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coquettepascal · 8 days ago

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fixation

You have an oral fixation, and Joel is more than happy to keep your mouth busy.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, oral fixation (f!reader), oral (male receiving), finger-sucking, dirty talk, praise kink, established relationship, consensual dynamic, playful possessiveness, casual intimacy, semi-public setting, reader can’t keep her mouth off of Joel’s cock (I get it) 6k.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

It had been about 11 months since you and Joel started seeing each other, and every day with him felt like a quiet discovery, learning things about each other that made each moment feel richer.

But there was something you hadn’t quite figured out how to bring up yet—a part of you that you weren’t sure how he’d respond to. Yet, in his presence, the need always seemed to flare up, subtle but persistent, tugging at you like a habit you couldn’t quite ignore.

One evening, you were curled up together on his couch, the night warm and quiet, and you’d been a little fidgety, your mind distracted, wondering if he’d picked up on your subtle hints.

His hand rested easily on your thigh, his thumb tracing soft, absent-minded circles over your jeans, grounding you in the moment.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle, breaking the comfortable silence as he glanced over at you, his eyes soft but observant.

“You’ve been a little… antsy tonight.” He tilted his head, watching you carefully with that warm, reassuring smile of his. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, huh?”

You bit your lip, your cheeks heating up as you avoided his gaze, feeling that familiar warmth creeping in, making you both nervous and a little thrilled.

His hand squeezed your thigh just slightly, his fingers gentle, urging you to look up.

“Baby,” he said, his voice a mix of patience and curiosity, “you know you can tell me anything, right? If there’s somethin’ you want, or… need?”

He trailed off, his gaze lingering on your mouth, a knowing smile beginning to form.

You swallowed, feeling the warmth in your face intensify as his words sank in, and finally, you gave him a small nod, glancing up at him shyly.

Your lips parted slightly, but the words felt stuck, tangled up in the way he was looking at you, his gaze warm and inviting.

A quiet laugh slipped past his lips as he brushed a thumb over your bottom lip, his voice dropping to that rough, soft tone that always seemed to send a shiver through you.

“Got a feeling I know what’s been on your mind,” he murmured, his hand moving up to cradle your cheek as he leaned in closer.

“You got a little fixation, don’t ya?” he whispered, his tone playful but warm, his eyes glinting with quiet confidence.

Your heart raced, and you gave a small, embarrassed nod, your gaze dropping to his chest as you felt the words tumble out in a near whisper.

“I… I just like having… something to keep me busy,” you admitted, your voice soft, almost shy.

Still brushing his thumb over your bottom lip, his eyes sparking with that familiar glint.

“Need somethin’ to keep that pretty mouth busy, huh?” he murmured, his voice soft and rough as his thumb lingered, his hand steady on your face.

“Should’ve known,” he said with a grin, his gaze dropping down to your mouth. “Come here.”

His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer with a gentle yet confident touch.

As you leaned in, you saw the soft amusement in his eyes, the way his expression held a subtle, reassuring warmth.

You parted your lips, shy but eager, letting his thumb slip between them, and he watched, his gaze intense but filled with that easy confidence that always seemed to make you feel safe with him.

"That’s it, baby," he murmured, his thumb brushing against your tongue as he watched, clearly enjoying your reaction.

"Didn’t need to be shy about it… any time you need this, you just come to me, alright?"

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips as his thumb brushed your lower lip, his other hand steady on your waist.

It felt like a quiet promise, a comfortable acceptance that brought you even closer, and you felt your lingering hesitation melting away as he held you there, happy to give you exactly what you’d been craving.

“I don’t mind one bit,” he whispered, his thumb still in your mouth, feeling your soft, tentative sucking as he gently pulled you closer.

Joel’s eyes softened, his voice was low, roughened with curiosity and a touch of arousement as he asked, “Is this what’s been on your mind, babygirl? Just my fingers?”

His question lingered in the air, his tone hinting at more as he kept his gaze steady on yours, letting the words sink in.

He watched the way your cheeks flushed deeper, and he let out a quiet chuckle, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth as he murmured, “Or was it somethin’ else you were thinkin’ about?”

Your heart raced, his hint unmistakable, but there was something about the warmth in his gaze and the steady grip of his hand that put you completely at ease.

The words felt caught in your throat, but Joel waited, letting his thumb slip out of your mouth, his hand settling under your chin to lift your gaze to meet his. “I can make sure you get exactly what you need… all you have to do is ask.”

He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head.

His voice softened, a quiet encouragement. “Whatever you want, I’m here, sweet bug.”

Joel’s thumb brushed over your lip again, encouraging as he kept his gaze steady, patient, letting you find the words.

Your cheeks warmed, but the way he was looking at you—reassuring, warm, without a hint of judgment—made it easier to open up.

“I just… feel calmer when I’m, you know, sucking on something,” you began, your voice quiet, a little shy.

“Something solid. It’s like… I like the weight of it in my mouth.” You paused, catching your breath, feeling a mixture of vulnerability and relief as you finally said it out loud. “I don’t know why, but it’s… comforting.”

Joel listened closely, nodding as his thumb traced a gentle line along your jaw. His smile softened, and he murmured, “I figured, pretty one… I could see it.”

He tilted his head, watching you with a look of gentle understanding that helped ease the lingering embarrassment. “Were you embarrassed to tell me?”

You hesitated, giving him a small, shy nod. He chuckled softly, a low, comforting sound that settled any lingering nerves.

“Can’t say I haven’t noticed,” he murmured, his voice low and a little rough, as he looked down at you. “The way you linger, like you can’t let go of my cock once you’ve got your mouth on it… like you’re not quite done with me.”

Your cheeks flushed, and quiet laughs slipped out of the both of you.

He tilted your chin up, his gaze softening, still playful but carrying a deeper warmth. “You like the weight of it, hm?” he asked gently, a thumb tracing the corner of your mouth. “Feels good for you, yeah?”

You gave a small, shy nod, meeting his gaze as your pulse quickened.

He leaned closer, his tone a gentle murmur as he continued, “Darlin’, anytime you need that—anytime you want me, you come to me. I’ll be more than happy to help you calm down.”

With that, he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, his hand still cradling your face, his words sinking in as he held you there, his touch reassuring, making it clear he was there for you, always.

· · ───𖥸

It had become a quiet ritual between you and Joel ever since that night—one where he was more than happy to help you find comfort whenever you needed it.

At first, it was just his fingers. When you’d feel the day’s tension creeping up, he’d let you settle close, slipping his fingers between your lips as he watched you, warm and intent.

The gentle weight, the grounding feel of his hand against your jaw as he let you draw his fingers in, helped you feel calm in a way that words couldn’t quite reach.

Joel noticed it too, the way you’d relax under his touch, how you’d quietly seek him out and never let go until you were completely at ease.

Tonight, though, you found yourself wanting more. It had been a long and hard day, one that left you feeling edgy, and his fingers alone weren’t enough.

As you walked into the living room, you found him on the couch, relaxed with his arm draped across the back, his other hand resting on his thigh.

The sight of him there, so grounded and steady, instantly soothed something in you.

He noticed you right away, his gaze softening as you approached, catching the fidgeting in your hands.

“Hello there, pretty girl,” he greeted, his voice warm, with that touch of curiosity he always had when he knew you needed him. “Need anything?”

You didn’t say anything, instead sinking to your knees in front of him, your gaze falling to his lap before meeting his eyes again.

Joel’s brow lifted slightly, his expression soft but knowing, his lips curling into a small smile as he reached down, fingers brushing over your cheek.

“Had a rough day, huh?” he murmured, his tone low, patient as his hand moved to cradle your jaw.

His thumb traced along your bottom lip, holding you there gently, his eyes darkening with quiet understanding.

“Is this what you’ve been needing?” he asked, his voice a quiet rumble, letting his fingers linger at your lips, already familiar with the comfort it brought you.

But you shook your head slightly, looking up at him with that same shy glance, your gaze flickering down as you hesitated, unsure how to ask for what you really needed.

Joel’s gaze held steady, his thumb brushing over your lip as he read your expression, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Or maybe… you want a little more than that?”

You felt your cheeks flush, but the look in his eyes made the words come easier. You glanced up, giving him a small nod as your hands settled on his knees, silently asking for permission, for more.

Joel’s thumb brushed over your lip, and he chuckled softly, his gaze dropping to meet yours. “Is that what you’ve been needing?” he murmured, his voice low, rich with amusement. “My cock… to make you calm?”

The words sent a thrill through you, and he watched as you nodded, barely able to meet his gaze, your cheeks warm. ”Yes... please,“ you whispered quietly.

Joel tilted his head slightly, his hand guiding your chin so you couldn’t look away.

“No need to be shy with me, darlin’,” he continued, his voice a quiet, steady invitation. “If that’s what you need, I’ll give it to you. Always.”

Joel leaned back slightly, the soft lighting casting shadows across his strong features, highlighting the rugged lines of his face and the warm, steady gleam in his dark eyes.

He watched you closely, his gaze never faltering as you settled in closer, his broad chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths, grounding you with his steady presence.

A subtle smile played at the corner of his mouth as his hand settled over yours, guiding you with a gentle but firm touch.

His fingers brushed your jaw, coaxing you to look up at him as he murmured, “Go ahead, sweetheart… take what you need.”

Your fingers brushed over the outline of his cock, feeling him hardening beneath your touch, his quiet, restrained breaths signaling his anticipation.

His gaze darkened, his eyes holding a mix of warmth and intensity as he watched you, his lips parting slightly as you felt his cock pulse beneath your hand.

“Just like that,” he whispered, his voice deep, a touch of approval in his tone as his other hand cupped the back of your neck, his thumb brushing soft, grounding circles there.

His touch, his steady gaze, everything about him filled you with a quiet confidence as he murmured, “You’re doin’ perfect, darlin’… don’t stop.”

His voice, low and calming, was a quiet invitation, full of the easy confidence that you found so comforting.

“Go on, pretty girl,” he murmured, his eyes holding yours.

You tugged his jeans down just enough, freeing him from the fabric, and your breath hitched as you took him in.

His cock was thick and slightly curved, already hard and flushed with arousal, the tip a deep, needy pink that glistened faintly, inviting. Dark, neatly kept curls surrounded his base, a subtle, masculine scent rising from him, earthy and undeniably him.

His hand moved at the back of your neck, thumb grazing lightly against your skin, steadying you as you leaned in.

His voice, low and gravelly, sent a shiver through you as he murmured, “My sweet girl... Lookin’ so good with your mouth just inches from me. Can see you want it… don’t hold back.”

His words dripped with quiet command, tinged with that deep warmth that made you feel secure yet set your nerves alight with anticipation.

You opened your mouth, your tongue trailing along the underside of his length, savoring the salty-sweet taste of him.

The heat, the weight of his cock, filled you with a heady calm, grounding you in the sensation. Joel’s hand tightened ever so slightly on your neck, his other hand resting on his thigh, fingers curling as he watched you take him inch by inch.

“That’s my girl,” he groaned, his voice dark and warm, his eyes half-lidded as he watched you.

“Look at you, takin’ all of me like that, slow and easy. Your lips… they look so damn good wrapped around me, sweet one.” His tone was full of approval, deep and rich, letting you know how much he was enjoying this, letting you settle into the moment.

You began to move your mouth over him, letting your tongue swirl around the sensitive head, savoring every ridge and vein.

The faint sheen of your saliva coated him, catching the light, and his cock looked even more inviting, glistening and hard, throbbing slightly in response to your touch.

Joel let out a low, pleased hum, his hand stroking your cheek, encouraging you as you took him deeper.

“God, baby, good job,” he murmured, his tone thick with admiration. “So sweet and focused… like you were made for this.”

His fingers trailed through your hair, gentle but firm, guiding you without any hint of impatience. “Gettin’ every inch, nice and slow… takin’ your time just like I like.”

Your mouth tightened around him, feeling his cock twitch as you took him deeper, letting the weight of him press down on your tongue, grounding you, calming you in a way that nothing else could.

His scent, his warmth, his quiet, filthy praise—everything about this moment soothed you, made you feel safe, yet utterly alive.

“You love how it feels, yeah, baby?” Joel’s voice was a low rasp, and his words spurred you on, made you feel bolder. “The weight of me, how thick I am in that pretty mouth of yours. Tellin’ you, sweetheart… there’s nothin’ I like more than watchin’ you get lost right here.”

You could feel the pulse of his heartbeat through his cock, and it made you shiver.

His hand moved from your hair to your cheek, his thumb brushing softly over the corner of your mouth as he watched you, eyes dark, lips parted in quiet approval.

He tilted his head, studying you with that intense, appreciative gaze that always made you feel seen, adored.

“You keep that mouth workin’ as long as you need, baby,” he murmured, a faint, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Long as you want, it’s all yours. Just… fuck, yeah, just like that.”

The praise made you feel a rush of warmth, and you took him deeper, letting him feel your eagerness, your need.

His cock pulsed against your tongue, and you savored the feel of him as his fingers stayed steady at your neck, grounding you with his warmth and strength.

“Feelin’ better already?” he asked, his voice gentle, his tone rough with desire.

His hand traced down your jaw, thumb pressing lightly at your lip, pulling it down so he could see himself disappear into your mouth. “Look at that, darlin’... look at you, takin’ me so well. Such a good girl, lettin’ me calm you down just like this.”

You hummed softly around him, the vibration making his fingers tighten slightly on the back of your neck.

His breathing grew deeper, more ragged, but he kept his touch soft, steady, letting you take the lead, letting you have what you needed. “That’s it, baby… don’t rush, just keep me right there. Slow and steady,” he whispered, his voice low and dark, every word soothing yet making your pulse quicken.

His hand stayed firm as he leaned back slightly, allowing you to settle comfortably as you continued to savor him, tasting, exploring, letting his words and his touch fill you with warmth and calm.

