joelmillers-wife

[joelmillers-wife]

The boyfriend act, part 11: "The one with the things we shouldn't talk about" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: You and Frankie get back home, eat cake, watch Notting Hill, and talk about all the things you probably shouldn’t—but do anyway. WC: 15,1k (sorry omg)

TW!!: This chapter touches on sensitive topics including grief, suicide, and substance use. If you are sensitive to any of these topics, please take care while reading <3

A/N: Well, it seems I just can't manage to write short chapters. I'm sorry about that. I write and write, and before I know it, I've gone way overboard. Sometimes, when I go back to edit, I try to cut anything that's not strictly necessary... but everything feels necessary. If I could somehow describe the exact chemical reaction that happens when Frankie looks at Reader, I totally would lol. Anyway, thank you so much for reading and for your lovely comments!!!! If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

When you opened the door to your apartment, Mr. Darcy appeared almost instantly, trotting toward you with a dramatic, drawn-out meow, like you’d been gone for days instead of just a few hours.

"Come on, don’t be so dramatic," you murmured, bending down to scratch behind his ears. He accepted the attention begrudgingly, rubbing his face against your leg before stalking toward the couch.

The adrenaline had worn off on the drive back, leaving exhaustion in its place, a pleasant kind of heaviness settling into your limbs. After the jump, Eric had stuck around to chat—mostly with Frankie. He’d asked about Santiago, and when he realized you were his sister, his face had lit up in recognition. Then, with a grin, he’d nudged Frankie and made some joke about dating his best friend’s sister.  

You hadn’t stayed much longer after that. The hunger had hit fast, like a delayed reaction to the morning’s excitement. Frankie had suggested stopping somewhere to eat, but you had countered with a better idea—grabbing food to go and eating in the car. So that’s what you’d done.  

So, instead of the warm scent of coffee and sugar from the drive there, the car smelled like fries and chicken nuggets. You’d taken over the music again with a mix of early 2000s nostalgia—Nelly Furtado, Hole, Jonas Brothers, some Britney, and a rotation of pop hits. Quite a variation, to be honest. Frankie didn't hate it.

Before heading home, you had asked him to make a quick stop at Joe’s Bakery. He had parked outside, unbuckling his seatbelt, but you had stopped him before he could get out.  

"It’ll just take a second," you’d said, already pushing the door open.  

When you came back, you were carrying a pink cardboard box.  

Frankie had glanced at it, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "What do you have in there?"  

You had only shrugged, feigning disinterest, and closed the door without answering.  

Now, back in your apartment, he stepped inside with the same pink box in his hands while you locked the door behind him.  

You walked over to Darcy, scooping him up and pressing your fingers gently against the soft fur of his throat as you made your way to the kitchen. Frankie set the box down on the counter, then followed you, reaching out to give the little guy a quick, absentminded scratch on the head.  

"Can I use the bathroom?"  

You clicked your tongue. "You don’t have to ask."

"Excuse me, I’m a gentleman," he said, eyebrows raised as he turned and headed down the hall.

You set Mr. Darcy down gently, his soft fur slipping through your fingers as he trotted off, tail flicking. Padding over to the kitchen sink, you turned on the water, letting it run warm over your hands as the morning played back in your head like a reel of sunlit images. The rush of air, the weightlessness, the sheer exhilaration of it all. You still couldn’t believe it. It had been incredible. 

God, Santi would have loved it.  

You could go again with him, maybe. You wondered what he’d say when you told him—if Frankie hadn’t already beaten you to it. You hadn’t mentioned it to your brother, and he hadn’t said anything to you, so… probably not.  

You’d send him the pictures later, wait for his reaction. He’d definitely find it odd coming from you. But hey, now you were officially the kind of person who went skydiving. Casual. No big deal. Just that cool.  

You laughed softly to yourself.  

And then, like a shift in the wind, your thoughts veered toward Frankie.  

Your hands stilled under the water, fingers pressing against the cool ceramic of the sink. You stared at the tiled wall in front of you, but you weren’t really seeing it.  

Something sat heavy in your chest, dense and unmoving. A feeling you didn’t quite have a name for, but it clung to your ribs like something permanent.  

And the night before—it was still there, between you, thick. Neither of you had mentioned it. Not once.  

And Frankie hadn’t looked uncomfortable, hadn’t acted any differently. As if nothing had happened. As if just hours ago, you hadn’t been in his lap, bare skin against his, his mouth on you in places that still ached with the memory.  

If he wasn’t bringing it up, it was probably because he didn’t want to. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe he saw it as a mistake, something awkward that he was hoping you’d quietly let slip into the past.  

And sure, it had been unexpected for you too. But a mistake? 

No.  

Because no matter how much you tried to shove it down, there were things inside you that were getting harder and harder to ignore. Desires that felt like wildfire, impossible to contain.  

But you were Santi’s sister.  

That’s what he had told you last night. Like it was some kind of rule written in stone, like it was the reason, the boundary, the excuse. And maybe it was. Maybe it was enough to keep you at arm’s length. To reject you.

But the words had sounded weak. And you didn’t know which was worse—the idea that he truly believed it, or the possibility that he was hiding behind it, afraid to say what he really meant.  

Maybe he just didn’t want you. Maybe this was all a mess for him, one he wished he hadn’t gotten into at all. 

“Your bathroom cabinet drawer is broken,” Frankie said, cutting through the thoughts circling in your head.

You blinked, turning off the faucet and glancing at him just as he leaned against the counter beside you, hip pressing into the edge.  

“It doesn’t close all the way,” he added. “Probably just needs the guide replaced.”  

“Oh.” You reached for a towel, only to realize too late there wasn’t one. You wiped your damp hands against your shorts instead.  

“I can fix it if you want,” Frankie offered. “Might just be something stuck in there.”  

You shot him a sideways smile. “Were you snooping through my things, Francisco?”  

His eyebrows lifted, lips parting slightly. “No—no,” he said quickly, straightening just a little, though not enough to actually move away. “I just noticed.”  

“Mm-hm,” you hummed. “Well, if you feel like playing handyman, be my guest.”  

Turning toward the counter, you reached for the pink box you had set down earlier, your fingers running along the ridges of the cardboard before slipping beneath the flaps. Frankie shifted, settling onto one of the stools across from you. His elbows rested against the surface, his gaze fixed on your face.  

But you weren’t looking at him. You were focused on the box, the anticipation of what was inside pulling your attention.  

When you finally lifted the lid, your smile came instantly. You turned the box toward Frankie, giving him a full view of what was inside.  

A small, round cake, covered in smooth white cream. Swirls of frosting curled into delicate peaks around the edges, dotted with soft pink flowers piped with precision. Fresh strawberries were nestled between them, some sliced, others whole, their red brightness standing out against the pale background.  

“To celebrate,” you said, voice quieter than you expected, cheeks growing warm under his gaze.  

Frankie leaned back slightly, his smile widening, eyes creasing at the corners as he took it in.  

“Amazing,” he said. Then, with a teasing tilt of his head, “You sure this isn’t just an excuse to eat cake?”  

You rolled your eyes, nudging the box closer.

“Obviously. It's my favorite," you said, running a fingertip along the edge of the box. "Well, one of my favorites."  

Frankie shifted, rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to his feet.

“I should probably let you rest, then.” His voice was quieter than usual, lower, like he wasn’t quite sure of the words as he said them. 

“You’re not gonna stay?”  

His head lifted. He stilled. His eyebrows raised just slightly. 

“Oh. You... you want me to stay?”  

“Yeah. I mean—” you hesitated, suddenly second-guessing yourself. “I mean, if you can’t, it’s okay—”  

“No, no—”  

“I get it if you’re tired. I dragged you through a lot between yesterday and today—”  

“It’s not that—”  

“No, I totally understand—”  

“I want to stay.” His hand flattened against the counter as he leaned in, his eyes locked on yours now. “I just thought... well, that maybe you were tired and wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to bother you, that’s all.”  

“You don’t bother me,” you said simply, lifting the small cake from the box and setting it on the marble countertop. “I bought this to share with you. We both jumped, didn’t we?”  

A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “That’s right.”  

You turned toward the cabinets, reaching for plates, pulling open the drawer for silverware.

“Besides, it’s kind of a habit. When I was a kid, every time I did something big, my dad would take me to Delora’s for strawberry shortcake.”  

Frankie didn’t say anything, but you could feel his attention on you, listening.  

“He always picked the one with the most strawberries. It was my favorite,” you continued, setting the plates down. “Then on my birthday, he’d get me a huge one and give me the strawberries from his slice. Santi too.” You reached for the coffee maker. “Do you want coffee?”  

“I always want coffee.” A brief silence, then, “So strawberries are your favorite fruit.”  

You smiled, but he couldn’t see it, not with your back to him. It was in your voice, though.  

“Yeah. And I was kind of obsessed with Strawberry Shortcake when I was a kid, too. My mom made me this beautiful costume for Halloween once. It was amazing—”  

You stopped speaking, you hesitated, your hands stilling, a puzzled smile forming on your lips. Something about the quiet behind you made you turn.  

“Francisco?”

He lifted his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly. But didn't speak.

“Why do I have a feeling you already knew about this?”  

His expression didn’t change, but there was something amused in the way he furrowed his brows.

“Knew about what?”  

“This.” You gestured vaguely, as if that would explain everything. "Um... Shortcake."

“Oh,” he said, nodding as if considering it. “I dunno. That seems unlikely.”  

“Santi told you?” You turned back to the coffee maker, your hand steady as you poured coffee grounds into the filter.  

“No.”  

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. “Ha. Funny, then.”  

He exhaled a quiet laugh. “Yeah.” A pause. “Do you want me to help with something?”  

Behind you, you heard the scrape of wood against tile as he pushed the stool back and got to his feet.  

“Yeah, um, grab two mugs.”  

You took the plates and carried them to the breakfast bar, setting them down before leaning against the counter again. The coffee maker hummed to life, the rich scent filling the kitchen. You exhaled, watching him as he moved. He reached for the mugs without hesitation, setting them down beside the cake before glancing at you.  

The look was brief, accompanied by a small, lopsided smile before he settled back onto the stool.  

“So, you used to go to Delora’s,” he said. “That’s pretty sweet. We could’ve gone there if you wanted, bought one of those ridiculous big gorgeous cakes filled with cream and strawberries.”  

You shook your head, peeling yourself off the counter and walking toward him.

“No, the place closed a couple of years ago.” You sank onto the stool across from him, resting your elbows on the counter, chin in your palm. “Not long after my dad died.”  

Frankie’s gaze lifted, the easy amusement in his expression dimming.  

“The last time we went together was a few weeks before that,” you continued, your voice softer now. “When I graduated college.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” he said, his voice careful, though the way he looked at you didn’t shift at all. His dark eyes were fixed on your face like he was trying to memorize something, and maybe a part of him was. He didn’t blink. Didn’t fidget. It was like he’d settled into the discomfort on purpose.

You smiled automatically, but it didn’t quite hold. “It’s fine. There are a lot of good bakeries in Austin. I think I’ve visited almost all of them by now. I could pretend I was on a serious mission, you know? Like some noble quest to find the perfect replacement cake. But really…” You let out a breath, not quite a laugh. “I think I just wanted an excuse to keep eating things that reminded me of something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

You paused. There was a tightness behind your ribs, a pressure that had nothing to do with the conversation and everything to do with who you used to be when the tradition still made sense.

“But honestly,” you added, your voice quieter now, “the cake wasn’t the point. Not really. It was… the moment. Sitting there, sharing it with him. That’s what I keep trying to recreate. Not the flavor or the frosting or whatever. Just that.”

Your eyes dropped to a spot on the counter, something nondescript—like a coffee stain or a scratch—something easier to look at than him. But when you finally glanced up again, he was still watching you, as if the movement of his body had frozen sometime between your first word and now. There was something on his mouth that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach beyond the corners of his lips. His eyes held none of it.

“Shit,” you said quickly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for to get all heavy.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, almost immediately. “It’s—” He exhaled, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he wasn’t sure what expression to land on.  “Really. It’s a beautiful thing, the way you’ve kept that tradition alive. I’m just… sorry you’re stuck sharing it with me.”

He laughed then, quietly, and lifted his hand to his own face, dragging it across his jaw in a kind of nervous gesture.

“I just... I just know I’m not really a worthy replacement for something that meant so much to you.”

There was something in the way he said it—that quiet, self-deprecating remark—that landed in your chest like a weight. You felt it settle under your collarbone, a low, aching pressure, and you hated that it made you feel anything at all.

Because once again, you’d done too much. Said too much. Given him access to a part of you that wasn’t his responsibility to hold. And it wasn’t fair—he hadn’t asked for this, for any of it. He just kept getting pulled into the orbit of things you didn’t know how to carry alone. Maybe because he still felt guilty. Maybe because he hadn’t figured out how to tell you no.

And the thought that he might only be here because of that—because of some unspoken sense of duty or debt—it made your stomach twist. You didn’t understand him.

“Well,” you said, your voice lighter than you felt, “it’s just cake.”

You shook your head once, not to dismiss the conversation exactly, but to pull yourself out of it. You stood from your stool, picking up both mugs and walking over to the counter, where the coffee machine murmured softly, still working.

With your back to him, you added, “I’m just being sentimental. You don’t have to stay for that.”

There was a beat of silence.

“What?” he said eventually.

You turned partway, just enough to catch his expression for a second—something unreadable flashing across his face. You gave him a faint smile. One of those practiced ones. 

“I’m saying you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. It’s okay,” you said, shrugging. “You must be tired.”

He didn’t answer right away, and you didn’t push. You stayed where you were, facing the cupboard, your fingers brushing the edge of the sugar jar without really picking it up.

Then, from behind you, came his voice again. 

“Is something wrong?”

You blinked. Your eyelids felt heavier than they should’ve.

“No. No—why?”

You turned around this time, leaned back against the counter with your hands on your hips like it would make you look more composed than you felt.

Frankie was watching you. Then he stood. Crossed the space between you in a few quiet steps, until he was directly in front of you. For one strange second, you thought he might say something else, but he didn’t. He just stepped past you, the warmth of his body brushing yours briefly, picked up the coffee jar, and poured the dark liquid into one of the mugs. Still without meeting your eyes.

You looked at him. His profile was steady in the muted sunlight bleeding through the kitchen window. Everything about him seemed calm, measured.

He moved the full mug aside, then filled the second one. Both of you stood in the silence like it had been placed carefully between you.

“I can leave,” he said finally. Still looking ahead. “If I wanted to, I would. But I don’t. So I’m staying. You’re not forcing anything on me.”

Your gaze dropped to the mug in his hands. The way his fingers wrapped around it made it seem small. Fragile, even. 

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked then.

You shook your head.

“No. But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable with… all my stuff. It’s personal. Too personal?” You tilted your head, brows pulling together. “Is it too much?”

Frankie let out a low, quiet laugh. Not dismissive, just... surprised. He shook his head.

“You’ve met my whole family,” he said, turning to look at you fully now. “You’ve been in my childhood bedroom. Pretty sure you went through my drawers, remember?” He raised an eyebrow. “If we’re drawing lines around intimacy, I think we passed them miles ago. Don’t you?”

And for a second, you didn’t know what to say. Because he was right.

“I didn’t go through your drawers.”

He looked at you sideways, one eyebrow lifted. “But the rest of it is true, isn’t it?”

You shrugged, the corner of your mouth curling into a half-smile you didn’t bother to hide. There wasn’t much use pretending at this point.

Because yes—of course it was true. All of it. You knew his siblings’ names, the sound of his mother’s voice on speakerphone, the way he liked his coffee, and how he looked when he thought no one was paying attention. He knew how you grieved, who you missed, how your voice cracked when you talked about things you thought you'd long buried.

It was intimate. Too much, maybe. But also too late.

And then, of course, there was the fact that he’d seen you nearly naked, which you weren’t going to bring up now, obviously. That belonged to another moment, another kind of tension neither of you had fully acknowledged.

He carried both mugs back to the counter without saying anything more, setting one down in front of your seat and the other at his own.

You followed, settling onto the stool again. The cake sat between you, small and delicious. You picked up the knife, sliced a clean piece, and gently placed it on Frankie’s plate. Then you did the same for yourself, aware of the quiet ease moving between you, how different it felt from a few minutes ago.

As you reached for your fork, Frankie lifted his coffee and took a sip, his eyes flicking toward Mr. Darcy, who was strutting past on his way to the hallway like he owned the entire block.

“Okay,” you said, watching Frankie’s face as you settled your chin in your palm. “Tell me what you think.”

He glanced at you once before picking up his fork, cutting a generous bite from his slice, and shoveling it into his mouth without ceremony.

You waited, eyes on him, noting the way he chewed, the way his brows pinched slightly as if he were actually concentrating. Then his eyes fluttered shut briefly, and when they opened, you caught the faintest smile breaking through.

“Awesome,” he mumbled, fork pointing toward the filling like it had personally impressed him. “Cream. And whatever that chocolate thing is.”

“Ganache,” you said, amused. “You’re eating cream and chocolate ganache.”

He nodded, entirely unbothered by the details. After a pause, he lifted his coffee again, raising it in your direction.

“Here’s to you. For, you know… jumping out of a plane and doing the whole thing.”

You were mid-bite, but your eyes found his. You swallowed, then raised your own mug in return.

“Here’s to us, for jumping,” you echoed, lips quirking. 

The mugs clinked together with a quiet thunk. 

By the time the clock edged past four-thirty, you'd already gone back for seconds. Your stomach felt full, your heart happy. Or whatever the saying goes.

You’d been talking for a while. That part came easily, almost naturally now, even if it still surprised you when it did. Frankie had ended up telling you how he met Eric, which spiraled—obviously, because stories didn’t stay in neat boxes. One memory tugged on another. Before long, he was telling you about his teenage years, those messy, uneven years that no one ever really talks about unless they’re asked.

You hadn’t asked directly. Not really. But you had wanted to know. What had he been like when he was a teen? What music did he listen to? Did he get nervous around girls? Did he cry when things didn’t go his way?

He told you about his first kiss—how awkward it was, how he’d knocked teeth with the girl. Then his first real girlfriend, a swedish exchange student named Alida, who liked heavy eyeliner and drawing tiny stars on her notebooks. He said her accent made everything sound like poetry. And then the first heartbreak. A girl he’d been seeing for a couple of months, who left him for someone three years older. Frankie rolled his eyes like he’d long made peace with it, but you could still hear something there.

“He had a black sports car,” he said, stabbing his fork into the last bit of cake. “Beautiful thing. I had a bike.”

You laughed into your cup. “Yeah, you didn’t stand a chance, buddy.”

“I mean,” he continued, holding the fork like a pointer, “I would’ve taken her everywhere on that bike. Literally everywhere. Him? Probably didn’t even let her change the radio station.”

There was cream on the corner of his mouth, caught in his mustache, and you thought—without warning—what a soft, ridiculous man.

“A true romantic. I totally believe you.”

You kept picturing him younger—less solid, less tired maybe. What did fifteen, sixteen or seventeen-year-old Frankie look like before the years started layering over him? You’d seen one or two childhood photos before, but those didn’t count. He was a baby there. That was another version of him entirely, before anything really happened.

So you asked.

He didn’t even flinch at the question. Just pulled out his phone, thumbed through the gallery for a bit, then handed it over without ceremony.

The photo lit up the screen.

Frankie at seventeen, shoulder-to-shoulder with another kid you didn’t recognize, both of them squinting into the sun. His face was leaner then, clean-shaven and impossibly young, but the eyes were the same. Dark, serious, a little too knowing for someone who probably hadn’t learned how to file taxes yet. His hair was shorter, neatly combed like he was trying to impress someone’s dad. He wore a black N.W.A t-shirt over a white long sleeve, and his grin was wide enough to make you ache a little.

“Oh, you were handsome,” you said, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips as you zoomed in on the photo, studying the lines of his younger face like you were trying to map something familiar.

Frankie laughed and you noticed the way a faint flush crept over his cheeks.

“You think so? I dunno. I wasn’t doing so great around then.”

“You’re being modest,” you said, glancing up at him. “Your sisters told me otherwise, actually.”

He lifted one shoulder like it didn’t matter.

“I wouldn’t know, wasn’t paying attention, I guess.”

There was a beat of quiet between you—comfortable, maybe even necessary. He took another sip of his coffee, watching the steam curl off the rim like he had something else on his mind.

“Now, show me a picture of you,” he said, eyes flicking to yours.

“Me?”

“No, the other person hiding in the kitchen. Yes, you.”

You clicked your tongue at his teasing but reached for your phone anyway, handing his back as you scrolled. It didn’t take you long. You had a folder set aside for these moments—old photos, scanned birthday cards, old screenshots. Call yourself melancholic.

You picked one and passed it to him, resisting the sudden, fluttering urge to pull it back.

In the photo, you were sixteen. Your hair was different, your baby face present. You were sitting cross-legged on the couch with a small white kitten curled against your chest, your smile wide and unguarded.

“Look at you,” he said quietly, his mouth curling. “Those cheeks. Bright eyes.”

You felt your face warm under the weight of his attention, but he didn’t see it—he was still absorbed in the screen.

“It was my birthday,” you said. “My parents went to pick up Kylo that morning. He meowed so loudly from their room I figured it out before they could even pretend to surprise me.”

Frankie huffed a laugh, still looking at the picture. “So you’ve been a cat lady from the beginning, huh?”

You grinned. “Yeah, I’m destined to become that woman from The Simpsons, the one who screams and throws cats at people on the street.”

He laughed. “Yeah? I’ll be walking down the sidewalk one day and a kitten will hit me in the chest. I’ll know it’s you.”

“Probably.” You shrugged. “Sorry in advance.”

He looked at you then, not the photo. And with a kind of absent-minded softness, he said, “You were cute. If I’d met you in high school, I probably would’ve had a crush on you or something.”

It was so casual, the way he said it. Like he didn’t even think twice. Just followed the thought to its natural end and let it fall into the space between you.

But the effect it had on you wasn’t casual at all. You felt it right away—a quick, dizzy thrum behind your ribs, like your body was catching up to the weight of the words before your mind could.

And he didn’t even notice.

“That would’ve been weird though, don’t you think?” you said, squinting at him. “You’re like—what? Six years older than me? How old would you have been then?”

You did the math in your head, not really waiting for him to answer. “Twenty-two.”

Frankie rolled his eyes like that wasn’t the point at all.

“Hypothetically,” he said, waving his hand through the air like it could clear the timeline. “If we’d gone to school together—same year, same time—then yeah, you would’ve been my crush or whatever. That’s what I meant.”

“Right,” you said, nodding, trying not to smile. “Well, mine probably would’ve been the guy with the black sports car.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Fuck you,” he said, playful but mildly wounded. “You would’ve missed out. I’d have taken you everywhere on my bike.”

You laughed, your fingertips grazing the side of your cheek like that might hide the warmth rising there. You were blushing. You could feel it and knew he probably could too, even if he didn’t mention it.

After a pause, you stood up and walked to the bathroom. The mirror reflected your face in unfamiliar light—warm cheeks, slightly mussed hair, something about your expression that looked both too young and too aware. You adjusted a few strands near your temples, tucked one behind your ear.

From down the hall, you could hear the muffled clink of ceramic, the rush of tap water. The sound of him, still moving through your space like he belonged there, or at least wasn’t trying to rush his way out of it. It startled you how much you liked that.

Back in your room, you slipped off your shoes and put on a pair of worn, fuzzy slippers and padded back toward the kitchen. But he wasn’t there anymore, and the mugs were rinsed and left to dry by the sink, stacked neatly like someone had been careful with them.

You found him on the couch, sitting, hunched slightly over his phone. His brow was furrowed in concentration, thumbs moving across the screen. The glow from the phone lit up his face in soft strokes, catching on the edge of his stubble.

You sat down beside him, not saying anything. Your hip brushed his, barely, just enough to register it. You leaned back against the cushions, your head turned slightly toward him.

Your gaze drifted to the curve of his spine, to the way his shoulders rose and fell with his breath, then to the soft skin of his neck where it met his hairline. That little patch of curls there, the way they clung faintly to his skin—something you had no right to want to touch, but your hand warmed with the urge anyway. To reach out, gently, not to make a point or start anything, but just to feel what was already so close.

You didn’t, obviously. Why would you?

You straightened your spine, subtly shifting the weight of your body as you reached for the remote. The screen lit up with a blue glow that bled softly into the room. Frankie was still absorbed in whatever conversation he was having on his phone while the television filled the quiet with the abrupt noise of whatever channel it had last been on—a sitcom rerun, maybe, or the end of some home renovation show. You weren’t really paying attention.

You heard the gentle click of his phone locking before he set it down on the coffee table. The sound felt small but final. He leaned back into the couch cushion, his shoulder falling so near yours that the space between you felt thinner, like it could be crossed by a thought.

“What are you going to put on?”

“I dunno,” you murmured, your thumb hovering above the remote’s arrow key. “What do you feel like watching?”

“Ah, I'm not sure. Show me one of your movies.”

You glanced at him, frowning just a little, not out of annoyance but curiosity. “One of mine?”

He nodded, barely—a simple lift of his shoulders. “Yeah. Pick anything.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, your gaze flicked across the rows of streaming apps, trying to calculate what felt the least embarrassing and the most you at the same time. Not an easy combination.

“Okay,” you said, drawing out the word as you clicked into one of the apps. “Pick a decade. Seventies, eighties, nineties, two-thousands. Or we could go by era—there are some excellent literary adaptations if you’re into that.”

You caught his smile in your peripheral vision—quick, not mocking.

“Jesus, I don’t know. Just show me your favorite one.”

“Well, that’s a hard one. I’ve got, like, categories of favorites. But I’ll go with the first one that popped into my head.”

Your fingers danced across the remote as you typed the title into the search bar. A few seconds later, the soft piano of Notting Hill began to play, the opening credits painting the screen with flashes of glossy magazine covers and Julia Robert's bright eyes.

Frankie said nothing, but he shifted slightly closer, knees brushing for a second before settling apart again. You glanced sideways at him, wondering if he’d like it, if he was already regretting giving up control of the remote. But he looked comfortable. Or maybe just quiet. His eyes were on the screen. You let yourself watch the beginning with him, letting the room fall into the rhythm of a shared silence. 

“It’s so obvious she likes him,” Frankie said after a while, just as Anna Scott agreed to go home and change out of the clothes William had accidentally ruined with orange juice.

“Careful, Sherlock.”

Somewhere along the way—somewhere between Hugh Grant’s nervous rambling and Julia Roberts’s tight-lipped smiles—you had leaned closer to him. You weren’t sure who had moved first. Your arm was pressed flush against his now, and the side of your head hovered near his shoulder, close enough to catch the faint scent of his soap, something clean and warm.

Onscreen, Anna kissed William out of nowhere. Frankie tilted his head slightly, not enough to turn toward you but enough to signal something—confirmation, perhaps, of what he’d just said.

“Told you,” he mumbled.

The movie continued. Will is invited to the Ritz under false pretenses, mistaken for someone else, pulled along into the strange orbit of press events and polished smiles. You watched him stumble through it all, never quite fitting, never quite backing out either. She goes to his sister's birthday, everyone loves her, everything's good. Blah, blah, blah. Later, they kiss again.

After that, when Will stepped into her hotel room and saw the man—her boyfriend, tall and self-assured and inconvenient, a prick—Frankie made a sound like someone had nudged him in the ribs.

“Oh, man,” he muttered, as if it had happened to him.

You laughed under your breath. You turned your head to look at him for a second, but he didn’t notice. He was too busy frowning at the screen.

The film moved on. Will’s friends—well-meaning, exasperated—tried to set him up with someone else, anyone else. But he's heartbroken and he walks home as if he'd forgotten how to want something new.

“I’ve been there,” Frankie said, a slight edge of humor softening the weight of his words. He didn’t look away from the screen.

“Oh, you have to tell me. How bad were the dates? Scale of one to tragic.”

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “There was only one. It wasn’t terrible. But it wasn’t anything either. She was... a case.”

“Oh,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. But he didn’t answer. His attention returned to the film, or at least that’s where he placed it. 

Onscreen, Anna appeared at Will’s door. Unannounced, the kind of entrance that only works in movies. She was forced into hiding, scandalized in headlines, hunted by photographers with telescopic lenses and no boundaries. Her voice was soft as she apologized—about the boyfriend, about the confusion, about choosing to disappear.

She stayed. Of course she did. And that night, they made love. Obviously. They moved toward each other like it was inevitable.

The next morning, Anna said, lightly, “What is it about men and nudity? Particularly breasts? How can you be so interested in them?”

Will hesitated, unsure how to answer. “Well…”

But you didn’t hear the rest of his response.

Because the image on screen, the quiet intimacy of the bed, the question itself—all of it cracked open something in your memory. We're not talking about this. Frankie’s mouth against your collarbone. The way he’d lowered the strap of your dress with such focused tenderness. His lips against your skin, reverent and hungry at once. His hand curving beneath your rib cage, as if he could read something there.

And beside you, you felt it—his body shift slightly, shoulders pulling in, his breath catching just faintly at the top of his chest. The change was small, but unmistakable. Like heat rising under a closed door.

You knew he was remembering, too. Or at least, it felt that way. That same scene, or the feeling of it. The weight of something you both hadn’t said. Not really.

Your fingers twitched in your lap. You adjusted your position, but the movement didn’t help. It only stirred the feeling that had been creeping steadily higher inside your chest.

“Francisco,” you said suddenly, the name leaping from your mouth before your brain could stop it. It felt like a damn confession just to say it.

He turned toward you, face unreadable, like he already knew what was coming. And your eyes searched his profile—his cheekbone, the gentle furrow in his brow, the way his mouth pressed into a faint line like he was bracing for something.

You reached for the remote and pressed pause. The room fell into quiet again, not peaceful. It sat between you like a held breath. Your pulse thudded hard in your ears. The air felt stretched, suspended.

“Why didn’t you say anything about last night?” you asked.

A few seconds passed. He didn’t respond. He didn’t even flinch, as far as you could tell—his body still, his eyes locked somewhere on you like he hadn’t even registered you’d spoken.

You sighed and dropped your gaze to his feet, which were crossed neatly at the ankle.

“I’m not trying to ruin the moment,” you said. “I just—please. Say something.”

His eyes moved then. Across your face. His eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly.

“I wasn’t…” he started, then stopped. He looked at the coffee table, then back at you. “I wasn’t sure you wanted to talk about it.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I mean, when we woke up, you didn’t bring it up either. I thought maybe… maybe you’d forgotten.”

“Forgotten?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

You didn’t respond right away. Something inside you had stiffened, like a thread pulling tight. Frankie shifted his weight slightly, leaned back into the couch again and reached for the back of his neck—something you’d already learned he did when he was nervous, or unsure, or both.

“I didn’t forget. In case you were wondering.” You ran a hand down your thigh, grounding yourself. “In fact, I spent the entire day wondering when you would say something.”

He shook his head, his gaze lowering.

“I didn’t want to risk it,” he admitted. “If I brought it up, maybe you’d regret it. Or feel uncomfortable. And today was—today was nice. I didn’t want to ruin that.”

You nodded, even though the words didn’t settle easily inside you. Your eyes dropped to where your fingers were brushing together on your lap.

“Well, I’d like to talk about it now. If you’re willing.”

He looked at you. And in that look, there was hesitation—not out of malice, not even out of guilt, but out of the discomfort of being emotionally cornered.

“Okay,” he said, his voice low. “I’m… I’m sorry. I should’ve gone home last night.”

You stared at him, stunned for a second. Your eyebrows lifted slightly. That was the conclusion he had come to?

He must have registered your expression, because his lips parted, like he was about to try again. But you didn’t give him the chance.

“I don’t want to talk about what we should’ve done,” you said, and your voice sounded firmer than you expected. “I want to talk about what we actually did. I don’t want to pretend it was just some mistake, or that we were two idiots acting on impulse. It wasn’t like that. You know that.”

“I know what you mean but—”

“You said you wouldn’t regret it in the morning.”

He closed his eyes for a beat, and when he opened them, he stared down at the floor like it could give him an answer he didn’t have. His hand moved through his hair. He exhaled sharply, frustration passing over his face.

“I know what I said, and I know what I did. I’m just… I’m not sure it was the right thing.”

You turned your face away, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to feel the sting.

This was the version of him you hated most. Closed off, unreadable. The version that retreated just when you needed him to be honest. To open up, even a little. You knew there was more. You could feel it humming under his skin like static. So why wasn’t he saying it?

Frustration curled up inside you, hot and messy and full of disappointment.

