There is something undeniably different about this kiss compared to the last. This time when you close your eyes, you try and focus on what you can feel. You can feel Joel’s palm resting on the back of your head, fingers twisting into your hair. You can feel your hand, placed on his knee to steady you and the rough denim of his jeans beneath your palm. You can feel his lips pull back from yours just a touch before he puts them back on yours, capturing your bottom lip between his own before he sucks your bottom lip, just a little.
Then you focus on what you can hear. The deep breathing of Joel through his nose as he kisses you, the slight breeze that rustles the trees outside his home. The sound of a whimper from your lips when he pulls all the way back. You open your eyes and he’s still close enough that if you moved forward, you could capture his lips back, but he’s searching your face for signs you’re okay, so you don’t.
“I’m fine,” You reassure him, “You know, you’re really good at that.”
“I am?” He asks, and you can see how he flushes a little, “Gotta admit I’m a little out of practice.”
“You’d never know,” You smile, “I should probably get going.”
“Alright, sweet pea,” He’s pulling away from you and standing, pulling your arm to help you stand, leading you to the door, “You gonna be alright walking back?”
“I’ll be fine,” You speak, suddenly distracted by the sight of the guitar propped up against the wall, “Do you play?”
“I do indeed,” He smiles, “Got lucky findin’ this out on patrol a few weeks back.”
“Will you play for me sometime?” You ask, hope in your voice, “I miss hearing music that isn’t distorted by headphones.”
He steps closer to you, letting a hand run down the length of your hair until he’s cupping your cheek, “Course I will, sweet pea,” He presses another soft, careful kiss to your lips, “Now you get on home, be safe.”
“Goodnight Joel.”
The next morning, you’re sitting with Maria on your front porch, cups of coffee in hand, watching as the rest of Jackson start to come and go. It’s quiet between the two of you, something that you’ve always appreciated about Maria, that she can sit in silence and just let you enjoy the company. You’re almost to the bottom of your coffee cup when Tommy and Joel begin walking down the street, guns strapped to their backs on their way to patrol.
Tommy waves at Maria as they get closer to your porch, walking over to say good morning to you. You think you return his sentiment, but all you can really focus on is Joel, who is standing just behind his shoulder with a childish grin painted across his lips. You can feel your face returning a similar smile his way, looking down into the murky dregs of your coffee to try and stop being so bloody obvious.
“Well, you two have a nice day now.” Tommy’s voice brings you back round.
“Oh, you too Tommy,” You smile, before shooting another smile to Joel, “And you as well Joel.”
“I’ll do my best, sweet pea.”
Once they’ve started back on their walk to the gate, you turn your head to Maria who is staring right at you, with a knowing smirk on her face.
“And you as well Joel,” She teases in an imitation of your voice, “God, you are subtle as a brick sometimes.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Tommy saw you, leaving his last night.”
“Am I not allowed to go and visit a friend?” You ask, downing the last of your coffee.
Maria gives you a knowing look, “Friends you kiss?”
“That was one time, and it doesn’t even count.” You argue.
“You must think I was born yesterday,” She laughs, “The way you two were smiling at each other just then, something definitely happened!”
You relent, “Fine, I went and spoke to Mark, like you suggested and I guess everything felt a little clearer to me afterwards,” You don’t mention that you’re putting all your trust in a tiny ray of sunshine as permission to kiss Joel Miller, “So I went to speak to Joel, told him it would take time but that I wanted to see what might happen.”
Maria reaches over, grasping your hand in her own, when you look at her, you almost cry, her own eyes brimming with tears, “I’m so proud of you, girl,” She whispers, “Lord knows that man is patient, the way he handles Ellie, but you let me know if I ever have to kick his ass, alright?”
You laugh at that, considering Joel has never once given you the idea that anyone would need to protect you from him, but you agree none-the-less, “You’ll be the first to know.”
Maria takes her leave a few moments later, leaving you to fill your day on your own. You decide to head to the library, picking out some new books and catching up with Kate for a few moments, before you head back home. You use the last of your rations to make a loaf of bread and spend some time weeding the garden and picking some of your sweet peas.
The sun is setting and you’re considering what to pull together for dinner when there’s a knock at your door. It’s Joel, back from patrol, although he’s not stopped to drop his rifle off yet, which is still slung over his shoulder.
“Evening, Joel.”
“Evenin’, sweet pea.” He smiles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your cheek.
“Good patrol?”
“Can’t complain when I go with Tommy,” He responds, “Always brings his hip flask which makes things seem better.”
“Did you need something?”
“Are you busy tomorrow?” He asks, “Only I was thinkin’ there was some place I’d like t’show ya, if not.”
“Are you asking me on a date, Joel Miller?” You smile, arms folding across your chest.
“Might be,” He shrugs, “Depends in you’re gonna say yes or not.”
“Well, lucky for you, I have no plans tomorrow, so you can take me wherever you’d like.”
“Well then, sweet pea,” He smirks, “You’ve got yourself a date, I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”
You lean up on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling away, “Should I bring anything?”
“No, just yourself.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning then.”
The sun is already warming the commune when Joel arrives to pick you up. He’s dressed simply – jeans, black t-shirt and his battered walking shoes – but still looks like the most handsome man you’d laid eyes on in years. He’s got his backpack on which looks to be fit to burst and his rifle slug on his shoulder.
“Where the hell are you taking me that requires that?” You ask, motioning to the gun whilst you lock the door.
“I’m taking you out.” Is all he offers, which makes you stand still, anxiety filling your stomach.
“Wait, as in out of Jackson?”
He looks at you and notices the worry on your face, “Sweet pea, I promise I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you,” He takes hold of your hand in his, “It’s an hour walk, Tommy and I scouted it yesterday, so I know it’s clear, and I’ll protect you.”
“I’ve not left since we arrived,” You speak quietly, sweat pricking at your skin in worry, “Are you sure it’s safe?”
He drops your hands, instead bringing those warm palms to cup your face, leaning down to press a barely-there kiss to your lips that has the anxiety butterflies in your tummy turning into the exact opposite, “We’ll take it one step at a time, okay?” You nod, “Anytime you wanna turn back, we will, but I think you’ll like what I’ve got to show you.”
He can obviously see your anxiety, worry etched onto your face like it always is these days. He drops his hands, intertwining your fingers with his own, “First step, we get to the gate, okay?”
“Okay.” You say softly, keeping a firm grip on his hand as he leads you down the street.
It’s early enough that there are few people on the main street down the gate, but those who are up and about don’t miss the fact that you’re hand-in-hand with Joel Miller. He certainly doesn’t seem to mind, keeping his head forward as he walks, but he does continuously squeeze your hand for comfort whenever he catches someone with a particularly intense stare.
Amanda, one of the women who often patrols the walls of the commune, greets you both when you arrive at the gate, “Morning Joel,” Then she turns to you, “So good to see you out and about,” And she’s genuine for it. You didn’t know her, at all really, but her soft face and kindness make you smile, “All looking quiet out there today, you two enjoy yourselves.”
Joel gives your hand another squeeze, “So, what do you say? You wanna go?”
You look up at him, face warm and rugged in the early morning sun. His eyes are looking into yours, filled with hope that you’ll indulge him. You know he’s got you; you know this man right next to you isn’t going to let anything bad happen to you. So, you squeeze his hand and tell him to lead the way.
It’s actually a really pleasant walk. There are plenty of trees that offer shade from the sun that is continuing to heat up the air around you as it rises further. You can’t remember the last time you took a walk just for pleasure. Mark had insisted that once you’d made it to Jackson and its safety, that you stayed put, and you can’t say you’d complained. You’d seen too much shit out in the world to not revel in the relative normality of life in the commune. But this walk reminded you of the days before, when you and your flatmates would drive out of the city and walk for hours with no destination in mind. If it weren’t for Joel’s rifle in your periphery, you could almost convince yourself that nothing bad was lurking just out of sight.
“Not much further now, sweet pea,” Joel muses, stepping up onto some rocks at the top of the hill you’d been steadily climbing for a while, he turns back and offers you his hand, “Careful now.”
He hauls you up onto the rocks, helps you down and then gestures for you to look around. It’s absolutely beautiful. There’s a small lake, shimmering in the sun, with a shore made up of pebbles. The tree line offers you a wealth of shade to sit under, Joel already making his way to one particularly large tree, setting his rifle down before he’s opening his backpack to pull out a blanket.
You can’t help but smile to yourself as he sets it down on the ground before he’s reaching back into his bag. You walk over to meet him just as he pulls out a brown paper bag, filled to the brim with strawberries. Some of them had been squished on the walk, but you could see plenty of the sweet fruit still in one piece. He sets them down on the blanket, pulling out an insulated flask and two tin mugs before he’s turning to you.
“You got anything else in that bag of yours?” You tease, dropping to your knees, “You’re like Mary Poppins.”
He chuckles, “There might be a flask in there with somethin’ stronger than coffee,” He shrugs, “Couldn’t fit much else in.”
You put a hand on his shoulder as he settled his back against the tree, extending and widening his legs, motioning for you to sit between his thighs, which you do, leaning your back against his chest as he leans forward to grab the bag of strawberries, taking one before he offers it to you.
You take it, head falling back to rest in the crook of his neck as you bite into the fruit, “I’ll be sad when these are gone,” You comment, letting the sweet juice pour across your tongue, “Winter is miserable at the best of times, but I miss the fruit more than anything.”
Joel takes a strawberry for himself, you can hear him bite into it and he makes a sucking sound as he tries not to let the juice fall down his face, “They’ll come back though,” He speaks softly, letting one of his arms wrap around your waist to pull you deeper into his chest, “This okay, sweet pea?”
He makes your heart swell. He’d spend his own rations on your favourite fruit, scouted out a place for you to have some peace together, made sure you were comfortable the whole time and is still making sure he doesn’t push you too far. He’s trying to make this as normal as he possibly can. You don’t think you’d ever had this with Mark. Spent most of your time together scraping by in a QZ before trekking across the country trying to keep yourselves alive. Found comfort in each other in the dead of night, had a house and home in Jackson, but nothing that had ever felt this normal. You can feel tears welling in your eyes, you sniff, trying to brush them away.
“Hey, is it too much?” Joel is leaning down to speak quietly into your ear.
“No, not at all,” You choke out, “It’s fucking perfect Joel, I’m just overwhelmed.”
You bring your own arm to rest along his that’s gripping your waist, running your fingers over his skin, his voice is back in your ear, “We can go back if it’s too much, sweet pea.”
“That’s the problem,” You let out a tear-filled chuckle, “I don’t think I want to, I just want to stay here forever now, sitting by the lake with you, eating strawberries.”
His lips surprise you as they place the softest kiss to the skin behind your ear. There’s nothing overtly sexual about it, they don’t linger, he doesn’t jut his tongue out like Mark used to when he was trying to work you up, either alone or in public, but you’ll be damned if it doesn’t send a jolt down your spine, one you hadn’t felt in over a year. You want him. Body betraying mind and memory of your dead husband. You can feel the irrational part of your mind telling you to fuck it all, throw every ounce of caution to the fucking wind, turn around and demand Joel spread you out on this very blanket and take you to heaven and back until you can’t think anymore.
You can feel your heartbeat racing in your chest, can feel yourself struggling to pull in enough air to your lungs. It kills you, but you pull away from Joel’s chest, shuffling forward so you’re far enough away from him that you can turn and face him, sitting up on your knees.
“Don’t do that.” Is all you say.
You look into his eyes and there isn’t a single ounce of hurt there. He doesn’t look disappointed. Perhaps a little worried, but curious more than anything.
“You can’t kiss me there,” You say, bringing your hand up to rest where Joel’s lips were just moments ago, “He would always kiss me there.”
“Alright, sweet pea,” He looks at you with his beautiful brown eyes, holding his hands up, “I didn’t mean t’make you uncomfortable.”
You shake your head, “You didn’t know,” Then you sigh, “Fuck, I didn’t even know, I never fucking know what’s going to set me off.”
Joel can see you’re overwhelmed. Can see the tears streaking down your cheeks, “Gimme your hand,” He asks, offering his own to you palm up, “I ain’t ever gonna get mad at you for somethin’ like this, you hear me?” You nod in agreement, letting your hand slip back into his, “It’s gonna take time, sweet pea, and we’re gonna figure it out together, like I said t’ya before, I don’t wanna replace him, I’m just gonna add t’him, so if there’s anythin’ I do that makes you worried or uncomfortable, you just tell me okay?”
You use the hand he doesn’t currently have clasped in his own to wipe away your tears, what the fuck had you done in this life to deserve Joel Miller? Patient and kind Joel Miller? The side of Joel Miller that no-one else really got to see.
“Now, come and sit back down,” He’s dragging you back to sit where you had been moments ago, back against his chest, “I’ll keep my lips to myself.”
That’s how you stay for the rest of the day, settled against him, eating strawberries and drinking coffee together. At one point he coaxes you to take off your shoes and dip your toes in the water to cool off, never once letting go of your hand. You talk about everything, Joel offers you small glimpses into life growing up with Tommy, you talk a lot about your parents and what it was like to lose them before the outbreak. It was nice, you think on the walk back to town, hand still clasped in his as he walks you back to your house.
He waits for you to unlock the door and step through, before he dips his head to kiss you firmly on the lips. It’s chaste, he’s not pushing his luck, but the whiskey you shared on the walk back makes you bolder. You snake your hand up to the nape of his neck to keep him in place whilst you run your tongue over his velvety bottom lip. He opens his mouth for you, momentarily letting your tongues meet before you’re both pulling away. Neither of you say anything to each other. You just squeeze his hand as he walks away, but all you can think as you close the door behind you and rest your back on it is to thank the good Lord above for bringing Joel to you, bestowing him with the patience of a saint, because that same good Lord knows that he might just be the best thing to happen to you since Mark died.
Joel Miller Taglist: @winwin70@jessie8605@trulybetty@amanitacowboy@morning-star-joy@tieronecrush@leeeesahhh@babeincolor@beee-haw@kirsteng42@mirandablue1@sixxslut@impala1967dwinchester@flash2412@gimmebackmysoul@kelp-dreaming@gracie7209@voteforpedro09@brittmb115@karokaroxx@amb11@heartfairy @grumpy-the-tired @Lillilotus @doctorstatic@morallyinept@southernbe@elissaa@pop-sugar102@u-luciferssatanicdaughter@alyhull@purplerain44@harryleatherfit@lovely-ateez@emilianamason @bootyliciousposts @lorilane33@casa-boiardi@cupofjoel @dinsdjrn @tightjeansjavi @cavillscurls @darkroastjoel @morning-star-joy
I wouldn’t have thought it was a filler just another beautiful installment to a beautiful story!
First sweet pea in the first few paragraphs alright so we’re just starting off with putting a stupid little smile on Vee’s face okay cool that’s cool no biggie
This scene was heart wrenching though but in the best way because even though it was so angry, Joel was just SO SOFT AND GENTLE WITH HER he’s so patient good lord this man will be the fucking death of me 🥲
PLEASE PLEASE I can take this emotional beating right now like it’s too much and he is too perfect and I am going to IMPLODE
THE PARALLEL oh god you really said we are going to fuck with Vee’s emotions with this chapter and you most certainly did. But it’s a good way for the audience to understand just why Joel is willing to be so patient with her he KNOWS how she feels to some extent.
just a kiss had me going FERAL like when these two sleep together I might just combust
MARIA FTW I love her in this fic. Period.
ILL PROTECT YOU GOOD GODDDDDD not only am I whore for soft Joel but protective Joel too.
STOPPPPPP STOP ITTTTT
He is SO UNDERSTANDING I WANT TO PUNCH HIM IN THE FACE FOR BEING SO PERFECT
this chapter wasn’t a filler to me it was EVERYTHING ❤️
warnings | 18+ dark themes surrounding suicidal ideation and attempt, smut, angst, but also a whole lot of love to be had
..............................
You got the prettiest eyes
That's not what I like about you
You got the prettiest hair
That's not what I like about you either
I know you take good care of me
And I like that
"Promise" by Grouper
..............................
“Hmm.”
“I’m fine.” The back of her hand, a light brush that makes his eyes flicker shut.
“You’re warm.”
“I’m fine.” His chest rattles with a cough, muscles furling up tight before slackening in a throbbing ache.
“Don’t move.”
“Wasn’t going to.” He’d like to know where she’s going, padding away with a determined clip, but the thought fails to catch, there’s so much pressure in his head. Heavy, heavy, heavy, so easy to let his neck loll back, his skull slumped against the couch. Another cough, everything tensing in a bright wince of pain.
“Here.” Relief, a cool weight on his forehead, draped dark over his eyes, the gentle smoothing of her hand pressing damp cloth to hot skin.
“I’m going to the clinic. I’ll be right back.” He doesn’t even have time to mumble out a response, she’s already out the door and he’s sinking further into feverish haze.
He’s had worse. Lord knows. Much, much worse. But he’s getting older, and fall is sharpening colder, and he must have picked something up, somewhere, somehow. Though it’s not like he’s spending much time around town these days, and it’s not like he minds that.
Somewhere between sleep and the slight slip of his eyelids, the door opens, cold air washing over him. She’s back with a bag slung over her shoulder that’s brimming.
“I thought you went to the clinic.”
“I went there first.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to make soup.”
“Okay.”
“And there’s aspirin. But it’s twenty years old.”
“Yeah.” He can’t offer her much more right now, and she doesn’t ask for it, already slipping into the kitchen. It lulls him back to sleep, the dull thrum, cabinets opening and closing, the soft thud of chopping, the quiet click of the stove kicking on. And it’s dark out by the time a gentle hand cups his shoulder, enough pressure to wake him before slipping behind his back, coaxing him to sit up.
“Here.” So hot, there’s steam washing over his face. And it’s good, warm, salt slipping down his throat, something loosening up in his chest with each spoonful.
“You shouldn’t sit so close. You’ll catch it.”
“Hmm.” It’s only half-hearted. Truthfully, he’d like her to get closer. To lay all her weight on top of him, to still this all-over ache in his bones. It’s a selfish want, one he keeps tucked in his chest, because he knows if he asked, she’d do it in a blink.
A full stomach feels good, affirming, sleep already starting to drag at his eyes as she takes the bowl from his hands. But then careful fingers are circling his wrists, helping him up, palm slipping between his shoulder blades to guide him upstairs. A familiar position reversed, he sits on the edge of the bed, trying to toe off his boots, only a bit helpless in the movement until she pads back in, one hand curled behind his calf to finish the job. One foot, then the other, shoes and socks, and then she straightens out, fingers flickering down the buttons of his flannel. And he lets her.
“I feel like an invalid.”
“You’re sick.”
“Same thing.”
“Your bath’s ready, invalid.” It’s new, that little bite of her smile, another layer of comfort, ease, enough to tease like this. Though it’s soaked with nothing but fondness, dripping down palms that lead him, all soft push and pull, into the bathroom. Hazy with steam, instant relief when he slumps down in the tub, water just a touch too hot in the best way. And the thought flickers across his mind that the last time, something like this, he was only a child.
“Good?”
“Yeah, thank you.” Soothing, soothing, soothing, her palm running warm circles against his chest. And he should tell her to stop, to get away before she ends up as sick as he is. But she’s made him greedy with it, indulgent, a low hum in his throat when she gently, so gently, tips his head back and pours palmfuls of water through his hair.
“You’re good at this.”
“Hmm.”
“You’ve done this before.”
“A long time ago, yes.” Past, past, past, the slight unfurl of it that she offers. He tucks it away, later, too slack, too slow right now to press on it.
“Do you want me to stay?” He shouldn’t.
“Please.” He does. And she listens, allows, elbows propped over the lip of the tub, one palm holding up her cheek, the other stilled on his chest.
Careful, so, so, so careful. Helping him up before the water can turn cold, the firm press of a towel around his shoulders. He watches her, eyes heavy and hooded, hers clear, purposeful.
“Do you feel hot or cold?”
“I don’t know.” She slips a t-shirt over his head, boxers up his legs, his head too hazy to be bashful about the way she helps him.
“Do you want another pillow?” The question could make him cry. Why, he’s not sure.
“This is fine, thank you.” Heavy, heavy, heavy. Everything unravels in the softness of the mattress, eyes dropping shut. The faint thrum of the shower in his good ear, so far away now. And then she’s back, a glass of water on the nightstand, the back of her hand brushed along his forehead. The dip of the bed, her chest pressed up against his back, nose skating between his shoulder blades, palm slipping up to hold against his heart, reminding it to pump good and strong.
“You can’t cough in my face like this.” He laughs, crackly with congestion.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know you didn’t.”
“Thank you, June.”
“Of course, Joel.”
…
He wakes up clear, the rattle in his chest dulled to only a light catch, aches tempered. But something sours when he hears it. Like a whimper, like she’s trying to clear her throat and can’t, and then a cough that warbles just like his did.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“What can I do?”
“Can I have some water?”
“Of course, June.” Of course, of course, of course. His mind screams through each step. Selfish, selfish, selfish. A demented drumbeat as he fills a glass from the sink. Eyes glancing around the kitchen, searching for another sorry he can offer her. Two eggs in the pan, split golden tears and salt, steam rising off the plate when he sets it in her lap. Two bites, and a wince when she swallows, slumping back in the propped-up pillows.
“Not hungry?”
“I’m sorry.” It’s sheepish. He’d like to punch himself in the teeth.
“That’s okay. What do you need?”
“To sleep.”
“You didn’t last night.”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you–”
“You were too still. I didn’t want to.”
“Do you want to be up here or on the couch?”
“With you, if that’s okay.”
“Of course, June.” Of course, of course, of course.
…
On the couch. Her head on a pillow in his lap, her nose brushing against his stomach with every breath out. He was supposed to be on patrol today. He’ll get yelled at later, happily. Her ribs catch on each inhale, a tight rasp that makes his heart clench. But she’s still, so still, eyes dropped shut, curled in a sweet crumple. And the front of his shirt is soaked from the cool cloth, long lukewarm now, that he had laid over her forehead because his woman always so cold is suddenly so warm, too warm.