Every brush of his thumb, every murmur of approval, grounded you deeper, letting you lose yourself completely in him, in the simple, comforting weight of him on your tongue, a connection that was yours and his alone.

You relaxed deeper, each slow movement of your mouth deliberate, savoring the weight of him, the feel of his thick, flushed cock filling you, grounding you.

Joel’s hand stayed steady at the back of your neck, fingers pressing just enough to let you know he was there, a solid presence holding you close.

“Babygirl, look at you,” he murmured, his voice a husky rasp that made your pulse quicken, each filthy word dripping with pride.

“My perfect little thing, workin’ so hard… always giving it your all. Just needed somethin’ to fill that pretty mouth, didn’t ya?”

His fingers tangled in your hair, a gentle but possessive touch that sent a thrill through you. “That’s what I’m here for, baby. You look so damn good like this, takin’ me slow.”

Your cheeks flushed, feeling yourself sink into his words, every filthy murmur making you crave more, making you want to show him just how much you needed this.

You let your tongue swirl around the head of his cock, tasting him, savoring the salty heat, feeling him twitch under your attention.

He let out a low groan, his other hand moving to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he watched you, dark eyes heavy with desire.

“God, baby, you’re too good at this,” he muttered, voice dipping lower, dripping with arousal.

“So focused, takin’ me so good, like you were made for it. Seein’ those lips stretchin’ around me, so damn eager. Look at you… got me hard as a rock, and you’re takin’ your time, just workin’ every inch.”

His hips shifted, barely a nudge forward, just enough to let you feel his need, but he held back, letting you control the pace.

“Bet you’d stay right here all night if possible,” he chuckled, the sound rich and dirty. “You’d just keep suckin’, hm? Letting that pretty mouth of yours get all messy for me.”

You felt his cock pulse, a heavy, throbbing weight on your tongue as he watched you, his breathing roughening as he sank further into the sensation.

His grip on your neck tightened just slightly, his control slipping as he saw how lost you were, how you kept at it with such gentle, focused attention.

“Love how you’re suckin’ my cock for me, baby… so fuckin’ devoted. Just lettin’ me fill that mouth, takin’ me all the way. It’s like you can’t get enough, huh? Just keepin’ me right there, like you’d never let go.”

His breathing grew heavier, more ragged, and he bit his lip, feeling his own need taking over as he tried to hold back, not wanting to pull you from the calm, submissive state you’d found.

But with each slow, wet stroke of your mouth, each deliberate pull of your lips around him, he felt himself teetering closer to the edge, and a quiet, breathless laugh escaped him as he leaned down, his hand cradling your face.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice thick with both regret and need, “but you’re too damn good… I can’t hold back any longer. I’m gonna cum.”

His thumb pressed against your cheek, feeling the fullness of his cock in your mouth as he whispered, “Hate to take this from you, but I want you to swallow every drop, every bit of me… you’ve earned it, good job.”

He let out a deep, guttural groan as he came, his cock twitching in slow, heavy pulses against your tongue, spilling into your mouth as he held you close, his grip tightening just enough to anchor you, keep you steady as he filled you.

His other hand brushed over your cheek, thumb stroking the corner of your mouth, watching with dark, hooded eyes as you swallowed everything he gave, his voice dropping to a low, possessive murmur.

“God, look at you, darlin’… swallowin’ every fuckin’ drop like the good girl you are. So perfect, so fuckin’ perfect. Just lettin’ me use that sweet mouth, keepin’ me close.” His thumb lingered at your lips, his voice warm, affectionate as he whispered, “You’re exactly where you belong, sweetheart… right here, with me.”

He stayed there, holding you, his voice softening as he praised you, his thumb tracing gentle circles over your cheek, grounding you as you both came down, feeling safe, cherished, and completely at peace in the warmth of his touch.

As you eased back, Joel’s hand remained at the back of your neck, his thumb brushing gentle, soothing circles, and he looked down, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he took in the calm, relaxed look on your face.

You were utterly at peace, your eyes heavy-lidded, a faint, satisfied smile on your lips as you looked up at him, the tension you’d been carrying all day melting away.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice rich with warmth and pride, his hand steady as he helped you rise.

“My perfect girl, you did so well,” he whispered, pulling you up to settle you against his chest, cradling you close as his hands drifted to rub soft circles on your back.

He could feel how completely at ease you were, the deep calm radiating off you as you leaned into him, feeling safe, cherished, like you’d found exactly what you needed.

You let out a quiet, sleepy murmur, snuggling into his warmth, your cheek resting against his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around him.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice soft and full of gratitude, the words barely audible as you let yourself sink into his embrace.

Joel’s chest rumbled with a low chuckle as he held you, one hand moving up to brush through your hair, his fingers gentle, comforting.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

“So calm now… my sweet girl, lettin’ herself relax.” He could see the sleepiness in your eyes, the way your breathing had slowed, your body completely soft in his arms.

He tucked you closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, his hand never stopping its gentle, grounding strokes along your back.

“You can rest now, baby,” he whispered, his tone full of care as he continued to hold you, letting you know he was right there. “You’re safe with me… just close those eyes. I’ve got you.”

You melted further against him, your body fully relaxed, your breathing deep and even, your face tucked against his neck, perfectly content and utterly calm in his embrace.

He felt you drift closer to sleep, your soft breaths warm against his skin, and he tightened his hold, letting you find that final bit of peace, held close and cherished in his arms, exactly where you belonged.

· · ───𖥸

Over time, it became second nature, a quiet ritual between you and Joel.

The comfort you found in each other had only deepened, making those moments when you had him in your mouth feel easy, almost instinctual.

There were mornings when he'd sit on the edge of the bed, tousled hair and a sleepy smirk, and you’d settle between his thighs, taking him slowly as the sun crept through the blinds, warming the room as he murmured sleepy praise, his hand steady in your hair.

Or lazy afternoons, when you'd both wind down on the couch, and he'd reach over, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder, just to let you know he was there, that he understood what you needed.

Sometimes, even in the middle of the night, he'd feel you shift closer, your warm breath against his skin, and he’d know exactly what you needed without a single word exchanged.

He’d guide you under the sheets, his voice a low, sleepy rumble as he whispered, “Go on, darlin’, take what you need,” his tone gentle, reassuring as he let you lose yourself, knowing how much it helped you relax, how much you needed him in those quiet hours.

And then, there were moments just like now—calm and casual, like you were simply sharing another part of your day together.

Joel stood at the stove, his back turned slightly as he tended to a simmering pan, cooking up something simple for dinner before a friend came over.

His shoulders were broad and relaxed, his stance easy, completely at home in his space.

You were on your knees - his hard cock in your mouth, your lips wrapped around him, taking him slowly, almost like an afterthought, as if this were as natural as holding his hand or sharing a quiet drink together.

The kitchen filled with familiar sounds—the soft sizzle of the pan, the clink of the spatula, Joel’s steady breaths mingling with yours.

His free hand occasionally drifted to your hair, brushing over it with gentle fingers, not guiding but simply acknowledging you there.

Every now and then, his hand would graze over your cheek, tracing a soft line along your jaw as he continued to stir the food, keeping his focus on both you and the task in front of him with that calm confidence that made you feel secure.

He glanced down at you with a smirk, his eyes warm with that casual affection, the amusement clear on his face as he took in the sight of you.

“Look at you, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and playful.

“Can’t keep away, even while I’m tryin’ to get dinner on the stove.” He chuckled, running a thumb along your jawline, his tone casual and amused. “But hell, can’t say I mind one bit.”

His hand returned to the pan, stirring with a practiced ease, completely unfazed as you continued to take him deeper, your lips sliding over his length with a slow, familiar rhythm that felt grounding, comforting.

You could feel his cock twitch in your mouth, but his breath remained steady, his voice calm as he casually carried on.

He kept stirring the pan, flipping the food, but you noticed how his fingers tightened on the spatula, his calm demeanor wavering ever so slightly as his eyes lingered on you a moment longer.

His hand drifted back to your hair, gripping a little firmer this time, letting his thumb brush over your cheek as he took in the sight of you, your cheeks hollowing as you pulled him in deeper.

“That’s it… good girl,” he whispered, his voice dipping lower, rougher.

“Always so eager to get me in that pretty mouth of yours, no matter what we’re doin’. you just can’t get enough.”

He chuckled, shaking his head in admiration as he went back to the stove, still casual, as if it were perfectly natural for you to be on your knees, sucking him off while he cooked.

You felt your own excitement building, a warmth settling over you as his words sank in, his easy praise making you feel cherished and bold.

As Joel continued cooking, your pace grew a little faster, your mouth working over him with that same familiar, comforting rhythm, but now you could feel his cock twitching, thick and heavy against your tongue.

He glanced down with a small smirk, clearly enjoying the way you seemed to lose yourself, the casual intimacy of it making him feel grounded, completely at ease.

Just then, the doorbell rang, echoing through the quiet kitchen.

Joel paused, casting a quick glance at the door before looking down at you with that calm, teasing expression, his fingers stroking through your hair.

“Well, guess Paul’s here,” he murmured, his voice low and amused, as if the idea of his friend arriving right now only added to his pleasure. “Mind hurryin’ it up, darlin’?”

You looked up at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, feeling a surge of need as his gaze held steady on yours.

The doorbell rang again, and you gripped his thighs tighter, pressing in, whispering in a low, urgent tone, “Please, baby… fuck my mouth. I need you to cum. right now.”

A low groan escaped him, his amusement giving way to a darker need as he held your head in place, his fingers tightening in your hair.

“Well, since you’re askin’ so nice, baby,” he murmured, his tone dropping, filled with pride and pleasure as he looked down at you. “Guess I can’t keep you waiting, can I?”

With a steady hand, he guided your head, his hips beginning to rock gently, then harder, each slow thrust filling your mouth with a deep, satisfying pressure that made you feel grounded, completely in tune with him.

His hips rocked forward, his hand guiding your head to take him as deep as possible, his voice breaking into low, filthy groans.

“That’s it… just like that. God, you’re a perfect little thing… lettin’ me use you, lettin’ me fill that pretty mouth like you’re starvin’ for it.”

His breaths grew more ragged, his cock pulsing with each movement as he picked up the pace, letting himself go, his fingers digging into your hair as he held you steady.

“Just like that,” he groaned, his voice thick with need, his thrusts becoming faster, deeper. “You want my cum, don’t you, sweetheart? Just need to feel me fillin’ that pretty mouth of yours.”

You hummed in response, the vibration making him gasp, his cock throbbing. Joel’s breaths grew heavy, his control slipping, and you could feel him getting closer, his words now a strained murmur.

“Almost there, sweetheart… just a bit more. Need you to swallow every bit for me.”

With one final thrust, he let go, his cock pulsing as he spilled into your mouth, warm and thick, his groans deep and satisfied as he watched you take everything he gave.

His thumb brushed over your jaw as you swallowed, his gaze filled with a mix of pride and possessiveness. “That’s my good girl,” he whispered, his voice rough as he held you close.

Just as you both caught your breath, the doorbell rang again. Joel smirked, helping you up and wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb before pulling you into a quick, reassuring kiss.

He glanced at the door, chuckling. “Better let Paul in. Don’t want him thinkin’ we forgot about him.”

He straightened up, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as he went back to the stove, leaving you flushed, fulfilled, and feeling like you were exactly where you needed to be.

You straightened up, catching your reflection in the hallway mirror and smoothing your hair, feeling both satisfied and a little flushed.

You opened the door to see Paul standing there

“Hey, Paul,” you greeted, trying to keep your tone light and casual, though you could feel Joel’s gaze burning into you from behind, clearly amused.

Paul stepped inside, glancing between the two of you with a smile. “Took you both long enough—I almost left again.”

Joel strolled over, leaning casually with that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. “Well,” he drawled, his eyes glinting as they met yours, “guess I finished up just in time.”

Your cheeks flushed as Joel’s smirk lingered, a private joke hanging thick in the air, while Paul remained blissfully oblivious.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

I really liked this…. a bit too much. 🫎

Just a little reminder that your comments, and reposts with reactions, mean the world to me. They’re the only “thank you” I get for these stories, and truly the reason I stay motivated to keep writing and sharing.

Knowing you’re enjoying the journey and hearing your thoughts keeps this all alive.

So please, keep those comments and reposts coming—they’re what make it all worth it. Thank you so much for being here and for all your support!!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️😭😭😭‼️‼️

#YUUUUUM WOW WOW WOW #ellie fic rec box #YUUUUP #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic

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coquettepascal · 9 days ago

Text

Pickup Truck

summary: frankie hates your boyfriend. in fact, everybody does. but he’s willing to give him a chance. you’re his best friend, after all. until frankie discovers something he can never forgive.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+. MDNI. this fic contains allusions to, but no descriptions of, domestic abuse. please do not proceed if you know this will upset you.

frankie's pov. no lady and no baby for our boy. drinking, violence (against pos bf), angst, lots of hurt, allusions to dv. comfort, fluff. frankie to the rescue. unprotected p in v (wrap it irl!). oral, f receiving. creampie. bad spanish (again). kings of leon references. happy ending, of course.

wc: 9.8k

an: whew, this was an emotional one to write. but i hope a good love comes to all of you in time, no matter where you are at the moment. and if you already have it, may it always keep you safe. lovely divider from @saradika.

Frankie really doesn’t like your boyfriend.

Scratch that. Nobody does.

Nobody really knows where you found him, either. A sweet, smart girl like you, moved back to your small town from your big city life, and it looks like you picked up the very first guy who sidled up to you in a grimy bar.

Which, if you’re really honest, is exactly what happened. Because he was nice at first. Real nice. He was charming and sweet and interested - he bought you drinks all night and didn’t push to come in when he walked you home. You went for dinner a few times, and sure, he could be a little rude to the waitstaff, but it was only because he was so focused on you. He bought you flowers and took you for rides, and sure, sometimes he’d come home far too drunk after seeing his friends and get a little too close, a little too loud, but he always apologised.