“Please stop trying to frame this around what’s right or wrong,” you said, your voice steady in a way that surprised you. “Just be honest with me. You said it yourself, we’ve already crossed whatever intimacy boundaries we thought we had. We’re way past that. Something happened last night and I can’t sit here and let you fold the entire conversation back on me again, Frankie. I can’t do it.”

He didn’t interrupt, but his jaw moved, like he was grinding something down behind his teeth.

“Because things don’t just happen,” you went on. “They don’t fall out of the sky without meaning. They happen because someone chooses them. Because something leads to them. And maybe it’s messy or confusing or difficult to name, but there’s always intention. Even if you’re trying to ignore it.”

He was staring at you now, unmoving.

“I don’t want to pretend it could’ve been anyone else in that room,” you said, your voice softer now, but just as sure. “It wasn’t arbitrary. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t just a moment. It was us. You and me.”

Frankie shifted. Shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is, actually.”

He let out a breath and laughed once, bitterly. “Yeah, well. Maybe that’s what makes it so fucking hard.”

You watched the way his hands dragged over his face, the way he tipped his head back like the ceiling might offer relief. He stayed like that for a second, breathing through it, before letting his arms fall back to his sides. His eyes were fixed somewhere above, refusing to meet yours.

“It’s hard,” he said again, more quietly now. “Isn’t that what you’re feeling too?”

“Because I’m Santi’s sister,” you said. Not a question. A fact.

Frankie dropped his gaze, finally looking at you. “Partly.”

“Partly,” you echoed, hollow. “And the rest?”

He hesitated. A long breath left his chest. He stared at the floor like it might organize his thoughts for him.

“The rest is... A lot of things. Things that have nothing to do with you. Just me.”

There it was again—that instinct of his to fold inward, to keep the most important part just out of reach. The door always half-closed.

You wanted to shout. You wanted to shake him or grab his shoulders and pull the words out of his throat. You wanted a pharmaceutical solution to his emotional repression. Something you could slip into his coffee that would force him to talk.

Instead, you sat there. Waiting.

You inhaled deeply, pressing your palm to your cheek in a vague, grounding gesture. Your fingers dragged across your skin like they were trying to wipe away whatever expression you were wearing. Then you looked at him again.

You weren’t going to be able to hold it in. It was there in your chest, heavy and urgent, like a question clawing its way up your throat.

“Do you like me?”

He blinked, visibly startled, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“What?”

“Just that. If you like me.” You felt your pulse in your ears. “If you think I’m attractive. If you’re attracted to me. I’m not asking for poetry, Frankie, I’m not even talking about anything complicated, sentimental—just… physically. Simple.”

His eyes moved, quick and uncertain, across your face, like he was trying to locate the safest place to land.

“I... I mean…” he faltered, then let out a breath. “Isn’t it obvious at this point?”

“Don’t do that.” 

He frowned. “Do what?”

“Be vague. Just answer me. Yes or no.”

There was a pause, a beat suspended in the space between you. Then—

“Yeah.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes,” he repeated, and this time his voice sounded a little harsher, like you were tugging something out of him he hadn’t intended to give. “Yeah, I’m attracted—you're atractive. I think you’re beautiful. I don’t know—what do you want me to say?”

You felt a flicker of satisfaction, something warm curling in your stomach, but it was quickly flattened by the weight of everything else. The tension hadn’t broken. Not really.

“Just that.”

He gave a tired nod.

“Okay. Just that.” His gaze settled on you—open now, unflinching. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“Yes, it does,” you said, leaning slightly toward him, your arms crossing in front of your chest like a shield. “Because all day I’ve been wondering if this—us, whatever happened—if it was just guilt. If you almost slept with me because you felt sorry for me. Or because you were bored. Or because I happened to be there in a dress that made it easier for you to forget that I’m Santi’s sister. I’ve been sitting with that version of the story in my head and convincing myself not to ask. But I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Frankie’s eyes closed, his face tightening like your words had physically hit him.

“You’ve got it wrong.”

“No,” you said, the frustration slipping into your tone, “I actually haven’t misunderstood anything. That’s why I’m asking you now, to give—”

“We shouldn’t be sleeping together,” he cut in suddenly, like the sentence had been waiting in his mouth all along. “You and I. We shouldn’t. You don’t want that. It’s not what’s good for you. We got carried away, all the teasing and the wine and the lines getting blurry—”

“You have no idea what I want,” your arms tightening around your body. “Or what’s good for me.”

“Not me,” he said.

It landed like a closing door.

You exhaled so deeply it almost sounded theatrical, but it wasn’t. It was exhaustion. You dragged your hands over your face like you were trying to erase yourself entirely.

“God, you’re so incredibly stubborn.”

“Then say everything, tell me what you want to say.”

You dropped your hands from your face, fingers brushing your lap.

“What’s the point? You’re not going to believe me anyway. You’ll twist it around somehow, like you always do—turn it into something I didn’t mean or shouldn’t feel or should apologize for. That’s your whole thing, Frankie.”

“That’s not—”

“It is,” you cut him off, your voice sharper now. “It is. If I told you right now that I wanted to do it last night—genuinely wanted to—you’d probably tell me I was drunk or confused or emotionally unstable. Or maybe you’d suggest I was possessed by a demon. Something else was making my decisions for me.”

He stayed exactly where he was, elbows digging into his knees, hands clasped tight like he was trying not to react.

“Try me.”

“Okay,” you said. Your hands folded in your lap. “Something happened last night. And for me, it wasn’t a mistake. I didn’t wake up regretting it. If I had, you’d know. Believe me, you’d know.”

He didn’t move, but something shifted in his expression—barely noticeable, but there.

“I wanted to do it,” you continued, searching his face for some hint that he was listening, really listening. “And you act like you can just erase it. Like it’s possible to touch someone the way you touched me and then pretend it was nothing. That there was no intention behind it, no reason.”

He still hadn’t said anything, but he was watching you. Closely. Too closely.

You swallowed. “I’m a person,” you said, like you needed him to understand it in the most basic, physical sense. “In case you hadn’t noticed.” 

“That much I’ve noticed.”

You furrowed your brow, jaw tightening. “I’m a person. You’re a person. And you can play pretend for so long before the lines blur. Before one kiss starts to feel like something else entirely.”

He nodded once. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Fuck you,” you muttered—not in the playful, flirtatious way he might’ve expected. Your voice was flatter than that. Sharper.

Then you looked away from him, your gaze landing on the frozen frame of the paused television, like maybe the fictional people on screen could offer some kind of clarity you weren’t finding in the room.

You didn’t speak. Not immediately. The silence sat heavy in your throat, thick and stifling like humidity. You could feel Frankie watching you, not just glancing your way but really looking. Like his gaze had weight. Like it was pulling you downward, as if you were stuck beneath the surface of something vast and crushing and liquid. Something you hadn’t meant to step into. Something you didn’t know how to get out of.

“I know what you mean,” he said eventually. “And I get that, I get what you’re saying. But I don’t think that’s how it happened. Not for me.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, to let him see the sharpness there.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean… I don’t think it started because we were playing house. Or because of a wedding, or a dress, or wine, or a bed that happened to be close enough.”

You stared at him, waiting. Daring him to continue.

He sighed. “What I’m saying is—this didn’t start because we were pretending. It didn’t start with the flirting or the teasing or some night where we got too close on the couch. That’s not what this is.”

Your heart beat louder in your ears.

"You say all these things but somehow it still feels like you're not saying anything at all. Like you’re stacking words together just enough to form a sentence, but it never—I don't—I mean, I get it. I do. But—God—”

You stood up too quickly, like your body had decided to abandon the conversation before your mind had caught up. A rush of heat crawled up your chest as you moved away, needing space, air, anything that wasn’t him sitting there looking at you like that. You headed to the kitchen, pressing your palm to your forehead, half to ground yourself, half to stop the thoughts from multiplying.

There was a glass on the counter—a red one, translucent. You filled it with water as the sound of his sigh drifted into the room, followed by the quiet pattern of his footsteps. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was getting closer. Still, when you did, the proximity startled you. He was right there, standing like he'd been pulled in by gravity. One hand rested on his hip. The other hovered, then dropped.

"I'm not—" He paused. Swallowed. "I can't do this the way you want me to. Alright? I know that. Talking about this, about us, whatever it is you want me to say, it’s not easy for me. But I’m trying. I’m trying to answer your questions.”

“So—”

“Just—don’t walk away from me like that.”

“What?”

“Don’t leave me sitting in there by myself like, like you can't stand my incompetence.”

“Now, that’s never come out of my mouth, not even close. I don’t think you’re incompetent. What are you even talking about?”

He didn’t answer right away. His mouth closed, his jaw shifted, and he exhaled a breath through his nose, long and heavy like it had been building for hours. He rubbed his face with the palm of his hand, dragging it across his eyes, his hair already a mess from the way he kept pushing it back. It made him look younger, somehow, but also more exhausted.

“I’m just—” he said, finally. His hand dropped. His eyes met yours. “I’m not good at this. You are. You’re quick, you're smart. You're good with words. You always know what to say, how to say it. I’ve got all these things in my head, but when I try to speak them out loud, they don’t come out right. They never sound the way they do in here.” He tapped lightly at his temple.

You leaned against the counter, arms folded.

“I don’t know what to say most of the time either.”

He gave you a look—tilted his head slightly, a half-smile playing on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s not true, and you know it.”

You sighed. “I don’t think you’re incompetent. That word doesn’t even belong in the same room as you. You just…” You looked away for a moment. “You make me feel desperate sometimes. And that’s not news. We both know that.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, then crossed his arms, standing there like a reflection of you.

You didn’t move. Neither did he. For a moment, the two of you stood in complete silence, the room so still it felt staged. The hum of the refrigerator filled the space between you, the only sign the world was still ticking on. Frankie was staring at you like he was trying to understand something and the way his eyes caught the faint orange light pouring through the window made your stomach shift.

Then he exhaled, the breath long and quiet, and let his arms drop to his sides. One hand came to rest flat on the counter beside him, and he leaned into it just slightly, the angle of his shoulders more resigned than confrontational.

“Look,” he started, his voice a little rough around the edges. “There are plenty of reasons why last night shouldn’t have happened. Real reasons. Logical ones. I know that’s not the kind of thing you put a lot of weight on.”

“Maybe not. But they’re usually your favorite.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, eyes dropping to the floor. He stayed like that for a few seconds, staring at some invisible point near his feet. Then he breathed out again and lifted his gaze. “Okay. I’m gonna try to say this right. Just… let me talk. Then ask me whatever you want, tear me apart if you need to, I don’t care.”

The softness in his tone took you slightly off guard, but you nodded.

“Alright.”

His eyes moved slowly across your face and then they stopped on your eyes—as if that was the safest place to land.

“Okay. Logical reasons. You’re Santi’s sister. That changes everything. Maybe not for you, maybe it feels separate, but for me… he’s not just some guy. He’s my best friend. Closer than that, even. He’s like family. He’s always been that.”

You didn’t say anything, just watched him. His hand was still on the counter.

“And he cares about you. I know he doesn’t show it in some loud, overprotective way, but it’s there. I see it. And I get it, because I have sisters too. I know what that kind of care feels like. I know what it means to watch someone from a distance and hope no one fucks them up worse than the world already will.” He laughed once, under his breath. “You and I—we’ve had years of bad timing and bad chemistry and bad communication. Years of giving each other a hard time. You think that didn’t wear on him? You think he didn’t tell me to back off more times than I can count?”

“He told me the same,” you said, quietly. “He loves you too, a lot, you know.”

Frankie nodded, the corners of his mouth tugging up slightly in acknowledgment, like it hurt to agree.

“Then maybe you get what I’m saying. I’ve already let him down enough by making things complicated between us. Pushing this further—it feels like crossing a line we never actually talked about but both knew was there.”

He took a step forward, just one, but it made the distance between you feel different. Smaller. More dangerous.

“And the thing with us, you and I,” he continued, “is that nothing ever seems to come easy. It never has.”

You glanced down, suddenly very aware of the floor under your feet, the tension in your arms, your chest. The way it all felt suspended.

“I guess,” he said, voice softer now, “I guess there’s this kind of unspoken rule in our group, you know? Some built-in boundary. You’re his sister. His only sister. I think, at some point, Santi gave some kind of warning to all of us.”

You raised your head slowly, frowning.

“Seriously? Like I’m a teenager he’s trying to keep out of trouble? That’s ridiculous.”

Frankie smiled faintly. “Not like that. He’s not… he’s not possessive. He’s not trying to control your life. I think he just didn’t want things to get messy in a way we couldn’t clean up.”

“Well, it’s not his decision to make. But you’re right. It makes sense.”

“Yeah. It does. It’s a code. One we’ve all followed. And I crossed it.”

You let out a breath, more from habit than necessity, and glanced away—not dramatically, just enough to collect yourself. There was too much in the air, too many things being left unsaid or half-said, which sometimes felt worse. When you looked back, Frankie was scratching at the edge of his jaw, then resting his hand on his hip like he didn’t quite know where to put it.

“Logically speaking,” he said, “that’s one reason. But then what? What comes after that? We’d have to keep seeing each other. It’s not like we’re strangers passing through. So what then? Do we go back to pretending we don’t see each other? Faking that weird politeness again?”

You didn’t answer right away. Mostly because you weren’t sure what the answer was. You wouldn’t ignore him, that much you knew. You couldn’t. But the fact that he’d even asked—had brought it up like a real possibility—meant maybe he would. Maybe he was already preparing for it. And the idea made something cold and familiar stir in your chest, something that reminded you too much of the way he used to look past you like you were just another part of the scenery.

He tilted his head slightly. His voice had gone gentler, like he didn’t want to hurt you but didn’t know how else to say what he was saying.

“You know it took us forever to start getting along. That night—we fought, and then you told me you wanted to hit reset. Just be civil. Start over.”

You’d meant it when you said it.

“And we did,” he continued. “We’ve done that. And then this thing that happened... almost happened last night, it would’ve rewritten everything.” He turned his gaze to the far corner of the kitchen, like he couldn’t quite hold your eyes while he said it. “It wouldn’t have been a good decision.”

There was a pause—short—where neither of you moved or breathed too loud.

“I get what you’re saying,” you said eventually. “I do. But what I don’t understand is why, if something did happen between us, the only outcome you can imagine is pulling away. Like... walking away is some automatic consequence.”

You watched his face as you spoke. He didn’t look away this time.

“I don’t see what’s so wrong with liking someone, with being attracted to them, and choosing not to ignore it. Choosing to... respond to it. That’s not some scandalous thing. We’re adults, Frankie. You’d think we’d have other tools by now—better ways of handling complicated feelings than just pretending they don’t exist.”

He nodded. Not quickly. Like he was still figuring out what to say even as he agreed.

“I know. I get it,” he said. “And yeah, that would apply in any other situation. But this... you’re not just anyone.” He took a step toward you. “I’ve done the casual thing. Hookups, whatever. Friends with benefits. I know how to do that. I know how to let that go. But with you... I'm sorry but It wouldn’t be casual. It couldn’t be. That’s the whole point.”

Your stupid little heart jumped, reckless and uninvited. And you hated how easily it did that—how quickly it read into things, how quickly it believed. Even though you knew better. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at you with this unreadable expression—some mix of regret and restraint, like he was already backing away from what he’d started to say.

“I mean it’s complicated,” he said. “Nothing we’ve done so far has been easy, has it? I mean—we’re pretending to be in a relationship. A whole fake story. What even is that?” His hand moved as he spoke, gesturing vaguely to the side like the road between Dallas and Austin might reappear there, the moment where it all began. “It started with you seeing your ex on some highway, like a joke from the universe. And me... I wasn’t exactly thriving either.”

You did know that. But you said nothing.

“I was broken. You were, too. And we both had our reasons. And on top of that—” he looked directly at you now, and there it was again, the line he always returned to. “You’re Santi’s sister.”

Of course. There it was. You wanted to roll your eyes, but you didn’t. 

“I haven’t been okay,” he said, quieter now. “Not in a general bad day kind of way. Not just tired or burned out. I mean... really not okay. For a long time. There were days where I didn’t think I’d come back from it. I didn’t want to. Silence made me itch, I couldn’t sit in it—I needed noise, distraction, anything to drown out the way things felt. I made choices that didn’t help. Those years…” He trailed off, pressing his thumb along his jaw in a familiar, grounding motion. He didn’t meet your eyes now. “They were dark.”

You didn’t speak. So you waited.

Then he looked at you again, something tentative in his expression.

“You said you wanted me to tell you about the thing with the dates. The setups. My mom, my sisters.”

“I did.”

He nodded, as if gathering the nerve to keep going. “Well, they’ve been pushing it for a while. Because they think I’m ready again. Or maybe because they think I should be ready. But the truth is, my last relationship—” He stopped for a moment, swallowing whatever emotion had climbed into his throat. “It wasn’t good. Not for a long time. There were good days, yeah. But the bad ones were louder. And it ended ugly. She left me. And not long after, I found out she’d been seeing someone else. A guy she worked with.”

You stood there, completely still. You already knew that, at least part of it. But hearing it like this, directly from him, stripped of all defense... it landed differently.

There was something about the way he said it—the way the memory lived in his voice, raw but not self-pitying—that made your chest tighten. Like you were seeing him more clearly than he wanted to be seen.

And still, you couldn’t look away.

“It broke my fucking heart,” he said, his voice scraping a little. “And I think—God—I think it wouldn’t have hurt so much if my dad hadn’t died at the same time.”

You lowered your gaze. The floor suddenly seemed like the safest thing to look at. You could feel the shape of his grief pressing into the space, something dense and old and still sharp around the edges. When you finally looked up again, he hadn’t moved.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t know what words would help, if any.

“That was it,” he continued, almost as if your silence gave him permission. “The absolute worst moment of my life. Everything collapsed at once. I stopped talking to people. Just… cut myself off. From my friends, my mom, my sisters. I didn’t want to be part of anything anymore. I didn’t want to explain myself. I couldn’t even explain it to me.”

He paused, eyes distant now. “I’d already been carrying this weight… for years, really. Since Nico died.” He glanced at you, as if expecting that name to mean something. “He was one of my closest friends in the CAG. And he died out of nowhere. And I—I didn’t know what to do with that. I didn’t process it, I just shoved it down somewhere, kept moving, like we’re trained to do. And then when everything else hit—my dad, the breakup—I didn’t have anywhere else to put it. It just came up. All of it.”

You didn’t move. Your chest had started to ache quietly.

“I couldn’t see anything ahead,” he said. “No light, no reason. Nothing to hold onto. I’d wake up and every breath felt like I was sinking deeper. Like breathing was actually taking something away from me.”

His face stayed composed, calm even—but his eyes betrayed him. They were filled with something you could only describe as haunted. A kind of pain that wasn’t fresh, but hadn’t healed, either. Something that lived with him still.

You felt your throat begin to tighten, and a sting rose in your eyes. You blinked fast, willing it away, but it didn’t quite leave. It clung there, just beneath the surface.

And then, after a silence so fragile it felt like it could break with a breath, he said, “I overdosed.”

He didn’t look at you when he said it. His eyes dropped to the floor, like he couldn’t bear to see your reaction.

There was something unbearable in that, too. In the shame he carried around what had happened to him. You wanted to cross the space between you, to place your hands on his face, to tell him he didn’t need to be ashamed—that you understood more than he thought. That what he’d survived didn’t make him weak, it made him something else entirely. But you didn’t move. You stayed still. In your space. And he in his.

He looked at you again.

“Opioids,” he said simply. “I got them with a fake prescription. It wasn’t like I was using regularly or anything, it wasn’t some habit I’d built. I just—” he paused, dragging a hand over his face, as if the act of remembering cost him something physical. “One day I called a guy I knew, someone with connections. A few hours later I was home with a bottle of oxycodone in my hand.”

He exhaled through his nose. His voice was almost absentminded, like he was walking through a version of events he’d kept sealed away for years.

“I don’t remember how many I took. I didn’t count. I just wanted to stop thinking. Stop feeling like I was sinking in my own skin. It was enough. Enough that I didn’t think I’d wake up.” His jaw tightened. “Mai found me.” He said her name like a prayer and a curse in one. There was a quiet, palpable ache in the syllables.

“She came over because I hadn’t answered her calls for days. She was pissed off, thought I was being a dick. She got there and I didn’t answer the door, obviously. She looked through my bedroom window and—” he winced. “She broke the glass. Climbed in. She thought I was dead.”

He stopped speaking for a moment, pressing his lips together. His voice, when it returned, was rough around the edges.

“I will never, ever forgive myself for doing that to her. To my family.” His voice cracked—barely, but enough. “Mai had a happy life. Good friends. Good memories. No big traumas. And now she has that. That image of me unconscious on the floor, almost dying.”

You felt a kind of quiet horror fill your chest—not at him, not at his story, but at the pain he carried and the way he clearly believed he deserved to carry it forever.

“She saved your life,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Frankie shook his head. “It wasn’t her job to keep me alive. It wasn’t anyone’s job but mine. I let everyone down. My mom… I shattered her. And the guys—I didn’t even have the guts to talk to them about it. I told them it was an accident. That I just wanted to try it. Begged them not to ask questions.”

There was a long pause. You felt your pulse in your throat.

“Was it?” you asked. You didn’t mean to. It just slipped out.

He looked at you then, really looked, and there was so much in his eyes you almost flinched. 

“No.”

Your breath caught mid-inhale, like your body had finally registered the depth of everything he’d just said. The burn behind your eyes came fast, and this time you didn’t fight it. You didn’t blink the tears away or pretend you weren’t unraveling.

Instead, you stepped away from the counter, the distance between you collapsing with your movement. Your arms looped around his neck in a single motion, and you pulled him in so fiercely it almost knocked the air out of you. The embrace felt messy, urgent, like no amount of holding him could be enough.

You wanted to fold yourself around him completely. To shield him. To divert the pain from his chest to yours and tell him he doesn't have to carry it all alone. You wanted to press your palms to his face and erase the years that hurt him.

Frankie didn’t hesitate. His arms came around your waist like they’d been waiting to do so for years. His face pressed into the hollow of your neck, the scratch of his stubble brushing your skin like an apology. He held you like he didn’t want there to be a single inch between you.

Your heartbeat knocked against his chest, two separate rhythms trying to find a shared beat. You could feel him breathing—deep, shaky breaths like he wasn’t sure if he deserved to be here, in your arms, still alive, still wanted. Your tears soaked quietly into his shirt, and neither of you said a word.

But it was all there. In the way he clung to you. In the way he exhaled against your collarbone like it was the first time he’d been allowed to rest.

There was so much guilt in him. It lived in the corners of his eyes, in the way he held himself even now. But you could feel—just barely—that some of it had loosened. Not gone, not yet. But softened, maybe.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, the words barely brushing his skin as you pressed your face into the curve of his neck. His arms tightened around you in response with a kind of quiet insistence.

He didn’t answer. He just held you there, his breath uneven, shallow. There were sounds—faint, fractured—coming from deep in his chest that might’ve been tears. But you didn’t ask. You didn’t shift or pull back to look.

Instead, your hand moved up to his hair, your fingers finding the soft curls at the nape of his neck. You stroked them gently, the way you might soothe a frightened child, or yourself.

And somewhere in the quiet your own sorrow began to stir. It rose in your chest like something old and stubborn. As if his grief had called to yours, and yours had answered. You let a little of it out, not all at once, just enough.

There was comfort in the way his arms wrapped around you, like he’d done this before, held you like this in some parallel world. You weren’t sure how much time passed—it could’ve been seconds, it could’ve been an hour—until you felt something soft brush against your calf. Frankie shifted slightly, loosening his hold just enough to glance downward. Mr. Darcy was weaving between your legs, then his, his tail curling with entitlement.

When you looked back at him, you finally saw his face. His eyes were rimmed red and glassy, and the curve of his cheek was streaked with tears. There was something so bare in the way he looked then, like all the shields he usually kept up had been set aside, if only for a moment. You didn’t look away.

He gave a small, almost disbelieving smile at the cat before his gaze flicked up to meet yours. You lifted your hand and brushed the tears from his cheek with your thumb.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said.

He shook his head slowly. “It was.”

“No. You did everything you could, until you couldn’t anymore. You were hurting, Frankie. You were in pain.”

“But I could’ve done it differently. I should’ve asked for help.” His voice caught. “But I didn’t.” A heavy breath escaped him. “I made everything worse. My family… my mom was already breaking after my dad died. And I—” His lips trembled. He stopped. Collected himself like it was a habit. Like falling apart had a time limit.

“And what about you?” you asked, your thumb brushing over his skin again. “What about your grief? Your heartbreak? You lost a friend. You lost your dad. You lost yourself for a while. None of that is easy.”

“I know.” His voice was almost inaudible now. His eyes dropped, as if ashamed of his own softness.

"You deserve to be cared for too."

After a moment, his eyes lifted to meet yours.

“I’m sure Mai was scared,” you went on, “and I’m sure what she saw stayed with her. But I think—no, I really believe—that saving your life meant more to her than anything else could have.”

He didn’t react right away. His features were still, composed.

“I’m her older brother,” he said finally, voice taut. “It was supposed to be me taking care of her. Not the other way around.”

You exhaled, something like a laugh escaping with it.

“Well, as a younger sister, I have to disagree,” you said. “Santi and I—it's not one-way. We look out for each other. Always. I’d do anything for him, and I know he’d do anything for me. And I know your sisters, your mom—they love you. They’d do anything for you too. It doesn’t have to be you carrying it all.”

He didn’t respond. Just looked at you. His eyes caught the light and held it, and for a second, you saw yourself reflected there.

You hesitated, just for a beat. Then: “It’s okay to need help, you know. It’s okay to fall apart sometimes. I do it all the time. And lately, you’re here. You show up. You help. Every time. So why shouldn’t you deserve the same?”

Your hand moved from his face to his chest—without really thinking, without any reason other than instinct. Your palm settled just above his heart, where you could feel the faint, steady rhythm beneath your skin.

His expression changed. Just slightly, but it did.

You wanted to ask him what he was thinking. You wanted to understand whatever quiet storm was passing behind his gaze.

And—God—you wanted to kiss him. The thought arrived like a spark and immediately, instinctively, you pushed it away. But it lingered. It always lingered.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Yeah, I know."

And you eased back just enough to let him breathe, to offer him that space he seemed to need. But the second you did, the warmth between you began to cool.

You looked at him for a moment longer before speaking, your tone shifting slightly, lighter, in an attempt to steer the conversation somewhere safer.

“So that’s what the arranged dates were about,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Let me guess—the candidates were carefully selected and wildly unsuitable.”

He glanced up, the faintest curve tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Oh, yeah. It was a whole operation. Imagine this—my mom, using me as bait. Honestly, I have to admire her optimism.”

You smiled. “Okay, but how bad was it, really? The date you went on—what happened?”

He shifted his weight, leaning back against the counter with a casualness that didn’t quite disguise the fact that he was relieved by the change of subject.

“She was cute. Smart. It started off alright—twenty minutes of solid small talk before she pivoted, without warning, into a monologue about her ex.”

You tilted your head. “Wait, did you go on a date with past me? Sounds familiar.”

He laughed then, a real one. “No, no. This was… a different level. Her ex was married. Had been the whole time they were together.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Right?” he said, eyes wide in mock horror. “Apparently he told her he was going to leave his wife. But he didn’t. And then he went and told her they were having another kid, and—” he paused, raising his eyebrows—“that he wouldn’t be leaving her. For now.”

“For now? That’s cruel.”

“I know. I didn’t even know how to react. Honestly, the whole thing made me want to take her out for a drink and also maybe stage an intervention.”

“So… why’d she go out with you?”

He gave you a look, that boyish half-smile. “I dunno. Why did I go out with her?”

You laughed, eyes narrowing. “So you didn’t see her again.”

That smile tugged deeper, and he looked down for a second.

“Did you?” you asked, already knowing the answer from the look on his face.

He lifted his eyes again, smirk firmly in place. “A couple of times.”

“Oh my god, you slept with her.”

He stood perfectly still, his mouth twitching like he was trying to suppress a grin. Guilty. Caught.

“Unbelievable,” you said, head tilted, trying not to smile but failing a little.

He straightened, putting on a mock-defensive tone.

“In my defense, she was honest. She told me she was still in love with him and didn’t want anything serious. I respected that. We both knew what it was.”

“How many times?”

“Um, I dunno. Three? Three, tops.”

You folded your arms across your chest. “Uh-huh. You don't even remember? You're such a slut.”

He looked at you, something playful and warm behind his eyes. “Don't be like that. It was before you.”

You rolled your eyes, mostly because you needed something to do with your face, and a laugh slipped out. Frankie was still smiling, then he reached out, his fingers curling gently around your arm, tugging you closer with no real force.

“I just—” he began, and then paused, like the words weren’t cooperating with the pace of his thoughts. “I need to say this, even if it comes out wrong.”

You stayed quiet, watching him. You could feel the shift in the air between you again.

“I have… a lot of things still sitting in my head. Some days it feels like I’ve made progress, and others it’s like I haven’t moved at all. But lately, for the first time in a long while, I’ve started feeling okay. Like I can breathe. Like I’m not dragging myself through every minute.” He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. Just tiredness. A kind of resignation. “I'm not sure if I can get involved with someone like this. And that doesn't mean that I don’t want it. Or that I don’t think about it, imagine it. Crave it. I do.” He glanced up at you, eyes briefly searching yours before dropping again. “But I just… can’t. I can't.”

You listened carefully, reading the edges of his words just as much as their core. His tone, the pauses, the way he looked down. And you understood.

You hadn’t before, not fully. You’d been asking something of him without knowing the shape of what he was carrying, and now that he’d offered it to you—just a piece of it—you saw it more clearly. You didn’t blame yourself for not knowing. But you still felt a quiet ache in your chest.

He glanced away, then back. “When I went out with this woman—it wasn’t anything. It was empty, if I’m being honest. I think I was looking for… I don’t know, some kind of release. A break from my own brain. Or maybe just proof that I could still feel something good, even briefly. But it didn’t work. It made everything worse, actually.”

He gave a humorless smile, but there was no cruelty in it. “The most depressing sex of my life. I don’t even think she noticed.”

You felt your mouth curve slightly, but you didn’t speak.

“Please don’t think I’m using it as an excuse,” he said, suddenly earnest.

“I don’t,” you said, and you meant it.

He nodded, exhaling through his nose. Then, almost absently, he added, “I don’t even know when things shifted between us. I didn’t see it coming. One day it just…” He looked sideways, like he wasn’t talking to you but rather trying to say something out loud just to make sense of it himself. “It’s different now. And I don’t know what that means.”

You looked away too, not because you wanted to, but because it felt safer that way. 

“I don’t know either,” you admitted, voice low. “I... I’m sorry.”

His brow furrowed immediately. “Why?”

You lifted your shoulders in a shrug, trying to swallow past the tightness in your throat. You hated how exposed you felt in that second.

“Because I think like you and I don't know what to do with that,” you said, barely above a whisper. 

There was a pause. Then, a single tear slipped quietly down your cheek, and still, you didn’t look away.

You weren’t sure whether saying it had been the right thing to do. Maybe it wasn’t about right or wrong at all—maybe it was just something that needed to be said, like naming a feeling makes it real. Like choosing not to say it would’ve been a kind of denial. Of yourself. Of the truth. Of what Emma had been gently insisting with the stubborn confidence of someone who has known you forever.

And Emma was always right. Annoyingly, unfailingly right.

Frankie didn’t move. It was like your words had frozen him in place, his posture still, his gaze locked on yours as if you’d accidentally pressed pause on him. But there was nothing cold about the way he looked at you. If anything, there was warmth. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I think I might be... inconvenient.”

You tried to smile, but it didn’t land. 

Still, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t blink.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” you went on. “And I don’t want to make this uncomfortable. I’ll keep some distance, if that’s what you need.”

But then Frankie shifted. A sudden, visible movement, like he was shaking something off.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, quickly. Too quickly, maybe. “I mean—unless you want to. But if it’s for my sake... Don’t. You don’t make me uncomfortable.”

He shook his head, once.

Your heart stuttered. “So what... What do we do about this, then?”

His sigh was quiet but heavy. He looked at the floor, then back at you.

“I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” he said finally. “And I don’t think you do either.” He paused. “But what I said about starting fresh, I meant it. If that’s still something you want. If you’re okay with that... I don’t want you to pull away from me.”

You tilted your head. “No?”

“No.”

You inhaled, staring down at your shoes. You didn’t want to distance yourself either.