She’s around the same age as him, this he knows. And it seems to hit her just as hard as him, this he sees. She only stirs when he wills it, a slight shake to her shoulder around midday.
“Will you eat?”
“Okay.” Mercifully, she made enough soup for there to be a whole pot left in the fridge. Her face screws up when he sits down beside her, holding a hopeful spoon out to her.
“I can do it just fine.” Silly, heat rising in his cheeks, and not from a fever. Too much, back off.
“But thank you, Joel.” Thank you, thank you, thank you. A little more life under her skin once the bowl is empty and set aside on the coffee table, though she’s quick to fall back asleep. Gentle, it scares him how gentle he can be with her, coaxing her head down onto a pillow, tucking her legs up onto the cushions, a blanket laid over top of her. She doesn’t even stir.
The house is still, silent, save for the breaths that pass between them, sleep falling heavy over them both.
…
“How’s that?”
“Hmm.”
“Good?”
“Good.” His fingers work in slow circles, kneading along her skull to pull some of that pressure away, suds running through her hair and down his wrists. She’s all but slumped against him, slick and warm from the steam of the shower, her head tipped back on his shoulder, eyes flickering closed. He works and works and works, fingers and palms pressing hard enough for muscle to move beneath his hands, soft and pliant when he finally helps her out of the water and into a towel.
“Sweater?”
“Yeah.”
“Socks?”
“Please.” He’ll have to get her another pair. She’s almost worn a hole in these ones from wearing them so much.
They settle down around each other, his hands spanning her back, the weight of her steady against his front. She’s cooling down, icy palms skittering up under his t-shirt, seeking warmth that jumps from his skin.
“June?”
“Hmm.”
“Can I ask about before?” A puff of breath against the side of his neck, the heat of her mouth so close.
“I had someone who depended on me.” It’s such a careful string of words. Strange, business-like. He can understand it. The desire to sanitize, sterilize.
“Were they yours?”
“In every way except one.”
“Were they young?”
“Too young. He was too young.”
“So was she.” Her fingers curl against his chest, smoothing out again in a long sweep.
“She?”
“She.” So light he could have missed it, the press of her lips to his pulse. So small he could have dreamt it, his mouth brushing against her temple, muscles ticking in minute motion.
“Goodnight, June.”
“Goodnight, Joel.”
…
“It’s getting too cold for this.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” I want to, I want to, I want to. She offers him a hand, the creak of the porch as he stands, stiff and snapped through with chill. He doesn’t think he could stop if he wanted to, always waiting for her boots on those steps, always home after him.
“One more round?”
“You’ve already won.”
“Hmm.”
“Fine, one more.” Quicksilver teeth, the curve of her grin makes him fold every time. Fast fingers that flutter up the frayed cards. Such a pretty shuffle, he’d make a comment about her trying to cheat if she wasn’t smiling, focused, intent.
Dinner plates set aside, slumped easy in their chairs. Her feet hooked around one of his ankles, distracting him just a little from the cards in his hands.
“A lot of deadwood there.” Eyebrows lifted over the rim of her cards, crinkled up, up, up.
“I’m aware.”
“Hmm.”
“Gloating ain’t very polite.”
“Just making an observation.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m knocking.”
“Already?” She shrugs, smug, tongue swiping along her lip as she fans out her cards.
“Well?”
“I’m not playing gin with you anymore.” A swell of something sweet in his chest when she laughs. He doesn’t even care that it’s at him. If he could, he’d record it. Keep it close. A perfect gift.
They shuffle the cards back together, fingers brushing, long sighs between touch. Both still nursing a sad little thing of a cough, more amusing than annoying at this point. And somewhere in the shuffle, his hand catches hers, steady, easy, across the table.
“I’m not kissing you.” A dry rasp, she can barely stifle her smile around the words.
“No?”
“Not yet. My throat is still full of snot.” He has to laugh. Surely she knows he’d kiss her through much worse.
“So is mine.”
“Lovely.” He’ll settle for this though. His thumb running along the curve of her palm, nothing but ease in the slow passing. And all at once, he finds himself swallowing around words that don’t feel easy at all. Frightening, big words that could spook her as fast as they’re laid out between them.
“I fucking adore you.” It comes out a bit stilted, a jagged sigh catching on the words. He imagines the floor splitting open and swallowing him up. He reckons he’d like that better than the way her eyes widen at his words. Cornered, pinned down, looking for an escape route. And something so finely stitched together splits open inside him when she curls her hand away from his, drawing it back into her lap. Too much, all too much, much, much.
“I’m sorry.” And of course she’d say that, eyes dropped low beneath her lashes, of course. And of course it’d send his heart plummeting right down to his heels, of course.
“No, I am.”
“I don’t want you to be.”
“Well I am, June. I shouldn’t have said that.” His hand hangs across the table, something like hope, or a wish to rewind the whole thing, back to simple, simple, simple. Surprised when she reaches across, a steady squeeze that stutters his heart back into step.
“It’s going to take me a while.”
“That’s okay. I understand.” He does, he really does.
“But, eventually.” A perfect word, a promise that he tucks away.
I just want to hug this story it’s so beautiful help me I can’t stop crying from how gorgeous this is Gin you talented lil nugget I love this so much ❤️
I’m fine. No. Really. I’m FINE. *breaks down into a sobbing, blubbering mess of a woman* oh June would do it in the blink of an eye just like he would do anything for her in the blink of an eye.
Soothing is right. God this is so beautifully written and so intimate and just…I’m done for. I’m done for. This story might just be the death of me.
AND THEN TO FOLLOW IT WITH THIS LATER ON l am going to combust. Again, so raw and real and intimate and just so so incredible.
I couldn’t highlight all the lines on mobile, but this was just…it’s crazy how they say so little but it’s just enough to knock the wind out of my lungs. So was she. 🥲
BYEEEEEEE I’m going to go toss myself into my own grave now because this killed me. I’ve known that he does, it’s clear that he does but for him to finally say it?! 😭
YESSSSS YESSS YESSSSSSSSSSS
eventually. She’s gonna stay. She wants to stay. With him.
Gin THIS is incredible, YOU are incredible and I can’t thank you enough for sharing your gift with us on this hellsite ❤️
Chapter Summary: Joel is not prepared for his accidental run in with you. You’re equally as unprepared to have noticed his eyes on you during this Thursday nights performance.
Chapter Warnings: Foul language. Mentions of death, loss, & trauma. So much pining, it’s infuriating. Idiots in love. Sexual tension. Soft Joel. Insecure Joel. Insecure/anxious reader. Alcohol consumption.
Word count: 6.6k
Part I. | series masterlist
a/n: most of this chapter is from readers pov, but i cannot promise that’ll be a forever thing bc i simply love being in joel’s brain too much. overall tho, i’m really giddy abo this chapter and hope u enjoy it hehe! xx (if you’d like to be added to a tag list i’m working on, pls lmk.)
By the time next Thursday rolled around, Joel was beyond itching for the days end.
He had taken the morning patrol shift, volunteering himself after having dinner at Tommy and Maria's the previous night and hearing his brother complain about how his scheduled partner had to cancel last minute. Joel didn't mind. He was an early riser, considering these days, he did not get much sleep anyway. He was, however, exhausted and achy by the time they reached Jackson's boarder again around mid morning.
"You head on home, I'll take ‘em back to the stables," Tommy offered, extending a hand to take the reins of Joel's stallion along with his own.
Normally, Joel would protest. Not liking the idea of anyone thinking he couldn't pull his own weight. But today, he really was tired, lower back throbbing with the pain of wear and age. Most importantly, he wanted to save his energy for tonight.
Tonight.
It was all he could think about all week, all morning as they rode through the sun soaked hills of Wyoming. Soft skin, bright eyes, and the voice of an angel. He would head straight home, take a good long nap, and hopefully by the time he awoke, it would be time to start dinner and head out. A solid plan that was meant to go undisturbed, until he turned onto his street and saw a bit of commotion stirring outside the school house.
Outside the wooden doors, cardboard boxes sat in four stacks, piled at least six or seven feet high. You stood before the first one, grunting and heaving as you attempted slip the highest box off of the stack without losing your balance or crushing yourself.
"Shit, shit!" you seethed under your breath as it started to tilt, unprepared for the amount of weight suddenly bearing down on your arms. You were about to step back and let it tumble when suddenly, two gracious arms circled from behind you, catching the box just above your own hands and pushing it back up into place. A wave of relief washed over you, and you huffed out exhausted, anxious breaths when you turned around to thank your savior.
As soon as your eyes met with Joel's, you felt your heart swell. He looked down at you with furrowed brows, but a hint of amusement dwelled on his lips.
"Joel," you breathed his name, and he was certain it was the sweetest sound. Beaming up at him, you wiped the back of your hand across your sweat clad forehead. You would have been grateful for anyones passing help, but something about it being the mysterious older Miller brother made your tummy flutter.
This was the first time he had seen you out in town. In the daylight. Then again, he wasn't even aware of the possibility of looking for you until a week ago. Your jean shorts and cropped tank top hugged your body in a way that made him hold his breath. Your hair was tied back, save for a few straggler strands, and he had to bite down on his tongue to not follow the bead of sweat that rolled from your neck down between your breasts.
"Thank you," you said sweetly, earning his attention again. "That was about to be a minor disaster." You laughed at this, a bit embarrassed. No, he thought. He was wrong. Maybe your laugh was much sweeter.
Neither of you had moved, maintaining a closeness that nearly invited him to take a step forward and let his chest brush your own. Of course, he didn't. Instead, retreating a few steps back and shoving his hands into his pockets before he nudged his head towards the boxes. "Whaddya got in these, anyway?" He still had not processed the fact that he was standing here alone. With you. The same person he had been thinking about day in and day out for the last week. Suddenly, a wave of insecurity washed over him regarding his own appearance. He had expected to see you tonight, not now. Dirt on his fingers, hair a tangled mess, bags undoubtedly rimming his eyes, and the stench of a mornings patrol.
"Oh!" you chirped, still trying to catch your breath. You reached over and gave the stack a pat. "They're books. Some donated, some found on patrols and whatnot. We're trying to restock with the school year starting up in a few weeks."
This bit he was aware of, as Ellie would be joining the mighty group of fifteen for the first time that were within high school age. It was a conversation they had mostly ignored within their shared house; whether that was due to her anxiety or his own, Joel couldn't pin point.
"You work here, too?" He raised a brow at you, shock seeming to paint his face.
You tilted your head, grinning up at him. "Singing once a week in the bar doesn't quite cut it for my fair share of work." He hummed in understanding; it was an admirable trait of the place his brother helped established, making sure everyone contributed to their best efforts. "Since our population has started to grow, I offered to help out in the preschool room." He noted the way you seemed to illuminate when you said this. There was a sense of pride you carried; while you weren't quite cut out for the grunt work, you had a special place in your heart for the children of Jackson. Especially the little ones, born into a terrorized world, but safe within the walls you all fought to protect. They wouldn't have to endure as much as the rest, and while it was unfair that the others had to, you were grateful to the people of the community who worked everyday at giving you and everyone else a chance at a normal life.
“My Ellie, uh — my kid. She’s gonna start here soon.” Joel explained, nudging his head towards the building. You noticed the way he seemed a bit hesitant to tell you such basic information. You knew he had a girl with him, a young one at that, but you had been unsure of their relation up until now. Something in the way he shuffled his feet at the revelation had you guessing the idea of her starting school made him nervous.
Hoping to ease some of his worries, you gave him a reassuring smile. A thought bubbling in your brain. “Maybe one of these days, I could show her around the building? You know, get a bit more acclimated with the place before things kick into gear?”
His eyes shot up at you then, a hint of uncertainty mixed with what you could only decipher as shock. “Really?” he questioned, the sincerity of it filling your chest with the warmth that only seemed to bathe you whenever the man was around. “You’d, uh…you’d be willin’ to do that?”
“If she’s alright with it, of course.” You would’ve loved nothing more to help him out, and deep down, something told you he was not the type to be too keen on accepting help from others. Let alone damn near strangers. The realization that he didn’t hesitate to take it from you when it came to his daughter had you weak at the knees.
The smile he displayed to you then was heart wrenching. Ear to ear, as if it was the best news he had received in a long time. “Well, alright. I’ll let her know.” You had only met the man twice now, and already, you could feel an unhealthy fascination forming. How could someone with such a string of terror ridden stories be so…soft?
Maybe it’s because they’re just that, you thought. Stories. The only feasible way being to discover the truth of Joel yourself.
You opened your mouth to speak again when a voice up-ahead of the school house called your name.
“Hey! Sorry I’m late!” The lanky young man who Joel recognized from the band last Thursday was jogging up to you now, waving a frantic hand apologetically. He had been the one on the bass.
You shook your head forgivingly upon his approach. “It’s okay, I was just about to get started,” you assured, noting the way Joel shifted awkwardly in his place. He was certainly a lot less sociable than Tommy, but you didn’t mind. You were a butterfly in Jackson, floating to as many people as you could to assert yourself as a welcoming, warm presence. Bridging that gap for Joel was no sweat off your back. “Owen, this is Joel, Tommy’s older brother,” you introduced, without missing a beat.
Owen remarked the man before you now, and you furrowed your brows a bit in disappointment when you saw the way his face contorted in uncertainty. Nevertheless, he kept his words kind enough, no matter how clipped. “Good to meet ya, man.” He made not effort to extend a hand or even attempt small talk, his attention was back on you then, a sort of urgency following that you chalked up to him being out of breath. “Mind if we get started? I wanna pluck a few things out again before tonight.”
You nodded in understanding. “Sure, sure. Can you get going on the top boxes? I already tried and damn near killed myself.” You shot the rigid Joel a smirk at this, to which he returned silently, although a bit sheepish now.
Owen nodded, muttering a you got it before reaching at the box you had attempted to get down earlier, accepting it with much more ease.
As he shuffled towards the doors, you turned your attention back to Joel. “Thank you again,” you praised at him, and when the next sentence came to formation at the back of your throat, you stopped yourself from letting it spill too soon. Instead, sharing another intense moment of silence with Joel Miller.
You took the moment to really take him in, then. Swimming in his tired brown eyes, every scar and line that littered his face a story begging to be told. You felt the wave of sadness wash over you then, realizing your private moment was coming to an end. Your nerves would have to wait as he offered you a casual you’re welcome before turning on his heels to depart, for you just couldn’t help yourself to know —
“Will I uh…will I see you tonight?” you asked him softly, and you swore his eyes lit up at the inquisition.
He stopped in his tracks, turning to face you again with his lips curled up, this time returning to their soft sincerity. “Already planned on it,” he admitted, and you felt a shiver run down your spine at the thought. The idea that he had been planning to see you today on his own volition, now that was an idea you could sink your teeth into and dissect for the next handful of hours.
He wanted to come. He wanted to see you, even before you asked.
Flashing him your teeth, you tied your hands behind your back, squeezing your knuckles together excitedly. “Well, then. I suppose I’ll see you tonight.”
“Looking forward to it, sweetheart.” There was that word again. You felt your face go flushed as he offered you one last wave before heading off in the direction he started in, letting your eyes linger on his broad fame as he walked. Beneath his brown flannel, you could see the muscles of his back contort, wondering how firm and warm it would feel to run a hand between his shoulder blades. Tense and taut, you could ease them of their worries.
"The hell is Joel Miller doing talking to you?" Your fantasies were short lived once Owen reappeared from the school house, coming to gather the next highest box. You looked at him quizzically, off-put by the nastiness laced in his questioning.
"He was just...asking me about the boxes," you answered, feeling no need to explain yourself any further. With the pile dwindled, you were able to grab a box without the fear of being crushed, grunting once you stabled it in your hands.
Owen walked by your side towards the doors again, eyeing you with what looked to be concern. You gave him another look, annoyance flaring your nostrils.
"What?" you bit.
"Nothing, nothing," he answered speedily, setting his box down before the large bookshelf once you made it to the designated classroom, yours following suit. He wiped his hands on his jeans before offering you a weary look. "It's just..." his eyes drifted towards the door again, as if to make sure you were really alone. "You should be careful around that guy. I mean, I don't know him, but I know he's done some shit."
You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest and jutting a hip out. "We've all done some shit." You countered, but Owen just shook his head.
"Yeah, but not like that guy." His words hit you with unease, filling your once warm stomach with a wave of nausea. Staring at him blankly, you were unable to come up with anything in response. Owen took this as the end of the conversation, sighing a heavy sigh before heading out to retrieve another box.
You stood there for a few more moments, frozen. Processing. On the one hand, it would be rather reckless to avoid the plethora of chatter that followed Joel Miller. But you knew this town, you knew these people. Some of their lives so boring they could not help but pry into the lives of other, twisting and contorting their stories into whatever drama would entertain the bunch the longest. Thus, that was the logic you convinced yourself to stick with. Besides, it wasn't as if your connection to Joel was anything more than a passing acquaintance. You were grown enough to make your own judgments of people, and that is precisely what you would do.
Starting tonight.
════ ⋆ ☽⋆ ════
Your eyes scanned the audience desperately.
You had seen your fair share of usual audience members, often hard to miss as they took the same seats every week inside the bar. This Thursday was exceptionally crowded at the Tipsy Bison, as tomorrow, everyone other than the assigned patrol groups had the day off. No particular reason, just Jackson's way of acknowledging everybody's hard work the last month and rewarding it.
While you were thankful for the many greetings and warm comments from each patron you encountered, you could not hide the heavy disappointment that weighed on your chest.
The set began in five minutes, and Joel was no where to be found.
"You ready?" Owens voice picked up beside you, snapping you out of your dissociative state. You gave him the most enthusiastic nod you could muster, swallowing hard to avoid the way your throat constricted. You felt parched, which did not bode well for your performance.
Quickly, you leaned down to retrieve the water bottle that rested at the base of your mic stand. Chugging a gracious amount, you took a few steady breaths, unwilling to let your childish fantasies diminish your performance so many graciously came to see. You stood up straight then, rolling your shoulders back to induce a level of confidence. You smoothed the front of the green, ruffled long sleeve blouse you had chosen for the evening, the neckline deliciously low, tied together at your sternum by a delicate bow. A pair of boot cut jeans to match, and the risky choice of keeping your hair fully down. So far so good, as the humidity of the evening appeared much less than during the day.
The crowd let out a raucous applause as Johanna, your pianist, leaned into her mic to greet the patrons. You all took turns working the crowd, but Johanna definitely sported the most energy. If she had it her way, you would be playing heavy metal and hard rock every night. You couldn't help but laugh when she let out a hearty woo, the entire crowd wooing right back. She winked at you when you looked back at her, giving a nod to Connor, your drummer, who counted the strings in.
You let your eyes flutter shut then, foot tapping to the steady beat of the beautifully mellow introduction, relishing in the way the music overtook you. It filled your bones, coated you in honey and wrapped you in the warmest of blankets. Jackson proved to be a place of comfort, but up on that stage, you felt truly at home.
You took a deep breath as the intro segued into the first verse, opening your glassy eyes.
Now here you go again,
You say you want your freedom
Well, who am I to keep you down?
Every song in your setlist was special. Special to someone. That was the beauty of music in a world like this one; the ability to spark memory. Stevie Nick's haunting lyrics inspired that phenomenon in you. Precious memories of mornings in your childhood kitchen, your mother swaying to the musical genius that was Fleetwood Mac. She would sing, albeit, rather off tune, but that wasn't the best part of your recollection. It was her bright smile and sense of unbridled freedom. Sometimes your father would join her, stopping to take her hand for a spin and dip before grabbing his morning coffee to go, kissing you atop the head.
It's only right that you should play the way you feel it
But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness
Like a heartbeat, drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering what you had
And what you lost
You heard the soft undertones of Johanna’s voice picking up in the mic behind you, layering harmonies. She had a richer tone than you, and you thought it complemented the space beautifully.
And what you had,
And what you lost.
You took another proper scan of the audience, and just as the drums rumbled into the chorus, you saw the door swing open, and a familiar head of peppered hair dipped into the room.
Oh, thunder only happens when it's raining
Players only love you when they're playing
A jolt of power came through your voice, unable to simmer the instinctual excitement that came with watching Joel Miller walk through the door.
Say, women, they will come and they will go.
His eyes were on you immediately, once pressed lips now curling into quaint smirk. The flutter that came through your chest induced both thrill and panic. You quickly averted your eyes, a blush creeping up you with the realization that he had caught you looking for him. You gripped the body of the microphone a bit tighter, trying to suppress your own giddy smile.
When the rain washes you clean, you’ll know
You’ll know.
Despite the embarrassment, you just couldn’t help yourself. Slowly, your eyes lifted over to track him across the room as you sang, watching as he filed his way through the room to find a spot tucked away in the back.
You could not shake the boost of confidence that followed the discovery of his eyes on you while you sang.
Now here I go again, I see the crystal vision
I keep my visions to myself
But it's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams, and
He watched you with an intensity that painted your insides. Eagerly soaking up your ethereal presence on the stage, a drug he’d been craving since he first saw you last week. You did your very best to continue to work the entire crowd, all oblivious to your game of eyes happening. But you were insatiable, sneaking glances up at him through your lashes, as if your sirens song was meant only for him.
Have you any dreams you'd like to sell, dreams of loneliness?
You wondered what Joel Miller may have dreamt about; even now, when he looked like a man who carried the weight of the world around him.
Like a heartbeat, drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering what you had
Your body grew warm at the extended eye contact, you could see the way his face flushed too. A shared understanding. But you couldn’t wield yourself to look away just yet.
And what you lost
And what you had
Ooh, what you lost…
Owen is at your side then, giving your hip a bump, singing out his own harmonies. It’s an innocent stage interaction, one you’ve had time and time before. But you can’t help but feel aggravation pull at the pit of your stomach, not quite finding the confidence to continue your staring contest with the handsome, brooding Joel Miller.