And sure, he sometimes made you cry, but he always made it up to you. Sweet promises, small gifts. And he'd never laid a finger on you.

Not until last week, anyway.

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know who to turn to. The thought of it makes you so sick you have to lock yourself in the bathroom at work. How did this happen? How did it turn so sour?

And how do you get out?

Walk you home to see

Where you're livin' around

And I know this place

Frankie walks you home from the bonfire. He always does.

It’s his favourite moment of the night.

He gets to have you all to himself. Gets to watch your cheeks cool in the night air, watch as the blush from the heat of the fire subsides. Your giddy, wide eyes, your tipsy babbling about stories which had been swapped over the flames, picking out particularly scandalous details for you two to giggle about before doubling over into breathless laughter over something Benny had said.

He likes to hold your elbow, your hand, as you catch him in your amusement, gripping onto his bicep. He loves to lose himself in this little pocket of time with you.

He loves the sparkle of the stars, the glow of the streetlights as they light your features.

Frankie loves you.

And he’s so glad you’ve moved back from your life in the big city to come and be around your real friends again. So glad that you’ve all found your way back to each other. Tonight has left him with such a mellow tingle in his bones that he finds he can’t stop smiling at you, looking at you, on your walk home.

Bonfire nights have always been your monthly hangout, a time when you can be sure you’ll get the whole gang together. There used to be more of you through highschool, and still a fair few during college. It dipped when the boys joined the forces, when people moved further east and further north. But eventually Frankie, Benny, Santi, and Will had come back. Jessa, your other best friend, had returned too. A few others coming and going - Lily, Marcus, Maggie - also back and forth from their new homes to their old ones. And then eventually folk had just… settled.

Frankie felt like he was one of the last, like he was maybe the one finding it the hardest, retired to a life of civvy duties. Unable to hold down a girlfriend, struggling to stick at a job, sofa surfing around friends’ places. He was still flying whenever he could, but then this coke allegation happened, and it was like the world was finally swept from under him.

You were the first person he had called, the first person to talk him down from his panic, that debilitating squeeze around his heart when he thought about the future. The first person who made him feel like it would be okay.

So of course his joy when you had come back had been immeasurable. Maybe this time, he’d thought.

And then you’d met Tanner.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as you drag your hand out of his, skipping a little further up the dark street until you reach a corner. Frankie watches as you spin on the spot in the quiet neighbourhood, gesturing down the pathway before you.

‘This is me.’ You say.

But you don’t turn to keep walking. You watch him, a small, excited smile on your lips. Like you’re waiting for him to work it out.

Frankie drags his eyes from you, away from thoughts of your new boyfriend, to look up and down the street you’ve led him to, and for a second he is pulled beneath the ebbing flow of memory, towed with the riptide of things forgotten.

This is his grandmother’s street. Was his grandmother’s street.

The cracked concrete, the peeling paint of the porches. The weeds, the flowers, the smell.

He breathes your name like you’re the only thing tethering him to the now.

Breathes your name through the bright, sunny flashes of his childhood. His mama bringing him here with his brother, his papa swinging him by his legs in the flower-riddled front garden. Cartoons in the ripe heat of the afternoons, him and his cousins stuffing their faces with Guagitas and Frugele until they’d made themselves sick while the younger siblings napped in the sunbeams of the bedroom next door. Cycling over on his bike after school to sit at her kitchen table to do his homework, letting her fuss over him - his height, his friends, his grades, girls -

A skinnier, younger Frankie stopping by his abuela’s house with you to pick up her up for his nineteenth birthday party, along with her homemade tamales, her chiles rellenos, and specially made pumpkin sopaipillas for later on. The way you had chatted to her, natural, easy going, how you had made her laugh, her eyes sparkle. How, when you had taken some of the plates to the car, his abuela had pinched his cheek. I like her, she’d said, Será tuya algún día, mm, mijo? And Frankie had flushed bright red, batting her arms away as she chuckled at him. He had hidden in the back bedroom when you came in from outside, and listened a little longer to your conversation as he waited for the heat of his face to die down. When he reemerged, you had helped his grandmother into her shoes, her cardigan, and kept ahold of her arm until she got into Frankie’s beat up old car. At the end of the night, his abuela had kissed both your cheeks several times, rocked you back and forth in a hug, and clapped her hands as she said how she looked forward to seeing you again.

When you came home from college every summer, you’d have tea with her in her garden. She always asked Frankie about you, about how you are doing. When he told her you were coming home, she’d been so excited. Quizás este sea el momento? She’d said to him, squeezing his hand. He’d smiled, his heart quietly full of hope. Tal vez, abuela, he’d said.

When he called you two weeks later, his voice weak from crying, to tell you that she’d passed, you had been heartbroken. And it seemed like her wish, the red thread she’d seen between the two of you, had been snipped, too.

Pour yourself on me

And you know I'm the one

That you won't forget

Frankie likes to listen to you talk, because he’s never much been one for talking.

He supposes you just bring it out of him, though. Because here on this street, in the moonlight, he tells you more about his grandmother. You spend hours walking up and down the pavement as he recounts every story he can remember; him and his brother, his parents, aunts and uncles, cousins. Birthdays, weddings, funerals. The street comes alive with the ghosts of people, the spectres of feelings. You and Frankie talk of growing up. Of falling in love. Of each other.

Your small, well-loved house is half way down the street, four up from his abuela’s. It does something strange to his heart to have two of his favourite people, who loved each other in their own ways, so close but so far away.

Your fingers hold his wrist as he shows you a scar on his palm from eating shit on his bike when he was eight, and when he looks up, your eyes are shining under the streetlights. There is a glint of moon in your teeth, and a shocking want so clear on your face, but when he meets your eye there is suddenly hesitation, a realisation, a shuttering. Frankie stops his story. There is a moment, and then it slips away like sand.

You shiver, chilled all of a sudden, and wrap your arms around yourself. Frankie tries not to look too hard at the goose bumps blossoming on your bare skin, tries to fight off the urge to kiss the little raises until you’re warm again under his touch.

‘Cold?’ he asks, and you smile back up at him. God, his heart.

‘As a hole,’ you giggle, and he feels himself smile goofily back at you. ‘We gotta warm up.’ You say, and then freeze.

It takes Frankie a little while longer to hear the inadvertent invitation in your words.

Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

You both stand on the porch, frozen, like some great frost has swept over the land. If Frankie squints, he can imagine the glitter of your eyeshadow, now fallen, dusted on your cheeks, is a collective of tiny constellations of ice.

Your body is wracked with a shiver again, but when Frankie looks you in the eye, you’re burning up from the inside. He swallows.

If he could only make the steps towards you. If he could only will his heavy feet to move, if he could summon his nerves to do exactly what his brain says, he would already be in front of you. He would have your face in his hands, be able to look into your eyes to see that deep, hidden want again, and kiss you. Again and again and again, and he wouldn’t stop, because things like that shitty boyfriend of yours wouldn’t matter anymore.

No. The whole world would be glitter and stars and constellations of ice crystals.

And then you blink, smile softly, and wish him a goodnight.

When he can finally lift his foot to move, your door is already closed.

And in your denim eyes

I see that something's awry

And I see you’re weak

You don’t see Frankie for a while after that, always finding a way to brush off his attempts to hang out.

At first he doesn’t worry too much about it. You’ve just moved back - you have a new job, a new place, new friends to get to know. Tanner.

Frankie finds other things to do. He gets business cards made up for the flying school he’ll be setting up next month. He pilots people across the state, sometimes across the country. He sees the boys for drinks, even sees Jessa for a coffee. He starts to worry when they say their texts have gone mostly unanswered, and they haven’t seen you either.

It must be why he turns up on your front step one day, a six pack in hand.

You open the door on the second ring of the doorbell, and Frankie finds himself rendered speechless. You look… different.

Tired and wary, a little thinner. And when he gets you chatting, you say you haven’t really been anywhere, done anything. You’ve been settling in, getting used to it. You have two beers each, but you seem on edge, like you’re waiting for a knock on the door. And then Frankie asks about Tanner, and your eyes linger on the entryway a little longer.

‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘He’s okay.’

Frankie’s jaw twitches, his stomach clenching uncomfortably.

‘Just okay?’ He asks.

Because you should be excited. You should be gushing and giddy and falling in love. But you’re not.

‘Yeah,’ you shrug. ‘He’s good.’

There’s something in your eyes. Something which shrinks away, skitters back. Something drained, something sapped of life, of energy. Hurt, maybe. Fear, perhaps.

When Frankie thinks back now, he knows he should have pressed you harder. Maybe should have taken you to his, made you talk a little more for a little longer. Away from Tanner, the threat of his presence. But he didn’t. He didn’t.

And he hates himself for it.

When he comes around

I see you're fixin' to shine

And my face won't speak

When Frankie next sees you, you’ve had a hair cut, and there are deep, dark bags under your eyes. Both of these things worry him equally.

Your beautiful hair that you’d been growing out since you were young, hair that you swore you’d never cut shorter than it was in seventh grade, when your mum had to chop it into a bob after you got gum caught in it. And here it is now, much shorter.

Jessa says she likes it, and you give her a watery smile, a weak thank you. She asks where you had it done, when. She asks if you like it, and you shrug. You say you’re trying something new. You say Tanner likes it.

Over your shoulder, Frankie exchanges a look with Santi.

You’re quiet the whole time you're at the bar. Far too quiet, so far from the bubbly conversation you usually hold, your loud cackle, your bent-double amusement. Your affection for your friends - the hands on knees, arms around shoulders, kisses pressed to cheeks. It’s hardly there.

Frankie offers to walk you home, but you wave him off kindly. Tanner’s picking me up, you say, he’s probably outside. Jessa frowns at you.

‘Are you sure, babe?’ She says. ‘It’s not even late yet.’

You smile and nod at her, gather your stuff to go. Jessa catches your arm.

‘We’re still on to go shopping Saturday, though - right?’

You smile at her, the first warm one you’ve mustered all night.

‘Of course,’ you say, ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

When you stand to leave, you hug everybody goodbye. Tightly, for longer than usual. Frankie doesn’t give you an option when he walks you out to Tanner’s car. The smug prick is hanging out the driver’s seat window. He watches Frankie as you walk up, hostile, threatening, arrogant, and somehow still ridiculous. And, Frankie thinks cruelly - ugly.

Frankie pulls you into his arms a few steps away from your boyfriend. He kisses your hair, and you sigh.

‘Have a good time on Saturday,’ he says softly. You twitch a smile at him.

‘Thank you, Frankie.’ You say before stepping back and walking to open the passenger door. As you climb in, Tanner winks at him.

‘Gettin’ a new one tomorrow,’ he says, stupid fucking grin on his face. ‘New car. Exciting stuff. Anyway, better get this one back,’ he says, squeezing your knee a little too hard. You don’t look at Frankie, something like humiliation colouring your cheeks. ‘See you around, Frank.’ Tanner says.

Frankie steps back from the car as it glides forwards, and he watches it disappear up the street.

Deep anger burns in him. And a kind of fear. It crawls over his skin, cooling the sides of his neck. His heart churns uncomfortably in his chest.

He tells your friends about it when he returns to the table. And they form a plan. Jessa texts you a time she’ll pick you up on Saturday. You say you’re excited again, you need some new clothes.

But Frankie knows Jessa won’t take you shopping.

No, she brings you here, to the beach, to the bonfire. To him, to Santi and Benny and Will. Because they’re worried.

So worried, they tell you.

They sit you down in one of the chairs around the fire, and they explain why they’re worried. They tell you they love you - so much - and they just need to know if you’re okay. Because they can help. They want to help, want you out of this, because he’s not good for you. The silence, the hair, the clothes you were going to buy. They tell you they hate the way he doesn’t let you speak, how he speaks to you. And you are so quiet through all of it, Frankie begins to get more worried. He speaks to you gently over the fire, but you can’t meet his eye. He tells you his worries, their love for you again. He swallows down his own confession, anything to make you see. How they don’t want you pushed closer to him, want you to be pulled closer to them instead.

But your eyes are so vacant, so far away, that Jessa leaves her deckchair next to you to sit on the burned up log closer to you on your other side. She takes your hands, and you finally, finally look at her. You open your mouth, and you say so quietly -

‘You’re right. You’re right.’

It feels like the biggest gulp of oxygen Frankie has ever taken. He feels lightheaded from the relief, from the knowledge. They were right, they were right, which is a terrible, terrible thing.

Will clears his throat, and Frankie looks at him to see similar thoughts flicking over his face like film reel. He licks his lips, opens his mouth, and -

Hate to be so emotional

I didn't aim to get physical

But when he pulled in and revved it up

I said, ‘You call that a pickup truck?’

And in the moonlight I throwed him down

Kickin', screamin' and rollin' around

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

Whatever Will is about to say is cut short by the sweep of headlights over the brush near the dunes.

A beat up old pickup truck bumps up the track and pulls up alongside Will’s Ranger. The driver’s side window slides down, and Tanner’s face emerges from the gloom. He revs the engine loudly, making you and Jessa jump. A sick feeling curls in Frankie’s stomach as he watches him, this piece of shit who’s been so busy crushing you down.

Tanner leaps out of the truck, and slams the door. Frankie looks over at you, visibly panicked on the other side of the fire. How the fuck did he find you?

‘Hey baby,’ Tanner says, sickly sweet as he strolls towards you, ducking to press a kiss to your unresponsive mouth. He turns to the rest of the group, eyes skating over Will and Ben until they land on Frankie. Tanner steps towards him, offers his hand.

‘Good to see you again, Frank,’ he says, ‘Told you I’d be getting a new ride.’

Frankie stares at his hand. He takes a deep swig of his beer, breathing deeply before looking Tanner in the eye, refusing to shake it.