Because even beneath the mess of feelings, Frankie had become your friend. Somehow. Unexpectedly. And maybe that surprised everyone, including you, but it didn’t make it less true.

And you weren’t ready to lose that.

“Okay,” you said, looking back at him. Your lips curved into something softer. “But only because you promised me a night out and a New Year’s kiss.”

His expression shifted,eyes crinkling as he smiled.

“Oh, and When Harry Met Sally,” you added, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“Never,” he said, shaking his head solemnly.

“Good.”

“Good,” he echoed. “Perfect.”

“But a couple of boundaries, buddy,” you said, raising a finger and tapping it gently beneath his chin, like you were drawing a line there with invisible ink. “You don’t get too flirty with me, and I won’t get too flirty with you.”

“Boundaries,” he tilted his head. “I actually know a thing or two about those.”

“Great,” you said. “Then prove it.”

Frankie pretended to consider this very seriously, his eyes glancing upward like he was trying to recall something important. Then he looked back at you.

“Okay. Starting tomorrow, no unnecessary flirting. Only if it’s vital. Absolutely essential. Then it’s permitted.”

You squinted at him. “Why tomorrow?”

“Because today’s saturday,” he said, with a shrug. “Doesn’t feel like a boundary-setting day. Too casual.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh. “And sunday is... what, sacred?”

“Sunday has structure,” he said, completely serious now, as if he genuinely believed it. “It’s a reset day.”

“Fine. Tomorrow it is.”

“Good,” he said, nodding once, like a contract had just been signed.

“Perfect.”

There was a beat of silence, not awkward.

You cleared your throat. “Okay, can we go back to the movie now? One of the best parts is coming up.”

You pointed toward the living room with a casual flick of your hand, already turning your body in that direction like nothing had just happened. Frankie nodded, a crooked smile lingering at the corner of his mouth.

You both stayed on the couch, watching the last stretch of the film, but you'd instinctively shifted just far enough apart to notice the distance. Not uncomfortable, just different from earlier.

The room had grown darker as the sun sank behind the buildings outside. The only light now came from the soft, flickering glow of the tv. You sat back, your legs tucked under you, arms crossed lightly over your stomach, trying to focus on the screen, though you couldn't say what scene you were watching. It all felt peripheral—dialogue, motion, soundtrack.

Still, the story carried on, as stories do. Anna stood in front of William. "I'm also just a girl standing in front of a boy..."—the line you’d heard a dozen times but still felt something for. And in the end, of course, they ended up together, as people do in movies.

The credits began to roll. Frankie stretched beside you, arms lifting above his head, fingers threading together as he arched his back just slightly. The movement made his t-shirt rise a little, revealing a line of skin at his waist before he relaxed again.

“What did you think?” you asked.

“I liked it,” he said after a beat. “Especially that scene with the seasons changing. When he's walking through the market.”

You lit up a little. “That’s one of my favorite parts. They actually filmed it all in one day. They built this camera rig on a track and timed the light and everything. It was specially designed just for that scene.”

He blinked, impressed. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “Wild, right?”

He squinted slightly, as if trying to picture it in his mind, then let his gaze drift back to the television, now dim with the last names fading off the screen.

“I think I should head home,” he said finally, quiet and careful with his tone. Then, with a glance at you, “Did you have a good time today? Even with... you know. Everything after.”

“I had an amazing time, really. Thank you so much. I mean that.”

He smiled back. “It’s nothing. If you ever want to do it again, just tell me.”

“I will,” you said. And you meant it.

Frankie was gathering his things—wallet, keys, phone—as you followed him to the door. It was quiet in the apartment. You walked a step behind him as he moved down the stairs, watching the shape of him in motion—his shoulders as they rolled forward with each step, the back of his neck where his hair curled slightly at the edge, the way he carried himself.

It struck you how strange it was, in a quiet sort of way, that everything between you felt so oddly comfortable now. Even after everything. Even after you’d said what you said—put it out there like a raw nerve. There was no tightness in your chest, no embarrassment, no urgency to undo it. Just this lightness. He had this calmness about him. You didn’t understand it, especially considering that only a few weeks ago, a single glance from him was enough to set you off, twist your stomach into a knot of irritation or something dangerously close to it.

You opened the door, stepping aside to let him out. He moved through the frame but didn’t walk away immediately. He lingered, standing just beyond the doorway, his body angled toward you but unmoving.

“Text me when you get home,” you said.

“I will,” he replied, though he didn’t move. He was oddly still, as if something in him was caught mid-thought.

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes slightly. He was watching you with this vaguely suspicious expression.

“What?” you asked, smiling without meaning to.

“It’s not even tomorrow yet.”

The words were quiet, almost incidental. And then, in the same breath, he stepped toward you. His hands found your face, fingers curling along your jaw with a kind of practiced gentleness, and then he kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant or testing. It was firm. Certain. There was hunger in it, yes, but it was contained—like he was holding himself back just enough to keep it from tipping into recklessness.

You melted into it. Let him kiss you like that. Let his mouth part yours, let his tongue find yours, let him take whatever he came for. And then, just as suddenly as he’d kissed you, he pulled back—not far, just enough to press a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth, a gesture so tender it almost broke you in half.

You smiled, breathless. “You’re such a bastard.”

He grinned, apologetic. “I'm sorry. You’ve said worse things to me.”

You watched him as he walked off, his hand already fishing in his pocket for the car key, his back retreating into the night.

“See you after tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder.

And then he was gone.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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[joelmillers-wife]

The boyfriend act, part 10: "The one with the skydiving" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: It’s the day after the wedding, and you and Frankie aren’t being too open about it. You jump together, and it makes sense, of course, that you fall. WC: 8.6K

A/N: Okay, so here’s what happened: I started writing chapter 10 and just kept going and going, and before I knew it, it was WAY too long. So, I split it in two. This is chapter 10, and chapter 11 will be up sometime between tomorrow and monday because, honestly, I can’t wait to share it!!! lol If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!

Frankie was the first to wake.

He lay on his side, eyes half-lidded, his body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t fade overnight. For a few seconds—four, maybe five—he simply existed in the quiet, his mind sluggish, untangling the fog of sleep. And then he remembered.

The previous night played back in pieces: your hands, the soft drag of your voice, the way you had looked at him. He exhaled, the air catching in his throat as his gaze settled on you. Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting pale streaks across your bare shoulder. You were still asleep, your breathing even, your face turned slightly away from him. You looked peaceful. That was the first thing that unnerved him.

The second was the sharp vibration of his phone on the nightstand. The sound cut through the silence like an alarm meant for something urgent, something ominous. Get up. Get out. Now.

For a fleeting, desperate moment, he considered it. Panic gripped him, quick and suffocating. It would be easier to leave. Slip out before you woke, before you had the chance to regret anything. Before you could look at him with the kind of quiet disappointment that would make his chest ache for days.

But he couldn’t do that. Not to you. Not to himself.

If you woke and found him gone, it would undo everything—the slow, careful progress of the past few days. He wasn’t sure what that progress meant, not exactly, but he knew it mattered. And he wasn’t ready to lose it.

So he stayed.

He reached for his phone, silencing the alarm with a swipe of his thumb. 8:00 a.m. His eyes burned, his head ached, but he closed them again, let himself drift in the shallow space between sleep and wakefulness.

When he opened them again, he startled, instinctively checking the time. Only twenty minutes had passed.

He supposed the rational thing to do would be to wake you. Shake your shoulder gently, say your name, ease you into consciousness before the weight of the morning settled in.  

But then he turned his head and saw you, exactly as you had been hours ago. You hadn’t moved. Still curled on your side, facing him, one hand tucked beneath your jaw. Your breathing steady, your face soft, undisturbed. He had never seen you like this—so completely at ease, as if the world beyond this bed didn’t exist.  

And so he stayed quiet. Let another moment pass before dragging you into the aftermath of what you’d done. Another moment before you opened your eyes and saw him there, before recognition flickered across your face, before regret had the chance to settle in your expression like a bruise.  

So he watched you instead. Two, maybe three minutes of memorizing you, as if his mind had no choice but to press the image of you deeper and deeper into itself. The curve of your brows, the dark shadow of your lashes against your cheek, the fullness of your lips—soft, inviting, impossibly close. His own breath felt unnatural in his chest, too aware of itself, too careful.  

Something shifted in him then, a pulse of warmth in his ribs that curled low in his stomach, spreading outward like a lit fuse. Familiar. Dangerous. His throat tightened. His fingers twitched against the sheets. And then, just as quickly, something cold followed—a sharp, sinking understanding. It was too late.

Too late. Something changed.

Almost without thinking—acting on impulse, or maybe just a need to break the silence pressing in on him—Frankie reached out and let his fingers brush against your shoulder. A light touch, barely there. You shifted, just slightly, but didn’t wake.

For a second, he considered letting you sleep a little longer. So he let his gaze wander around the room, taking in details he had never really considered before. He had been here before, of course, but never like this, never with the luxury of stillness. The dresser at the foot of the bed held a neat row of books, their spines softened from use, stacked beside two picture frames. One of you and Emma, arms around each other, grinning at the camera. The other, a quieter moment—your face turned toward your father, something warm and unguarded in your expression. Above it all, the television hung dark and unlit, a black void against the pale wall.

On the floor, a scattering of shoes—heels, mostly. He imagined you stepping into them, then stepping out just as quickly, discarding them in favor of something better. By the window, a chair, half-buried under a pile of clothes, as if you had thrown them there in a hurry, already thinking about something else. He could see you doing it. He could see you standing there, sighing, pressing your fingers to your temples before turning away.

Then, a sound. A quiet, insistent scratch, followed by a high, barely-there meow.

He exhaled, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and pushed himself up. The floor was cool against his feet as he walked to the door. When he cracked it open, a small shape darted in—Mr. Darcy, tail held high, back slightly arched as he rubbed himself against Frankie’s legs with a kind of determined affection.

“Good morning,” Frankie murmured, crouching down to run a hand over the cat’s head. Mr. Darcy blinked up at him, then pushed his face into Frankie’s palm before pulling away again.

He turned back toward the hallway, his green eyes wide and expectant, then let out another quiet meow.

Frankie frowned. “What’s up, buddy?” The cat meowed again. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

Mr. Darcy flicked his tail, like maybe he wasn’t impressed with the question, like maybe Frankie should already know the answer.

The cat turned without hesitation and padded down the hallway, glancing back just once, as if to make sure Frankie understood. He did. His instructions were clear. So, he followed.    

When he caught up, Darcy had already settled beside an empty dish, sitting upright, his tail curled neatly around his paws. He flicked his gaze between Frankie and the bowl, expectant.  

“Yeah, you’re hungry,” Frankie observed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped closer. He glanced toward the cabinets, exhaling. He had no idea where you kept the food, and he didn’t want to make a mess looking for it. Still, he crouched down, opened one door, then another, moving carefully, aware that he was rummaging through someone else’s kitchen. Eventually, he found what he was looking for—a nearly full container pushed toward the back of a shelf.  

Behind him, Darcy let out a pleased little chirp of approval. Frankie huffed a quiet laugh.  

“I don’t know if she feeds you at this hour, buddy,” he said, unscrewing the lid. “You better not get me in trouble.”  

He crouched again, tipping just the right amount into the dish. Darcy immediately dipped his head, ears twitching as he focused on his meal, content and undisturbed. Frankie lingered for a moment, watching him eat, then sealed the container and put it back where he’d found it.

The apartment was quiet. He pressed his hands against the counter, letting his weight settle there for a beat. Darcy crunched his food, unconcerned.

Standing there, he let his gaze drift across your living room. His jacket was still slung over the armchair, exactly where he’d left it the night before, and your journal—left open, pages curling slightly at the edges—sat on the coffee table. The sight of it sent something uneasy through him, like he had glimpsed a version of himself that didn’t quite make sense.  

What the hell was he doing?  

Why was he here, in your house, moving through your space with an ease that should have felt unnatural but didn’t? Feeding your cat like it was just another part of his morning routine, like he had done it a hundred times before. Even the smell of your apartment—faint traces of coffee, something floral, something unmistakably you—felt familiar in a way it shouldn’t. As if he had spent more time here than he actually had.  

It didn’t add up. And it was unsettling, wrong. He had no reason to feel this comfortable. 

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

A month ago, he could barely stand you. And you—well, you had made it very clear the feeling was mutual. It hadn’t even been two months since he first stepped into your apartment and you had greeted him with a can of Coke and a look that could’ve frozen him solid. Not even two months since Santiago had taken one look at the two of you and laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all.  

The quiet stretched between him and the sound of Darcy’s methodical chewing. He needed to wake you up. To say something, to break whatever spell had settled over this moment before it unraveled into something he wouldn’t know how to explain.

He pushed himself up from the counter, rubbing a hand over his face as if that might help shake off the lingering heaviness of sleep. The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that made him move softer, more aware of the space he was in. He took a quick detour to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, running a hand through his hair. It didn’t do much, but it was enough. Then he turned back toward your room.  

You were still there, curled up beneath the sheets, your breathing deep and steady. Sleep clung to you like a second skin. He wondered, briefly, if you’d been comfortable like that, in last night’s dress, or if it had twisted around you in ways that made it impossible to rest.  

His shoes were at the edge of your bed. He reached for them, moving carefully, the quiet feeling heavier now that he was trying not to break it. Slipping them on, he walked back to where he’d been sitting not long ago and lowered himself onto the mattress beside you.  

His fingers found your shoulder, his touch featherlight, testing. He said your name, soft, careful. You didn’t stir. Instead, you let out a small, sleepy sound—one of those drowsy, unwilling whimpers, the kind kids make when they’re being nudged awake too early for school.

He tried again, his fingertips grazing over your skin, your name forming once more on his lips. This time, your eyes fluttered open.  

Frankie watched you, still and waiting. He braced himself for something—confusion, regret, the sharp edge of a boundary being drawn.  

But instead, you smiled.  

“Hey,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. “You’re here.”  

“Yeah, I—”  

“What time is it?”  

Frankie glanced at his phone, the screen too bright in the dim light of the room. “Quarter to nine.”

“Oh,” you murmured, shifting beneath the sheets as you pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes. “Shit, my makeup. I probably look like a panda.”  

You sat up, blinking the sleep from your eyes, and fixed him with a squint, like you were still adjusting to the light—or maybe to the sight of him sitting there.  

“Have you been up long?” You asked.

“A little while.” He leaned back slightly, rubbing a hand over his knee. “I fed Darcy. Hope that’s okay.”  

“Ah, well.” You stretched your arms over your head, then you exhaled, your words lost for a moment in a yawn. “That’s all right.”  

Then you looked at him, really looked at him, your face still and unreadable in the quiet.  

Frankie held your gaze, steady at first, until something in his chest tightened. He looked down at his lap.  

“You feeling okay?” His voice was quieter now, less sure.

“Yeah. You?”  

“Good. Not hungover?” He tilted his head, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.  

“I need coffee.” 

Frankie huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Me too.”  

“I’ll make some.” You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, stretching again before padding toward the door. “Feel well enough to jump out of an airplane?”  

He smirked, mirroring your movement as he got up and followed.

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.” His footsteps were heavy behind you as you made your way to the kitchen. “I feel good. What about you?”  

“I’m not missing that jump,” you said, throwing him a glance as you opened the fridge. You grabbed a bottle of water, twisted off the cap, and handed it to him. He took it without thinking, his fingers brushing over yours for a brief second. “What time should we leave?”

“Ten o’clock sounds good.”  

Your eyes flicked open wider, a spark of surprise breaking through the haze of sleep. “That’s in an hour.”  

“That’s right.” Frankie lifted the bottle to his lips, tipping it back as he swallowed. The cold water cut through the dryness in his throat, and he gestured vaguely with the bottle before setting it back down. “I’ll go home, take a shower, and come back for you. That okay?”  

You nodded. “Yeah. That’s fine. A shower sounds amazing.”  

Frankie huffed out a quiet laugh. “Okay.”

He placed the bottle on the counter beside you and stepped toward the living room, grabbing his jacket from where he’d tossed it the night before.

“Aren’t you going to have coffee?” 

“When I get back, okay?”  

You nodded again, though the hesitation in your face made him grin. Jacket draped over his arm, hair still a mess from the night, he walked back toward you.  

“I’ll see you in a bit. Get ready—wear something comfortable.”  

And then, before he could think about it, before he could stop himself, he leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek.  

It was brief, barely a second, but the warmth of your skin stayed with him as he pulled back. The realization of what he’d just done settled in immediately, heat rising up the back of his neck. He turned away, walking toward the door, suddenly hyperaware of his own movements.  

“Uh—wear, um—wear comfortable shoes,” he added, grasping for something to say.  

His hand was on the doorknob when he finally glanced back at you. Your expression unreadable, your posture relaxed, still tucked into the kitchen like you hadn’t quite caught up to the moment either.  

“I’ll be back,” he said, voice quieter now. Then, after a beat, “I’ll be right back.”  

“Bye, Francisco,” you murmured, your voice soft.

Frankie pulled the door shut behind him and took the stairs two at a time, his heartbeat a little too quick, his breath coming out in uneven bursts. His body felt too warm, like he’d just stepped out of a too-hot shower, but at the same time, his hands were cold. By the time he reached the front door and stepped outside, the cool morning air hit his face, soft and bracing all at once. It felt like a reset. Like a kiss against his overheated skin.

But the relief was short-lived.

A creeping discomfort settled in his chest, something uneasy and unformed. You hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t flinched or looked at him funny. No wide-eyed stare, no awkward shifting. It was like nothing had happened.

Hadn’t it?

Maybe it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe you’d already forgotten.

But—no. He was almost sure you weren’t drunk enough to forget something like that. Almost. And yet, the possibility wedged itself into his mind, refusing to be dismissed.

Had you forgotten?

Or worse—had it just meant nothing?

Christ.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face as he crossed the street. 

What the hell had he been thinking?

“Nothing. It was like nothing happened.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at you from the video call, her face filling most of your screen as you propped your phone up on the nightstand. You were sitting on the edge of your bed, pulling on your sneakers, hair still damp from the shower. The conversation had been going since you stepped out, and you had told her everything. Everything.

“Would you have liked him to say something about it,” she asked, tilting her head, “or am I imagining that?”

“Yes,” you admitted without hesitation, before catching yourself. You glanced at the screen. “I mean—see, we almost fucked last night. That doesn’t exactly seem insignificant.”

“What surprises me most is that you even kissed.” She folded her arms, looking personally offended. “When exactly were you going to tell me things had changed this much? I feel like I’ve been lied to.”

“I did tell you we kissed.”

“You told me you kissed at his mother’s birthday. Pretend kissed. For show. That’s very different from actually kissing.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you tied the laces of your shoes. “That was all that had happened until last night. I wasn’t keeping anything from you. Don’t be toxic.”

Emma scoffed, unconvinced. “So just the staged kiss at Helena’s birthday, and then last night?”

“Exactly.” You stood up, grabbing your phone and holding it closer.

She hummed, unconvinced. “Sounds like a lot more than nothing, babe.”

You pursed your lips, shaking your head at her, but the truth of it was sitting somewhere in your chest, annoying and persistent.

“Yeah, well, apparently we’re pretending it didn’t happen.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Don’t wait for him to bring it up. You bring it up. He’s probably overthinking it, freaking out, or some dumb shit like that. It’s not like your relationship is the most normal one in the world.”

“You’re not wrong about that.”

“Exactly. So say something.”

You groaned, tilting your head back. “I won’t.”

“Coward.”

“That’s not true!”

“Are you afraid of what he’s going to say?”

“No,” you said, forcing a smile. “It’s just—awkward, isn’t it? We almost slept together. Am I supposed to pretend like nothing happened? Good God, he saw me half-naked.”

Emma’s eyes widened in exaggerated shock. “No way. Francisco Morales saw you naked? That’s it, you’re going to disintegrate. It was nice knowing you.”

You didn’t laugh. Instead, heat crawled up your neck, settling in your cheeks like a second-degree burn. You groaned, pressing a hand over your face, shaking your head as if that would somehow undo everything.

“This can’t be happening, Emma. Francisco. We’re talking about Francisco. Francisco the obnoxious. Francisco the asshole. Santiago’s Francisco. What the fuck did I do? I completely fucked up.”

Emma sighed, tucking her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she walked through her apartment.

“Uh-huh. You didn’t fuck anything up. Nothing would’ve happened if he wasn’t up for it too, honey.” She adjusted the camera so she could look directly at you. “This is—listen to me.” Her voice softened slightly. “It happened, okay? And you need to deal with that. It’s not your fault, and it’s not his fault. Jesus, you’re two horny adults who almost slept together. That’s all.”

You let out a miserable groan, dropping back onto your bed.

“It’s humiliating. ‘You’re Santi’s sister.’” You mimicked his voice, rolling your eyes at yourself. “Fuck. I don’t even know what’s going on.”

Emma went quiet then, watching you carefully through the screen.

Your stomach twisted. “What?” you asked, more impatiently than you intended.

She didn’t blink. “You like him.”

The words hit like a sharp, well-aimed dart, right in the center of your chest. For a second, you didn’t move.

“No.” The denial left your lips automatically, even as you stayed perfectly still.

Emma’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Yes, sweetheart. You like him.”

“That’s not true.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I don’t like Francisco.”

Her lips twitched, like she was holding back laughter, her eyes bright with something unbearably smug.

“You like Francisco.”

“Emma, listen to me. I don’t like him. I can’t like him. It’s not possible. It’s not—” You searched for the right word, your brain scrambling. “It’s not functional.”

She barked out a laugh. “Functional?”

“Yes, functional,” you snapped. “He’s my brother’s best friend. He’s—he’s Francisco.” As if that alone should be enough. “Do you know what would happen if something like that happened? No—no, it’s not—”

Emma cut in before you could spiral further. “If the only excuse you can come up with for not letting yourself think about him that way is that he’s Santi’s friend, then, babe, that’s not a good enough reason.” She leaned closer to the camera, her voice firm. “And honestly, what does that even have to do with anything? You can like him. You don’t choose who you’re attracted to. It just happens.”

You pressed your lips together, heart hammering.

“And look,” she continued, “you know I don’t like him very much. I’ve spent years listening to you complain about him, about all the shit he’s said to you, the way he acted. I wanted to kill him. It sucked. But everything you’ve been telling me lately?” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It sounds convincing. All that stuff about confusion and about that night ages ago—” She exhaled. “I have good judgment. Really good judgment. And you know it.”

“I know.”

“I believe him. I don’t think he’s that bad. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with liking him either.”

“I told you—”

“Yes, and I don’t believe you.” She crossed her arms, tilting her head like she could see straight through you. “I’ve known you for twenty years; you can’t lie to me. It’s in your eyes. And that whole thing that happened last night, at the wedding? Are you fucking kidding me? That was hot.”

You let out a laugh, but it felt thin, forced. “Yeah, it was hot. But he wasn’t serious. He was just teasing me. He likes to do that—play with me. And since we don’t fight anymore, he’s just… trying to beat me at something else.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “I doubt a man would be that creative. He likes you.”

You opened your mouth, but she didn’t give you the chance.

“He told you he wouldn’t regret it in the morning. For God’s sake, are you kidding me?”

“He was drunk.”

She scoffed. “Even you don’t believe that.”

“Emma—”

“Okay.” She held up a hand. “Fine. I get it. It’s complicated. Just… think about it, consider it. There’s nothing wrong with liking someone.”

You stared at her through the screen, your chest tightening.

“It’s Francisco.”

Emma shrugged. “And you’re you. So?”

Your throat felt tight. You looked at her, doubt settling over you like a weight you weren’t prepared to carry.

“I don’t even know if he wants to talk about it,” you admitted. “The easiest thing to do is just… pretend it didn’t happen. That it was a mistake, that we were drunk, and…” You exhaled sharply. “It’s embarrassing.”

“I know, I get it.” Emma’s voice softened, but her words carried a quiet insistence. “But listen—he was there when you woke up. He didn’t leave. He fed your cat, for crying out loud. And after you woke up? He didn’t run off. He could have come up with an excuse to bail on the skydiving, couldn’t he? He could’ve said he was hungover, or in pain, or—hell, anything. But he didn’t. He stayed.”

As she spoke, a strange warmth spread across your chest, curling into your stomach. She was right. The easy way out was always within reach. But Frankie hadn’t taken it. Instead, he had kept pushing forward, right there with you, even if his reasons remained unclear. He kept showing up. Helping with the list, coming up with ideas, and maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t out of guilt. Maybe it was something else. But he was still there.

You let out a quiet breath.

“You really want it to be that simple,” you said softly, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. “But it’s complicated. I… I need to take it one step at a time.”

“That’s acceptable.” 

Almost as if on cue, the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making you jump.

Emma laughed. “First step: open the door for him.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress a reluctant chuckle.

“I have to go, but I promise I’ll write you later, okay?”

“Don’t forget to send me a picture of you in the sky.”

“I won't.” You smiled, feeling a little lighter than before.

“And don’t forget to think about what I told you.”

“Believe me, I won’t.”

Frankie set his hand against the doorframe, then thought better of it and pulled away. He took a half step back, creating space between himself and the entrance, listening to the faint sound of your voice from the other side. You were laughing, saying something too low for him to catch.

It was 10:05 a.m. He made a point of being on time. He’d showered quickly, dressed even faster. He hadn’t managed a sip of coffee before leaving, and now the late-morning heat pressed against his skin, settling in the fabric of his shirt. But he felt all right, better than an hour ago. His hair, still faintly damp from the shower, was hidden beneath a dark gray cap. His clothes were light—a black t-shirt, chino shorts.

When you opened the door, you were smiling, phone in hand, still halfway inside whatever conversation you’d been having a minute ago.

"Right on time," you said, stepping aside so he could come in.

He moved past you, eyes flicking toward you, careful and quick. Black denim shorts, a fitted white t-shirt, hair pulled back. You turned, already moving toward the stairs, and he followed, gaze fixed firmly on the steps, refusing to look at you in any way that might betray something unspoken. Especially not from that angle.

"I'm ready now, okay? Just need to check everything before we go," you said, disappearing into the apartment. Then, a brief glance back at him, like you were remembering something. "Have you had coffee?"

"No. You?"

"No," you said, already in the kitchen. You reached for Mr. Darcy’s saucer, filling it with water, your movements practiced, unthinking. His food bowl was still half full.

Frankie watched as you moved through the apartment, methodically shutting windows, pulling curtains closed with a practiced ease. The light shifted, dimming slightly, the space growing cooler. You grabbed your purse from the coffee table and walked toward the door, stopping beside him, your fingers curling around the doorknob.  

"We can grab coffee before we head out," you said, looking up at him.  

Frankie stepped over the threshold as you turned, shutting the door behind you. The lock clicked into place.

"Sounds good. I wouldn’t go for anything too heavy, though."  

"But I’m craving something good," you said, already making your way down the stairs. "Aren’t you?"  

He followed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe. I think we deserve it."  

"I think so too."  

At the bottom of the stairs, you opened the door, and he stepped out first. You locked up behind him, and as you turned, the movement sent a whisper of your perfume into the warm air between you. Clean, floral—like early summer mornings, fresh and soft.  

"Come with me, it'll be quick," you said, already walking, not bothering to check if he was following.  

Of course, he was. His gaze flickered over the back of your neck, the line of your spine, the curve of your shoulders, the way your arms swung naturally at your sides. Then lower—to your legs, to the sway of your hips, to the way your shorts sat on your body as you moved.  

Frankie cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away, his hand ghosting to the back of his neck like it might ground him.  

You walked a little further before stopping in front of a coffee shop. The storefront was charming, the kind of place that felt tucked away even when it was right in front of you. Through the window, people sat scattered at small tables, quiet in the hush of the morning.  

You pulled open the door, and a rush of cool air greeted you both, a welcome contrast to the warmth outside. Frankie followed as you stepped in, scanning the space as you joined the line. Only one person stood ahead of you.

"The coffee here is really good," you murmured, leaning in slightly, your voice just for him. "And if you're getting something to eat, I recommend the blueberry cupcakes and the glazed donuts. The coconut cake is great too."  

Frankie tilted his head, lowering his voice to match yours. "I’ll probably just get whatever’s easiest to eat in the car, to be honest."  

You grinned, eyes bright with amusement. "No need. Order whatever you want—I can feed you while you drive."  

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "That actually sounds kind of fun."  

"Of course it does. I’m very skilled with the little airplane method."  

Frankie laughed again but didn’t respond, his attention drifting to the glass display case lined with pastries. Donuts were the practical choice—no mess, no crumbs, nothing that would end up in his lap while he drove.  

The woman ahead of you collected her order and stepped aside, moving toward the pickup counter, where cups of coffee were lined up in neat rows. Behind the counter, a barista worked quickly, pouring shots of espresso, scribbling names onto cups with a black marker.  

You stepped forward, and the man at the register greeted you with an easy smile. Frankie moved up beside you, resting one hand on the counter, the other settling on his hip.  

"It’s always good to see you," the guy said, his tone warm, familiar. "Made my morning, actually. I was thinking about stopping by to see you yesterday."  

Frankie’s eyes flicked up, attention sharpening.  

You smiled, and something in your body language shifted—smaller, softer. Shy, maybe.  

"Oh yeah?" you asked, tilting your head. "Any particular reason?"  

Frankie’s gaze slid from your profile to the man behind the counter. Was he invisible? 

"Yeah, actually. Two reasons," the guy said. "One—I need a book recommendation for my mom. And two, well, that one’s a little more complicated." He lowered his voice slightly. "I was wondering if we could talk later, if you have time. Nothing weird, don’t worry."  

Frankie cleared his throat, glancing away before looking back at you. You nodded, your expression unreadable but amused.  

"Sure," you said. "Are you going to be here later?"

"I'm afraid I'm only here until noon today," he said, leaning slightly against the counter. "But I can swing by the bookstore later if you want, after closing."  

You nodded, but then your gaze flickered to Frankie, like you’d just remembered he was there.

"Oh, I won’t be in, sorry," you said easily. "We’ll be skydiving."  

Frankie glanced at you, catching the flash of amusement in your eyes, the way you said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. A quiet sort of pride sat beneath your words, like you were pleased with yourself for saying it out loud.

Then, as if just realizing, you gestured between them. "This is Frankie, by the way."  

The stranger’s smile didn’t falter as he turned to him.

"Oh, nice to meet you, Frankie," he said, extending a hand. "I’m Bill."  

Frankie reached out at an unhurried pace, his grip firm but easy, a small, unreadable smile on his lips.

"Bill. Nice to meet you. I heard the coffee here is good."  

Bill’s face lit up a little more at the comment. "I hope so. Let me know what you think. First time here?"  

Frankie gave a single nod.  

"It is," you answered at the same time, looking at him with a knowing smile.  

"Well, then," Bill said, resting his hands on the counter, "it’s on the house. Take your pick."  

Frankie straightened slightly. "Oh, no need."  

Bill mirrored the movement, studying him.

"No, I’m serious. Whatever you want." Then he shifted his gaze back to you, his voice taking on an easy familiarity. "Actually, you and I had an arrangement, didn’t we?"  

You let out a quiet laugh, your fingers brushing against the side of your neck, a movement Frankie caught.

"That still stands?" you asked.  

"Of course," the man said. "Anything for my favorite book dealer."

The laugh that slipped from your throat was quiet, intentional. A sound that felt as if it had been considered before being released. Your eyes narrowed, the corners creasing, fine, barely-there lines appearing for the briefest moment before smoothing out again.

Frankie ordered first. Black coffee, no sugar, no nonsense. Strong, thick, almost aggressive in its weight. Glazed doughnuts. You followed. A latte—also strong, also heavy, but softened with milk. Chocolate donuts because why not. Bill, all easy smiles and practiced efficiency, rang it up, then paused, lifting an eyebrow:

“So, skydiving?” He asked.

Which led to five minutes of you explaining the list thing, skirting around the details, giving just enough to satisfy curiosity but not enough to invite further questions. Bill nodded along, impressed. Wished you both luck. And just before you stepped away, he turned to Frankie.

“How’s the coffee?”

Frankie’s response was a single nod. "It's really good." He said, his cap shadowing his eyes as he reached for the door. That was that.

Ten minutes later, the car smelled like coffee and sugar.

Neither of you had said much, both too preoccupied with the food in your hands, the heat of the coffee on your tongues.

Shit. It was good. Really good.

Through the speakers, I Wanna Be Your Dog by The Stooges pulsed low and scratchy. Frankie chewed, his jaw working as he shook his head slightly, almost to himself, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Then, still chewing, still looking straight ahead, he spoke. “He’s into you.”

You had your coffee raised halfway to your mouth. Paused. Lowered it.

