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burntheedges · 1 day ago

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The cigarette | Javier Peña x f!reader

You walk into a bar and refuse a cigarette (reader is a woman, abled body, no physical description, but if you notice anything please let me know).

Word count : ~3.6k (yeah, this was suppose to be around 1k)

CW : Cigarettes, many. Alcohol. Reference to smut. Javier Peña needs his own warning.

A/N : This is for @sizzlingcloudmentality because her smoking poll never totally left my brain, and also because she encouraged me to write this. And also for @iknowisoundcrazy who second the encouragement. You both are wonderful people, who unfortunately put haunting ideas in my mind that I have no other choice but to write.

Also, please know that choosing pictures for this story has been absolute torture, not only because this man is gorgeous and I totally lost myself on Pinterest looking at him, but also because now I really need a cigarette.

I'm always happy for the comment and/or the reblogs, so please don't be shy !

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

You're in a bar. Not the one you were supposed to be in. That one was a classy cocktail bar, with dimmed light, cosy chairs, soft music. The one you are standing in, on the threshold, not clearly in but not totally out, is dirty. No. Dirty is not the right word. Shabby, sleazy, musty? You can't put your finger on it, the perfect one to describe this place, but because of the contrast to the other place that's how it feels at first, dirty. It's also a little dark, but mostly because many of the light bulbs are dead. It's a little sticky, mostly empty and it smells like stale beer, old cigarettes and greasy food. It's also very quiet. Not music, no TV sound, the one over the bar is on mute, no talking. It's perfect.

You let you eyes wonder around the place. there's one guy at a table, dressed in a suit, with his tie loosened, jacket off, shirt rolled up to the elbow, eating some fried chicken. He's on a business trip, you decide. Two others at the bar, one watching intently a game on the muted TV, clearly a local, dressed plainly in work clothes. Maintenance guy, you think. And the other one, tight jeans, leather jacket, aviator glasses tucked in the front of his shirt, three top buttons open, cigarette in hand, his profile showing a hooked noose, trimmed mustache and a strong jaw. The dim light and the smoke enveloping him paints a beautiful picture, almost like a Renaissance painting with it's chiaroscuro, light and darkness, a color palette of brown, orange, gold, almost like a Rembrandt. He's just... there, brooding. For once the word comes to you right away. He has a glass in front of him, with in amber liquid and you are ready to bet your most expensive piece of jewelry that it's whisky. You almost snort, so cliche.

He'll do. When the thought enters your mind, it's a surprise. You didn't come here to pick up someone. You just wanted a drink, in total anonymity, somewhere where no one would see you. You stuck out like a sore thumb in the other place, all dressed up, clearly on a date, except alone. You didn't want to stay surrounded by happy couples while you pondered on all the life decisions that brought you to that moment, stood up in a fancy bar, by a guy you didn't even like that much.

When the cab taking you home passed by this bar, you felt the urge for a strong drink. So you stopped. And now you're standing by the door, trying to decide if you are going in or leaving. You do stick out here too, with a nice dress, a little fancy, clearly not the kind people would wear in a place like this. But nobody gives a fuck and you relish in the feeling. Nobody is looking at you. Only a glance from the bartender, who knows better then to talk to you, letting you decide on your own terms if you're going to order something or not.

But now, instead of silence and being alone, you suddenly feel like you want to be with someone, anyone. Just to be hold at some point, feel something, anything, and forget. Because being stood up hurt a bit, even if it was from a guy you barely knew. It was just a first date, but you had put in the effort and the guy never showed up. Jackass. So yeah, seeing that nice looking guy, alone, not even glancing up at you, you feel something akin to desire. He looks like he was here to forget. How fitting.

You walk up to him, sit on the nearby stool, order a beer and a shot of tequila. He barely looks up at you, lost in his thoughts and you're trying to find an opening, but at the same time still lost in your own head trying the find the best word to describe this place.