‘I’m surprised to see you.’ He says to the dirty-haired man.

Tanner tries his best to appear unfazed, but there’s a glimmer of something hot behind his eyes.

‘’Course man, wanted to show off the new pickup.’ He says, grinning broadly. He looks around again, eyes falling hungrily on Jessa. She shifts uncomfortably on the log, rearranging her body so there’s less for him to look at. A deep heat begins to rise in Frankie’s chest.

He glances again at the ancient car that Tanner’s driven up in. The front bumper almost hanging off, the red paint aged and scratched, bumps caved in all up the sides, the roof sagging.

‘You call that a pickup truck?’ Frankie says lightly. Tanner narrows his eyes at him, angry, before he catches the sound of Santi’s laugh.

He whirls around to the other man and spits -

‘Who the fuck are you?’

Frankie almost laughs, too. Almost.

Pope spreads his hands. He looks up at him through his brows, a glint in his eyes that Frankie is violently familiar with. You must notice it, too, because you clear your throat and say -

‘Santi’s one of my friends.’

Tanner doesn’t even look at you. Just keeps staring at Pope.

The moment seems to last an eternity. Frankie feels like he’s watching everything through sludge, like he’s in someone else’s dream. His whole body is on edge, vibrating, ready to lunge - he’s just not sure at who. He looks between the two men before he catches your eye through the flames. The adrenaline in Frankie’s heart gutters at the look of panic in your eyes.

Please don’t let them do this. Please help me stop it.

Frankie glances back to Pope, and says, so softly only he can hear it -

‘Pope.’

And Santi immediately looks away, taking a swig of his beer.

Tanner stands there still, clearly baffled at Santi’s sudden lack of interest. Then he turns to the rest of the group like a petulant child, a toddler who has been ostensibly robbed of its favourite toy.

‘It’s a good truck,’ he says, before turning to you. ‘Ain’t it, baby?’

You hum your agreement as Tanner scoops a beer from the pile by Will’s chair, shucking off the top with his teeth. Jessa looks away, disgusted. He settles himself in the deckchair at your side.

‘Y’aint allowed to touch it, of course, sugar,’ he says to you, before laughing into his bottle. ‘Ruin everything you come into, anyway. Root of all my problems, ain’t ya?’ Tanner takes a pull of his beer. The group is silent around him. Around you. Tanner notices.

‘Boy, fun bunch you are.’

You look at him through your eyelashes.

‘Baby, that’s enough.’ You say as softly as possible, and Frankie cringes at the pet name.

Tanner looks at you sharply. Dark, furious. It’s in the pinch of his jaw, the anger at what you’ve said so obviously rolling around in his skull.

Frankie hates him for it. And he hates that he hates him for it. There are already so many things he hates him for, but he’s so fucking stupid it’s almost funny. Not your equal in any way. In kindness, in conversation or in intellect. And not even willing to try. To learn. For you. Just trying to dumb you down instead, squash you into smaller, more digestible bites to chew on.

When it comes down to it, Tanner has nothing smart to say back. He just pushes a short breath from his nostrils and mutters out a little -

‘Well, well, well.’

Then he flexes his fingers against the chair, and you flinch.

You flinch hard, your brows coming together, chin scrunching, waiting for the blow to land. And when it doesn’t, your eyes flicker open slowly. Hollow, bereft, drained and dim.

Tanner hasn’t noticed, but everyone else has.

The awful unveiling of your last secret.

Frankie forces the bile down his throat. His head swings forward to the ground of its own accord, a faint, resonant ringing in his ears. When he looks at his hands, they aren’t his own. In fact, he recognises no part of his body as the ringing gets louder, as he gently places his beer bottle on the floor. When his eyes leave the dirt, the mix of faces around the fire are all mirror reflections of each other. Horror, disgust, grief. Grief that this is what you hid from them, this is what they have taken too long to pull you from. The burning building splintering around you, your shell of a body immovable in the middle.

You won’t meet his eye. You won’t meet anyone’s eye as your hand shakes around your bottle. Jessa notices. She stares at your trembling fingers for too long, but she can hardly say anything. None of them can. Her eyes shine like beacons from her seat, wet with tears. Frankie sees her bottom lip quiver, her chin dimple. And then she swallows, swallows again, and reaches for your hand.

You flinch again, softer this time, and Frankie is sure everyone around the fire - everyone in the town, the world, must hear his heart crack. Because he feels it so keenly, so deeply, that it takes the air from his lungs. His breath is caught in his throat, and no matter how hard he tries to draw it, it seems impossible to claw it down. He’s drowning. He’s drowning right here in front of everybody, and it makes it all the worse to know that this is how you must feel. Every damn day.

Come on, he hears Jessa say, Let’s go and get another drink. And through the dark swirling of his mind he watches the two of you stand slowly and disappear towards the back of Frankie’s truck. He waits until Jessa has you hidden from view, her arms around your hunched back as you bring your hands to your face - crying - and that’s when the thread snaps.

Frankie gets to his feet, slowly.

Pope and Will watch him. Benny is still staring at Tanner.

Tanner looks up at him, chin jutted out, smirking as Frankie approaches.

He’s challenging him. He’s waiting for a war of words, for the shouting to begin, for the insults, the observations to fly.

He expected the wrong war from a soldier.

The first punch sprawls him out of his seat. It makes a satisfying cracking sound, and the first trickle of blood starts to bleed from behind his lip.

Then Frankie kicks him. He kicks him hard in the ribs, making sure he doesn’t have enough time to recover from the punch to deflect Frankie’s boot.

Tanner clutches at his abdomen, wheezing, gazing up at Frankie with bewildered eyes. Fucking coward.

Frankie grabs him by the front of his shirt, pulls him upwards. He has nothing to say to him, but the fury he feels, this deep, endless, swirling pit of rage, he lets him see. He lets it fill him from the soles of his feet all the way up through his eyes, and he lets it bleed out. He lets the blackness flood the ground. He lets Tanner watch it, lets it petrify him, and then Frankie swings again. Tanner takes it on his chin this time, his jaw snapping closed, and when it goes lax, a couple jagged bits of tooth fall out. Frankie grunts in satisfaction and swings again, again, until blood spouts from Tanner’s eyebrow and his cheek begins to bruise and swell. Frankie breathes deeply, in rhythm, doesn’t even feel it when Tanner manages to land a lucky punch to his eye socket. He plants a knee into the other man’s crotch, lands him an elbow to the back of his head when he keels over, and then shoves him to the ground. Frankie gets on the floor with him, raining blows down on Tanner’s body, his face. He’s methodical about it, a punch to each eye, the crack of the cunt’s nose, one to either side of his mouth, then bloodying up his jaw. He’s aware, somewhere, that Tanner is screaming. Strangled, gargling sounds trying to claw up his throat. And then he’s aware of two pairs of hands around each armpit, dragging him away, pulling him up. Will is saying something in his ear, that’s enough, Frankie, alright now, and Benny is speaking, too, panicked - you’ll kill him, Fish, come on man.

Frankie blinks, really looks at Tanner where he lays bleeding on the dirt. His eyes already swelling, a couple more teeth scattered on the ground next to him. His face different shades of red and purple, a mess of a man, and Frankie is pleased. He could keep going. He wants to see him bleed much, much more. Will and Benny keep their grip on him.

‘Leave,’ Frankie growls, low, without a quiver in his voice. ‘And don’t you ever come back. You ever look at her again, I’ll gouge out your fuckin’ eyes. You ever touch her again, I’ll break every bone in your body. I’ll make sure they don’t find anything left of you.’

Tanner doesn’t say anything, which must be the only smart thing he’s ever done in his life. But he still doesn’t move.

The four men watch him for a moment, the silence heavy, broken only by the crackle of wood and Tanner’s heavy, wet breaths.

Then Benny lets Frankie go, steps forward and picks the man up by his collar, swinging him around to the direction of his truck. He throws him down on the dirt.

‘Move,’ he spits. ‘Get out of here. And if you have the courage on the way, wrap your fucking truck around a telephone pole.’

Tanner finally has the good sense to crawl over to the vehicle. He hauls himself up the scarred body work before creaking open the driver’s door and slipping inside. The truck sputters to life, yellow bulbs flooding the bonfire site again before it quickly backs away, turns, and drives off. Frankie watches its blinking red brake lights until he’s sure the cunt is gone, and then he turns around.

You’re stood with Santi’s arms wrapped around you, back from the fire where Tanner’s blood is drying. Pope strokes your hair, squeezes you tightly as your body shudders. And Frankie can only stare.

Minutes might have passed. Hours. And Frankie is terrified. Terrified that he’s scared you, broken you, pushed you away. And then you turn your face on Pope’s chest, moving your head from shoulder to shoulder, and you’re looking at him. Eyes red-rimmed and raw, face flushed and damp, and it’s like Frankie’s trance breaks.

Frightened, he takes a step forward. He breathes your name.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and you shake your head. Fuck. What has he done? What has he allowed himself to do? ‘I’m sorry, querida, please - I know, I know -’ but what does he know? He looks to Santi, pleading for help, and the man offers him a small smile as you step out of his arms.

Through a fog, you come towards him. Your chin wobbles. Your eyes swim. You’re a little wide-eyed, a little shocked. And something else, something beyond his reach.

You get to him, and your arms make their silken way around his middle as you begin to cry. Hot tears stain the front of his shirt, and he cradles you to him, holding your skull gently, enveloping your abdomen. A loud sob looses from your ribs.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ You wrap your arms around him tighter, press your nose into his sternum.

‘I’m not scared of you, Frankie,’ you sob into his chest. He clutches at the back of your head, holds you even closer, strokes your hair. When you speak again your voice is higher, strained with your tears. ‘I could never be scared of you.’

The sting in Frankie’s throat becomes hot, burning. He doesn’t know whether to pull you impossibly closer or to push you away, to run as far as he can from your broken, heaving body in his arms. Because what he’s done should scare you. It should. He’d lost all control. The only thing he’d been able to see, to feel was his all-consuming, depthless fury. And Tanner’s face as it splintered, bloodied, swelled. And he’d wanted to keep going, until there was just pulp. No nerve endings, no teeth, no eyes, no mouth, no body that he could ever hurt you with again. He doesn’t want you to hurt any more.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers into your hair.

Trembling misery

And as cold as a hole

I hug your bones and skin

Frankie holds your hand the whole way home, the drive passing in a dazed silence.

You still don’t talk when you get to his place, when he unlocks the door, lets you in, and locks it behind him. You take his hand in the quiet cool of the house, lead him upstairs. He follows, slowly, sore, exhausted. Trying to process it all.

When you reach the landing, you turn on the bathroom light, and he trails behind you. He stands propped against the sink as you dig around in his medicine cabinet, finding wipes and bandages and anything else you think might be useful. You take Frankie’s hand again, examine his bruised, bleeding and swollen knuckles with solemn eyes. You are so gentle, twisting his hand in the light, inspecting. You look over it for a while, and Frankie watches you. When you reach for an antiseptic wipe, your hand is shaking.

Frankie winces silently when you start to dab at the blood on his knuckles, cleaning it away with minute swipes. You chase the dried rivulets of blood down his fingers, over his palm. The scar there from when he ate shit riding his bike.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. You ignore him, breathing shallowly as you inspect his hand, holding his wrist, cleaning blood which is no longer there.

‘Might be a hairline fracture or two,’ you say, distant. ‘I won’t bandage it, gonna let it dry out first. But you’ll need to rest it. And we’ll need to ice your eye.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, into your hair. You shake your head, and the light catches the different colours in every strand. Frankie’s throat tightens.

‘Please stop apologising.’ You whisper.

A shaky breath pushes itself from between Frankie’s lips.

‘No, querida,’ he says softly, ‘It wasn’t right. Shouldn’t have done it. And I shouldn’t have let you see -’ he swallows thickly, throat bobbing. He looks over your head at the white tiles behind you as your grip on his wrist tightens. You still don't look up at him. ‘But it’s not how you treat someone you love. Not how it should be. Should be protecting them, treating them right, loving them the way you love -’ him. He cuts himself off, because he realises as he says it he’s wrong. So wrong.

Right to be like you in your gentleness. In your care, your touch, your tenderness, your loving. But Tanner deserved none of those things. He didn’t deserve your faith, didn’t deserve your protection or your silence either. None of it.

He closes his eyes.

An image of you flickers through Frankie’s mind. Your fingers on his wrist as they are now, your eyes shining under the streetlights. The glint of your teeth, and the want so clear on your face, then the hesitation, the fear, the shuttering -

And if only he had kissed you then. If only you had taken him inside. He could have shown you what it was supposed to feel like. He could have saved you from the hurt, the fear which lay ahead.

There’s a splash of warmth on the pale skin of the underside of his forearm, and he opens his eyes again. You’re still hunched over his hand, but your movements have stilled. Frankie waits, confused, before another warm drop lands on his arm and you hiccup a sob out. He whispers out your name, and you turn your face up to him, devastated.

Frankie’s face crumples, and your grip on his wrist loosens enough for him to lift his hands to your face and cup your cheeks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. I wasn’t thinking -’

‘You think I love him?’ You croak.

