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hauntedhowlett-writes · 2 years ago

Note

Congrats on 1k mom 💗 You’re the best writer there is.

Tarot Submission:

The Devil Card w/ Joel Miller (56|post outbreak) 😈

Something about this man being tempted then giving into his lust for you and getting so addicted and unable to stop just hits different.

Throw in the smut baby. You know what I like. 😏

thank you, my love!

the devil - upright

temptation, addiction, sexuality, powerful attraction

title: siren song

pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x female reader AND post-outbreak!tommy miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 3201

summary:

Staying with Tommy in Jackson comes with one caveat - the temptation of you in the bedroom next door.

content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), post-outbreak in jackson, don't ask me where maria and ellie are in all of this, not a threesome fic, voyeurism - overhearing someone having sex, masturbation, dirty talk, praise, teasing, billiards as a plot device, dubcon - joel going into your room while he thinks you're asleep but you're not, kinda perv joel, dominant joel, rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), pussy slapping, unprotected p in v, creampie, no use of y/n. let me know if i missed anything!

The first time Joel Miller sees you is in Tommy’s kitchen wearing nothing more than a pair of panties and a t-shirt, sitting on the counter with your legs swinging against the cabinet as you regard him with keen eyes over the rim of your coffee cup. Tommy doesn’t seem the least bit surprised by the scene.

“This is my brother, Joel,” Tommy says, introducing you by name. “He’s goin’ to be stayin’ in the other spare room while we work on gettin’ a house setup for him.”

“She live here, too?” Joel asks. Tommy’s interrupted by you hopping off the counter.

“She does. That a problem?” You reply. Joel fights to keep his gaze level with yours, to not let his eyes wander to the hard points of your nipples pressed against your shirt or over your legs and your barely clothed pussy.

“No problem at all, darlin’.”

A grin spreads across your face, a wicked gleam in your eye that has the hair on the back of Joel’s neck prickling with unease. You turn to set your empty mug in the sink, and his gaze drops to the curve of your ass in a brief moment of weakness.

“See you around, Joel,” you say, stepping past both men and heading for the stairs, hips swaying. When you’ve disappeared from view, Joel looks to Tommy and finds his younger brother staring after you, eyes dark.

“You with her?” Joel asks, voice rough. Tommy smirks.

“Sometimes.”

________

Joel lies awake in bed, staring into the darkness and waiting for sleep to consume him. He feels himself about to drift off, eyes growing heavy, when he hears a noise through the wall by his head, the wall he shares with the room you are staying in. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, planning to ignore it.

“Fuck!”

“Quiet, baby, we’re not alone anymore.”

The sound of his brother’s voice is followed by a muffled whimper that goes straight to Joel’s cock. He turns on his back, sleeping the last thing on his mind now as more moans drift through the wall to his room. He palms his hardening length, biting his lip to hold back the moan that echoes yours.

“Tommy, please!”

“Always so polite when you want somethin’, huh?”

Joel reaches his hand into his sleep pants, wrapping his hand around his cock with a bitten off groan. He gives himself a few rough strokes, straining to hear more from the room next door. Your little noises grow louder, Tommy’s warning a lost cause. Joel’s eyes flutter shut as he pumps his cock, hips chasing his palm, and he imagines himself in the room with you instead of Tommy.

He’d lay himself between your legs and lap at your cunt like a starving man, tongue circling your clit before dipping inside of you as you writhe beneath him. He would slip a finger inside of your aching hole, pumping it slowly and dragging it across your front wall in tandem with the attention from his tongue on your clit. When you would beg him for more, he’d be gracious enough to work another finger inside of you, stretching you open for him.

“Tommy, come on, stop teasing. Need you to fuck me.”

Joel bites his fist to hold back the groan that claws up his throat. He imagines himself hearing that plea first hand, pulling his fingers free from your dripping wet pussy and bringing them to your lips, a silent demand for you to lick them clean. Only when he’s satisfied would he grip his cock, pressing it to your entrance and sliding each thick inch inside as slowly as he can, driving you wild.

The sound of flesh against flesh joins his fantasy, the dull thud of your bed against the wall like a metronome for his hand over his cock. He thinks about how you would look beneath him, fucked out and cock drunk as he pounded into you.

“God, Tommy, yes, just like that!”

Joel’s vision of you claws at his shoulders in desperation, crying out his name as your cunt flutters around him, squeezing him deliciously. His hips pump frantically now as he chases his orgasm, biting into his knuckle so hard the taste of copper floods his tongue.

“Fuck, yes, yes, I’m gonna cum!”

Joel spills over his hand with a gasp, working himself through it with a loose fist. The only sound he can hear now is the rush of his blood in his ears as his heart pounds a frantic rhythm in his chest.

It’s quiet now, the sound of your moans just an imprint on the ether. Joel’s eyelids grow heavy as his breathing returns to normal.

Sleep comes to him quickly after that.

________

You’re in the kitchen again the next morning when Joel shuffles in. You’re dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt this time, much to Joel’s relief. He’s already dreading looking you in the eye after what he heard and did last night, the last thing he needs is the additional temptation.

You wordlessly pass him an empty mug from the cupboard. He can feel your eyes on him as he pours himself coffee and takes a sip. When he finally meets your eyes, you’re smirking.

“Sleep well, Joel?”