"Dingy" you exclaim out loud. You didn't mean too, but you sometimes you do that, say out loud the word you were looking for. At least it gets his attention.

"Excuse me ?"

"I was looking for the best word to describe this place. I was stuck with dirty, gloomy, low life, sleazy etc... But the correct word I think is dingy." He just stares, questioning and you add "I just like to be able to describe places."

He's looking at you, really looking, not just the quick glance when you sat next to him, one that notices you and appraises you. You feel seen and it makes you warm. This probably explains why the next sentence you blurt out is totally inappropriate.

"Do you want to have sex?"

He scoffs and he turns to look back in front of him, you think he's just going to ignore you but after a second he murmurs "Don't you want to get to know me first ?"

"You don't look that the kind of guy who wants to get to know me." You can't help your small smile, he didn't say no.

"Is that so." There's a smirk on his face now, one that makes you want to wipe it off his face, probably with a kiss. "So, you like to find words to describe places and you seem to understand people just from looking at them... ?"

You shrug "I like to imagine peoples lives"

A snort, he's still not totally looking at you, but you know you've picked his interest, at least for a bit.

"Yeah ? What about the people in the bar?"

You take a second, making it look like your thinking hard, even though you have already built everyone's backstory in your head.

"I would say that the guy eating alone is a sales guy, here on a business trip, probably going back in a day or two. He's used to being by himself. The other guy at the bar is a regular. He's here almost every night, after work. Can't go back home until he's drank enough to forget how lonely he is, how lonely his house feels. Maybe he lost his partner ? Or they left ? But I bet on loneliness and a will to forget."

While you were talking he turned to you, not just his head but his whole body. So did you, you knees brush together a little. You don't move away, he doesn't either. But he still smirks at you and it's maddening.

"The sales guy is Bob, his wife kicked him out a week ago, he's been spending every evening here, eating fried food and waiting before going back to his shitty motel. The one at the bar, he's not from here, I've never seen him before." He looks at you, playful, as he delivers those lines that clearly show how wrong you were. You can't help but laugh out loud at all your mistakes.

"I never said I was any good at this!" you exclaim once your laugh has died down. You can't help but notice his smile, not full, but not a smirk anymore. At least he seems to be enjoying himself.

"What about me ? Apart from the guy who's not the type to want to know about women?"

"Oh really, you want me to try that on you after failing spectacularly?" He doesn't answer, just keeps on smiling, and you think you see the hint of a dimple but you're not sure. What you are sure of is that you want his attention on you, so you don't mind making a fool of yourself.

"Ok. I would say that you could be described as a womanizer. Maybe you're not into that anymore, or right now, but I sense that you are used to have women fall over you, that you enjoyed it and that you used it."

A slight frown, but the smile's still there as he asks "What makes you think that ?"

"Well, first of all, you're hot, I'm not going to deny it, and you seem confident. I can tell you know the effect you have on women. Just the way you've looked at me ever since I mentioned sex. The smirk, the slow drag of your thumb on your lip, you know exactly the effect it can have. I'm not immune, clearly or else I wouldn't have offered you to have sex with me. And you didn't even act that surprise. Or you were, but just because you didn't expect me to say right away. But you weren't surprised to have a woman ask for sex." After a brief pause, to assess that he's still into this you add, "Now I would say you don't do that anymore, or don't do it right now because you haven't really acknowledge me. I'm not saying that you would have accepted me right away. You haven't said no, but you clearly haven't said yes."

You think you see something close to him being impressed, so you go on, high on the way he looks at you.

"You're here on your own, you seem to know the place and the people, so you are used to it. You don't seem like someone who gets totally drunk because it's past 9 and you're standing up on your seat and your speech isn't slurred. You've probably been nursing that whisky for a while. But you smoked a lot,'" you nod to the full ashtray in front of him, "And you come here very often. Not to talk to anyone, probably just to reflect on your life's choices, what brought you here. I can't tell if it's work related or personal but I would go with both. I mean the best word I came up to describe you when I saw you was brooding."