Frankie’s jaw works around his next sentence, his next thoughts. He tries to process what this means. That look in your eyes, your tears, your implication. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

‘I don’t love him, Frankie,’ you choke, ‘I don’t. Christ - I don’t think I ever did, I never could -’ you suck in a deep, stuttered breath. ‘I’ve never - never hated anyone more. I couldn’t stand him, couldn’t have him near me, couldn’t have him touch me -’ Frankie flinches at your words. ‘But I was so scared. And embarrassed. I didn’t know how to leave - I didn’t know how to tell anybody about what was going on. I was terrified of what he’d do. To me, to you guys, if he found out I’d spoken about it. And he made it so hard for me to see you, so hard for me to get away.’ You sob now, panic and relief forcing out your words. ‘I thought - wherever I go, he’ll find me. He’ll track me down, and he’ll bring me back - and somehow - somehow that was worse than if he tracked me down and - and - I don’t know, killed me or something -’

Frankie’s eyes shutter. He can’t even follow your thought, so awful is the image, the gaping emptiness. He pulls you close, he lets you cry. Curled into his chest, your body wracking with tears, shaking, tense and uncontrollable, the sounds you make rooting in his brain. They file themselves away in a box where very few things go. Deployment. Tom. The darkness after his investigation. You break and break in his arms, and it’s all he can do to hold the pieces of you together. To press kisses to your head, breathe in the smell of your hair, rub his hands over your back, cradle you like a child.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there for. He waits until you stop sobbing, stop crying softly, stop hiccuping, stop sniffing. He waits for a few more minutes in the silence, too. And when he pulls away, he presses a long, sweet kiss to your forehead.

You blink up at him through red, swollen eyes.

‘You’re safe here.’ He says, and you nod.

‘I know. Thank you. For - everything.’ You say thickly. Frankie swallows, nods. You know it all anyway. Any time, for however long you need.

He pads downstairs to get you a glass of water, and while he’s pouring it, he can hear you blow your nose, wash your face. Somehow, they are the most perfect sounds in the world.

Crackling wood’s gone white

And my eye swole up now

I can see the light

Frankie gives you one of his sleep-stretched t-shirts and an old pair of shorts for you to wear to bed.

The clothes dwarf you a little, and he can’t wipe the small, thrilled smile from his face, even when he looks away. You look fucking adorable.

You giggle at him every time you see it, your little what? only making him smile harder. It stretches his mouth until it hurts and his cheeks start to cramp up, squishing his swollen eye. Stop he tries to say, but it comes out as an equally breathless huff of laughter - and that only makes you giggle more. So much so that he sweeps you up into his arms to stash you under the covers, and you laugh even harder as he tucks the sheets in tight around you, just like his mama used to do when she wanted him to stay put.

He looks down at you from the side of the bed, hands on his hips, and you laugh back at him - eyes shining, mouth open in wide hoots of delight, your hands coming up in a desperate attempt to contain yourself. He points a finger at you.

‘You need to calm down,’ he says, voice tight with bridled amusement. ‘It’s bedtime.’

But you cackle back at him, this glorious puddle of sunshine in his bed, only howls of laughter for a response. Unable to help himself, he returns your joy, turning off the bedside lamps to slip in beside you.

In the darkness, your snorts subside into ragged breaths, and you turn on your side to look at him. You study him as though you never want to forget a single line on his face; such warmth, such affection in your eyes that Frankie’s whole body swells and lifts.

You take his hand beneath the sheets and hold it between your faces, smiling softly at him.

The first and only girl he’s really ever loved. This brilliant, fierce, bright, intelligent woman damped down by the waste of fucking space who had bled by the fire. At the thought of it, Frankie feels his heart fall out of his chest, down through the floorboards, and plummet towards the middle of the earth.

And finally, he begins to cry.

He tries to stop it, he really does. It’s selfish, he thinks, so awful and selfish to cry in front of you when it’s you who should be wrapped in his arms, swept away by emotion again if you needed to be, safe and warm and unworried, never having to fret about anything again.

But he can’t stop it. It comes out in great shuddering breaths - pained, wracked sounds slipping past his lips, and he can’t help it. He tries to gather them in his hands to shove them back in his mouth, tries to scoop them in his arms and press them back into the caving ache of his chest, but he can’t.

When Frankie was a child, he saw his dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after his father’s brother was killed in a car accident. He had seen it through a crack in his parents’ bedroom door, and it had hurt him. It had wounded him, as a child, to see his father break with such grief, such pain, such emptiness, and to know there was nothing he could do about it. And now, he is split into those two people - younger self, older self - as he thinks of you lying next to him on the bed. This person who he loves so much, who is now so full of the knowledge of the worst parts of living, wound up so tight within you that you let it settle, let it unfurl around your bones. He sees your hurt, your grief, your pain refracted around him tenfold, and he hurts with you. He sees you as the boy he once was, this poor creature looking in at a heart breaking, as he has unknowingly watched yours break for months.

And he’s so sorry, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop saying it.

But here you are, still, performing the ultimate act of kindness. Comfort.

He feels the mattress move as you slide closer to him, and then your hand is on his back, swooping in gentle movements. He feels the scrabble of your fingers under the ribs he has pressed into the bed, the pressure of your arm moving under him so you can hold him properly. Frankie sobs harder, but he opens his body to you. You press closer to him, burying your face in his neck, and he breathes you in as he cries. Your scent is here, you are here. And like you heard him, you whisper -

‘It’s okay, Frankie. It’s okay. ’M here. I’m safe.’ And this realisation allows a little more air, but it doesn’t make Frankie’s guilt, his shame any better. But you’re right, he knows it. And somewhere in his crying, this turns his gasps to tears of relief. Softly, you retract your arms from around him.

You take his hands away from his face, and kiss the palms. You kiss each fingertip, each bruised and cracked knuckle. You lean forward and press a kiss to each tear, each trail of saltwater on his face. And you are so beautiful in the moonlight. Soft and wide eyed. Safe. Kind, always kind, and full of understanding. Frankie sees now that you have been crying against him, too, your eyelashes cloyed with tears. Sees his thoughts in your eyes as though you have had each of them zip to you through the air. When you were a child, you saw your dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after…

A smile breaks through your eyes, chasing away the remnants of tears, glazing down, softening your lips.

And Frankie doesn’t think this time. His feet don’t fail him. He doesn’t think of stars or glitter or constellations of ice crystals. He just kisses you. And kisses you and kisses you and kisses you. And he doesn’t stop, because nothing else matters anymore.

You’re safe. You’re warm. You’re in his bed.

You’re here.

You tip your head back, deepening the kiss, licking into Frankie’s mouth. He gives in so easily to you he’s almost ashamed. But then your fingers clutch at him, ball at the bottom of his shirt, tangle in the thick of his hair, and all his thoughts are forgotten. He feels you slip a soft, strong leg over his, pulling him forward. You groan against him, and Frankie’s cock twitches. You feel it, you must do, as you pull your body closer to him, tight against him. Frankie is so lightheaded he doesn’t know where his hands are, what they’re doing - and when he concentrates, he finds them skating over your back, squeezing the tension out of the back of your neck, gripping your hip.

He moans against you as you rock your hips over his thigh, as he feels the heat of your sex against his skin. He feels like he’s on fire.

You slip a hand under his sleep shorts and palm him, brushing his silken length with two fingers, feeling him grow harder, thicker against you. You take him in your hand, pump him once, twice with the perfect grip, the perfect speed, like you were made for him. He’s gasping against you, panting as you suck his lower lip into your mouth.

‘Baby,’ he groans, breathless, ‘We don’t have to. We really don’t -’

You look up at him through gorgeous, glazed eyes.

‘I want to,’ you say, ‘Do you?’

Dangerous, dangerous question.

Frankie tries to shake his head, look away, think of anything but the tight fist of your fingers around his cock.

‘I do,’ he says, ‘I do. But I don’t think - this is the right thing -’

You loosen your grip, draw away from him. His body aches with a shudder.

His eyes flick back to yours again - confused, hurt - fuck, he can’t do that to you, ever -

‘I - I don’t want to take advantage of it - of you,’ he says. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you look down the sheets towards your toes. His jaw tightens. ‘And - and I don’t want this to mean - different things for us. I don’t want it to ruin what we have.’ Frankie breathes out heavily through his nose. He has to tell you now. He has to. ‘I don’t want it to mean different things, because I love you. I always have. And if we do this, if I have you even just for a night, I - I’ll never recover from it.’ Tears spike in his eyes again. He tries to smile. ‘You’d ruin me. And I don’t think I’d ever forgive you for it.’

Your breath hitches in your throat, and Frankie watches as your eyes flit back up to his. They search his face, the dribble of his barely-shed tears, the slope of his sad smile. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, running your thumb over his scraps of beard. He closes his eyes.

‘What you said earlier,’ you begin. Frankie swallows. He waits for the blow of rejection. ‘About me - about me loving him.’ He opens his eyes slowly to find yours, bright and clear. Something begs to bubble over in them. Something golden and warm. ‘You were wrong - obviously. And I couldn’t tell you truly why, because I was afraid. So afraid of pushing you away, even though I think that’s all I’ve ever done. I’ve never thought I was worth it, Frankie. I don’t deserve you. And I am terrified of how much I love you.’ You beam at him, eyes bubbling over with that thing - love - ‘I love you,’ you say simply, like it’s not the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

A stunned little laugh ripples up his throat, and you copy it. He grips your face in his hands, and kisses you again, again, again.

‘I love you,’ he says.

‘I love you, too,’ you giggle.

‘And you are,’ he presses to your lips, ‘You are absolutely worth it.’

He rolls over on top of you, and begins to kiss your jaw, nipping at the skin there, before moving down your throat. He kisses you with a hot, open mouth, sucking marks into the sensitive skin at your pulse point. Mine, he groans, and you whimper against him, rubbing your thighs together.

Frankie pushes your shirt up - his shirt - so he can bite at your chest, press kisses to every bit of exposed skin. Every single part of you that deserves to be loved, every single place which has so far been unknown to him. He sucks each nipple into his mouth, delighted when you keen beneath him, panting, please, please Frankie, before he sinks lower down, peeling his shorts away from you to expose your glistening cunt.

He groans, unable to take his eyes away from it as he leans forward, pressing his body into the mattress to lick a stripe from your asshole to your clit.

‘Frankie -’ you groan down at him as he begins to work at you, sucking and licking, nipping at your thigh before slipping his tongue into your hole, swiping and tasting everything you’re giving to him. He grinds himself into the mattress, hissing at the relief, the uncomfortable weight of his cock dragging below him.

‘Taste so good, baby,’ he tells you, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to taste, wants to smell anything else ever again. All he can do is eat at you, breathe you in, until you’re begging him -

‘Frankie, your fingers - please -’ And he flexes his hand at your hip before brushing a fingertip against your entrance and gasping at the pain.

You try to bear down towards him, but he rips his hand away, lifting his head towards you.

‘Can’t,’ he gasps, and you mewl, bucking your hips up to his face, desperate. ‘Hand’s fucked,’ he says, and you still your movements before beginning to laugh again. It’s loud and from your belly, and it's bizarre. But Frankie gets it. He gets it, and he giggles too. He doesn’t try to fuck his broken knuckles into you, but he does try to continue lathing you with his tongue. You’re making it pretty fucking difficult, though.

‘Stop laughing,’ he huffs against your clit, ‘I’m trying to make you come.’

‘Okay,’ you say, gasping for air, ‘Okay. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. You’re doing really well, by the way.’ But this only makes him laugh. He groans, leaning his forehead against your inner thigh. ‘This is impossible.’ He pouts.

‘Nooo,’ you cry, leaning up on your elbows to pout down at him. ‘Please, baby. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. I won’t laugh anymore.’

‘Promise?’ He says. You hold out your pinky to him.

‘Pinky promise.’ You say.

Frankie stretches his hand out to you and tries to extend his pinky. He winces at the sharp pain which shoots from the movement, and grunts at you, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘You bastard,’ he says, trying and failing to hold his smile, ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to do that.’

‘Just keeping you on your toes,’ you grin, and then before you can make any more smart remarks, Frankie resumes his ministrations, lapping and tonguing at your clit, your hole, mouthing hot, wet kisses to your pussy. He shakes his head from side to side, running your bud in tight, hard little circles until you’re a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him. Your hips buck unconsciously, and Frankie hooks both his arms around your thighs to hold you down, flattening his hands against your belly to keep you firmly in place. He reaches up to twist at your nipples and you gasp.

‘God, Frankie, tongue feels so fucking good -’

He can feel you begin to pulse against his chin as your whines get higher in pitch, and he groans as you twist handfuls of his hair.

‘Come on, baby,’ he says, ‘Give it to me. Wanna see you come, querida. Wanna taste it. Come on my face.’

And you do, the sensation of it arching your back tight like a bow, a strangled moan cutting off into the ceiling.

‘Fuck, Frankie, fuck -’ as he drives you through it, nodding and murmuring against you as you try to wriggle free, squealing in protest until you manage to twist a leg and set a foot against his chest, pushing him off.

‘Fucking - hell -’ You pant, and Frankie grins down at you, smug.

‘Good?’ He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Oh, fuck you, Morales.’ You laugh, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, moaning when you taste yourself on him. Your tongue explores every part of his mouth, every crevice behind every tooth, like you can’t get enough of him. Like there'll never be enough of him. ‘Now fuck me.’ You whisper.

And Frankie does not need to be told twice.

He rips his shirt up and off his back, shucks his shorts down his legs, and squeezes himself tight as he can in his left hand. He ruts into his palm, thumb swiping to slick his heavy beads of precum down his length.

‘Ready?’ he asks, looking down to find you staring wide-eyed at his cock. It twitches under your gaze.

‘What?’ He says, and you shake your head in quiet disbelief and amusement. You lift your eyes back to his face, and they are so dark with arousal he almost melts into the mattress.

‘Nothing,’ you shrug. ‘Just somehow never believed Pope and the boys when they said it was like two coke cans put together.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Frankie laughs, his face pulling tight with a grin as he lines himself up at your entrance, swilling the head in your arousal.

‘I mean, what if it doesn’t fit?’ You babble, and he shakes his head.

‘It’ll fit, baby,’ he says. ‘We’ll make it fit.’ Then he sinks the first inch in, and just waits. He waits and watches you, watches as your mouth falls slack, all the smart things coming out your mouth grinding to a halt. He throbs at how tight you are around him, at how you clench already, trying to suck him in further. And fuck, you are so wet.

‘You okay, querida?’ He asks through gritted teeth.

