BAD GIRL H*LE : anal as punishment. dubcon/noncon ( except it's just fun consensual playful roleplay between the characters ). pain kink. daddy kink. aftercare. subby/naïve!reader, scroll if her personality annoys you. reader wears mascara.
joel miller x f!reader.
18+ only / all characters are 18+.
Crowded by the frilly bedset, the frown marring your features is damning. You puff your chest indignantly and glance to the side, eyelids fluttering with a roll of your eyes as though the older man can't see your hands fidget in your lap.
“Say that again, sugar.”
Another, drawn-out sigh expels from your chest, as if bored with the conversation in entirety—a small ploy to delay your demise for as long as you can. You see, you aren't exactly eager to dig yourself deeper in this mess, though appearances might say otherwise.
You pluck the ruffled accent of the duvet idly, and just when you see Joel tap his boot in your periphery, impatient, you peer up at him again.
“…You're overreacting. I can go by myself.”
Anger flashes behind his eyes anew as you echo your defiance from before, and the words are like stubborn candy stuck in your teeth that you're desperately trying to pick out; something that tasted sweet at the time, but now, you're paying for the consequences. Joel rolls his shoulders back with tightly wound tension, and you hold your breath, following the jagged line of his throat as the man tips his head back and lets out a scoff. The sound subsequently morphs into a throaty chuckle, the heavy buckle of his belt clinking as he saunters over to you, hands rested on the belt.
He claps his hands on his knees and stoops down to your level, coarse hairs covering the backs of them, the skin thickened with old calluses, faint pale scars crossing his knuckles.
“'Overreactinʼ,'” Joel repeats your choice of word like bitter poison sucked from a wound, the crow's feet around his eyes deepening as he squints at you. You knew as soon as you said it that you'd made a mistake; for a man like Joel, undermining his protection was a type of sacrilege. Treating his feelings, his genuine care for you, like they were too big—or worse yet, like a nuisance—was wrong. You were wrong. You shift up the side of the bed until your feet sway above the floor.
“No-” He shakes his head. “-You ain't goinʼ nowhere, missy. I oughtta wash that mouth of yours out with soap 'fore I let you out of my sights.”
“Joel-!” You whine in disbelief at the idea of being forced to stay behind, your shoulders drooping, before he pins you with a pointed look and the sound fizzles out.
“You - aint - going - nowhere.” Joel enunciates cleanly, your eyes lowering to his straight teeth and strong jaw, the words drilling into your head. He draws an even, calming breath, the corner of his mouth twitching testily even as he shuts his eyes in meditation. He lets out the breath he'd been holding and adds, in an even tone, “Not until you've learnt a lesson.”
The soft edge of the mattress cushions your hipbones as you thrash underneath the weight on your back, your cotton panties trapping your knees together. “You dont want me to use your bad girl hole, do you, sweetheart?” Joel hums thoughtfully, and your pulse quickens at the threat looming over you.
Joel's hot hands roam the soft swell of your ass, meaningfully dipping his thumb between your cheeks and splaying you open under his palms—taking his time, though you whine and fist the sheets like a petulant child. His mouth waters—makes him feel like a depraved pervert at the sight of your puckered hole, fluttering under the pad of his thumb—and he lifts his hand to his lips to collect the spit and smear it on your hole.
“No, please..!” you sob, your cheek smushed into the mattress as you peer over your shoulder meekly. Your voice wobbles, lower lip sticking out petulantly, and fat, convincing tears cling to your lashes. “No, I don't want it!”
Damp tearstains soil the floral bedding under your head as Joel shoves your face down, guiding his wetted cock to the soft valley between your cheeks. “That's the point, baby,” he says, “You know how it is—only good girls get to feel good. I don't think you deserve my dick in your cunt today.” You bite your lips together nervously as he lets out low groans above you, rolling his hips against your soft ass, his thick fingers curling around one of your wrists and pinning it to the small of your back.
“No fair!” Sniffling, you kick your feet out against the floorboards—a pointless, noisy scuffle as you feel him push against your tight hole, your breath coming out in short bursts. “Iʼm a big girl. I don't need your help alls the time!”
“Big girls…” Joel's rumbly voice shudders into a groan, his chest heaving under his thick flannel shirt as the head of his cock pops past your tight ring of muscle—subsequently tearing a squeal from your lips. The burn makes your eyes water, a dull pain blooming across your backside as he drives deeper. “…face the consequences of their actions- Hah, fuck, that's tight- Ain't that so, sugar? You'd know, being such a big fucking girl now.”
“Mm- N-no--! Stop-” You can hardly sound out your words through the drool and stammers, your head rolling back against Joel's chest to peer up into his unforgiving gaze with mascara tracking down your dewy cheeks. His thick arm curls around your neck, holding your body fast against his front as he rocks you with heavy thrusts. “Iʼm sorry, I'm sorry, Iʼm sorry..!”
He squeezes his cock inside inch by inch, unceremoniously fisting the fat base of his cock and guiding himself deeper while you whimper kittenishly beneath him, actively fighting the resistance of your tight hole to bury himself in your ass. “Oh no, why would I stop, darlin'? Iʼm not finished yet. You just gotta hold out 'til I cum, that's how I'll know you can be a good girl.”
“J-Joel..! Oh- Joel, please-” Itching for some relief from the unbearable pressure between your legs, your thighs press together fruitlessly as the lube trickles down your slit, cool air hitting your sopping folds. A low grunt punches out of him as he feels you tighten around his cock, your pussy clenching around nothing uselessly.
“No, no.” Joel tuts, his disapproval more felt in the harsh grip on the scruff of your neck than seen. “No 'please's,” he murmurs hoarsely, “I won't hear nothing but apologies from that mouth o' yours. You just learn to be good and take your punishment.”
So, you bite the sheets and take your punishment. Taking the full, oversized girth of the big man, feeling his big hands knead your flesh and tug you back on the mean, throbbing intrusion, heavy sack slapping against your neglected cunt with every stab of his hips. It's a good thing, you think, even if you can barely handle it, being able to take your bad behavior and turn it into something good—making him feel good for nothing in return. A lesson in selfnessness because you'd been a ridiculous, thoughtless girl. He deserved this much after you'd acted so unappreciatively. Maybe you could learn to be more like him, more caring.
You really hadn't meant to sound ungrateful for all the care he gives you, but you know hearing that would be the least interesting part of all this—at least opposed to how much he sounds to be enjoying your tight body. It's a heady dichtomy—the guttural, wanton moans as he slams inside you, pre-cum dripping down the cleft of your ass, and the frustration belying his every move. Manhandling you like a small, unruly animal trying to escape his clutches. Only, there's nowhere else you'd rather be but here, under him—though your survival instincts seem to say otherwise: your hips recoiling from the brutish force he uses on you, reduced to teary-eyed petulance with staccato whimpers pouring past your lips.
You've clearly succumbed to your punishment, knowing you deserve it and feeling so, so sorry, but you haven't stopped sulking about it. It's hard not to, with the achy throb between your thighs that just won't go away and Joel won't pay any attention to when he's not mocking you for how wet you are.
Joel doesn't let you off the hook easy; no, he makes any punishment memorable enough that the same mistake doesn't happen twice.
“Well, would you look at that? You're fucking soaked. You're not supposed to be enjoying this, baby,” Joel croons, vaguely exasperated, as if talking down on a small, dumb thing that doesn't quite understand its own predicament, wry amusement curling the corner of his mouth.
Plain as day is your dripping, weeping center between your legs, untouched while he plunges in-and-out of your other hole, pretty clit swollen and begging for attention. You cross your legs sheepishly, suddenly fearing the measures Joel might take to make sure you aren't enjoying yourself too much. “I-I'm sorry,” you stammer between gasps, tears blurring your vision and sticking your lashes together as you screw your eyes up, legs nearly giving out under you. “I-Iʼll be good, Daddy, promise. You can do what you want to me.” Your bottom lip sticks out invitingly as you look back at him, and it's all Joel can do to not empty his load in you right then and there.
He pulls you back on his cock with a low growl, slamming inside you with a dizzying thrust that makes you see stars, veins bulging angrily along his forearms. A high-pitched keen—or a shriek, almost—that you aren't even quite sure how the noise belongs to you, rings in your ears beneath the violent roar of your own pulse. Your lungs overwork to pull in air as his heavy body bears down on you—so much smaller and feebler than him—all but crushing you into the mattress, grunting next to your ear feverishly. You can almost taste that virile musk that clings to him, to his flannel shirt, his sweaty torso molded to your back.
“Daddy-” Not for the first time, you think that he's maybe too big, the stretch too much. But no one else has ever introduced such overwhelming feelings to your body, and you find that you're all to willing to be molded to accommodate him. To be his good girl. “Please cum in me, Daddy, please cum in me, Daddy- Please, Daddy, please—”
The misty, rose-tinged water sloshes around your body, licking your knees as you draw them up to your chest. You peer over the rim of the tub as Joel sets your bottle of micellar water down on the bathroom counter with visible skepticism, absently rubbing at the scruff on his neck and shifting his weight, notably out of place in your girly-safehaven bathroom. A pile of used cotton makeup pads sit next to the sink after he'd gently swiped them across your skin and cleared away your smudged makeup, the tiny white rounds having looked almost absurdly small between his broad fingers.
“Jo—el,” you whine willfully, batting your wet lashes and beckoning him closer. “Get in.”
A soft, involuntary chuckle rumbles in his chest as you tug on the leg of his jeans, reaching down to brush your damp hair out of your eyes, your lashes fluttering slightly at the disturbance before he helps you out. His other hand is already reaching for the top button of his shirt.
“Don't mind if I do, sweetheart.”
𖧁୧ hi there ! gentle reminder that likes & reblogs are some of the best ways to support authors here, they make a huge difference! ♡
SHAKESPEARE COULDN’T HAVE WRITTEN THIS,,,,, LET ME TELL YOU!!!! literally all of my favorite kinks wrapped up in one, & such beautiful writing :’) <3333
You continue your journey to the vault. Your mind replaying things. Your cheeks flushing, you can’t even look at your poor radiated wolf mate. Every time you do glance at him though, he’s smirking, looking at you with a satisfied look, a swagger in his step that makes you look away instantly and keep a few steps ahead.
There’s a shot that rings out, you can feel something whiz past your head, smell the hot metal briefly before your instincts kick in and you’re shifting to protect yourself. The shift is painful, coming out of pure fear, one minute you’re in your own two feet, the next you’re a fur pile on the ground yelping.
“Hold!” You hear up ahead and dare open your eyes. Coopers got his gun out aiming at whoever is walking over.
“You got two seconds for I put a bullet between your eyes” Cooper snarls.
“Easy now, we wasn’t gonna hurt her. Just checking if she was a shifter” the man holds his hands up in surrender.
“She wolf. You good?” Cooper asks and you slowly rise to your feet, shake your whole body out releasing tension before going to Coopers side.
“Damn haven’t seen one of you in a long time” the stranger chuckles and you snarl at him hackles raising.
“Easy now big girl, ain’t here to harm ya” the man grins. Up close he looks rather clean for a surface dweller, brown cropped hair, brown eyes, tanned skin, lean build. He smells human.
“Fact is we’s been sent to bring ya home!” He says excitedly and you freeze. Home? Back to your vault? After they kicked you out? You shuffle closer to Cooper, his hand coming up and resting on your back. The man frowns watching you both.
“You’ve been away too long. You’ve got your wolf now you can return home and complete your duties!” The man adds. Duties? What duties? Cleaning the bathrooms? Cooking? Doing the dishes? Being an outcast? You snarl and lower your head, Cooper’s hand still brushing through your fur.
“Sounds like she doesn’t want to go home” Cooper answers.
“Of course she does. She can’t speak right now, besides who the hell are you? You’re just a ghoul” the man scoffs. You snarl and snap your muzzle making him flinch while Cooper just chuckles.
“You know you should really learn more bout us shifters before you insult a she wolves mate” Cooper drawls out cockily.
“Mate? That’s not possible” the stranger frowns.
“And whys that?” Cooper asks, gun still trained on him.
“Because you’re a ghoul! You’re not clean! you’re not from a vault you’re not a good breeding specimen!” The man scoffs. Your fur bristles, you snarl, growl low in your throat ready to tear this man apart for insulting your mate.
“Easy, she wolf” Cooper soothes his hand coming up to hold the back of your neck gently.
“You’re right. I ain’t a good ‘breeding specimen’ as you so politely put it. Nor am I exactly clean, but there hasn’t exactly been a bath in our travels, you’re right I am ghoul. Been here 200 somethin’ years and know exactly bout pricks like you and your specimens in those vaults” Cooper tsks.
“Problem is, the moon goddess ain’t exactly handin’ out choices, bout who our fated mates are” he adds.
“Plus…. Once I let her go, she’s gonna tear you a new ass, friend” You can hear Coopers smirk, can feel his hand leave your scruff and you dart out. The man curses, barely has time to pull his gun out, Cooper shoots his hand, his gun clatters and you pounce on the man jaw clasping around his neck and shredding. You growl and tear into the stranger, your instincts high. Dogmeat stands nearby barking at the dead body for good measure as you let his limp body go and step back.
“Never mess with a protective she wolf” Cooper snorts and walks over, kneeling and checking the strangers body.
“You know him?” He asks you and you snort and shake your head.
“Hm, wonder why your overseer wants you back then” he huffs and stands.
“You gonna try and shift back or keep your furry form up till we find you some new clothes?” He tilts his head. Your ears flatten and you whine a bit, not having meant to ruin your clothes.
“Ain’t your fault sweetheart, natural instinct all that shit” he pets your head. You huff and lick his hand making him grimace and huff back.