He nearly spits his coffee. “Yeah, slept fine.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want anything to disturb you,” you tell him, patting his shoulder before you leave the kitchen.

That feeling of unease returns to him again as he stares after your retreating figure.

________

It takes two weeks for Joel’s sanity to start fraying at the edges.

He’s two glasses of whiskey deep at the Tipsy Bison, pretending he’s not watching you play pool across the bar. You’re bent over the table to line up your shot, hips swaying enticingly. You shoot, cue ball careening off the edge of the table and into a pocket. You hang your head and laugh as your opponent gives you a hard time. When you look up, your eyes lock on him and you wave him over.

Joel’s feeling just crazy enough to obey.

“You play at all, Joel?” You ask as he approaches, hand on your cocked hip as you lean on the cue stick.

“Have before. Been a while,” he grunts in reply. His short answers don’t deter you.

“Well, you got any tips? I can’t lose to Jeremy again.”

Joel’s eyes flick to Jeremy. The younger man looks away. He’s seen this kid on patrol before, all confident young swagger. He may have already given him a ration of shit for doing some stupid posturing while out on shift.

He returns his attention to you and your expectant gaze. Tossing back the rest of his drink and setting the glass on an empty table, he takes the cue stick from you.

Joel circles the table, eyeing the options. Picking his spot, he hinges at his hips and lays his left hand on the green felt, tilting his thumb up and resting the cue stick in the channel between his thumb and forefinger.

He lines up his shot, drawing his right arm back before shooting forward, knocking the cue ball into the solid dark red ‘7’ ball, sinking it into a pocket.

“Okay, you gotta show me how to do that,” you say as he returns to your side. His shoulder brushes yours as he stands beside you, waiting for Jeremy to take his turn.

When the cue ball settles, you look to him for guidance. Assessing the table, he nudges you towards the most advantageous corner.

“You’re gonna aim for the green one there,” he tells you, pointing in the direction of the green ‘6’ ball positioned in a prime spot. You lean over, just as Joel did, but your legs are too close together, your hips too far from the table.

Without thinking, Joel wraps his hands around your hips, using a foot to knock your feet further apart. He presses a hand between your shoulder blades, forcing your body closer to the table. He leans over you, his hips flush to your ass as he stretches his left arm along yours and demonstrates the position of his fingers for the cue stick.

“Now draw back,” Joel instructs. Your hips shift against him as you do and he bites back a moan, his cock twitching in his jeans. “And let it fly.”

You hit the cue ball into your intended target, sinking it in a pocket. Joel stands as you turn to face him in your excitement, the position pressing you so close your chest brushes his when you inhale sharply.

“Good shot,” he murmurs, eyes dipping to your parted lips.

You smile at him, and he knows he’s been caught just by the gleam in your eye.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Guess I’ll try the next one by myself.”

You’re turned back to the table before he can respond. He watches you expertly position yourself for the shot, tapping another solid ball into a pocket. Your next shot hits against two solids, sending them both into separate pockets.

You go three moves without missing before you land the cue ball at a disadvantageous angle. As Jeremy lines up his shot, your gaze flicks to Joel.

The smirk on your face tells him everything he needs to know.

________

Joel lies awake in bed as the sounds from your room fade, silence settling over him once more. He hears the faint click of your door being shut a few minutes later, signaling Tommy’s left your room.

His cock is hard as a rock, tenting his sleep pants obscenely, a wet spot forming on the fabric. He palms himself, hissing at the friction. Closing his eyes, he conjures up an image of you bent over the pool table, ass in the air and glistening cunt on display for him. You beg him to touch you, to give you some sort of relief, but he holds back.

The feel of his hand around his cock brings hardly any relief. He groans in frustration, bringing his hands to his face and pressing the heel of his palms to his eyes, trying to erase the image of you from his mind.

It’s not enough.

Joel gets up from the bed, pacing, hoping the movement will distract him enough. He tries to think of mundane things, like his to-do list for the morning or the patrol report he has to write or even baseball stats from a lifetime ago, anything to take his mind off the image of you naked and begging for him, making those same sounds that plague his memories.

He’s got a hand on the doorknob before he realizes what he’s doing, turning it slowly and slipping out the gap in the door. He approaches your door, the only sound in the hall is his labored breathing as he grips the handle.

Joel opens your door slowly, easing inside like a shadow. Your beside lamp is still on, bathing the room in a warm glow that allows him to easily find the shape of you in bed, curled up on your side with your bare back facing him.

He moves closer, until he’s standing at the edge of the bed. He trails a finger down the smooth skin of your arm, watching as your muscles jump at the contact. He’s playing with fire here. He knows that what he’s doing is wrong, but he can’t help himself. The softness of your skin is a thousand times more addicting than the noises you make that replay on a loop in his mind.

Joel’s finger nudges the edge of the sheet at your waist, drawing it back with careful movements until he’s exposed the curve of your ass, your pussy just barely visible. His mouth waters at the sight and he palms his cock, biting back a groan.

You wiggle around and Joel freezes, adrenaline coursing through his veins. You turn over onto your back, eyes wide open and a serene smile on your lips.

“Was wondering when you’d give in,” you murmur. You reach your arms above your head, the move drawing Joel’s attention to your breasts, your nipples already tight points. “You’re a bit of a perv, aren’t you? Coming in here after your brother fucked me, all turned on. Touching me.” Your hand reaches out, fingers ghosting over his abdomen and trailing down his cock. His eyes flutter shut as he lets out a pained noise. “You wanna know what Tommy does to me? While you’re in there with just your hand, listening to me cum?”