You manage a nod, a broken whine escaping you.

‘Move Frankie, please baby -’ you beg, and he groans as he pushes further inside you, watching the obscene stretch of your pussy around him, the way it pulses, the way it gets wetter and warmer and tighter around him. When he bottoms out, he feels the hot rush of his orgasm leap towards him a little too quickly.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he breathes, closing his eyes just to make sure he doesn’t come right away. You squirm beneath him, canting your hips up, trying to fuck yourself. Frankie grips you, gritting his teeth. ‘Stay still,’ he hisses, flushing a little. ‘God, fuck, please - just for a minute.’ He opens his eyes to find you watching him, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. His eyes glaze down your body - his t-shirt bunched up around your chest, perfect tits, perfect belly, and your sweet, sopping cunt split open on his cock.

He groans again, slipping out, watching as he retreats, soaked by you, before pushing back in. A high pitched whine leaves your lips, and you twitch your hands up to play with your tits. Frankie doesn’t think he’s ever seen something more sexy in his life.

‘That’s right,’ he says, ‘Keep playing with yourself like that, gorgeous. Look at you.’

So you do, looking up at him with doe-eyes as he fucks into you, soft at first, letting you adjust before quickening his pace, readjusting his angle, feeling you leak around him. His balls slap against your ass loudly, and you keen up at him, eyes wide, begging for something as you tighten like a coil around him, something you can’t quite voice. But Frankie knows.

He swipes his thumb against your clit, and your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching again. He groans at the sight, and works the bundle of nerve endings in tight circles, faster and harder, harder and faster, until you’re gripping him so tight he thinks you might push him out.

‘Come baby, come,’ he pants, ‘Please, querida, need to feel you - need to feel you soak me. Need you to come for me, come on this cock, baby, please -’

And he groans, long and loud as you clench and pulse around him, milking him, pulling him impossible deeper - fuck, Frankie, oh my god, feels so fucking good - the delicious pressure at the base of his spine at breaking point as he fucks you through it, as he pants and gasps -

‘Come, Frankie,’ you plead, ‘Please - want you, need you -’ and he spills himself deep inside you, hips stuttering, eyes clamping shut, overwhelmed and short circuited. He’s never known it could feel like this - good to the end of every synapse - and he’s fucking it in with three long thrusts, pulling out slowly just to watch it dribble out of you as he twitches against his thigh. He thumbs your clit just to watch you seize and sigh against him, then sits back on his knees to look at you.

‘You are something else,’ he says in disbelief.

You smile lazily at him.

‘Ain’t so bad yourself, Morales,’ and he laughs, throwing himself down next to you, kissing anywhere he can. I love you, I love you, I love you. Safe.

You lay there for a while afterwards, just feeling each other, calming your ragged breathing. Eventually, Frankie rises from the bed to grab a washcloth, coming back and swiping between your legs tenderly, gently, before collapsing back into bed and pulling you into his chest.

He feels like he’s in space, and he tells you as much. He spills secrets like a child at a sleepover. He tells you about the glitter and the stars and the constellations of ice crystals. You match him with a galaxy of feeling spanning the time he’s known you. And he feels that this is a dream, this love which floats like a nebula within the bed. He tries to keep his eyes open for as long as possible, even as you sleep. And even when he does drift off, he dreams of you. He dreams of you sparkling with stardust, waiting for him with your arms open.

When he wakes the next morning, you’re still there. Safe, soft and warm against him, furled into his ribcage, heart beating against the hand that’s pressed against your chest.

Everything’s okay. That red thread still intact, after all.

When the sun rises, bloody and mild, it’s never been so sweet.

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

#WOW WOW WOW HOLY WOW #ellie fic rec box #i am a little speechless! i will reread this again tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that and #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #putting this in my queue for tomorrow morning so hopefully people see it more i want everyone i know and love to read this

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coquettepascal · 9 days ago

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happy birthday to the mandalorian <3

#ellie talking tag #i love him so much dont get me started

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coquettepascal · 9 days ago

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For the Glory of Rome

if you enjoy my art consider checking out my patreon where you can get exclusive rewards such as a small print every month for the price of a latte

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coquettepascal · 10 days ago

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what is the protocol for finding a plagiarized fanfic if the author no longer has a blog?

#ellie talking tag #plagiarism sends you to HELL by the way.

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coquettepascal · 14 days ago

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#frankie morales #GAH i love him #ellie talking tag

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coquettepascal · 14 days ago

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I AM THINKING ABOUT THIS INTERVIEW ALL DAMN DAY

#i thought about this all day like Actually all day #i had to screen record it on my phone so i could watch it on the bus #i need to get a GRIP like seriously.#pedropascal #connie nielsen #pedro pascal #gladiator ii #ellie talking tag

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coquettepascal · 16 days ago

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frosted kisses

pt. ii to texas sweet

summary: after some serious distance, a nightmarish evening at the miller household leaves you and joel closer than before.

tags: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, fingering, pulling out, missionary, almost oral, joel is a consent king, gentle!joel, soft!joel, proud dad joel returns, tommy is here, so are sarah and ellie, don't ask how old they are i really can't tell you, tension, sexual tension, kind of angst(?), realistic sex, reader is in a panic as usual, but joel is really sweet, kissing, neck kisses, biting, scratching, mention of joel's dad gut (yum), joel in a wifepleaser, use of darlin' and baby and honey, one use of good girl, praise kink (a little), takes place during july (texas sweet was in june)

a/n: thank you to my biggest cheerleaders @mochamadeleines and @pascalssbabyy <3 also thank you to everyone for being so patient for this sequel. i hope you all enjoy !! :]

wc: 7.6k (sorry :3)

It is way too hot outside to be doing anything but laying in an ice bath, yet here you are leaving at 9am for your shift. The walk to the bus stop isn’t bad, but it does mean you have to walk by Joel’s house.

Joel.

He never followed through on that promise of taking you out for dinner, but it’s only been a month since that night. The two of you had been friendly in passing, since it’s hard to avoid one another, but you can see the avoidance in his eyes. A little while ago you looked up when “neighbours day” was, remembering how he said to let him know. But, it turns out that’s all the way in May, and it’s currently July… So.

So you’ve been avoiding each other a little. That’s fine, it was a weird situation for the two of you to find yourselves in. You stared at Joel’s grey-blue truck when it rolled back down the street that night, the headlights flashing yellow on your walls. The hand resting on your chin still smelled like him, like his dick.

Honestly, everything on you smelled like him for a little while, your shirt especially, but also your skin. Joel wouldn’t leave you alone, even though he physically was. Watching him from your window started to become an obsession, seeing the sweat soak through his t-shirt when he’d mow the lawn on the weekends. You couldn’t stop watching him, remembering how needy he was.

Your achy need for him was a constant at night, only competing for dominance over your mind by wondering how needy Joel was.

Nothing could drive the memory of his whimpers and groans out of your mind, the throb of his cock in your hand, and the way his hands twitched and grasped at nothing when he came. It would attack you at random times throughout the day, especially when you were on the bus coming home from work. Most of your days are boring, repetitive. The same texts from your mom, the same job, the same… everything. Joel was the most exciting thing for you, but that was short lived. It was just one evening.

It’s kind of fucked up how you just have to move on, sweaty palmed every morning as you pass by Joel’s house. It isn’t even like he’s home when you walk by, he starts work at around 8am. You would know because Tommy’s truck is noisy as all hell, it works great as a last minute alarm.

Or at least he isn’t usually home.

“Mornin’ darlin,” calls Joel as you step off your porch.

His voice is just as warm and sweet as ever, like the sun today if it were kinder, but there’s an extra cheerful lilt in it. Turning your head, you see Joel still in his pajamas. It’s a weekday, so that’s odd, but what’s more odd is that he’s hanging balloons outside.

A light grey wife pleaser stretches around his torso, showing off his thick arms and shoulders. This is not something you’ve seen Joel wear before, but he must have slept in it if the plaid pajama pants are anything to go by.

It’s the polite thing to do to go over there and say hello, right? That’s what your mom would want you to do, to be neighborly. You’re not going over there to check him out. That would be crazy.

Crossing the grass from your house to his is easy, but spit is all caught in your throat by the time you get over to him. Jesus, are you drooling?

“Hi Joel,” you manage to reply to his greeting as he tapes another balloon up to the overhang of his garage, “what are the balloons for?”

He grunts as he twists to fix the tape, the balloon nearly falling on his head. The way he’s stretching up is making the wife pleaser stretch up, exposing the skin of his waist. Your fingers twitch, wanting to touch there again. It makes your mind spin, thinking about how your hands have been there, that he knows what it’s like to have you on him. An explicit secret that neither of you share. You wish he was facing the other way so you could see his tummy, the plushness of it was so comfy against your arm.

“S’for Sarah,” he finally responds, turning to face you.

And oh… oh that’s why he’s so damn happy. He had talked about it in passing a few times during the small talk you had made. Sarah’s birthday was in July and she planned on coming home for it, Joel was so bright everytime he talked about it. His smile is so much bigger when he talks about his daughters.

“Is she coming home today?” You ask, shifting on your feet. Joel nods, tearing off another piece of tape with his teeth.

“Uh-huh, pickin’ her up around noon. We’re doin’ a dinner tonight,” he says. You can see how his eyes are a little unfocused, excited. He sticks the tape to the knot of the balloon and starts to continue his sentence, but is cut off by the front door opening.

The sound catches your attention, your eyes flicking to the door. You didn’t see his truck in the driveway, but there’s Tommy Miller in all his glory.

You won’t lie to yourself, the Miller family clearly has good genetics. Tommy’s got these gorgeous waves in his black hair, and a charming smile too. But, he isn’t nearly as soft as Joel is. Not a player, but Joel’s been worn in by 2 daughters and a divorce, like a well loved plushie. Tommy hasn’t been worn in by anything, in fact he’s known for wearing things out. As much as you’ve heard the whispers at neighborhood events, the other Miller brother has never interested you. Tommy, of course, has shown interest in you once or twice. A few bottles in and he’ll talk to anything.

Today though, Tommy is behaving. He flashes you a kind smile, and nods.

“Hey neighbor-girl,” he greets.

You almost snort. You know Tommy knows your name, but he’s being weird. Did Joel tell him? Probably not. Do brothers share that sort of information? You’re getting sweaty again–

“Saw the flowers y’bought Ole Joel,” Tommy grins, “thought maybe his ex’d dropped by.”

Oh. Oh thank god. Thank god the flowers gave it away.

Joel snorts and then scowls at Tommy, shaking his head. He mutters something about you “having a name,” and suddenly all you can hear is the blood in your veins. A hot rush flies over you, but you’re flushed from the sun anyways. What difference will a blush make? It’s not that obvious.

Distracted with your anxiety around the two, you barely realize that Tommy is scolding Joel now.

“S’nice girl gave you flowers and y’ain’t even invited her to the dinner tonight?” Tommy scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. Your eyes flash to his arms and Jesus does being brothers mean you’re both built as fuck?

“Tommy,” Joel says, voice tight, “I was midway through a conversation with’er. Was just about to.”

They exchange a look you can’t really decipher. Tommy raises his eyebrows and Joel curls his lip in response. Then, Tommy turns on his heel and goes back in the house.

The heat outside is already uncomfortable, but now you feel awkward. You didn’t realize that Joel would invite you to something. Maybe he didn’t even want to, he just didn’t want to look like an asshat in front of Tommy. Joel looks sheepish in his pajamas, downturned frown neutralizing to a softer smile. He breathes in to speak, but now you don’t want his invite.

“Joel,” you say quietly, “you don’t have to invite me. I’d hate to intrude on your family time with Sarah.”

You really thought that you’d want to speak to Joel after all this time, but this feels humiliating. A pity invite to his daughter’s birthday dinner? It’s not what you expected, or wanted. As much as you’d like to see Sarah, something about it feels wrong. What would you say?

“Hey, it's been awhile. How’s college been? Good! Aw, I’m glad. Yeah last time I saw your dad I jerked him off. Oh, you’re in STEM?”

No, that’s not what you want. He looks like he’s going to protest, but you have to shut him down. You’ve never really spoken to his other daughter, Ellie. It feels like a nightmare waiting to happen.

“I’m just your neighbor,” you wave your hand, as if you could make this go away.

Joel’s brows furrow, his mustache curling back downwards with his frown. Skittishly, his eyes flick away.

“I… I’d like it if y’came. Even if we’re just neighbors,” Joel says. He seems embarrassed about inviting you, a red hue glowing beneath the sweat on his neck.

Alone, in front of the garage, it feels like he’s under you again. Why is he so shy? So bashful? Something in you is frustrated. You’ve been waiting for a month for any scraps, anything more than neighborly chit-chat, and now you have to turn him down. Doesn’t he realize you’ve been waiting for him?

You don’t want to be just neighbors with this Joel, you want more. You want to know him more than just as “hot-single-dad-next-door.”

You want to know him the way you did when you were behind him on the couch.

But… Maybe this is Joel. You saw the pictures all over his house, and he runs a company with his brother. Family is clearly everything to him, and even if this isn’t a dinner-date like he promised, this is something more. It’s closer for him, this is his own version of pulling you in.

Besides, your mom would want you to say yes. It’s polite, right?

You concede to Joel’s wishes, as much as you want something else. He smiles really big when you agree, a shy “okay” leaving you. It’s not like you could ignore him anyways, not with the way his wife pleaser is stretched around him so… pleasingly.

He tells you that there’s a colour theme of black and blue, since Sarah wants everyone to match in the pictures. Joel starts to blab about what a good photographer she is, but you actually shut him down this time, so as to not miss your bus.

—

Somehow, standing on Joel’s porch is a lot worse than last time. You don’t have a bunch of flowers for your neighborly crush, or a set of hands to ease his back. All you have is the guilt in your gut for showing up at his daughter’s birthday dinner.