You follow him till you come across an abandoned super duper mart. You sniff cautiously, following Cooper, Dogmeat killing a few rad roaches along the way. It doesn’t smell nice in here, rotting corpses, rad roaches, rotting food and items. You sneeze a few times and Cooper raises an eyebrow at you. You growl at him and he rolls his eyes.
“Should be alright to rest here, ain’t find no clothes though” he opens what looks like the employees area and grunts once he finds it satisfactory.
“Dogmeat” he whistles and your ears flatten at the loud sound as Dogmeat trots in and he closes the door.
“Sorry” he mutters and pets behind your ears.
“You gonna shift to eat?” He asks sitting down in a chair, pulling out some canned foods. You huff at him and sit down beside him instead.
“What? Ain’t like I ain’t seen it all before?” He grins. You grumble and nip his arm, he huffs at you before you lie down. You close your eyes listening instead, ears twitching occasionally when you hear the scurry of what could be a rad roach or mole rat.
Your shift back isn’t voluntary, you groan as your body changes back into human form and you’re lying on the cold floor naked.
“You good?” You hear roughly. You just groan in response.
“You’ll get used to it” Cooper tries to comfort, but it doesn’t help. The cold settles into your bones, the ache of shifting settles in too. You’re tired, so tired again.
“Fuck. Sweetheart, that took all of it out of ya huh?” He sighs and you hear him moving. You want to tell him to go to hell, or too ‘fuck’ off, why was it so hard? Why did that stranger want you to go home? Did they even want you home? Would they finally accept you? Would they let Cooper in? You feel yourself being moved, go to protest, but you’re hushed by your ghoul mate as he tugs you close. You’re lying on your side between his legs, torso propped up against his chest as he leans back against the dirty wall. He wraps his arms around you and you rub your cheek against his chest for comfort and warmth. Your mind goes to thinking again. Cooper wouldn’t stay in a vault, doubt he’d be all for that ‘pack life’ in the vault, doubt he’d like the elders seeing as they’re the ones who kicked you out. Doubt he’d like your father either. He wanted to find his family and you promised him you’d help. Usually in the vault, if mates were lucky enough to find one another they’d bond within a week, mate and complete the claiming. You’ve lost track of how many days you’ve been up here, time doesn’t seem to matter when you don’t have chores, appointments or responsibility’s besides finding somewhere to sleep for the night, finding food and water.
“You’re alright” Cooper soothes and you sigh against him.
“My vault wants me back, to complete my duties” you whisper.
“What fuckin’ duties cleaning’ and shit?” He scoffs.
“Breeding” you mumble and he tenses.
“The fuck you are” he snarls, grip tightening.
“They won’t… I don’t think they’ll come after me again. Plus… we’re fated mates” you shrug a bit.
“Hm” he says in reluctant agreement his hand stroking your arm.
“Get some sleep she wolf” he says and you nod your eyes already closed as you settle against him.
notes: I dunno were I’m going with this anymore 😭 I have an idea but no oomph to do it
pairing: husband!Joel Miller × f!reader
summary: The worst part about injuring his hand isn’t the pain. It’s having to take off his wedding ring—and being unable to jerk off properly. Luckily, Joel has a wife who’s more than happy to lend him a hand.
a/n: I’ve had a really rough few weeks, so this is pretty much unedited! A little Joel never hurts when you’re trying to pull yourself out of a slump, I guess ❤️🩹
warnings: smut, established relationship, implied age-gap, husband!joel, male masturbation, shower handjob, praise kink, “good boy” used two times, dirty talk, teasing (kinda), male orgasm, mild injury and pain, mentions of urgent care and painkillers, caretaking, aftercare and a lot of love!
wc: 5634 k
I’d love to know what you thought, so please don’t be shy and leave me a little comment. Hearing from you truly means so much to me .⋆❀°
The shower had been running long enough for you to read the same paragraph three times.
Joel had claimed the heat might help his hand, although the doctor had prescribed ice, elevation and several days without gripping anything. The X-ray had shown no fracture. Joel had treated that information like permission to ignore the rest, trying to open the truck door with his injured hand before you had even left urgent care. By dinner, the bruising had spread in deep violet shadows across his knuckles, and you had needed soap to ease his wedding band over the swelling.
That had bothered him more than the pain.
He had watched you work the ring slowly over his knuckle, his mouth set in a hard line, and when it finally slipped free into your palm, his thumb had rubbed once over the pale indentation it left behind.
“Only for a few days, honey,” you had told him.
“I know, I know.”
But he continued staring at his empty finger until you placed the band on the bedside table beside your own things, safely within view.
You opened his painkillers, replaced his bandage and left him to shower while you climbed into bed with your book. But the water continued to run and you had retained nothing from the page before you.
You closed the book.
“Joel?”
No answer.
You glanced at the clock, set the book aside and crossed the bedroom.
Steam rolled through the bathroom when you opened the door. His discarded bandage lay damp beside the sink, his clothes gathered in a careless heap near the hamper. The mirror had fogged completely, but through the glass of the shower you could make out the broad, blurred shape of him standing beneath the water.
“Joel?” you called again.
No answer came, though beneath the steady rush you heard the faint scrape of skin against tile, followed by a low curse that was unmistakably his.
You undressed and stepped inside quietly, drawing a breath when the hot water struck your shoulder.
Joel stood with his back to you.
He had his head bowed and his right arm braced against the wall from elbow to wrist, protecting the swollen hand from bearing his weight. Even in the softened light, you could see the mottled bruising across his knuckles, his fingers held stiff and slightly apart. His left palm rested lower on the tile. His broad shoulders were drawn tight, every muscle along his back rigid beneath the water as it streamed through the silver beginning to thread the dark curls at the nape of his neck. It followed the shallow groove of his spine, split around the soft fullness above his hips and disappeared between his legs.
For several seconds, you simply watched him.
His left arm moved, but the motion lacked the steady, practiced rhythm you knew, his fist travelling over his cock with an awkwardness that seemed to frustrate him more each time. He adjusted his grip, tried again and shifted his hips forward, chasing a sensation his other hand could not quite give him. His shoulders tightened. A harsher curse slipped from him when his injured fingers flexed instinctively against the tile.
The sight sent heat through you with such sudden force that your breath caught.
Joel touching himself would always affect you—the thick length of him flushed dark in his fist, water shining over the soft curve of his stomach and the wet hair beneath his navel—but it was the vulnerability of the moment that drew you closer. This was the man who noticed when your shoulders hurt before you complained, who left water on your bedside table every night because you always woke thirsty, who could read the smallest change in your breathing beneath his hands and know whether you needed more, less, faster, slower. He had spent years learning every language your body spoke.
Yet he stood alone beneath the water, unable to give himself what he needed, too proud to call for you and too stubborn to stop trying.
You stepped closer without speaking.
He was so absorbed in the effort that he did not hear the shower door close behind you. He did not notice the water shift when your body interrupted its path or the quiet whisper of your bare feet against the tile. It was only when you placed your mouth between his shoulder blades, lips pressing softly to the center of his wet back, that his entire body jolted.
“Jesus!”
His head turned sharply. Pain flashed across his face when his injured fingers contracted against the wall, and he forced them open again with a hiss.
“Didn’t hear you, darlin’.”
“I noticed, baby.”
Your lips moved over his back once more, slower this time. Water ran between your mouth and his skin, tasting faintly of soap. Up close, the heat of him felt different from the heat surrounding you, deeper and alive, held taut beneath skin that shivered when you kissed the raised ridge of an old scar near his shoulder.
“What’re you doin’ in here?” he asked.
“Checking on my handsome husband.”
You rested your chin against him and looked down the length of his body. His left hand had gone still, the grip around himself loosening now that he knew you were watching. Embarrassment was not something Joel wore easily; on him, it appeared as a stubborn tilt of his chin and a refusal to look directly at you.
“Looks like I was right to worry.”
“Ain’t anythin’ to worry about.”
“You’ve been in here twenty minutes.”
“Lost track.”
“That so?”
Your palms settled at his waist and moved around him, spreading over the curve of his belly. He had grown softer through the middle over the years, his body shaped by long workdays, evening beers and all the second helpings he accepted after insisting he was full. You loved the weight of him, the solid breadth of his chest, the coarse hair flattened beneath your fingers. You loved the familiar scars and the places age had begun touching him. You loved that you could stand behind him with your eyes closed and know precisely where your hands rested.
“Seems like you’re hurting yourself because you’d rather wrestle with the wrong hand than call your wife,” you murmured.
“Wasn’t hurtin’ myself, sweetheart.”
“No?”
Your nails travelled upward through the hair on his stomach before descending again, leaving pale trails across his flushed skin. Joel’s breath changed when your fingertips passed beneath his navel.
“That hand doesn’t seem to be accomplishing much either.”
His jaw tightened, but his hips shifted subtly into his fist.
You closed the remaining distance between you and pressed your naked body to his back. The instant your breasts touched him, his breath caught. Your mouth found the side of his neck while one hand remained spread over his stomach and the other followed the dark line beneath his navel.
“Couldn’t get it right?” you asked softly.
“Left hand don’t feel like mine.”
There was so much quiet frustration in the admission that your teasing softened.
“You could’ve called me.”
“Didn’t wanna bother you, baby.”
You lifted your head. “Joel Miller, I don’t care if I’m reading, sleeping or halfway through the best dream of my life. Asking me to touch you is never going to bother me.”
“Ain’t exactly somethin’ you should have to—”
“No.” You kissed the back of his shoulder as your hand slipped lower, fingertips barely grazing the coarse hair at the base of his cock. “You take care of me so often that half the time I don’t notice you’re doing it until it’s already done. So let me have my turn.”
The rigid set of his shoulders loosened by a fraction.
His left hand opened around himself, although surrendering even that unsatisfying contact made his hips follow your hovering fingers.
“Need a hand, don’t you, cowboy?” you teased, catching the edge of his ear gently between your teeth.
A strained breath left him, somewhere between a groan and a protest.
“You gonna help or keep makin’ fun of me?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” You clicked your tongue. “You do look awfully pretty struggling, baby.”
“Christ, woman.”
“Although…” Your hand settled over his left wrist and guided it away from his cock. He allowed you to place his palm on the tile, but his body remained tense, caught somewhere between wanting what you offered and resisting the act of receiving it. “I suppose I could lend my favorite cowboy a hand. If he asks nicely.”
Joel lowered his forehead to the wall.
Water slipped through the grey in his beard and fell from his jaw. Pride held him silent for another moment. You could almost feel the struggle taking place inside him—the same man who would carry too many grocery bags rather than make a second trip, who would work through a fever and insist he was only tired, who treated being needed as though it were the simplest form of love but had never learned how to need someone without apology.
You spread your palm over his bare ring finger.
The touch made him look down.
His gaze rested on your hand covering his, your wedding band shining through the water while his finger remained pale and empty beneath it. His thumb moved once against the tile, reaching for yours before remembering the awkward angle.
Then his weight shifted back into you.
“Need you,” he admitted quietly.
You waited with your lips resting against his shoulder, though the answer had already travelled through you. Joel asked for so little that sometimes you resented him for it. He would mention that his boots needed replacing only after the soles had begun admitting water, would say he was hungry once you had already placed a plate before him, would carry an ache for days until you noticed the careful way he avoided turning his neck. Even now, naked and hard between your arms, he had tried to make the request smaller than it was. Need you. Two words offered in place of everything his body had already confessed, as though wanting something from you was still harder than enduring without it.
His breath left him slowly. His empty ring finger shifted beneath your palm. When you still did not move, his hips pressed back against you before rolling forward, his cock brushing heavily against the hand you kept just beyond his reach.
“Please,” he said, whatever remained of his pride finally yielding to the need roughening his voice. “Put your hand on my cock. Stroke me. Been tryin’ to come for so goddamn long, and I can’t—I need you to do it for me.”
Joel had trusted you with his home, his daughter, the parts of his past he still struggled to name. He had stood before everyone you loved and placed a ring on your finger with hands that had trembled more than his voice. Yet this small surrender seemed to cost him something too.
You kissed the pale place where his wedding band belonged.
“Good boy.”
Joel went utterly still.
His breathing stopped for one suspended second, his stomach turning rigid beneath your forearm and his left palm pressing flat against the tile. His cock pulsed before you had even closed your fingers around him.
Slowly, he looked back at you.
Steam had gathered in his lashes. His dark eyes found yours over his shoulder, surprise exposed there before he could conceal it, followed by a heat so immediate that your thighs drew together behind him. A flush travelled higher along his throat. He appeared almost offended by the force of his own reaction, as though his body had answered you before his pride could intervene.
“What’d you call me?”
“You heard me, baby.”
His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Say it again.”
A smile touched your lips, but you did not laugh at him. There was something too open in his expression, too uncertain beneath the want.
“Later,” you promised. “Face the wall and lean back against me. Let your wife take care of you, big boy.”
Joel held your gaze for another moment before looking forward again. His forehead settled against the tile as his shoulders gradually loosened beneath your arms. He moved back until the curve of his ass pressed firmly against your lower stomach, giving you more of his weight than before.
You kissed the center of his back and slid your right hand down.
This time, you did not stop.
Your fingers curled around the base of his cock, and Joel’s entire body answered.
His abdomen contracted beneath your forearm. His left palm slipped before flattening against the wall again. A sound left him—low, involuntary, pulled from somewhere beneath the frustration he had carried into the shower—and the thick length of him hardened further in your grip.
You held him without moving at first, letting him feel the fit of your hand around him although your fingers could not quite meet. Heat pulsed beneath the slick skin, his heartbeat fast and heavy against your palm. You adjusted the showerhead until the strongest part of the spray struck his back rather than your joined hands, then tightened your grip. Another broken breath warmed your cheek.
“There,” you murmured. “Better?”