Get ahold of yourself, girl.
Maybe it was for the best.
When the song comes to a close, you are greeted with applause. You allowed yourself to take it in for a moment before reaching for your water bottle again. You would need to keep yourself hydrated for the rest of the set…and to endure the feeling of Joel’s eyes on you for its entirety.
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You managed to get through the next fourteen numbers without catastrophe. Eventually, you had found your rhythm again with the room. Perhaps the truth was, you were just getting use to having new eyes on you.
You felt a pressure you hadn’t felt on stage in a long time.
Satisfied sighs left your lips as you all closed off the final number, grateful for the attention to be off of you for a moment when the crowd finally dispersed into their chatter until the next set.
Your fellow band members beckoned good jobs your way, for which you eagerly returned, reaching vehemently for your water.
Owen popped up at your side after setting his bass onto its stand, a smile spread across his face. You recognized the feeling, the adrenaline rush of performing. “Treating ourselves to a drink tonight with tomorrow off. Come with us,” he said, giving you a giddy, pleading smile.
You did your best to return his energy in your smile, but your mind kept drifting elsewhere. “Okay, okay,” you answered, waving a hand at him. You could be stubborn about celebrating with them at times. “I just—” Your eyes flickered over to the back wall. Joel was still standing with his back against it. Hands shoved into his pocket. Alone.
“I need to say hi to someone real quick,” you explained to Owen, giving him a tight lipped smile, and no further explanation before you hoped off the stage and began your impulsive stride across the room.
About halfway to the wall, you felt a rush of panic. What on earth were you doing? What were you even going to say? There were plenty of other people in the room you could’ve sparked up a conversation with, and you chose the one who was making you feel like mush.
It was too late, though. He was looking up again then, and caught you in the act. You took in a deep breath, continuing to shorten the distance between you two, and stopping just a few feet short of him.
“Hey,” you beamed up at him.
He returned the amused countenance. “Hey, darlin’.”
You felt like you were going to melt.
“You came,” you breathed, tucking your own hands in your back pockets to keep them from fidgeting.
“I told you I would,” he said, matter of fact. It was endearing. Like he had made a promise and couldn’t break it. "Sorry I was a little late."
You pursed your lips to hide your growing grin, and shook your head as if to say no worries. Flickering your eyes around him, you raised an eyebrow. “Is Tommy with you?”
Joel stiffened a bit at this. You watched as he shrunk his shoulders a little, looking at you almost timidly.
“No, uh…he couldn’t make it so I just- just came myself.”
Oh yeah, you were definitely going to melt.
Not only did he keep his promise, but he did it because he wanted to.
You hear your name shouted from across the bar, jumping ever so slightly. Joel sent his gaze over your shoulder, and you turned back, seeing your band mates waving you over towards their corner of the bar. You held up a finger at them, quickly turning back towards Joel.
So much for having a moment to speak with him.
The words rushed out of you before you even had the chance to stop yourself. “Stay here after the second set, they’ll wanna stick around for a bit. We can grab drinks,” you nodded at him as you watched his lips part slightly, unsure. Was Joel Miller nervous about you?
“I, uh-” You didn’t allow him to finish his sputtering.
“Stay!” you requested, starting to back up, turning on your heels and heading towards the bars edge. You weren’t taking no for an answer.
════ ⋆ ☽ ⋆ ════
He stayed. He stayed, and you couldn’t have been happier about it.
There was a levity to the rest of your performance, one that you hadn’t experienced before. Maybe it was due to the realization that there weren’t many Thursday nights where someone was here for you.
Every Thursday people were here to see you, but this was different. You knew it was.
The crowd began to thin by the end of the second set. It was late, inching passed ten, most use to the schedule they followed during normal weeks. The atmosphere wasn’t as engaging without the music, but you didn’t mind. You had one focus and one focus only.
You slipped your way from the grasp that was appreciative patrons as soon as you could, meandering through the dispersing crowd to find Joel already stationed by the bar. You ordered your drinks, both settling on beer bottles, when you suggested you step outside to chat.
You needed a break from the stiff bar air.
And maybe, you wanted to avoid anymore interruptions between you and Joel Miller.
He held the door for you as you both slipped out to the bars back patio, settling near the rail of the fence that overlooked the dark night ahead. Save for the moonlight, which casted a gentle glow over the space.
“You even old enough to drink yet?” Joel spoke up when you lifted the bottle to your lips. You snapped your head towards him, giving him a dramatic dropped jaw to which he met with his own amused expression.
“Excuse you, sir, but I happened to have turned twenty-seven just last month,” you shot back, to which he only raised his brows and hummed in response to, taking his own healthy swig. “What’re you, like, eighty?”
He huffed out a chuckle at this, side eyeing you. “Sure as hell feels like it sometimes,” he grumbled, and you joined in on his silent laughter. You both had your forearms leaning against the top of the fence, a foot or two of space in between you. After a beat, he offered: “M’fifty-six.”
“Ahh,” you sighed, tilting your head over to give him a soft smile. “Not that old yet, then.” He met your gaze, the playful banter you had been entertaining morphed into something else entirely. Your face fell a little as you tried to read it, but couldn’t quite pinpoint what had him looking at you so profoundly, as if he was analyzing you and every word you spoke.
Not that it was a bad thing. You were use to people and the little trust they had left in them these days.
Luckily, the invisible tension seemed to disperse on its own, and you were back to a flowing conversation. Joel was surprisingly easy to talk to. He seemed more relaxed like this, away from sounds, away from other people. You noticed how his body leaned against the rail much more languid now, the same shoulders you had pondered running your hands over relaxed from their perpetually rigid state.
There was that warm feeling again. Ignited by the idea that he felt a semblance of the ability to let go because you were next to him. You hid the grin that tickled your cheeks with another gulp of your beer.
He asked questions, mainly about the band and the music you played. You were more than eager to discuss. And while he allowed you to do most of the talking, every bit of his physicality indicated he was engaged. It was a nice change of pace from the younger men you had thus far surrounded yourself with in Jackson: boastful, overbearing, and fueled by their survivalist egos.
He told you that his daughter, Ellie, had a collection of cassette tapes that she had been desperate to find a larger player for. The Walkman wasn’t cutting it now that they had an entire house to fill; you got the idea Joel was secretly okay with her having to listen though headphones.
You praised her for her taste when Joel mentioned artists like Etta James and Pearl Jam, telling him you two would have to swap tapes sometime, having a hearty collection of your own.
He looked at you again after this, that same look he had given you earlier over your discussion of age. Deciphering. Studying.
You decided to hold his gaze this time, the look in your eyes softening. Demonstrating a reassurance that promised the words you spoke held truth, interest. Not just some way of keeping the conversation afloat.
Whether he chose to believe it or not was an entirely different story, and you didn’t have the time to decide if he did when he cleared his throat, and casted his focused eyes back towards the open, moonlit field.
“So,” he started lowly, and you remarked the way his fingers tapped against the glass bottle. “That’uh…that Owen kid. He your boyfriend or somethin’?”
You could not help the guttural laugh that escaped you. Partially because that was not what you expected him to ask, but mostly because he was so far off.
Joel raised an eyebrow at you, and you shook your head adamantly. “No, no. He’s not my boyfriend,” you answered once your giggling subsided. “Just good friend.” Was that much even true? You weren’t quite sure you had any real friends in Jackson. Maybe your standards of a confidante were too high for friendship, but then again, you had it once. In a world long before.
“Huh,” Joel grumbled, his brows furrowing above his big eyes as he seemed to ponder over your answer. You licked the beer off your lips, eyeing him from your peripheral. “How come? Seems nice enough.”
“He is,” you were quick to clarify, not meaning to demean the poor guy while he was out of ear shot to defend himself. You were the one shifting uncomfortably now, setting your bottle off to the side on the rail, and resting your elbows against it instead. “It’s just…” You admired the glow of the crescent above you as you pondered your next words, carefully. “Everything is kinda, like, surface level with him.” You shrugged at this, trying to shake off the truth of the matter, which was that everything felt surface level with every guy you had associated with thus far.
As if Joel could read your mind, he spoke after a moment of lingering silence.
“And…you don’t want that?”
You couldn’t help but look at him. He was leaning his hip against the rail now, facing you entirely. The intensity of his eyes on you mimicked the feeling they gave you when they watched you on stage. Intent, engaged. Now, a bit curious.
You bit at your bottom lip, suddenly feeling insecure. You never talked about this kind of stuff with anyone, and now, you were dumping it all onto Joel. You blamed the alcohol for your loose tongue.
Sighing, you ran both of your hands back through your hair, casting your eyes back over the horizon. “Maybe in another time. In another world, I don’t know, sure, I’d give it a shot. Dating, casual relationships, whatever they were into.” You heard him chuckle beside you, and you swallowed hard as the weight of your thoughts controlled your voice. “But in this world…” you trailed off, shaking your head gently before glancing over to him. “You’re nothing without love.”
Joel stared at you, expressionless, for a good, long while. Panic rose to your chest again, and you could feel your cheeks get warm with embarrassment. Despite the honesty of your words, you scolded yourself for ever thinking them. You invited him to have a drink as a chance to get to know him in a less overwhelming setting, and here you were, dumping your pathetic, emotional baggage onto him.
“I get that,” he finally said softly, and the weight of a thousand worries was lifted off your shoulders. He pushed his beer over in a similar fashion, leaning his elbows onto of the fence, mimicking you. The space between you two had shortened, now feeling the warm brush of his bicep against yours.
Your breath hitched in your throat a little. You felt a burn rise up your esophagus, and you swallowed hard. An unexpected wave of emotion taking you over.
You wondered what Joel Miller loved.
You wondered what he had lost.
You wondered if he wondered the same thing about you.
“You know,” you finally willed yourself to say after a contemplative moment, clearing your throat, the words coming out strained. “Ellie, she…she’s gonna do fine at the school in August. She’s not the first and certainly not the last new kid in town.”
You hoped you weren’t stepping over any boundaries.
He let out another shaky chuckle. “Yeah, yeah I know. She’s tough. I sure as hell can give her that.” The way he proclaimed it, you knew he meant it to be true. There was an exuberant pride in the way he spoke about her, and it drew you in like a moth to a flame.
You tilted your head towards him now, observing as he took his turn to gaze absentmindedly across the field. “I’m sure she learned from the best,” you nudged his side slightly then, but he shook his head, scoffing a laugh.
“Nah. Can’t take credit.” His voice was a bit more serious then. “Most days, feel like I’m doin’ nothin’ to help her at all.”
You weren’t sure if he had meant to make such a bold admission, but it roused you. Furrowing your brows, you leaned up from the fence, facing him fully.
“Joel. You kept her alive. That’s so much more than some can say.”
He looked at you then, and again, you were back to being unable to read him. He was an infuriatingly versatile man, you noticed. One minute, an open book, the next, a sealed vat of the unknown. The few hours spent so close together had boosted your confidence, though. And you carefully placed a delicate hand atop of his forearm nearest to you.
You felt him go stiff. The flesh below your touch was firm and warm, and your hand tingled where it laid. His eyes were flitting all over you now.
“Give yourself some credit,” you added, barely a whisper.
He took this in, took all of you in, as you did to him. You were not sure when exactly you felt the heave of your breath pick up, all you knew was that it created a daze around you. An obsession brewing in the pit of your stomach.
It seemed you had finally made a decision for yourself regarding everything you had ever heard about Joel Miller.
You didn’t care. You wanted to know everything about him.
Just as his lips parted to speak, the back door of the bar swung open. It was Johanna’s voice that called your name, a bit of a slur to her own tone.
“We’re packing it up!” she beckoned, and you were quick to tear your hand off of Joel’s arm, straightening up and turning your back against the rail.
“I’ll be right there!” you called back. You felt Joel rise beside you, but you didn’t turn your attention back to him until you were sure Johanna was out of sight.
Then, when your eyes met, you saw his laced with disappointment. You couldn’t deny the way it made you feel excited, guessing he was enjoying his time just as much as you were. Anxiety overtook you momentarily, caught in another bit of staring with Joel Miller, not knowing quite the right move to make. You could’ve swore you saw his eyes bounce from yours to your lips, the sheer imagining of it making your legs quiver.
You offered him meager eyes through your lashes, forcing yourself to release your already raw bottom lip. You wouldn’t have one left if you kept getting into this kind of situation with him.
“Thank you for sticking around,” you willed yourself to say, cringing at the way your voice failed you, hoarse and powerless.
He took another step forward. Tiny, almost missed. You could feel the warmth from his chest radiating against you now.
“M’glad I did,” he admitted.
You were screaming on the inside as he inundated your senses. Deep drawl sending pangs to your core. His scent was intoxicating, a mix of earthy musk and sweet citrus. You wondered what it would feel like if touched you beyond the way his eyes did. How his hands would feel against your skin. How his lips would invade you.
The hesitation and tension was palpable, overwhelming. A mixture of crickets and both of your heavy breathing echoing in the air. Unable to muster it any longer, feeling as though your insides might snap, you allowed yourself to take a mini plunge.
Leaning up on your toes, you pressed a gentle kiss to his left cheek, letting your lips linger for a mere second before falling back to your heels. The salty taste of his skin lingered on your mouth, and when you looked up at him again, you saw his lips parted, previously tense brows relaxed over his eyes. You savored the sight of him, baffled and dazed. It made you grin.
“Good night,” you whispered, and your feet felt like boulders when you willed yourself to take a few steps back, keeping your eyes on him until finally, dreadfully, turning around and heading towards the bar.
Adrenaline rocked through you.
Why did you do that?
Why didn’t you do more?
You felt like a teenager, crushing on a guy too old, too established, and too unavailable for you. You were restless at the thought of the night ahead of you, tossing and turning with anxiety, likely overthinking every word and action you executed tonight. What you weren’t expecting, though, was to find all of the reassurance you needed when you stopped just short of the bars back doors, tossing back one last look towards Joel.
He had not moved from his spot against the fence, and you wondered if he had been watching you your entire trek to the doors. For when you looked back, he was already staring at you.
The gentle glow of the moonlight bathed around his silhouette. Tousled hair, beer damp lips, and tanned skin. Like an angel, like a god. The smile he delivered you then would be etched onto your eyelids for the rest of the night. Bemused and tender, like the moment before had given him more satisfaction than he had felt in years.
You felt it too.
Giving him one last little wave, you ducked back into the bar, joining in the commotion that was packing up the stage. Chatter and laughter filled the air amongst your band mates, but you found it hard to pay attention. Eyes a bit lost and lips permanently curled up at the sheer thought of Joel Miller, wondering how much time you could make it without searching for his attention again.
GOD these two have my whole entire hear and I need more of them 🥲 this story is SO STUNNING MYA like I’m always able to see when a writer just pours every ounce of their souls into a story and I can see how you’ve written this with SO SO MUCH LOVE which only makes it 10x more beautiful
Joel looking forward to that night all week is just FUCKING PRECIOUS like he’s so smitten it puts a stupid ass smile on my face lmao
that moment of him coming to the rescue? Perfect. And also I’m calling it now Owen needs to be smacked by someone. I don’t like his attitude or what he had to say about Joel. I’ll hop into the story and smack him myself.
MY KID listen I always throw that into my own fics because I gain another 10 years to my life when he refers to her as his kid so to see it in other stories always makes my heart flutter 🥰
PRECIOUSSSSSS he’s so happy she wants him there.
Okay this? This was gorgeous. I loved that you have her and the songs she sings a background so to speak. It gave reader such depth and as much as I loved her already, idk this just made me love and connect to her even more.
BYE
BYEEEEEEEEE
GOODBYEEEEEE
I loved her line. Yeah I’m in love with her x 100
Seriously Mya this is one of my favorite stories I’ve ever read on here, I’m mad at myself for taking so long and being so slow with reading it but I am so glad I finally did. 🤍
Chapter Summary: When Joel reluctantly accepts his brothers invitation for Thursday night live music at the Tipsy Bison, he doesn’t expect to enjoy it as much as he does. And he certainly doesn’t expect to make acquaintance with you, the bands young, beautiful, and bright lead singer.
Warnings/tags: MDNI. Jackson era/one month post episode 9. Not everything is canon. AFAB reader. No use of Y/N. Use of pet names. Foul language. Mentions of violence, blood, death, trauma & suicide. Age gap (reader is 27, Joel is 56). Angst. Insecure Joel. Soft Joel. Eventual smut. More detailed warnings will be given for each respective chapter.
Word count: 3.9k
series masterlist | Part II.
a/n: howdy!! this is my first time posting any work on tumblr bahaha so who knows how it is going to go, but i’ve had this idea stuck in my head for so long now, i simply had to get it out. any and all feedback is much appreciated !! I KNOW it’s a slow first chapter, but so much promise it picks up lmao. xx
Joel Miller was not what many considered to be personable.
Even in the last month of adjusting to the comfort and lifestyle of Jackson, the familiarity of guardedness and disdain for others had not been cleansed from his system. How could he be to blame, though? The atrocities he and nearly every other contained within the walls of the newfound community could not be erased. Decades of self preservation unable to be reduced to the foreign security Jackson provided.
So, it was no shock to Joel to see the surprised look on his younger brothers face when he begrudgingly decided to accept his invitation to Thursday night live music at the Tipsy Bison.
“You’re going to love it,” Tommy had promised. Somehow, even the wide smile across his face and the pleased sparkle in his brothers eye could not convince Joel so. Nevertheless, he obliged, and found himself that next Thursday evening awaiting Tommy’s arrival nervously near the front door. He wore his usual worn blue jeans and a green flannel atop a black t-shirt, figuring some music at a bar was not the occasion to dress up for. Not that he would have cared to, anyway. Settling for comfort over style any day. He fiddled with the laces of his brown boots before tying them, a dissatisfied groan escaping his lips as he steadied himself upright.
“You gonna make it through the night, old man?” a voice called from the living room. Splayed out stomach down on the rug, Ellie peered up at him humorously from whatever book she was reading.
He gave her an unamused look. “M’fine,” he grumbled, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the doorframe. “You sure you gon’ be okay all alone? I can tell Tommy I—”
“Oh, no, no you don’t!” Ellie perked up, popping up to a sitting position. She placed the book face down in her lap, offering him a stern look. One that mimicked the one she had seen him give time and time again. “No excuses. You’re going.”
This was the first time since their arrival in Jackson Joel would be leaving her alone. He knew there were no real dangers; their shared home sat at a quiet corner of the street, the neighbors had introduced themselves, and those who didn’t — likely due to whatever rumors and gossip they had heard spread about the older Miller brother — kept their distance enough to pose no threat. To say he was feeling some anxiety in the pit of his stomach was an understatement. Whether that was due to leaving Ellie alone or having to socialize, he chose not to pinpoint. Nonetheless, his attempt to use her as an excuse failed miserably.
As if on cue, three knuckle wraps met with the door then. Joel offered the girl one last roll of his eyes before opening it to reveal Tommy, smiley as ever, in his jean jacket and a black cowboy hat. It took everything inside of Joel to hide the sneer that crept onto his lips. Well, he sure looks the part of ole’ Texan commune patrolman.
“Ready?” Tommy inquired.
“Oh, he’s ready!” Ellie chirped before Joel even had a chance to speak.
He snapped his head back towards her with a scowl, unsurprised to see her grinning ear to ear. “Don’t stay up late,” he grumbled after her as he pushed passed Tommy and out the door. He could hear her mock something after him and bid the younger brother a farewell before they both fell into a leisurely stride on the street towards the center of town.
Strung up lights lit their pathway and a comfortable silence fell. Joel knew his brother didn’t mind. In fact, their moments of alone time were some of the few Joel had experienced a semblance of comfort in since their arrival. It was taking him a much longer time to adjust, and while he was grateful to see Ellie so eager to assimilate, he could not shake the nagging buzz of panic that coursed through his veins, day and night. This was not the world he had known for the better second half of his life, and it sure as hell wasn’t one he could ease into so quickly.
“Couple’uh the guys said they’d meet us inside.” Tommy’s words sliced through the pestering thoughts as they approached the building, sounds of jovial chattering beginning to fill the air. Joel gave him a nod and grunt of approval, despite not quite being "one of the guys" in Jackson just yet. Not that it was a goal, anyway.
As soon as they entered the confines of the bar, Joel felt his shoulders tense. The Tipsy Bison was small enough as it was, a dozen tables or so fit for two, now crowded around by three or four. The air smelled of liquor, smoke, and sweat, nearly suffocating the man as he attempted to keep on Tommy's heels, weaving through the vaguely familiar faces that all seemed to watch him with an unwarranted fascination. At the front center of the room, a makeshift stage had been set up with wooden platforms. More strings of lights made up a back drop, an array of instruments including a keyboard, drum set, and various guitars took their respective places on stage. Some of them had certainly seen better days.
An eruption of voices upon their arrival towards the back of the room startled him slightly, glancing up to see the two other men who greeted Tommy with the warm welcome waving the Miller brothers over. By the looks of it, they were plenty of drinks deep, and Joel found himself unable to conjure up the names. One of them completely unfamiliar to him, though it was very possible Tommy had introduced him, and he just forgot. The other a Barry...Larry, Jerry? He couldn't recall, planning to skate by the night with minimal interaction.
"Saved you some drinks," one of them announced, sliding over two glasses of whiskey towards the brothers. Now this Joel would accept with open arms, and he did, leaning an elbow against the table and wrapping his fingers around the glass without a moment to spare. "Glad to have you join us, Joel."
"Mhm," he grunted in response, taking a generous swig of whiskey. "Yeah. Thanks."
Tommy was quick to swoop in for conversation, sensing the discomfort in his brother. Though it did not take much deliberation to see it, as he resembled that of statue in the rigid and unnatural way he stood. Joel wasn't claustrophobic, but he sure has hell didn't like being around this many people. Not when he could see them looking at him. Hear the occasional drop to a whisper as people would pass by. The rational part of him couldn't blame them; he was still relatively new, and they had every right to have their questions and curiosities. But the other side of him, one more frequently ruled by anger an instinct, felt like he could snap at any moment.