It took you almost 45 minutes to pick an outfit. He mentioned blue and black, but didn’t mention what shade of blue. Everything you had felt either too dressy, or was literally pajamas. Eventually you found something that worked, but now you’re in your own head. Will Joel think this is nice? Does Joel even think you’re pretty in the first place? You can’t remember, your mind is blanking.

Jesus, chill out. You’re going over for dinner, and this isn’t even about you.

Swallowing the saliva in your mouth, you knock.

“I’ll get it!!” A voice yells from inside. Not Joel’s.

Tommy grins at you after he swings open the door. He’s done his hair back, instead of tying it back, and he’s wearing a blue and black, plaid, flannel. The Miller brothers seem to have a flannel for every occasion.

“Well helloo Neighbor-Girl,” Tommy greets. His smile is devious as he stands in the doorway.

Loud footsteps rush up behind Tommy and he’s suddenly being yanked out of your view by a hand.

“Christ, Tommy, leave’er alone.” Joel grunts.

He isn’t wearing a flannel, which surprises you. His usual casual clothes have been replaced by a nice, black, western shirt. The stitching across the chest is done in black as well. Not unlike Tommy, is his slicked back hair. It’s short still, but it looks good pushed back.

He tells you to keep your shoes on as he leads you to the backyard. You can’t keep your eyes off him as he and Tommy walk ahead of you. That black shirt, stretched across his back, the curls that lick upwards where his hair isn’t slicked. God, he looks stupidly good.

The house looks about the same. Same couch where you jerked him off, same table where the flowers used to sit, same pictures of his family on the walls. Everything feels different. Why doesn’t it look different?

Finally your eyes reach the backyard, and it looks magical. Various lights have been set up to create a relaxed atmosphere, with some comfortable lawn furniture set up on the deck. The barbecue is clearly cooking something, and Tommy walks to it automatically.

Sarah and Ellie seem to be giggling to themselves, hunched over in secrecy. The sisters whisper to one another, but part once they see you.

“Hi,” Ellie says immediately, her bright eyes looking at you excitedly. You greet her in return, then wish Sarah a happy birthday.

She’s wearing a matching shirt to Joel’s, which is adorable. You know for a fact that Joel wouldn’t dress up past a button up or flannel for most occasions, meaning Sarah probably begged him for this. Even the wash of their jeans are the same.

You’re just about to strike up a conversation with the two girls when Joel comes up behind you and squeezes your upper arm gently.

“‘M sittin’ over there, if you’d like to join,” he motions to an outdoor couch identical to the one Sarah and Ellie are sitting on.

It’s close enough that you could go back to talking with the girls, but once you’ve sat down beside Joel, they’re back to giggling.

—

It feels like everybody knows.

This fear from earlier has manifested in front of your eyes, this awful anxiety growing. You could barely finish your food, even though it was delicious. Your mouth is dry all the time, you can’t stop drinking water. You hyperfocus on every little action you take, feeling crazy,

Tommy has been staring at you like he’s holding a secret, his eyes seem to say “I know something you don’t,” and every time you turn your back Sarah and Ellie are giggling again. For them, you try to cut some slack. Ellie is a teen, and Sarah isn’t a lot older than her, they’re young girls, of course they’re giggling. It’s Tommy who’s making you anxious, especially with the scolding scowls that Joel keeps sending him.

The conversations are fine once you stop eating, mostly with you listening and observing the dynamic in the family. Tommy talks about this recent client he and Joel have been working with as you all eat cake, but it’s hard to focus when it feels like everybody knows what you did.

Joel seems to notice this anxiety over the course of the night, looking at you with mild concern a few times. He even asks if you’re alright at some point, holding the “darlin” for once, and you just tell him you had a rough day at work. Total lie, the only rough thing about this day is how you feel like you’re going to throw up all your food anytime someone in his family starts to perceive you.

Later in the evening, Joel rests his hand on your knee when he reaches for his beer, and you flinch. He seems caught off guard by this, but luckily nobody else notices. His eyes are apologetic as he looks at you, all brown and sappy.

Shame is burning in your veins. He’s invited you here to spend this special night with his daughter and family. He's been so kind to feed you too, but now you’ve made him feel weird too. It feels like your anxiety is leaking out of your pores, a haze of guilt clouding your mind and flooding his. Joel hasn’t seemed bothered at all tonight, or at least he hasn’t shown it.

But there he is, accommodating you as he leans a little closer and asks;

“S’gettin’ late. I could walk y’home.”

There he is, there’s your Joel. Your Joel, the one who you know as a caring man. In any other situation this would feel like someone politely requesting you leave the party early, but not with Joel. He’s conscious of your emotions, and he can tell you’re too overwhelmed to be here anymore. There’s your sweet boy, reeling you in before it gets to be too much.

You only nod in response.

It’s a few more minutes before you get out of there, with Tommy and Ellie stacking copious amounts of leftovers for you onto paper plates, lidding them with tin foil. You use this time to talk a little with Sarah, asking about her time in college. She’s happy to share with you, and you can see Joel in her. She has the welcoming energy, the same warmth in her that pools in her eyes. Even without the outfits they would match.

Ellie, however, must be spending too much time with Tommy. They both wear shit eating grins as they hand you the stack of plates stuffed with leftovers, with Tommy asking you to “Come back anytime.”

Blood rushes to your face fast, and you toddle off to the door quickly after saying thank you.

—

The air on the porch is cooler, but your adrenaline is making you run hot. You want to stop sweating, but all the looks and giggles and comments from the night are running through your mind repeatedly. What did they know? How did they know? Joel wouldn’t tell them anything like that, would he? Thank God you didn’t stay long enough to be in those pictures that Sarah wanted to take.

The front door thuds shut a moment later. Joel’s steps fall heavy behind you, then he’s beside you. He’s barely touched you tonight, and even now he keeps his distance. You’re glad for it, you couldn’t have handled it anyways.

You both walk the short distance to your house, using the pathway rather than cutting through the grass like you usually do. It feels like you should be enjoying these extra seconds of time with him, but all you feel is embarrassed.

He breathes in the cool air of the summer night through his nose, chest puffing, then blows it out.

“I am so, so, fuckin’ sorry,” he says.

It takes you off guard immediately. You felt like you were acting crazy all night just by your own overthinking, but it was also fuelled by Joel’s non-chalantness about everything. He didn’t seem to notice anything all night but you and how anxious you were. This feels like the start of a conversation, so you put the leftovers down on the bottom step of your porch.

“I– Ellie, when I brought her home after you were over last,” he begins, “she got home and saw the flowers right away. I told her not to make nothin’ of it, but she went and rattled off to Sarah and Tommy.”

Oh, okay. It was just the flowers. That’s good, at least they think you’re a lovesick loser, rather than the neighborhood floozy.

“I told them to act right tonight, begged’em to. The three of’em have been torturing me about it, I think it’s why I avoided you,” Joel admits quietly.

He’s doing it again, soothing your worries without meaning to. He’s a cooling balm on your burning brain, a sense of sanity cleansing you.

Joel wasn’t ashamed of what happened between you two, his family was just being shitstirrers about him receiving flowers. It wasn’t on purpose, and most importantly–

“I’m really sorry, angel. I should have called or– or somethin. Askin’ you to come tonight was askin’ for trouble from them. My daughter’s birthday ain’t makin’ up for shit, ‘specially not when they’re actin’ like that.”

An apology. Joel Miller seemed like a solid man before, one that was dependable, polite, and kind, but now he seems near-perfect. He’s taking accountability, admitting how he acted and why, and apologizing. No wonder he has two incredible daughters, both of whom love him dearly.

You stand there for a minute, a little speechless. You can’t remember a time that a man apologized to you and seemed to really mean it, or at least understand what he did wrong. But there’s Joel, in his black western shirt that’s rolled up his thick forearms, eyes soft and sorry as he looks at you in the blue-black night. He’s not like any man you’ve met before, not like your dad, friends back home, or your ex-boyfriend.

Tonight isn’t like any night you’ve had in Texas so far, but for so many different reasons. You’ve had a few weird nights, sure. Like what you shared with Joel, or the time you took the wrong bus home and got lost downtown, but it’s weird in a good way.

Tonight, you get to accept an apology from a man who truly seems sorry. Who’s admitted his wrongs, explained what happened, and more than that he’s been earnest about it. You didn’t have to beg for this apology, or argue why he should apologize. He did that on his own, made up his mind, and said sorry like a real man would.

It’s hard to make up your mind on what to do though, whether you should throw yourself at him and kiss him dizzy, or to just say “It’s alright, no hard feelings.”

You settle somewhere in the middle, taking his hands into your own. Your thumb pads rest in the centre of his palms, pushing down and massaging his hands.

“It’s okay,” you say finally, voice unsteady.

Joel isn’t at fault for his family being devious and obviously way too interested in his love life. What he is at fault for, is avoiding you. Brave enough to apologize, pussy enough to avoid the girl he likes. You keep talking.

“I wish you would have spoken to me about this, it made me feel awkward,” you tell him.

He looks up from your joined hands then, looking at you face on. Shame is painting his features, but he’s trying to be courageous, you can tell.

There is no “I know I should have,” or “I’m sorry you felt that way.” Just his voice saying, “I’m sorry.”

No if’s, and’s, or but’s. He’s sorry without excuse or pride.

The night air is still brisk on your skin, but Joel is warm everywhere. If you laid a hand onto his cheek you would feel hot flesh burning you back. His eyes flit from your own for a moment, decisive.

“I’d really, really, like to have dinner with you sometime. I know tonight was a disaster, so I won’t be offended if y’say no, but… I wanna make this up to you.”

This feels so much realer than last time, like he’s gripping your heart in his hand and squeezing as it beats. Joel isn’t just saying this in passing after he’s come in your hand, he’s not awkward and politely asking to return a favor. Joel wants this, wants you, wants to have dinner with you. It probably should have occurred to you when he invited you to his daughter’s birthday dinner, but it’s only hitting you right now. No more pity invites, he wants this.

Joel Miller wants this, he wants you, and he’s standing there with your hands in his, with his stupid soft eyes and with his heart on the line. He’s beautiful right now, standing with you as sorry as he can be. You’ll let him have this, he’s asking for it himself. Joel’s being so much braver this time around.

“I think we could do that,” you reply quietly.

His shoulders relax, brow unfurrowing. You can see the relief flood over him instantly, and he looks beautiful then too.

It’s easy from there. Joel’s voice is so soft when he’s grateful, quiet as he thanks and arranges a date-night with you. The two of you decide that a night in would be fine, since Joel ends up working late pretty often. You’re fine with this, and would honestly rather have him to yourself anyways. No more prying eyes when you’re with him, no more over-bearing perceptions that make your brain fizzle out with anxiety. Just you and Joel.

Admittedly, this silly crush on Joel began at a pretty surface level. Not shallow, but all you knew about him was that he was a hot dad and a nice guy. Now, though? Now he’s proven himself, shown you that there’s something in him that you can reach for. Everything’s bigger in Texas, but so far it’s only made you feel small. Being around Joel hushes you, like a kiss to a scrape. You want to know him deeper.

He squeezes your hands, then drops them so you can pick up your leftovers. You feel a little shy turning your back to him as you make it up to your door, but then he speaks.

“You looked real pretty tonight, angel, more’n usual.”

You hope he can’t hear the squeak you make when the door shuts behind you.

—

It’s a few days later, and Joel is supposed to be coming soon. He warned that he’s been working late recently, that he probably won’t be off work until eight that evening. You don’t care, you made him dinner.

It’s sitting in the kitchen, ready to be rewarmed when he gets to your house. It’s 8:30 now, he should be here soon. You’re tucked away on the couch, settled after recooling the house with your air conditioner. To be honest it should be illegal to cook during summers like this. You sweated so much you thought about taking another shower, but it wouldn’t have helped.

Besides, Joel’s showing up to your house in probably 10 minutes, sweaty and gross from work. It won’t be like you’re any grosser in comparison.

As predicted, he does show up ten minutes later. His hair is a mess and he smells like hard work, but it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters when he’s in your doorway, toeing off his boots, and asking how your day was. Joel’s eyes keep shyly meeting yours as you lead him to your living room and turn to face him. He’s nervous, clearly, but it’s sweet. You’re both out of your element again, this time in your house instead.

Joel’s eyes flit around the room when he’s avoiding your eyes, taking in your home similar to how you did his when you were there not so long ago. You wonder what he’s thinking, hoping he doesn’t find you to be boring. He keeps clenching and unclenching his fists and laughing nervously, and you keep watching how his adam's apple bobs in his throat, and how he vibrates with his laughter. He looks puppylike in the soft light of your home, brown eyes glistening.

“Are you hungry?” You ask him, tilting your head upwards. He looks so huge in your little space.

Joel nods sheepishly, and so you lead him into the kitchen.

—

They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and maybe Joel is the reason they say that. He groaned his way through dinner, with his eyes rolled back and compliments flying off his tongue when he wasn’t chewing. He listened to every word you said intently, taking his time with the food you had made. It had taken almost 40 minutes for him to finish that plate of food, and you saw just earlier that week how fast he could pound back a meal.

He’s savoring you with this silent praise you’ve never experienced.

And now he’s sat beside you on the couch, arm around your shoulders, and you’re snuggled back into him. The remote seems like a prop as you use it, aimlessly scrolling through a streaming service for a movie. Your thumbs are just rubbing over the rubber buttons now, your eyes focused on how his chest rises and falls.

“I really don’t mind what you wanna watch, baby,” He says.

His voice seems so much nicer up close like this, when his face is just above yours and you’re beside him.

“Or we don’t have to watch anything at all, we can just talk.”

How are you supposed to control yourself around him? How can he just walk into your home and fit right into your space, and look that good and be so warm? It feels like your bones are fighting against your skin to move, like the blood in your veins is yearning to jump rope. Joel is turning you on in a way you didn’t think possible, in a way where he’s never touched you, but you need him all at once. He’s softening the both of you.