“Fuck, yes—”
“I thought so.” You stroked him slowly from base to tip, watching his stomach pull tight beneath your arm. “Next time you need my hand around your cock, come put it there.”
Joel’s hips followed your fist as it descended. “Knew you’d enjoy this.”
“You knew correctly.”
Your thumb swept over the broad head before your fist travelled down again. At the base, you loosened your grip and slipped your free hand beneath him. Joel groaned when your palm cupped his balls, the swollen, heavy weight of them filling your hand while the other continued moving slowly along his cock.
“Oh, baby...” You rolled them gently beneath your fingers, and his hips pressed forward as though even that small touch had reached somewhere deeper than he expected. “No wonder you were getting so frustrated. These are awfully full.”
“Don’t start.”
The words lacked any real warning. They came roughened by the careful twist of your wrist, Joel’s breath catching when you tightened your fist beneath the head. You smiled against his shoulder and gave him another long stroke, refusing the faster pace his body was beginning to seek.
“I’ve already started.” Your lips followed a rivulet of water toward the sensitive place behind his ear. “You should’ve seen yourself, hiding in here with all of this aching for relief.”
“Enjoyin’ yourself?”
“Very much.” You squeezed the weight in your palm once more, tender enough to make his thighs tense. “I’ve got my handsome husband naked in my arms, getting harder every time I tease him. I can feel how badly he needs to come, and he’s making the prettiest noises while I take my time giving him exactly what he asked for.” Your thumb gathered the slickness from the tip and spread it beneath the head. “What’s not to enjoy?”
“Mean woman.”
The complaint dissolved into a groan when your fingers tightened around him. His hips followed your hand instinctively, cock sliding through your wet fist while you maintained the slow rhythm already wearing away his restraint.
“Mm. And you love me.”
“Yeah.” His answer came without hesitation, broken slightly by the next stroke. “More than anythin’.”
The words entered you with the familiar weight of truth. Joel could spend ten uninterrupted minutes complaining about traffic, Tommy or the price of lumber, but anything that mattered was pared down until only its simplest form remained. More than anythin’ was extravagance from a man like him, offered with his forehead resting against the shower wall, his injured hand held carefully before him and his body surrounded by yours.
You kissed him behind the ear and released the heavy weight beneath his cock, bringing your free arm around his middle. Your palm spread over his stomach as you drew him more securely against you.
“Good,” you murmured. “Then be sweet and let me take my time with you.”
You kept the first strokes long and measured, your fist gliding over every thick inch before closing more firmly on the descent. Joel attempted to follow you, but impatience made his hips arrive too early. You adjusted without comment, refusing to hurry; the next time he thrust forward, you slowed near the head and held him snugly in your palm until a strained breath escaped through his teeth.
Water ran over his shoulders and divided around your arms, gathering briefly in the dark hair beneath his navel before disappearing between your joined bodies. The shower could not conceal the low sounds he made whenever your grip changed or the unconscious contraction of his stomach beneath your palm. You understood what he wanted—the shallow movement of his hips asking for more speed, his left hand spreading against the tile to brace for the pressure he preferred—but kept him at that patient rhythm a little longer. By the time you tightened your fist, frustration no longer held his shoulders rigid. He was waiting for you, and his cock pulsed heavily against your palm.
“That’s it,” you whispered, your mouth close to his ear. “You can move with me now.”
Joel released a deep, uneven breath and rolled his hips forward. You met him, your fist descending as he pushed into it and closing more firmly when he reached the base. On his retreat, you stroked upward, letting the swollen head drag through the circle of your fingers before guiding him into the next movement. He followed more carefully this time, the rhythm hesitant only for the first few strokes before pleasure taught him what you wanted.
“There you go, baby.”
“God—feels so damn good.”
You held him close and let the rhythm develop between you. Each thrust grew deeper, Joel’s ass pressing into your lower stomach when he drew back before he drove forward again. Your fist worked over him in time with the motion, no longer making him wait, though you retained enough control to keep his impatience from carrying him too quickly toward the edge.
The change reached his breathing first. Those deep, measured pulls of air began catching halfway into his lungs, his mouth opening against the tile to release the low sounds he had tried to suppress when you entered. Soon he no longer seemed aware of them. His attention had narrowed to your fingers around his cock, your palm against his stomach and the body supporting him from behind.
You kissed the wet slope of his shoulder.
Joel had touched you in darkness and sunlight, slowly and with desperate hunger, had learned your body so thoroughly that sometimes a single adjustment of his hand could make you fall apart. Yet this felt different from simply returning the pleasure he had given you over the years. Tonight, he could not reach back and distract you with your own need. He could not turn, gather you against him and assume the responsibility of taking care of both of you. All he could do was remain inside your embrace and trust that being wanted did not depend upon what he could offer in return.
Your grip tightened. Joel groaned and drove forward with enough force to push the air from your lungs. You widened your stance and continued meeting him as the movement grew rougher, each thrust dragging his cock rapidly through your closed fingers before your hand followed him back to the base. Wet skin moved against wet skin beneath the shower, punctuated by his heavier breathing and a broken curse whenever you changed the angle of your wrist.
You pressed your mouth beneath his ear.
“Take it, baby,” you murmured. “Use my hand exactly how you need.”
Joel stopped trying to follow each movement you gave him and began taking the friction for himself, thrusting through your fist with all the force he had been restraining. You let him, your hand closed and steady around him while your other arm held him against you—until his injured fingers curled instinctively against the tile. The hiss that left him cut through the pleasure. You caught his wrist at once and drew his arm away from the wall without slowing the motion between his legs.
“Give me this one.”
Joel allowed you to fold his arm across his chest. You tucked the bruised hand against his opposite shoulder and covered it with your own, your forearm securing it safely in place.
“Ain’t bad,” he managed.
“Shh.”
You kissed the uninjured edge of his wrist. Your fist continued working steadily over his cock as though caring for one hurting part of him required no sacrifice from the rest.
Joel’s chest rose beneath your arm. His bruised fingers gradually relaxed against his shoulder, and his left hand left the tile to cover yours where it held him. His thumb searched through the water until it found the smooth band around your finger and rested there.
You turned your face and kissed his cheek.
Joel leaned into it for a fleeting second before the next stroke pulled a groan from him. His thumb remained pressed over your wedding band as he settled farther back, giving you more of his weight without looking to see whether you could hold it. You planted your feet, tightened your arm around his chest and did.
He was letting you have all of his need now: his injured hand held safely beneath yours, his balance entrusted to your body, his pleasure naked in every sound he could no longer contain. When your fist moved faster, his hips answered immediately. The rhythm that had belonged to both of you began to unravel as he pushed forward too soon and retreated only far enough to thrust again, each movement shorter and rougher than the last.
You adapted without breaking pace, concentrating the friction where his body responded most strongly. A rough curse left him when you repeated it, his cock almost painfully rigid within your fist, the pulse against your palm heavier and more insistent. His thighs began to tremble as the measured roll of his hips disappeared altogether. He was no longer fucking your hand with any discernible rhythm; he was chasing it, moving on instinct whenever your grip reached the sensitive head.
Your own breathing quickened against his back. Heat gathered low in your stomach as you watched the man who could reduce you to pleading with the smallest movement lose himself in your arms. You pressed your thighs together, but every sound he made travelled directly through you, every desperate thrust sending another pulse of want between your legs. None of it made you want to turn his attention toward you. Tonight, his pleasure was enough.
Your mouth found the place beneath his ear that always made his shoulders rise.
“Look at you,” you whispered, affection wrapped around the teasing words. “You were so determined to handle this yourself, and now you can barely keep those legs steady.”
Joel tried to answer, but your fist tightened and the words collapsed into a hoarse moan. You smiled against his skin.
“No clever answer for me?”
“Hard to—” He broke off, thrusting roughly into your grip. “Hard to fuckin’ think.”
“That’s all right, baby. You don’t need to.”
You increased the pace until the movement became relentless, your slick fist closing around him as quickly as his hips could push forward. Joel’s forehead pressed against the tile, shoulders drawing tight as pleasure gathered beyond his control. His breathing fractured into rough, shallow pulls, each ending in a sound he no longer attempted to swallow.
His left hand abandoned yours and flattened against the wall, fingers splayed wide for purchase. Your wedding ring remained warm beneath the place his thumb had pressed it. He drove into your fist once, twice, then faltered, the next thrust arriving shorter as his cock throbbed heavily in your palm. You felt the approaching release before he spoke—in the sudden rigidity of his stomach, the way his thighs locked as if bracing might delay what your hand was already pulling from him, the helpless twitch that travelled through his cock whenever your grip reached the head.
“Baby—” His voice cracked around the word.
You kissed his jaw. “I know.”
“Close—”
The admission came through clenched teeth, barely louder than the water. You kept your fist moving at the same firm pace, refusing to startle his body with any sudden change.
“How close?”
“Real fuckin’—close.”
Joel attempted another thrust, but the rhythm had abandoned him entirely. His hips jerked into your hand and stopped, leaving you to carry the movement while he trembled within your arms. His weight tipped backward. You accepted all of it, your forearm held securely across his chest and his injured hand protected beneath yours.
“Please,” he rasped. “Don’t slow down—”
“I won’t, baby.”
Your fist travelled over him in fast, complete strokes, drawing the tension tighter with each pass. His cock pulsed violently against your palm, so close now that every movement seemed to pull a broken sound from the deepest part of his chest.
You caught his earlobe gently between your teeth.
“Every drop for me?”
“All yours.” The answer came instantly, stripped of breath and pride. His head dropped as his hips gave one final, desperate drive through your fist. “Every fuckin’ drop.”
A tender satisfaction spread beneath the heat in your chest. You tightened your embrace, lips brushing the shell of his ear while your hand gave him the exact rhythm his body had been seeking from the moment you entered the shower.
“That’s my good boy,” you whispered. “Give it to me.”
The praise undid him.
Joel came with a sound so raw it seemed torn from the center of him.
His entire body locked in your arms. His cock jerked hard in your fist, the first hot pulse spilling over your fingers before the shower could carry it away. His hips punched forward with the next one, wrenching a broken groan from his throat as another thick streak struck the tile beneath him.
You kept your hand moving, drawing every stroke from base to tip while release continued to pulse from him. Each one seized a different part of his body—his stomach clenching beneath your arm, his thighs jumping, his shoulders drawing taut beneath your mouth. You felt the force of it pass through him until there was nothing left with which he could hold himself upright.
His knees buckled.
You caught his full weight before either of you could fall.
Your chest pressed tightly to his back, your arm banded across his ribs and your palm protecting the swollen knuckles tucked against his shoulder. Joel trembled through every aftershock, forehead resting heavily against the wall. His cock gave one final, helpless pulse into your slowing hand.
“Fuck,” he choked. “Baby—”
“Easy. I’ve got you.”
You continued moving until the last throb softened beneath your palm. Only then did you loosen your fingers, careful of the sensitivity that made his hips flinch when your thumb grazed the head. The water washed your hand clean, carrying the evidence of his release toward the drain.
Joel remained folded against the wall, his breathing coming in ragged pulls. You kept him gathered within your arms, lips moving over his shoulder and along the nape of his neck while the final tremors passed through him.
“Take your time, baby,” you murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His left hand covered your forearm where it crossed his chest. His thumb rubbed slowly over your skin, Joel still searching for some way to touch you even while you bore most of his weight.
Eventually, he lifted his head.
“Need to turn around.”
“You steady?”
“With you holdin’ me? Yeah.”
You helped him move carefully, keeping his injured hand against his chest until his back met the wall. The moment he faced you, his left arm came around your waist and pulled you against him.
Joel kissed you before you could speak.
The kiss held none of the frantic hunger that had taken him apart moments earlier. It was slow and open, his lips moving over yours with an exhausted tenderness that left you more exposed than anything he had said. His damp beard scraped gently across your chin as he kissed you again, lingering this time, breathing you in as though the release had stripped him down to the simplest things he knew.
Your hands settled against his chest.
He rested his forehead against yours.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“You never have to thank me for touching you. Your needs are my needs too.”
“Ain’t only that.”
His hand moved slowly up your back, keeping you close.
“Been meanin’ everything else.”
You traced the wet line of his jaw with your thumb. “Joel…”
He watched you, something tired and unguarded in his eyes.
“You’d do the same for me,” you said.
“In a heartbeat.”
“Then quit acting like it only works one way, my love.”
The corner of his mouth lifted before he kissed you again. His hand travelled down your arm until his fingers found yours, and he raised your left hand between you. His thumb passed over your wedding band with quiet concentration.
“Feels strange not havin’ mine on.”
“I know.”
“Kept reachin’ for it all night.”
“I noticed that too.”
You guided his injured hand closer and pressed your lips to the bare place where his ring belonged.
“Still all mine without it.”
His eyes softened. “Always.”
You stayed beneath the water until his breathing settled, holding each other in the humid quiet. When you finally turned off the shower, Joel allowed you to dry him, although he complained when you knelt to run the towel down his legs.
“Can dry my own damn feet, darlin’.”
“With which hand?”
His mouth closed.
“That’s what I thought.”
You wrapped the towel around his waist and guided him into the bedroom with your palm resting at the base of his spine.
The wedding band remained exactly where you had left it.
Joel looked at it while you sat him on the edge of the mattress and knelt between his knees with fresh gauze. You worked carefully around each bruised knuckle, smoothing the bandage without pulling it too tightly. He watched your hands throughout, quiet and heavy-limbed, his left palm resting warmly against the back of your neck.
When you finished, you raised his injured hand and kissed the pale indentation once more.
His gaze moved from his bare finger to the ring on the table.
Then he reached for it with his left hand.
“Joel, you can’t put it back on yet.”
“I know, baby, but I was thinkin’…” He picked up the band and held it toward you. “You still got that chain in your jewelry box? The one you don’t wear?”