“What?”

Frankie swallowed. “Bill.”

You frowned. “Bill?”

“Yes.”

“No, he’s not.” You shook your head, attention flicking back to your donut.

Frankie let out a small, almost amused breath. “Yeah. He is.”

He could feel your gaze on him like sunlight pressing against the side of his face. He didn’t look at you. Just smiled.

“No,” you said finally, certain. “I don’t think so. He’s just nice. A nice person.”

“A nice man who’s into you.”

“Mhm.” You made a small sound, noncommittal, tilting your head slightly. “I bet you'd like that.”

That made him laugh. He glanced at you, brief, testing. You were still looking at him and for some reason, it made his chest feel too open, like he’d turned himself inside out without meaning to.

“How’s that?”

“Well.” You stretched the word out, dragging it a little. “If that were true, it’d work out pretty well for you. Maybe I’d get a real boyfriend and finally leave you alone.”

“You think so?”

“Yes,” you said, voice barely softer than usual, but just enough that he caught it. Then silence. A silence he didn’t want to break. A silence he wanted to hand over to you, let you decide what to do with it.

And then you did.

“I don’t need a boyfriend.” You shrugged, the movement easy, thoughtless. “I already have a fake one, anyway. That counts, doesn’t it?”

“Does it?” he asked, watching the road, fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

“Yeah. I mean, you’re here. And you’re good at faking it.” You exhaled, the sound barely there. “Lately, you don’t even need a witness.”

Something about the way you said it landed differently. Not playful, not teasing, just something you were letting into the air, unclaimed. Frankie’s hands tightened, his knuckles briefly going white. Last night sat there between you. He wondered if you were finally going to say something about it.

But you didn’t.

“You take me places,” you continued, as if you hadn’t just given him a reason to stop breathing. “You help me with my list. You even fed my cat.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. He shook his head, glanced at you again, then back at the road.

“I think you’re describing a servant.” His lips twitched. “I am your servant.”

You clicked your tongue. “Don’t say that.”

“Don’t worry. I like helping you. Feels good to be useful for a change.”

"Francisco, enough. Don’t say that."  

He laughed, the sound rolling through his chest like a wave, rising and settling. “It’s okay.”

“Right. Well, let me help you with something too.”

Frankie huffed, shaking his head slightly. “You’re already helping me. You’re my girlfriend, the light of my eyes, my heart—at least in front of my family, remember?”

You laughed, filling the tight space of the car like sunlight through a crack. Frankie caught the slight nod of your head in his peripheral vision.

“Oh, right,” you said. “But I mean it. If there’s anything you need, just ask.”

He glanced at you, longer than he should have, taking in the shape of you in his passenger seat, the way your fingers curled around your coffee cup.

“You’re doing good. Don’t worry.”

You didn’t respond, just smiled to yourself, eyes dropping to the cup in your hands.

A few seconds passed, the kind that stretched out too long, where the air seemed to change in density, pressing down just a little. The music played, filling the space, but it wasn’t enough to stop the creeping thoughts. Frankie exhaled, thumb tapping against the steering wheel, a small, restless movement.

Why weren’t you saying anything about last night? Had you really forgotten?

Without thinking, he reached down and grabbed his phone, holding it out toward you.

“Here,” he said. “Put on some music.”

You took it without hesitation, eyebrows lifting, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across your face.

“Wow. You’re actually handing over control of the music? Must be my lucky day.”

Frankie laughed, his mind drifting somewhere else entirely.

The drive from Austin to San Antonio passed in pieces—fragments of conversation, long stretches of silence thick with things unsaid. By the time you pulled up at the airfield, the sun was high, casting sharp-edged shadows across the tarmac. The place felt wide open, almost empty, the metal hangars spaced out along the runway, a handful of small planes parked off to the side. A flag snapped in the wind, the Texas air heavy with heat and the distant churn of engines and propellers, voices carrying from the other jumpers and staff.

Eric, the instructor, was tall, mid-forties, with a loose, easy smile and a handshake that felt like a formality rather than a necessity. His jumpsuit was blue, sleeves patched with embroidered logos, sunglasses catching the glare off the pavement.

He and Frankie hugged, the kind of greeting that held years of familiarity. Then, casually, Frankie introduced you—his girlfriend. They fell into conversation, catching up on life, exchanging news. Their voices blurred together as your eyes drifted over the space, your stomach twisting with something you didn’t want to name. Then, suddenly, the thought landed fully in your mind: you were about to throw yourself out of a fucking plane.

But before you could sink too deep into that, Eric clapped his hands.

“Alright, first things first—we have to deal with the boring part,” he said, amused, leading you inside a small office. The walls were cluttered with framed certificates and pictures of past jumpers, frozen mid-air, grinning.

He slid a stack of papers across the desk—liability waivers, legal forms outlining all the things that could go wrong.

“Basically, this says that if you die, you can’t sue us,” he said, grinning. “But don’t worry, that won’t happen.”

“Wow,” you said. “So reassuring.”

Eric laughed, and just as you were about to reach for the pen, you felt it—Frankie’s hand, warm against your back, moving in a slow, careful rhythm. Your breath caught slightly before you exhaled.

Once the forms were signed, Eric led you both to a training area where the other participants were already gathered. He walked through the basics: how to hold your body in freefall, how to bend your legs for landing, why it was important to keep your head up and, above all, not to grab at anything once you were in the air.

“It’s kind of like swimming in a vacuum,” he said, tightening the straps on the harness. “The trick is to let go and trust the equipment.”

He checked each buckle with precision, giving them a final tug before patting you both on the shoulder. "Ready?"

You turned to Frankie. He was already looking at you. His black jumpsuit fit snugly, his hair a mess from the cap he’d been wearing earlier, from his hands running through it. Without thinking, you moved closer, your body tilting toward him. His hand found its place on your back again, tracing up until it rested on your shoulder.

"It’s going to be fine," he said, low and close to your ear. "Eric’s a pro. And I’ll be right there, watching you from above when you jump."

"I’m really scared," you admitted, a nervous smile forming before you could stop it.

Frankie pulled you in, his arms warm around you. You let your forehead rest against his chest. Beneath all the noise—voices, wind, the distant hum of engines—you could hear his heartbeat.

After a moment, you leaned back just enough to look up at him, something tight forming in your throat.

"You’ve done this before?"

"No." His lips twitched, his eyes fixed on you.

"And you’re not scared?" You glanced toward Eric, who was deep in conversation with another instructor a few feet away. "I know you’re used to flying, but this is different, right?"

"In some ways, yeah."

You exhaled, shaking your head. "I mean, you’ve seen worse. You’ve probably been through things in CAG that make this feel ridiculous."

Frankie’s grip on your shoulder tightened just slightly. "It’s not ridiculous. It’s new. And to be honest with you, I think it’s going to feel good to fall through the air without being the one responsible for keeping myself alive." He let out a small laugh.

You opened your mouth to answer, but Eric waved you both over.

The group started moving toward the runway. The plane was waiting, red and white, its side door already open. The engine hummed like it knew what was coming. The wind had picked up, kicking dust into the air, lifting the edges of shirts and loose strands of hair.

Frankie walked beside you, hands curled into easy fists, his expression unreadable. Neither of you said anything. You didn’t have to.

"Wait, hey—look at me." Frankie’s voice pulled you back just as you were about to head up the steps.

You turned to find him holding up his phone, his grin bright. 

"Come on, smile." The camera clicked as you obeyed, your expression probably a mix of excitement and sheer panic.

You gestured to your jumpsuit—a black one-piece with straps pulled tight across your torso, the sleeves a little too long. "I look like an astronaut from a budget sci-fi movie."

Frankie just laughed.

The roar of the plane’s engine filled the air as you climbed the metal steps.

Inside, space was tight—just two rows of seats on the floor, the pilot focused on the controls up front. Eric moved efficiently through the cabin, checking harnesses, giving instructions. The side door stayed open, letting in gusts of wind, fragments of conversation from the ground below.

Frankie sat beside you, straps secured across his chest. His gaze was distant, locked on something you couldn’t see.

Your heart was racing, and not just from adrenaline. It was the certainty of what was about to happen, the realization that there was no backing out now. No chance to claim dizziness, to blame it on a delayed hangover—

No.

The plane lifted off, the ground dropping away fast. The streets and houses of San Antonio shrank to toy-sized versions of themselves, colors and grids blending together. The river cut through the city like a streak of silver, roads and fields stretching out until everything looked impossibly small, distant, unreal.

Eric had gone over the plan earlier. A 25-minute flight to reach the jump altitude—9,000 feet. Then, 35 seconds of free fall, plummeting at 130 miles per hour. After that, six to eight minutes drifting under the parachute before landing. They would take pictures. Record a video. But all you could think was: please don’t throw up.

Your eyes stayed on the view, your pulse high and erratic. Your breathing turned uneven, and at some point—without noticing—you started bouncing your knee, shifting your legs. Then, warmth. A hand on yours, grounding, steady. Frankie.

His fingers wove through yours, a quiet, easy motion, and your heart stuttered. His thumb moved over your skin, light, absentminded. You tried to focus on breathing. In, out. In, out.

"Here you go," Logan, the other instructor, cut in, handing you a pair of goggles. The moment shattered. Whatever had been happening between you—if anything had been happening at all—was interrupted.

Minutes blurred together. Eric tugged at your harness one last time, double-checking every buckle, every strap. His voice was loud but distant, muffled beneath the rush of blood in your ears.

"Ready?"

You weren’t. You nodded anyway.

The moment arrived too fast. The door slid open, and the wind howled through the cabin, sharp and cutting, like it wanted to rip you straight out of the plane. Eric led you to the edge.

Your feet met nothing. The space between you and the ground stretched forever. You tried to turn, to catch one last glimpse of Frankie, but the angle made it impossible. If you called his name, you weren’t sure he’d hear you. But he was there.

The wind tore at your face. The city below was impossibly small, the sky endless in every direction. Your lungs clenched.

Eric counted down.

"Three... two... one."

And then—you fell.

Or maybe, the world opened up and swallowed you whole, a deafening rush in every direction. Everything you thought you knew about gravity unraveled in an instant—you weren’t falling, you weren’t floating. You just were. Suspended in nothing, weightless and untethered.  

The wind lashed against your body, hot and unrelenting, turning the descent into a collision with speed itself. And for a second, there was no space in your mind for anything else. No fear, no doubt. Just motion.  

The world spun, stretched endlessly around you, and adrenaline burst inside your chest, wild and consuming, like a star collapsing and expanding all at once.  

And then you screamed.  

Not from fear. From something bigger than that. Something closer to exhilaration, to release.  

The wind roared in your ears, thick against your skin, the force of it making the air feel solid. But none of it mattered.  

Because you were falling. Hell, you were falling. And somehow, impossibly, it felt so fucking right. It was the best thing you had ever felt.  

It took a moment to understand it, to really let it sink in. But when it did—when it fully hit you—your body stopped resisting. Something inside you loosened, unraveled.  

And you laughed.  

The sound barely existed before the wind stole it away, torn from your throat as if the sky itself wanted to keep it. Your heart pounded hard, so hard you could feel it everywhere—in your fingertips, in your toes, in every cell of your body—as the ground rushed closer and the sky stretched infinite behind you.

Eric waved you over, checking if you were okay. You shot him a thumbs-up, your grin so wide it almost hurt.

To your right, another instructor coasted effortlessly through the air, a helmet-mounted camera fixed on him. He waved his hands dramatically, motioning for you to do something.

Without thinking, you threw your arms out, wiggled your fingers, feeling both ridiculous and euphoric. The instructor mimed the click of a camera, then gave you an approving thumbs-up before drifting back, adjusting his position with an ease that made the whole thing look effortless.

You had no idea how long you’d been falling—fifteen seconds? Twenty? It could have been hours. It could have been nothing at all.

But here, in the open sky, with the world stretched out in every direction, with your body weightless in a way you’d never known before—one thing was certain. 

You didn’t want it to end.

But it did.

Minutes later, you touched down in a vast stretch of green, landing just the way they’d told you to. Your stomach was fluttering, your pulse hammering, your entire body alive with an energy you had never felt before. The ground felt too solid, too still beneath you.

Eric unhooked the harness, stepping back as you stayed where you were, hands pressing into the earth like you needed proof that you were actually here, back on the ground. He grinned, holding up both thumbs.

“So, how are you feeling?”

Your breath came out in a laugh, wide and uncontained. “I didn’t want it to end.”

He chuckled, reaching out a hand to pull you up. Your legs were unsteady, not from weakness but from whatever was still coursing through you, whatever part of you hadn’t quite landed yet.

You tilted your head back, scanning the sky, searching. And there—far above—you caught them. Two dark figures cutting through the blue. Frankie and Logan, still falling, still weightless.

Eric nudged you, gesturing for you to move toward the pavement. You followed him, your steps uneven, gaze flicking between the sky and the field, as if you could still feel yourself in both places at once.

When Frankie landed, you felt the pull before you even decided to move. You waited. Ten seconds maybe. And then he got up, a smile on his face as he started talking to Logan, smiling, his body still humming with the same high that was thrumming through yours. But his eyes kept finding you, like a signal, a call.

You didn’t think. You just ran.

Your legs were shaky, the harness still tight around your chest, but none of it mattered. Maybe it was reckless, maybe you were supposed to wait, but you didn’t.

Frankie saw you coming. His arms opened instinctively, and then you crashed into him, his body warm, solid, the adrenaline between you mixing into something electric.

He lifted you, feet leaving the ground again, arms locked around his neck, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t know if it was the fall or if it was this—him.

"You did it, baby," he murmured, voice low, still breathless. His grin was wide, shining. He pulled back just enough to see your face, his eyes flickering downward for a second—just a second—before meeting yours again. "I knew you could."

"That was insane," you breathed. "I loved it."

"Me too."

"What did you think? Everything looked so different from up there, so small. And the sky—"

His hands were still on your waist, grounding you in a way the earth couldn’t.

"It felt fucking good," he said, laughing, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it himself. "Wanna do it again?"

You smiled, your hand trailing down his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath beneath your fingers.

"Thank you for doing this with me." 

His eyes stayed on yours, locked. But then—

"Hey, lovebirds!" Eric’s voice cut through the air.

You blinked, exhaling a laugh as you stepped back. Frankie’s hands lingered a second longer before he let you go.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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(Please let me know if your tag isn't working!!)

[joelmillers-wife]

PEDRO PASCAL as FRANCISCO "CATFISH" MORALES Triple Frontier | Letterboxd Reviews

[joelmillers-wife]

PEDRO PASCAL as Joel Miller in The Last Of Us Season 2

[joelmillers-wife]

THIS!!!!!

also want to add the amount of hate I see and have seen towards Rutina Wesley and Nico Parker who got cast as Maria and Sarah. two black women who got aggressive hate because their characters were white in the game

yet… Pedro and Gabriel do not get nearly as many complaints about them also not being white like in the game, because they’re two attractive men

all four of those actors do an amazing job as their characters and their race does not affect anything at all. it’s just sad that only the black women are getting hated on

plus, if they made Joel and Tommy Hispanic, it’d have been weird to make Sarah look like she does in the game

and Maria being black adds to the layers of Tommy having a kid. “just because life stopped for you, doesn’t mean it has to stop for me”. now, Tommy has a little boy who looks almost the same as Sarah did in the show—adding to Joel’s feelings about his brother having a child

ANNNNDDDD Catherine O’Hara (a white woman) was confirmed to play Eugene’s wife—and if you played the games, you know there’s a photo of Eugene and his wife and daughter. his wife and daughter are both black, yet I’ve heard NO complaints about them changing the race there? big shocker

people only complain about race swapping when it’s one way and not the other

ok sorry I’m done now I just wanted to talk—

notice how nobody complains about how gabriel luna looks nothing like tommy because he's conventionally attractive but the second it's a girl and she isn't up to your dumbass standards THEN looks matter? right, right.

[joelmillers-wife]

Oh, those Miller Brothers are a handful.

[joelmillers-wife]

The boyfriend act ✦ series masterlist

Summary: All you wanted was to get to Austin, but instead of your brother, it’s Frankie —Santi’s best friend, the one you can barely stand— who shows up in Dallas. He’s just doing your brother a favor, but the trip takes an unexpected turn when a stop puts you face to face with your ex — the guy who broke your heart three months ago and is now about to get married.

Out of pride, you blurt out a lie: Frankie is your boyfriend. Surprised but willing to play along, he agrees, with one condition — you must accompany him to his mother’s birthday. His plan? Dodge his family’s meddling and their endless matchmaking schemes.

Rating: EXPLICIT (+18) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

Paiting: Frankie Morales x F!reader

WC: 105k (oops)

✦ fic content ✦

PART ONE: "The one with the proposal"

PART TWO: "The one with the purring traitor"

PART THREE: "The one with the birthday party"

PART FOUR: "The one with bruises and blue excuses"

PART FIVE: "The one with the Red lights"

PART SIX: "The one with the late night talk"

PART SEVEN: "The one with the unexpected visitor"

PART EIGHT: "The one with Dante and Beatrice"

PART NINE I: "The one with the wedding"

PART NINE II: "The one with the wedding"

More parts to be announced!

EXTRAS:

The Boyfriend Act timeline

beautiful divider by @saradika-graphics <3

[joelmillers-wife]

PEDRO PASCAL behind the scenes of SOMEDAY | AirPods 4 commercial

[joelmillers-wife]

it’s canon jackson joel miller wears reading glasses and i am not even remotely close to being okay

[joelmillers-wife]

Partying with Pedro 🕺🥂🪩

[joelmillers-wife]

Our secret moments in a crowded room

Pairing: Harry Castillo x f!reader

Summary: Harry thinks that the date night can get a little more interesting and more… wet

Warnings: 18+ smut, MDNI, teasing, fingering (f!receiving), oral (f!receiving), public sex, use of “daddy”, use of pet names (darling, sweetheart, good girl, babygirl, baby, my girl, princess, my love)

Word count: 1.9k

Notes: lyrics in the title are from Dress by Taylor Swift

Dividers credit: @anitalenia - @strangergraphics

|| MY FICS ||

“Take off your panties.”

“What? Here?”

The clinking noise of glasses surrounds you, candles lit on the table, an atmosphere tasting of expensive wine and expensive clothes. Like the ones he’s asking you to take off.

He’s seated next to you, but around you there are other people and surely it doesn’t seem like the place to do that.

Harry grabs your thigh, taking the hems of your dress with it, lifting it up a little, “Should be easy, darling. No one is gonna see it.”

The lights are actually dim, one of those exclusive parties Harry would take you to, with somber atmosphere.

He hooks a finger under the panties, yanking them a little, “Come on, see how easy it is.” He whispers close to your ear, warm breath over the side of your neck, making you lightly whimper, a hand covering immediately your mouth.

You don’t utter a word, reaching for the hem of the dress and going under it, starting to pull down one side of the panties, “Gonna give you a hand, sweetheart.” He lavishly offers, pulling down the other side, you lifting from the chair just a bit to let them slip from your hips and thighs, then having them shimmer over your legs.

“Now give them to me.” He adds, still that warmth of him all over you, his knee pressing to your thigh, “What for?” You whisper, finally taking them and eventually slipping them in his already open hand under the table.

He hides them in his fist, making them disappear in the pocket of his black jacket, “So that I will know where they are, and that you won’t put them on again.” His hand now reaching over your thigh, going for the inside of it and you instinctively widen your legs a bit, “Yeah and you wanted to play all innocent for daddy.”

Everything around you now is muffled, his voice the only thing you can hear.

“You know what I would like to do now?” He asks, a finger brushing between your legs, as you try to keep still, “I would like, no, I would love to finger you here.” He teases, kissing your neck, nuzzling there. “Harry, we can’t.” You let out, holding his wrist, his pulse strong under your fingers.

“Why not? I would be hidden by the tablecloth, and you would just keep being good and not let anyone understand what’s happening.”

God, him and his creative ways, as he would call them. Public sex still hasn’t been checked off from the list, so you guess that tonight you will tick that little box.

You don’t answer, but you drape better the tablecloth, smoothing it with your hands and making it seem like he’s just keeping a hand on your thigh.

“Good girl, now open and don’t say a word.” He caresses you on the inside of your thigh, you widening your legs a little more, him smirking satisfied.

“There you go,” his thumb brushes directly on your clit and you have to recall all your strengths to not let out a whimper at that already or to not move against his hand.

He cups you, parting then your folds, licking his lips before slipping in a finger, and you hold a napkin to act normal and perfect, feeling also the cold of his emerald ring against you.

“You’re already soaked, babygirl, I’m gonna give you another finger in no time.” He whispers, and his face would never tell the others what he’s doing, keeping a perfect poker face, acting like nothing is happening under that damn table.

He pumps in his finger, making you squirm but still acting composed, Harry smirking and enjoying all of that, especially enjoying how you were already wet before he even touched you, his finger going in so perfectly, so at ease.

You’re trying to get used to that when he pushes in a second finger, this time having to bite your lip behind your hand, to not let out a single sound.

“You’re being so good to daddy, so good.” He kisses your neck, shivers crossing all your body. His fingers are slick in you, stretching you and going deeper, movements slow but deep enough to make you feel all sorts of sensations.

You fight the urge to move against his fingers, feeling your clit pulsing at his touch and for a moment closing your legs, trapping his hand there.

“Is it too much?” Harry murmurs, still managing to slide his fingers slowly, “Does it hurt, baby?”

But you shake your head, trying to calm your inner heat, try to slow down your heartbeat and not orgasming right there, in a full restaurant.

“Then what is it?” He coos, landing a kiss over your uncovered shoulder, your hand grabbing his knee still close to you.

“I want to come.” You let out in a breath, feeling his lips curving in a smile over your bare skin.

“But not here.” You add, him leaning his face on your shoulder, “And do you think you could hold it until we’ll be home?” His voice making it just harder, brushing his thumb over your throbbing clit.

You quickly nod though, trying your best to tame your heat, “Yes,” your breath shaky.

“Yes, what?” He starts retracing his fingers, so slowly that you could already come at that.

“Yes, daddy.” You whisper, him kissing your neck, “Good girl.” Pulling out his fingers, letting out a whimper out of you, biting your lip immediately.

He rubs his hand over your thigh, pulling back your dress, “Let’s go, don’t want to make my girl wait too much.”

The ride back home in his car is hard, squirming in your seat as he keeps a hand over your thigh, the other hand on the steering wheel, and watching him drive definitely doesn’t help. That would always do it for you, looking at the way he would turn, his whole hand spread, using his palm, so it is not the best to help you keeping it together before getting home.

You place your hand over his, Harry intertwining your fingers and bringing your hand to his lips, placing a kiss there, “Yeah, we’re almost there.” And God, when you got there earlier that night that place seemed a lot closer, now you feel like you’ve been in this car for hours.

“What do you want me to do as soon as we’ll be home?” He wonders, leaving your hand, and you shift in your seat.

“I want you to make me come.” You say, and he shrugs, “Yeah I know about that, I meant if you wanted me to do something specifically.”

He loves having you telling him exactly what you want, because he knows that he will always give it to you, and at first you thought it was just about the material stuff, but instead it applies to anything else too.

“Well, then…” Him glancing at you for a moment, giving you his attention, “You should go back to finger me, and you could eat me out too, how about that?”

He smiles, tilting his head to you, “Seems perfect, princess.” He complies, he would always do.

He pushes you to the wall in the hallway of the apartment as soon as you step in, his hand cupping your cheek as he kisses you passionately, and you breathe in his perfume.

He leaves your lips only to reach your uncovered shoulders, letting one strap of the dress slid off your arm, and then doing the same with the other, letting the dress fall from your shoulders; he lets it fall slowly from your body, kissing every inch of skin that is unveiled by it, his lips closing on your bare chest, wet trails between your breasts as he goes to cup them. You let your hand through his hair, glancing at him in the dim and warm lights of the apartment, as he goes lower, unrolling more the dress, hands grabbing your waist and keeping you still.

He finally lets the dress fall to the floor, as you step out of it, now standing completely naked in front of him, Harry at least getting rid of the black jacket of his suit. Your hands reach his bow tie, undoing it and unbuttoning the first buttons of his shirt, him still kissing you on your waist.

He fully kneels down in front you, hand back in his hair as he dives in you, tongue lapping on your wetness, your back arching at the sudden contact and the way all the orgasm that he had built it up before is coming back in full force.

He lets a finger over your folds, then kissing you again, tongue circling over your clit and that is exactly how you wanted him, kneeled down for you, taking in everything that you can give him.

Your knees buckle a little when he pushes in a finger, still his lips working on you, and now you can let out your moans, with no fear of being discovered or heard, him appreciating that, feeling his lips curving in a smile over you.

Another finger goes in, deep, making you tighten your grip on his curls.

“How is it, baby? Is this how you wanted it?” He asks, keeping on pumping his fingers in, and he looks like a dream, like the most heavenly vision, kneeled for you, his lips wet in you and those golden eyes looking up at you.

You cup his face, the beard brushing on your palm, “Yeah.” You breathe, feeling his hand going on your thigh as he starts to get up, going immediately for your lips, taking your breath away.

Your hands reach behind his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, as his hand finds his way under your knee, propping it up, going deeper with his fingers. You repeat his name again and again, him diving on your neck, now tugging his shirt’s collar behind his neck, grabbing it as you feel the orgasm blooming again.

“Are you gonna come, babygirl? Gonna come for daddy, yeah?” His deep voice over your skin wet in kisses, your heartbeat drumming against your ribcage.

“Yes, yes, daddy.” You moan out loud, as your legs shake and the orgasm washes over you, body trembling and gripping on his shoulders to not drop to the floor, such is the force of it.

“So good, baby, so good to me.” He whispers all content over your neck, before kissing you and keeping pumping his fingers in, slowly, to accompany your orgasm.

He leaves your leg back on the floor, him still being all over you, his suit against your naked body, pressing you against the wall.

“Love you so much.” He breathes, pressing a kiss over your forehead, now his arms hugging you on your waist and lifting you up, as you wrap your legs around him.

“Love you too.” You say, up in his arms and those warm brown eyes looking at you, as you brush your fingers through this hair, him starting to walk towards the bedroom.

“What are you thinking about?” He utters when he lands you softly in bed, bedsheets and duvet soft like a cloud around you.

“Should do something for you.” You let out, even though the words are slurred.

He shakes his head, pressing a kiss over your forehead, “You’re too tired,” he coos, brushing a hand through your hair, “It’s been a long day and a long night, just go to sleep, don’t think about anything else. This was just about you, my love.”

You hear these last sweet words before falling asleep, dreaming of him, because you could never get enough of him, not even in your dreams.

[joelmillers-wife]

a lil' something sweet

Farmhand! Joel x Married! Reader

summary: After your husbands aunt passes away, he takes on the responsibility of caring after the beloved family farm. Coming from the city after living there your whole life to moving to a huge farm in the middle of nowhere is a shock to you. But what shocks you even more is the comfort you find from the live-in farmhand, Joel Miller.

word count: 25.5k

warnings/tags: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. no outbreak AU. non canon Joel. country side on a farm type shit. Joel is a lonely man. Kinda creepy but in a sexy way. heavy petting. thigh riding. Joel finishes in his pants. Infidelity (oops). joel's possessive but not in a toxic way (outloud). unprotected p-in-v sex. creampies. slight breeding kink if you squint right. age gap. reader is mid to late 20's and joel is pushin' 50. petnames (baby, baby doll, baby girl, darlin', ya know). readers husband is a real dick. slight fatshaming (we hate the husband). joel makes it better. lots of soft touches and kisses. fluffy, angsty, smutty. happy ending. (no y/n, reader is AFAB. minimal physical descriptions)

a/n: this was fun to write cause desperate, needy joel is my absolute favorite thing. also the word count makes me go brrr cause wdym it's so long?? and while we don't usuallyyy fuck with infidelity, it was warranted here. please pay attention to the warnings if you don't like any of what is mentioned, don't read it. thank u all tho and i hope u enjoy it ~

this was a long mf time coming

-

You were never a fan of the countryside. Being somewhere so far from civilization terrified you. What do you mean the nearest big grocery store was over an hour away… in each direction? So, when your husband told you his Aunt Karla had passed, and that he’d be taking care of the family farm, you began to panic. You were sympathetic of course and consoled him as best you could, but leaving the city? Hell, you'd even considered divorce; it was that serious. Not really, but almost.

The drive was long and tiring. You’d rented a moving truck and packed all your belongings from your hometown and drove the seven hours it took to reach his aunt's farm. Anxiety set in almost immediately as the tall buildings and fast-food restaurants on every other corner disappeared. Trees and fields and wildflowers surrounded your view as the long and narrow highway seemed to go on forever. Your husband, Luke, decided to make a few pit stops for gas or bathroom breaks, even a quick fuck in the front seat on the side of the road- which, you weren’t really all that into.

Seven grueling hours later, the farm came into view. It was a lot larger than what you thought it was going to be. The two-story farm home sat in the middle of the plot of land, surrounded by lots of trees. A big, peeling red barn sat to the left and to the right, at least two or three horses roamed in a fenced area. What was Luke thinking? You had never stepped foot on a farm in your life besides maybe an elementary school field trip 20 years ago. How did he think you’d be able to handle a barn full of animals?

Luke parked the moving van in front of the house which sat on a hill. Concrete stairs led up to the front door and you sighed, dreading the trips back and forth. Luke gave you a pointed look before sighing himself.

“Listen… we’re doing my family a favor by taking over the farm. And it's not going to be forever. Just a couple years and then when Nick gets back from the Marines, he said he’d take it and then we’ll head back to the city, okay?” Luke says in annoyance, mentioning his brother. You nod, grabbing your purse from the front seat and heading up the stairs to check the house out.

Stepping inside felt surreal, like you’d gone into a different decade as you gazed at all the antique furniture, hutches with fine China, and flowered wallpaper. You couldn’t help but let out a deep breath as you set your purse down, walking into the kitchen. It was nice and quaint, and honestly it made you feel some semblance of comfort as you took in the marble counter tops and Chicken themed decorations.

You loved to cook and bake, and as you saw the built-in pasta maker on the counter and the bread oven on the far wall, you had a thought that maybe you could do this. Maybe you could make this work.

After a moment, Luke steps inside as you wander around the house, noting the three bedrooms and the two and a half baths the home has to offer. He huffs out heavily, setting down three boxes stacked on one another. “Uh, honey? Are you going to help or what?” he asks, a bit of bite to his tone.

“Sorry, I was just checking everything out. The master bedroom is nice! But it’s kinda stuffy in here. Where do I turn the AC on?” You ask curiously only to be met with a scowl. Your eyebrows knit in confusion as you wait for him to answer.

“Jesus… This house was made in like, 1803. There’s no air conditioning, babe. If it’s stuffy, open the windows.” Luke says as he turns around, heading back to the truck.

You throw your head back in frustration. No grocery stores nearby, no air conditioning, all these damn animals, and of course Luke being an asshole about it all. You’d been quiet about this whole thing since Luke told you, not asked, but told you he’d taken over his aunt's farm. You didn’t want to complain or make it seem like an inconvenience when he was grieving. But it was. You weren’t cut out for this life and that was okay. Unfortunately, you loved your husband and told yourself to at least give it a shot. That was a decision you were beginning to regret.

“Come on! I’m doing all the work here!” Luke yells from the truck, bringing you from your thoughts. You close your eyes for a moment longer before heading down the steps to help him. Maybe he’ll be in a better mood once you’re done setting everything up. At least you could only hope.

A few hours pass and you have most of your belongings unpacked. You’d left a lot of stuff back at your apartment in the city since your sister was going to take over your lease while you were away. All that was left to be taken care of was the bedroom stuff.

Your eyes settle on the cuckoo clock as it chimes, 6pm already. You excuse yourself from unpacking as you head downstairs to start working on dinner. Luke groans about how he’s had to do all the work all day, but lets you go downstairs to cook. Nodding, you head down the steps into the kitchen, figuring out where to start.

After Karla passed, a lot of the stuff she had was packed and separated between family members, but they left the kitchen alone. You opened the fridge, deciding to start there. It was still full of stuff, and you began to make a mental note of what ingredients you saw. A couple fresh eggs, milk, butter, some different meats and veggies. After checking the rest of the kitchen, you came up with the idea of breakfast for dinner. Waffles, eggs, and bacon.

As you got to work, you didn’t notice the back porch door swing wide open. And you definitely didn’t notice the man that came in through it. He sets a basket of farm fresh eggs on the counter, bringing you from your thoughts as you whisk together the batter.