Joel’s breath is coming in harsh pants now as he opens his eyes to watch you, your hands coming up to knead your breasts and pull at your nipples.

“He always starts with my tits,” you say. “Loves ‘em. Grabbing them, biting them, licking them. God, it feels so good, Joel.”

Your hands slide down your tummy. “Then, when he’s gotten me all wet from just playing with my tits, he’ll tease me with his fingers.”

Joel’s knees feel weak as he watches your hand dip between your thighs, your back arching from the bed as you swirl your fingers through your slick. You raise your hand, fingers glistening in the dim light.

“You want a taste, Joel?” You ask, holding your hand out to him.

He leans forward, eyes glued to yours as he takes your fingers between his lips, the earthy taste of you exploding across his taste buds and making him groan. He plants one knee on the bed, then the other, kneeling beside you now as he licks your fingers clean.

“Good boy,” you murmur when you pull your hand back. His cock twitches at the praise.

“Tommy’s gentle. He likes to get me warmed up for his cock,” you continue, sliding your spit slick fingers into your entrance. “You wouldn’t be gentle, though, would you, Joel?”

“I’d fuckin’ ruin you,” Joel growls. You moan, loud and unrestrained, head tipped back against the mattress and your fingers pumping at a rapid pace. The sound of it is music to his ears.

“When he’s got me all stretched around his fingers,” you finally say, voice breathy and fucked out, “he’ll eat my pussy ‘til I’m begging him to fuck me.”

Joel knows the sound of that. Your desperate pleas for Tommy’s cock, the ones that end in a gasp as his brother puts you out of your misery.

He reaches out, fingers wrapping around your wrist and forcing your hand to still. He takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“You think this is a silly little game, huh?” He asks, pressing your arm up by your head. “Teasin’ me for weeks?”

Your eyes go wide as he crawls between your legs, wrapping his hands beneath your thighs and pressing your knees up towards your chest, spreading you wide for his hungry gaze.

“Look at me,” Joel commands. He licks a broad stripe through your folds, a moan spilling from your lips that bleeds into a litany of curses and pleas as he eats your cunt like a man starved, messy and deep. His tongue dips in your fluttering hole before dragging back up to lavish your clit with attention. He sucks the hard nub, rolling it between his lips as you thrash beneath him and fight against his iron grip.

“Fuck, Joel, so good,” you cry, fingers tangling in his hair. He groans at the feel of your nails on his scalp, squeezing his hands harder around your thighs. “I’m gonna cum!”

“I didn’t say you could,” Joel says as he pulls away abruptly, releasing one of your thighs and using his hand to slap your pussy, right over your clit. The move earns him a surprised shout, your body jerking in his hold.

Joel grabs you by your hips, twisting you until you’re face down on the bed. He hikes your ass up high, landing a smack to one cheek for good measure and reveling in the whine you give him in response.

“Stay still,” he demands, shoving his sleep pants and boxers down his thighs, freeing his aching cock. He notches the thick head at your entrance, sliding in the barest inch. “Feel that, baby?”

“Joel,” you cry. “Please!”

“Please, what?”

“Fuck me! Ruin me!”

Joel slams in deep, fingers pressing bruises into your hips from how tightly he’s holding you. He doesn’t bother letting you adjust, his rhythm a punishment for your teasing and torment. This is nothing like the slow, maddening fuck he’d imagined. He’s rough, primal, aggressive as he thrusts into you, deep as you can take him.

Your moans are muffled against the mattress in this position and that just won’t do. He’s gone weeks hearing them through the wall, he wants them directly in his ear now. He leans over you, dragging you up by the shoulder so that you’re on your knees with your back to his chest, looping his other arm around your ribs and gripping your breast roughly in his hand.

“Joel!” You sob, head leaning back towards his shoulder and putting your faces close. He tilts his lips to yours, the kiss messy and desperate as he slides through your fluttering heat.

“Cum for me,” he grunts, holding your face against his with a hand around your throat. “Cum all over my cock, baby.”

He can feel you tighten around him, your moans reaching a crescendo that he recognizes intimately. You shake in his hold, the slide of him inside of you slicker than before with your release.

“Tell me, baby, does Tommy ever cum in this perfect cunt?” He asks. You shake your head and he grins, biting into your shoulder roughly, making you shout. “You were just waitin’ for me to come around and fill this little pussy up, huh?”

You’re boneless in his arms but you give a weak little nod. “Please, Joel, want you to fill me up.”

Your words are the final nail in his coffin, his orgasm hitting him with a burst of light across his vision as he groans into your ear, hips pressing tight to yours as he spills inside of you.

________

The next morning, Joel wakes to an empty bed in a room he doesn’t recognize, sleep pants and boxers still tangled around his thighs. He pulls them up and rolls from the bed, leaving the room and following the scent of coffee.

Both you and Tommy are in the kitchen, laughing when he shuffles in. You hop from the counter and bring a mug over to him, settling it in his hands.

“How’d you sleep, brother?” Tommy asks. He’s got a shit eating grin on his face, one that matches the smirk you’re trying, and failing, to hide on your own.

“Never better,” Joel says, smiling as you burst into giggles and Tommy claps him on the shoulder.