Your heart gave a small, painful pull.
“I do.”
You retrieved the thin chain and sat beside him. Joel placed the ring in your palm, trusting you with it as he had trusted you with everything else that night. You threaded the chain through the band before fastening it carefully around his neck.
The ring settled against the damp hair on his chest.
Joel looked down and touched it with two fingers. His thumb passed slowly over the familiar curve before he closed his hand around it, holding it against his sternum. The tension that had lingered in his face since you removed it finally eased; his shoulders dropped, and the breath he released sounded deeper than any he had taken since leaving urgent care.
“Better?” you asked.
“Yeah.” His eyes lifted to yours, tired and unmistakably relieved. He gave the ring another small squeeze but did not release it. “Much better.”
You covered his closed hand with yours. “You really hated having it off.”
Joel glanced down at the pale indentation around his finger. “Kept feelin’ for it.” His thumb rubbed over the empty place as though demonstrating a habit his body had not yet learned to abandon. “Every time I looked at my hand, somethin’ felt wrong. Like I’d left part of myself sittin’ on that table.”
The quiet confession tightened your throat. It was only a circle of gold, small enough to disappear inside his broad palm, but Joel had worn it through years of work, sleep, arguments, dinners and mornings when neither of you had anything more important to say than asking who had finished the coffee. He had grown so accustomed to carrying the visible proof of your life together that its absence had left his hand feeling unfamiliar to him.
You curled your fingers around his, pressing the ring gently against his chest. “It was never going anywhere.”
“Know that.” His gaze returned to yours. “Still didn’t like bein’ without it.”
You leaned forward and kissed the crease between his brows, lingering until it softened beneath your mouth.
“Come here,” you murmured, drawing back the covers. “Let me hold you, my love.”
He lay down without argument, his injured hand elevated safely on the pillow. When you settled beside him, Joel rested his head against your chest and curved his left arm around your waist. The ring lay cool between his skin and yours, warming slowly where your bodies met.
His thumb found your wedding band once more.
“Mine safe, sweetheart?” he asked, already half asleep.
You covered the ring resting over his heart.
“Right here, baby.”
Joel released one final, tired breath against your skin. His entire body softened into the mattress, giving you its full and familiar weight.
This time, when you held him, he did not try to hold you up in return.
the duality of emotions i felt in this fic…damn. it’s so tender, so sweet, so touching…..and also has jaw dropping level smut. i loved this, honey!!! this fic is gonna stay with me for a bit. seeing joel needy like that is something else 😩
(beautiful mood board by my baby @/aurorawritestoescape 🥰🥰)
5k1 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | se7en collection | masterlist
Summary: after you promised Joel to try something new in bed and managed to make him skip patrol and stay home, he makes sure you mean it. So you enjoy a chill morning with him, and then you make good on your promise
Warnings: 18+ mdni. Established relationship, Joel can lift reader, feelings, smut, fluff, soft!Joel, consent king!Joel, oral (f/m), nipple play, breast fucking, pussy pronouns, praise kink, size kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, piv, spit as lube, anal play, rimming, anal, creampie, aftercare
a/n: this is a part of the se7en collection, and a sequel to Never enough but can be read alone
Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing and for everything 💕💕 dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏
Your breathing was slowly calming down, your head was resting in the crook of Joel’s arm. Your fingers were lingering on your bare hip, right where his hand was pressed just moments ago as he was using it as leverage, his thrusts hard and fast.
Joel’s eyebrows furrowed as he leaned toward you, his calloused fingers caressing your curves with a soft touch.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked with a note of concern in his voice.
“No. No, you didn't,” you reassured him immediately. “I love it when you hold me like that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” he asked, kissing the top of your head.
“Because it reminds me of how strong and yet how gentle you are. It’s hot.”
It made him chuckle and he laid back down, pressing you against him to hold you closer. It always felt like you were disappearing, melting into him; his body a shelter where nothing could reach you, the strongest protective barrier.
Silence and morning light filled the room as you were gradually drifting off back to sleep, lulled by Joel's fingers brushing your bare skin from your hip to your ass, and the slow rise and fall of his chest under your hand.
Lazy mornings in bed with Joel were quite unusual. He was an early riser and wasn't used to staying in bed. When he wasn't out on patrol before sunrise, he was busy fixing things in Jackson or working on his wood carvings at his workbench in the early morning light.
It was nice to stay in bed with him, with no rush, no alarm clock, no upcoming deadlines.
His voice roused you from your thoughts and that misty state, when he murmured a low “sweetheart?”
“Yeah?”
“About what you said earlier…”
“Mmm?”
“We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I know you didn’t want me to go on patrol, and that’s ok.”
You leaned on your elbow to look at him, taking in the view from his gentle gaze on you to his lips, shoulders and tanned chest, dusted with freckles. His strong body was always a call to sin, and even now, when his cock just left the heat of your pussy, you still had the need to lick at his skin, taste all of him under your tongue, nibble at his nipples and pepper his soft belly with kisses. You wanted to run your tongue along his softened cock, suck on his tip and feel him throb.
You wanted him, like you never wanted any other man.
And every part of you wanted him.
“I want to do it,” you said without an ounce of hesitation. “Yeah, I wanted you to stay with me, to spend all day and night together, but… I really wanna do it.”
He nodded, but you could see the gears turning in his mind. You knew what was spinning there, a shadow lingering — his fear to hurt you.
“Have you done it before?”
“No. No, never. I never found the right person, I guess?” you added after a couple of seconds, searching for the words. “The one I would trust enough, who would make me wanna do it,” you said almost shyly. “What about you? Have you done it?” you asked him, you hand caressing his belly and the scar that was there. You kissed it and looked back at him.
“I have, yes.”
“And you wanna do it with me?”
Joel chuckled, hearing your question.
“Baby. I wanna do everything with you.” He pulled you on top of him and kissed you. You had never said the three words to each other yet, but you could feel them ready to slip from your lips at the slightest opportunity.
"Listen,” he said, caressing your cheek with his calloused fingers, “we have all day to ourselves, yeah? So we'll spend it together and if you still wanna do it later, we will. But if at some point you feel uncomfortable, or it hurts, or you wanna stop for whatever reason, you tell me, ok?”
Dear lord. This man was too good to be true in a post apocalyptic world where the law of the strongest was everywhere.
But not here, in Jackson, and not with Joel. He always made a point of making you feel safe.
“Promise me,” he insisted.
“I promise.”
“Ok. I want you to know that, because I was kinda… in the moment, earlier. When I told you, you know…”
“Told me what?”
It was adorable to see that big guy blush, and you giggled. “You’re blushing. It’s cute.” Your words made his neck turn red.
You couldn’t resist and kissed him just below his ear. The moan he let out made you fall for him a little more.
“Sweetheart… Not that I don't like these sweet lips of you on me, but it’s important, you know? I wanna do things right.”
“Ok, ok,” you smiled. “When you told me what?”
“When I asked if… you thought your tiny hole could take it,” he added, his gaze on you uncertain, hoping he didn’t go too far in the moment. He let out a long breath when your smile brightened your face.
“Oh, yeah, I remember. I think that’s when I came on your big cock, sir…”
“Jesus… Anyway… Just… Tell me if it’s too much, OK?”
“Ok. You have my word,” you replied seriously. You wanted him to know you meant it.
“Good. Now come on, let’s take a shower. I wanna take care of my girl.”
The three words were closer to your lips than ever.
The shower alone was an incredible privilege in this world, but sharing that moment with a man like Joel always felt even more surreal. You loved feeling his skin under your touch, taking the time to roam over his pecs or biceps under the hot water. And you were melting each time his hands were on you, marveling at how gentle they were, or the way he was ogling your curves as if it was the first time he was seeing them.
Your hand covered with soap lingered on his cock a little longer than usual, but not only to play with him.
It was getting more and more difficult to keep the istance.
“Teasing me, huh?” he said, pressing you against the tiles, their coldness making you gasp. Gasp that he silenced by pressing his lips to yours.
He seized your hips, keeping you consensually caged against the wall, and his mouth trailed down your neck until he knelt in front of you and grabbed one of your thighs to put it on his shoulder, opening you up for him.
“Joel, we just….”
“I know. Don’t care. Wanna eat you out.”
He made out with your cunt, his growls echoing in the shower despite the loud sound of the water, lapping at your folds and swallowing your arousal, then twirling his tongue on your clit, releasing you only when you came on his month.
“Jesus,” you murmured once you stopped shaking, your knees so weak that it made him chuckle, nuzzling your neck, his arms keeping you steady.
“Hey, you’re playing dirty, Joel Miller,” you asserted, a mischievous tone in your voice, not only from the post high.
“Oh this wasn’t me playing dirty, baby. Just me takin’ care of you,” he said. “Playin’ dirty would be mighty different,” he added, a teasing look on his gorgeous face, and your thoughts were already wandering. “Okay, now let’s eat,” he stated, knowing exactly what you had in mind, confirmed by the way his lips were slightly curling when you glanced at them.
“But I wanna stay in bed with you all day, I’m not hungry,” you pouted, whining exaggeratedly.
“Non-negotiable,” he added, his tone soft but firm, and a new rush of desire ran through your body. “You need to regain some strength.” He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.
“Aw, bossy. That’s hot. Strength for what you’re planning to do to me?” you grinned and he pinched you gently, but you noticed the way his expression changed, and shivered when his hand traced the curve of your ass. “You taste so fucking good I could go down on you for hours,” he murmured in the hook of your ear. “Bet your ass tastes just as good,” he added when he looked at you, leaving you speechless.
“Kitchen now, sweetheart.”
Back in the bedroom, you put on panties and picked up one of his flannel shirts in his wardrobe.
“It looks good on you,” Joel said, watching you from the bathroom doorway. “Better than on me.” You shook your head and smiled, hearing him.
“You really have no idea how hot you look when you wear these shirts, do you, Joel?”
He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and followed you downstairs, his hand lingering on your lower back.
You sat at the kitchen island when he asked you. While he was making the meal, you were talking about a movie night planned for the next day, carvings he was working on, new refugees who had arrived in the last few days.
You couldn't take your eyes off him as he was cooking. His clothes were simple but looked so good on him. A plain white T-shirt hugged his biceps, muscles of his back working under the garment, and grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, showing the outline of his cock. He was the most handsome and the hottest man in Jackson, hands down. And he was yours.
You noticed a light frown of his eyebrows, as if he wanted the meal to be perfect. His thoughts were surely less sinful than yours right now. You were trying your best not to get up and press yourself against him, feel his warmth against your chest.
“You know,” Joel said as he threw a towel over his shoulder then turned back to face you, “we gotta work on some houses. Turn them into proper homes for the new people joining Jackson. I was thinking that maybe I'd drop the patrols for a while. Work on the houses only, for a few weeks.”
A big smile lit your face at his unexpected words, and an invisible weight fell off your shoulders. “Really, Joel?!”
“Yeah…” he nodded, smiling back at you, before turning his attention back to the pan. You felt grateful. You knew he was doing it for you, even if you never asked him to. But he was aware how worried you were when he left. Even if he was the most skilled patroller in town, you never knew what could happen in the wild.
“So it's a deal. I'll tell Tommy about it,” he added while setting the full plates down on the island.
“Proteins, huh?”
“Yep."
Ultimately he was right, you realized how hungry you were after a first bite. While Joel took his time eating, you gulped down the food like a starving woman under his amused look.
Once you were done, your plate so clean it looked like it had just come out of the cupboard, you gazed at him, your elbows resting on the table. You didn’t even realize you’d stopped listening to what Joel was saying until he chuckled.
“You’re staring, sweetheart.” He set his fork down on the table, his plate also empty.
You felt heat in your cheeks, got up to clear the table and put everything in the sink.
“Let me do it,” he offered, but you raised your hand. “You cooked. Let me wash the dishes.”
Stubborn as always, he still got up and joined you to dry off the kitchenware.
It was a quiet moment and once again you realized how everything felt natural and easy between the two of you since you started dating. Everything felt like a dream. Falling asleep with him. Waking up with him. Fucking him. Cuddling with him. Sucking him off and coming on his tongue.
You restrained a concern that started gripping you on the inside. You moved in with Joel not so long ago, and you never shared your feelings. Not with words, at least, and you couldn’t help but feel insecure. What if he wasn’t feeling the same about you? What if he fell for someone else?
You’d never been the jealous type, before. But now? Now it was different and you hated those awful feelings crawling into your heart and mind.
You grabbed a glass to wash it, but an image of a woman hitting on Joel, at the Tipsy bison, or in her house while he’d be fixing things, flashed in your mind. Could this happen? The thought made you sick, jealousy running in your veins, even more when you realized that of course it was possible. Everybody knew him in Jackson because he helped everyone, went on patrol, kept the town safe.
And he was so handsome, with his salt and pepper beard, little pieces of silver in his hair, his broad silhouette.
You couldn’t bear the idea of losing him, and your mind started rolling in full overthinking mode in just three little seconds.
“You ok, sweetheart?”
Joel’s voice brought you back to the moment and you pushed this awful vision away, making it disappear totally at least for now, when you saw his concerned look fixed on you, and your heartbeat returned to its normal pace. “Yeah,” you answered, smiling at him.
You seemed to reassure him and he nodded, hung the dish towel on a hook then came up behind you. He slid his arms around your stomach, sending dozens of butterflies fluttering there. You wondered if he realized the effect he had on you, how wrapped around his finger you were.
Joel kissed your neck, unaware of your inner turmoil, and murmured unexpectedly, “I could get used to these lazy mornings. It’s nice to have a day off,” then rested his chin on your shoulder. He watched the water drain away while you were wiping down the sink, trying to resist the urge to turn around and kiss him.
Your mind went blank when he fully closed the gap between you, his hands travelling to your hips and his hard bulge pushing against your ass.