"Ladies and gentlemen--" the voice came as an echo from the microphone on stage, and when Joel turned over his shoulder, he could see the band migrating themselves onto the platform. A younger man who had slung the bass over his shoulder spoke into the mic. "We are gonna get started here for y'all in just a moment, but I wanted to take this time to introduce you to our beloved talent this evening." A few rounds of applause began to erupt from the crowd, excitement glittering the air. Joel could tell this was an awaited event, and as quickly as he began to question why, his thoughts were answered.
The moment he saw you, he couldn't look away.
The young man with the bass had stepped aside from center stage, an outreached hand gesturing towards the opposite side of the room where bodies parted to make way for you. You mounted the stage with a dazzling smile, mouthing thank you's towards the numerous folks who already cheered in anticipation, unaware of the new pair of eyes that followed your ascent with precision.
Even in his short month in Jackson, Joel had encountered plenty of women. Young, old, kind, distant, and those that were a bit too eager for his attention. But in that time, he had never laid his eyes on you. And by God, he thought the wind might have been knocked out of his lungs. Your eyes seemed to sparkle underneath the lights, the smoothest skin he had ever seen, silken hair tied up halfway and curled around your face. You wore a white dress that dipped into a delicate V below your collarbones, puffy sleeves that hung off your tanned shoulders, and a skirt that ruffled just passed your knees. At your feet, a pair of worn leather cowboy boots.
Joel was oblivious to his gawking until he felt a nudge from Tommy beside him. His brother was giving him a knowing look to which Joel feigned annoyed confusion for. Not wishing to embarrass his brother, Tommy simply leaned over and offered Joel your name. "She's been singin' here for a few months now, every week. Got together the whole band for events at first, but the community loved it so much, they were willin' to make it a weekly thing." And by the community, Joel could tell he mostly meant the men. It was only then that he took a good scan across the bar, a notably uneven presence of testosterone. Not that he was better than any of them. The first thought once he got passed the initial shock of your beauty being a wondering of just how soft that smooth skin would have felt below his touch.
This was unlike him. Perhaps it was the environment or the alcohol, but he could not deter himself from the way your aura enamored him, and seemingly captured the entire room, too. He had no time to question Tommy about you when your voice picked up again.
"It's so good to see all your lovely faces again," you hummed into the microphone as you began to adjust the stand shortening it to your preferred height ever so slightly. Any worries from the days events rolled off your shoulders, instantly feeling at ease when you had stepped upon that stage. Up here, you didn't have to be anything but you. The inspiration flowing through your veins and out into the atmosphere. The moment your fingers wrapped around the mic, a sort of electricity filling you. It was difficult in a world as broken as this one to find ones livelihood, and here you were, basking in the the one thing that filled your soul with peace.
The pianist began to pluck a few warm-up notes on the keyboard. "As always, thank you for being here. And don't be shy if you have any requests." You tipped the toe of your boot towards the clear bowl at the foot of the stage, tiny pieces of ripped paper and a few pencils at the disposal of the audience.
With a nod of your head towards the fellow players, a slow and steady jazz tune picked up. You took a deep breath. No matter how often you had sung in front of a crowd, there were still the inevitable jitters. Closing your eyes, you soaked in the moment before your lips parted in melody.
Crazy, I'm crazy for feeling so lonely.
I'm crazy. Crazy for feeling so blue.
I knew you'd love me as long as you wanted,
And then someday you'd leave me for somebody new
Hums of approval, of reminisce, came from the audience, now silent at your will and the timeless words of Patsy Cline. Joel stood in the same spot, elbows leaned back against the table behind him, and neck slightly craned forward in surprise as the word flowed from you. He was not sure what he expected, but the angelic timbre of your voice certainly had exceeded his ideas. He was transfixed by you, noting the way you would lean in to each and every word, your expressive brows cultivating the pain and passion of the lyrics.
Worry, why do I let myself worry?
Wondering what in the world did I do?
He understood the appeal. How could he not? The way you swayed your hips ever so slightly and sultry to the rhythm, hands running down the body of the microphone. Your voice reached into him like an aiding hand, tugging him from the hole he dwelled in. Time could not exist in that room, not when you were there to bring it to a slow, captivating people and reminding them of a different time. An easier time.
Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you.
I'm crazy for trying and crazy for crying.
As he watched you, Joel could not help but wonder if there was some truth to the words you sung. The way you bore your heart into their agony told a story he and many others could understand. Love, loss, regret. Things he would not normally bring himself to face but could bare to think about momentarily through your melodious storytelling.
He felt his throat constrict, and he swallowed hard.
No. Joel Miller was not about to get emotional over some silly song.
When it did come to an end, silence hung in the air for a mere beat before a roar of applause overtook the bar. Joel joined in willingly, setting his glass atop the table to offer his own appreciation in delicate claps. He watched you as your eyes properly scanned the audience now, taking in the appreciation with flushed cheeks and a pearly smile. You nodded your head towards a few people in the front row, brows pulled together in bashful gratitude. The work you were doing within those walls was simple, but you knew the gravity of its impact, and it filled you to the brim of an adoration the world outside Jackson could never supply.
════ ⋆ ☽ ⋆ ════
The band went on to play for another hour and a half, ranging from old folk tunes that you teasingly remarked may have been much before your time, but would be plenty familiar to some of the patrons, to some softer rock hits from the late nineties.
Joel soaked in every moment of it.
And when you announced to the audience that they would be taking a thirty minute intermission prior to the next set, he could not help but feel a wave of disappointment. Tommy was right.
He did love this.
While the rest of the crowd seemed to disperse back into their respective conversations, Joel's eyes still lingered on the stage where you had stepped down to the foot of now, greeting the few residents who came up to shake your hand or compliment you on your performance. He noticed how that bewitching grin never seemed to leave your cheeks, a sort of delicate ease and confidence to the way you moved so brightly. Like a goddamn ray of sunshine, he thought.
He had half a mind to march over there and talk to you, only to realize he had no idea what the fuck he would even say. He was back to scolding himself then. Plenty of the old men around here already made no haste in ogling you up, you certainly didn't need one more.
"Terry's been workin' on fermentin' some of his own beer-" Terry. Fuckin' Terry is his name. Way off, Miller. It was Tommy speaking to him again. "We're gonna head over, give a couple batches a try. You oughta come with."
Joel blinked at him blankly, seemingly the only one still reeling from the performance he had just witnessed. Or maybe it was because this was his first time, and by the gradual smirk that came to rest on Tommy's face, he figured that was so.
"Stop lookin' at me like that." Joel grumbled.
"I fuckin' told you."
"Yeah, okay," he muttered, eyes falling to his boots that kicked at the dusted floor. "I did. I really did like it." Not just the music, he wanted to add, but didn't. He stopped himself from asking why they couldn't stay for the second set, but didn't either. The last thing he needed was more of Tommy's pestering. And besides, there was always next Thursday.
Joel lingered towards the back of the group as they eventually migrated their way out of the bar. The summer air fell cooler now with the sun below the horizon, and a few groups of people had migrated outside to chat or smoke a cigarette. Departing the premise appeared it would not be an easy task, as almost every person they passed stopped Tommy to say hello, ask a question, and occasionally offer an introduction to Joel. He didn't mind, though. Tommy could talk an ear off while he remained invisible by his side, for all he could care. The sooner they could leave the swarms, the better. Without the music to distract him or anyone else around him, Joel became vividly aware of himself around numerous bodies of strangers. The anxiety returned back to his stomach.
And just as it seemed they were finally about to escape, a call from the open bar doors hurdled their direction.
"Tommy Miller!" The group of men came to a halt, all turning around to face the voice. Joel stopped in his tracks as he saw you standing in the door frame, a jean jacket over your shoulders now, and hands rather dramatically on your hips. "I know you aren't leaving without saying hello, now, are you?" You tilted your head teasingly, that same smile creeping onto your cheeks as you skipped down the steps and towards them.
Tommy knows you. Well, of course he fucking knows you, but Joel didn't expect like this. Returning the smiles, arms open wide when you reach him, offering you a hug and congratulations on another fantastic performance. Joel suddenly felt paralyzed. Sure, he had contemplated speaking to you just moments ago, but that was a fleeting fantasy. Sharing in your presence with the entire room was a much different experience than having you so close. Up close, he could see the little details of your eyes, your skin that really did look so soft, the youthful and joyful aura that radiated off of you. He felt his hands clam up.
"Sorry, honey," Tommy continued, giving your shoulder a squeeze. "You're just so goddamn popular, we didn't wanna bother'ya."
You rolled your eyes, still beaming up at him. "Oh, please. Never. Never a bother." You had sung for he and Maria's wedding reception. It was a small gathering, and you were honored when they had asked you to be apart of it. They had always been good to you, and asking you to be a staple in their special day solidified a shared respect and trust.
Your eyes shifted then, acknowledging the tall man beside Tommy. A glint of curiosity flickered over them, and you wondered if this could be--
"Oh, hey. This is my brother," Tommy began, now giving his hand to Joel's shoulder which instantly stiffened upon the attention.
The things you had heard about Tommy's older brother did not quite prepare you for the man himself. Then again, you had never been one to gossip, though the subconscious effect this towns rumors had on your perception was impossible to avoid. The tousled peppered hair and hard lines of his face were the first traits that drew you in. Then, it was the broadness of his arms, shoulders, his whole being seeming to take up more space than he would have cared for. And finally, the chocolate brown eyes which bore into you in a way that made your chest tighten. Eyes that carried a story, history. The kind you could get lost into for hours.
"Oh, Joel, right?" He felt his lungs stop working. Now, it was him you were smiling at.
"Uh, yes ma'am," he spoke, voice hoarse from how dry his throat felt.
He saw your nose crinkle in feigned disgust, giggling. He could listen to the sound for hours. "Please, not the ma'am. You countrymen are too polite," you assured him, extending a hand and offering him your name. "Good to finally meet you. Tommy has spoken so much about you." And everyone else, for that matter. Did you know he use to raid innocent people? Smuggler in the QZ's. Not sure why they even let him in here. Killed people with his bare fucking hands-
It was all noise, as far as you were concerned. You may have been young when the whole world went to shit, but you were no strangers to the lengths anyone would go through to survive. Especially if it meant protecting the people they loved. And you had a feeling Joel Miller had gone through more than most.
When Joel did finally take your hand to shake, he was pleased to discover it was as soft as he expected, and much smaller, nestled securely in his grasp. He savored the moment that ended far too quickly, and when you let go, he balled his hand into a fist at his side.
"You, uh, you were great up there," he willed himself to say, the sincerity plain even behind the rough exterior.
You felt a blush creep up your neck. No matter how many compliments people payed you, you could never quite get use to them. Especially when they came from brooding, rugged men whose deep drawl made you want to listen to him compliment you for hours. That was another thing you had not expected about Joel Miller.
He was dashingly handsome.
"Thank you," you offered rather sheepishly, folding your hands behind your back and fiddling with your fingers. A nervous habit. "I love every moment of it."
You didn't have to tell him that for him to notice. It was clear in the way you owned the stage, but hearing your adoration for it out loud cracked a grin on his lips. You noticed, holding his eyes for a moment longer. You couldn't tell what was behind those eyes now, but it made your tummy flip, the unreadable elegance of them captivating you.
"And so did we!" Tommy interrupted the unspoken shared moment. Joel cleared his throat, his eyes falling back to his boots. "We'll let you get back to all the fun, but hopefully we can come by for next Thursday's show."
You nodded eagerly. "I would love that."
Tommy offered you another embrace before heading off with Terry and Glenn who both wished you a goodnight. You noted the way the older Miller brother seemed to linger a bit behind, using it as an opportunity to call to him.
"It was nice to meet you, Joel!"
Once more, he was stopped in his tracks, cocking his head over his shoulder to see that same giddy smile on your face, rocking from heel to toe adorably. Goddamn Terry and his stupid goddamn beer. He offered you another quaint grin that electrified your chest again.
"You too, sweetheart."
Sweetheart.
The rest of your second set, you couldn't help but be a bit distracted. Wondering what it would have been like to look into the audience and spot his eyes on you. Patience was a virtue you both seemed to lack, for when Joel's head hit the pillow later that night, he couldn't help himself from praying next Thursday would come a little faster this time around.
also, music taste? CHEFS FUCKING KISS 🤌🏼 I’m telling you Mya, you had me at Brooks & Dunn and Kacey Musgraves. I feel like I’m in the minority of being a huge country music fan so thank you for this 🥹
I didn’t get a chance to highlight all my favorite bits but I’m still going to to my very best to give you the proper feedback you deserve for writing this fic. I did highlight this one though
Because Ellie is a little SHIT and I love her for it. But also I loved that she WANTED Joel to go and she wasn’t going to let him weasel his way out of socializing lmao
Tommy’s characterization? Perfection 🤌🏼
The way you wrote and set the scene in the bar was also perfection. You described it so well that I felt like I was there and I could picture it so clearly in my mind.
Reader’s description was also stunning. I like how you leave her appearance to everyone’s imagination for the most part but still give her a very beautiful description such as hair hair style, what she’s wearing, etc.
Joel was smitten from his first glance and I am here for it! I’m always a sucker for him and a more sunshine type reader, idk the contrast is just so…perfect to me? The town grump and the town sweetheart? YES PLEASE 🤍
I’m off to read chapter two now, this is a beautiful fic so far and I love it so so so much.
Summary: Life in Jackson was proving difficult for Joel to adjust to, unable to find a piece of comfort in the place so many people called paradise. That was until you came along, unexpectedly weaving your way into his life through a language you both shared a love for: music.
Warnings: MDNI. Jackson era/one month post episode 9. Not everything is canon. AFAB reader. No use of Y/N. Use of pet names. Foul language. Mentions of violence, blood, death, trauma & suicide. Age gap (reader is 27, Joel is 56). Angst. Insecure Joel. Soft Joel. Eventual smut. More detailed warnings will be given for each respective chapter.
PART I.
When Joel reluctantly accepts his brothers invitation for Thursday night live music at the Tipsy Bison, he doesn’t expect to enjoy it as much as he does. And he certainly doesn’t expect to make acquaintance with you, the bands young, beautiful, and bright lead singer.
PART II.
Joel is not prepared for his accidental run in with you. You’re equally as unprepared to have noticed his eyes on you during this Thursday nights performance.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x florist female reader (AFAB)
Summary: Still struggling to regain a sense of normalcy in his life following the events of Colombia, Frankie discovers something about himself he never expected. Having reached an impressive one year of sobriety, Will and his girlfriend Sam think it's time to reward Frankie for his hard work. It's then he is introduced to a whole new world where he finds himself falling for the local florist with a hidden secret that will fulfil all of his deepest desires—even the ones he didn’t know existed.
Warnings/Tags: PTSD, nightmares, age gap, daddy kink, innocent/inexperienced reader, AU where Frankie doesn't have a baby (let me know if I have missed any)
Rating: E (18+ only, minors DNI)
Word Count: ~4.6k
Author's Note: This fic is co-created with the wonderful Caroline @fishingforpike! Dividers & header by me. Trigger warning that this fic deals with Frankie having PTSD and nightmares.
In Bloom — Masterlist . Taglist . AO3
The room is still dark when Frankie wakes with a start – jerking up in bed, the covers are pooled around his waist. His shirt clings to his back, sticky with sweat. He can feel his heart beat pounding in his ears, the thrum vibrating all over his body. He tries to take a few calming breaths, but they come out ragged, choked.
He can see flashes of memories imprinted in the back of his eyes. Noises echo throughout the otherwise quiet room. Gunshots, bodies dropping to the floor in a heap. Warning alarms, the chopper lurching under his hands, plummeting out of the sky. The money, falling down the side of a cliff and him almost going with it. Tom with a bullet through the skull. And blood—so much blood.
Frankie can feel it, warm and gooey on his palms. He takes a heaving breath in, reaching up to claw at his chest as he gasps for air. His hands are hot, and he can feel the blood seeping in through his shirt, thick and viscous against his skin. He bolts up out of bed, shaking legs carrying him into the bathroom where he switches on the light and turns the taps on full. He’s looking at his face in the mirror as he begins to scrub his hands, his sweat-slicked brow, hair flat and stuck to his forehead, pupils bloodshot and blown wide. Frankie scrubs his hands, rubbing his palms back and forward against each other, skin burning under the heat of the boiling water.
The blood, he thinks, the fucking blood. I have to get it off—need to get it off.
He scrubs harder, knuckles rough against the backs of his hands while his eyes don’t leave his face in the mirror. His skin is pale, dark circles rimming his eyes. Frankie looks like a ghost. He feels like a ghost.
Once he can no longer stand the scalding tap, he looks down and freezes. His hands are red, but not with blood, instead his skin is flushing crimson from the heat of the water. His shirt isn’t red or soaked with blood from where he’d clutched at it. It’s damp with clammy sweat, but no blood. Frankie looks back up, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head, “I need to get a grip.”
As Frankie walks into the bar, he pulls his baseball cap down and keeps his eyes trained on the floor, obscuring his face from view. After the dream—nightmare—he’d had last night, he was feeling particularly on edge, and was trying to keep his cool amongst the rowdy crowd. He doesn’t need to look up to know where his boys are sitting, moving towards the booth tucked away in the back, away from prying eyes and the continuous din of the bar.
It’s a run down place off the highway, with grimy floors and tables that are continuously sticky with overflowing beer. They’d become regulars in the past year, meeting up once or twice a week, depending on how bad they itched for a drink. Frankie was usually the one who needed it the most. He slides in next to Benny, across from Will. There’s already a bottle of Bud Light waiting for him, and the brothers are mid-conversation, so he just tips his head in greeting and to say ‘thanks’ for the beer.
“...I think it’s about time we get you a professional trainer, Ben, I’m not cut out for this shit anymore. You wanna move up the ranks, get recognised? That’s bigger than me, man, and I want that for you,” Will says, staring his brother down with firm eyes.
“Shit, I want that too, but that don’t mean I can do it without you,” Benny replies, shaking his head.
“That’s not what I’m saying, I’ll still—”
“It’s not the same, you know that,” Benny says around the rim of his bottle.
“Fish, what do you think, huh? You agree with me?” Will asks, turning his gaze to Frankie whose eyes are glued to the table, “Frank? You listening?”
Frankie blinks and shakes his head, taking in a deep breath through his nose, “Yeah, man, sorry. I don’t– I’m not sure. This is between the two of you.”
“We know that, but I’m asking for your opinion here,” Will presses.
Frankie shakes his head again, running his thumb nail over a groove in the wood of the table. “I don’t know.”
Benny taps Frankie’s thigh and motions to the bar. “I need another drink if I’m gonna keep gettin’ lectured by my brother.”
Frankie stands, letting Benny out past him before he drops back into the booth, scooting further around to where Benny was just sitting. He clasps the neck of his beer between his palms, staring into it as if it’s going to tell him the secrets to life. Maybe it will, he thinks as he brings the bottle to his lips, taking a long swig.
“What’s going on, man?” Will asks with a tilt of his chin, lips pulled down.
Frankie doesn’t answer for a long moment. “Nothing, nothing. Really, it’s fine.”
Will surveys him, moving his face closer as he tries to catch Frankie’s eyes. “You clean?”
“You sure? You’re not using again, are you?” Will grabs him by the jaw, pulling his face up to search his eyes.
Frankie pulls back abruptly, smacking Will’s hands away. “Yes! I’m fucking clean, man,” he snarls, sliding his wallet from his pocket to pull out the 12-month sobriety chip he keeps tucked away.
“Okay, good. That’s good,” Will sighs, pausing to look back to where Benny is still lining up at the bar, “What’s the problem then?”
Frankie huffs out a laugh, a dry, humourless thing, and shakes his head again. “You really asking me that? C’mon, man.”
Will pins him with a stern glare.
He relents, slumping back into the booth and dropping his head against the top of the seat. “It’s just... I’ve been having these– they’re these—”
“Dreams?”
Frankie breathes out harshly before slowly nodding. “Yeah.”
“Hey, Frank, look at me,” Will pauses, waiting for Frankie to meet his eyes, “I get them too.”
“Really?”
Will frowns, taking a sip of his beer. “Yeah, but not very often anymore. I see Tom.”
Frankie can’t speak, his mouth goes dry and he feels a thick fog hanging over his head clouding his thoughts, so all he can do is nod to signal that he sees Tom too.
“Have you– are you seeing anyone?” Will asks
“What, like a therapist?” Frankie looks to him and waits for Will to nod before speaking again, “No, I’m not. It’s fine, really, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Frankie just nods and takes another pull from his beer before Benny is walking back over to them with Santi trailing behind.
“Pope, hey, nice of you to finally join us,” Will smirks before turning his attention to his brother, “Benny here was just saying before how he thinks he can kick your ass in pool.”
Santi barks out a laugh. “Is that so? Didn’t you say the same thing last week and then you ended up losing spectacularly? Come on then, let’s go see how easy it is for me to beat you again,” he grins, steering Benny over to the pool tables by his shoulder.
Benny sends a confused glance back at Will who just waves him off. “I just needed to get rid of them for a bit,” Will says, looking back to Frankie.
“Why? I don’t have anything else to say, man,” Frankie releases with a tired sigh, running his palm across his whiskery jaw.
“Well I do. Jesus, Frank, when was the last time you did anything for yourself? Have you looked in a mirror recently? You look like shit.”
Frankie scoffs. “Don’t remind me.”
The two stare each other down for a moment before Frankie finds his gaze being drawn to a woman sitting at the bar with an older man. She laughs at something he says and curls a hand around his bicep, leaning closer to him. Her hair is tied back with a dark blue ribbon and it swishes around her shoulders as she talks animatedly, cheeks flushing pink, most likely due to the drink she’s gripping in her hand. Frankie swallows hard as he watches her. She’s wearing a pale blue and white gingham dress that rides up her thigh as she moves closer to the man. He wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her in before she tucks her head under his chin, nuzzling at his jaw.