Tommy wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into a kiss. Joel tugs you out of his hold and against his body, kissing you deeply.

Joel and Tommy are good at sharing, just as brothers always should be.

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #no use of y/n #joel tlou #joel x reader #tlou fanfiction #tommy miller #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x female reader #joel x female reader #proxima writes tarot pull #joel miller x the devil

381 notes · View notes

hauntedhowlett-writes · 1 year ago

Note

Joel/the moon with smut and/or angst.

Maybe he’s seeing someone he isn’t supposed to be seeing and they have to sneak around and find time to fuck 🤷🏻‍♀️

Maybe he sneaks into her bedroom when there are other people in the house and they have to keep quiet (with his hand over her mouth et )

hi anon! i'm sorry you've been waiting FOREVER for this, but i hope you enjoy!

xviii - the moon - deception, fear, secrets

The Moon may represent a secret love affair.

swimmin' pool glimmerin', darlin'

pairing: pool boy!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 2k

summary:

Your husband is frequently away for business. You may be a housewife, but you're certainly not lonely. Not when Joel Miller of Miller's Water Works shows up to clean your pool.

dear reader:

i hope you enjoy this little fic. if you do, please consider reblogging, commenting, or even sliding into my inbox. i love hearing from you <3

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), alternate universe - pre/no outbreak, no mentioned age difference, infidelity, no use of y/n, reader wearing a bathing suit, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, pet names, almost getting caught. let me know if any are missing!

“Don’t forget the pool guy is coming today,” your husband says as he fits the lid on his travel mug of espresso. His suitcase waits for him by the door, packed and ready for another business trip. You hold back a sigh. Of course you know the pool guy is coming. You’re the one that scheduled him.

“Of course,” you reply, a serene smile on your lips. Your husband comes around the island, leaning close to kiss your lips.

You let your eyes flutter shut, let your lips press to his. He smells like the Armani cologne you bought him last Christmas and he tastes like the protein bar he ate for breakfast. He pulls back and smiles at you.

“I better get out of here before I get stuck in traffic,” he says, pulling away. You follow him to the front door, watching as he sets the suitcase in the trunk of his fancy sports car, the black exterior sparkling clean. As he starts the car and pulls away, you blow him a kiss that he pretends to catch before driving off. You watch the car grow smaller and smaller until it disappears around the corner.

You shut the door, the house quiet and empty. Just a few months ago you would have hated the crushing loneliness but you’ve grown used to it now. Besides, you won’t be lonely for long.

About an hour after your husband has left, you hear the familiar rumble of a pickup truck, the sound of it kicking your pulse into overdrive. There’s a knock on your front door and you rush to open it.

Standing on the other side of the threshold is Joel Miller, owner of Miller’s Water Works. His tall, broad frame blocks out the early morning sun rising at his back, casting a halo around his already sweat damp frame. He smiles at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he says, “Mornin’, m’am.”

You lick your lips. “Good morning, Joel,” you say. His t-shirt stretches tight against his thick chest, the material thin enough that you can see the outline of his pecs and the sleeves squeeze his biceps. You know if you let your eyes wander further, you’d see his customary red bathing suit shorts, the ones that hit mid thigh and highlight his shapely ass when he bends over the filter or skims the pool surface with the net.

“You mind openin’ the gate for me?” He asks, resting a forearm on the doorframe and leaning close. “You gonna join me outside today?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, voice breathy as you stare into his brown eyes. You clear your throat. “Let me just grab my stuff and I’ll let you inside.”

“Sounds good.”

He steps back from the front door and you shut it, leaning against it to take a steadying breath before heading to your bedroom. In your massive closet, you rifle through your designated swimsuit drawer until you find the matching pieces of your favorite suit and change into it.

You pull on a cover up and step into a pair of flip flops, consulting the full length mirror to ensure you look good. Satisfied, you fill a bag with your sunscreen, a towel, your sunglasses, and a book you’ve been trying to read. Finally ready, you enter the backyard through the glass french doors in the master bedroom, dropping your bag on a lounge chair and heading for the side gate of the metal fence surrounding the back half of you and your husband’s two acre property.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you say to Joel as he walks through, carrying all his necessary equipment. He grins at you.

“You’re worth the wait,” he says with a wink.

You can feel your entire body grow hot at his flirtatious words. You follow him to the pool deck, laying out your towel on a lounge chair and positioning the backrest to your liking as you watch Joel get started with his tasks. You settle yourself in your seat and retrieve your sunglasses, settling them on the bridge of your nose. Your book is open on your lap, but the words are lost as you watch Joel work.

He’s kneeling down by the filter, swim trunks riding high enough up on his thighs that you can see the paler skin that doesn’t get as much daily sun. He sits back on his heels, running the back of his hand over his sweat damp forehead. You watch him reach behind his neck, dragging his shirt up over his head.

Your mouth goes dry as you let your eyes scan the strong muscles as he works. He stands, turning to face you and giving you the opportunity to ogle his tan chest and the way his abdomen is trim but still soft, looking particularly delicious glistening in the sun. He grabs the leaf skimmer and begins cleaning the surface of what little debris has accumulated since he was last here a week ago.

When he’s done, he gathers his supplies and tools together, approaching your chair with a smile.

“Alright, I’m all done for today. Is there anythin’ else I can help you with before I go?” He asks. His eyes trails down your body and you can feel his gaze like a caress across your skin.