“Have I ever told you how much I love when you’re wearing my shirts?” he murmured, trailing kisses down your neck, making your hair ruffled. “A couple times,” you tried to smile, to keep your voice steady. “Mmm, only two?” he breathed, his touch firm on your hips.
You pushed back to feel him more and his hands tightened on your curves, the urge of feeling him inside you growing higher every second.
“I wanna fuck you all the time, you know that? Drivin’ me crazy like a damn teenager…” he mumbled, sliding a foot between your legs to spread them slightly while his hand pushed on your shoulder blades, bending you over.
“Yeah? Show me how much,” you teased, letting yourself lean forward, letting him do whatever he wanted with your body. He hiked the flannel shirt up over your ass and caressed your skin, and you could barely remember how to breathe while you were waiting for his next move, obedient and submissive. His hand lingered on your ass cheek while the other one was keeping you steady, the way he wanted. The way he knew you wanted to be held.
Joel pushed your panties to the side, his mustache tickling your ear, his finger brushing your wet folds, and a groan escaped him.
“You think you can take me like that, sweetheart?” he murmured, sending a spike of heat in your core, and you nodded.
“Words,” he said.
“Jesus, it’s so hot when you talk to me like that… Yes! Yes… please,” you begged.
“Asking so nicely for me,” he murmured, lowering his sweatpants to free his cock and nestling his tip at your entrance. You imagined the strong hold of his fist around the girth, the thought only making your mouth go dry.
“Yeah, you sure can. She’s so wet for me,” he asserted, his voice as soft as velvet against your ear, and you gasped when he pushed in, spreading your folds with his fat cock.
“Fuck,” he groaned, hands on your hips, yours gripping at the sink to keep steady, your mouth half opened.
“Joel,” you whined. “Fuck, Joel…. you feel so good…”
”I want you to come on my cock. Here first, and then in the bedroom. Can you do that for me, baby?”
“Yes,” you replied hastily, finger brushing your clit, ass arched back. He was fucking you slowly, taking his time, brushing that perfect spongy place while spreading your ass cheeks, and you imagined his eyes on your ass, wondered if he was thinking about how tight your ring would feel around him. You felt his cock throb when his thumb lingered on your puckered hole.
“So fucking pretty, always taking my cock so damn well,” he rasped when you shuttered around him under his thrusts and constant praise.
Just like that. Nice and easy for me.
Such a good girl.
Always so perfect for me.
The prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.
This little pussy was meant for me, wasn’t she?
So tight for me, squeezing me perfectly.
Joel kissed your neck when you came, fucking you through it until your whimpers stopped.
“Good girl. That’s one,” he murmured, his chest pressed to your back, moustache tingling your ear.
“One?” you stammered.
“One.”
He tucked his hard cock back into his pants while you turned around.
“But Joel… you didn’t come?”
“I’m not done with you, baby. You're mine, all day and night. Gonna take my sweet time fucking you properly.”
He gripped your thighs and lifted you up, heading toward the stairs. You didn’t stop kissing on the way, your arousal drooling over his pants, right where you were pressing yourself to feel his hardness.
“On the bed for me, sweetheart,” Joel said when he laid you down, his voice so low, so sexy that you had goosebumps just hearing him. You sank back against the mattress and shifted up toward the pillow and he followed you, towering over you, making you feel so safe, so desired that your heart melted once again. You spread your legs to welcome him, letting him kneel between them, his hands moving from your thighs to your hips, then reaching the bottom button of the shirt. He undid it slowly, moving up to the next one, working his way up until he got to the last button, then parted the edges of the garment, just as slowly, revealing your navel and breasts. He smiled when he noticed how your breathing quickened and put his hand on your belly, his touch so perfectly sweet, caring and protective that you trembled. You left out a moan when he leaned forward and rounded his lips on your tit, sucking and playing with it with his tongue before moving on to the other nipple.
“Take off that shirt, baby. And your panties. Let me see all of you,” he said as he stood up, facing you at the foot of the bed while he removed his t-shirt. His gaze swept over your body as you obliged, while yours went down, looking for the outline of his cock pushing against the garment. You couldn’t wait to feel him again.
“You’re so beautiful. I’m the luckiest man on earth.”
“Joel…” you cooed, heart rate increasing.
“Don’t ‘Joel’ me,” he scowled fondly. “I am. Now, remember what I told you right here, earlier?”
“Yeah.”
“Repeat it.”
You bit your lip at his firm tone, your wetness running along your folds.
“If I wanna stop, whatever the reason, we stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop you fucking my ass.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, glare turning black, and he removed his sweatpants, his cock spranging free.
His huge cock, fat tip.
You weren’t sure how your body could accept it, let him in. The only thing you knew for sure was that you fully trusted him.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said softly as if you were an open book. “If you want it, it will be ok, I promise.”
“I want it.”
He nodded, stroked his length slowly. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” you asserted and he smiled then laid down, wrapping his hands around your thighs.
“I’m gonna make you come. Make you drool and soak this little hole,” he said before pressing a kiss to your mound, his stare fixed in yours enough to send a rush of need in your core. When he brushed your cunt with his thumb, you rested your head against the pillow, your hands running through his curls. His tongue slipped between your folds, tracing them with its tip, as the curve of his nose pressed against your bud.
“Joel,” you whined.
“I know, baby. I know,” he murmured, his beard brushing against your inner thighs and he stopped to press a kiss just there, as if he wanted to erase the scratch. You hummed when his wet tongue slid again along your pussy, pushed into your hole and then moved back up toward your clit.
When Joel released your folds to focus on the little bud of nerves, licking and sucking, and slid two digits in your dripping cunt, you felt a climax already rising. You grabbed his hair, pressing him against you, rolling your hips towards him, and you came quickly, his mouth and tongue still on you, keeping his fingers in you to feel you clench on it.
“That’s two.”
“That’s definitely two,” you whined and laughed softly.
He moved up, straddled you, and leaned down to kiss you, his tongue sliding against yours. You loved tasting yourself on him, loved playing with him, teasing his tongue and his lips.
Joel’s cock rested over your breasts, hard and oozling precum, and you cupped your tits to wrap his length.
“Fuck, baby… What are you doing?”
“You want me wet, right? Want me to soak my asshole? Spit on your cock and move for me, jerk off between my tits. Let me suck on your tip. I love your cock so much…”
“Fuck… ok.”
He spat and started to slide between your breasts and you pointed the tip of your tongue at his slit each time his balls were pressed against your tits.
“Shit, yeah… fuck yeah, that’s good. Keep doin’ it, baby…” he said, his curls framing his face, beaded with a few drops of sweat. He was so sexy, so hot, that you couldn’t resist the need to slide your hand down to your pussy to play with your sensitive clit.
“Fuck, you’re such a dream, baby. So gorgeous, so hot, fuck… I gotta stop… Fuck,” he panted. “Hands on knees for me, little minx, before I bust on your gorgeous tits.”
You offered yourself to him, completely exposed in the daylight, fully aware of how free Joel was making you feel, open to all your desires and fantasies, confident in expressing them.
His thumb traced a line from your folds to your puckered hole, and soon he plunged in, as if he was already missing your taste, lapping and sucking your pussy, his nose brushing against your tight ring. His tongue moved up and it grazed your ass, the new sensation exquisite, and you leaned forward on your elbows to give him full access, starting to feel yourself loosen up for him.
“Gonna get my dick wet in that sweet pussy,” he said, and bottomed out in one go. His hands were on your hips at first but soon he spread your buttocks and let his saliva drool on your hole. He smeared it with his thumb, pressing lightly, testing its resistance.
“This little asshole, damn… he’s opening up for me, isn’t it?”
“Yeah… Yeah I feel it. I want it, Joel.”
“I know, baby… I know. You really want this big cock fucking it raw, right?”
“Shit, yes,” you whined.
“You’re gonna get it, as soon as you’re ready. Lemme open it up, ok?”
“Yeah.”
Joel spat again and pressed harder, pushing on the barrier which gave way easily beneath his fingertip. It was good, it felt good, pussy filled by him, while his thumb was brushing there, pushing in.
“Fuck, this pussy’s so damn good around my dick… and soon… soon, I bet this little hole is gonna feel just as good.”
He pulled back, spreading your buttocks, and you looked at him over your shoulder. His eyes were fixed on your two holes, your dripping pussy and your ass waiting for him. He leaned forward, his tongue aiming straight for your ring while he slid two fingers inside your cunt. A rush of arousal covered his fingers. He kept thrusting and licking, your moans increasing in the room, until he withdrew his digits and licked them, then he pressed his middle finger against your ass and pushed inside. His second finger hovered at the entrance, waiting for you to open up a little more, then pushed in as you relaxed. He spat, then used his fingers to work the saliva inside.
“You still want it, sweetheart?”
“Yes… Yes. I want it.”
He leaned forward to kiss your shoulder then pushed deep into your pussy again, covering his cock with your slit, his two fingers still working your ass, before finally pressing his tip against it.
“Breathe for me, baby,” he said, then spat again, his saliva sliding from his tip to your ring, and he started pushing slowly, his other hand tightening on your hip.
“Relax for me, sweetheart. I’m almost in.”
“Ok, Ok… Can you…”
“Yes?” Joel asked, instantly stopping. “Tell me what you want, baby.”
“Can you… talk to me? Like… dirty, and tell me what you feel? It’s always so hot, I’m sure it will help.”
“Yeah? You want me to talk dirty? Say how much I wanna fuck this little ass?”
“Yeah… fuck…”
“Alright. Now,” he said as he started to push again, “you know you’re gonna be fully mine, right?”
You felt your body trying to resist, so you clenched the sheets in your fists and breathed calmly.
“Y… Yours?”
“Mine. This pussy’s already mine, right? And this ass? Soon this ass is gonna be mine too,” he added, pushing a little more when he felt you relax, welcoming him in.
“Because I can’t get enough of you. I’m so fucking hard, right now. Gotta keep my head straight to not push in, balls deep. I wanna claim my girl’s holes, marking you with my cum, everywhere. Let all the men smell me when they’re near you.”
“Fuck… Fuck, Joel!”
“I know you want it too, right?” he added as he kept pushing, and his crown passed the ring, making you gasp and take a long breath.
“I already wanna fuck this little pussy, all day, and all night,” he said, rolling his hips inside you, going deeper inch by inch. “Wanna see your pretty lips around my cock, wanna look at my dick covered in slick while I fuck you, see how much you drool for me, yeah?”
“Yeah…”
He spat on his shaft again and kept thrusting until he was fully buried in you, his hands squeezing your hips. It was breathtaking, to feel him like this, a mix of slight pain and pleasure that felt so good. Because you were giving him something that no one had before. Because he was the only one who made you want to do it.
“Shit, baby… I’m in… I’m right here, and you feel so good. I… fuck… I knew you’d feel good but… fuck… Can I move, baby?”
“Yeah, fuck me, Joel. It’s so… it’s like I’m feeling you everywhere.”
He set a slow pace, thrusting in and out, panting. You could only imagine his gritted teeth, his furrowed brows fixed on your hole wrapped around his cock.
“God…Fuck, sweetheart… this little hole was waiting for me, right?”
You hummed, and feeling that you were ok, hearing your moans, he quickened his pace, letting go of your hip to graze your clit, and the sensation, that new sensation, was almost surreal.
“Oh my god, Joel… Keep going, please, don’t stop. Make me come, please… I wanna come like that.”
“I will. Fuck! Taking me so good, sweetheart… swallowing me right in. Taking my whole cock here, like you were meant for it. You feel so good, Christ,” he said, his voice breaking, and you came, clenching on his shaft fully buried inside you, making him whimper, his hands gripping your waist, his eyes fixed on your ass. You let him use you to get off, until he came too, sending his hot spurs in your most intimate place, his length throbbing.
“Fuck, that’s three” you half whined half laughed, your heart beating so fast you were afraid it’d explode.
“Are you ok, baby?” Joel asked, slowly pulling out, then helped you turn over to lie on your back, his big paw cupping your cheek and eyes diving into yours.
“I’m… sore, oh my god Joel, you almost killed me,” you laughed, and he smiled, pressing his lips to yours, then he grabbed a towel from the nightstand to wipe you off.
“C’mere.” He invited you into his arms and wrapped you in his embrace. He was warm. Strong. It was your favorite place in the world.
“Damn, I should use these kinds of magic tricks every day, to keep you from leaving me,” you smiled, brushing his torso then pressing yourself closer against him.
You felt good. Really good.
“It was perfect, Joel. You were perfect. Thank you for being so careful and patient.”
“Of, course, sweetheart. That’s all I wanna be with you. You’re sure you’re ok?”
“I am. Truly,” you smiled weakly, feeling closer to him than ever, and even more when he kissed your forehead then pinched your chin to make you look at him.
“It was amazing, baby. Thank you for trusting me,” Joel rasped, brushing your cheek. He took your hand to press a kiss on your fingers, and when your eyes met, his were warmer than ever.
“I love you,” he murmured, his voice trembling, opposite to his glare, more confident than ever.
Emotions overwhelmed you. You knew he wasn’t the kind of man to say these words, to express his feelings, lightly.
But he was yours, and you were his, you were sure of it now. This dumb jealousy wasn’t meant to be, and you felt relieved and grateful for crossing Joel’s path.
“I love you too, Joel.”
You nuzzled his nose with yours and kissed him, heart beating fast.
“How about we spend the rest of the day in bed, sweetheart?”
“Best idea ever,” you answered and cuddled up against him.
More "romantic anal" : 6 pm (Joel Miller x f reader, but different AU)
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Summary: Frankie picks you up for date number three and he's got it all planned out. Unfortunately, you're a little out of your depth with what he has in mind...