Will follows his gaze, and Frankie clears his throat and hastily averts his eyes once he realises he’s been caught staring by the man sitting across from him.
The gears shift in Will’s brain as he observes Frankie, who lifts his hat to nervously run a hand through his hair. “Have I ever introduced you to Sam’s best friend?”
Frankie frowns and shakes his head. “No, why?”
“Nothing, I just–” Will looks back at the woman sitting at the bar, before turning to observe Frankie again, “I think you might like her. Maybe I should set you two up.”
Taking another gulp of his beer, Frankie grimaces. “I don’t know, man. I don’t think I’m up for it. You basically said it yourself, I’m a mess.”
“C’mon, Frank, you need to stop getting so caught up in your own head. The dreams will never stop and nothing will ever get better if you keep wallowing in self-pity. Take your mind off it. Live a little, do something for yourself. And you think Sam’s nice, right?” He asks, and Frankie nods, “Well you’ll love her friend then. What’s the worst that could happen?”
That weekend, Frankie had found himself fussing over his clothes while staring in the mirror. He’d tried on what felt like twenty different shirts, before he’d finally settled on a plain white t-shirt that pulled tight across his broad shoulders. He’d tugged at the collar of his faded denim jacket until it sat right, pulled at the cotton shirt underneath until felt comfortable, and fiddled with the waistband of his black jeans as he’d looped a belt on.
Now, as he sits in front of Will in the diner booth, he finds himself repeating the same actions.
“Would you stop it?” Will scolds, “They’ll be here any second, so just calm down. It’ll be fine, she’s really nice.”
“Fuck, I can’t help it, you roped me into this. I haven’t been on a date in God knows how long, so sorry if I’m nervous,” Frankie snaps.
“Frank, just stop, it’s going to be fine.”
Frankie huffs out a sigh, “Sure, it’s—”
But whatever was about to leave Frankie’s mouth is cut off when he sees Will’s girlfriend Sam walking towards their table with you in tow. He feels as if the air has been sucked from his lungs as he takes you in. Your eyes meet and you offer him a shy smile before he hastily stands up to greet you both.
“Frankie! It’s good to see you,” Sam grins as she draws him in for a hug.
“You too, it’s been too long,” he replies, but his eyes are glued to you over her shoulder.
Sam pulls back and looks to you, smiling gently as she touches your arm, guiding you forward. She tells him your name, and you look up at him with curious eyes.
“It’s really lovely to meet you, Frankie,” you say shyly.
Frankie’s mind is playing catch up and he feels dazed as he looks at you and your pretty smile. He rushes to reply as his nerves double in size. “You too, Will’s told me so much about you.”
He hasn’t, but Frankie doesn’t know what else to say. He was feeling nervous before, but once you’re actually standing in front of him, he doesn’t stand a chance.
Sam moves to slide into the booth next to Will who presses a kiss to her forehead. “Hey, honey.”
Hugging closer to his side, Sam whispers something into his ear with a small laugh before turning to look back to you and Frankie, “C’mon, guys, sit down.”
Frankie gestures to the booth. “Ladies first,” he says with a wry smile.
You return the smile with a giggle and sit down before he slides in next to you. You smooth your hands over your sundress before turning to sneak a peek at Frankie’s side profile. He’s tall and broad, sun-kissed skin with a smattering of freckles that disappear below the neckline of his shirt and he has a patchy beard that spans his strong jaw. You swallow hard as you feel a flush creep up your cheeks.
He catches your eye and looks down at your dress where your hands are still absently moving across your thighs. “Are those daisies?”
You can’t help the smile that overtakes your face and you nod enthusiastically, “Yes, they are!”
“Very pretty,” he murmurs, and you duck your head with a shy smile.
“Did Will tell you she’s a florist?” Sam asks from where she’s tucked under Will’s arm.
Frankie raises his eyebrows and turns to you, “Oh? Will didn’t mention that.”
“Yeah, it was my mom’s shop, originally.”
“How long have you been working there then?”
“She retired a while back—about three years ago, I think it would’ve been. So I took it over back then. It’s my pride and joy,” you say as you tuck an errant piece of hair that has fallen from your braid behind your ear.
Frankie leans closer, his whole body now facing you in the booth, “To be honest, I can’t say that I know much about flowers, but I would love to see it, if you’d show me.”
You grin up at him with soft eyes, and Frankie feels his stomach flip. “Of course, I would love to. I would ramble on about it all day if nobody stopped me.”
Looking at you now, Frankie doesn’t think that he would mind listening to you talk about it for hours on end if it meant that you kept looking at him like that.
“So, you and Will, you know each other from the army?” you ask.
“Yeah, we were in the service together, years ago. I was a pilot, back then,” Frankie replies lightly, not wanting to have to go into detail on what it was they did. Not ideal first date conversation topics, he thinks, internally grimacing at the memories.
You perk up immediately, “You flew planes?”
“No, helicopters, actually.”
Your face lights up and he feels himself flush under your inquisitive gaze, “Oh, wow! That’s so impressive, Frankie,” you gush excitedly. You look down at his forearms, and they look thick and strong even under his jacket, and you imagine him at the controls of a helicopter. His firm hands on the control stick, steady and capable. You clear your throat and hastily avert your eyes. “So, what– what do you do now?”
Frankie quickly glances over at Sam and Will who are talking quietly, focused on their own conversation. “I actually still work with choppers, I’m a specialist mechanic.”
You turn in the booth so you’re completely facing him, your bare knee brushing his leg where your dress has ridden up. “That sounds like hard work, but I imagine it’s much easier compared to being in the army. You’re so brave, both of you—”
“No, no,” Frankie rushes out with a shake of his head, “You don’t need to– we don’t need to talk about that. Really, it’s not exciting,” he lies, quickly changing the topic, “Tell me more about you and your pretty flowers.”
You glow under his attentive gaze, and his eyes don’t leave yours as you tell him about your shop, all of the work you put into it once you had taken it over, and some of the upcoming events that you are preparing arrangements for.
When a waitress comes over to take orders, you look between Frankie and the menu. He leans closer to you, wrapping an arm around the back of the booth. “What do you wanna order?” he asks softly.
“I wanted the waffles, please, and also a latte.”
Frankie turns to the waitress and repeats your order to her along with his own, before Will does the same. As Frankie turns his body towards the waitress while he speaks, you shuffle slightly closer to him in the booth, and when he turns back he has to bite back a smile when he notices your closer proximity.
Sam and Will were ready to jump in to fill any gaps in the conversation between you two, but they don’t come. You two talk easily, and Frankie finds himself feeling surprised. He didn’t expect anybody to be interested in him, let alone someone like you—so soft spoken, gentle and lovely. He keeps his arm tucked over the back of the booth, and the longer you talk, he ends up resting the tips of his fingers on your shoulder.
When the food arrives, he takes the plates from the waitress and places yours in front of you. Frankie watches fondly as you douse your plate in syrup, the waffles swimming in the thick, sugary liquid.
“Have you ever tried them with bacon?” he asks, gesturing to his own plate, and you shake your head, “Oh, c’mon, give it here. It’s delicious, promise.”
Frankie pulls your plate closer. He cuts up the waffle into pieces before slicing into the bacon in front of him, and heaping some on to your plate before sliding it back to you. He sucks the tip of his thumb into his mouth where some of the syrup got stuck, and you feel your stomach flip when his cheeks hollow. “C’mon, try,” he urges.
You can see Sam watching the two of you from across the table, a knowing smile on her face. Picking some of it up on your fork, you place it in your mouth and stop mid-bite. “Oh, wow. I don’t know how I’ve never tried this before.”
“Well, it seems I’ve got a lot to teach you,” Frankie murmurs, voice low and thick.
You feel a thrill run up your spine at his words. “I could say the same,” you reply, looking up at him through your lashes.
The two of you talk like Sam and Will aren’t even there, completely absorbed in each other’s company, and Frankie can’t take his eyes off you. Once the plates are cleared, you end up pressed closer to his side, and he curls his arm around the back of the booth again, his thumb drawing small circles on the exposed skin of your shoulder blade.
Just as Frankie hadn’t expected you to be interested in him, you were equally surprised that he seemed to hang on every word you said. You knew he was older than you, and you guessed throughout his time in the service that he had probably lived through things you could never even imagine. You had expected him to be indifferent, maybe even a little bit dismissive towards you. You hadn’t expected softness in his gaze when he looked at you, the crinkles by his eyes, or the lopsided grin with a dimple on one side. You had expected him to be battle-hardened and rough around the edges, but somehow he had remained gentle.
He offers to drive you home. He pays for your meals, and after you both say your goodbyes to Sam and Will, Frankie guides you out to his truck with a hand on the small of your back.
He opens the door for you, and places his hand on the top of the frame. “Watch your head,” he says, guiding you in with a hand on your shoulder. You huff out a quiet giggle as you buckle in your seatbelt and he makes his way around to the passenger side.
You give him the directions to your apartment block, and a comfortable silence hangs in the air as you drive, the only noise coming from the stick shift as Frankie changes gears and the radio humming quietly in the background. He keeps taking his eyes off the road to glance over at you. You glow under the sunlight beaming in through the open window, the rays catching on the wisps of hair that slip out of your braid in the wind. Your fingers delicately fiddle with the hem of your sundress, and Frankie wants to reach out from where his hand rests on the gears to tangle your fingers together. He doesn’t realise you’re thinking the same thing.
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice his gaze and feel your cheeks heat. Frankie’s chest grows impossibly tight as you look away with a shy smile on your face. Once you pull up out the front of your apartment, he walks around to open your door again, and you reach out to hold his arm as the two of you walk up the front steps together.
“Is it too soon to ask when I can see you again?” Frankie murmurs, nervously rubbing his free hand across his whiskery jaw.
You shift closer to him as you come to a stop on the final step, and you have to tilt your head up to look at him as his broad frame looms over you. “No, it’s definitely not too soon,” you say softly, squeezing his arm, “Would you like to come by and see the shop this week?”
“Absolutely,” he replies. In that moment, you could’ve suggested anything and he would’ve said yes, his brain already completely captivated with the thought of you.
Your gaze is warm and open, your attention is all consuming. He brings a hand up to brush the back of his knuckles across your cheekbone, before he touches his palm to the back of your neck, pulling you in. You think he’s going to kiss you, but then his lips press against your forehead, soft and delicate. You smell like coffee and waffles and sugary sweet syrup and Frankie lingers for a moment before he has to pull back to stop himself from crowding you against the door and kissing the taste directly off your mouth.
Your smile is bright and beautiful when he steps away, and he wishes he could stay in this moment, this perfect little bubble. “I’ll come visit you during the week,” he promises.
For the rest of the day, his thoughts remain on you. When he goes to bed that night, for the first time in a long time, he has peaceful, dreamless sleep.
Frankie ends up coming to visit your shop every morning for the next week. Each day he arrives with a latte and a different kind of pastry for you. The morning after you’d had breakfast with him, Sam and Will, you’d felt your heart thrum against the inside of your ribcage when you’d seen him walk in the door.
He’d looked at you shyly as he passed you the coffee and brown paper bag containing a cinnamon bun. “Is it– is it too much? Sorry, I should’ve waited a few days to come by, right?”
“No, not at all! I’m happy to see you,” you had admitted.
He had grinned and reached out to run his fingers across the back of your hand. “I’m glad. Truthfully... I couldn’t wait.”
You’d beamed at him. If Frankie had thought you looked pretty when he’d first seen you at breakfast, it was nothing compared to how beautiful you looked in your shop. Absolutely in your element, flitting around to pick out different flowers from bouquets as you’d hummed to a song playing softly over the speakers. His chest had felt tight as he watched you, and all he’d wanted to do was hold your face and kiss you breathless.
It had become your favourite part of your morning for the next week, always looking up when you’d hear the bell over the door chime, waiting to see if it was Frankie. Today, he had brought you coffee along with a raspberry muffin, and now you sat on the counter as he leant next to you as you shared it.
“I’ve really liked spending time with you this week, Frankie,” you say as you move a hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear. He catches it, bringing it towards his face as he presses a kiss to your palm.
“Me too,” he murmurs, resting your joined hands on your lap. “Are you busy tomorrow?”
“I’m working in the morning, but I usually close the shop around midday on Saturdays, so I’m free after that.”
His eyes move back and forward between yours, and you squirm under his gaze. “Can I take you out tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yes, absolutely! What would you like to do?”
Frankie steps closer to you, moving to stand in between your knees. “I thought we could go to the botanical gardens,” he says shyly.
Your eyes turn soft, and you feel your stomach flip. “Oh, Frankie—that’s so thoughtful. I would love to.”
He watches you, gaze careful. “I have one more question.”
“What?”
He pushes impossibly closer, so he’s flush to the counter, his hips touching your thighs as he brings his hands up to cradle your jaw. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes,” you whisper.
Frankie moves deliberately, pulling you into him as he nudges his nose against yours. You’re breathing the same air, and his thumb strokes your cheekbone softly before he leans in the rest of the way and captures your bottom lip between his own. You sigh against him, and press forward to fist your hands in his shirt. He curls one hand around the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer as his lips move languidly against yours. You taste like coffee and vanilla and raspberries and your skin is smooth and warm against his hands and you smell like jasmine and—
And you squirm, gasping as he licks into your mouth before he pulls back to nip at your lower lip. You draw him back in, slotting your lips against his, and he groans, low in the back of his throat. It’s a push and pull, your soft hands pulling him in, his calloused ones pushing you closer. Frankie pulls back, breathless, and rests his forehead against yours. He tugs you in again, and presses his lips to yours gently once, twice, three more times.
“Frankie,” you murmur, resting your palm against his cheek.
He hums in response. You don’t say anything, but lean forward to kiss him again. When you part, he can feel his heart beating in his ears.
Frankie moves back, and runs his palms down your arms, smiling softly at you. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at noon, cariño.”
You feel heat creep up on your cheeks at his words. “I can’t wait.”
He starts to walk towards the door but when he glances over his shoulder and notices you watching him with a dazed smile on your face, he turns on his heels. Frankie steps towards you and holds his hand against the back of your neck before he presses one last lingering kiss to your forehead.
“Tomorrow,” he promises, “I’ll see you then.”
You can’t wipe the smile off your face for the rest of the day.
-
Next Chapter
End Notes:
Thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoyed! Daddy Frankie is coming in chapter 2, we just needed to set them up first.
The banner for this series is STUNNING I love love love flowers and all things floral and botanical and it is so aesthetic pleasing 🤍
Just read the first chapter. The first part? It was a bit heart wrenching but god the way you captured Frankie’s PTSD, the nightmare, it was SO GOOD.
Like see what I mean?! Him trying to wash the non existent blood off of his hands was a punch to the gut and it was so well written.
I feel for Frankie. I just want to give him a big hug, that’s how much you made me feel in just those first few paragraphs alone 🥲
OOF. This was some TOUGH LOVE. But he’s right Frankie needs to do something for himself and I’m glad he gave him this little pep talk as well as the encouragement to get out there.
The whole double date scene was so cute. It was even cuter when Will and Sam basically didn’t even exist to them after a while 😂
This is fine. I’m fine. Frankie being willing to see her floral shop? I’m FINE. 🥲
Gentleman Frankie. Again. I am FINE.
Oh god these two have my heart already. I ADORE their chemistry, I’m already rooting for them so so hard let’s gooooo.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x florist female reader (AFAB)
Summary: Still struggling to regain a sense of normalcy in his life following the events of Colombia, Frankie discovers something about himself he never expected. Having reached an impressive one year of sobriety, Will and his girlfriend Sam think it's time to reward Frankie for his hard work. It's then he is introduced to a whole new world where he finds himself falling for the local florist with a hidden secret that will fulfil all of his deepest desires—even the ones he didn’t know existed.
Warnings/Tags: (additional warnings will be specified in each individual chapter) age gap, daddy kink, angst, PTSD, nightmares, innocent/inexperienced reader, minor corruption kink, eventual PIV sex, spanking, soft dom!Frankie, d/s dynamics, AU where Frankie doesn't have a baby, no use of y/n
Rating: E (18+ only, minors DNI)
Author's Note: This fic is co-created with the wonderful Caroline @fishingforpike, and was born out of some unhinged DM's between us about daddy Frankie. So here we are friends, enjoy daddy Frankie in all his glory. Dividers & header by me. Trigger warning that this fic deals with Frankie having PTSD and nightmares.
{ Part I: Seams | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }
Rating: M
Summary: When Joel revisits Main Street Outfitters two weeks later, he finds you on your knees. Again.
Warnings: Very spicy thoughts but not explicit, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, some language, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N
Word count: 4.3k
Notes: This crept up on me and happened just as I was finishing up edits. I am so grateful, and I hope Threads is a fitting thank you gift to you all 😘 I’m thinking about doing a sleepover celebration, we shall see!
Joel and Pin are back ❤️ They're back because you guys have been so generous with your love, sending me so many ideas and hyping me up - I can't thank you all enough! This chapter is all thanks to Singer machine anon who bravely (affectionate 😉) shared their story of getting stuck under a sewing machine table. I hope you enjoy this one!
A treadle sewing machine is powered mechanically by a foot pedal that is pushed back and forth by the operator's foot.
If you're not familiar, here is a classic Singer treadle cabinet, which is no way big enough for the purposes of this story, so please exercise your imagination 😉
Joel hovers outside the Jackson Grocer’s, arms crossed, trying to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible in front of the leafy display of butter lettuce heads.
It’s been a few months since he’s settled in, but sometimes he can’t get over how fucking nuts this place is. Looking at the shelves brimming with fresh fruits and vegetables outside, canned food and home goods inside, he could easily be standing outside the 24/7 mart in his old neighbourhood. There are even shopping baskets, for crying out loud - stacked neatly one on top of the other by the door.
A voice pipes up from his left. ‘Didn’t know you ate greens.’
Joel scowls. ‘I don’t.’
‘Why are you loiterin’, then?’ asks Tommy, picking up a couple of apples and examining them with exaggerated care.
‘I’m not loiterin’,’ he spits out the last word as if he’s above it, turning his gaze to the high street.
Tommy tosses him a cocky grin, head tilted at a knowing angle. ‘Yeah, you are. And now you’re makin’ eyes at Bob. It’s disturbin’.’
Glancing across the main thoroughfare at the welder’s shop, where the said proprietor is cutting up wooden planks on the porch, Joel grumbles sarcastically, ‘That’s right. Bob is just my type.’
At that very moment, right next to Bob's, the door of Main Street Outfitters creaks open, and Joel recognises Lucy instantly as she sneaks out on tiptoes. She skips down the stairs and wanders up the street in what appears to be another impromptu work break.
Joel’s already taken two steps towards the shop before he remembers that he’s not alone. Braking abruptly and bringing up one hand to scratch the back of his neck, he feels Tommy’s eyes on him.
He half-turns, and snaps, ‘What?’
The younger Miller brother shrugs, pursing his lips thoughtfully. ‘Why are you going to the Outfitters again? Didn’t you just get those new jeans a couple of weeks ago?’
‘Thought I’d get a new shirt for your stupid baby shower.’
‘Joel -’
‘Sorry, sorry.’ He throws his hands up in capitulation. ‘Baby showers are not stupid. Especially in the middle of an apocalypse.’
Taking another two steps forward, a thought stops him dead in his tracks again. He can practically feel Tommy smiling smugly at his back.
For fuck’s sake.
He doesn’t turn around this time, jamming his hands into his pockets and asks, ‘Can I bring someone? To the party?’
‘We know Ellie’s comin’.’
Whipping around, he growls, ‘Tommy -’
He laughs. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. Joel Miller makin’ friends in town? Maria’s right - you’re fittin’ right in, big brother.’
Rolling his eyes, Joel flips him off and stomps his way across the street.
Tommy calls out at his retreating back. ‘Say hello to Pin and tell her we’d love to have her come over on Sunday!’
When he steps inside, the shop is as empty as it was a fortnight ago. Joel shuts the door firmly, making sure the bell jingles, so his entry doesn’t go unnoticed.
Your voice, though muffled, comes promptly. ‘Lucy! Is that you?’
He heads towards the doorway that leads to the workshop. ‘It’s Joel, actually.’
‘Oh, shit!’
His eyebrows reach for his hairline - you don’t seem to be the type to curse. Concerned, he asks, ‘You alright back there?’
There’s a touch of panic in your reply, ‘Don’t come back here. Did Lucy sneak out again?’
On your instruction, Joel hesitates in the middle of the room, talking to air. ‘Yeah, saw her leave a couple of minutes ago.’
‘Goddamnit, Lucy!’
He shuffles his feet awkwardly. ‘Uh, you sure you’re ok? Should I come back later?’
There’s a resigned sigh, then a pause. ‘Promise you won’t laugh.’
One end of his lips tugs upwards in a smile. ‘Why would I?’
‘Promise.’
At your insistence, he humours you, ‘Alright, I promise, sweetheart.’
‘Come on back.’
When he steps into the workshop, he doesn’t spot you immediately. The space is seemingly empty, everything standing still and in order. He sweeps his eyes across the room, starting with the shelving unit and the desk along the near wall, then trailing over the large timber work table in the middle, where a stack of folded shirts stands neatly.
His throat isn’t the only thing that tightens when he glances at the rug under the skylight -
‘Joel?’
Your voice draws his attention to the far corner of the room, where a sewing station is tucked into a little alcove.
Joel doesn’t know much about sewing machines, but he can recognise a vintage Singer anywhere even without the name blazoned across its elegant body. His grandmother had one in her drawing room by a sunny bay window, and he used to watch her work on it when he visited every other weekend. For a disorienting second, he can almost smell homemade cinnamon rolls and black tea.
Little did he know that things were about to get a lot more disorienting than a pleasant childhood memory.
As he steps around the work table, the rest of the sewing station comes into view, fronted by a big window, the light streaming through the glass glancing off the black sewing machine on top of a classic treadle cabinet. What looks like a half-finished dress lies on the wooden work surface, which stands on quintessential wrought metal legs, and between them - his throat constricts with a slow swallow when he realises what - or rather, who - he’s looking at.