Feeling bold, you sit up and grab your sunscreen, holding the bottle out to him. “Actually, would you mind getting my back for me?”

“‘Course not,” he replies, setting his stuff down. “Lean forward a bit more.”

You expect him to remain standing, to simply smooth the lotion across your back and be on his way, but to your surprise he throws a leg across the chair and sits behind you, thighs bracketing yours. You hear the click of the lotion cap behind you, followed by the sound of Joel squeezing some into his hands and rubbing them together.

He starts on your neck, a broad palm on either side of your throat pressing with enough force that you worry he may feel the way your pulse races beneath his hands. He smooths the lotion across your shoulders and down your arms, returning to your upper back. His fingers dip beneath the strings knotted together in the middle of your back.

“You’re so warm,” he says, his hands now at your waist. You inhale a shaky breath.

“S’hot out,” you manage to reply. His hands slide to your low back, his thumbs dipping beneath the elastic of your bikini bottoms.

“Mm, that the only thing makin’ you hot and bothered?” Joel asks. He rests his hands on your thighs, his back pressed to yours and his lips close to your ear. “Anythin’ else I can help you with?”

You swallow nervously. You want him to touch you so badly but you can’t find the words. Instead, you place a hand over one of his, hoping it conveys the message you want to send.

“Show me what you want, pretty girl,” he whispers. You widen your legs, moving his hand to your inner thigh. “Only here?” He asks, squeezing the flesh of your thigh in his hand.

You whimper at the rough grip, your head dropping back to his shoulder. He turns his face to look at you, those sweet brown eyes now dark with lust, and you can’t help but press a tiny kiss to his jaw. His eyes flutter shut as you do, so you kiss him again. And again.

His fingers find the edge of the bathing suit, slipping beneath the fabric and dragging through your slick folds. You moan, hips bucking against his hand.

“Oh, poor baby,” he coos, “sittin’ pretty over here with your cunt achin’ to be touched, ain’t that right?” You nod your head rapidly and he withdraws his hand, sliding it into your bottoms from the front so that he can cup your whole pussy. “Christ, how’d I get so lucky, huh? Lettin’ me pet this pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

“Joel,” you whine, writhing against him as he circles your clit with his rough fingers. He sets an unhurried rhythm, like he’s got all the time in the world and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than bringing you pleasure.

“That’s it, sweetheart, tell me who’s touchin’ you so good,” he says, teeth scraping your shoulder. His other hand moves the fabric covering your breasts to the side, exposing your tight nipples to the warm air. He pinched one bud in his fingers, making you cry out. “Say it.”

“Joel! Oh god, Joel, please,” you plead. One thick finger slips inside of you, making you gasp and arch your back against him. The movement makes you aware of a hardness pressing against your low back and the idea that he’s enjoying this as much as you has your mind reeling.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel growls. He adds another finger and the stretch of it is delicious, the slight sting making your breath short and your mind fuzzy. His thumb presses on your clit as he works his fingers in and out of your tight heat. “You wanna know somethin’?” You nod your head, hips chasing his fingers as the pressure of your release begins to build.

“Every time I come here to take care of that fancy pool of yours, I think about bendin’ you over one of these chairs.” His fingers move faster, curling inside of you. “Or maybe you’d be nice enough to let me cool off in the pool on a hot day and you’d sit on the edge, legs spread wide as they’ll go so that I can taste your sweet pussy.”

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” you beg. Your hand grips his thigh, holding on desperately. You’re so close, your toes curling with the impending rush of pleasure.

The sound of an obnoxious sports car engine breaks through the cloud of lust fogging your brain. You try to sit up, but Joel wraps an arm around you and holds you tight to his chest. He works his hand harder, circles your clit faster, the sudden change making you cry out.

He brings his hand to your mouth, bringing his mouth close to your ear to whisper, “Sounds like that pretty boy husband of yours might be home, baby, but I’m gonna finish what I started, alright? You’re gonna cum on my fuckin’ hand, okay?”

You nod, muffled whines spilling into his palm. A car door slams. Your muscles grow tight, pussy pulsing around Joel’s fingers and your mouth drops open behind his hand in a silent scream.

“Honey?” Your husband calls, far enough away that you think he may still be near the front door.

Joel withdraws his hand from your suit bottoms and drops the other from your lips. Your chest is heaving with labored breaths as he calmly stands, adjusting himself in his swim trunks and grabbing his shirt from his pile of stuff. He slips it on as the glass door to the kitchen slides open, your husband stepping out into the backyard, hand held over his eyes to shield them from the bright sun. Joel turns to face him.

“Hey, sir, how’re you doin’? I was just finishin’ up out here for the week,” Joel says, holding a hand out for your husband to shake. Your eyes widen as you watch him grasp your husband's hand with the same one that had just been buried between your legs.

“Could be better. Flight got canceled and there’s not another until tomorrow. But it does mean some extra time at home,” your husband replies, looking over Joel’s shoulder and giving you a wink. “Good to see you, Joel.”

“Likewise, I’ll get out of your hair,” Joel replies. Your husband comes to stand beside your chair, his back turned to Joel as he leans down to kiss your cheek. Behind him, you watch Joel slip his fingers into his mouth, his dark eyes glued to you as he licks them clean. He gathers his stuff, heading towards the gate.