Word Count: 1.8k
Warnings: insecurities, frankie being excited and adorable gets it's own warning, competence kink, kissing, matching clothing, this is so fluffy and soft, um i think that's it tbh
A/N: while i'm still taking a short break from regular fic updates, this was a commission by the lovely @whocaresstillthelouvre. the prompt was 'nervous frankie x not outdoorsy! reader go on a hike early in their relationship'. i rather like how this turned out! i am still taking commissions even if i'm not working on wips at the moment. anything helps, please check out this post and this post to know more about what's goin' on in my lil corner. no pressure all all lovelies, i know things are tough for everyone! love y'll and hope the day is good to you ♡♡
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Body tingling with anticipation, you wait on for the rumble of a truck engine to round the corner. You were nervous, this is only your third date with the man you had met by chance at a coffee shop. A mix up of to go cups and you found yourself placating a very tired and embarrassed Frankie Morales.
He had picked up your drink by mistake. But if you were honest, it was totally okay that you had to wait an extra few moments to get it remade before you blipped off to work, because it gave you the chance to chat with him and scrawl your phone number onto the cup that was supposed to be yours. His kind smile motivating you to be a little bolder than you normally would.
The truck does indeed rumble around the corner and within minutes you’re sat in the passenger seat with the radio playing low and cruising down the highway.
“So what did you plan for us today? The truck looks suspiciously empty.” You eyed the cooler sitting in the extended cab, lid propped open and empty. Then the simplistic backpack beside it, it was always in the foot space between the two front seats. Frankie had admitted to you that it helped to ground him to know he had essentials within reach at all times, just in case. You hadn’t pushed for more of an explanation, knowing he had faced more than a few situations he felt less than prepared for.
But the rite in the rain notebook with the matching pen he had in his pocket along with his wallet at all times told you he was good at preparing for anything within reason. The situations he faced out of his control had not been shared with you quite yet but you would be content if they weren’t, only wanting for him to tell you if he was comfortable enough to do so.
With pink tinged ears he turns to you with a lopsided smile.
“The pack has everything we need, don’t you worry your pretty little head.”
“Not worried, just curious.” Your tongue peeks out from between your teeth and you see the way his adam’s apple bobs in response. His eyes snap back to the road and you feel a giddy sense of satisfaction at having flustered him a bit. He’d been the perfect gentlemen, his large hands only skimming around your body to lead you through doors, a tentative palm on your thigh as you sit beside him. No kissing, at least not yet. You were hoping today would be the day.
“I figured we would get out of the city a bit, go on a hike. It’s a really short one, only a few miles. Not too bad of an elevation gain, cleared out of poison oak, leads to a view I really think you’ll like. It’s an easy looped hike, so I figured we’d have a bite to eat at the midpoint. I packed up some snacks too, plenty of water. Even got some bugs spray and sunscreen.”
He rambled on, excitement obvious as he detailed the plan for the day, his face lighting up in the most endearing way. He was totally in his element and you….you were not. When you didn’t quip back immediately, he loosened a curled fist from around the steering wheel and reached for your thigh.
“That okay?” He jostled you slightly, worry seeping into his voice.
“Oh, um, y-yes.” You tried to muster up a smile, but it paled in comparison to the one he had only moments ago.
“I knew I should’ve run the idea by you. You don’t seem as excited now,” His bottom lip was taken between his teeth, worrying the skin of it as he regarded your profile. The slight furrow to your brow, the way your hands were wound around the flaps of your open overshirt. You had picked out a tank top and shorts outfit, tossing on casual button up over it, not sure what he had planned initially.
The first date had been coffee: to make up for him stealing yours. He had been nervous, his energy spiking and waning as he admitted he didn’t do this often. Date. Get random phone numbers. Have a lot of free time. He was a dad, to a bouncy and energetic seven-year-old. Nothing to worry about on the baby momma front, she wasn’t a part of the picture. A story you didn’t push on either, just making it as comfortable as possible between you two for him to want to tell you.
The second date had been dinner, with him in an ironed outfit and you in a slinky dress. It had been so much fun, the excitement obvious as you both hoped for another chance to see each other.
And now, the third: a hike.
You did not hike. You didn’t do anything considered outdoorsy if you were being completely honest. You were a lazy, take the day off to look through thrift shops kind of person. A curl up on the couch with a cup of steaming coffee or a cocktail and a book kind of person.
“Hey,” He breathed, soft brown eyes watching the way you had closed up. “It’s okay. We don’t have to, I promise I won’t be mad.”
“You’re so excited, though.” You move a hand to tangle your fingers with is, hand still on your thigh. Your stomach flutters, his skin is calloused and warm.
“I get excited about spending time with you, hermosa. It doesn’t matter what we do.”
“I want to do the hike.” You insist, wanting him to go back to the enthusiastic way he had talked about his plans.
“Please don’t feel like you have-“
“I don’t feel like I have to, Frankie, I want to. Because you want to. Simple.” You squeeze his hand in yours, placating him along with a soft smile.
“Simple.” With a lopsided grin and a press of his lips to your knuckles, the tension eases.
Gravel crunched underneath the tired of the truck as Frankie maneuvers off the secluded highway. Tall trees and various shades of green surround you. You both sat and listened to the clinking of the engine cooling down, taking a moment to breathe in the pine and cedar.
“I, uh, got you something.” He huffed a little as he reached for the back and hauled it into his lap.
“You didn’t have to- oh my gosh!” It was a hat, a baseball cap just like the one atop his head. Dark navy blue, emblazoned with a ‘standard heating oil’ patch. Your stomach fluttered at the implication.
“To help keep the sun off your head and outta your eyes.” He plopped it atop your head, the stiff thing just barely resting over your hair. “We’ll have a lot of tree coverage, but better safe than sorry.”
“We’re matching.” You can’t help the teasing smile that took over your lips, heat blooming in your cheeks as you realized you would look like an official couple to any onlookers. Something you had thought about more and more as Frankie filled your thoughts and messages.
“Yeah, would you look at that.” A dimple in his right cheek had you reaching out to caress it, silently thanking him for his thoughtfulness. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted one like mine, but I’m really glad you like it.”
“I do like it! I like matching with you, Frankie.”
His smile was dazzling as he looked back at you over his shoulder. You perked up a little, not wanting him to see the way it was hard to catch your breath or the falter to your steps as your legs began to ache from the incline. The slight brush of the long grass and reaching limbs full of leaves tickled but you tried your best to ignore it, opting to focus on the broad set of shoulders carrying a backpack.
Another bout of time passed, allowing for sweat to dampen your brow and the small of your back. You had removed your overshirt, tying the long sleeves around your waist. The stray pieces of your hair that had escaped from your hat floated around your face as you puffed out a deep breath.
Frankie seemed to pick up the moderate pace he had been keeping, his boots thudding the ground as he turned to pivot from the path as it began to curve.
“Uh, the trail goes that way.” You pointed over your shoulder, having followed the man’s lead regardless.
“I know, got a map in the pack if it makes you feel better.” He tossed you a reassuring smile, over his own shoulder. His eyes alight underneath his cap.
You were about to respond when he took another step and suddenly the trees fell away from around you, leaving you stood on an overlook. Valley open and wide in front of you, the view took your already short breath away. Frankie looked from the view to gauge your reaction. And he broke out into a wide smile as he saw how much you were taken off guard by the beautiful view.
Removing is pack, he set it down and reached to turn you toward him.
“This last month or so has been so amazing. Getting to know you has been some of the best parts of my life, hermosa. I was worried dating again after so long and not even looking for it would’ve been another lesson learned but everything with you is just so….”
“Simple.” You allowed him to caress his hands over the small of your back, your own reaching for his shoulders. The bills of your matching hats bumped, easy laughter bubbling up from you both.
“Simple.” He agreed, tongue swiping out to wet his plush lips. His eyes flicked down to yours briefly and your heart fluttered as warmth blossomed in your chest. Pressing more into his space, your chest bumped his, giving him the nudge he needed to close the gap even more.
Out on that ridge where you never would’ve trekked to on your own, you shared your first of many kisses with the man who had taken you completely by surprise. His lips soft and pliant against yours, his warmth seeping into you much like the sun on your skin underneath the open sky. You were the one to lick into the seam of his mouth, something he readily allowed you to do. The slid of his tongue on yours like heaven.
Breaking away, Frankie peppered kisses over your face. Lips tasting the salt from your sweat but he didn’t seem to mind one bit. Turning side by side, he kept his hand around your waist and you mimicked him.
You leave the chem dealer place behind after stocking up and getting ready. Cooper’s quiet, probably processing, you don’t blame him, you let him sort out his mind while he stands beside you. You walk side by side, Dogmeat scouting ahead, sniffing things, turning back to make sure you’re both still there. Cooper walks close by, his arm brushing against yours, he’s staring ahead, but his eyes seem unfocused. You want to talk, but you know when you’re processing you hate people talking to you, even if sometimes it helps, you just wish you were the first person to initiate and not be forced.
Cooper said there was a vault nearby few days west, not the one you were originally going to, but another one, he didn’t remember its number, but knows it location, so you agreed, you promised you’d help him find his family and you will.
That night when you make camp, you lie down the old blanket and eat some warmed up tinned soup, watching the fire crackle. You listen to the wasteland around you, everything’s so much clearer, it’s a little overwhelming, the smells too, you can pick up on things that weren’t there before, can pick up on Cooper more easily. He hasn’t said much, besides the occasional grunt in agreement when you said to make camp and asking if this building was ok. You look at him leaning against the wall, eyes out to the wasteland. You open your mouth, close it, then do it again before giving up. Sure things might’ve shifted, an understanding, an agreement? The words make you grimace. You crave closeness though, you crave affection, warmth, you don’t want to ask for it though, 200 years of nothing and then suddenly an annoying she wolf constantly begging for cuddles? Pretty sure that’d piss you off too. You lie down, back to the fire seeing as your front is warm already, you ponder and stew over everything for a while. You hear Cooper move behind you, hear him kick up dirt to douse the fire, you sigh at the lack of warmth now, but it’s probably safer. There’s shuffling behind you, figure he’s sitting down to keep watch nearby. You almost jump out your skin when there’s warmth at your back.
“Didn’t mean to make you jump sweetheart” he says quietly.
“No- it’s ok” you say calming your racing heart. He hums in response, and settles behind you, not touching, just close.
“You got enough blanket?” You frown and glance over checking where the makeshift bed ends.
“Slept in worse spots” he says casually.
“Not my question” you huff softly and roll over to face him, shuffle back so you’re at the edge of the blanket. He frowns and eyes you in the darkness before he huffs and moves closer to you.
“Ain’t much difference” he grumbles and you huff out a laugh and shake your head. His eyes are looking at the broken ceiling, like he’s scared to look at you. You sigh a bit, get more comfortable and close your eyes. You don’t fall asleep, the cold creeping in, even with your extra warmth. You half debate shifting though you doubt it’ll work in your favour, nor will your wolf side listen to you probably. You wonder how he’s so warm, probably the radiation, mix that with being a wolf you got yourself a full in built heating system. Bastard.
“C’mere” he huffs suddenly and your eyes open.
“What?” You frown.
“You’re trembling like a leaf, ‘parently you didn’t wolf heating” he snorts and moves his arm.
“I did so! It’s just cold out here!” You fight back.
“Just get over here she wolf” he narrows his eyes. You grumble this time and shuffle closer, using his arm as a pillow, pressing yourself to his side. You sigh contently, he’s so warm.
“Better?” He grunts.
“Mhm” you agree nuzzling closer.
“Mm. Get some sleep” he says before going quiet again.
You wake up to the sun. You groan a bit, pressing closer to the warmth under you. Hang on. You open your eyes, get aware of your body, realise you practically climbed Cooper in your sleep and grimace. Your head is in his neck, arm over his chest, leg over his hips. You’re latching onto the man. His arm is around your waist though. His other hand is resting on top of yours on his chest, his breathing is deep and even, a little raspy. He’s asleep. You smile a bit, relax and snuggle closer. His grip tightens before relaxing. You half sleep for a while till he stirs. His breathing changes, his heart rate picks up under your ear. You stir properly awake too, your leg hurts a bit so you shift it only to freeze as he lets out a low soft groan and something hard presses into your thigh. You stay still, pretend to be asleep.
“I can hear your heart racin’ she wolf” he huffs.
“I- I’m sorry” you mumble.
“S fine. Just- it’ll go away” he mumbles, but he doesn’t let you go. Your cheeks go red. Down in the vault wolves were… well very open about sexual practices, taught it in school, gossip, when you came of age, when you came of marriage age. You know things, you’ve just never done things. Right now your mind is flicking between moving your leg, rubbing it against him, leaving, or giving him oral as what you’ve been told is a blow job. Something makes you confident, or stupid, he said he liked your body right? You are mates, it’s not, unnatural? You begin grinding your leg, testing it at first, one movement. He sucks in a breath and you stop and he lets it out. You move again, then again and he snarls his hand that isn’t on your waist snapping out and gripping your thigh in a bruising grip.
“Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish” he warns.
“What if I can finish?” You whisper and he groans though it sounds like a wounded animal.
“She wolf, from what you’ve told me, you ain’t got the knowledge to finish” he grumbles.
“I have a name. And I know things” you fight back moving your leg again to rub against him. His hips go up, meeting you.
“You may know the basics, she wolf, this ain’t that” he growls. You frown, offended a little.
“Fine. Guess I won’t offer you a blow job to help” you go to move he grabs you, snarls, makes sure your face is looking at his.
“The fuck did you just say?” He demands breathing heavily. You’re half on top of him even more now, torso propped up by your hand that was on his chest now by his side. His hand still grips your thigh and waist, his scent is warm and musky again, clear heavy arousal that smells even better now.