You sense you've hit a nerve because his demeanor has changed a little while you talked. His body has turned slowly away from you, your knees are no longer grazing each other, and his eyes, those beautiful brown eyes that have been playful even a little flirty, now seem almost a little wounded. You're afraid that either you were on spot and hurt him or just offended him with the description, and you don't want to loose this. The connection you have, the easy talk and his eyes on you.

"But you know, I was wrong about the others, so I'm probably miles away from the truth", you're giving him an out.

He's silent, he stumped his cigarette while you were talking, and now he picks up his glass and drinks, you can't help but look at his throat as he swallows. As he puts his glass down, the smirk is back on his face and he turns back to you, playful again. That fleeting openness is gone.

"Well... I don't actually don't come here often. So you're wrong," he shrugs "at least on that." That last bit, is mumbled, almost like an after thought, more to himself, you don't want to delve on it. Instead you faint outrage.

"Damn ! You've lied to me ! So there is no way of knowing if those two are what imagined them to be ?"

"Not unless you ask them." He is back to his more confident self, a little flirty. You're happy the charged moment is passed.

You just shrug, and stay silent for a bit, enjoying the company. When you walked up to him, you hadn't imagined you would actually enjoy his company, the talking, easy back and forth. You expected to either walk out with him right away or be rejected with a scorn.

"Are you a writer of some kind ?"

"How did you guess ?" You're so surprised he guessed it that you don't even try to lie or deny it. And you could tell he enjoys it, being right.

"You like to find words, you like to imagine people's life. It was either that or a shrink. But you didn't try to analyze me, even if you did hit pretty close with your description."

"Not bad ! You could say I'm an aspiring writer ? I write mostly advice and help column in magazines, different type of freelance like that, while I of course have been polishing my hopefully breakthrough novel for the past decade. What else have you got on me ?"

Again that look, the one that pierces you, body and soul. He is enjoying the view and is not hiding it anymore, but he is also looking right through you.

"I would say you came in here for a drink, decided you wanted to have sex to forget. But it's not something you usually do, picking up strangers in a bar. Because you wouldn't start with that sentence right away." You give him a small laugh as you nod, yes that opening was pretty terrible.

"You probably were dumped... no, looking at your dress and the time and the fact you haven't been crying but just seem angry, You were stood up." He's on a roll now, you can't help but show him he is right on everything, you open face telling him how impressed you are.

"You were on a first date, the guy just didn't show up ? It was probably in fancy bar or restaurant, considering how you are dressed. You probably didn't think it through, coming here, you stayed at the door a few minutes before walking in. You wanted a drink, but now you want to feel better after being rejected so you walked up to me for sex. I would say you are comfortable with yourself, as I said, you don't pick up guys in bars, but you've had hock-ups before. Your smart, quick witted, probably a little intimidating for some men. And I think you either don't live here at all, or maybe just moved here."

You can't help but stare at him. He's good, that's impressive. But you only say "Damn, this hurts, am I such an open book ?

He is proud of himself, the sly smile back on his face.

"No, but in my line of work I needed to learn how to read people."

"What, you're the psychiatrist ?" you laugh "No wait ! You don't look the type, I will have to say some kind of law enforcement ?"

When he nods you can't help but laugh again "Wow that's actually extremely cliche ! The brooding type, reflecting on past mistakes, drowning himself in alcohol, cigarettes and women." This actually makes him laugh, no an open hearted laugh, but still better the half smiles you managed to pry from him.

He picks up his pack of cigarette and offers you one. As you shake your head he lights his own.

"Let me guess, it's bad for your health ?"

"No. I don't really care about that. Anyone can pick their poison. I drink and eat too much junk food. I just don't like the smell too much and never saw the appeal."

"You realize if we are going to sleep together that I'll smell of cigarette?"