Your eyes widen as you jump with a yelp, clutching your chest as the man stares at you with a blank expression. He doesn’t offer his hand or anything, he just stares and says, “Joel.”

As your heart settles, you nod slowly. “Your name is Joel?

Joel nods too, his eyes leaving yours as he sees Luke enter the room.

“Honey, what’s the matter, why did you yell? Oh! You’ve met Joel.” Luke smiles, “Babe, this is Joel Miller. He’s the farm hand. He takes care of the animals and stuff, cleans the farm up, gathers… eggs. He’s worked for my aunt forever.” Luke continues as his eyes glance down at the basket Joel brought in.

“Nice to meet you, Joel. Sorry, I was really concentrated on making this waffle batter I didn’t even hear you come in.” You say softly, a small smile on your lips.

“’S okay. I can be kinda quiet sometimes. I’ll holler next time I drop the eggs off.” Joel speaks. His voice is gruff and low. Somehow nostalgic, or at least that’s what you thought as your chest fills with a familiar feeling. Your eyes traveled to his as you smiled, taking in the features of this stranger.

He was older. Maybe in his early 50’s or late 40’s. He had a broad nose with a scar on the bridge. His chocolate brown eyes seem tired, but kind; inviting. His hair was dark and graying and as your eyes traveled lower, you noticed how his arms seemed to bulge under the dirtied, navy-blue shirt he was in. ‘Handsome’ was the first word to pop into your mind. You cleared your throat and looked at Luke who seemed annoyed about something. What’s new?

“Well, see you folks later. It was nice meetin’ you, sweetheart.” Joel says as he makes his leave. You watch him go before turning back to the batter, trying to finish everything up. Once dinner time finally arrives, Luke ends up complaining the entirety of the meal about how waffles are breakfast food and having them for dinner is like a crime against humanity. You think it’s funny how he eats them anyways.

The first night here sucks. It’s incredibly hot as the thick quilt on his aunt's bed sticks to your skin. Sweat beads from your forehead as you toss and turn, dripping down your neck and back. Deciding you can’t do it anymore, you throw the comforter off you and stomp downstairs, irritated by every little thing from today. The long drive, the car sex, Luke’s attitude, the heat. You head through the kitchen to the back porch, and you finally get relief in the form of the cool night breeze. You feel your sweat dry against your skin, leaving you sticky but honestly, you couldn’t care less right now. The breeze has a nip to it, signaling summers soon-to-be end, and you couldn’t wait.

Your eyes close, savoring the fresh air against your cheeks. You don’t know how much time passes but you only open them when you hear the sound of a guitar in the wind. Looking around the backyard, you notice a small guest house down the hill. It had to be Joel’s. The porch light is on, the front door open, and before you can even think, you begin to walk towards it.

The tiny home isn’t far away from the main house, but a good enough distance that you realize you probably should have put shoes on. Gravel digs into your heels, but it doesn’t hurt. The guitar becomes louder as you approach, a melancholic tune strummed from the strings. As you reach the house, doubt fills your mind. You probably shouldn’t even be here just showing up like some creep. But you also figure you’ve come this far… Plus, it’d be nice to get to know him in some capacity considering he works here on the farm you’ll be living on. Or that’s what you tell yourself.

You step quietly onto the wood porch, savoring the cool night air and the sadness of his guitar. Now that you’re closer, you can hear Joel humming too. An unsure smile etches on to your face as you walk into the doorway, working up the courage before knocking on the wood.

“Hey… sorry to bother you.” You say softly, not wanting to alarm him.

Joel looks up to you in surprise, his fingers stop against the neck of his guitar. “Oh, well, hi there. What can I do for you?”

“Oh! Nothing. I was… I was just on the back porch trying to cool off and I heard a guitar. Figured this is where you stay, and I thought I’d come and say hi. Maybe listen to you play for a bit?” You say nervously. You almost feel embarrassed. You don’t even know this man.

Joel looks a bit confused at first before nodding to the couch next to his rocking chair he’s sitting in. You pad into the house with little steps before sitting down. Your body flushes with nerves as you look at him, like you’re waiting for something to happen.

Joel doesn’t say anything. He just begins to play again, a different song this time. You settle into the plaid couch as he strums, the cool air from the front door being open blows in and you shiver. Your eyes widen as you realize you’re in your ivory, silk nightie and embarrassment floods your cheeks for real this time. Joel probably thinks you’re insane, or maybe he thinks you’re wanting to seduce him. Which, no, of course you weren't; you’re married! Red flushes against your cheeks and you subconsciously pull your nightgown down, trying to cover your knees.

Joel plays for a while before speaking. He clears his throat, hesitating a moment, “So… you know who George Jones is?” He asks. You shake your head, a smile on your lips. “No, can’t say I do. Who is he?”

He smiles softly too, at least you think it’s a smile. “He was a country singer… Old country singer from way before you were even a twinkle in your mama’s eyes. Has a lot of sad songs, which I like to play, I guess. But uh… 'was just wondering if you knew his music. I'll play one of his songs for you.” You nod curiously, adjusting your body to give him your full attention.

The song starts off slow, his fingers moving expertly along the frets of the guitar, rough voice singing low.

“He said, ‘I’ll love you till I die’. She said, ‘You’ll forget in time’. As the years went slowly by, she still preyed upon his mind.”

Your eyes widen at the lyric's, realizing Joel was probably right. This was a sad song. You weren’t expecting him to sing either. But you didn’t mind it. It was really nice actually. It was so melodic and entrancing, you don't take notice of the dust of pink that kissed the apples of your cheeks.

You sit and listen to him perform through this song that breaks your heart and he finally gets to the chorus.

“He stopped loving her today. They placed a wreath upon his door. And soon they’ll carry him away. He stopped loving her today.”

You suck a breath quick breath, feeling your vision blur as he finishes the song. By the time it's over, your head rests in your palms against the arm of the couch, watching Joel intently as tears pool in your eyes. Joel stops, placing his hand against the strings as he looks at you, his own eyes widening at the shimmer in yours.

“Wait-what’s wrong, darli-”

“He died?” You exclaim emotionally, a tear slipping out. “That song is about a man who loves this woman even though they’re not together anymore but only stops ‘cause he dies? And she goes to his funeral?” Your eyes close as you sit up. Those welled up tears falling against your cheeks. “That’s so sad."

Joel chuckles softly, setting his guitar against the end table. “I did tell you I like to play them sad songs, did I not?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it was sad like that. Like, maybe it was about a man losing his horse. Or selling his tractor for a new one. Not about loving his soulmate and then dying!” You cry.

“’m sorry, darlin’. Didn’t mean to make you cry. Just thought you might like it.” He says apologetically, passing you his handkerchief from his pocket.

“No, no. I did like it. You’re talented, Joel, I just… damn… that was so… sad.” You sigh as you take the handkerchief and wipe your tears before letting your hands fall into your lap. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cry. I’ve just… had a day.”

Joel’s eyebrow quirks, “That Luke boy of yours being a brat?”

Your eyes snap to the older man and you nod slightly. “I mean, kinda. He’s just… been on one lately. I think it’s the stress of moving here so quickly. I mean, we uprooted our whole lives and moved here within a week of Karla passing. It’s been a lot for both of us.” You breathe out. You hadn’t mentioned your frustrations to anyone, but it felt good to say something. You’d been keeping it in too long for your liking.

Joel sighs knowingly, “Yeah, I can imagine. Packin’ up your life then moving to a place you’ve never been before. It’s gotta be hard.” He pauses for a moment, debating his next words, “Uh, Karla loved her nephew… But Luke would come here during the summer when he was little, and he was uh… quite the handful to say the least. Seems like he still is.” Joel reaches for his glass of what you assumed to be whiskey or bourbon based on the color, the ice in the cup long melted as the condensation trickles down the sides. You pause for a moment, watching him sip on the liquid, his Adams apple bobbing up and down. You suddenly felt parched too.

“I mean he’s stubborn, sure… but he has good moments. I wouldn’t have married him if he didn’t.” You say quietly, your voice trailing off.

Joel eyes you for a second and hums in acknowledgment. “I didn’t say he didn’t have his good moments, darlin’.”

You bite your lip after he says that. You didn’t need to justify anything to him. It was just… habit. You'd always stood up for him. Luke was a good guy. You thought so at least. Maybe others didn't.

He sets his glass down on the table next to him and looks up to the clock. It reads just past one in the morning. “Well, I don’t mean to be a bad host but it’s gettin’ late. Don’t want your husband thinkin’ you gone missing on him, huh?”

Your eyes widen as you realize the time and you stand up, adjusting your nightgown again. “No, you’re right. I lost track of time. And honestly Luke might throw a fit if he wakes up and I’m not there.” You hover around the couch for a moment longer before heading towards the door. Looking back at Joel, you notice him looking right back at you. “Thanks for playing me some music. It was a well needed peaceful moment after my day. Even if you made me cry.”

Joel let’s out an amused breath, “Yeah, well, don’t get used to no personal concerts. It was a special occasion tonight for your first night here. Alright?”

“Got it. Thanks again, Joel. I’m sure I’ll see you soon. Have a good night, okay?” You say as you wave and make your way back to the house, feeling slightly better than earlier. Joel nods at you, watching you make your way back inside before he shuts his own door, sighing to himself and shaking his head.

As you reach the house and shut the back door behind you, you realize you still had Joel’s green handkerchief, gripped in your palm. A sigh leaves your lips as you make a mental note to give it back to him tomorrow after washing it. You tuck it away in the laundry basket by the door and then head upstairs, making sure to be as quiet as possible as you slip back into bed. Luke turns in his sleep; throwing am arm over you. It’s comforting. Something he hasn’t done in a while. You smile as you begin to drift off, feeling safe in your husband's arms. As sleep beckons you, you don’t even realize how your thoughts drift back to your time with Joel. The way his fingers strummed against the guitar, and the way his low voice rasped the sad words of that George Jones song. Or the way he looked at you, his eyes locked on to yours as tears welled up, the softness his molasses-colored ones held.

About a month passes of the farm life and it’s really not so bad. Yeah, you kinda hate the smell that lingers from the barn, and you hate that damn rooster that crows every morning at 6 on the dot. But other than that, it hasn’t been too bad. You even learn there’s a local grocery store up the road a couple miles and although the prices are up charged a bit, you’re able to get your comfort bag of Hot Cheetos here and there.

Luke has been an asshole still, sadly. Especially now that he’s working remotely, and the internet out here sucks. And now that you’re not working, since you had to quit your job before moving here, there isn’t much for you to do to pass the time.

Your days consist of cleaning the house, doing laundry, napping on the green velvet couch Karla had as old soap operas play in the background. You like to walk around the property sometimes, finding that being around nature isn’t horrible. The sound of the leaves shaking with the wind and the crickets by the creek in the back have become relaxing to you. Who would have thought?

What really has been getting you by however, is baking. Karla had dozens of cookbooks from the 60’s and 70’s all filled with interesting, and sometimes disgusting recipes. In the last month you’d made maybe 10 loaves of bread, such as pumpkin, zucchini, banana, apple cinnamon, and even an olive and ham loaf… that one was a fat no. You’d made different small cakes and tarts and while they all never went to waste; Luke never tried them. Every time you’d knock on the door with a small plate of whatever you’d made, he’d scowl, turning his nose up and then look back at his computer. It was disheartening.

But today was going to be a good day. You’d pulled your latest creation out of the oven, filling the kitchen with a sweet, homey scent. You couldn’t wait to try it. Immediately, you stuck your fork into it and then into your mouth. Despite the molten filling singing your taste buds, your eyes shut in pleasure. It was fucking delicious. Beaming down at your treat, you decided to cut Luke a slice of your very first ever, homemade cherry pie. You were so proud of it. The crumb had the perfect texture, the cherry filling had the perfect amount of tart to sweet ratio, and even the lattice was perfect, a little heart placed in the middle. You knew he was probably not going to want it, but you were going to try anyways.

After climbing the steps to where he was, you tapped against the wood of the doorway, plate and pie in hand as you smiled warmly, “Hi, honey. I made this cherry pie and it’s literally the most amazing thing I’ve ever made-”

“I don’t want any.” Luke says, cutting your sentence off. You falter a moment, but you know if he tried it, he would love it. He loves cherries.

“I think you should just have a bite! I’m telling you; you’ll like it.” You offer, stepping closer to him.

Luke sighs and you know he’s about to give you an earful, “I said I don’t want any of your damn pie,” He seethes, “You offer me everything you make, and have I accepted it once?”

Your cheeks heat up as tears prick your eyes and you kind of regret even trying to ask. You want to respond and yell back but you also don’t want to argue. You don’t know where your sweet, loving husband went and it hurts. Luke turns in his computer chair and his eyes are glazed with venom as he stares you down, “So, stop asking me. I don’t want them. You shouldn’t even be eating that shit anyways, you’re getting fat.”

Luke turns back to his computer and begins to click at the keys, clearly done with the conversation. You grip the plate in your hand, biting back the tears that threaten to spill as you go to leave the room. As soon as you step out of it, Luke shuts the door behind you. Your heart clenches in your chest as the tears fall. When did he become so cold? What had you done to make him do a 180 like this? How can you fix it? Or is it even fixable?

Questions swirl through your mind as you pad down the stairs, feeling small and wanting to coil into yourself but as you enter the kitchen, you notice Joel has stepped in. He sets the basket of a dozen or so eggs on the counter as he does every Tuesday. His eyes glance at the pie and then up to you, concern etching into his features.

Joel doesn’t want to ask what’s wrong, just cause you two still don’t know each other that well, but it’s like he can’t help himself.

“What’s’a matter, darlin’? Everythin’ okay?” He asks, eyes set tightly on your face.

Your brows knit together as you swallow back the burn of more tears in your throat and you nod, “Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t worry.” You say as you set the pie on the counter. Joel eyes it and he can feel his stomach begin to rumble. You notice his gaze on the pie, and you can’t help but smile. Letting out a breathy laugh, you allow yourself to relax a bit in his presence. He radiates this genuine aura, and you can’t help how it attracts you to him like a moth to a flame.

“You like pie?” You ask curiously.

Joel nods, “Yes, ma’am. Cherry is my second favorite, next to pecan, of course.”

Without hesitation, you push the plate over to Joel on the other side of the counter, “Help yourself. Luke doesn’t want it.”

Joels eyes widen in confusion, “How can a man deny a woman a slice of her homemade cherry pie? He on a diet or something?” He asks as he takes the plate and fork, diving right in. You shrug at his words, not caring anymore. You watch Joel’s reaction as he takes his first bite and it’s… something.

He chews for a moment, his eyes closing as his free hand grips the counter, “Damn…” He breathes. He goes in for another bite, bigger this time. You can feel your heart jumping at his reaction. He must like it.

“It taste okay?” You ask nervously, picking at your fingernails. He looks at you dumbfounded, like you’d asked him the silliest question in the world.

“Darlin’… does it taste okay? Have you tried it yet? Jesus, girl… best damn pie I have ever had.” He says quietly, stuffing more pie into his mouth.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and smile wider, “Don’t lie to me now, Joel.”

Joel shakes his head quickly, finishing off the big slice, his fork clanging against the plate. “Naw, I wouldn’t lie about a good pie. A damn good pie at that. I’d tell ya if it tasted anything less than decent.”

You can’t help the dumb grin on your face as he hypes your sweet treat up. It’d been a while since you got any sort of praise from anyone, and it felt nice. Your cheeks tinge with a dusty rose as you lean over, cutting the rest of the pie into slices. You save yourself one and hand Joel the rest. His eyes widen at the offer, taking the pie pan in his dirty palms.

“It’s yours. I’m really glad you enjoyed it, Joel. I’ve been baking up a storm this past month I’ve been here, and I’ve been the only one eating them. I don’t need a whole pie to myself. So, it’s all yours.” Your gaze is soft on Joel’s face, and it causes his chest to stir with something he’s not so sure of.

He clears his throat, looking back down at the delicacy he’s holding. “You sure ‘bout that? I don’t wanna be no pie thief just ‘cause you know I think it tastes good.”

A genuine laugh escapes your throat, causing his to restrict, “No, I don’t think you’re a pie thief. You’re really doing me a favor by taking it off my hands. I’m glad it’s going to someone who will enjoy it.”

Joel nods, gripping the pie pan in his hands as he looks down at it. He looks anywhere besides where you stand. “Well, ‘preciate it. You’re about as sweet as this pie is, I reckon. Luke’s got a good girl on his hands.”

Your shoulders fall as he mentions Luke and you know they shouldn’t. Even the thought of him right now fills you with intense sadness, but you push it away, nodding at his words. Joel clears his throat again, before finally looking back up to you, “Well, thank you, darlin’. I will enjoy every bit of this pie and bring the pan back when I’m done.” He turns to leave, but looks back for a moment, “And if you decide to ever try and make a pecan pie… you know where my door is.” He smiles, walking out the back door.

You find yourself reeling from the interaction and you try and convince yourself it was only because he loved your pie. It wasn’t the way his eyes closed as he savored his first taste, or the way he practically moaned in delight after every bite he took. And it definitely wasn’t the way he gripped the counter, the pie leaving him speechless, or the way you’d thought maybe that’s what his hands would look like gripped around your waist or thighs as he… your eyes widen at your thought process, and you run up the steps to jump in the shower, hoping to wash away the impure thoughts about a man who isn’t your husband. Even as you make an excuse for every thought that pops into your head about Joel, you can’t ignore the beat that drums between your legs, no matter how hard you try. No matter how hard you scrub at your skin, it’s like those images have been imprinted in your mind. Fuck.

After a long shower, a full skincare session and getting dressed in your comfiest jammies, you head back down to the kitchen to eat your slice of pie, only to be met with Luke eating it instead. His eyes wide as you walk in, mouth full of cherry filling.

“Baby, this… you outdid yourself. This is fucking good.” Luke says, a soft smile on his face. Your stomach churns as he speaks, and usually you’d be happy he was finally giving you attention. But not this time. Instead, you were pissed he ate your only slice of pie.

“Did you eat the rest of it? I need another slice. I’d skip dinner for that.” He says as he nearly runs to the fridge, searching for the remainder of the pie.

“I gave it to Joel. He brought in the eggs and said it was one of his favorites. I didn’t think you’d want it since you know, you said you didn’t.”

Luke sighs, “You gave it to Joel? The whole pie? You know I love cherries, why the hell would you do that?”

Your eyes widen in disbelief, anger filling your body. “Luke, you said yourself you didn’t want any. I didn’t want it to go to waste and that slice you just ate was mine. You didn’t even ask!”

Luke rolls his eyes, slamming the door of the fridge, “I don’t need to ask you what I can and can’t eat. Make another pie.” He says as he walks past you, mumbling something about how he can’t believe you’d give another man something before him. He was unbelievable. You grab the plate he’d left on the counter and toss it into the sink, not caring if it breaks or not. You breathe out from your nose as you rest your palms against the cool marble counters, your jaw clenched tight as your foot taps against the tile. You don’t know how much longer you can take this attitude of his.

Deciding you need a distraction; you head down to Joel’s. His door is shut, but his porch light is on. That doesn’t deter you though. As you walk on to the creaky wooden porch and knock, you can feel your anger dissipate from your body. The distance from Luke was good.

Joel opens the door only a moment later, his eyes confused but his mouth upturned into a smile. “Hey, darlin’, what are you doin’ here?”

“Do you have any more pie?” You ask. Your question takes him off guard, but he nods, stepping aside to let you in.

“I got a few slices left. Gotta be honest with you; I had one or two more when I got back in an hour ago.” He says sheepishly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. You turn to face him, your eyes looking into his. Joel feels his chest fill with that same thing he felt earlier. Something he still couldn’t place.

“Luke ate mine. I… I really wanted a slice, but I gave you the rest. He’s mad at me ‘cause I gave it to you.” You say as your shoulders fall. Joel laughs, his eyes crinkling at the sight of your slight pout. He thought it was cute.

“Mad, huh? Over a pie? Can’t say I blame him though. It is pretty damn good.” Joel heads into another room for a moment, which you assume is the kitchen because he comes back to the living room with a big slice of your cherry pie in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. “Sit.” he says, nodding to his couch.

You sit in the same spot you sat in the last time you were here, resting back against the cushions as Joel places the food on a TV tray and sets it in front of you. The little action has your heart racing. Something as simple as getting served a slice of pie sends your heart into a tizzy and you sigh, digging into the dessert. It was damn good.

Joel sits in his rocking chair, just like last time, but doesn’t say anything. He lets you eat in silence and once you’re done, he takes care of it too.

You don’t want to leave yet, and as you pull your knees up to your chest, you hope he doesn’t ask you to. Joel returns a moment later, a glass of water for you and a glass of that same amber liquid for him. He smiles, handing you the glass, “You look comfy.”

Your cheeks tint a shade of pink, and you take the glass from him, “I am comfy. This couch is nice.”

“Hope so. I’ve had it for probably 15-20 years. It’s well-loved for sure.” Joel says, sitting back in his rocking chair and sighing. Your eyebrows quirk as you rest your cheek against your knees.

“Man, you’ve really been here for a long time then, huh?”

Joel nods, looking at you getting comfy on his couch. There goes that feeling he can’t place. “Yeah, ‘bout 25 years at this point. I was 25 at the time I started here actually. Karla didn’t even own the place yet, it was her daddy’s. Once he passed, she took over and I stayed. She tried to convince me to stay, but she didn’t have to do that. This was my home at that point too.” He pauses, sipping his drink. “She was a good friend. Wasn’t too much older than me.” You listen intently as Joel speaks, not knowing any of this.

You nod, “Wow, I had no clue. Karla seemed like a good woman.”

“She was. Had her issues as we all do. But I enjoyed her company. But… here I am 25 years later. No kids, no wife. Just all these damn cows and chickens and horses. Don’t tell Estrella I said that.” Joel says, mentioning one of the cows in the barn. You laugh, telling him a quick ‘of course not’.

A comfortable silence falls between you two for a while. It’s only then you notice that Joel’s record player is going, playing some soft country song in the background. You breathe out, your eyes growing heavy. Your mind drifts back to Joel’s words. No wife, no kids. He’s been alone the last 25 years?

“So… You said you don’t have a wife or any kids? Any particular reason?” As you ask this, regret fills your body. It’s probably a sensitive subject for Joel. God, you are such an idiot-

“Not really. Just… never found the time.” Oh.

You nod again as he speaks, waiting for him to continue. “I wanted to at one point. It’s kinda hard to date when the only people around you are a lesbian or… furry. Don’t get me wrong… I’d find myself up at Jimmy’s old bar and maybe meet a girl, take her home for the night… but it never went further. You kinda lose track of time after a while. Then 25 years pass and you’re pushin’ 50 and it’s like… damn. Where’d the time go?”

Your heart breaks as you hear his words, but you can also understand. Time does move quickly and if you don’t pay attention, you lose it.

“Hmm… well, don’t give up hope. You never know what could happen.” You say with a soft smile. Joel laughs again and you can’t say that you hate it. It’s nice.

“What?” You laugh along with him, “You don’t know what could happen! You could always try a dating site. They have that farmers only website which might be really good for you.”

This makes Joel laugh louder, “Sweetheart… a dating website? I don’t even have a smartphone, how do you think I’d manage that? And while it’s nice you got this sort of hope for me; I don’t mind being alone. Easier this way.” He trails off, both of your laughs dying down. You stare at Joel for a long time. Every fiber of your being screams to touch him or hug him… kiss him. There’s something about him that makes you just long for him. To take care of him. To show him what it’s like to be loved.

You try and pull yourself from your thoughts and as you go to say something, you hear your name being called from the house. Luke. Your eyes close as your stomach drops, not wanting to face reality. You sigh as you stand up and stretch, smiling anxiously at Joel who stands with you. He looks into your eyes, his sad, deep baby browns piercing at you and it takes your breath away. Not realizing it, you reach for him. You pull him against your body as you hug him. He freezes in your embrace, not sure if he should hug you back. But after a moment of contemplation, he throws caution to the wind and wraps his arms around you, holding you tight against him like he didn’t want you to go away. Like he wanted to keep you here with him. Safe in his arms.

The hug was too brief for your liking. Joel steps back first, holding you at arm's length in front of him. Luke calls your name again and you groan. You look up to Joel once more and smile. “Thank you for the nice conversation today… and the pie. I really did outdo myself, huh?”

Joel smiles back and nods, “Darlin, you put your whole damn foot into it. I can’t wait to eat another slice tomorrow. Or before bed. Who knows.”

You laugh before stepping towards the door, casting Joel a quick look and then heading back up to the house.

You feel so light and giddy from the conversation with Joel, you don’t even mind the scowl on Luke’s face as you reach the porch. “Why were you at Joel’s?” He asks, following you through the back door to the kitchen.

“I had a piece of pie. Since someone ate mine.” You reply, taking your shoes off.

Luke rolls his eyes, “Jesus, cry me a river. So glad you’re so close with that old man that he’d spare a piece of his precious cherry pie for you. I mean, fuck. He’s probably loving the attention he’s getting from you. Half his age and conventionally pretty. I’m sure he’s eating that up.”

This makes you snap.

“And so, what if he is?! God forbid someone feels good from getting some attention. We’re just talking either way, so I don’t know why this is such an issue for you. It’s not like you talk to me anymore anyways.” You seethe as tears begin to well. You sigh in frustration, hating how emotional you get when angered. Luke’s eyes soften and his shoulders fall.

“No, you’re right.” He says, causing your eyes to widen. “I’ve been neglecting you. I’ve been so stressed with work; I’ve lost sight of what’s important to me and that’s you, baby.” He continues. You feel something flutter in your chest, but you can’t tell if it’s hope or disgust.

Luke approaches you slowly, wrapping his arms around your frame as he lowers himself to your height. He peppers your face in kisses and while you don’t stop him, you don’t necessarily enjoy it. “Baby… I’m so sorry. You can forgive me, right? I swear I’ll change my ways. I’m gonna get out earlier, help make dinner and clean up then I can hold my sexy wife on the couch while we watch that trashy TV show you like. Just like we used to in the city. That sound okay?” He smiles, looking into your eyes.

You avoid his gaze for a moment before deciding to look. You can feel your heart begin to soften for him again, even if it’s slight. Which leads you to nod, causing him to break into a huge smile.

“Thank you, my love. I don’t deserve you.” He says, leaning in to kiss your lips. His kisses are rushed and urgent and his lips are chapped but too wet. You try to ignore it as his hands slide down your waist to your ass, squeezing the pajama covered flesh. You hum against his lips as your brows knit but Luke takes this as a sign to go further. You don’t have the heart to tell him no.

He leads you upstairs to your shared bed, taking your comfy pajamas off and placing you against the mattress. The next 20 minutes are filled with over-the-top grunting and touches that are too rough and once he finishes, not caring if you did or not, you roll over and force yourself to sleep. Your mind races with thoughts of Joel. His chocolate eyes, his pouty bottom lip and the way his fucking body felt against yours this evening. It was a hug. A hug! And that one instance had you nearly foaming at the mouth for more. You don’t try to push your thoughts away this time. In fact, you welcome them. And after a while, your body begins to relax enough to finally drift off.

The next few weeks are filled with much of the same. Luke’s promise to change falls through, of course. The only thing that does change is his desire for you. It’s like all he wants to do is touch you and it drives you insane. You thank God you’re on birth control, because if you were to get pregnant with his child right now… you don’t know what you’d do. Probably keel over and wait for death.

Joel is one of the only things getting you through the days. You bake a new treat almost every day, not even bothering to ask Luke if he wants to try them anymore. Instead, you take them straight to Joel. His reactions never fail to amaze you. Cinnamon bread topped with streusel? 10/10, no complaints. Jalapeno cheddar sourdough? Sent from God himself. Pumpkin cinnamon rolls with homemade cream cheese frosting? Crafted by the hands of the divines, infused with holy nectar. And he acted that way. He was visceral in the way his body reacted to the desserts and baked goods and the pride it filled you with was something else entirely. His groans of pleasure, the way he’d lean over just slightly. The way he’d look at you and you’d swear his pupils would dilate. It just… did something to you.

It was your routine. Wake up, make something delicious, go to Joel’s and eat and talk for a while, then head home before Luke gets done with work and pretend to be a happy wife. It was exhausting in that sense. You think you were happy in some way, but not because of your husband.

You don’t even know when the dynamic changed. Maybe it was when Luke’s busy season started. And busy he was. He’d even have to go into the office for a few days at a time and since it was so out of the way, he’d just get a hotel room in the city. You found yourself looking forward to his time away from the farm. Away from you. The days where you got to be you, and where you got to pretend you weren’t tied to this piece of shit husband. Where maybe you were single and enjoying the company of a man who seemed to be genuinely interested in you.

You found yourself doing other things for Joel besides giving him sweet treats here and there. Some days you’d get up when that rooster would crow and brew a pot of coffee, bringing it to him in a thermos as Fall came in full force. Or there were days where you’d pack him a lunch and bring it to the barn or stable and even eat with him while he tended to the horses, cows and chickens. You liked it. No, you loved it. You loved the simplicity of spending time with him. He was grateful for everything you said and did, and he showed that back.

Dryer crapped out on you? Joel can fix it. Pipe burst in the kitchen sink? No worries, Joel has it. The leg on your favorite dining chair is loose? Hell, Joel would probably build you a whole new set for the table.

You two were close. And when you say close, you meant it. You talked about everything under the sun. Your hopes and dreams, your fears, even the totally irrational ones. You remember laughing until you nearly peed your pants when you found out Joel was scared of mushrooms. He defended himself by saying how they grow from decay and that’s what freaked him out the most. Plus, they tasted bad. You couldn’t argue with that. You hated mushrooms too.

He never judged you and you never judged him. It was refreshing. Easy.

It was day two of three that Luke was supposed to be away for work, and you were living the high life. You slept like a rock in your shared bed, getting to actually sleep in the middle of the king-sized mattress and not tucked away into the corner, trying not to touch him. When you thought about it, it was pretty sad because when did you grow to not want your husband anymore? But you’d save those thoughts for another morning. Today was your day.

You got up at 6 am, right on the dot when that Rooster crowed, a smile on your face and spring in your step. It was peaceful getting up so early and you’d grown to love it. As you padded down the steps in the morning darkness, the sun still yet to rise, you couldn’t help but feel the excitement of getting to hand Joel his morning coffee you were about to brew him. The way his eyes would crinkle as his hand would brush against yours as you pass him the thermos. Or his low, country drawl as he’d say “Thank you, darlin’. Much obliged.”

You knew thoughts like this while married weren’t great and you did have some sort of guilt but with the way Luke had been acting over the last few months, you honestly didn’t care that much.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the kitchen as you filled the thermos to the brim. No cream, no sugar. Black. Extra strong. Just how Joel liked it. You closed the container, setting it on the counter before heading back upstairs to change for the cold morning and then you were on your way down the hill to Joel’s house.

His front porch light wasn’t on, which was out of the ordinary, but you knocked anyways. After waiting a few moments and no response, you decided to peek through the window only to be met with nothing. No lights turned on and the house was seemingly empty. Your shoulders slumped as you wondered where he could have been.

You walked around the property, checking the stables, the chicken coop, and there was no sign of him there. Last place to check was the barn which maybe you should have checked first, but oh well. Once you reached the weathered building, you pushed the doors open, noting a light on towards the far wall on the right. “Joel?” You called out.

You heard rustling as he stepped on the hay on the barn floor and shortly after, he appeared from the pen he was sitting in. His face lit up at the sight of you causing your breath to hitch and your stomach to flip. You matched his smile and walked towards him, meeting him halfway into the barn.

“Mornin’ darlin’. This for me?” Joel asks, pointing to the thermos.

“You know it is. Black coffee delivery for Joel.” You say with a playful smile, lifting the thermos up for him to grab. His grin widens, taking it from you. Your usual brush of the hands sends electric currents to every nerve ending in your body.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Much obliged. You always make my mornin’ coffee perfectly. Like my own lil’ star-biz or somethin’.” He says, opening the tin up and taking a big sip. You laugh at the mispronunciation but you don’t have the heart to correct him. That damn blush was clear as day. It seems to tint your cheeks permanently these days.

“God, I miss Star… biz... Overpriced. But you haven’t lived until you’ve had an iced peppermint tea and their pumpkin pepita loaf.” You say with a playful smile.

Joel rolls his eyes as he opens the thermos and sips it, “Pepita? They’re just making up words at this point.”