“I said. I won’t offer you a blow job then, if you think all I know is the basics” you stare down at him, wondering where you’re getting the confidence to even say such a thing. He stares at you, like he’s trying to figure out whether you’re serious or not. You just hold his gaze despite your tremble, heart pounding in your ears and shallow breath.
“You’ve sucked a male off before?” He frowns.
“I- what?” You blink not expecting that.
“I asked if you’ve had someone else’s cock in that pretty little mouth of yours” he hardens. Your body goes warm, the tone, the demand, despite the fact that you’re on top of him, he holds the power, the dominance.
“No” you whisper and shake your head.
“Wolves aren’t exactly. Private in a vault, my dad would force me to hang out with other she wolves and they… gossiped….. a lot and in detail” you flush and admit.
“You know what a blow job is?” He asks and you nod.
“What?” He asks and you go even redder.
“Performing oral, with my mouth, I’d- use my mouth to…. Make you orgasm” your words are quiet, embarrassment flooding your system, your own hips pressing closer a bit to the meat of his thigh.
“You wanna use that pretty little mouth on me?” His voice is raspy, lowered, makes warmth flood through you, makes arousal clench in your stomach.
“I wanna try” you whisper listening to him groan, feel his grip lessen.
“Fuck” he mutters.
“Yeah, you can use that mouth on me darlin’ I’ll tell you what to you” he rasps. You moan softly, a small sound, you feel his hands move off you and you slide down his body. You think about what the other she wolves have said, what you’ve read from the private section of the library. You settle between his legs, you lean down, you can’t help it, burying your nose in the crotch of his pants to breathe him in fully. He groans too, hips twitching under you as you scent him. Male musk fills your nose, arousal, leather, gun power and dirt.
“Christ, she wolf” he huffs out his hand going through your hair for a moment before you get to undoing his pants. You’re a little thankful he lost his cowboy outfit, all those damn belts and buttons you saw would’ve been annoying.
“Wait” he stops you suddenly body tense and you look up at him frowning.
“Did I do something?” You ask worried.
“Fuck no, I’m just warnin’ ya. You’ve seen me butt naked, just- fuck, don’t swallow, I’ll tell ya when to stop” he says. You tilt your head confused. You know, his skin is the same everywhere, not swallow him?
“What do you mean?” You ask.
“I mean I’ve got rads flooding my system you don’t need em in your system too” you blink a bit and nod.
“But what about pre-ejaculation?” You ask he laughs a moment.
“We’ll work on your prim terms later. Won’t bother you too much since you’re a wolf” he says and you nod.
“Go on then” he cocks his head and you get back to undoing his pants. He sighs, lying his head back, letting you take him out. You blink and stare, you don’t mean too. Your hand wraps around him, he hisses through his teeth. Your fingers go over the ridges and bumps, feel the warmth of him, feel the slightly softer skin here. You focus, slowly stroking him, listening to his shaky breath, watch how his stomach goes taut. You watch his reactions, learn what makes his breath hitch before you finally taste him. You drag your tongue from base to tip, he curses in response before you swirl your tongue around the head. His hips twitch making you jolt a bit, but take it as a good sign. you see pre-ejaculation come out the tip, curiosity gets the better of you and you take his head into his mouth suck on him, using your tongue to gather the salty, slight acid like fluid. His whole body tenses up and you fear you’ve done it wrong, but you feel a pulse go through his length and look in surprise. You focus on sucking the head, using what you’ve heard. Suck the head first it gets them going, then work further down. Your hand strokes the rest of him, in time with your mouth. You listen to the quiet grunts, the intakes of breaths. You take more of him in your mouth, bobbing up and down slowly, using your tongue.
“Fuck that’s it” you hear from him. The praise makes your thighs clench together, you keep doing what you’re doing, taking more of him slowly as you go.
“Fuck sweetheart. You a natural born cock sucker” he groans, his hips twitching.
“Hm?” You hum over his cock and he groans in response again.
“Flatten your tongue, that’s it. Good girl” his praise rumbles out and you feel your body go warm. You do as he says, flattening your tongue on the underside of him, using it for pressure. You feel his hand in your hair, it threads through the knotty strands, gripping slightly. You press into his hand, keening a bit, letting him know he can show you what to do.
“Breathe through your nose sweetheart, don’t pass out on me” he orders. You moan softly breathing heavily through your nose.
“Come off for air if ya need. I ain’t goin’ anywhere” he adds panting. You come up for air for a bit, using your hand instead, you look up at him panting heavily. He looks down at you, his eyes dark, the hand in your hair tugging and smoothing. You take him back in your mouth and he curses again, hips bucking up. His length hits the back of your throat making you gag a bit.
“Shit, sorry sweetheart. Your mouth is too perfect” he groans. You give his leg a small squeeze, take him as far as you can go before you gag. His hand tightens to the point of pain, you whine a bit in response as you pick up the pace. You hear him curse again, feel his body tense up.
“Off- fuck sweetheart-“ he groans and you quickly get off as his hand tugs you up. His hand replaces yours and his strokes go hard and fast before he’s orgasming on his stomach. You watch, panting, mouth open, lips feeling swollen and wet. He strokes himself through his release, body trembling, chest heaving. He’s still got you by your hair, his grip loosens, he smooths your hair, runs his fingers down your cheek and jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. Your eyes are a little hazy as you watch him, the smell of his release hitting you, his arousal settling into warmth.
“Was that ok?” You ask, he chuckles a bit breathlessly.
“Sweetheart that was more than ok” he says a lazy smile on his face. He tucks himself back in his pants.
“Made a mess of myself” he huffs a bit and sits up. You sit up more to face him, his eyes staring at yours intently. He grabs your jaw and tugs you closer, kissing your lips a little roughly. You keen into him, your lips a little sore, but enjoying the affection. He pulls back, his hand still on your jaw and hums a bit. You flush at his satisfied look and look away, busying yourself with getting up.
Summary: You owe more to an unlikely savior than you could ever imagine.
Word Count: 4.6k
Warnings: T, discussion of off-screen character death (cancer), negative body image and self-worth talk, light spicy thoughts, angst. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.
Notes: This story was a real surprise and a treat to pop out of my head one morning, especially with a Pedro boy I haven't written for! Our reader is a plus sized girlie in this story, and we're dealing with some negative body image and self-worth talk on both sides. The reader also discusses the death of a friend, so if that may be triggering to you feel free to scroll along, lovely reader.
This should have been your best first day. The first day at the job that will finally get your head above water. The first time you’ve felt qualified, and that you’d fit in. And the first where you could see the stepping stones to something bigger and better in front of you.
It was your fucking thighs that ruined it all.
You’d wanted to make a good first impression. Bought a whole new outfit just to show how committed you were, down to the thigh-high stockings and matching underwear. That was for you, something under the pencil skirt and blazer that made you feel even more powerful. It had cost a pretty penny too. Your ample bottom and full figure needed good support, and that plus lace was always the highest price at the lingerie boutiques. But you shelled it out, along with their recommended garters and thigh highs “for peak professionalism,” and were feeling yourself as you strutted off the subway. There was practically a soundtrack playing behind you. Maybe “Uptown Girl,” the notes making a smile come to your face and your head bob as you exited the train.
You’re normally more careful, aware of how much more space your body takes up than the other knockout New York girls streaming around you. But confidence had you swinging your hips and stepping confidently…right until you bumped into a woman’s handbag with an aggressive closure, the metal skimming past your calf and over the delicate nylon.
It ran instantly, a testament to how much of a rip-off these undergarments were. You felt it split along the length of your shapely leg as you hurried out of the station and towards the gleaming monolith of your office. Scurrying inside, you slipped into the bathroom unnoticed to assess the damage.
The run had split into a gaping maw down your leg, the smooth fantasy of the nylon revealing the more mottled flesh underneath. You held back tears as you wracked your brain for a solution. You could run to a shop, get a replacement pair. You’re still early to clock in, wanting to arrive punctually to impress your supervisor. That’s it, you’d just pop out to a drugstore for a new pair and no one would be the wiser.
It was a perfect plan. You just needed to move. But you can’t. You’re rooted to the spot.
The mirror mocks you, internal monologue screaming to the forefront from where you battered her back this morning.
Wouldn’t have ripped them if you were smaller.
Why do you need to take up so much space?
Did you think all this would change what you are?
Nastier names you call yourself only in the torture chamber of your mind echo in your ears. Your mascara is dangerously close to running, eyes catching on every flaw in your outfit, every wrinkle, everything that screams don’t look at the parts I hate, every unflattering angle. You reach deep to return to that carefree state you held just fifteen minutes ago but it’s dissipated like steam from a coffee cup.
Grabbing a handful of tissues you storm into a stall and lock it, leaning over to let the tears drip onto the floor without ruining your makeup. The minutes are ticking away, time running out to fix your minor wardrobe malfunction, but the ache in your head and behind your eyes has become the only thing you can focus on now. Your sobs are quiet little sniffles and short gasps, thankful for the privacy.
Suddenly, the door to the bathroom slams open, and you shoot up, holding your breath. You’re not alone anymore.
Someone in smart leather shoes smacks across the floor, walking past the stalls and coming to a stop. A zip, then the tinkle of urination. Your expression crumples on itself in confusion.
Then a deep, masculine sigh reaches your ears, and your face quickly burns with embarrassment.
Fuck, did you walk into the men’s room?
You didn’t even check, just burst in to the first door with a toilet on it. There may have been urinals, but you were too preoccupied in the moment to pay them any mind. You clap your hands over your mouth, lightheaded at the fact that you’re listening to a grown man piss and he has no idea you’re in here. This day has turned from amazing to devastating to mortifying so quickly you could throw up.
The man finishes, striding over to the sinks to wash up. You breathe a sigh of relief, ready to make a mad dash out before someone else enters. The water turns off, a few flicks of his hands in the sink, and then…
He starts talking.
“This is your day,” he says, an order that you can imagine him doing in the mirror. “You will succeed in what you do, and you will find satisfaction in that success. You will continue to grow, and be proud of yourself. You will start doing that today.” With every word you cringe inwardly. He’s so earnest-sounding, really enunciating his daily affirmations in a public restroom. His voice is pleasing to listen to at least. If he was a late night radio DJ you would certainly tune in to him to fall asleep.
A moment of silence, a silent hope.
“This is your day…”
Oh for fuck’s sake, embarrassment be damned, you can’t keep listening to this.
“Hi there,” you squeak out, your whole body tense as his monologue cuts off sharply. The pause is at least ten months pregnant before he speaks.
“I-I’m so sorry, I thought I was alone,” he stammers out, two quick steps heading towards the door.
“No, I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t even be here, it’s…” Your words run out of steam when you realize his footsteps have stopped.
“You’re a woman. In the men’s room.”
You can’t help but smirk. He’s a little slow on the uptake. It’s surprisingly sweet.
“It’s been a rough morning.”
Another pause.
“Are you in trouble?”
You peal out a weak laugh.
“Nothing like that, just…” Taking a deep breath, you blow it out. Might as well admit your failures to a stranger. “I ripped my pantyhose on the way here, and it’s my first day and I wanted to make a good impression, and then I got overwhelmed and…” Your breath starts to quicken, and below the Pepto Bismol pink stall you see two shoes slowly approach. They’re well cared for, supple shining leather, but scuffed all along the toe. Tan slacks overtop the laces, a crisp pleat ironed into the length. You even see a glimpse of striped socks underneath, a collection of garish colors that makes you smile.
“Hey, it’s okay,” the voice says soothingly, closer than before. His accent sounds Spanish before he manually flattens it, forcing it back into his throat in favor of an all-American good boy accent. It eases the tension in your shoulders, sitting down on the toilet seat and dabbing at your eyes.
“I know it’s stupid. And I should just go out and get another pair. I just…” you say, but struggle to voice what’s really bothering you to a man who hasn't seen your face. Who probably doesn’t care who you are beyond a bizarre Monday morning anecdote. Most don’t, after all. You can’t remember how many times a man has looked through you because of the roundness of your tummy, or the thickness of your thighs. Or even worse, devoured your curves with roaming eyes but won’t look you in the eye, or call you back.
“It’s not stupid. You wanted to feel ready to take on the day, and something bad happened. We all deal with it,” he says, the gentle register he’s taking on soothing to your frayed nerves. “Do you have a place to go for another pair?” he asks. You bite your lip, shaking your head before realizing he can’t see you.
“First time out here, but I can manage,” you say timidly. The embarrassment of your predicament is climbing back up your throat, the thrumming need to get out and away making your hands shake.
“I know a place, but it’s probably quicker for me to run out for you. Do you want to stay here while I get them?”
You sputter, a thousand excuses why he should not do that roiling in your brain. “You don’t have to,” is the only one you manage to get out, heart hammering. A little chuckle wafts to your ears, and the heat in your cheeks blooms in your tummy as well. He sounds handsome, and that is short-circuiting your brain even more.
“I have gone on an errand or two in my life,” he jokes, feet making their way towards the door. “Lock it behind me so no one else comes in. I’ll do this -” He knocks on the door in a quick but recognizable pattern. “- when I’m back. It should only be a few minutes.”
“You’re that good huh?” You stammer again, your whole body threatening to light on fire in this stall. This man may come back to a pile of ash instead of a woman dying of embarrassment.
“Eh, I could be better,” he says, and the door to the outside opens with a rush of lobby noise. “Be right back.”
A thick slam lets you sneak out to bolt the lock. Returning to the mirror that betrayed you just minutes before, you watch your reflection. Behind the roundness in your face you pick at and criticize, you recognize another emotion. Determination, and fortitude you push yourself to stop downplaying. You can overcome this setback. Nothing is lost. If anything, you might have gained a confidant, someone you could laugh about this comedy of errors with over coffee in the break room.
You’ll be sure to thank him properly when he gets back.