The words barely come out, as if his tongue is suddenly too big for his mouth, as he makes his presence known. ‘I’m here, sweetheart.’
To be fair, you’re not making things easy by any means. All he can see is your backside hovering in mid-air, the rest of you out of sight under the desk. It has built-in cabinets on each end, the right side of it backed up against the far wall, and a chair is pushed to the side.
Joel stops two measured paces away, staring down at the curve of your ass and the way your top rides up, baring the small of your back. His eyes linger on the soft skin between the shirt’s hem and the waistband of your very tight jeans.
Jesus Christ. Do you always have to be on your fucking knees in this workshop?
Your small voice jolts him from his daze. ‘Well, at least you’re not laughing.’
He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from scoffing. If only you knew how laughing is the furthest thing on his mind right now. ‘What happened?’
‘A spool rolled off and I went down to get it, but I fell on the treadle accidentally - I think my shirt is snagged in the band wheel. I can’t move at all, and this Singer is an antique - I can't risk breaking it.’
Unfamiliar with what you’re talking about, he probes, ‘And where’s the band wheel?’
‘Under the table, on my right.’
You wriggle your hips, perhaps to help him locate where you’re stuck, unaware that you’re not helping. At all.
He swallows thickly and implores you, ‘Stay still, sweetheart. I’ll take a look.’
It’s been two whole weeks since Joel Miller came into the shop. You’ve caught glimpses of him in between - Jackson is tiny, after all. He catches your eye as he ambles down the high street with Ellie, his gruff Southern accent carrying even in the mid-afternoon bustle, too preoccupied arguing with the teenager to notice you on the other side of the road. He’s in the cafeteria a couple of times when you arrive for a late dinner, nodding at you from a few tables over, while you work up the nerve to smile back.
Every time, he’s wearing the jeans you handpicked for him, which makes your chest swell and constrict at the same time with something like - pride.
You picked out the pair for him. You assured him that he looks good. And by the way he’s wearing his confidence on his sleeve, he’s certainly taken your words to heart.
Whenever you see other women eyeing him as he struts about town - which is entirely too often - it awakens an ugly possessiveness in you, one that twists your insides into grotesque balloon animals.
Fourteen damn days. Even in the privacy of your workshop, you can’t escape that man. The simple touch of denim provokes a visceral reaction from you, heat chases beneath your skin every time you pick up the tailor’s scissors. It doesn’t help that most of your daily tasks are not exactly cerebral, which gives this man all the more leeway to lay claim to your subconscious.
If you believed in magic, you would've thought you summoned him with the sheer energy you’ve spent thinking about him. But what kind of witchcraft conjured him up at the precise moment you get trapped like the bumbling idiot that you are?
One minute you’re reaching for the stupid thread, the next thing you know, you’re stuck, unable to move without the mechanisms of the antique Singer groaning ominously at your attempts to free yourself.
But maybe, it’s still better than Lucy finding you. She’d take a hammer to the sewing machine to get you out, no question - patience is not her strong suit - and she’d be laughing at you for days.
You hear the floorboards give behind you as Joel moves into the space, which isn’t much - when you’re sat down at the treadle cabinet, the wall is barely two steps behind.
The wooden table creaks above you as he braces one hand on the surface, and you startle at what sounds like the vicious crack of a vertebra.
‘Um - you okay?’
Joel grunts. ‘I’ll live.’
So you wait, thinking absent-mindedly how your elbows are starting to get numb. There’s a scruff of boots and what sounds like a brief struggle, before Joel sighs. ‘Back’s too stiff ‘mfraid. Gotta get on the floor to see underneath.’
Before you can squeak out a reply, there’s a boney click of what you presume is his knees as he crouches down, and an unexpected brush of denim on your left ankle surprises you. Forgetting where you are, you jump in reflex, hitting the underside of the table so hard that you screech in pain.
‘Shit!’ Joel cusses behind you, one warm hand landing on the side of your hip to steady you. ‘You ok?’
Up until this point, you’ve been too consumed with embarrassment by your predicament to even think about the position Joel found you in. But once the warm imprint of his palm registers through the denim, it hits you like one of those interstate trucks that you used to see out of your window.
You’re leaning on your forearms, ass in the air, and now - he’s behind you, getting onto his knees. You can’t decide if the back of your head or your pussy is throbbing harder as you stutter, ‘I’m fine, just - get me out, please.’
‘Alright, hang on, sweetheart.’
You swallow the childish urge to stamp your foot. He has no right going around dropping sweethearts all over the place.
There’s a throaty exhale as Joel lowers himself onto the floor, his knees bracketing yours to shift closer to you. You know he feels the shudder that chases down your spine when soft flannel grazes your bare back, heat spilling from his solid frame as he looms over you.
‘You say you’re stuck in the band wheel?’
Somehow, you manage to answer, ‘Yeah, to my right.’
He clears his throat. ‘I - uh - I’ll have to lean down pretty close to you to take a look, is that ok?’
You feel all the air leave your body, which is probably why your reply comes out far breathier than you intend it to. ‘Yes, Joel.’
And with those two words, Joel has a problem with his jeans. Again.
They’re too tight. Again.
There’s nothing he can do as his mouth goes dry and his cock hardens with a vengeance, his self-control slipping like sand between his fingers.
He was doing so good - well, he was more or less holding it together, as much as he could be expected to while kneeling behind you. And of course, his damn knees hurt, but so does his bottom lip which is caught in his teeth, trying to regulate his breathing when his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest.
He already has one hand on you, and goddamnit, it’s taking him all he’s got to hold back from gripping you with his other, to grasp the swell of your ass between his palms, to trace your curves up to the dip of your exposed waist, to bow his head and run his tongue along the arc of your spine -
And the jeans you’re wearing - fuck, they’re tight. He wonders idly if you wore them for him. His eyes follow the seam that runs down the cleft of your ass, the way the pockets stretch over your backside has his fingers twitching, thinking about how well you will fill his hands, and how the slow rub of denim will burn his skin.
He wants to hook his thumbs into the belt loops and pull you flush against the zipper of his jeans, where his cock is straining against - rub himself on you, grind on you, his thighs plastered to the back of yours -
‘Joel?’
Fuck.
He sways as he snaps out of his stupor, dangerously close to knocking into you, light-headed from the lack of blood to his brain. He chokes out, ‘Yeah, I got you, sweetheart.’
Get it together, you dirty bastard.
He’s careful to leave a couple of inches between his front and your ass when he bends his elbows and ducks so he can peer beneath the desk. His chest pressed flat against your lower back, he can see the bunched fabric of your shirt where it’s caught.
‘Yup, you’re right, your shirt is snagged tight in there.’
‘Can you untangle it?’
‘Think so, but I’ll need both hands.’ He pauses. ‘I’d better get on my back under you.’
You swear you’re going to black out.
‘Pin?’ he prompts when you’ve been quiet a beat too long.
‘I - um, what do you mean by going under me?’
‘If I’m on my back, I can use both my hands, like a mechanic under a car,’ he explains. ‘If you’re uncomfortable, I can find another way -’
‘No!’ you blurt out, wincing at the desperation in your tone. ‘I mean - whatever is easiest for you. You’re the one doing me a favour here.’
‘Alright,’ he says, placated by your reassurance. ‘On your hands and knees then, sweetheart.’
Your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. Oh, come on. Can he hear himself?
Scraping together your last vestiges of control, you push up on your palms to make space underneath you. You have to consciously lock your elbows - your joints suddenly feel like barely set pudding.
‘Move as far to your right as possible so I can slide in.’
Shuffling on your hands and knees until you’re pressed up against the band wheel, you hear the brush of fabric on wood - must be his back against the floorboards as he slides in. To say it’s a squeeze is an understatement. His broad shoulders brush the front of your thighs as he inches in, and then, his face appears under yours, head between your hands.
His lips quirk. ‘Hi, sweetheart.’
Your breath hitches at his proximity, your wrists brushing the soft red flannel he’s wearing today. ‘Hi.’
‘You ok?’ he asks.
You’re this close to pouting. What does he think? There’s a telltale stickiness between your legs that you’re frantically trying to push to the back of your mind while you mmhmm noncommittally, hoping that he doesn’t smell your want in the tiny, claustrophobic space you’re now both caught in.
You can only assume that he’s none the wiser, since the next thing that comes of his mouth is -
‘Climb on top of me so I can slide in closer to the band wheel.’
Someone might as well say your last rites. This is the end.
You’re taken aback when your limbs start to move on autopilot, because your faculties have well and truly abandoned ship. One trembling leg attempts to swing itself over the solid breadth of his body, but it wobbles like jelly, and your knee ends up connecting firmly with his stomach instead of landing clear on his other side.
At his grunted oomph, you panic and bang your head on the underside of the table again, which sends your whole weight sprawling onto his front with a yelp.
Joel cradles the back of your scalp with one hand. ‘Shit, you ok, sweetheart?’
The seams of your lashes sting, your head smarting with the impact, and you blink drily as your gaze focuses on Joel under you. He’s so close that you can see flecks of gold in his brown eyes, his breath hitting your face in warm puffs. Your glance at his lips, and with that one little motion, all goes quiet.
He watches you back, neither of you breathing, and in the stillness you realise that you’re fully straddling him, your palms pressing into the hard floor on either side of his ears. Your tits are crushed up against his ribs, his soft tummy warmly cushioned under you. Lower still, where your hips are nestled into the spread of his thick thighs, something stiff and long and insistent presses into you -
Your jaw goes slack when it dawns on you.
Oh god.
He’s hard.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Joel breaks the silence, a pained frown on his brow as he shakes his head. ‘This is embarrassin’. Couldn’t fuckin’ help it, seein’ you in those jeans -’
Tongue-tied, you can only stare at him, wishing you were brave enough to say something. Tell him that you pulled extra shifts to buy this particular pair of jeans, knowing that they flatter your figure. That you’ve worn them almost every day these two weeks, hoping that he’d swing by again.
But you can’t.
So you pray that he can see what you can’t say by the way you’re looking at him, by the way your heart races wildly in your ribcage against his chest.
His voice cracks. ‘I understand if you want me to go -’
You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth and cut in, ‘Don’t.’
His warm eyes widen, something like hopefulness in the way he looks up at you. ‘You don’t want me to go?’
You press your body closer into his, filling in the gaps. ‘No. Please don’t, Joel.’
He leans forward, so close that you can feel the phantom burn of his silvered beard, his palms finding the meat of your legs, blunt nails biting into the denim.
He really should be ashamed of himself, at the way his cock pulses unabashedly, nudged right between your thighs as you stare down at him, lips parted. He’s hard enough that he worries if there’s a wet spot of precum on the front of his jeans - he can feel himself leaking through his boxers.
The wicked tip of your tongue traces a wet trail on your bottom lip, and he almost chokes on a half-buried groan deep in his chest. He knows that you don’t even know you’re doing it - and in turn, what that does to him.
It would be easy to close the two-inch gap between you. To kiss you, taste you, lick into your sweet mouth. All he needs to do is to cup the back of your head and pull you down, or crane his neck and press his lips to yours -
And Joel is someone who always follows the path of least resistance.
But - he wants to do right by you. He knows you deserve more than a quick fumble under a table.
Sucking in a shaky breath, Joel steels himself and brushes a chaste thumb over your cheekbone. ‘Let’s get you out of here, and then we can talk, ok?’
It’s almost perverse the way his chest warms at the flicker of disappointment in your eyes as you give a reluctant nod, ‘Ok. Please be careful, the Singer’s really delicate.’
It’s hard to focus - his attention keeps drifting to how snugly you fit into his chest, between his arms, and it’s not a stretch to imagine a soft mattress underneath his back. It's funny how quickly his body has adjusted to creature comforts after months of sleeping on the cold winter ground.
Joel’s mindful that an antique sewing machine will be a pain in the ass to repair without the requisite parts, so he moves carefully, gently coaxing the band wheel back and forth to see how he can extract you. It doesn’t take long to loosen the grip of the metal teeth on your shirt, but he has to reach up and untangle the threads snagged into the mechanisms one by one.
He muses idly that this is not his method. These hands of his, with crooked knuckles that never healed right, where many a dagger, knife, gun, rifle have found a home - they break things, people.
When was the last time someone asked gentleness of him?
He wants to scoff. That’s not what he’s good for.
Despite himself, his throat rumbles with a hum of satisfaction when the band wheel finally lets go of your shirt, the Singer whirring to life as it spins freely. He gives you a lopsided smile. ‘There you go, sweetheart.’
You smile, but don’t seem to be in a hurry to move, which pleases him. He likes looking at you from this angle, relishing in your weight on him. He takes his time running his eyes over your face, his palms coming to rest on your knees.
You duck your head prettily. ‘Thank you, Joel.'
He gives you a playful shrug. ‘Well, I owed you one for these jeans.’
You roll your eyes in good humour. ‘Actually, I told you specifically that you didn’t.’
Joel basks in the lighthearted turn in the conversation, egging you on, ‘Well, in that case, you owe me one for this instead.’
‘That’s hardly fair -’ you chide him, punching him in the shoulder in a half-hearted rebuke.
Taking the opportunity, he grabs you by the wrist, the contact prompting a bodily shudder from you that he doesn’t miss. He smirks, ‘M’fraid I don’t play fair, sweetheart.’
You glare at him in mock sternness, bold enough to demand, ‘Fine - what do you want then, Joel Miller?’
For a split second, he hesitates, woefully out of practice at whatever it is that he’s about to do. Swallowing his self-doubt, he asks, ‘Tommy and Maria are throwing a baby shower on Sunday at their house - do you want to come?’
Your shoulders stiffen. Now, that you were not expecting. Your social anxiety bubbles between your ribs and looms over you like a spector. You sputter, ‘Um, I -’
You start when his fingers draw soothing circles on the top of your knees, as if seeing straight through the source of your apprehension. He reassures you, ‘Lucy is welcome to join too. The more the merrier.’
Your eyes soften. ‘Ok. I’d love to.’
The endearing way the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles has you swaying towards him, his nose just brushing the side of yours - when the doorbell rings, cutting through the loaded silence.
In your haste to sit up, you knock your head against the table for a third time.
‘Ow!’ you cry. Even Joel flinches at the hard hit.
Lucy calls out, sounding dangerously close. ‘Pin? You ok, hon?’
‘Shit!’ You start scrambling backwards, bent over awkwardly, convinced that you’re one more blow away from a concussion. You’ve barely scrambled onto your feet when Lucy steps into the workshop, the world tilting on its axis for a moment as blood rushes to your brain.
She watches in amusement as Joel drags himself from under the sewing station, head cocked to one side. ‘Hi again, stranger. You really like our shop, don’t you?’
His shirt is rumpled from where you sat on him, bits of his curls sticking up. He rubs the back of his neck, as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘I just swung by to, uh, invite you and Pin to the baby shower. Tommy and Maria’s. This Sunday.’
Lucy crosses her arms, arching an eyebrow. ‘And it’s a tradition where you’re from to talk about weekend plans under a table?’
You narrow your eyes at her. ‘Luce -’
She winks. ‘You know what? I don’t need to know the gory details - but I’m in. See you Sunday, Miller!’
Joel huffs a chuckle as Lucy disappears into the front of the shop, leaving you two alone. You smile, suddenly shy for no reason, twining your fingers to stop from fidgeting. ‘Thanks again, Joel.’
He shrugs it off, a touch of boldness in the way he stands, hands in pockets, hips cocked. ‘Pleasure was all mine, sweetheart.’
Instead of heading in the direction of the door, he takes two long strides towards you, leaning down to murmur in your ear, ‘Wear those jeans for me again on Sunday?’
Stunned, you gape at him as he turns with a crooked grin and walks off, dispatching a two-fingered salute at Lucy as he goes. Pausing by the threshold, Joel gives you one last wink that has your breath stuttering - but you only allow yourself to sag against the wall when the door closes behind him, your knees giving.
Lucy wastes no time skipping back into the workshop, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. ‘Alright, time to raid the party clothes rack, girl!’
You laugh - Sunday can’t come fast enough.
Notes: I had the best time writing this chapter - it was fun to flip the tables on Pin, not that Joel comes out completely unscathed!
I definitely have ✨ideas✨ for these two, but I'm enjoying keeping things loose, so I have no plans to turn this into a full-blown series just yet. I hope you enjoyed this instalment, comments/reblogs/asks are so so appreciated as always ❤️
GOOD LORD CEE okay I know I’m only two chapters in but so far this is my FAVORITE and I don’t know, it might STAY my favorite because when I tell you that I was grinning from ear to ear THE ENTIRE TIME?! it was playing out in my brain like the scene of a rom com. Aside from a brilliant idea, you’re such a gifted writer when it comes to details and it just played out in my head like a scene from a movie. Perfection ❤️
Hopefully you don’t mind I highlighted and took a couple screenshots of my favorite bits lol I noticed someone else doing it and I liked the idea!
Here we go.
So the beginning between Tommy and Joel, it was one of my favorite bits because you captured their characters SO WELL. Peak sibling behavior. I love Tommy a whole lot so I always appreciate when I see authors characterizing him so well.
Lucy makes me laugh. Idk just picturing her sneaking out on the DL to escape work? Love her for that. Same sis, same. 😂
SWEETHEART asdfghjkl but it’s so cute how Pin was like please don’t laugh 🥴
YES QUEEN you DID THAT you took our favorite grump and you gave him CONFIDENCE ❤️
Not Joel snap, crackle and popping all over the place I was wheezing when he was moving and Pin could just hear his rickety ass bones.
no but he does have the right and you have to take it, sorry Pin! I swear I gained another year to my life every time he called her sweetheart.
See? There’s another one. also Joel can’t get it together around her and I am living for it.
HOOO BOY I am sweating. See I just know Pin is like all of us and would be like please take me under this table, but how sweet of Joel to be like nah my girl deserves better.
I could have easily highlighted the entire chapter, it was brilliant from start to finish. I can’t wait to read the next two installments, this is easily one of my favorite series on this site. It’s cute, it’s comedic, it’s flirty, it’s just perfect. ❤️
(i was going to use a different gif, but i love him all broody and sad SUE ME)
summary: Frankie's caught watching porn and spicy events transpire (I'm shit at summaries - they fuck okay?)
pairing: Frankie x fem!reader
wc: 9.8k (idk what happened, i have no control)
warnings/tags: 18+, MINORS DNI, IF YOU'RE MY SISTER READING THIS LOOK AWAY (idc that you're an adult lol), smut smut smut, lots of fluff, maybe angst???, allusions to PTSD, allusions to past trauma + abuse (nothing explicitly stated, but alludes to past emotional/mental abuse + SA if you squint), use of safe words, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, power play, choking, daddy kink, spitting, face fucking, spanking, dirty talk, degradation and praise kink, unprotected p in v sex (do as i say not as i write, don’t be a fool and wrap that tool), lots and lots of feelings and giggles and really dumb jokes, lots of forehead touches because I'm a sap, lots of "baby"s bc I got carried away, feral Frankie “big dick” Morales comes with his own warning, this is the filthiest thing i've ever written i'm slightly embarrassed, no use of y/n, idk let me know if i missed anything
a/n: This WAS supposed to be just a fun lil piece to explore writing some kinks I never thought in a million years I would be intrigued by (and I figured who better to try new things with than Frankie? also my first time writing for Frankie) But it got away from me, and apparently idk how to write porn without backstory or lots of feelings (or giggles) so that’s where this ended up. (there's 2.8k words before the smut even starts, I'm so sorry) Plenty of filth, but also a LOT of feelings. (I also almost threw in a whole piece trash talking the military bc I hated my time in, but it was completely out of left field lmao) This was 100% self-indulgent (and very cathartic) and maybe one day I’ll learn how to actually write pwp, lmao. I don't write a lot of smut, so I apologize if this is bad or sounds robotic. Trying new things!
Also shoutout to a couple of people who inspired this: @swiftispunk for her fics awakening some things in me which inspired this piece in the first place (exposing myself as the jeezy petes anon lmao + while we’re at it the OG Pedro dream anon too) and also @thirstworldproblemss for being incredibly sweet and encouraging me to keep writing this (the hug + bj were always a part of the story, but I threw the nap in there just for you!)
I hope y'all enjoy my first foray into Feral Frankie Friday!
Music Inspo:
Not Afraid Anymore - Halsey
All to You - Sabrina Claudio
With how long it’s been taking for this plane to taxi after landing, you’re suddenly incredibly grateful that you ended up only bringing a carry-on for the work conference you had to attend this past week. It was incredibly last minute, not really given any time to prepare what you may want to wear, so instead you wound up leaving yours and Frankie’s bedroom a complete mess after throwing some things in a bag before having to leave.
But now, you’re finally on your way back home. All that’s between you and Frankie now is a 20 minute drive from the airport to your shared home. No having to stop at baggage claim and wait for a bag, you don’t even have to wait for someone to come pick you up, you’ve already decided to take a cab instead. You can hardly keep still; your feet tapping some made up rhythm, your fingers fidgeting with the strings of your zip-up hoodie, you’re just itching to get home so you can jump Frankie on sight.
What’s even better is, he’s not expecting you to be back home for a few more days. You were able to talk your boss into letting you leave earlier considering you weren’t needed for the rest of the meetings and presentations. He was hesitant at first, but when you brought up the fact that it could save them money, he was immediately on board. Whether that’s true or not, you didn’t care, it worked.
As you wait for the plane to stop, you can’t help your mind from wandering, wondering how Frankie might take you tonight. Is he going to lay you down, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he makes love to you? Or is he stressed out, having a bad day? Does he need you to take the reins and be in control for the night?