"Oh so you ARE thinking about it !"

He doesn't answer, just gives a smile. One that makes you feel warm inside. You don't actually think anything is going to happen, but it's okay. You're content on sipping your beer that had gotten almost warm, in silence for the meantime as he smokes. You are having fun, talking to a stranger who hasn't even told you his name. When your drink is over you'll just leave. Go home and keep this memory. You might even write it. You'll probably change the ending of course, end the night with him, but it could be a fun story to write.

"You want to get out of here ?" If he sees the surprise in your eyes, he doesn't say anything, he just looks at you expectantly, letting his words sink in.

You look deep into his eyes, searching if it's a joke, but you only see that he is serious. And something else, there's a little vulnerability in there. Like if you say no, he won't mind but it might sting a little. You didn't expect that, not from what you have shared. But you don't know him and he doesn't know you. It's part of the appeal. All of what was said before can be true, or false.

You smile, and nod. He pays for your drinks and leads you out, a hand on your back, sending shivers down your spine. He guides you to his car, before he gets the passenger side door open for you, he crowds you against it, one hand to your waist, another one to your face, as he starts kissing you. The kiss is perfect, it's slow at first, as he discovers you lips, intense, when you both open your mouth, deep. It makes you feel like you are the only person in the world right now, like you are not in dark parking lot, making out with a stranger, but with someone who thinks the world of you. He is good, he knows what he is doing and you can't help but wonder if is as good with the rest. When he stops, and looks into you eyes to check that everything is okay, you can't help but say "I don't want to have sex in your car."

He chuckles, "That's not what I had in mind, I'm taking you to your place."

"That's good, that way you can leave right after, because you're not the type to stay."

"Still trying to analyze me ?"

"Oh, you know that's true." He doesn't deny it.

The drive to your place is quiet, you only talk to give him directions. But his hand, heavy and warm, finds your thigh and he strokes you, letting you know that he still has in mind what this is all about.

When you arrive in your apartment, he doesn't linger pulling you close to him, in a hungry kiss, one that leaves your knee shaking. You're still in your entrance, right in your living room, you haven't made a step to your bedroom, and he is already undressing you, when you he sees your matching lacy set, he let's out a groan of approval.

"So this wasn't a first date, a third ? And he still stood you up ? Asshole"

"No you were right, it was a first date. I just like to be prepared"

A smile, a kiss, hands caressing your almost naked body. He's still dressed in his leather jacket, his tight jeans, the cigarette smell intoxicating you. You don't why but this makes it even hotter.

What happens next his more then you bargained for, making you come from his mouth and finger first, then with him deep inside you, never leaving your couch. I could get used to this you think, as you both pant, catching your breath, after you both came, you for the third time. He's as naked as you are now, and you lay you head on his smooth chest, you expect him to get up, get dress and leave you. And he does that, gets up, pulls on his jean without bothering putting on his boxer, leaving it open, a happy sight you can't help but stare at, as he goes to find his pack of cigarette, a lighter, and sits on the couch next to where you sat back, pulling over a t-shirt and panties.

"You mind if I smoke ?" he almost offers you a cigarette before remembering. You actually do mind, but you nod, anything to have him stay a little longer, even if it's only five minutes, you like to have a little aftercare.

He puts his arm around you as he sprawls his feet on the coffee table. You watch him, as he smokes, he own eyes lost, looking at nothing.

"Can I at least know you name ?"

"Javier... Javi", his head turns to you and you offer him yours as you steal his cigarette. You don't know why you do that, you act on impulse. You take a drag, it's not like you haven't done it before, you might not smoke but you've tried it, when you were younger. Still, the taste is horrible and it makes you cough. A cough that pulls out a laugh out of Javi, you're happy to be able to twirl his name in your head now.

It's a real laugh, and the smile that lingers shows the dimple, the one you almost glimpsed before and you can help but touch it, caressing his cheek "I knew I saw a dimple" you can't help but whisper.