“I’ll see you next week! It’s supposed to be a scorcher!” He calls out. You bite your lip to hide your smile.

Maybe you’ll be nice enough to let him cool off in the water next week.

Joel Miller masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #proxima writes tarot pull #fic request

184 notes · View notes

hauntedhowlett-writes · 2 years ago

Text

coming soon:

post-outbreak!joel miller - the devil tarot pull

the devil - upright

temptation, addiction, sexuality, powerful attraction

summary:

Staying with Tommy comes with a caveat - the temptation of you in the bedroom next door.

cw: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), side tommy x female reader, voyeurism, dirty talk, praise, not a threesome fic

now available here

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel x reader #proxima writes tarot pull

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 2 years ago

Note

Hanged man with frankie please!

thank you for the request 💕

tarot pull: hanged man - reverse

meaning: the hanged man in reverse can indicate impulsive and rash decisions.

title: invisible string

pairing: frankie morales x female reader (nicknamed Baby)

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 5472

summary:

After fifteen years, the invisible string that ties you to Frankie Morales pulls you back together.

author's note: i had this in the works before my tarot announcement but it fits great, so i hope you enjoy. please consider reblogging or commenting if you do!

content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, friends to lovers to strangers to lovers, childhood sweethearts, reunion, reader is nicknamed Baby, potentially bad spanish translations, alcohol consumption, dance floor altercations, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v, dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, multiple orgasms, references to their childhood together, enlistment. let me know if any are missing!

Frankie vividly remembers the day that he met the love of his life.

He was six years old, a gangly kid with messy brown curls running barefoot around the ranch, catching frogs in the stream before the sun got too low in the sky and his mamá called him inside for dinner. He heard the moving truck and peeked at the palatial property that bordered his parent’s own humble farm. Men carried furniture and boxes from the trucks while another man watched on, hands on his hips in the same way Frankie’s own dad would watch him to make sure he cleaned up his room.

A blur of movement darted from the front door, startling two men carrying a rather ugly floral couch. The blur barreled straight into the legs of the man in charge, and Frankie watched his stoic face light up as he wrapped his arms around what appeared to be a young girl.

Later that night, at the dinner table, his parents discussed the new neighbors, and how they wanted to welcome them to their new home. The next day, his mamá baked two loaves of bread and collected some eggs from the coop, arranging them in a basket that she placed in Frankie’s arms with a warning to watch his step as they made their way next door.

His papá knocked on the door, smoothing his hands down his Wranglers. The door was opened by a lady he hadn’t seen while spying yesterday. She looked kind and gentle, and had welcomed them inside, thanking them profusely for the basket. Frankie had looked around the grand entrance, all marble and gold, before the man appeared. He shook hands with his parents, thanking them as well and offering everyone a drink.

Then the blur came down the stairs and Frankie got his first good look at you. A girl with big, bright eyes and an uneven smile.

“Oh, there you are, sweetheart.” Your mamá opened her arms to you, which you folded yourself into as you peeked shyly at Frankie and his family. “This is the Morales family. They live on the farm next door, and they brought us a gift.”

“Hi,” you said, waving your hand.

Your mamá had introduced you by name but added, “Everyone just calls her Baby.”

You’d looked Frankie right in the eye before grabbing his hand excitedly. “You wanna go find tadpoles in the pond?”

“Sure!”

And that was the start of it all.

________

Frankie also vividly remembers the day he lost the love of his life.

He was eighteen and about to graduate from high school with no solid plan. All he knew is that he wanted to fly.

The problem with that dream was the price tag.

With that in mind, the Army recruiting table called out to him. They would pay for flight training. He barely had to hear about anything else before he signed his name.

“I’m gonna learn how to fly!” He announced that night at dinner, waving his enlistment agreement in the air. The conversation around the table went quiet.

“Mijo…,” his papá had said, eyes flicking to you.

He’d been too excited to see the pain in your features.

“They’ll pay for flight school, and there’s an enlistment bonus,” he continues.

“If…if that’s what you want to do,” his mamá said with a watery smile. She picked up her empty plate, nudging his papá with her elbow. “Help me in the kitchen.”

His papá had given him one last loaded look before following his wife through the doorway. Frankie turned to you.

“I know it’s a lot, but as soon as you graduate we can get married and then you’ll be able to live on the base with me,” he told you as he reached for your hand.

You pulled back. “What are you talking about, Frankie?”

“I’ve got it all planned out. You graduate next year, we get married, and then you can move in with me.”

“But…what about college? You know I want to go to school.”

Frankie huffed. “You can go to school online or somewhere near base.”

“That’s not…,” you trailed off. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears from your eyes. “I want to go to UCLA, remember?” Your voice was smaller than he’d ever heard it.

He rolls his eyes. “So, what? You’re not gonna come with me? What about us?”

“I…no. Why should I have to give up what I’ve been working toward? What makes your dream more important than mine?”

“This is the only way I can even touch my dream, Baby! Not all of us have a rich daddy who can buy them a college degree!”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. The gutted look on your face and the tears you refused to let fall would all brand themselves on the back of his eyelids from this point forward.

“If that’s what you really think,” you took a deep breath, “then I guess there’s nothing more to say.”

Frankie held strong despite wanting to crumble. “I guess so.”

You nodded once and stood, tossing your napkin on your plate. Without another word, you walked out the dining room and out the front door.