You learned pretty early on in your relationship about Frankie’s past and his demons, well what he could tell you anyways. And much to his surprise it didn’t have you turning around and running for the hills. Instead you confided in him about your own demons, your past relationships that left you with emotional and mental scars. Instead of looking at you as this frail little injured bird that needed to be handled with kid gloves, he was awestruck. He always made sure to remind you of the strength it took to keep going, and how he admires your relentless optimistic outlook on life in spite of what you went through. In turn, you reminded him that what happened in the past doesn’t make him a bad person, and on his worst nights, that he’s no longer there, that he’s safe.
Between your two pasts, it wasn’t really a shock to you when one night Frankie asked you if you would be okay with a ‘soft dom and sub’ kind of dynamic every now and then. On the nights where he needs to forget the most. Where he can just clear his mind, and have you tell him what to do (or not do). The two of you being gifted something you were never able to have before; you having control, and him being able to turn his thoughts off and just be.
You focus back in on your surroundings when you hear the ding of a bell. The seat belt sign is off. Showtime.
You know trying to sneak up on Frankie and surprise him is no easy feat, but you’re hoping you can pull it off. You’re somehow able to unlock, open, shut, and lock the front door all without making too much noise. You carefully place your bag on the floor, and quietly take off your converse. Even more surprisingly you were able to make it up the stairs without any creaking giving you away. You can see the light from your bedroom filtering into the hallway.
You decide it might not be the best idea to almost give Frankie a heart attack. Especially not if you're looking to get laid. You decide to call out before walking down the hall to the bedroom.
"Frankie, baby, I'm home!"
You hear some shuffling in the bedroom as you get closer.
"Frankie?" You round the corner into the bedroom just as Frankie's closing his laptop. He hops out of bed looking slightly nervous, but trying (and failing) to cover it up with a smile.
“Baby, you’re home early!” He swoops you up into a giant hug, peppering kisses all across your face while you giggle. He finishes with a final kiss on your lips before resting his forehead on yours. “I missed you.”
You squeeze your arms tighter around his waist. “I missed you too, that’s why I came home early. I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, mission accomplished.”
You look into those big brown eyes of his, and you almost forget about the laptop. Almost. You lean back with a wry smile, walking your fingers up one of his arms before brushing that patchy scruff you love so much with your fingers.
“So… what’s got you all jumpy?”
He chews the inside of his bottom lip. “I don’t know what you mean.”
You raise an eyebrow in disbelief and point towards the bed where the laptop is still laying. “What’cha got going on over there?”
He looks back towards the bed. “Oh-uh, it’s nothing.” But he’s starting to blush.
“Mmmm, so that’s why your face is getting all flushed? Over… nothing?”
He starts trying to pull you towards the door. “C’mon, let me make you some dinner.”
“I ate before getting on the plane. Frankie, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, I just wasn’t expecting you to be home so early, is all.”
You pull him back towards you with a sly smile on your face. “Did I interrupt you about to take care of yourself?”
He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in closer and shrugging in response. “I got the real thing now, so I’m not complaining.”
He still seems on edge, he’s slightly stiff in your arms. You’ve been living together for almost two years now, so you’ve caught each other a few times before, but he’s never been this apprehensive.
“What were you about to watch?”
He starts getting nervous again. “I- uh, it’s nothing. Just your standard stuff.”
“Baby, we’ve watched porn together before and you’ve never acted like this, what’s wrong?”
He lets go of you running one of his hands through his hair while the other rests on his hip. He's looking everywhere but at you until he finally just looks at the floor. “Nothing’s wrong, I just… nothing’s wrong.”
You take advantage of the fact that he’s no longer holding on to you. Slowly backing up towards the bed. You know you should let this go, you’ve never seen Frankie so flustered, but you’re stubborn and nosy as hell and don’t always know when to drop something. You make it towards the head of the bed where the laptop is lying.
Frankie’s now got his arms crossed and looking as if he’s thinking something over. You reach down to open the screen, but before you do you look back at Frankie.
“Is this okay? Or would you rather I drop it?”
He looks slightly torn, you can see his chest starting to rise and fall more rapidly as he weighs his options. He starts chewing on his lip again before answering. “It’s fine.” He drops his head though, as if he doesn’t want to see your reaction.
You give him a sweet smile anyways, always grateful when he opens up to you more, even if it’s in his own little ways.
As soon as you open the laptop and the screen comes back to life, your eyes widen - he has not one, not two, but five different tabs open with some incredibly filthy shit- we’re talking spanking, choking, bondage, ball gags, degradation, the works.
You gasp and whisper “oh, Frankie.” You’re intrigued, and frankly incredibly turned on.
He makes his way over, embarrassed, already apologizing and closing the laptop, you’re just staring at him with glazed over eyes, unable to put together a coherent thought while replaying the images in your head, something stirring deep inside.
He sits down on the edge of the bed close to you, slumped over with his elbows on his thighs, hands covering his face.
“I’m so sorry baby.“ You can practically feel the shame just rolling off of him. It pains you to see him this way, especially when he hasn’t done anything wrong.
You slide over so you’re sitting right next to him, putting a hand on his thigh. You lightly trace mindless shapes over his sweatpants in hopes of soothing him. “Frankie, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
You continue to try and soothe him, whispering reassurances that there’s nothing to be ashamed of, giving him gentle kisses on his temple and hands, but he’s not budging. Somehow your words are not getting through to him.
You have an idea though. You get on your knees next to him on the bed, and lean into his ear, dropping your voice a little lower. “Frankie,” he visibly shudders, “there’s no need to apologize.”
You place your hand on his lower back and start inching it up as you continue to speak slowly in his ear “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
At that he drops his hands, slightly leaning back into your touch, his eyes closed, you can feel him starting to relax and loosen up a bit. “Is this something you’ve been thinking of? Hmm?”
As you reach his neck, you move your hand and fingers through his hair. “Is this something you’ve been wanting to try, baby?”
You grab some of his hair and tug lightly “answer me, my sweet boy.” He moans and slightly nods. “With words baby, I need to hear what it is you’ve been thinking about.”
You move to straddle him and are surprised with how hard he already is - so surprised you dropped the act. “Oh Frankie, you’re already so hard.”
His eyes are still closed as he lets out a strained moan. He grabs your thighs as you settle yourself in his lap - fighting the urge to grind down on him and just let this all go - you know he would gladly let you, but you’re way too interested in this other possible side of Frankie. You wrap your arms around his neck, twirling the little curls at the base of his neck in your fingers.
“Baby if this is too much, we don’t have to talk about it.” He didn’t utter his safe word, but he’s also never been this silent in the bedroom, he’s usually either begging you or showering you with praise. He opens his eyes, his thumbs are stroking your thighs.
“It’s not that, I…” he doesn’t finish, you can practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he’s trying to find a way to say whatever it is he wants to say. You stay silent, running your fingers through his hair, trying to give him time to respond, but after a long pause of silence you decide to use a different tactic with your other ‘go-to’ which is to deflect with humor.
“Jeez Frankie, what weird shit do you want to do to me?” you laugh letting him know you’re at ease. He cracks a slight smile, but his eyes are still conflicted. “You know I would never judge you.”
He nods, but breaks eye contact looking down, watching his thumbs caress your thighs. What has got him so scared? Is he not convinced I wouldn’t judge him? Is he afraid I would be disgusted? Is he worried I would be afraid o-? oh, OH…
You take a deep breath. “If you’re worried about any of this possibly being triggering or scary to me…” his eyes fly back up to catch your gaze, you notice the way his adam's apple bobs as he swallows, the worried expression in his eyes. And bingo, there it is…
Your heart immediately swells, your Frankie, so careful and considerate of your past to the point where he has hid this part of himself just so you would be comfortable. “Oh baby. What did I ever do to deserve you?”
You gently grab his face in your hands before leaning in, trying to pour every ounce of love you have for him into this one simple kiss. His hands skim over the small of your back, resting one there while the other slides up, stopping at the nape of your neck, holding you. After a few minutes you break apart. Your thumbs caress his face as you continue. “You indulge my every fantasy, why won’t you let me do the same for you?”
“I just… I only ever want to make you feel good, y’know? I-I don’t want you to ever worry or feel scared of me, o-or belittled. I just want you to feel safe and loved.”
You swear you can feel your heart about to burst from all the adoration you have for this man. You know there is no possible way he would ever bring you harm, emboldening you to push it even further.
“What if… what if I said I wanted to try some of those things. Would you do it then?”
This seemed like a fun idea, but Frankie is now pacing around the bed while you're sitting in the middle of it. He’s diving head first into a million different questions, not wanting to miss anything, covering all his bases.
“Should we lay down some ground rules? Do you want to use safe words? That's something we should do, right? I mean we use them for me, so why wouldn't we do the same for you? Do we use the same safe words that I use, or should we pick different ones just for you? Would that be too much having separate safe words, or would it be confusing if we used the same ones?”
Even though you feel like he's going slightly overboard and worrying himself over nothing, you can't help but smile and feel incredibly grateful that he's putting so much thought into this. But now his pacing and questions are starting to err on the frantic side of things.
“Frankie! Slow down. Breathe.” He finally stops pacing and sits down on the edge of the bed. You continue. “We can either use the same safe words we already use, or we can pick new ones special for just this situation.”
“What would you prefer?”
You think it over and decide to start testing the waters. “I want you to decide for me.”
He starts to ramble again about how he doesn’t feel like that’s fair to you. What if you don’t like the safewords he picks out? What if you forget them? You lean over and place a firm hand on his thigh, getting his attention. As soon as he makes eye contact with you, you smile and repeat yourself “I want you to choose my safe words Frankie.”
You sit back as he continues to stare at you, thinking it over. Just when you think you've asked too much of him, he stands up and starts pacing again, his hands planted firmly on his hips.
"Frankie…?"
"It's fine, I'm thinking."
After a few moments of you watching him pace around, he stops at the edge of the bed with a grin. “I’ve got it. So, if you need me to slow down or ease up - cucumber, if you want or need me to stop completely - pickle. What do you think?”
You try to stifle a giggle and cover your mouth. He is literally the cutest being I have ever met.
He looks at you confused as you continue to try and keep in your laughter. “Is there something wrong with them?”
You can’t contain your laughter anymore, letting yourself giggle as you explain your amusement. “No, they’re actually perfect. Especially the one for stop. Y’know, ‘cause when you’re in a sticky situation and you’re like ‘oh no, I’m in a pickle.’”
He just continues to stare at you as you bite down on your lip trying to not completely double over in laughter. Just when you thought you might’ve offended him by laughing at his choice, he cracks a smile before chuckling and then breaking out in a full bodied laugh. You relax as you join him, letting out your own giggles completely.
He crawls over the bed to you grabbing the back of your neck pulling you into a kiss as you're still laughing. Once you two break away he leans his forehead against yours still chuckling and lets out a breathy "god, i love you."
He asks to reaffirm that the safe words are okay, and when you say yes, he asks again about ground rules. You seriously contemplate going back and forth in your head for a minute. You both have the same "hell no's" so you're not really worried about lines being crossed. You answer him softly but confidently "I have full and complete trust in you Frankie. I know you would never do anything to hurt me - mentally, physically, or emotionally."
He leans back into your space kissing you - it starts off soft and slow as he lays you down while still attached to your lips, but then it quickly starts to build. It’s more needy, more heated, and you’re feeling more grabby. You reach down to grab the hem of his shirt needing to feel more of him, eager to feel the skin underneath. Before you can wrap your fingers fully around his shirt, he's grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head with his hands.
He brings his lips to your ear, with a dangerously low voice he utters "did I say you could undress me?"
You gasp, taken aback by the quick and sudden turn into this new dynamic, heat immediately flooding over your body. You're so stunned you don’t know how to answer, your body buzzing in anticipation for what might come next.
He slowly unzips your hoodie, revealing that you had decided to forego wearing a shirt and instead only wore some lacy lingerie under your shorts and hoodie. You might have been rushed with your packing, but you made damn sure that you grabbed his favorite set so you could wear it home.
He licks his lips, his eyes scanning over your body as he slowly continues to drag the zipper down.
"Very risky of you, don’t you think? What if you got hot? Or this somehow got unzipped?"
"The reward was worth the risk." You wink, biting your lip.
He pushes the fabric to the side, trying to expose every inch of you he can without taking off the hoodie just yet. He lets out a groan gliding one hand over your stomach, sliding to briefly ghost over your breasts before making its way back down to the button of your shorts. He slips his hand underneath the waist band, pulling slightly to get a peak of what awaits him, letting out another groan.
"You're gonna be the death of me one day." He leans forward resting his forehead on your stomach. Usually you would be running your fingers through his hair by now, but you make sure to keep your hands on the mattress by your head where he placed them. He starts slowly unbuttoning your shorts, placing slow soft kisses across your skin. First his lips lightly brush across your abdomen, making his way towards your hip and placing frustratingly soft kisses there until he repeats his actions, making his way towards your other hip.
With your shorts fully unzipped, he drags them down your legs, placing kisses along your thighs, your knees, your shins as he makes his way down before completely discarding the item of clothing altogether, taking your socks with them. For a moment, he just looks at you, laid out on the bed for him, waiting breathlessly for his next actions.
Starting from your ankles, he lightly brushes his fingers across your skin, making his way up your legs so painstakingly slowly that you swear this could have been used as a method of torture. His lips trail behind his fingers, lightly kissing each spot he touched. He makes an obvious show of skipping your clothed mound before continuing his actions across your stomach and up to your breasts.
He faintly skims his thumbs over your nipples still covered by the sheer lace of your bra. You gasp and close your eyes, wanting to soak in this feeling, but he stops.
“Eyes on me baby.” His voice low and gravelly, as if he hasn’t spoken in days instead of mere minutes.
You slowly open your eyes to find him staring back at you, with the most gentle smile on his face. “Good girl.”
Oh, I’m definitely fucked.
You don’t even get a second to comprehend his praise before he’s dropping down and firmly dragging his tongue across one of your now hardened nipples, never breaking eye contact.
“Oh f-uck me.”
He just chuckles and responds, “that’s the plan.”
You let out a small chuckle yourself, but then it’s quickly replaced with a moan as he repeats his actions on your other breast while bringing his fingers to lightly pinch and pull at the now neglected nipple. He continues kissing and licking over your body until he reaches your lips for a quick, sweet peck on the lips. His eyes flash with something wicked before dropping back down, starting the whole process over again. Light strokes of his fingers, soft kisses from his lips, the faintest brush of his tongue - each pass becoming more and more heated as he adds the slight scrape of his teeth to his torturous pattern.
Even after he finally rids you of the rest of your clothing, he’s teasing you. Licking, kissing, biting every inch of your skin until you swear your whole body is vibrating with the need of release. You’re already dripping wet, surely soaking the sheets under you, pussy practically throbbing with the need to be touched. You let out a whimper in frustration. You’re just on the verge of begging him to fuck you already until he speaks.
“Do you want to play a little game?”
You’re so far gone, blissed out of your mind to even try and form words, but you know his question was rhetorical anyway. He makes his way down to the foot of the bed, sliding off. He reaches over to grab you by the thighs and yanks you down, closer to the edge of the bed, your legs dangling off the edge. He stands up and leans back down over you to pepper kisses across your face and neck as he speaks.
“Don’t worry, it doesn’t require much effort, the rules are pretty simple.” He drops down to his knees on the floor and drags you more towards the edge, leaving just a little bit of space on the edge of the bed. You moan at the sight of him between your legs, secretly begging to whatever gods are out there that he would eat you out tonight. He smirks at your debauched state.
“Oh baby, you should see yourself right now, all spread out and eager, just for me.” He starts to run his hands up and down your thighs, his thumbs always getting close enough to reach out where you want his hands the most, but still too far to give you any relief.
“If you can follow the rules, then you’ll be rewarded.” He places a sloppy open mouthed kiss to your inner thigh.
“But if you break the rules…” his grip on your thighs becomes tighter, to the point where you fully expect to see bruises there tomorrow. You let out another moan at the thought. He smirks, licks his lips and continues, “If you break the rules, I’m sorry baby, but I’ll have to punish you.”
At that he bites the spot on your inner thigh where he had just kissed you moments ago. You let out a broken moan, not even ashamed at how much the thought of him punishing you turns you on.
“Are you ready my love?” He’s looking right at you, so you nod, already breathless from just the promise of what’s about to happen. You see a glint of mischief in his eyes as he stands up to lean over you and growl in your ear, “With words baby. I need to hear that you’re ready.”
You wonder if he loves the tables being turned as much as you do.
“Y-yes, I’m ready.”
He hums in acknowledgement in your ear, but doesn’t move from his current position, but instead slides one of his hands from your hip up your body until it’s laying at the base of your throat. Your eyes widen in excitement at the thought of him choking you without you having to ask.
“Yes, what?” he grumbles in your ear.
“Yes… sir?” you never really considered this part of the dynamic, not knowing how much power play he might want to get into. He groans slightly in your ear.
“Is that an answer, or a question?” His hand slides up slightly to lightly wrap around your throat, only the slightest pressure applied. You let out a light gasp “yes, yes sir.”
He hums again in your ear, and uses his other arm to prop himself up so he can look at you. He drinks in your appearance, his eyes scanning every inch of your face and body in his sight - your pupils blown, hair disheveled, chest heaving, your hands now at your side clenching the sheets under you. He’s completely in awe that he gets to come home to you every day, still in disbelief after all this time that you chose him to be your partner in this crazy world. He licks his lips and makes eye contact with you, a slight smirk on his face.
“Hmm, Sir sounds a bit too… formal.” His thumb stroking your throat as he speaks. “I think you can do a little bit better than that, right baby?” His grip on your throat tightens, short circuiting your brain and immediately sending sparks all over your body. Your eyes roll back into your head from the sudden and intense pleasure and you surprise the both of you when you let out a breathy “yes, daddy.”
You hear a strained “oh, fuck” from above you, feeling Frankie shift his weight until he’s hovering over you positioned between your legs. He moves both hands and places them on either side of your head on the bed. You let out a whine at the loss of his hand on your throat, but he quickly swallows it with his mouth practically attacking yours. The kiss is downright primal, all tongues and teeth, no room to break apart for air.
He finally pulls away you both gasping for air. He brings both of his hands to the crown of your head, weaving his fingers into your hair, cradling your head in his hands. “Daddy, huh? How long have you been holding that one in?”
You blush, and look away, unable to hold his intense gaze. The two of you wading into uncharted territory together, this is all new to both of you. You have never been one to be shy or bashful in the bedroom, at least not with Frankie, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you. Not in a way that makes you feel small, or a way that makes you feel ashamed of what you just said. It’s almost freeing, the way you can let your guard down and lay it all out for him, slight embarrassment and all. You don’t feel the need to cover up or feign your true emotions around him, even now as his unwavering stare bores down into you.
He moves one of his hands from your hair to cup your cheek to urge you to look back at him. His gaze is still intense, but slightly softer. He drops his eyes to your lips, his thumb reaching out to swipe across your lower lip. His thumb stills once it reaches the corner of your mouth, he looks back into your eyes. “That- that uh” he lets out a deep breath as if he’s bracing to say something difficult, and closes his eyes. “That was incredibly hot.”
He goes back to tracing your lower lip with his thumb as he stares at your lips. “I never once considered myself as someone who would like that…” he drifts off. You offer up your own confession, getting out a breathy “me neither, it just kind of slipped out.”
He smiles at your admission, licks his lips and then looks back into your eyes. “But there’s just something about it coming from you...” he drifts off again, lowering to take your bottom lip between his teeth, running his tongue across it before releasing it. “Shall I get back to explaining the game?”
You laugh a little, “yes please.”
He cocks an eyebrow, using his hands still around your head and face to nudge your head to the side, dragging his nose from the side of your throat up until his lips reach your ear, and growls “what was that?”
The hand still in your hair grasps a handful of your hair and tugs just enough for it to sting, but god if it didn’t feel good. You’re tempted to not answer, wanting to see what might happen. But you also are so eager to just give in and hand him full control.
“Yes, daddy.” You moan out. He takes your earlobe in between his teeth briefly before whispering in your ear “good girl.”
The rules of the game: he eats you out, and all you have to do is keep your feet planted on the mattress with your hands around your ankles. It sounded easy enough, until he actually started. It proves to be more difficult than you thought it would be considering he’s basically devouring you like he hasn’t eaten anything in weeks.
You already faltered once. The second his warm tongue made its way up along your dripping seam, you literally got weak in the knees, legs falling open, hands clutching the sheets instead of your ankles. He let you off easy since this was the first time “playing” this game. But he warned you that was your only freebie, next time he won’t be as generous.
Now you know you’re fighting a losing battle. You’ve been able to keep it together for what feels like forever, but you’re very close to disregarding the rules, grabbing his hair, and riding your way to release. He's been slowly working you up towards the edge and letting you hang there until it disappears a few times now. You throw your head back and cry out as he dips down from your clit dropping his tongue into your cunt, fucking you with it as his nose gently nudges your sensitive bud.
“Oh fff-uck.”
You’re holding on to your ankles for dear life, doing whatever you can just as long as he does not stop this, but your resolve is quickly crumbling. It starts in your abdomen, these shaking tremors, and they grow and move out towards your shoulders, your arms, your legs. You’re so close to your orgasm you can practically taste it. As you climb higher, you let basic instinct take over, forgetting everything else that exists that doesn’t involve Frankie’s tongue on your pussy. Your hands release your ankles and move their way to grasp at Frankie’s hair, fingers raking through and tugging on the roots.
Just as you feel yourself getting close to the edge - back arched, eyes starting to roll to the back of your head, Frankie pulls back. You let out a frustrated whine, reaching down to try and grab his hair, his head, anything to bring his mouth back to where you want it.
"Fuck, Frankie, why?" You're on the verge of frustrated tears, not caring how pitiful you might sound.
He looks up at you, still between your thighs. He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head disapprovingly, tsking. He slowly rises to his feet, his hands gliding up your thighs, stopping to wrap around and grab the back of them. "Oh baby, now why would you go and do something like that?"