His eyes close for a bit, as he lingers in your touch. The cigarette is now forgotten, you put it on a makeshift ashtray, a dirty plate that was on the table. You both bask in this, the comfortable silence. You settle your head back on his shoulder, his arm still wrapped around you. You don't know when it shifted, this arrangement between you, but he's not going to leave, you just know it.

And he does, stay, that night as you fall asleep with him holding you. And the next night you spend together, you steal his cigarette again. You don't cough this time, but you still don't like it. Eventually, you get use to it. Never starting to smoke really, but always taking a puff or two of his cigarette, after sex. Until, after a bit, he stops smoking.

But he always stays the night, until he doesn't leave at all.

Thank you for reading this ❤️

tagglist (please let me know if you want to be added/removed) : @grogusmum @guiltyasdave @here-briefly @iknowisoundcrazyreads @javierpenaismyhusband @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @yxtkiwiyxt @lillaydee @littlemisspascal @harriedandharassed @sunnytuliptime @picketniffler

#ooooh what is this #tbr #javier peña x reader #fic rec

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burntheedges · 2 days ago

Text

home

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: ~1.1k

summary: A slice of life about Joel living in Jackson and living happily ever after. It's real in my head okay.

tags/warnings: post outbreak, jackson!joel, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, baking, very fluffy fluff, joel's pov

a/n: he's fine, i'm fine, we're all fine! nothing bad happened! episode 2? i don't know her :)

thank you @sizzlingcloudmentality for putting this idea into my head and writing fluff with me <3 shoutout to the raspberry rolls that i made for our easter brunch two days ago that very much did not rise and inspired this story lol

dividers by @saradika-graphics who is amazing <3

full masterlist here / follow @guiltyasdavenotifs and turn on notifications for fic updates!

When Joel gets home from patrol, he spots you through the kitchen window that faces the front yard. He waves at you and watches you look up at the movement. Your face lights up, and he can’t help but smile to himself as he kicks his boots off before stepping over the threshold.

“Hey, babe!” you call out. Your back is turned to him when he steps closer, both your hands hidden in a large mixing bowl.

Leaning against the doorframe, he clears his throat and lifts the small bouquet of wildflowers that he knew would make you happy. The smile that spreads across your face is worth Tommy’s sniggering remarks about how soft he’s become, how tame. It’s worth the pinching muscles in his back from crouching down to pick them.

“For me?” Your voice is sweeter than the warm summer’s day outside, sweeter than the scent of the flowers in his grasp. One of your cheeks is streaked with a pink-ish cream, and dough covers your hands up to your wrists.

“Of course,” he murmurs, closing in and pressing his lips to your cheek, kissing the cream off your skin. “Hi, darling.”

You giggle, watching as he fills a glass with water and places the flowers on the windowsill, purposefully leaning into you and trapping you between the kitchen counter and his chest.

“Patrol go okay?”

Humming a yes, he practically watches as the tension eases from your shoulders. He doesn’t like that you worry about him.

“What are you making?” he asks, licking the traces of sugar and raspberry off his lips. “Tastes good.”

“Raspberry rolls.” Your brow furrows a little, your bottom lip jutting out when you glance into the bowl. It’s adorable. “At least that’s the plan. I’m not sure if the yeast is working.”

“Looks alright to me,” he shrugs and you huff, swatting at him and leaving a floury handprint on his t-shirt.

“That’s because you know nothing about baking. Go wash up, old man,” you grin, pecking his lips before you turn back towards the dough.

Grumbling under his breath just to make you giggle again, he makes for the stairs, before you call back to him. “Hey, Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for the flowers.”

“You’re welcome, darling.”

Tommy’s right. So fucking soft. Can’t say that it bothers him.

As the water from the showerhead rains down on him, he wonders how he ended up here.Twenty-five years into an apocalypse, and somehow he managed to come home bringing flowers to a woman who’s baking in his kitchen.