And out of his life.

His mamá joined him at the table and rubbed a soothing hand across his back. “Mijo,” she murmured. “Is this really what you want?”

“I want to fly,” he replied. “But I don’t…I don’t want to lose her.”

“I don’t think you’ve lost her. But I think you’ll have to find each other again.”

__________

Fifteen Years Later

Frankie’s nursing a pint of beer at the hotel bar, surrounded by his best friends and fellow soldiers. The ambient noises of Las Vegas filter through the door every time it opens. Will is giving his brother, Benny, a hard time about where he disappeared to last night when they had all been taking advantage of the casino.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Benny replies, feigning insult. “Besides you were obviously occupied enough. Bet you didn’t even miss me.”

“Oh, really? What were you occupied with exactly?” Claire, Will’s fiance, asks.

“We were playing poker,” Santi chimes in. “Will lost, by the way. Hope you weren’t looking forward to a honeymoon.”

Will punches Santi in the shoulder. Claire checks her phone. She’s waiting on her best friend and maid of honor to come down and join the group. Her flight had been late so she was running behind schedule.

Claire and Will opted not to have separate bachelor and bachelorette parties and instead wanted to do a bar crawl with everyone who’d come in early for their Vegas wedding. She’s wearing a crown and a sash proclaiming her as the bride, which her maid of honor had shipped to her ahead of time so she’d have it in case she was late.

“She’s a doctor, so her schedule’s super hectic. She was supposed to be here last night, but she had to rebook her flight for late today due to an emergency case,” Claire had explained. “I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

“Your mystery best friend,” Benny jokes. “I’m starting to think she doesn’t exist.”

Claire and Will have been together for three years now, and have decided to finally tie the knot. And for all three of those years, he and the guys have heard about her best friend and former college roommate who lives in California, but no one, not even Will, has met her.

Claire looks toward the entrance of the hotel bar and her eyes light up before she shoves away from the table, teetering on precariously high heels at a speed Frankie can’t even fathom in footwear like that. She collides with a woman in the doorway, enveloping her in a hug as she squeals.

Frankie watches in amusement before the two women turn, putting the newcomer in better view. His heart stops.

Claire drags you over to the group, introducing you by name before adding, “But everyone calls her–”

“Baby,” Frankie finishes. Your eyes go wide.

“Francisco?”

“You two know each other?” Claire asks, looking between the two of you, brows pinched in confusion.

“We used to be neighbors,” you reply softly. Frankie feels his heart fracture the slightest bit more at being reduced to just neighbors, but he supposes he deserves that.

“Wow! What a coincidence!” Claire exclaims. Frankie can feel Santi’s eyes trying to drill a hole through his head for how hard he’s staring at him. “Alright, Baby, now that you’re finally here, let’s do introductions. This is Will, obviously, you’ve seen him in pictures, and this is his best man and little brother, Benny. That’s Santi, and of course you know Frankie. Tom was supposed to come, too, but his daughter got sick so he stayed home.” She points to each man in turn. Will gives you a solid handshake. Benny and Santi both pull you into hugs. Frankie has no idea how you’re supposed to greet the woman he’s missed for fifteen years.

Thankfully, you put him out of his misery by looping your arms around his shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze that he doesn’t even have time to reciprocate before you’re pulling away. You smile politely at everyone before Claire drags you off to the bar to order a round of shots. Frankie stares after you.

“What’s the deal there?” Santi asks, arms crossed in that way that tells Frankie he better not try to lie, because it’s not going to work. He sighs.

“She was my high school sweetheart. We broke it off when I enlisted.” He runs a hand through his hair before redirecting his nervous energy into chugging the remainder of his beer. Benny’s eyes go wide.

“No shit?” He looks towards the bar, his eyes sliding over you and Claire in a way that makes Frankie’s jaw tense. “Bet you feel like a fuckin’ idiot now.”

Tell me about it, Frankie thinks.

When you and Claire return to the table with a tray of tequila and limes, the bride-to-be leads everyone in a toast.

“To good times, great friends, and better drinks,” she announces before tapping her shot glass to the table and slamming the tequila back with a tilt of her head.

Frankie watches you, files away the vision of your lips wrapped around the rim of the shot glass and the movement of your throat as you swallow the liquor. Your face screws up in disgust and you reach frantically for a lime.

He passes you one, his fingers brushing yours and sending goosebumps down his arms.

“Thanks,” you murmur, biting into the sour fruit. You glance up at him and the flutter of your lashes feels like a fist straight to the heart.

Fuck.

________

To say seeing Frankie among the group gathered for Claire and Will’s Vegas wedding was a surprise is an understatement.

After leaving the Morales ranch that evening fifteen years ago, you’d removed yourself from Frankie’s life. You didn’t attend his graduation, or the party that his parents threw him. You didn’t see him off to basic, you weren’t there when he came home for leave. You didn’t answer his calls or open his letters, still too hurt from his parting words to hear from him. Until leaving for college, you would occasionally visit Mr. and Mrs. Morales for dinner, where they would slip in little tidbits of information about how their son was doing and you did your best to pretend like you didn’t care, even though you soaked up any information they would give you.