His seemingly innocent words and tone are dripping with concern, but his eyes and the slight quirk of his lip scream danger. Your breath hitches and your body is buzzing in anticipation, just now remembering what you weren't supposed to do. Before you can even comprehend what's happening, he has you flipped over. Your face against the mattress, your knees folded under you, and your ass resting on your heels.
Fuck he’s strong.
He grabs your wrists and pins them behind your back, you can feel his breath against your ear.
"I thought I warned you baby, I wouldn't be so nice the second time around."
You involuntarily let out a whimper, closing your eyes, your pussy clenching around nothing just from the thought of what might come next.
He’s eerily silent for a few minutes. You no longer feel his breath on your face, so he must’ve backed up. The only tell that he’s still in the room with you is the feeling of his hand holding your wrists firmly against your back.
Suddenly, the room is filled with the echo of a crack. You feel the sharp sting from his free hand making contact with the back of your ass, eliciting a small broken moan from you.
“You heard the rules, and you broke them anyways. Good girls don’t break the rules, do they?” He doesn’t bother waiting for you to answer as he rubs his hand across the small of your back and continues. “Only naughty girls break the rules. Do you know what happens to those who break the rules?”
You just whimper again, your mind too focused on the heat on your skin left from his hand.
Another crack echoes throughout the room as he brings his hand to your other cheek, the sheer force of it jolting your body slightly.
“They get punished.”
At that he lets out a relentless string of slaps to your ass. Each one pulling moans from you, becoming louder and louder as he continues. Every smack of his hand sends chills up your spine and shocks to your already throbbing clit.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you did this on purpose. Look at you, bent over and practically drooling. You’re just a dirty little girl who’s been waiting for me to take control, aren’t you?”
Smack.
“Just a filthy, naughty girl waiting to be punished.”
Smack.
At this point you’re basically trembling at the combination of his words and his hand bringing you shockingly close to the edge. Frankie must notice, because he suddenly removes his hand from your ass to gently swipe his thumb along your painfully wet seam. He lets out a low moan almost resembling a growl, bringing his thumb to his lips to taste your arousal.
"You like that, huh?"
Oh fuck. You let out a high pitched whine, hoping that could be good enough of an answer. You soon find out it most definitely was not.
Smack.
"I asked you a question."
Smack, smack.
"And I expect an answer."
Smack, smack, smack.
"Now. You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
You’re having a hard time controlling your breathing, unable to focus as the sweet tinge of pain brings you closer and closer to that climax you’ve been craving since you hopped off the plane. You somehow find enough will to choke out an answer.
"Y-yes daddy."
"Then it's not much of a punishment, is it?"
"No."
Smack.
"What did you say?"
"No daddy."
"That's what I thought."
You hear shuffling behind you until Frankie’s leaning down, bringing his lips to your ear. One of his hands still has your arms pinned to your back. He lightly traces the tip of his tongue across the shell of your ear before whispering, "you're just daddy's little slut, aren't you?"
Something about that strikes a nerve, so much so you visibly wince and whimper out a quiet "cucumber."
He immediately leans back slightly, letting go of your arms, looking worried and runs a hand over your face and your hair, cradling your head.
"What is it you didn’t like, baby? Am I being too rough?"
You shake your head and take a minute, trying to talk yourself up into voicing your issue.
Remember, this is Frankie. You’re safe; you’re safe with him.
"I-I uhm… I just don't like being called a slut." You avoid his eye contact. "Same goes for whore or anything like that…"
His eyes immediately fill with regret as he runs his fingers through your hair. "Oh baby, I'm so sorry."
"It's okay, you didn't know… I didn't really know either until now." You finally look up at him, bringing one of your hands to rest on his forearm, stroking your thumb across his skin.
"Do you want to stop?" He sounds so concerned, it has you reaching out to stroke his cheek.
You shake your head and smile. "No baby, I'm fine. You've got me all riled up."
He just chuckles with a sweet smile crossing his lips. "Okay then."
He leans back, straightening back up as he removes his t-shirt. He doesn't break eye contact as he sheds his sweatpants and boxer briefs, throwing them off to the side. He reaches out a hand to you for you to take.
“Stand up.”
You just look back at him confused. “What?”
“I said, stand up.” His tone shifting back to dangerously devilish.
You grab his hand and let him help you off the bed, bringing you inches away from his body.
“Now get on your knees.”
“Am I still being punished?”
“Do you want to be?” He has a devilish smirk on his face.
Your eyes widen and your breath catches in your throat. Goddamn this man.
He just chuckles. "Don't worry. You don't have to answer that. Just listen to me and you'll be fine. Now. Get on your knees for me."
You lick your lips nervously, nod your head, and sink down to your knees. Your eyes immediately snap to his obviously aching cock just inches away from your face. You’re not sure how he's been able to keep his cool considering he's usually begging you to touch him before it gets this bad. The fat, angry head profusely leaking precum. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen it, you’re still taken aback from the sheer size of Frankie.
You worry a little, you don’t do this often. If you’re being completely honest, you’re not too keen on giving head, but you also were never with anyone as sweet and patient as Frankie. He never asks you for it, happily accepts it in the moments you do feel like doing so. He never pushes you to take him deeper. No, you never really liked giving blowjobs, but no one else has deserved it before Frankie.
“Before we start, I need you to look at me.” You look up at him with wide eyes and wait for him to continue.
“You’re not gonna be able to speak for a little bit, but I want you to know you still have an out. If you need me to stop, if it gets to be too much, you tap my thigh, okay?”
You simply nod.
“Say it back to me, I need to know you understand.”
“If I need you to stop, I tap your thigh.”
He brings a hand down, lightly stroking his fingers across your cheek. “Good girl. You take direction so well, I almost want to reward you.”
“What if I just need you to slow down?”
He seems to think about it, but then shakes his head. “Nothing, we’re doing full stops here. If you just need me to slow down or ease up, you can tell me after I’ve stopped.”
You just nod your head.
He smiles down at you, reaching his hands out. “Give me your hands, baby.”
He gently takes your hands in his before placing them at his thighs, signaling for you to wrap your hands around them.
“You’re gonna want to hold on to something for this.” He winks.
You bite your lip with a shy smile, eager to give this man anything and everything he asks of you.
He runs a thumb over your lips before dragging it down, bringing your lower lip along with it. “Open up for me, beautiful.”
You let his thumb guide your jaw down as you completely hang your mouth open for him.
"Now stick out your tongue."
You can't help the smug glint in your eyes as he takes in a deep, shuddering breath when you follow his orders.
"Oooooh, fuck, baby. If you only knew the things I've wanted to do to this mouth."
He briefly grabs his cock and closes his eyes, releasing some of the pressure that’s been building since you sat in his lap. You think he’s going to guide it towards your mouth, but instead he brings both of his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks and slowly stroking his thumbs across them. You dart your eyes across his face, slightly confused, not knowing what to expect. He suddenly leans over, purses his lips and spits in your mouth. It hits the back of your throat, and you let out what has to be the most depraved moan to ever exist.
He lets out a low hum in approval. He starts straightening back up, leaving one hand on your face, gliding it down to cup your jaw. He gently lifts and angles your head back slightly so you can see his face.
“You ready for me baby?”
You nod as much as you can in your current position, practically salivating at the thought of him using you this way.
He grabs his cock with his free hand and slowly guides it towards your mouth, rubbing the tip around your tongue. His head falls back as he lets out a moan. He looks back down at you, pupils already blown wide as he settles his cock directly on your tongue before slapping the tip on your tongue a few times.
“Fuck. God, I can’t wait to fuck this perfect little mouth of yours. Look at you with your tongue hanging out for me. So good for me. Oh baby, you want this as bad as I do, don’t you.”
He continues spewing out filth as he finally starts guiding his cock into your mouth slowly. He moans in relief of finally being touched by you, his cock twitching when you attempt to open your mouth wider for him.
His words, this act, it's all so… lewd. Downright filthy, depraved even. It's exhilarating.
His tip slowly starts making its way across where your gag reflex usually takes over and you start to choke and gag slightly around him. You grip his thighs harder determined to see this through. He eases back slightly, trying to comfort you with words of encouragement.
“All right, baby. All right, baby. Come on now. You can take it.”
You swear you almost cum on the spot. Frankie never talks to you like this, and every filthy word that drips out of his mouth is an electric shock straight to your core. You clench your thighs when his fingers push down on the hinges of your jaw to get you to relax and open up even more for him. “Oh, fuck, yeah baby just like that. You’re doing so well for me baby, just breathe out of your nose for m- shit-“
You involuntarily swallow around him as his tip breaches your throat. He hisses and quickly pulls out of your mouth with a popping sound, leaving you gasping for breath. The two of you connected merely by a string of spit.
“Fuck baby, if you keep doing that I’m not gonna last too long. I want to take my time, to savor this beautiful fucking mouth of yours.” You squeeze his thighs harder from his praise, letting out a small moan.
“Please.” You sound almost desperate and breathless, wanting to give this to him. You don’t even know what you’re begging for exactly, all you know is you want to make him feel good.
He chuckles. “Yeah? You like the idea of me fucking this mouth?”
“I like the idea of you using me however you want.”
That has him break slightly, his mouth gaping just a little trying to process what you said.
“W-what?”
You smirk, taking advantage of this short moment where you have control over him. “You heard me. Use me, daddy.”
Something darker flashes in his eyes, something primal. “Open back up for me.”
You open back up wide, sticking your tongue out for him. He guides his cock back into your mouth, and then moves his hand to the back of your hair, grasping a fistful of hair. The hand wrapped around your jaw tightens as he starts to rock back and forth, thrusting in and out of your mouth slowly. He starts to pick up the pace, groaning as he repeatedly hits the back of your throat. It takes every ounce of concentration in you to not choke or gag around him.
“Look at you, so desperate for my cock that you’ll let me fuck your mouth. Fuck, is this what you want? You want daddy to use you? So filthy, such a filthy girl for me.”
You moan around him, his words bringing a new wave of slick down your thighs. You look up at him, basking at his expression of pure bliss. He closes his eyes and leans his head back as he moans and continues his string of filth. He must be close, because he’s thrusting even faster, harder. Tears are welling up in the corner of your eyes and a mixture of spit and precum is slowly dripping out of your mouth and down to your chin from the way he’s stretching your mouth open.
He’s just about to cum when he looks down and sees the tears in your eyes slipping out, and running down your cheeks. Panic overtakes him and he immediately pulls out, leaving you gasping for air. He’s worried he’s gone too far and that you were afraid to stop him. He lets go of your hair and drops to his knees in front of you. Grabbing your face with his hands, he wipes away your tears asking if you’re okay. You’re slightly confused, not really registering the worry in his tone or even the words he’s saying. You’re trying to remember in the chaos of bliss if you had somehow accidentally tapped his thigh to signal for him to stop.
“W-what?” you asked, dazed.
“I said, are you okay? Did I go too far?” The guilt starting to creep over his features makes your heart ache for him.
You’re still confused wondering what prompted this, and slowly shake your head. “No, no I’m fine. I didn’t tap your thigh, did I?”
“No, but you were crying.”
You smile at him, leaning in to give him a reassuring kiss. Once you pull away you answer him.
“No, baby, I’m fine, you haven’t gone too far. It’s just an involuntary reaction. Y’know… my mouth and throat aren’t really used to being so full.” You give him a little wink and he chuckles relieved, and you also notice the slight blush that creeps across his face.
He leans forward, capturing your lips with his, immediately running his tongue along your lips to deepen the kiss. You bring your own hands up to grab his forearms, leaning into the kiss more as your lips move together, tongues dancing across the others.
Whatever small part of you that might have had some reservations before starting, sharing the same concerns Frankie had, has completely been wiped away. It sounds cliche, and you know the only person that can truly heal you is yourself, but in this moment… it’s as if he has taken you apart piece by piece, cherishing each one, polishing it until it looks brand new again, putting each piece back better than he found it.
Every part of you exposed to him and instead of running, instead of trying to look away each time an ugly or unpleasant part of you is revealed he stays. He’s the “good man in a storm,” fighting his way through the wind, the rain, the debris to show you over and over again that no matter what you might throw his way, no matter what you might reveal about yourself, he will not cave, he will not falter; no judgment, no shame.
You two pull away for air. He leans his forehead against yours, his thumbs stroking your face and echoing your words from earlier. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”
You lean back expecting him to stand back up and continue what you were doing, but instead he pulls you back in for one more quick kiss before whispering “go lay down on the bed for me.”
You don’t even think twice or question it before you’re crawling up on the bed and laying down once your head reaches the pillows. Frankie takes a moment to take it all in. You sprawled out on the bed waiting for him, this woman that he loves so much who agreed to let him explore this part of himself without a second thought. He’s never been more grateful for anything in his life than when you entered it.
You reach a hand out to him, silently urging him to come join you. He grins and slowly makes his way across the bed until he’s hovering over you, nudging your legs apart with his knees so he can rest himself between them. He brings one hand up next to your head, his forearm leaning on the bed to prop him up, while the other hand slowly drifts down your body until his fingers lightly brush your aching clit.
You shudder and let out a whiny “oh fuck.”
You close your eyes as he swiftly enters a single finger into you, easily sinking it all the way in. “Mmmm, oh baby, so wet already for me. Think you’re ready?”
You open your eyes and nod your head quickly, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.
“I can’t wait any longer, please just fuck me. Please please please.” You don’t care how desperate you sound, you feel like you’re about to explode from all the teasing, edging, and waiting since this all started.
He just looks down at you almost sympathetically. “Fuck you sound so pretty begging for me. But I have to get you ready for me baby, we’re going fast and hard tonight.”
You whine in frustration, starting to get fed up with not getting your way. He slips a second finger into you, slowly starting to thrust them back and forth. It’s not enough though.
“It’s not enough, Frankie please.” You lift your hips up hoping you can entice him to just take you already. All he does is chuckle in response.
“Such a needy little thing.” He slips a third finger in, fucking his fingers in and out faster. For a brief moment, there’s some relief from the stretch, but you realize quickly that it’s still not enough.
You reach down with one of your hands in an attempt to grab his and manage to wrap it around his wrist. All this does though is instigate him to stop with his fingers still inside of you. He looks at you disapprovingly, raising an eyebrow at you. “Is this how we get what we want?”
You shake your head, and let out a small “no” before removing your hand from his wrist, dropping it beside you on the mattress in defeat.
He just looks you over, mulling something over before snapping his eyes back to yours. He slowly removes his fingers from inside you and brings them up to your lips.
“Open up.”
You do as you’re told, just staring at him as he dips his fingers into your mouth. You immediately wrap your lips around them, licking and sucking them clean from your arousal. Once he’s satisfied, he slowly pulls them out and braces his forearm on the other side of your head, settling himself down and pressing his weight on you.
You feel his cock heavy against your mound. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly starts thrusting back and forth, dragging himself over your clit with each pass. You bring your hands to his lower back, trying to get him to go faster, anything to finally push you over the edge. Instead he stops and just looks at you. At this point, you’re so close to just reaching down and finishing yourself off, but that’s not what you want.
Without a word, he slowly guides the tip of his cock to your entrance, finally notching it there. You involuntarily clench and whimper at the promise of finally getting what you want. He leans down and runs the tip of his nose over the shell of your ear before whispering, taunting you. “Is this what you’ve been wanting? Is this what all that pitiful whining has been about? Can’t wait one second more for my cock to split you open?”
You sigh, closing your eyes. “Yes daddy.”
He chuckles and continues. "Y'know, you've been such a good girl for me tonight, but now I want to hear you say my name. You got that?"
He emphasizes his point, suddenly thrusting into you completely. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your hands wrapping around his back, nails immediately digging into his skin. A deep guttural moan making its way out of you.
“Oh fuck! Yes Frankie.”
He shifts around, moving his arms to hook under knees, bringing them closer to your chest as he rests his forearms back on the mattress. He licks his lips and gives you one sweet peck before thrusting slowly out and quickly back into you, immediately setting a fast pace.
The room fills with sounds of your hips slapping together, and the moans falling from both of your lips.
He growls in your ear. “I’ll never get enough of how wet you get for me. I slipped in so easily. You’ve been so good for me tonight. Fuck. I love you so much.”
Even with the fast pace, you can tell he’s holding back still. “Frankie, just let go. I can take it.”
He drops his head into your shoulder with a moan, thrusting himself into you harder. Between the angle and how deep he’s reaching, the tip of his cock keeps rubbing against that spot that fills your vision with spots. You can feel your cunt slowly clenching around his cock tighter and tighter.
He lets out a low groan, almost sounding pained. “Fuck baby, you’re squeezing me so tight, I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.”
You can hardly hear him from the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, yes Frankie, please don’t stop. Oh ffffuck-”
Like a string being pulled taught to its snapping point, whatever was holding you back from going over the edge finally snaps and your orgasm hits you quick and hard. Your vision blurs and your whole body wraps around Frankie as tight as it can as he fucks you through your release.
“Frankie, Frankie please cum for me. Please, I want to feel you so bad.” You dig your heels into his lower back, urging him to take what he needs. His breathing is heavy and labored against your shoulder as he chases his own release.
“You’re always so good to me, fuck baby. Fuck, I’m so close.” It takes one, two, three more hard thrusts before you feel him pulse as he’s spilling his seed into you, following up with shallow thrusts riding out the high until it becomes too much.
You both just lay there wrapped around each other for a moment, breathing heavily and covered in a thick layer of sweat. You both hiss as Frankie slowly pulls out of you and drops down on the bed next to you. You take a moment to look over at him as he lays there with his eyes closed still trying to catch his breath. He wipes a large hand over his face before he looks over at you, a sleepy but sated smile on his face. You bite your lip while giving him a small smile.
“That was…” you start, but he quickly jumps in to finish your sentence.
“Better than I could have ever hoped for.”
You beam at him, feeling a small sense of pride that you were able to fulfill this fantasy he’s been holding back from you. Feeling even more delighted that you thoroughly enjoyed it, wondering when the two of you might do that again.
He reaches out and pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. He places a soft kiss to the top of your head before running his fingers through your hair. “How are you feeling?”
You close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of him wrapped around you. You just hum in response, not knowing what to say. He takes his hand from your hair and, using a finger, gently lifts your chin up to face him. He’s smiling sweetly down at you, but you notice how there’s a twinge of worry in his eyes. “Baby, I need you to answer me.”
You smile at him rasping out “tired.”
He just chuckles. “But you’re okay?”
You nod, bringing one of your hands up to brush your fingers across his jaw. “I’m great Frankie, you always take such good care of me.”
He grabs your hand and places a kiss on your palm before placing it back against his jaw.
“What about here?” He lightly rubs a hand down to skim the skin on your ass.
“A little sore, but I kinda like it.”
He starts brushing his fingers through your hair again. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
You snuggle into him closer, wrapping your arm around his chest. “Just hold me.”
He chuckles and pulls you in closer, wrapping both arms around you.
“And… and maybe…”
“What do you need, baby? I’ll do anything.”
You look up at him with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. “Maybe a lil nap and then I get to call the shots?” You bite the inside of your lip as you smile at him, waiting for his reaction.
His eyes widen in surprise before he leans down to capture your lips in his for a quick kiss. “You don’t gotta ask me twice.”
HOO BOY 😮💨😮💨😮💨 this was AMAZING I don’t even know where to start. I highlighted and took screenshots of a few of my favorite bits but tbh I could have highlighted and screenshot the whole fic because it was CHEFS FUCKING KISS
First off I LOVED how Frankie would just change up, like one second he’d be so sweet attentive and even semi awkward and then BOOM he’d flip like a light switch that to me was so hot
MY SWEET BOY 🥵🥵🥵
This made me cackle lmao. But I love reader and how open she is, how open they both are, they are a match made in fucking heaven (pun intended)
also made me cackle how are are these two so HOT and yet so adorable and funny and precious at the same time?!
And the whole being in a pickle thing made me laugh too. SO CUTE. which is so funny because I know things are about to get spicy and it’s going to be anything BUT cute 😏
SEE?! SEE WHAT I MEAN?!
he goes into his mode and it’s like…wow I went from giggling and twirling my head to just sweating 😅
The smut? The kinks? SO HOT. and what I loved is that no matter what he was so attentive to her and just being the most amazing partner to her. again I loved the way he was able to just switch it on and off
Summary: You have been on your own for over a year and after Maria saves you and brings you to Jackson, you try and settle in, doing your best to contribute to the community. Though, it doesn’t help that your neighbor, Joel Miller, reminds you of a special person from before the outbreak.
Character pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader
Rating: 18+, explicit (minors dni), each chapter will have warnings – if applicable.
The Way You Miss Me
Explicit | On-Going Series | F!Reader
Joel is your daddy’s best friend. One evening, when your dad has to work late and you’ve been babysitting Sarah, tequila emboldens you to tell Joel what you’ve always wanted to tell him.
Ghost of You
Explicit | On-Going Series | Widow F!Reader
Grief is a strange thing. In the beginning it had been all-consuming. There wasn’t a moment of the day where you didn’t cry, didn’t ask yourself why it couldn’t have been you instead. And no-one ever explains the guilt you feel when it isn’t anymore. When it’s just a dull ache and you can finally breathe again, when you can start letting people get close to you again. People like Joel Miller.
Texas Sun
Explicit | On-going Series | dbf!Joel x f!reader
A collection of one-shots charting the relationship between you and your dad’s best friend, Joel Miller.
Trial & Error
Explicit | On-Going Series | Joel x F!Reader x Tommy
Tommy has always been the loyal and doting boyfriend, the literal man of your dreams. Ready to take things to the next step, you soon find that Tommy is unable to have children. A family is all you’ve ever wanted, and neither of you are going to let this get in your way. Enter Joel, dark and mysterious and willing to do anything for his little brother, including fucking his girlfriend to get her pregnant. That’s what brothers are for, right?
One-Shots
Light In The Darkness
Explicit | One-Shot | Original Female Character
Amy O'Leary has a grudge with Joel after he failed her before, but a forced scouting party and a rainstorm later and they are brought together closer than Amy ever could have imagined.