It’s the middle of the hottest July of your entire life, but you’ve never felt warmer than right now.

“I’m sorry, was that weird? I jus’ like to hear you talk an–” Fuck he’s so nervous. Why is he so nervous? You want him loose and pliant again, like he was on the couch.

“You should kiss me,” you blurt out.

It’s funny how this is not the most insane thing you’ve suggested. The first crazy thing you suggested was “helping” him out with his boner when you went to his house on father’s day.

Still, Joel is surprised.

“You think so? I jus’ ate, I probably taste like food,” he says it like it’s an excuse.

You shift your body so you can face him better, chin tilted up so you can see his face. He’s not blushing, but he does seem surprised. This is much different than the embarrassed girl he walked home not even a week ago.

“Joel, I’m sure. I just– I don’t know, I’m sorry,” you bumble out.

He’s shaking his head, eyebrows pinched in that stupid way that makes his eyes look like a baby animals.

“No, no, baby, it’s alright I’m just gross from work and I…” He drops eye contact with you.

“I don’t want you to think that all I want from you is physical. You’re beautiful in a lot more ways than that.”

Fuck this guy, seriously. He’s so nervous, and clearly still thinks he’s fumbling this. Your bones are still vibrating, you’re so close to jumping out of your skin and into his.

“Joel you’re incredible too, but I just really need you to kiss me,” you breathe.

He seems to get it then. You clearly have deeper feelings, but after so long apart, and that disaster with his family, you’re pent up. Joel knows he’s kept you waiting long enough.

His first kiss is hesitant, just a small one that ends in a mumbled apology.

“S’been awhile,” he excuses before going back in.

And from there, it escalates. He’s controlled in his kisses, and seems to be avoiding tongue kissing you. Joel’s hesitancy from eating earlier is there, and you appreciate the courtesy. He makes it up though, when you push him further back on the couch and slide into his lap, arms looped around his neck.

Kisses are dotted from your lips, down your chin, and to the soft skin of your neck, where his mouth nips and kisses gently. Your hands are in his hair as you roll your head back, wanting to allow him however much space he needs to kiss you. There’s no hesitancy for either of you to be quiet, with him groaning as he smothers your neck in kisses, and you whining as he finds your sensitive points.

It only takes a few ruts of your hips against his for him to be asking you if you want to go upstairs. He’s out of breath beneath you, cheeks flushed, and you can feel how hard he’s gotten.

“Y-yeah, my room,” you agree weakly, sliding off his lap.

Joel can barely keep his hands off you as you scamper up the stairs, grasping at your thighs and laughing softly when you squeak.

It feels so juvenile, the way he grabs for you as soon as you enter your room. His lips are back on yours even as you try to tug up his shirt and he shakes his head slightly.

“You first, I have a lot to make up for,” he mumbles, nodding his head towards the bed.

He undresses you once you’ve laid down, with eyes that drag over you in awe and pure attraction. Joel doesn’t mind your plain cotton undies, or the hairs that poke out the front. It’s sweet and homelike, it’s normal.

He kisses where your hip bone is, murmuring into the fabric that covers it.

“I really want to eat you out, beautiful. Is that okay with you?”

For the first time in this entire evening, his voice seems to sober you rather than intoxicate you more. Your lungs finally catch up with the rest of you, and you can breathe enough to get some actual oxygen into your brain, so you can think.

Obviously the answer should be yes, but you don’t feel totally comfortable with that yet. You’re not someone who prefers to be shaven, it’s inconvenient, but your bush is a little much even for you right now. On top of that, you’ve been sweating like crazy all day, so you don’t even wanna know what it’s like down there. And if you don’t wanna know what it’s like, then you don’t want Joel to know what it’s like, even if he really wants to.

So you shake your head.

Perfect boy he is, Joel nods and says “that’s alright, baby, thank you for bein’ honest,” as he slides back up your body after placing one more kiss on your hip bone.

You are okay with him lifting your shirt off, and then unclipping your bra. He palms at your breasts lovingly, kissing them all over and lapping at your nipples. All of his touches are so gentle, but stupidly impactful. He seems to know that you don’t want this to be rough, that you enjoy his sweetness. He’s understanding you without even trying, and it feels like you’re being loved for the first time.

Joel is being careful in a way that doesn’t make you feel like you’re being overdramatic, or fragile. He’s watching your movements so he can do this right, but at the same time you’re getting impatient.

“Joel,” you pant as he sucks your nipple back into his mouth, “Joel, take your clothes off, please?”

He’s stupidly excited as he scrambles off your bed, tugging his jeans down and almost getting caught in his shirt when he pulls it off wrong. Joel touches his boxers and then looks at you with questioning eyes. This is where he hesitates.

“We can turn the lights off,” you offer gently.

You remember his hesitancy on the couch, how he didn’t want you to look at him, to see him. It doesn’t matter if it’s dark in your room when this happens, so long as it’s him in the bed with you.

Joel turns and shuts the lights off, plunging the room into darkness for a moment before your eyes adjust. In another moment, you feel him on top of you again, his warm skin touching yours. It’s very lucky you cracked your window open earlier, so now your bedroom has become a manageable temperature.

He’s comfortable on top of you, with his plush tummy pressing against the softness of your own. Your legs tangle as you struggle to strip your undies off, and you give up when they get caught around your ankle. His nose is pressed to your cheek as he just hovers above you for a second.

“I know I said this earlier, but it really has been a long time,” he admits quietly.

It shouldn’t warm your heart the way it does, but the idea of him not sharing himself with anyone for so long until you… it’s special.

“That’s okay. Are you okay?” You ask.

He nods, from what you can feel, and then pulls back onto his knees. Joel isn’t totally visible in the light of your room, but he’s still gorgeous from what you can tell. The pouch of his tummy is so cute, so real, and you hope that you can bite it one day.

“I’m just going to prep you a little, is that okay darlin?” Joel says carefully, trailing a hand down your thigh.

Maybe from the outside this looks like two awkward people having sex, or maybe even like you don’t want each other at all. It sounds like there’s so much hesitancy in the room, but it’s not like that. The two of you are just reassuring one another, Joel to you because he was gone for so long, and you to him because it’s been so long for him.

So it isn’t awkward, when he plunges his finger into you. He starts with one, gentle as ever, and works up to three very slowly. Joel leans down to your cheek and murmurs the nicest things to you, telling you how nice you feel, thanking you for being so kind to him.

“So patient with me, baby. Don’t know why you are, but it’s so kind,” he says quietly as he curls his fingers in you. They feel so much bigger than your own, but they fit fine. Fuller than you’re used to, but fulfilled in a new way. The feeling chokes your breath and all you can do is whimper softly at him, eyes wide.

“M’gonna be makin’ up my mistakes for a long time to you, an’ not just like this,” he promises, slowing his movements but making them more deliberate, a little harder. Nothing is burning like it usually does, there’s no sting of pain, it’s just a melting pot of pleasure between your legs as he gives himself to you and you to him.

“Is that okay with you? Is it okay if I wanna make this up to you for a long time?” Joel asks.

You know what he’s asking. You know you want it too, you know you haven’t felt this wanted since you moved to Texas, probably even before. Nothing has felt like this in your life, and he’s requesting you to have it.

“Yes, yes, Joel, that’s okay with me,” you say.

He leans down and kisses you once, then lets you scoot up and over on the bed so you can fumble in your drawer for the lube. Your hand passes over a silicone toy in your bedside table and you smile at the fact that it will soon be long abandoned as you pass the lube to him.

“Might be cold,” Joel warns before pouring some onto his fingers and applying it to you.

Then, he applies some to himself and settles comfortably between your legs. He drags the head of his cock over your hole and up to your clit, like a teasing warning. He had felt big in your palm before, but he feels even bigger now. He was right to prep you.

Finally, he notches himself and slowly pushes in, letting your locked ankles on his lower back guide the speed at which he slides in. Joel is breathing really heavily, and when he finally feels his pelvis meet yours, he collapses down onto his elbows.

“Fuck,” he cusses.

It feels better than you thought it would. He’s big, but not so much that you want him to pull back a little. You physically feel as comfortable and fulfilled as he makes you feel emotionally.

“So good, oh my god–” you sigh softly, hands reaching up and catching his curls in your fingers. You drag him down, your beautiful boy, and kiss him gently.

But he isn’t moving. You can feel his thighs shaking and how he’s still breathing heavily.

“Hey,” you start softly after pulling back from the kiss, but he shakes his head.

“If I move I think– I think I’m gonna come,” he sputters out embarrassedly.

Oh.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry baby. You’re just so fucking pretty and it’s been so long and you feel so goddamn good, I don’t know, I can’t move.”

His nose is near enough to yours that you can brush them together, nuzzling the side of his face.

“Joel it’s okay, I’m not going to be upset,” you tell him. It’s oddly sweet for him to have such an overwhelming reaction to you.

“No, I know that I just… I really wanna make you come. I wanna feel it," he admits.

And so you wait. Your unending patience seems to extend to him again in this moment and you lay there kissing him until he can finally begin to move at an even pace.

It’s so worth it.

Joel is so loving as he fucks you, with deep thrusts as he groans and bites at your neck tenderly. His hands come up and palm your breasts, rolling his thumbs over his nipples as he tells you how pretty you are, how grateful and sorry he is.

He apologizes a lot. For the party, for his distance, for how stupid he was to not see how beautiful you were from the day you moved in next door. He’s noisy and apologetic as he keeps a stable pace as he fucks you into your mattress.

Your mind is entirely fucked for him. You’re whimpering and mewling beneath him, babbling “it’s okay,” and “i forgive you,” everytime he says he’s sorry. Why is he even sorry anymore? Can’t he tell how much you love this?

The more he talks the closer you get, your body clenching around him as he buries himself deep repeatedly. The stable pace he set should ground you, should keep your head on your shoulders, but it’s actually making it worse. You don’t need it any faster or harder than he’s giving it to you, not with how noisy he is, and how attentive his hands are.

“Do you forgive me?” he rumbles into your ear, dropped on one elbow as his other hand is reached down and gently rubbing your clit.

You nod desperately, accidentally knocking your head into his. It makes him laugh, asking “yeah?” as he continues to pin his hips into your own.

“I forgive you, Joel, I swear,” you choke out weakly.

“Then will you come for me, honey? Please?” he asks.

It’s maybe the dirtiest thing he’s said all night, or maybe it just feels like it in the heat of the moment, but it sends you over the edge right away. You spasm around him and claw at his broad back, gasping for air and squeaking out noises you haven’t made before. Tears prick at your eyes as he works you through it with his fingers and cock.

“Fuck, yeah, there you are baby, that’s a good girl. God– Can I come? Is that okay?” Joel asks once you start to come down. You’re still in your head enough to nod, pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips.

It doesn’t take long at all, you’re surprised he was able to last as long as he did with everything considered. Joel takes less than a minute before he’s pulling out and letting out deep grunts and breaths as he comes on your tummy, looking down at you with adoring eyes.

“Thank you, thank you baby, God.” He huffs out as he catches his breath. He’s kneeling between your legs with his chest puffing.

He continues thanking you as he cleans you up with a washcloth. You had to guide him to it by yelling instructions as he walked on shaky legs to your linen closet, not wanting to spill his mess everywhere.

Once you’re finally cleaned up, he nestles into bed with you. Your head lays on his still clammy shoulder as he tucks you beneath his arm and presses kisses to your hairline.

“M’so grateful for you, darlin’, I hope you know that,” he mumbles to you.

You tell him that you know, that he just proved it to you, and he laughs. The noise is so warm in your room, like it was meant to be there.

“Okay, that’s fair, but if you need anything else,” he tells you.

A thought does pop into your mind, but it doesn’t seem totally appropriate. You’re enjoying this peaceful moment with Joel, in your quiet room. His hand is tapping its fingers on your stomach, squeezing the flesh once or twice.

You decide not to say anything, but your tummy does. She growls loud and proud, forcing an embarrassed blush onto your face.

“Um… I think I’m kinda hungry,” you admit.

—

That’s how you and Joel end the night, in the kitchen.

You’re sitting on your countertop while he leans against it about a foot away. The paper plate that Ellie loaded up with cake is sat between the two of you, and your forks steal big lumps out of it.

Joel has frosting in his moustache, but it looks so cute there that you don’t have the heart to tell him. Instead, you just lean over and kiss him.

“N’ what was that for?” He asks through a mouthful of cake.

You just giggle and shrug, admiring him.

“I just like you,” you tell him.

He looks like he might roll his eyes, but instead he steps closer to you and kisses you on the cheek. You can feel the residue of the frosting on your skin.

“Yeah, I think I like you too, baby.”

i don't have a taglist, but i'll just tag people who commented on texas sweet :p @mochamadeleines @pascalssbabyy @taeslarityy @stefanibear003 @slutty-express @theweedisasterxoxo @knockk0ut @axshadows @lumpatto @aquanatalie @peekyourinterest @moel-jiller @ghostofzion @joeylovestofu @hellishjoel @pedropeach @pawnshopb1ues

#late night reblog #again #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedroverse #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #tlou #tlou hbo

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coquettepascal · 18 days ago

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all the love on frosted kisses has been incredible and i can't thank all of you enough ♡♡ i am so glad that it lived up to texas sweet. i took so long on frosted kisses because i wanted it to be just as soft and a sweet as her predecessor.

that being said, it will be a little while before the third part comes out. i'm going to write something small in the meantime though, with another soft!joel so stick around!!

again, thank you guys sm ♡ it has been overwhelming in a beautiful way. i look forward to writing even MORE normal people soft smut for u all :P

#ellie talking tag #texas sweet #frosted kisses

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coquettepascal · 18 days ago

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AAAAAH THANK U BETH ILYSM