“Joel, a pepita is a pumpkin seed.” You grin. Joel feels that familiar bloom in his chest and he sighs as his cheeks grow hot. He mumbles something about how he knew that and how he was just trying to be funny, but you know better. Joel shuts the thermos and takes in your face for a moment. The way your eyelashes brush against your cheeks as you close your eyes to giggle and shake your head at him nearly makes him dizzy. He clears his throat, time moving normally again as he grabs your hand and pulls you to the back of the barn. “C’mere, wanna show you somethin’.”

Now, it’s your turn for your face to burn. Your heart races as his hand grips yours tightly and you’re not sure what to expect. But when he pulls you into the pen, and you see Estrella laying there, you settle down.

Joel drops your hand and squats down next to her, rubbing her back softly. The way he’s so incredibly gentle makes you smile. You squat next to him, following his hand and petting her too. “She’s so soft… been here on this farm for a few months now and this is the first time I’m really getting to pet her.”

Joel smiles too, his eyes watching your hand. “Better be soft with that damn $60 shampoo I use on her.” Joel pauses, moving back to the wood bench against the barn wall. “She’s about to give birth. Probably in a couple hours ‘er so.” He says, rubbing his tired eyes.

You look at Joel in surprise, “What? I didn’t even know she was expecting. Did you tell Luke?”

Joel nods, “Mhm. Told him when y’all got to the farm. Not surprising he didn’t say anything though. Not like he takes care of the animals. Or… anything around here.”

It’s true. Luke didn’t take care of anything around here like he told his family he would. And well, neither did you, but in some sort of way, you liked to think you took care of Joel. Luke took care of the bills though, for the most part. He paid… the electric bill, you think? The rest was pretty much paid for thanks to the house having been paid off decades ago. You sigh, deciding to sit next to Joel on the bench.

“Sorry… we’re bad farm owners, aren’t we?” You ask. Joel closes his eyes and smiles, breathing out a breathy laugh and you can’t help but smile too.

“Maybe a little. But that’s okay. ‘Least you’re pretty. Real nice to look at and such.” He slips, his brows shooting up into his hairline as he flushes.

You almost miss it. You almost miss him calling you pretty until it reregisters in your mind, and you swear you can hear your heart pounding in your ears. You don’t say anything for a good moment, not knowing what to say. Silence fills the barn, despite the sound of Estrella breathing heavily through her labor pains. Or maybe those were yours.

It’s like your body ignites, and you desperately want Joel to touch you. You don’t have the energy to fight the guilty thoughts of how you shouldn’t be thinking these things about another man that isn’t your husband. You don’t care anymore. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to act on it. You nod slowly, still not sure what to say, but you know if you don’t put some distance between the two of you; you’re gonna break.

You stand and wipe your sweaty palms on your leggings before turning at Joel and smiling softly. “I’m… I’m gonna head inside for a bit, get some laundry done. Let me know if you need any help with Estrella, okay?” You don’t wait for Joel to respond as you head towards the barn’s entrance. Desperate to get away, you pick your steps up, but Joel has other plans. You only get halfway across the barn before he grabs your hand once more and you don’t pull away.

You utter his name softly, and Joel can’t help the way it makes his heart race and his pants tighten. Your fingers feel smooth against his rough, calloused ones and he squeezes them slightly. His breath’s come in heaves and you find yours to be matching. You’re terrified to turn around, but his other hand touches your hip, urging you to face him. So, you do.

“Joel…” You say again and it’s like music to his ears. His big hand grips at your waist desperately, like he doesn’t want you to leave. Like you’ll disappear. His other hand drops your own and finds solace on the other side of your waist. His gaze is intense, but you don’t dare look away now.

“’M sorry.” He says, causing your brows to knit.

“Why?”

“For callin’ you pretty.” He speaks. You can tell he’s nervous. You can tell by the slight twitch in his hands as his fingers fight the urge to dig into your skin. Or the way his voice trembles. It makes you want him to take you right here and now.

“Why would you be sorry about that?” You ask, finding yourself slipping closer and closer into him.

“Shouldn’t be callin’ a married woman pretty. Shouldn’t be touchin’ her like this neither.” Joels hands squeeze again slightly, and you practically moan. Your lips part as that familiar ache continues to build between your legs and you don’t know how much more you can take.

“Well,” You begin, debating your next words carefully, “Maybe a married woman shouldn’t be letting a man that’s not her husband call her pretty or touch her like this… but here we are.”

Joel’s lips quirk up softly, pulling you closer to him. His firm chest presses against your breasts and the close vicinity begins to drive you crazy. You take a slow and steady breath, trying to calm your nerves but then one of Joel’s hands leaves your waist and runs up your neck to your cheek. Your eyes don’t drift from one another’s, but it doesn’t make you feel small. Not like how you’d feel under Luke’s gaze. You feel empowered. Like Joel actually wants you. Because he does.

Joel’s chest rises and falls as his hands caress your jaw, his thumb padding over the delicate skin of your cheek. You instinctively lean into it, pressing against his palm as your eyes close. Joel fights every urge to lean in and kiss you, but he won’t yet. You haven’t given him the okay.

Your hand comes up, gripping around his wrist as you hold his hand to you. You don’t want him to move it. He wasn’t going to anyway. Your eyes flutter open and see the desire written all over Joel’s face. A small puff of air escapes your mouth, and you pout.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, huh?” You ask, your voice tiny and worried.

Joel sighs too, blinking a couple of times. “No, probably not. Shouldn’t be touchin’ you like this, but, Jesus… don’t know if I can stop.” He pauses for a moment and when you don’t say anything and you don’t move, he speaks again. “Please… tell me to stop.”

Your heart lurches in your chest and you suddenly lose the ability to speak so you just shake your head instead. Your other hand rises to meet Joel’s neck, and you pull him in closer to you. You feel his breath on your lips and it smells like coffee. You catch yourself relaxing as your eyes trail down to Joel’s mouth. You’ve never wanted to kiss someone as bad as you do him.

“Please… baby girl… tell me to stop.” He asks again and you shake your head once more, this time words find you. Well, word.

“No.” Is all you say and Joel practically groans. His hand on your hip pulls your body flush against him, fully pressed against his frame. Your eyes widen as you feel his length press against your leg and your breath catches in your throat.

“Gonna tell me to stop, now?”

You gulp.

“… No.”

Joel nods as he realizes this is happening. He leans in closer, “Okay. Can I… kiss you?”

Your eyes widen only slightly as you think it over. You want him to kiss you more than anything but once you do, it’s over. The line will have been crossed. You’ll be a cheater. But the way he’s looking at you, and the way he’s asked so nicely… you couldn’t say no.

“Yes.” You breathe.

“Okay.” He mumbles, wasting no time to press his lips against yours.

Joel is an intense man, and his kisses are no different. His movements are desperate and hungry, like he’s a man starved. He probably is. It’s been so long since he’s felt the touch of a woman. But you don’t mind it. In fact, you welcome it. He kisses you with such need it takes away and oxygen in your lungs. Like he’s been thinking about doing this forever. Maybe he has, you don’t know.

Your arms wrap around his neck as his hand at your waist holds you still, the one on your jaw trails down to your hip. He guides you backwards, your back meeting the wall of the tattered barn. You’re trapped between the two, but you have no time to think about that. You think about how perfect his lips feel against your own and how smoothly they move with yours. How natural. You don’t realize the tiny whimpers that escape your lips until Joel pulls back, grunting softly.

“Baby girl… fuckin’ hell. Those sweet noises you’re makin’ are gonna drive me crazy.” He huffs against your lips, making sure he’s not away from them for too long.

Your tongues tangle and your mind goes blank. You taste the bitter black coffee on him and it becomes addicting. You don’t even like coffee. Your head spins and reels and you find yourself slipping which you don’t mind. Joel could fuck you on this dirty barn floor and you’d thank him as you picked the hay out of your hair later. But he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t like you slipping away from him. He parts your legs with his knee, his thigh resting between them so he can prop you up. So you can’t go anywhere.

His fingers glide under your sweater, seeking the warmth of your skin. He trails his cold digits up your tummy until they reach your bra. But he doesn’t go any higher than that. The chill of his hands leaves a wake of goose bumps, causing your nipples to harden and you’re practically moaning at this point. He’s barely even touched you.

“Please… Joel, please.” You beg. “Please, fucking touch me.”

Joel keels over slightly, pressing you against the wall even harder. “Fuck… want me to touch you, baby? Where? Tell me.”

“Anywhere.” You rasp, feeling more desperate than he is at this point.

Joel laughs softly, “Uh-uh… gotta be more specific.” His fingers trail further down, tracing random shapes around your navel.

You groan, feeling helpless. You want him everywhere. You want his fingers in your mouth, or his mouth on your breasts, or his cock stuffed inside you. Fucking anything.

Joel smirks again, raising his knee up higher until he hits your core. The small bump of his thigh against your clothed pussy pulls another whimper from you and it sparks something inside Joel. “Like that, darlin’? Like when your cunt rubs up against my thigh like that?”

Words fail you again and you nod, your hips instinctively bucking against it.

“That’s it… usin’ me like that. Makin’ yourself feel good for me. Let me see you move, pretty girl.”

Joel steadies you as you begin to rock your hips against his thigh. You ignore the way your panties stick to you and the way your leggings are just soaked at this point. You’re sure if you were to look down at Joel’s jeans, you’d see evidence of it all there too.

He moves his hands again, trailing one back up to your bra and slipping underneath it. He grabs at your breasts, his grip needy and clumsy. It brings you back to reality for a moment as you giggle. “Joel… calm down. I’m not going anywhere.”

Joel’s face reddens and he slows his movements, his thumb padding over your hard nipple. “Sorry, baby girl… It’s just…” He sighs, leaning down and kissing your lips again. It’s soft and sweet and all too quick. “It’s just I don’t know if I’ll ever get this opportunity again. Don’t know if I’ll ever get to touch you like this. Like I been wantin’.”

Your heart swells as you look up to Joel, a goofy smile plastered on to your face. “Like you’ve been wanting? And how long has that been?” You ask, pulling him back down to you to smooch his lips. He sighs, closing his eyes and savoring your affection.

“Since the night you showed up to mine in that silk nightgown of yours.” Joel mumbles against your mouth, pecking you slowly and languidly. It’s almost disorienting as he does it over and over again. Finally, after a moment he stops. “You looked so fuckin’ beautiful that night. Sweaty, nervous, lil’ irritated. I wanted to kiss your lips as soon as you sat on that couch of mine. But I needed to kiss you the moment I saw them big alligator tears wellin’ up in your eyes when I sang you that George Jones song. Never seen someone so pretty cryin’ like that.” He utters, nuzzling his nose against yours.

You can’t speak. You feel like all the air has whooshed out of your lungs as you look into Joel’s eyes. They’re dilated. His eyes are usually dark but they’re almost black at this point. Your arms stay firmly planted around Joel’s neck, fingers lacing through the soft curls at the bottom. He’s nervous again. You don’t want him to be.

“Joel… you telling me you want to do this again then?” You ask, pressing a tiny kiss to the tip of his nose. He closes his eyes and sighs.

“Baby… I want to do this and so much more with you. I want whatever you want to give to me.” Another peck to your lips. “As long as it’s with you, I want it.”

“Well, what do you want right now?”

“I want to make you come.”

Your eyes widen slightly at his words, mouth going dry. His hand on your hip urges you to start moving again. To start fucking yourself against his thigh. You listen.

Your hands trail from his neck to the front of his jacket, gathering the fabric in your fists as you hold him close. Your hips start to buck once Joel pushes his knee up to the perfect height, his thigh settled in between your folds. You begin to rock back and forth, the lack of distance between you two causing the most delicious friction. Your clit presses against the fabric, and you moan softly, whimpering his name and you swear it’s like he’s heard the voice of God himself.

“Fuckin’ music to my ears. Best song I’ve ever fuckin’ heard. Don’t stop. Keep goin’, my sweet girl.” Joel says, leaning down to tangle his tongue with yours again. You moan into his mouth, your hips bucking faster as you chase that high that’s embarrassingly close. But the way he’s talking to you, the way he’s touching you so intimately, and the way your clit is pressed perfectly up against his thigh, you never stood much of a chance to begin with.

“Joel…” You whisper, your voice shaking.

“I know, baby, I know. I got you. Fuck…” He hushes back. This is clearly affecting him too. You look down at where your bodies connect and sure enough, the leg of his jeans is soaked, but to the right, just where his groin sits, another wet patch is forming. It’s small, but it’s there. Your breath catches as your head falls back slightly, allowing Joel’s lips to attach themselves to your neck. He tongues the skin up and down your pulse point, not daring to leave a mark. Yet.

“Taste so good. Bet the rest of you tastes even better. Fuck, I’m gonna be addicted. Already am.” Joel’s words push you closer and closer, your hips rocking back and forth quicker. Pretty little whimpers fall from your tongue as your fists ball tighter against his jacket. Joel moans too, his grunts getting louder, more animalistic.

“Joel, ‘m gonna… gonna come.” You manage to get out. Joel’s hand on your hip reaches around to the small of your back, coaxing you to ride faster, harder. His other hand drops from your bra, pulling your head to his so he can kiss you through it.

“Go ahead, baby. Come for me. Fuck-” Joel mumbles against your lips, swallowing the little noises you make. He’s acting like he’s not too far behind as well. You’re not even touching him and he’s on the verge of coming. Just by making you come.

With your hips moving just a few more times, the coil in the pit of your stomach begins to snap, your eyes shutting tightly as you see white, hot lightning behind them.

“God. Oh, fuck. Joel…” You murmur, your head falling forward to bury your face in his chest. But he doesn’t allow that. Joel grabs your hair from the back and tugs it softly, wanting to see your face as you come.

“That’s it. My pretty girl, holy fuck. Ah, shit…” He grunts, his breath stuttering as his own head leans into your neck. His grip on your hair and waist becomes a vice, holding you to him as you think he finishes in his pants.

You breathe heavily, coming down from your high as you pull back, Joel’s grip on you lessening. His face is beat red, and he can’t meet your gaze.

“Joel, did you- did you…?” You ask cautiously, eyes shining with amazement.

Joel grunts again, one of his hands coming up to wipe his brow. “Shit, yeah. I did.” His gaze finally meets yours and you break into a grin, letting out a breathy laugh. He smiles with you, “Got me feelin’ like a damn teenage boy over here. Can’t believe I did that.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “Don’t go feeling embarrassed on me, Joel. That was… the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Your words are quiet, but you mean them. Eyes trailing down to where the small wet spot on his crotch used to be, now a bigger patch. You can’t help but run your fingers over it. Joel groans softly, leaning slightly into you from how sensitive he still is.

“Baby girl… watch it.” He stumbles, his breath picking back up.

You smile, “Waste it was in your pants… should have been inside my mouth. Or my pussy.” You don’t know where your confidence comes from. Maybe it’s because you made a grown man come in his pants just by watching you come on his thigh. But, nonetheless, you’re feeling good.

Your fingers continue to tease the wet spot on his groin, and you find yourself wanting to taste him. No, needing to taste him. Joel catches on to your thought process and even though he feels like he might pass out with how badly he needs you; he pushes through.

“Wanna taste, darlin’?” He hushes; lips pressed to your jaw. You nod.

“Please, Joel?” You ask in a small voice, the desire in it setting him alight.

It causes Joel to almost whimper, and he pulls back. His thigh drops from between your legs and the wet spot that’s accumulated on your leggings goes cold. You shiver slightly, missing his heat against you. Joel watches you for a moment before sighing. He wants to continue. He wants to fuck you in this barn and make you his, filling your sweet pussy up with his seed. Maybe knock you up so you can never leave him. Joel knows that’s not an option, but fuck, does he wish. He knows needs to cool it down a bit.

“You should head inside, take a shower er somethin’.” He speaks. Your brows knit together, shoulders falling slightly. You don’t want to leave his side. You don’t want this moment to end.

“I’ll be in in a bit. Don’t wanna be away from you for too long.” Your heart races at his words as he steps closer, placing his hands on either side of your cheeks. He leans down, kissing you deeply. It takes your breath away. It’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before, and it scares you. You can absolutely see yourself becoming addicted to this. You probably already are.

“Go to mine. Shower there. I’m gonna check on Estrella and then I’ll be in, okay? Won’t be away too long.” He says, backing up. You nod, muttering a quiet okay.

As you walk out of the barn, casting one last glance in his direction, he smiles. Your throat restricts and you march on forth to his little house on the property. All thoughts of Luke and your marriage are gone. As far as you were concerned, you were Joel’s. If he wanted you, that is. But you had an inkling there was a very good chance that was the case.

You reached Joel’s home and let yourself inside. It was funny to you he said to shower here when your house was only up the hill. But you weren’t going to deny him that. Plus, this was a good chance to look around the place. You’d only seen the living room which is crazy cause you were here often. You walked through the entrance, taking in the familiar plaid covered couch and the record player towards on the opposite side of it. Many mornings were spent here with Joel just chatting and laughing, listening to his collection of different records. Most of them were older county artists but you knew Joel was partial to 90’s alternative like Pearl Jam and Foo Fighters. Which surprised you, but it also made complete sense.

Stepping forward, the door off to the left of the entrance was slightly open. Curiosity piqued so you glanced in. His bedroom. Your eyes widened slightly, opening the door a bit more as you gazed around the neat room. His bed was the only thing unkempt. No clothes littered the ground, his self-care items which consisted of a jar of lotion, deodorant and probably a 15-year-old bottle of cologne were aligned neatly on the dresser. You smiled to yourself, shutting the door as you continued your trek to the bathroom. The hallway only had two doors and one opening which led to the kitchen. You assumed the one at the end of the hallway was a closet and upon opening it, you were right. So, the room next to it was the bathroom. You grabbed a towel and on you went.

Pale teal tile floor with weathered white walls. The tub was a weird shade of green which seemed to be a common theme among the property. Must have been Karla’s favorite color. It was small and cozy, like the rest of the house, and it filled you with comfort you hadn’t felt in months. You were in Joel’s space and it all just felt so him. You really could get used to it all.

Pulling back the translucent white shower curtain, you noted Joel had actual shampoo and conditioner and not a 3-In-1 like Luke used. Fuck, he even had body wash. You smile again and turn the hot water on before pulling the drain to let the shower run. It felt so good to strip out of your wet leggings and the rest of your clothes and it felt even better stepping into the steaming shower. Near scalding water cascaded down your back and you hummed in delight, letting it soak your skin. This was nice.

As you reached for the shampoo, deciding it was best to get the barn smell off you, you hadn’t noticed someone stepping into the bathroom with you. As you hummed to yourself, lathering the tea tree scented shampoo, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. Your eyes widened as you jumped with a yelp, turning slightly. Of course it was Joel.

“Joel! Jesus, you scared me.” You breathed.

Joel smiles, “Sorry darlin’. You were too busy hummin’ and using up all my shampoo to notice. This uh, this okay?” He says, nodding between the two of you. You nod back.

“Yeah, yeah… ‘course it is.” Realization sets in that you’re naked in the shower with Joel right now. Yeah, he’d made you come on his thigh in the barn, but this was a whole new level. Joel notices your nerves and he kisses your shoulder.

“Don’t gotta do nothin’, sweetheart. Just wanna be by you.” He speaks.

Your heart melts and you nod, relaxing into his touch. You turn in his arms and breathe out a laugh, “Want me to wash your hair?”

Joel’s eyes widen slightly, and he pauses before nodding. “Okay, go ahead.”

His arms fall from around your waist, but he doesn’t stop touching you. His hands linger around your hips and tummy, fingertips grazing the soft skin like he’s addicted. He is.

You reach for the shampoo, squirting a little in your hands and lathering them until they’re sudsy. Joel dips his head under the water, wetting his hair and you reach up, rubbing it through. It’s intimate in the way his eyes close, his hand planting against you, holding himself still. You can’t help but look down and see he’s hard, but he doesn’t make it a big deal. You wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t looked.

“Okay, let’s rinse you.” You hum softly.

He leans forward, the water flowing on to him as the shampoo falls into the drain. You wash it until the water runs clear and then wipe his face so when he opens his eyes, he doesn’t get anything in them. Your heart pounds at how personal this is; how close he is.

You take in every detail on his face, like his little sun freckles and his deep-set lines in the corners of his eyes. He has long eyelashes that droplets kiss and you feel like you’re in a daze. He has a scar on his nose and the most kissable bottom lip and the most wonderful facial hair-

“Darlin’?” Joel says, eyes locked on to yours, “You okay?”

Your eyes widen and you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips before blowing a raspberry, “Oops, you caught me. You’re so pretty I got caught up.”

Joel laughs and trails his hand up your waist, right under the swell of your breast, “Pretty? First time I’ve heard that one, I think. Not nearly pretty as you are, though.” He grins.

Your eyes roll, “So cheesy.”

“Yeah, I know you like it. Can’t deny it by the cute lil’ blush of yours. You always look so damn happy to see me.” Joel says, his other hand cupping your jaw as he looks into your eyes.

You swallow harshly, unable to look away. “That’s because I am always happy to see you. I like you.”

“I like you too,” He breathes, causing your heartbeat to stop in your chest and start somewhere else, “A whole lot.”

Silence fills the bathroom despite the sound of the water that’s now going cold. Joel’s thumb caresses your bottom lip for a moment, and you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Let’s finish up. Water’s growin’ cold on us. I wanna get you all warm and snuggled up.”

“In your bed?” You ask, eyes wide.

“Yes. In my bed.”

“Okay.”

You heart reignites as the beat in your pussy quickens. Joel’s hands roam your body, lathering both of you in the sea salt scented body wash before rinsing you off and stepping out of the shower. He wraps you in the plush gray towel after drying your hair a bit. You don’t have to do anything. It’s… surreal. You’ve never had this kind of care and attention.

You follow behind Joel shyly, almost intimidated by the intimacy of it all. Both of you are towel wrapped and damp as you step into Joel’s room. He switches the bed side lamp on and you hug the towel closer to you as you watch Joel move to rummage through his drawers. He grabs you a big shirt and a pair of his boxers, slipping on some himself. All this is done in silence, and it scares you how comfortable it is. How natural.

You walk over to the bed, getting dressed in Joel’s clothes as you sit on the edge, waiting for him to do anything. To say anything. He doesn’t for a while.

Finally, Joel turns to face you, a small smile on his face. “What ya so quiet for?”

You shrug, biting back the grin that fights through. “I dunno… I’m a little nervous I guess.”

Joel’s eyebrow quirks, nodding slowly. He makes his way next to you and sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips and you look over to his face. He’s just so fucking handsome.

“Well… what do you think you’re nervous about? Luke finding out?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You shrug again, “Maybe. But that wasn’t my first thought.”

Joel’s eyebrows knit together, “Then what was?”

A long sigh escapes your mouth, and you look away for a moment before looking back, “Why does this all feel so natural with you?”

“What do you mean?”

You sigh again, “I mean… we just showered together, and you were hard the entire time, but you didn’t even kiss me. You dried my hair and my arms and legs when we got out and then wrapped me in a towel. You gave me your clothes to wear to get comfy in bed with you and neither one of us batted an eye at how smoothly it flowed. It’s… weird”

“It’s weird?” He asks, reiterating your words.

“Well, not weird. But also, it kinda is. I’ve… I guess I’ve just never had that, so I don’t know how to react.” You say nervously. You decide to keep your eyes away from Joel as everything begins to feel too much.

He nods, humming softly, “So, you’ve never took a shower with Luke before?”

“I have, of course. But it’s always involved sex. It’s never washing each other's bodies and not even kissing. You touched my ass only to wipe the soap off it.” You say humorously.

Joel laughs, “What, did you want me to leave it there?”

Your eyes roll and you shake your head. “That’s not the point. Why is it so easy with you?”

Joel’s eyes soften and he shakes his head himself. He looks at you in your body, clad with his white fruit-of-the-loom t-shirt and faded red boxers and he shrugs. “Don’t know, darlin’. I really don’t.” He leans in as he sees your shoulders fall and he brushes some of your damp hair behind your ear. “Not everything needs to make sense. Or needs to be made sense of. Sometimes it’s just how it is.”

He leans in and presses a chaste kiss under your ear and two more along your jaw. Your eyes close as you breathe out, savoring his touch. His lips trail down to your chin and along your neck before pecking their way back up. Before his lips can meet yours, you speak. “Are we bad people?”

“No.” he says, no hesitation in his voice as he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“But Joel-”

“But nothin’,” Joel says pulling back slightly, “You are not a bad person for not being in love with your husband. He’s… He doesn’t treat you well, baby girl. There’s been so many nights I’ve heard him hollerin’ about things to you from all the way down the hill. He’s distant, he doesn’t give you the attention you deserve, and he’s a fuckin’ child in a man's body. You hear me?” He huffs, sitting back up and running a hand through his hair. He looks back down to you, your gaze still anywhere but him.

It’s silent for a while, this time less comfortable. Joel breathes in, his chest tightening with nerves. “Leave him.” He speaks. Your eyes widen and you stare at him for a long time, mouth open in shock. Leave him? What?

“Joel, you don’t know what you’re asking.” You say, he scoffs.

“Yes, I do. Leave Luke.” He rebuts.

“And what? Be with you?”

“Yes. Would that be so bad?”

Your eyes widen again, and tears brim your lash line, “No. It wouldn’t be.”

Joel’s lips form a thin line, “Then leave him.”

You sigh, your eyes closing. You can’t leave Luke. Where would you go? You have nothing without him. You don’t have a job, you don’t have a car, you’re in the middle of nowhere. Luke wouldn’t sign the divorce papers too, you’re sure of it. He’d throw a fit and then convince you to stay and you’d give in, living out the rest of your days unhappy with a man you can’t stand.

You stand up, a single tear rolling down your cheek. Joel panics and grabs your hand, holding you from going anywhere. His chest tightens and his eyes widen. You can’t go. Not yet anyways. He just got you.

“Baby, please… Please. Stay with me. Just for now.” The desperation in his voice is palpable and you falter immediately.

“I wasn’t going to leave, I just… I needed to do something. I’m anxious.” You say, your body twisting to face him.

Joel stares at you, his grip on your hand unrelenting. The way your eyebrows are tense in the middle has him anxious too. He pulls you to him with this gentleness that makes your body cave. You find yourself on his lap, hands on his chest as he holds you to him. Your eyes linger on your hands and then the expanse of his torso. He doesn’t have a shirt on, and you hate how distracting it is. How wonderful the hair that litters his skin feels against your palms. The swell of his pecks and how soft yet firm they are. His heartbeat in his chest that’s going two hundred miles per hour and how you find yours to be matching.

Joel brings one of his hands up to your head, moving the hair from your face.

“Look at me,” He breathes. His tone is light and almost like a whisper, “Please, my pretty girl.”

“Your pretty girl?” You ask, gaze meeting his. The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly as he grins.

“Yes. I don’t care what you say, darlin’. I don’t care if you leave Luke or stay with him. You’re mine and I… I reckon you’ve been mine for a long time now.”

Your eyes close and you nod, leaning your head on Joel’s shoulder. He’s right. It’s been a few months of you and Joel getting to know each other better but every day you find yourself slipping more. It was only a matter of time before this happened. Before both of you fell completely.

It was crazy to you. Yeah, you felt guilty for it in the beginning. Guilty for the way you’d go to bed and dream of how you’d get to see Joel the next morning. Guilty for the way you’d wake up early and make coffee for another man while your husband slept peacefully, oblivious to your feelings. Only kind of guilty for the times Joel would be busy, and you couldn’t bother him. So, you’d slip into your bedroom and touch yourself to the memories of his voice and laugh and the way he looked at you; the way he’d hug you before heading out to do his duties. But never guilty for how intoxicating you found him to be. How addicted you found yourself to be.

“Yeah… I think so too. Guess you’ve been mine for a while too?” You ask, your nose prodding his collarbone softly. He smiles, his hand on your waist trailing to your ass and squeezing it slightly, pulling you closer.

“Been yours longer than you been mine, that’s for sure. I wanted you that first night you guys got here. Looked so fuckin’ pretty.” He mumbles, turning his head into your hair. He could live here like this forever and be happy. He’d never asked for anything, never want for nothing. Just being with you here on this farm. He was convinced that’s what heaven looked like.

“Joel…” You whimper at his words, one of your hands trails up to his neck as your lips find it too. You press them against his skin, eliciting a hiss from him. His hand grips your ass harder, spreading your cheeks slightly.

“Yeah, baby girl? Feelin’ needy?” He asks, burying his face into the side of your head. You open your mouth, tongue snaking out to taste him. You want to mark him, have him wear your sigil around the farm. Not like anyone would see. Luke probably wouldn’t even notice.

Your lips plant themselves around his skin, sucking slightly and nipping at it. Joel’s breath catches in his throat, and he stutters, “Jesus fuck- darlin'. What do you think you’re doin’?” he asks, eyes shut as he leans his head back, granting you better access.

You hum, continuing your assault against his neck. Below you, Joel’s cock grows, poking against your thigh. You place open-mouthed kisses, and little love bites up to his jaw before pulling back to look at your work. You grin, eyeing all the small red marks beginning to darken. Joel shakes his head smiling, dilated eyes locked on yours. “Better hope your no-good husband don’t see these.”

You smile back, “He won’t. He’s too fucking oblivious. He doesn’t even know his wife is in their bed touchin’ herself to another man every night.”

This knocks the wind out of Joel’s lungs completely, his eyes widen, and you think he might actually black out for a second. You steady him with a small grin, shaking his head a little. “You okay?”

It takes Joel another couple seconds to respond, blinking back his glazed over eyes, “Oblivious to what, darlin’? To his wife doin’… what?”

You laugh, leaning down to peck the tip of Joel’s nose, “You heard me, Miller.”

“I don’t think I did, pretty girl. Think you should say it again so I can make sure I heard correctly.” He says, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you flush against his erection. Your walls part, feeling the hardened length against your core through his boxers.

You can’t think straight as the sensation of Joel gently rocking his hips upward sends you feral. Your grip on him tightens, “I-I said… Luke is too fucking oblivious to the fact that I’m touching myself to the thought of you every night. I make myself come every night to the thought of you and what it would be like for you to fuck me. How it would be to have your cock stuffed inside me. That clear enough for you?”

Joel huffs, his cock twitching against your heat, “Clear as crystal, baby girl.” His lips connect to yours and it takes your breath away. You’ve said it before, but Joel is just so intense. His kiss is powerful and full of force and it’s utterly intoxicating. You don’t want it to end, but Joel pulls back.

“Wanna know somethin’?” He asks. You nod. “You know how many times I’ve touched myself in the last few months to you?”

Your eyes widen as you bite back a smirk, deciding to relax more into his touch. You place your weight on his lap, his cock bumping your folds in a way that makes him groan. “Yeah? You been touching yourself to me too, Joel?”

“Yeah. Touched myself that first night you came here. When I say you looked so fuckin’ pretty cryin’ like that… I meant it. You went back up the hill and I sat right there in my chair. Couldn’t get out of my jeans fuckin’ fast enough. You got no idea the effect you have on me, do you?” Joel says, nuzzling his nose against yours pecking your lips in sequence a couple times.

You feel drunk. That’s the best way you could put it. You felt drunk on Joel’s needy hands and sinful words, and you’d be damned if you didn’t keep on drinking.

You gulp, “Why don’t… why don’t you show me just how much I affect you then.”

Joel looks into your eyes, looking for any reservations but he sees none. He feels a lump in his throat form, and he really doesn’t want this to end. A part of him wishes Luke would just not come back. That’d he stay far away and leave this farm and you to him. He takes care of both better than anyone else could, especially that poor excuse of a man. Joel wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he wouldn’t mind if Luke just up and died. That way he could never interfere again. As far as Joel was concerned the farm was his, and so were you. It made sense to him. Just as the sun comes up in the morning and sets at night. You were Joel’s and he was yours.

“Show you? Want me to show you how much I want you? How much I fuckin’ need you, sweet girl?” He asks, voice dripping with lust. You nod, words failing you. Seemed to be a common theme around him.

Joel smiles, “Okay, my baby. My pretty girl. You’re mine, aren’t you, darlin’?”

You shudder out a breath, his possessive words going straight to your core, “Joel, yes. I’m yours.”

Joels grip tightens and has you grind down against his cock that’s so painfully hard, “Only mine? No one else?”

You moan, a real moan and it has Joel reeling. “Only fucking yours. Please, Joel… I need you.”

“That’s all you had to say.” He says as he stands up, pushing you off his lap. You shiver from the lack of heat, but he turns to you and nods to the bed, “up against the headboard.”

You listen immediately, nearly stumbling to get on to the bed. Joel follows you, settling in next to you. He covers your bodies with the comforter, and your eyebrows knit together. You watch him fluff up his pillow and then lay against it, sighing as he closes his eyes. What?