Maxwell Lorenzano hurries out of the office building he’s worked in for six months, down the street and to the Macy’s two blocks away. He knows these roads like the back of his hand, and all of the stores that line them. A good thing to keep in his back pocket when he was pitching new products and charming sales people. Especially good when he knows exactly which door to go through to get to the women’s delicates section.
He strides in with all the glorious purpose of a man on a mission, and people part for him. He likes to think it’s because he cuts an impressive figure, tan suit over a white button-up, brown and yellow striped tie flapping with urgency. But there’s always the nagging worry that it’s because they recognize him. That the scurry away is fear. He’d been confronted in the past, a handful of angry men and women who wanted to take out their frustrations with their fists. But worse is the anxiety, the fear, like he could snap his fingers and magic them out of existence.
The aftermath of that damn stone still hangs heavy around his neck.
“Can I help you?” a petite saleswoman asks when Max comes to a stop in the nylon section. His sudden drop in demeanor from confident to hesitant must have signaled her over. In his eagerness he didn’t even ask his damsel in distress which kind she needed, or her size. He chews his lip in contemplation.
“I’m looking for a pair of nylons for my…” He pauses, no words coming to mind. His unlikely acquaintance? His mystery girl locked in the men’s room? His noble quest? The saleswoman - Karla, her name tag informs him - puts him out of his misery.
“I can help you with that. What kind does she wear? Control top? Thigh highs?”
Max’s mouth dries out. The most he knows of her is the glimpse he got of her feet, sensible black heels, well worn. The sight warmed something in his chest. She must be a hard worker, someone on her feet all day and always up to run an errand for a friend. He bets they ache at the end of a long day. Does she have someone to rub them for her?
“What do…most women wear to an office?” he asks, flitting his eyes over the variety of styles and shades.
“All the professional women I know use thigh highs. Easier in the office than a full set.” Karla directs him to the right section. “What size is she?”
Damn, this is where his lack of foresight fails him. He should have asked, but the intimacy of that question died on his tongue. Why did they size nylons in weight and height, the two most sensitive topics? He’d rather swallow a mouthful of glass than ask. Picking up one of the packets, he flips it to the size chart. There are only four options, which is easier than he expected.
“I can’t remember, better safe than sorry. One of each,” he says, Karla’s well-manicured eyebrows shooting into her hairline.
“And what color?” Karla asks. He noted that at least.
“Sheer black.”
Karla moves to grab a handful of the basic style, the cheapest on the display, before Max stops her.
“These ones,” he amends, tapping the more expensive set. If she’d already torn one pair, another flimsy set wouldn’t do. It had nothing to do with the fact that the lace edging the expensive ones is more delicate, a prettier pattern, and thinking of giving it to you raises goosebumps on the back of his neck.
He doesn’t even know you. It’s just…practical.
Karla rings up his purchases without further question, though maybe a little side-smile. She gives Max a brighter one when he takes the bag.
“You’re a good boyfriend,” she comments, scurrying off before he can respond. His face burns hot as he exits the store, checking his watch. The innocuous word - boyfriend - pings in his mind.
It had been some time since Max had run an errand for anyone. A few empty flings followed his divorce but nothing substantial enough to require a trip to the drugstore, or even a coffee shop. It was one of his favorite things about being a husband. He lived for the little memos on his desk blotter - Mrs. Lord needs you to pick up hairspray and milk - and followed them to the letter and beyond. He prided himself in knowing her favorite scents, what brands she preferred, what she turned her nose up at and what feminine products she needed. Sometimes he’d slip in something extra, a bouquet of flowers, a simple card. She’d groan at the expense, especially in the most dire times, but it always ended with her on her tiptoes kissing him, whispering, “My hero,” in his ear.
He really enjoyed being her hero, even after everything that happened.
It’s still early enough that his bathroom stowaway won’t be late to her first day. He’ll get to swoop in and save the day, be a hero to one person for a short moment. Jogging back into the office, the clash in humidities making his shirt stick to his back, he returns to the bathroom door. Rapping his pattern on it, he waits for the shick of the lock and a few moments more in case she wants to be back in the stall when he enters.
Stepping in and locking the door behind him, the open space is still empty, her shoes in her stall. Her toes are pointed towards each other, legs nervously rubbing.
“I, uh, forgot to ask your size,” Max blurts out, cringing immediately at the first thing that comes to mind. He knows she’s holding her breath, so he speeds through the next part. “Those sizing charts are more invasive than a doctor’s visit, so I just got one of everything, and the shop lady said that thigh highs are what everyone’s wearing but I’m not an expert so I hope it’s…okay.” He trails off before stepping further in and sliding the bag under the stall door. He scolds himself not to look further but he does catch a glance at her shapely calves before straightening back up.
“I can…leave now. Unless you want me to stay until you’re ready to go. What…whatever you want.”
She still hasn’t said anything and it’s heavier than his anxiety on his chest. He’s sure he’s offended her, or completely screwed this one small task up. Leave it to him to take helping a stranger to new, wildly creepy levels. Should he have just gone to reception to ask a woman for help? Is she mortified a man she’s never seen bought her something so intimate?
He waits in agony.
You try to comprehend what this stranger has handed you. In his absence you practiced thanking him for what you assumed would be the wrong size of pantyhose. You planned how you would reassure him that he could leave so you could escape to the women’s room and struggle into whatever he returned with.
But instead, he surprises you with a folded bag tucked discreetly under the bathroom stall.
Four identical pairs of thigh-highs, all matching your outfit, and in every size you could hope for. Pulling out the correct packet, your breath catches in your throat. They’re nicer than you allow yourself to buy, the high-quality nylon silky under your touch. The lace along the edge is finely textured, beautifully designed.
“You didn’t have to do this,” you say, your voice faraway to your own ears, a ball forming in your throat. The man’s feet shuffle against the tile floor.
“I hope you don’t think I’m being a creep. My ex-wife always said I was good at finding exactly what she needed.”
His voice is tight, and it plucks at your heart.
“Not a creep, you’re definitely my hero today,” you manage to say, rolling down the ruined pantyhose. The other follows, tucking your bare toes into your shoes to protect them from the cold floor. The man paces outside while you stretch each new nylon up your legs.
“Definitely not how I thought my day would start,” he says, the smile in his voice making your first real one grace your lips.
“Me neither. I can pay you for these.”
“I could never accept. I’ll return the extras, but please. Consider them a ‘welcome to the office’ gift. Or consolation after the morning you’ve had.”
“Oh, so you work here too? Great, now I’ll have to worry about bumping into you in the other men’s bathrooms.”
“I would gladly approach all bathrooms with caution if I got to run into you in one again.”
A softer pause than before.
“Would you like me to leave?”
Smoothing the lace band around your plush thigh, you let your fingertips trace the edge. Briefly, you imagine fingers other than your own following the same path before hooking underneath to slide them down inch by inch, replaced by soft lips.
“I’d like to thank my savior face to face,” you tease, smoothing your skirt and toeing your shoes back on. You dab some toilet paper under your eyes, pat your hair, and take a deep breath before exiting the bathroom stall.
The stall door slams shut as the man who saved your day turns to face you. His eyes light on your face first, open curiosity melting into a charming smile that is…familiar. In fact, a lot of him is familiar. His wide shoulders, suit jacket stretching against them. The sweep of his blond hair, not as light as it used to be but still caramel with burnt sugar strands. His large hands, no longer sporting a Rolex or an ostentatious pinky ring. And his face, one of the most recognizable in recent years, wearing an expression you’ve never seen. If you weren’t so dumbstruck you’d think it was appreciation. It was the look someone might give before calling you beautiful.
“Max Lorenzano…”
“Max Lord.”
His introduction trips over your recognition, dazed expression sharpening and shattering under those two words. The hope in his eyes dims as he schools his expression into acceptance, honey-golden aura swapped for the cool light of cold winter mornings.
“I’ll go. My apologies,” he says, simple, direct. You’re sure this has happened to him many times, possibly followed by shouts or sneers. Your own words stick in your throat as he claps his hands together and moves to leave. Thankfully your hands are fast enough, wrapping around his arm and pulling him to a stop.
“No, please, wait,” you finally manage, your bodies so close you’re burned by the heat radiating off his jacket. He turns in your grip, which you release to clasp your hands in front of your stomach.
“I didn’t mean…you startled me, I never expected…” you start, rolling your next words around in your mouth. He watches you, half wary, half hopeful. This close you can see how the edges of his lips are slightly chewed, how close his shave is, the sheen of sweat along his neck. He must have ran to get back here so quickly. Your heart thumps weakly against your ribs.
“I never thought I’d ever come face to face with the person who granted my wish,” you say, watching his jaw tighten in anticipation of vitriol.
“When I saw you on TV, and you asked me what my one desire was, I had…so many things come to mind. To be prettier, thinner, beautiful.” You can tell he wants to say something but you barrel on before you lose your nerve. “But I’m not a complete idiot, I’ve seen a few movies about wishes. I know those things can blow up in your face, and I don’t think I could take being hurt about how I looked by some magic rock.”
Max’s hand cups your elbow, thumb rubbing a soothing path.
“So I closed my eyes and I wished exactly this: I want one more day with my best friend at the time in her life when she was happiest.” The next breath you take in shakes. “She died seven years ago. Breast cancer. I miss her every day, and I just wanted one more with her. And I got my wish. And it was the best fucking day. The world outside might have been a mess, but we watched our favorite movies, snuck out to the spots we loved before she got sick, ate our favorite foods and talked all night. And I know it was real because she handed me my own ass and made me come to terms with some shit I did not like about myself. Only she would do that.” You fight against the tears, a sniffle coming out instead, as Max watches you with blossoming wonder.
“And when it was done she hugged me and told me to kick ass and eat cake and break hearts and I’ve been doing my best ever since.” You let out a watery giggle, Max’s smile warming your cheeks. “I never thought I’d be able to thank the person who gave me my best day, but then, here you are, giving me something I needed again. So, wow, thank you. I…thank you.”
Max clears his throat, his own eyes glassy.
“Can I hug you?” he asks, and you push into his arms without further preamble. He holds you with deep breaths, both of your hearts cracking open and healing pressed together. The overwhelming scent of sweat and spicy deodorant and the warmth of his skin is a balm to your frazzled nerves. His cheek rests against your forehead and when you squeeze him a little tighter he returns it.
When you part, your reddened eyes and sniffling noses make you both snort out laughs, moving to the sink to freshen up. You powder your face, surprisingly unselfconscious after all that just happened. Max straightens his tie and sweeps back his hair. It looks soft, barely styled. His shoulders seem lighter.
Both presentable, he lets you into the hallway, hazarding a peek to prevent any scandal. You walk side by side as he asks you where you’re starting work - transcription - and you ask where you’ll be able to find him - the mailroom. He waits for you to sign in with the front desk before leading you to the elevators, not so surreptitiously angling for the empty one before leading you in. He’s meant to be going down a floor, but rides with you up to the sixth.
“I’m glad you made that wish,” he says once the doors shut, the elevator whirring to life under your feet. “And that you didn’t make the other ones. You’re already beautiful.” He says the last three words quietly, like they would spook you if he said them with his whole chest. Your cheeks burn, the smile dimpling them. “And…thank you. For telling me. No one’s ever told me they’ve been happy.”
You ride in silence until just before your floor, turning to look at the man who gave you so much. He’s watching you like a miracle, like he wants to wrap you in his arms again, like he wants to say something very stupid to a person he barely knows. He swallows it instead, but you can’t help yourself. You lift up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek, and savor the way he leans into it.
“My hero,” you whisper, stepping out to let the doors close between you.
Your lips, and your words, linger on him for days. Your impressions lingers on his heart for longer. After a week he tries to forget, to push you to the background in a futile attempt at self-preservation. You don’t know him, and he doesn’t know you. Fate smashed you together but you should part just as quickly, save you both the heartache. He’s still a complicated man, and you deserve better than that.
It works until he gets a piece of mail for you, two weeks later, and possessed by some boldness he’s forgotten he has, he plasters a sticky note on it.
“I hope your first week has been better than your first day.”
He wants to write so much more, but knowing anyone could see it stops his hand.
He doesn’t expect a response, at least not right away. You might still be embarrassed. So when he’s closing up at the end of the day and you come up beside him, the shock on his face breaks you into laughter.
“My week has been nowhere near as good as my first day,” you finally say. “But I did find a good place to eat a few blocks away. Great dinner options.” Max’s heart pulls between stopping and beating uncontrollably in his chest until he finally says, “We better check it out then.”
The laughter is just as easy as the first day, the conversation even better. He refuses to let you leave without trying the milkshakes, and beams when he watches something heavy fall off your shoulders as you look at him.
You tell him more about your life, your friend that brought you both together more than she’d ever imagined. He tells you about the life he lives now, of Alistair and how proud he is of him. Questions and anecdotes and words both loud and soft wrap around you in the wooden booth. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s felt like Maxwell Lorenzano.
When he walks you to your subway stop Max’s hand falls to your lower back and remains. The soft way you look at him makes him think that maybe all his heroics have finally gotten him somewhere after all.
And next time he finds himself in a bathroom with you, it’s very much on purpose.
END
I didn't want to spoil the turn, but yeah that's the face he gives her and it makes me emotional just looking at it.
One of my favourite bits in fma is how during the final arc they bring up why attempting human stransmutation is forbidden, as the readers we've seen what happens when an attempt fails with Ed and Al, so of course the logical explanation is that "it's too dangerous to attempt", or even "it goes against the natural way the world works, it's monstruous in nature and impossible".
But then Arakawa in her infinite wisdom as a writer goes, lol no, the goverment has been making flesh monsters with human transmutations in secret for years, they forbid it so that nobody can't even come close to attempting to create a personal army that cannot feel pain