It’s so domestic, so normal. He’s never been much of a baker, or a cook for that matter, but whenever you can get your hands on enough supplies, the scent of baked goods floats through the house. The house that, by some miracle, you chose to live in with him. Something he never knew he wanted, until now.

The stairs creak on his way back downstairs. His hair is dripping into his collar, the strands longer than they’ve been in years, but you refuse to cut them. Pouting about how handsome he looks like this whenever he brings it up. He doesn’t know about that, but he can’t deny how nice it is when you run your hands through the locks, gently tugging his face closer.

He has gotten so soft, so so soft. Can’t say that he doesn’t like it, actually.

In the kitchen, he finds you mumbling to yourself, staring down a ball of dough like it offended you personally. Your hair has become dotted with flour while he was gone.

“It’s not cooperating?” he asks, trying hard not to chuckle at the exasperated sigh you let out.

“No,” comes your disgruntled answer. “It’s not rising, look at it!”

He wraps his arms around you, stopping your pacing. Afternoon sunlight is spilling through the window, illuminating your face, reflecting off the specks of color in your eyes.

Joel can’t help it, he has to kiss you, really kiss you. His lips find yours, soft under his touch. His tongue gently coaxes them to part, eliciting a soft sigh from you when it slips into your mouth. Your taste is sweet, drawing him in, too tempting to ever resist. Melting into his touch, wanting him just as much. He could stay, just like this, forever.

Still, he eventually pulls away, grinning when your lips follow his, unwilling to stop. He presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth, then caresses your cheek.

“It’s gonna be delicious, I promise.” Another kiss, on the other side this time. Full of glee when it makes you smile. “Everything you make is.”

“I suppose…” you say softly, shy at the praise. “Help me?”

You never need his help, never actually let him do anything, but you like having him there with you. Dutifully, he takes his place behind you at the counter, his chin resting on your shoulder, watching you work. When you knead the dough and roll it out, his fingers come to rest over yours. He can’t imagine that it makes the whole thing easier at all, but it makes you laugh, your body vibrating against his, and what more could he want, really?

“Want another taste?” you ask when you spread the raspberry cream. An affirmative is hummed against your neck and he smiles at the goosebumps forming there in reaction. You dip a finger into the pink sweetness and lift it to his lips. Closing them around the digit and swirling his tongue to get every drop, he gets rewarded with another giggle.

“Very good,” he whispers into your ear, watching more goosebumps spread over your skin.

Despite your frustrated huffs, he watches you cut perfect pieces and place them in the baking pan. While he’s doing the dishes, you’re crouched on the floor and squinting into the oven, chewing on your lip. The scent of sugar, dough and fruits, warm and freshly baked, starts wafting through the kitchen. This is what home feels like now, Joel thinks.

“Look! I think it’s rising,” you exclaim, your voice eager with excitement.

He leans down beside you, trying to see what you see. He doesn’t, but he kisses the crown of your head anyway, mumbling told you into your hair.

Later, when the slowly setting sun paints the sky in hues of pink and orange, you’re both out on the porch, sinking your teeth into the pastries. You’ve tucked yourself into his side, your warmth seeping into his skin where his arm is wrapped around you.

“‘S perfect,” he manages through a mouthful of sweetness, loving how your face lights up.

Yes, he has become soft. But that’s okay, because he’s at home here. With you.

thank you so much for reading!! <3 i feel kinda silly and needy writing this, but i feel like the interaction with fanfics has gotten worse again, so please: if you enjoyed this, it would absolutely make my day if you told me. it really means so much and keeps fanfic writers going. i dreamed this up for myself, but putting it into (i hope) somewhat decent writing because i thought others might enjoy it too takes a lot of time and effort and it's really fucking nice to get some acknowledgment for that.

#tbr #everyone say thank you Jana #thank you Jana #joel miller #fic rec

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