“Uh, Joel? What… Are you doing?” You ask.

“Hm? Takin’ a nap. I’ve been up since four in the morning, darlin’. Ol’ Joel’s tired.” He says, eyes closing again.

You laugh, “What? But what about-”

“In a couple hours, we’ll get up. I'll check on Estrella, come back here, and I’ll make you dinner. Then after it’s all said and done, I’ll fuck you. Real good too.”

Your breath catches and you nod, “Okay.”

Joel extends his arm to you, and you lean into him. You place your head on his chest, his arm wrapping around you and holding you to him tightly. He didn’t want you to go anywhere. You weren’t going to.

It was crazy to you how quickly you fell asleep. As soon as Joel started to rub the skin on your forearm and his breathing began to even out, you were knocked. It was a quick nap, probably only an hour instead of the couple he promised. But you didn’t mind. Just meant you were closer to him fucking you.

Joel wakes up first, breathing out heavily as he moves from under you, trying so very carefully not to wake you up. But as soon as you felt the lack of body heat, you were wide awake.

“Where are you going?” You mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Joel smiles, slipping on his jeans and a shirt.

“Goin’ to check on Estrella. She should be havin’ that calf any moment at this point.” He leans down and kisses your temple and then your cheek and then your lips. You exhale, loving the affection. You kiss him back, humming against him.

“Let me go with you.” Your words are quiet as you feel yourself fighting sleep, your body slumping into Joel’s bed. You couldn’t help it. You were surrounded by his scent and the lingering warmth from his side of the bed. It was all so nice. So Joel.

He chuckles, “Nah, baby girl. Get some more rest. I’ll be back in a bit, okay? My pretty girl needs her beauty sleep.”

You feel your lips quirk up softly, yawning a quick ‘okay’ before nodding back off.

It’s another few hours before your body decides it’s time to get up. As you sit up in Joel’s bed, noticing the sun going down, you hear pots and pans clanging around in the kitchen. You decide to try and gather your bearings and go check it out. The walk down his hallway is short, but you can hear him mumbling something to himself and it has you smiling. Joel is placing a pan onto the stove when he sees you from the corner of his eye. He smiles, “Mornin’, darlin. Bout time you woke up.”

You yawn, stretching slightly, “I know. I’ve been sleeping all day. I have no clue why I’m so exhausted.” You make your way over to Joel who’s lighting the burner on the stove. You wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into him, still feeling the lingering effects of your long nap. Joel chuckles, kissing the top of your head.

“Still sleepy, baby? I guess that’s what good orgasms do to ya, huh?” He teases you. You can feel your face flush as your mind travels back to your time with Joel in the barn and you smirk.

“Guess so. Wouldn’t know. Never had one until then.” You say as Joel moves from you to the fridge, inspecting it for ingredients.

“That so? Well… Looks like I’m gonna have to keep ‘em coming.” He smirks. His eyes scan the content of the fridge and there really isn’t much. He clears his throat. “So, I know I promised you dinner. But I haven’t been able to head up to the market for a bit. I could probably throw together some omelets. Cheese and… bacon? Everythin’ else is in the freezer. It’d take too long to dethaw at this point.” Joel speaks, picking up a paper sack of what he thinks is the bacon.

You watch him raid his fridge and then you clear your throat as the lightbulb in your head goes off. “That doesn’t sound too bad. But think I have a better idea.”

Joel looks over to you, shutting the fridge before crossing his arms, “Oh yeah? What do ya got in mind?”

“I went up to Leo’s market the other day. They were having a special. Buy two get one free. So, I got a pack of almonds cause they’re my favorite. I got a pack of macadamia nuts for cookies and a pack of pecans for your pie. The one you requested forever ago.”

Joel’s eyes widen and his face breaks out into a grin, “Dessert for dinner, huh?”

You shrug, “I think it’s a good time to make it. You can help me. Ever made a pie before?”

He shakes his head, “Can’t say I have, sugar. But I think I have the perfect person to teach me.”

You roll your eyes playfully, before heading towards the front door and slipping your boots on. Joel follows you.

“I’ll be right back. Just gonna go up to the house and grab the stuff.”

He nods, offering help but you tell him you’ll be fine. You head up the hill and in through the back door of the main house before scouring the kitchen for all the ingredients. It’s smells like Luke in here and it makes you queasy. You pause to take a breath. You’d really forgotten about your husband just like that. Like he was so easy to forget despite being married to him for a couple years now. You rest your palms against the counter and clear your throat as your mind just as easily drifts back to thoughts of Joel. How he’s waiting for you just down the hill. How he looks at you and how you feel around him. How he makes you feel. Happy. Safe. Satisfied. Loved. And once again, Luke is gone from your mind.

You step back from the counter and move around the kitchen, grabbing a plastic bag and packing it with flour, sugar, corn syrup, cream, butter, and vanilla.

Soon enough, you’re back in the kitchen with Joel, laying out all the ingredients and getting to work. You start on the crust, combining the flour and butter into a crumbly dough and then let it rest for a bit in the fridge while you start on the filling. Joel helps you measure out the sugar, cream, and corn syrup while you crack the eggs into the bowl. You work together seamlessly, and he follows your instructions to a T. You bite your lip in concentration as you mix the pecans into the filling, folding them in delicately.

Joel watches in admiration, his eyes grazing over your face and then your body which is covered with his clothing. His. It makes his chest swell with affection and he can’t help himself from leaning over and kissing you.

The kiss takes you by surprise, but you return it immediately. You hum against his lips and place your hand on his cheek. His lips move with yours for a moment and he pulls away first, leaving you in a daze. “So fuckin’ pretty.” He hushes; his eyes still closed. You lean in and press another kiss to his bottom lip and he smiles.

“Okay, let’s finish this damn pie.” You speak. Your body feels light and fluttery almost. It’s like you don’t know how to handle all of this. All of this affection. It’s like it’s too much. But also not enough.

Joel nods, getting up to get the pie dough from the fridge. He watches you roll the crust out, cutting it to fit the pie tin, and then pour the filling into it. He watches you make a little heart made out of pecans on the top before popping it into the oven and it’s all so wonderful to him.

Joel’s never really minded being alone. He stayed busy. He had so much to do on the farm every day he really didn’t have time to think that maybe life would be better spending it with someone else. He had the animals, and at one point he had Karla. Sure, he still had those nights from time to time where he craved the heat from another body in his bed. Or maybe when his fist just wasn’t enough and he needed that slick, wet heat his hand couldn’t offer him.

But now, as he watches you move around his kitchen, baking him his favorite pie, doing the dishes, he can’t imagine it any other way. He knows he’s in too deep. You’re a married woman and he knows that, it’s just he’s fought his feelings for a long time and now? He doesn’t give a damn. He wants you. He’s convinced he needs you. If you were to leave him to go back to that piece of shit husband, he doesn’t know what it’d do to him.

Joel stands from the small dining table in the kitchen and makes his way to you. You’re stood at his sink, scrubbing at the dishes you used for the pie. He comes up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. Your heart races at the action and you breathe out a small, “Hi.”

“Hi.” He says back simply, his eyes closing.

You peek at him from the corner of your eye and smile, “Feeling sleepy?”

He nods, “‘Lil bit. Was stressin’ over Estrella but she finally got that calf out. Both of ‘em are resting now.” Joel presses tiny kisses against your neck, and you sigh, savoring them.

“That’s good they’re both okay. I want to see the baby.” You say, turning off the water and turning in his arms to face him.

“You can. We can go see ‘em tomorrow morning. That sound okay to you?”

You shake your head yes, looking into Joel’s eyes, “Sounds fine to me.”

The smell of fresh baked pecan pie wafts through the kitchen and your eyes light up. “I think the pies done. Shall we take a look?” You ask.

“We shall.” Joel counters with his country twang and you giggle.

He opens the oven and you slip on the mitt before pulling the pie out and setting it on top of the stove. “Now we have to let it cool.”

Joel sighs impatiently, “Let it cool? We can’t cut into it now?”

“No, I mean, unless you want hot pecan sugar soup. It has to firm up!” You say, turning the oven off.

Joel groans playfully and you shake your head, “You can wait twenty more minutes, okay?”

He rolls his eyes but nods, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ve been waitin’ months anyways so what’s another twenty minutes?”

“Exactly.”

Joel moves to the sink to finish up washing the dishes while you poke and prod at the pie making sure it firms up okay. And after cleaning the kitchen, putting away the ingredients into Joel’s cabinets, and a little make out session, twenty minutes have already passed.

You pull back from Joel, his lips following yours as he isn’t quite ready to stop yet. You hush against his mouth, “Joel… you know what time it is?”

“Hmm, time for me to keep kissin’ you?” He asks, pressing his lips to yours again.

You hum, pushing him back, “Pie time.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise, “‘Fuckin’ finally.”

The two of you gather around the stove as you stick your knife into the pie and cut it into 8 big, individual slices. You take Joel’s plate and serve him first then dish up yours as well. Once back at the table you wait for him to take a bite, anticipating his reaction as nerves settle in your tummy. It’s his favorite pie so this is a big deal.

Joel sticks his fork into his slice and then into his mouth. You watch him closely as he chews a few times, anxiety creeping from your tummy to your neck. But then, his eyes close and you swear you hear him moan.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He utters, his mouth still full of the pie.

Your eyes light up and you smile, “Is it good?”

Joel looks at you from the corner of his eyes and then back down to his plate, immediately shoving another bite into his mouth. He doesn’t say anything. Even when his first slice is gone and even when he finishes another one. He goes for a third and you stop him, grabbing his wrist gently.

“Joel, baby… calm down. Your pie isn’t going anywhere.” You laugh.

Joel clears his throat, a hint of red on his cheeks, “I know, darlin’. But you think that cherry pie’a yours was good? This could win contests.”

Your eyes roll and you shake your head, “You’re just saying that. You always hype my food up. It can’t all be good!

Joel looks at you incredulously, “It can’t all be good? Are you kiddin’ me? You haven’t made a bad thing yet. But this? I might need one a week. Maybe two.”

You laugh, finally taking a bite of your own slice. You were too entranced by his display of gluttony to even try it yet. But fuck, once you had a taste, you knew he was right. Your eyes fluttered shut as you savored the nuttiness from the pecans and the caramelized sugar, “Okay, you’re right. This is better than the cherry pie.”

“Pecan is always better than cherry. But you know what would taste even better?” He asks.

Your eyebrows knit together as you take another bite of pie and look at Joel, “Hmm?”

“You.”

You choke on your bite of food and look up at him, smiling as a blush creeps onto your cheeks. Joel smirks, pushing his plate aside and leaning over the table to look at you. You lock eyes for a moment, unspoken longing simmering between the both of you and without words, you both stand up. Joel grabs your hand again and pulls you back down the hallway to his room. That nervous feeling settles in the pit of your stomach again, but you push it away. Images of Luke flash in your mind from before; when he loved you. When you loved him. It was almost annoying at this point. Why did you keep thinking of him? It’d been weeks if not months you had any sort of romantic feeling for him and while you supposed some guilt still did linger, you absolutely didn’t mind the way your body thrummed with desire for Joel.

Joel doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. It’s not like anyone’s gonna hear anything or walk in on you, which at this point, you didn’t really care if they did. After this day of touches and kisses and teasing, you needed all of him.

Your body shook with nerves and adrenaline as you stepped in to Joel’s room with him. It was really going to happen. You were going to fuck this man you’d be pining for for months. Joel on the other hand, was calm and collected. He walked over to his bed, peeling back the covers before stripping himself of his shirt and unbuttoning his jeans. As he pulled the zipper down, he looked up to you, a soft smile on his lips.

“Gonna get in bed?” He asks, nonchalantly as all hell.

You twiddle your fingers as you sway from one foot to another, “I dunno. Do you want me to?”

Joel looks at you and rolls his eyes, “Darlin’…” he begins, but you cut him off.

“You gonna fuck me?”

Joel’s smile drops ever so slightly, thinking of what to say next. But it comes back as quickly as it disappears. “Gonna be disappointed if I don’t?”

You bite your lip and shrug slightly. Joel laughs, “I’ll take that as a yes then. Come ‘ere. It’s been too long since I’ve touched you.”

“You were holding my hand like maybe 2 minutes ago.” You grin softly, climbing into bed with him. His arms wrap around you, pulling you on top of him. He grunts in satisfaction as your body weight settles on his lower tummy, hands planted firmly at your hips. His thumbs rub tiny circles into your skin as he pushes your shirt over your head, exposing your bare breasts to the cold air in the room. Your nipples harden instantly and your lips part, a short puff of air escaping them. Joel’s eyes dilate as he rakes them over your skin, his hands inching up your torso until they meet the swell of your breasts.

“So fuckin’ pretty… can’t believe you want me.” He mumbles.

You scoff, a smile on your face, “What do you mean by that?”

Joels thumbs pad over your hardened nipple, causing your cunt to throb. Your hands plant themselves against Joel’s chest, your fingertips weaving between the hair that litters it.

“What I mean is… I’m old enough to be your daddy, but maybe you’re into that. Maybe you like the idea of being with an old fucker like me.”

Your eyes roll, “Yeah, that must be it. I have an old man fetish.” You shake your head and laugh, a smile on his lips as well, “But no, Joel. I think it’s actually the fact that I think you’re amazing. You are so sweet, and kind and I don’t think you realize that. I think you have this idea of yourself that you’re this rough around the edges, loner type but you aren’t. I’ve never had someone be so gentle with me. It makes perfect sense as to why I’ve fallen so hard for you.”

Joel’s fingers stop as he stares at you for a long while. Suddenly, he sits up, holding your body close to him. His arms wrap around your frame, pulling you flush against his chest as his eyes don’t leave yours. “Please… be with me.” He speaks, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly.

Your heart stills, “I am, Joel. I’m with you right now.”

“No, you know what I mean.” And you do. You absolutely know what he means. He wants you to leave Luke and be his. You want to. So desperately.

“Joel-”

“No, don’t give me that. You don’t love Luke. He doesn’t treat you well. Don’t you think being with me would be better?” He asks, his voice quiet, like he’s nervous.

“It would. It would be so much better, Joel-”

“Then leave him and be with me-” He interrupts.

“Please don’t interrupt me. I deal with enough of that from my husband.” You say in frustration, trying to pull back from him but he doesn’t let you go.

“Don’t pull away from me. You don’t have to be defensive with me. I’m sorry I interrupted you. I won’t do it again, I just… I want you, in every capacity. I want to wake up next to you, have you make me coffee every mornin’ just like you do now. I want to listen to my records with you and have you show me that Gilman Girls show you talk about all the time.” He says and you laugh softly.

“Gilmore Girls, Joel.”

“Yeah, that one. I want to have dinner with you and do the dishes together, then climb into bed so I can hold you, kiss you… so I can make love to you, and we don’t have to worry about anythin’ else. Just us.”

Your heart races and you feel tears spring to your eyes, the longing he feels for you blooming in your chest tenfold. Joel is infinitely better than Luke. In every way. He’s attentive and thoughtful and so kind it makes you lightheaded. Life here on the farm with Joel might not be so bad. You actually might enjoy it. You know you would. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind. But would you be willing to give up everything for him? You sigh, and without another beat; you speak.

“Okay.” You say, wiping a tear from your cheek. “Okay. I’ll leave Luke.”

Joel’s eyes widen and his shoulders rise and fall with the deep breaths he forces himself to take, “My sweet girl… you will?”

You nod, “Yes. I want all of that with you. I want to wake up at 5am and help you with the chickens and tend to Estrella and her calf. I want to make you treats and fatten you up with them,” Joel smiles and you do too, “I want to lay in bed with you and talk about nonsense and touch you and love you and be with you. I want to be yours, Joel. Not Luke’s. Yours.”

Joel can hear the blood rushing in his ears and he feels like he might actually combust on the spot. His heart races and he closes in on you. “Then that’s what’s gonna happen, darlin’. Just us. Just you. Just me.” Joel hushes, his lips pressing against yours.

You move with him and somehow end up with your back pressed against his plush mattress. Joel begins to remove the boxers he’d given you to wear earlier as you reach for the his jeans, pushing them down his hips fully.

“I want you.” You mumble against his lips.

“You have me, my girl.” He whispers back.

Once out of his jeans, Joel shimmies out of his boxers, leaving you both lying there naked. It’s scary how real it is. Joel is going to fuck you. You’re married and you don’t care. In your mind, your relationship with Luke has been dead for a long time. You don’t have an ounce of emotion in your body for him anymore and with ease, you forget about him once again.

Your attention switches back to Joel so naturally; so fluidly. His cock presses its head against your thigh. He’s so painfully hard you have no idea how he’s restraining himself.

“Need to be inside you, baby… but fuck, I wanna take my time with you.” He utters, his tone dripping with lust. His lips trail from yours to your jaw to your neck, not caring if he leaves marks or not. You’re leaving Luke. You’re his and he’s going to let the world know.

He moves further down, his tongue snaking in between the valley of your breasts and lower to your navel. He sucks at the skin on your tummy, marking you there as well. Another annoying blip of Luke flashes through your mind and how if he saw these marks on your body, it’d be over. It’s over anyways. Those thoughts go as quickly as they came when you realize Joel has buried his nose in the small tufts of hair that litters your skin down there. He’s like a mad man at work, huffing his way down to your folds and breathing in.

“Good God, sweet girl. Need’a taste so bad. Smell so fuckin’ divine I could lose it right now.” He speaks as his nose prods against your opening, his rough fingers meeting your walls to spread them open. His tongue dips in, licking against the swollen bud and it has you seeing stars. Your fingers lace into his hair as you keen into his ministrations, angling your hips up to his mouth.

His name litters the air as it stumbles out of your mouth over and over, like a mantra. Your whimpers of pleasure urges Joel to get more into it, sucking and flicking his tongue against your clit. His finger trails down, slipping into your soaked cunt as he begins to pump two of them in and out slowly.

“So fuckin’ wet, baby… taste like heaven.” He mumbles, his lips wrapping right back around your bud. Your brows tense as Joel curls his finger, hitting the soft spot in your pussy. Your fingers pull his hair tighter, your mouth opening as you moan silently, your orgasm embarrassingly close. He was so fucking good at this.

��Joel… fuck-Joel.”

“I know, baby, I know. I can feel you clenching around my fingers baby girl, go on and let go for me.” He hushes out, his warm breath only adding fuel to the fire. Joel’s expert tongue swirls and presses like he’s dotting his I’s and crossing his T’s and after a few more strokes of his fingers, you can’t hold back anymore.

“Fuck, I’m coming, Jo- Fuck!” You hiss through your teeth as your hands release the grip on his head and find solace on his bed sheets. Wave after wave hits you and you feel like you can’t even breathe. You try and it’s like it’s stuck in your chest. Joel doesn’t back down either, his tongue, lips and fingers all working away like he’s possessed. He’s addicted to your taste, and he’ll never give it up.

Your body begins to recoil away with overstimulation and once you whimper his name, he comes to. His head peeks up from between your legs and he smiles, his beard damp and cheeks glistening with your slick. It makes your heart skip a beat. He leans his head to your thigh and kisses it, breathing heavily himself.

Joel makes his way up your body, letting his weight down on top of you and it feels like bliss. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck as you pull him to you. Your lips meet his as he lets your taste yourself on him, his tongue tangling with yours like it was with your clit only moments ago. He’s still hard, probably even more so as you feel it press into your still-sensitive core. His tip begins to slide between your folds, and you spread your legs wider. Joel smiles into the kiss before pulling back.

“Ready for me, baby?” He asks with such softness you can’t believe how lucky you are to be here with him right now. You nod, your eyes opening to meet his. You want to watch him as he enters you.

His gaze is tender and full of what you think could be love. You didn’t want to jump the gun and say that it was, but… if he said it to you, you might just say it back. His hand caresses your cheek as he watches you intently, like he’s dazed. You turn your head into his palm, kissing the rough skin. No words are said, and none need to be. Joel lets out a deep breath as his hand tucks some of your hair behind your ear before trailing it down to your leg and guiding it to wrap around his. His cock slips into you ever so slightly and your breath hitches.

“Please, Joel… I need you… need more.” You speak; your voice hoarse. Joel smiles, leaning down and pecking your lips once more. He nods, words failing to find him now. He looks back into your eyes and pushes his hips forward. His cock sinks into you so deliciously it has you stunned. The way the girth stretches you out feels like you were made to take it. You were made for Joel; you were sure of it.

Joel, on the other hand, was a mess. When this whole thing started, he was so calm, like he’d planned this forever. Maybe he had. He didn’t dare close his eyes, not wanting to miss a second of this as he pushed in further. Soft grunts escape him as he bottoms out and then holds it there, letting the both of you adjust.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice shaky.

You nod, “I’m perfect.”

He nods back, pulling his hips back all the way before pushing them back in. He begins to find a steady rhythm, rocking against your body and that’s when you allow your eyes to close. One of his hands meets the pillow next to your head and he moves quicker. Grunts and moans slip from him which surprise you; you didn’t expect him to be so vocal. You’re right behind him though, his name being moaned into the ether as yours drips from his mouth. He’s already close, you can tell. But he’s trying to hold on as long as he can. He wants to savor this. He’s scared he won’t get this opportunity again.

Joel pulls his cock out of you, his chest rising and falling as he steadies himself. You look up to him, confused as to why he’s stopped. Maybe he’s regretting it. Maybe he feels guilty for it all. You sit up on your elbows, eyebrows knit tight.

“Joel, everything okay?”

He wipes his face and nods, “Yeah, baby… on your knees for me.”

Your eyes widen and you immediately turn around, gathering yourself on to your hands and knees to which Joel groans. He grabs your hips, pulling you against him and you feel his hard cock rut into your behind slightly. Joel brings a hand down to your ass, the smack echoing in the dimly lit room as you hum in delight.

“Gonna fuck you good, sweet girl. ‘Member I promised that?” He says, guiding his cock back into your slick. You breathe out, arms faltering slightly as you try and hold yourself up for him.

Joel smacks your ass again, “I said, remember? Use your words, pretty girl.”

“Yes, I remember.” You hiss, your pussy gripping around his length like a vice.

“Fuck- r-remember what? What did I tell you I was gonna do?” Another smack, your cheeks branded with his handprint.

“Ah, Joel-fuck! You-you said you were going to fuck me good. Please… do it. Fuck me.” You beg, your tone dripping with desperation. Joel smiles and kneads the skin he’d been rough with as he begins to pump in and out again.

“Good girl.”

He grabs your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he moves. He pumps into you over and over and you can’t think straight. Your arms give out not even two minutes into it and your head buries itself in his pillows. Joel doesn’t care; he just grips you tighter to make sure you don’t get too far away.

“That’s it, you’re takin’ it so fuckin’ good, baby. So good. So… mine. All mine, right?” He moans, his voice rough.

You don’t respond, too busy focusing on his cock that stretches your pussy out. Focused on the way he seems to hit that one spot in your cunt over and over. He takes his hand to your ass again, this time smacking it but grabbing a fist full afterwards.

“I said, right?”

“Yes, Joel, all yours! Only fucking yours.”

It’s like music to Joel’s ears as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulling your back against his torso. His hips never stop, even as you both adjust to the new position, his left hand reaching up to your breast to squeeze and his right flying down to your clit, rubbing quick circles. He wants you to come with him and he’s ridiculously close, but so were you.

“Shit, baby,” He heaves, “‘M gonna cum, gonna fill you up. That okay?” He asks through his rough grunting.

You nod immediately, not minding any implications, “Fuck, yes, Joel. Please. Please fuckin’ finish inside me.” Your orgasm teeters the edge as his fingers and cock assault your core, seconds from overflowing.

Hearing you beg Joel to finish inside you is all he needed to let go. Both of you cry out in pleasure as you feel Joel’s hot seed coat your walls. He fucks it further into you, no sign of him pulling out, but you didn’t want him to. Your body ignites as your own orgasm hits, your pussy clenching around Joel’s cock, milking him dry. You’ve never felt this sort of electric current spread through your veins, this liquid fire working its way to every point of your body and it’s just too much.

Finally, after a few more moments of Joel thrusting; his hand on your clit seizes its movements and he pulls out. Your head falls back on to his shoulder as you try to catch your breath, body completely spent. You feel his touch graze over you skin as he trails them up to your breasts and back down your tummy, like he’s trying to map every inch of your body to his memory. He’s so scared he’s going to lose you, and you can tell. His lips ghost over your neck and shoulders and back, while his hands palm at your skin.

“Joel, settle down.” You giggle; your eyes still closed in euphoria.

He sighs, “Sorry, Darlin’. I’m just… I’m just feelin’ you is all.”

“I know you are and that’s okay. But we’re going to do this again, you know? Again, and again, and again.” You say with a smile as you turn to face him again. You can feel his seed begin to leak out of you and you clench, wanting to keep it inside.

“You sure?” Joel asks, his body hovering yours as you lay on your back.

You nod; eyes heavy with exhaustion even if you’d napped most of the day. Joel relaxes slightly, easing his body down to lay on yours and it has you reeling.

“I love this feeling. You on me. Us. All of it.” Your words come out in a mumble and Joel smiles, kissing your chin and then your cheeks.

“I know. Me too.” He hums, his lips lingering over your skin as he ghosts more kisses across your face. He pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath. “So, how are we…? How are you… ya know, gonna tell Luke?”

You pause for a long time. Each second that passes has Joel’s heart racing quicker and harder. What if you’d changed your mind?

Another pause and a breath; you speak. “I… don’t know.”

Joel doesn’t move. He just lays there on top of you and lets you think a while. “How do I tell my husband I want a divorce?”

“You go up to him and say ‘Luke. I want a divorce.’” Joel says plainly and you let out a breathy laugh.

“Is it really that simple?” You ask, your eyes meeting his.

He pauses this time, his eyes dilating as he gazes upon your face. “No. It isn’t.”

You nod, eyelids closing. “I know.”

“But we’ll figure it out. Okay? No way in hell am I ever lettin’ you go now. I’ll fight Luke for you.” He speaks. You laugh again but you know he’s serious. He would fight Luke. He’d win too.

“That won’t be necessary… but I’d fight him too.” This time Joel laughs and leans down, nuzzling his head into your neck and wrapping his arms around your frame. You’ve never felt so safe. So loved.

You don’t know when you fall asleep, but it happens. Your body melds into Joel’s and the both of you lull into a deep sleep. You don’t wake up until late morning the next day. Joel’s already out of bed, probably somewhere on the farm doing his duties. You sit up, the blankets pooling around your waist when you look over to the clock on Joel’s bedside table. It’s a quarter passed 10 already. You decide to get up, getting dressed in Joel’s shirt from yesterday and a pair of his sweats. You see an old sweater in his drawers too and you figured you’d help yourself. It is getting chilly outside after all. Plus, you had the inkling Joel was the type to like you in his clothes anyways.

After slipping on your shoes, you decided to head to the barn. He was more than likely there, considering Estrella was in active labor yesterday. The cold air nipped your nose as you hugged yourself, crossing the yard to the barn. It was open, the overhead light flipped on. You could hear humming from Joel in the distance and you smiled.

It was warmer in the barn. Joel turned the space heater on for the calf and for the mama.

“Joel?” You called out, waiting for his response.

He peeks his head around the corner, his eyes wide as he smiles to you. He steps from behind the wall, wiping his hands on a rag that he slings over his shoulder. Heat pools in your tummy as he approaches you, the simple gesture turning you on.

“Hi, darlin’. Everything okay?” He asks. You nod. “Sleep okay?”

You nod again. “Best sleep I think I’ve ever had. I was so warm and cozy.”

Joel smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist, “Yeah? Me too. And to think… we’re gonna be sleepin’ like that from here on out, huh?”

You feel your stomach coil in a way that makes you nervous. It’s excitement, but it’s nerve-wracking. You’re really going to have to tell Luke it’s over. Your mind swims with different ideas of ways to break it to him. Maybe you could tell him you’re actually not interested in men anymore. Yeah, that could work. The good ol’ lesbian switcheroo. Or maybe you could tell him you’re dying. You could fake your death and just never have to confront what’s really going on. You could never tell him you’re in love with another man. With someone he’s known since he was a child. You sigh as you realize you just need to tell him you’re unhappy. That you don’t want this anymore… that you don’t want him. Maybe you could even leave Joel out of it. Just tell him you’re done, that you want to go back to the city. Luke would. He wouldn’t stay here. That way you could sneak back and live with Joel. But that was a longshot.

Joel notices your silence and he nudges you slightly, “Baby? Everythin’ okay in that pretty lil’ head of yours?”

Your eyes snap up to Joels, slightly widened but you nod.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m okay. Just thinking of what I should tell Luke.”

Joel nods, opening his mouth to say something when the devil himself appears.

“Tell Luke what?” Luke speaks, smiling at you and Joel as he steps into the barn. He must have seen you come inside it.

Your heart stills and you feel it drop to your ass as you whip around, eyes meeting his. Joel’s hands drop from your waist, and you can’t even think straight. Your heart pounds so hard you feel like you’re rocking on a boat during a thunderstorm, the waves threatening to consume you.

Luke begins to notice that Joel’s hands were on you, once gripped tightly around the sides of your body, now limp at his sides. Twitching. Like they’re aching to hold you again. He notices the clothes you adorn. They’re not yours and they’re definitely not his. Luke’s stomach drops and his smile falls, his own heart racing. Luke might be oblivious to some things, but he’s not an idiot, and he quickly pieces together what’s happening. And then he sees the marks on Joel’s neck. And then on yours.

“What. The. Fuck?” He hisses. His face begins to burn red and he sees it too.

“Luke, please. Let me explain-” You begin, your voice panicked and desperate.

“Oh, no. You don’t need to explain. I know exactly what is going on here… and you know what? I just knew this was going to happen. I knew it. I had this feeling and look! I’m right!”

Your brows knit together and you cross your arms. “Luke, what?”

Luke scoffs, “Babe… you don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting up at five… six in the morning to make Joel coffee? Or the way you’d bounce over to the guest house, the brightest smile on your face like you were going to see the love of your life? You’ve never smiled like that with me! If you don’t think I’ve noticed that then you must be dumber than I thought you were. So fucking dumb.”

Your heart breaks at his words. You know he’s just trying to hurt you, but man does it fucking suck. You loved him wholeheartedly at one point and now you just don’t know him. You haven’t for months. Probably even before you got to the farm. Tears well up in your eyes as you go to say something but get cut off.

“Listen here, you little shit. You will not talk to her like that any longer. Do you hear me?” Joel seethes, but Luke isn’t going to back down.

He laughs, “Upset ‘cause I called her dumb? She just threw everything away for you! You, Joel. 50 years old and what to show for yourself? Living on a dead woman’s farm? No family, no kids. You just had to steal someone else’s wife, huh? You know what? You can have her. She’s a fucking whore anyways!”

“Luke, stop.” You say, your voice wavering as you try and find it, your heart shattering at his words.

“You little fucker. You can say all the shit you want to, Luke,” Joel begins, “But in the end, it was me who fucked your wife, wasn’t it? She had to turn to me ‘cause it was you who couldn’t take care of her.”

You look at Joel with wide eyes at his crude words and you scoff, looking back and forth as the two of them begin to argue. They raise their voices, stepping closer to one another and it just becomes too much. You break.

“Stop! The both of you! Fucking stop!” You yell, your eyes filling with tears. They spill wildly and you don’t even try and wipe them away. Luke looks at you in annoyance and as soon as Joel’s eyes meet yours, he’s nervous. He’s realized what he’s said in anger and he hates to see you cry. He hates that he’s part of the reason you are. Joel tries to reach out to you, uttering a ‘baby’ and you push him back.

“No. Just… stop.” You sob. Your voice is small and nervous, but you knew whatever the outcome of this was, it’d end in disaster. It’d end in heartbreak.

“Luke,” You begin, “I was so in love with you, I mean, fuck. I married you. I moved seven hours out of the city to live in the fucking countryside with you! And not once, did you take my feelings into consideration. The more I think about it; I don’t think you ever did. It was all about you. You’ve been horrible to me the last however long we’ve been here-”

“I haven’t been horrible to you-”

“Let me speak!” You yell back, your fists tightening into little balls. Luke rolls his eyes but shuts up. Joel’s eyes flicker down to your fists, and he physically holds himself back from reaching for them. From reaching for you. He so desperately wants you in his arms, telling you it’ll be okay, that’s he’s sorry, but he knows he can’t. You wouldn’t let him.

“You have been horrible. Not speaking to me or berating me when you do. Pushing me for sex when I didn’t want it. Calling me names and meaning them. ‘Whore’? Really, Luke? The venom you have in your voice when you talk to me… you can’t deny any of that.”

Luke stays silent because he knows you’re right. He can’t look at you anymore and turns his head, his eyes closing as his shoulders slump.

“And you,” You speak, turning to Joel, “What the fuck was that? Boasting like I’m some… trophy? Like I’m-”

“I cheated on you too.” Luke says. Your eyes widen and both you and Joel turn to him. “I am cheating on you. With uh, Caroline.” He says, mentioning his coworker. She was a couple years younger than you and Luke. Newer to the company. You’re pretty sure Luke mentioned he was training her when she was hired about a year ago.

You can’t say you’re shocked. You can’t really say anything as there isn’t much for you to say.

“So, we’re both not innocent then, huh?” You speak. Your voice is serious and final, “Let’s get divorced. We should end this.”

Luke scoffs, crossing his arms. His face begins to falter. He knows you’re right. This should end. He wants to be bitter and petty and hurt you more, but he knows he’s hurt you enough. At one point, he cared about you too. You were the light of his life and then things changed. Work got stressful, Karla died, and his family pressured him to take the farm. He didn’t want to. He has no clue how to take care of a farm, clearly. He had no clue how to take care of you. And to him, it seemed like Joel did.

“Let’s talk about this inside.” He sighs.

A couple hours later you find yourself walking out the back door of the farmhouse and down the hill to Joel’s guest house. Your cheeks are tear stained, and nose is tinged red from crying. No shoes on. The familiar ache of the cold gravel against the heels of your feet almost comforting you.

Once on the rickety porch you’d stepped on to hundreds of times before, you approached the door, rapping on it lightly. Joel only took a few moments to answer it.

“Hi.” You said as you watched him. He looked nervous, cheeks pink with anxiety. Or maybe he’d been crying too. You didn’t know.

“Can I come in?” You asked. He nodded immediately, stepping aside. He didn’t speak though. Maybe he was too nervous to. Too scared. He was terrified this was it.

You made your way to the plaid couch you’d grown to love so much, settling against the soft cushions and breathing out. Joel lingered, standing by the door. He was unsure of what he should do next. Should he sit down? Should he reach out to you? Comfort you? Should he just get the fuck off this farm and never look back? No, he wouldn’t do that. He needed you too badly.

Your reddened, watery eyes looked up to Joel causing his breath to stutter. The anxiety bubbled up from his chest to his throat and he clears it, watching for your next move. You sniffle, rubbing your eyes before holding your arms out to Joel. You needed to be held. He moved to you in lightning speed, scooping you up into his arms and cradling you delicately. Joel settles on to the couch with you in his grasp. He presses small kisses against your temples, scalp and forehead, his heart racing a mile a minute.

“I’m here, baby. Not goin’ nowhere. Not ever. You have me.” He speaks. His words are desperate and needy, like he needs to ingrain it into your mind that he’s yours. Because he is.

Joel holds you for a long time. He’s not sure how long, but it had to be at least an hour or so. His hands rub up and down your back, tracing the curve of your waist and spine. He wants to comfort you, just like you being here comforts him.

It’s a little longer before you speak. You sniffle and pull back slightly, looking up to him. “I’m sorry, Joel.”

His heart races again, “Sorry? What’re you sorry for, darlin’?”

“For everything.” You squeek, your voice cracking. “For getting you into this mess.”

He sighs, “Baby… that’s not somethin’ you need to be sorry for. I wanted you just as bad as you wanted me. Even more so.”

You look away and blink, shrugging. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t know what else to say.”

“That’s alright. You don’t gotta know what to say. Just let me hold you, okay? Whatever happens, we’ll get through it. You and I.” He says, burying his head against the top of yours, breathing in the lingering tea tree scent from his shampoo. His eyes close, heart hammering in his chest which you can hear. The corners of your lips turn upwards, tears springing to your eyes.

“Are you nervous, Joel?”

He pauses a moment before nodding. “Lil’ bit. Just scared you’re gonna go away or somethin’.”

You pause this time, your mind drifting back to your conversation with Luke inside.

“So, sleeping with Joel, huh?” Luke says. You roll your eyes as you sit on the velvet green couch in the living room. He sits on the opposite side of it.

“Sleeping with Caroline, huh?” You retort and he blows a raspberry. There’s a long silence before anyone decides to speak. Tears prick your eyes, and you feel yourself just wanting to run to Joel. He’d make everything feel okay again. You wipe your eyes and Luke sighs.

“I don’t know why you’re crying. This has been coming for a long time. You’re so fucking sensitive.” He says, his tone quiet. He’s annoyed.

“I know. It still hurts though. Sorry for being sensitive, I guess.”

Another long silence, either of you not knowing what to say. He decides to finally look at you, his eyes gazing over your features, appreciating the way your eyelashes curl and then way your eyes glisten, still so full of life and love despite what’s going on. The last time he’s going to do that.

Luke sighs. His next words almost shock you.

“I’m sorry. You know that right?” He speaks. Your eyebrows knit and you look at him, more tears falling.

“Are you?”

He pauses again. “Yes. I didn’t mean to turn into such an asshole. I didn’t mean to make you run into the arms of someone who could treat you better. I just… stopped caring. It’s not okay. I’m sorry.” Luke taking accountability? This was new.

You shrug, wiping your tears away. You were so tired of crying.

“Well, I appreciate that, Luke. It sucks it turned out like this. That we… Turned out like this.”

“So, what should we do? What… do you want to do?” Luke asks. He’s calm. Sad, but he’s calm. No more venom. He’s ready for this to be over, and frankly, so you were you.

“I think a divorce would be best. There’s no love here. Not how it used to be anyways.” Which was true. You’d always have a love for Luke even if you weren’t in love with him.

He nods, wiping his nose. He wasn’t a crier, but this was hard for him too. You didn’t think it would be, but he was always surprising you.

“Okay. What about… the farm? I’m not staying here anymore, my family will have to decide what happen-”

“Joel should have it.” You say, interrupting him. “He’s been here 25 years. He can take care of it better than anyone in your family would. Hell, Karla couldn’t even take care of it. That’s why she hired him.”

He scoffs, “Oh, so you want Joel to get the farm so you can stay and live out your weird farm fantasy with him?” Luke spits, that venom seeping back into his words. He was always going to be like that.

You sigh, closing your eyes. “No. That’s not it at all. I don’t even know what’s happening with Joel and I, Luke. I don’t know where I’m going after this. But let’s face it… Karla would want him to have it.”

Luke huffs and stands up, pacing the room as he thinks. It’s another few moments before he says anything. He turns towards you, his eyes sad but he gives you a curt nod. His shoulders fall in defeat. He didn’t want to fight anymore. “You’re right. Joel should have it. Even if you decide to stay here with him. Which is insane to me… you didn’t even want to come here in the first place.”

You nod softly, remembering those months ago when Luke told you you’d be moving here. How much you hated it. How you’d stay up at night and have panic attacks at the idea of leaving the city. Now look at you. You couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

“I’ll tell my family. No one else really wanted it anyways. Not even Nick. So, it’s Joel’s… and… yours?” He asks cautiously.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Luke. I already told you that. We’ll… see.”

He nods again, his shoulders slumping further as he exhales a breath he wasn’t aware that he was even holding. You stand, knees a little wobbly from the adrenaline finally settling in your body.

“So, this is it then?” Luke says, biting down on his bottom lip. You nod.

“Yeah. It is.”

He looks away from you, looking anywhere besides where you stood. He knows he screwed up and he feels bad, yet a part of him feels free. He decides to step forward, awkwardly opening his arms to you and you hesitate, but you take it. The both of you have a final embrace. It’s empty. He just feels like another body against yours. There’s no emotion, but somehow, it’s the closure you needed.

“So, I’ll see ya?” Luke says, inhaling the scent of you one last time. He nearly scowls. Tea tree. He hated tea tree.

“Yeah, maybe not.” You laughed, tears spilling from your eyes. You wipe them away and he smiles, laughing too.

“Are you nervous, Joel?”

He pauses a moment before nodding. “Lil’ bit. Just scared you’re going to go away or somethin’.”

You pause, slightly unsure of what to say. It makes him more nervous.

“Do you want me to?” You finally ask Joel. He pushes you back, looking into your eyes.

“Do I want you to leave?” He asks. He looks like you’ve asked the silliest question in the world, but you nod anyways. He doesn’t speak for a moment, trying to find the right words to say.

“If you decide to leave, there’s nothing I can do about that… but I think it’d just down right kill me.”

His words make your heart leap, and you close your eyes, not wanting anymore tears to spill. You lean forward, burying your face in Joel’s chest. His fingers lace through your hair, his whole being trying to convey the fact that he wants you to stay right here with him.

“Then I’ll stay.” You mumble into the fabric of his sweater, but he doesn’t quite hear you.

“Hmm?”

You peer up to him, your lashes damp as your glossy eyes look into his dark, anxious ones. It takes his breath away.

“I said I will stay. Here with you.”

Joel’s heart stops as he finally hears you and all he can do is close his eyes and pull you back into him. He holds you there against him, not daring to move, not daring to let go. And you stay. You don’t wiggle, you don’t move, you sit there breathing him in deeply. The comfort this man gave you was insane. You could live here in his arms, on this farm, hours from a real town or city and you would be happy. You’d have him and he’d have you.

Images of your life on the farm with Joel flash through your mind and it has you reeling. Winter on the farm and being bundled up with him in bed, trying to stay warm with the space heater since the main house has a mean draft. Maybe you could convince him to get matching pajamas with you. Christmas ones with trees and stars on it.

You imagine helping Joel with Estrella and her baby in the spring. He could teach you how to tend to the chickens and horses so you could help fetch the eggs without getting pecked and even brush the horse's manes, giving them a braid or two. Joel’s been talking about starting a garden. It’d be the perfect time to get cucumbers planted, and tomatoes even.

Maybe in the summertime, you and Joel could lay a blanket on the hill in the backyard and watch the clouds pass by and as the day turned to night, you could count the stars in the sky with him. Maybe he’d lean over and kiss you, his hand trailing from your jaw to your neck to your waist. He’d take you on that blanket, under the moon, making love to the only woman he’d ever wanted in his life to stay with him for good.

And maybe that fall, you’d run into the stables, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gripped the little stick in your hand. Joel would look at you with concern, his brows knitted together tightly before looking down to what was gripped in your palm. He’d rush over to you, asking what it said, and you’d smile, nodding your head.

“Thank you.” He speaks. It’d been God knows how long since someone had said something, but you didn’t mind. The silence was comfortable with him. You look up to him again, the side of your cheek smooshed against his peck, and he smiles.

“Thank you? For what?” You ask. Joel’s hands caress the side of your cheek that’s not pressed against his chest, and he hums.

“For stayin’. Lord nows why you’d stay, but I’m glad. Real glad, my sweet girl.”

“Yeah, well… this place has grown on me. Who would have thought?” You say, smiling softly. Joel smiles too.

“Yeah, just the charm of the farm, huh, sugar? Nothing else?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Hmm… nope. I just really like Estrella. And her new baby is really cute too.”

Joel’s eyes roll but then he leans down and pecks your lips in a sequence. He presses his lips against yours over and over and you think to yourself there’s no way you could ever get sick of this.

He pulls back and wipes the hair out of your face, “Just so God damn pretty, baby girl. Can’t believe I’ll get to look at you every day. Get to touch you and kiss you.” Joel speaks and he’s really just talking to himself. He’s trying to convince himself this is really happening. You sit up, placing your legs on either side of Joel as you straddle him. His eyes flash with desire and it goes straight to his groin. You can feel it as his length pokes against your core but he doesn’t try anything. He just looks at you.

“Sorry, darlin’. Don’t gotta do nothin’ about it, just happens when I’m around you.”

You shake your head, corners of your mouth flitting upwards. “It’s okay, Joel. I don’t mind it. I kinda love that I can turn you on so easily.”

Joel smirks, “’Kinda’ love it? What do you think cause I’m damn near geriatric I shouldn’t be able to get it up anymore?”

“Oh my god. That’s not what I’m saying.” You say as your face burns, and you roll your eyes.

He laughs, “I know, baby. I just like givin’ you a hard time.”

“Hmm… well, I know something else that's hard you can give to me.” You smirk. You’re kidding and he knows it but it still turns him on even further. His grip on your waist tightens before trailing it down to your ass and pulling you against him. You feel that familiar ache in between your legs as his tip teases you through your pants. You shake your head.

“Joel…” You say warningly.

“I know, I know. It’s not really a sexy time right now, is it?”

You nod, “Not really… maybe later though? Luke’s packing right now. He said he’ll be gone by tomorrow morning. Could I sleep here with you tonight?”

Joel’s heart skips a beat, “I wouldn’t think you’d be anywhere else.”

Silence falls between the two of you as Joel takes your hands into his. His fingers pad over your delicate skin, tracing up the length of them and over the chipped polish on your nails. He laces his with yours and looks into your eyes. Joel feels his heart thump against his chest, an overwhelming sensation bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He’s going to say it. He’s never said it in his entire life to anyone. But he knows he feels it with you. It might be too soon, but in this moment he doesn’t care. He doesn’t know if you feel it too, but he thinks so. Joel’s nervous, and when he opens his mouth to speak, you stop him.

“I know.” You breathe, gripping on to his fingers tightly. Your voice waivers. “You don’t have to say it. I… I know.” And you do. You know exactly what he’s going to say and yes, of course you want to hear it. You feel it too. But you’re not ready. Not yet.

“I feel the same way.” You hush, bringing his knuckles up to your lips and pressing small kisses against them.

Joel’s eyes get blurry, and he nods, huffing slightly. He leans in and kisses you and you kiss him back. It’s simple, but passionate. You can feel the emotion he radiates for you and you hope he can feel it right back.

“I want to say it though, baby girl. You mean so much to me. Greatest fuckin’ thing to ever happen to me if I'm quite honest. Despite some trouble here and there.” He hums, lips pressing to your cheek and jaw. Your eyes close as you savor his touches, and you hum back.

“Me too. Maybe that’s crazy to say but I’ve never had anyone care for me the way you do, Joel. So, trust me. I feel the exact same way about you. Let’s just wait a little longer to say it. I mean I just found out I’m getting a divorce.”

Joel pulls back and looks into your eyes. They hold stars and galaxies and Joel is convinced that he could look into them forever. One look from you and he’d know everything would work out. You were his home, not this farm. And when he thought about it, it was well worth the wait for him to find you. He’d spend another 50 years alone if that meant he could spend eternity with you when it was all said and done.

The both of you knew there was still a lot to work out, but whatever happened, it’d be you two. That was all you really needed.

“I think… we should go into the kitchen and tear up the rest of that pecan pie. Whaddya think?” Joel smiles, pulling you with him as he gets up from the couch. His arms wrap around your waist as yours wrap around his neck and you smile, nodding to him.

“Sounds good to me. I could go for something a lil’ something sweet right now.”

Thank you for reading this. As always, likes and reblogs are appreciated and if you enjoyed reading it, let me know! ♥️

[joelmillers-wife]

I’m glad Ellen isn’t famous anymore because she would have made Pedro so uncomfortable

[joelmillers-wife]

hey!!! WHAT THEFUCK

[joelmillers-wife]

chapter 1 is out!! enjoy 🫶🏼

Take My Hand Masterlist

a/n: at the moment, this is the only work i have posted here. if i write anything outside of this story, i will add a more in depth masterlist <3

18+ MDNI

status: ongoing pairing: joel miller x fem!reader summary: arriving into Jackson in the late months of autumn, your life turns around as you adjust to the community you have been welcomed into. as you get to know the people in town, you find yourself entering the life of Joel Miller and the girl he takes care of. series warnings and tags: 18+ language, fluff, angst, eventual smut, slow burn, slight enemies to friends to lovers, fem!reader, talks of grief, hurt/comfort, lore-accurate violence and gore, jackson!Joel, age gap: Joel is in his 50s and reader is in her 30s, reader has no description besides hair and can be lifted, no y/n

chapter warnings: each chapter will have more detailed warnings in the description for the specific content that will be included there. please feel free to reach out to me about any i should add a/n: please be sure to read the warnings labelled. my works are 18+ as they will contain descriptions of violence as well as sexual acts. you are responsible for the media you consume so i please ask that you do not read if you are not of age <3 i also will warn that i try not to include any physical descriptions of reader besides that she is afab, has hair, and can be lifted by Joel. if that is not what you are looking for then that is completely okay! i would love to share works from other authors who's content i enjoy that may be more suited towards you i also would like to say this is my first time writing anything, let alone fanfic, so i hope i do it justice <3 dividers made by: @saradika-graphics , check them out!

chapter I: a horse with no name

chapter II: coming 04/12

more chapters will be added along the way!

[joelmillers-wife]

take my hand (joel miller x f!reader) chapter one

18+, MDNI series masterlist: here | please check this for complete series warnings and tags pairing: joel miller x f!reader chapter summary: the people in charge of Jackson help you settle into your new place, right across the street from a stranger who already seems displeased by your appearance in town wc: 3.5k rating: this story is 18+ (minors, do not interact), there will be eventual smut in later chapters chapter warnings and tags: no warnings right now besides cursing and tlou lore accurate outbreak content below, reader has no description besides she has hair, jackson!joel, age difference: reader is in her 30s and joel is in his 50s, sloooow burn, enemies to friends to lovers type-beat ao3 dividers made by: @saradika-graphics , check them out!

I. A HORSE WITH NO NAME

On the first part of the journey I was lookin' at all the life There were plants and birds and rocks and things There was sand and hills and rings

All you can focus on are your surroundings. 

The fire crackling to your right provides the warmth you so desperately need along with the blanket they had draped over your shoulders. The room resembles some kind of office lobby area, you think, with you sitting in a large armchair. Your eyes drift over to the windows to see snow falling gently outside and the streets lit up from warm lamp posts as you hear the faint sounds of the town existing outside. Children laughing and playing–people working and chatting. You assume this is what normalcy is, yet everything about this moment feels abnormal.

A voice catches your attention, and you look over to the man sitting in front of you speaking–the man who found you. He acts as though he’s dealing with a wounded animal, looking between you and the woman sitting beside him–his wife, you remember now… Maria, right?

They look expectantly at you, the man glancing over to his wife for some sort of help. You realize they asked you something.

The shrill ringing in your ears subsides as you blink yourself back into focus. “What?” 

The man, Tommy, softly laughs. “Sorry, I’m sure this is a lot to take in. We try choosin’ the most private area in town when we have new folk come in. I’m sure the noises outside don’t do much to settle your nerves.”

He’s right. The noise is… so loud? Can they be this loud outside? Are they not worried?

Maria speaks up. “What we were saying is that we want to make sure you’re warm now, and that you have a better sense of what we have built here. I know the body checking was intense, but we have to be cautious when we find people out there. Make sure you haven’t been bit.”

You feel slightly more comfortable with her presence. There’s a sternness about her that shows authority, yet her tone is still gentle.

You’d been wandering around for a few days now, having heard about a month back of a settlement out in Jackson, Wyoming–not a QZ, but a real town. The journey there made you wish that you had found out about this settlement much sooner–before the coldest season you have ever experienced had begun to make its way through the state.

The only issue is you heard of this place ahead of one of the coldest seasons you’ve ever experienced. You had left mid autumn, and it took weeks to get remotely close to the community. You assumed autumn was ending quicker than anticipated considering the snowy weather felt more like a harsh and icy winter, forcing your food sources to become scarce over the weeks.

Last night… or was it early morning? You can’t tell–all you know is you collapsed in the snow from exhaustion and cold, spending a few moments coming to terms with your impending death. Would you freeze? Or would the infected find you first and not grant you have the mercy of dying at all? 

Amidst your existential dread, you felt your body drifting and heard the sounds of muffled shouting followed by snow crunching. Suddenly a man’s face had entered your field of vision, his face etched with concern–a man you now recognize as Tommy–before you felt your body get pulled onto a horse. From the moment you were brought to the gates, you heard more shouting–how is everyone so comfortable being so damn loud? You saw a woman hurry towards you–Maria. She and Tommy led you into a room filled with metal bars spaced a few inches from one another, lined from the ground to the ceiling. You faintly recall being demanded about the infected, and you respond that you were not bitten.

… Right?

Maria and another woman in a long white coat checked your body before validating that you were not bit. Thank god.

It wasn’t too long after that Maria, the one in command of the town, and Tommy had wrapped you in a warm blanket and led you into the room that you three occupy now. Sat by the fireplace, you were given a hot mug of what appeared to be tea and bread as they began to discuss the workings of the town and how it came to be. 

That brings you to the present, where you sit trying to listen and remember everything they had been telling you.

“We can get you set up in your house first, or we can give you a tour of the area and what can be expected,” Maria explains.

“House?” You question. You get a house?

She offers you a soft smile. “Yes, we have many homes in town. All residents are allowed to have their own property–helps them get a better sense of normalcy and routine while still having some privacy.” 

A house. “I’d like to just be by myself for a bit, if that’s alright.”

Tommy speaks up. “Of course. We can lead you to where you’ll be stayin’. ‘Round dinner time, Maria or I will come by and walk you over to the mess hall. Get you settled in first and then show you a bit of the area. Does that sound alright with you?”

You silently nod and stand with them, following them outside.

It’s so. Fucking. Loud.

As you walk behind the couple you begin to notice stores, produce stands, gardens, children playing outside of… Is that a school? They have a school here? You notice Maria pointing at different places and speaking to you, but you don’t pay her much mind–the tour will be later, you remind yourself. For now you want to be alone.

Eventually the couple walk you through a residential block and stop a few houses down the street before Tommy gestures to a small home to your right. Except it’s bigger than anything else you’ve ever stayed in for the last couple of decades. Standing before you is a two-story home made of red brick and lined with windows across the top and bottom.

“Here we are! You can find some spare clothes, towels, hot water and–”

“Tommy!” A voice calls out. Your head snaps to look behind you, quick enough to give you whiplash.

Is infected invading the settlement? Is this a warning?

You watch as a man steps out of the house directly in front of yours, marching down his walkway with his brows furrowed and face scrunched with annoyance. He comes charging over to you–no, he’s only looking directly at Tommy. You glance over at Tommy for any signs of fear, only to find a matching but slightly softer expression.

The man walking over calls out once more, making you hear a… southern accent? Tommy has a southern accent as well, doesn’t he? “God dammit, Tommy, you told me you’d meet me at the stables at 8 a.m. this morn–”

You look from Tommy back to the stranger when you hear his words cut off, only to find his eyes have settled on you. You take the moment to look over him, noticing he wears something similar to what Tommy and the rest of the town had been wearing in this weather–a tan brown jacket with fur lining the collar, dark jeans, combat boots, a dark scarf covering his neck and tucked into his jacket. And… is that a scar on his right temple? 

He’s… big. Broad. Soft brown curls–or grey you suppose. Yeah, you see more grey than brown there, the colors matching his trimmed beard. Your nerves calm slightly—no longer thinking he’s a threat based on Tommy and Maria’s reactions, but he doesn’t look kind.

His face shows signs of age. That, or you think that the lines have possibly developed over time from the permanent scowl that has been on his face ever since he walked out. His brows are still furrowed as he continues to stare at you. Did you do something?

Tommy sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Yeah, Joel, m’sure you can tell why I couldn’t meet with you on time. Found this one with Eugene and the others way early this mornin’ on the way back from midnight patrol. Tryin’ to get her all settled in—set her up here real quick and then I can meet ya out front, alright?”

Tommy might as well have not been speaking considering the man, Joel, is still staring at you with the same displeased expression. Finally, his eyes pass over to Tommy before he just grunts and turns around, walking back up to the door of the house across from yours and slamming it shut in the process.

Tommy timidly looks over at you with an apologetic look in his eyes. “Know that ain’t the best introduction I could’ve given ya to my brother.”

What?

Maria scoffs lightly. “I don’t think there’s any good introduction to Joel,” she says under her breath.

“Your brother?” You ask. That man is Tommy’s brother?

He chuckles shortly with a nervous smile on his face. “Hard to believe, right? Who would’ve guessed someone as handsome and charmin’ as me could be related to an old grump,” he jokes. 

Maria doesn’t seem to hold the same lighthearted tone her husband has, but she merely shakes her head and says, “This happens to be the only vacant home we have that is fully furnished and done being built. Neighbors aren’t ideal, we know.”

You shake your head. “I don’t mind. I’m grateful for anything, really.”

Tommy begins to walk you towards your door, leading the way. “Alright, let’s get you inside and settled.”

The front porch has a hanging, swinging bench that faces out to the street. You step in to find the place to be warm, not just in temperature, but also in comfortability. Maria was right, the home is fully furnished. It feels simple, yet with character—paintings of wildlife and countryside adorn the walls, the space being much larger than you were anticipating. The entryway holds a small coat rack area directly to the right beside the front door, a staircase going along the wall, leading to an upstairs area. 

You look to your left to see what must be the living room. A soft couch faces opposite you, turned to face the wall with–holy shit… is that a T.V.? It’s an old T.V., very old, and small, but it’s real. The couch looks to hold space for three with pillows scattered across it, a recliner to the left of the couch that sits right near the window. A window that you realize gives a clear view of the house across from yours–Joel’s house. 

The living room follows into a decent sized kitchen with basics set up, a small square table with four chairs sat around each respective side, a rectangle kitchen island in the center, a sink, some spice containers across the countertops. You open the cabinets lined against the wall to be filled with bowls, plates, cups, pans, pots. The drawers are full of forks, knives, spoons, and other equipment you’ve never seen before. 

You walk out the other doorway to the kitchen, landing back into the hallway that leads to the front door. Maria leads you to walk around and up the staircase to find a small area that branches off into two doors. You open one to find what seems to be a sort of office space—a simple desk and chair along one of the walls with various bookcase and storage boxes organized along the perimeter. 

Leaving that space, you walk to the other door that opens to a bedroom–your bedroom, you realize. Again, simple, yet luxurious to you with a large bed, clean sheets, two dressers, a mirror, and a chair in the corner that faces a window. A door on the wall to the right of you leads to a bathroom with a large tub and shower head attached to the tile, a bathroom vanity with another large mirror hanging on the wall above the sink. 

You silently walk around, trying to take everything in without making a scene. What if you react badly and they take it away? What if you don’t seem grateful enough and they decide to kick you out?

Maria looks at you with a warm smile on her face. “It’s a lot, I know. Hard to believe things like this can be real in this life.”

You slowly turn to face her, eyes going over the details in your room as you stumble over your words. “I-it’s, um…”

Her smile grows. “It’s all yours. Don’t worry.”

You clear your throat as you try to find the will to speak. “Thank you, I–” you pause to take a deep sigh and let your eyes close for a moment. Opening them a second later to face her directly. Having collected yourself a bit more, you say, “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, honey. Tommy and I will head out and let you get settled. I can quickly show you how to use the shower, and where to find some towels and clothes for you. The sizes might not be exact, but you’ll find clean, warm clothes for you here.”

You nod your head as you follow and try to memorize her instructions—mentioning how the shower knob sometimes needs to be jiggled a bit to turn on—and walk back downstairs with Maria to meet Tommy waiting at the door.

“It’s ‘round noon now.” He points to a clock that hangs on the wall of the staircase. “Town has a mess hall where dinner is served everyday at 6 p.m. if people don’t want to cook for themselves. We serve fresh meals three times a day, and anyone and everyone is welcome to come by for food. Tonight, a little before that time we’ll come back to walk you over there, get a proper meal in ya. ‘Til then, please feel free to make yourself at home.”

You give a small smile and nod of thanks. Maria opens your door and walks out and down the walkway, but you find Joel leaning on his fence outside his house with his arms crossed. Has he even unfurrowed his brows from the moment you met him?

He looks over when he hears the door open, eyes landing on yours and staring.

Tommy notices and turns to see what must look like uneasiness on your face. Giving you a reassuring smile, he says, “I know he’s not the most welcomin’ face to see, let alone the best person to meet as your first introduction to the people in the community, but I promise he’s not a threat. My brother’s good people, he just struggles with newcomers.” Tommy seems to think to himself a second. “Alright… it’s probably a bit more that he struggles with people in general,” he laughs. “But he’s safe. I promise,” he adds with a more serious tone.

You pull your gaze away from Tommy to glance at his brother once more. You believe Tommy, you realize, as you begin to recognize the feeling you get from Joel isn’t that he is a threat, but rather it’s that you and everything around him are the threat he needs to watch out for–a feeling you find yourself understanding.

Facing Tommy once more, you respond, “I understand. I promise he didn’t completely scare me off.”

He laughs. “Good, I’m glad. I’ll see ya in a few hours, alright?”

Nodding in agreement, you shut the door behind him and walk over to the window behind the recliner, finding Joel still looking at your house. His lips move as you assume he’s talking to his brother, before the two walk away in the snow.

Later that evening, Tommy had showed up as promised and brought you to eat dinner in the mess hall. Maria didn’t come with him, though–Tommy informing you she had to watch over their infant son, Benjamin, who was sick. 

A son… Of course you knew people had kids here. Hell, you saw them and heard them yourself–a fact that you couldn’t find yourself getting used to anytime soon. How comfortable and almost… safe people seem to be here in the volume of the noises they make. How can they be so sure infected are far away enough to not hear and come running in?

You got your answer later in the evening after dinner while Tommy gave you a more in depth tour of the community. He explained the tall, sturdy fences that surrounded the area, the 24/7 guards at said fences who monitored who and what came in and out at all times. How the community is set up in a way that allows people at the top of the fence posts to see anything that would come through the open land outside the walls. Then, beyond the few acres of empty land was a thick forest that gradually gets thicker as you go further from town, and higher up the hill. 

“We have trusted members of the community take turns on patrol–both at the fences and also at different outposts we have scattered around Wyoming. When people go out on the patrols, they check for any hordes or stragglers of infected and clear ‘em before they can get any closer. God forbid any of ‘em get too close to the walls, we have plenty of safety precautions. All patrol members are armed, as well as extra weapons held on the fences such as bombs to attack any large hordes that get too close at one time,” Tommy explains as you walk around town together. 

He stops a moment to turn and look at you with a soft expression. “I promise, Maria and I put in a lot of work to make this place safe for everyone. Everyone in the community has a job that’s equally as important across town. We got teachers, gardeners, butchers, cooks, stable help, construction workers, shopkeepers–not just patrol members. Now everyone must have a job to contribute to the community. You could choose anythin’ you want–”

“I want to be on patrol,” you cut him off.

He gives you a small smile. “Of course,” he says. “We try to start everyone off with smaller tasks that take place in the community. Gives the new folk a chance to figure out the workin’s of everythin’, and gives you the opportunity to know everyone and have everyone get to know you. We’ll get you set up with whatever you decide, have you trainin’ with weapons and members of the patrol crew to supervise you so we get a sense of where your talents lie—see if you can be someone the town depends on to keep ‘em safe.”

Having your own doubts about people you don’t know being entrusted to keep you safe, you get why you need to take some time to gain trust, and give Tommy a nod in agreement.

“Sounds great,” he says. “I’ll walk you back home, then tomorrow mornin’ at 8 a.m. Maria or I will come by your place and figure out what it is you want to do around here.”

“Thank you, Tommy.”

When you reach your home, you say your goodbyes to Tommy as he turns to walk back down the street the way you two came. Reaching your door, you turn to close and lock it behind you to find the house across from yours has their porch lights on. Joel’s house.

You notice a shadowed figure inside looking through the windows, it seems. When you turn your body to face his house straight on, you see the figure scrambling as if they’ve been caught, quickly shutting the curtains and turning off the porch light. 

That’s… not Joel? You saw Joel. He’s tall, and broad. The figure seemed smaller, almost like a child. 

Does Joel have his own family?

You shake your head and finally close your door as you make your way upstairs to get ready for bed. This man is none of your business, you tell yourself, and you can’t be bothered to spend time thinking of someone you don’t know.

Reaching your room, you enter your bathroom to splash water on your face—the cold splash shocking you out of the disoriented state you’ve had all day. You walk to one of the dressers that sits in the corner of your bedroom, going through the drawers to find the few clothes Maria had given you to start off with before you find clothes fit for you–putting them on and sighing deeply as you relish in the feeling of warm, clean clothes. 

You make your way to your bed, lying there staring at the ceiling as you try to calm down from how abnormally normal everything feels–taking in everything that has occurred and where exactly you are.

You’re safe… Right?

a/n: special thank you to v, b, and a for their help and support towards me through this story. i love you three more than words can convey

reblogs and comments are appreciated! i hope you all enjoy <3

[joelmillers-wife]

No one talk to me… look at this precious man 🙂‍↔️