“Frankie’s finished basic. He’s planning on applying to warrant officer candidate school…”

“Did we tell you that Frankie got to Alabama? He’s really on track to becoming a pilot…”

“Frankie finished his officer course and now he’s going to start aviation school. We’re so proud of him…”

And while Frankie chased his dream, you were admitted to UCLA, where you pursued a degree in biology on a pre-med track. Your roommate, Claire, was getting her degree in criminology on a pre-law track. You got along with her like a house on fire and you stuck by each other’s sides through undergrad, and even applied to professional school together, leaning heavily on each other through the long nights of studying.

When Claire finished law school, she moved to Florida to be closer to her parents, where she met Will while you remained in California for your residency in neurosurgery. You stayed in touch, video chatting at least once a week, sometimes more if Will was deployed.

Turns out Claire’s amazing new boyfriend came with a whole crew of men that were part of the same spec ops team as him. You’d heard their names plenty of times before, but never did you think to make a connection between “Will’s friend, Frankie” and the boy who’d broken your heart.

Now you’re shoulder to shoulder in a crowded bar with a man you’ve never met before, a part of you mourning the boy you’d left behind. But years between that night and now have left you with an understanding that you were both wrong and stubborn in the way teenagers seem especially guilty of. You’d like to get to know this new person with the face of your old love, if he’ll let you.

Claire shoulders her way through the crowd to the bar for another drink, Will pressed at her back, head swiveling around as he cases the place in the same manner the other men with you are doing as they sit around the booth with their drinks.

“You guys look like owls,” you say to Frankie. He looks at you in surprise.

“What?”

“Owls. With the head turning, scanning for threats.” You take a sip of your martini.

“Hard habit to break,” Frankie finally says after a moment, his cheeks pink in the low light.

“I’ll be back,” Benny announces, eyes focused on a group of girls in short skirts, one of which is sporting a birthday sash not unlike the bridal one you got for Claire.

Santi sighs. “I better keep an eye on him.”

That leaves you with Frankie, who’s picking at the label of his beer bottle like it’s personally offended him. He takes a deep breath.

“I should apologize,” he rushes to say. You tilt your head. “For how things ended. I’m sure you hate me—“

“I don’t hate you, Francisco.”

He looks surprised. “You don’t?”

“If you had asked me that when I was nineteen…I’d probably have a different answer. We were just dumb teenagers who didn’t know any better,” you tell him. His shoulders relax.

“You were never dumb,” he replies. “I was the idiot there, diving headfirst into something I hadn’t even thought through. Like usual.”

“You seem to be doing well, though.”

His laugh is strained. “It’s been…rough.”

“I’m sorry,” you reply, unsure of what else to say. You rest a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, rubbing gently. He looks up at you, big brown eyes slingshotting you right back to the days where you’d catch tadpoles together, to the nights in your late teens where you’d fool around in his truck in the woods to avoid getting caught by your parents.

Claire comes back to the table with another round of shots, passing them to you and Frankie. The man beside you holds his shot glass up, an eyebrow raised at you expectantly. You tap your glass to his before shooting back the liquor, sour mix and vodka burning down your throat as you keep your eyes fixed to Frankie.

You don’t miss the way his eyes go dark as he tracks the movement of your tongue across your lips.

________

You’re on the dance floor, your body moving with Claire’s to the club mix the DJ is spinning. Will stands behind his fiancé like a guard, legs braced wide and body unmoving as she has her fun around him. His lips tilt in a little smile every time her hands slide over him.

The table Claire had dragged you from is still in view, Frankie nursing another beer with Santi and Benny, who had returned unsuccessful in their chase of the group of birthday girls. Frankie’s eyes find yours, like he can feel you looking at him.

Maybe he can. Maybe the connection between the two of you, the invisible string that’s been wrapped between your hearts since you were only children, just needs to be dusted off. Not rebuilt.

The slide of hands around your hips and fingertips on the hem of your dress breaks you from your thoughts and your movement grinds to a halt.

“Why’d you stop, gorgeous? Just wanted one little dance,” a voice says, too close to your ear and too loud over the music for comfort. You dip away, turning to confront the man. A different body presses to you, one that shouldn’t feel as familiar as it does.

“Not interested,” you shout back.

Stupidly, the man reaches out for you again. Frankie’s hand wraps around his wrist, your old love twisting the man’s arm sharply as he snaps, “She said no.”

The man’s face goes red with rage, but Frankie doesn’t give him the chance to react, using his grip on his wrist to twist it until the man is turned away, arm angled painfully and pinned to his back. Will crowds in next to Frankie while Claire presses to your side.

Frankie gives the man a harsh shove, his body breaking through the crowd of people and crashing to the ground. Men in black SECURITY shirts descend, flashlights pointed at the scene. One grabs the man on the ground while the other grasps Frankie’s shoulder, tugging him along.

“Hey, wait!” Claire starts to protest, but they keep moving.

“I’m gonna go with them,” you tell her. She nods, pulling you in to press a kiss to your cheek. You follow the security guards through the crowd until they’re at the exit, shoving both men back onto the bustling Las Vegas strip.

“Francisco!” You call after the man. He freezes, turning toward you. You look into the man’s face, searching his apologetic expression curiously.

“Sorry, Baby,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t have to leave ‘cause of me, you can go back and have fun.”

“Don’t apologize, Frankie. Come on, let’s just head back to the hotel, I was getting tired anyways.” You turn to walk away, expecting him to follow, but he grabs your wrist, gently, a juxtaposition to the bruising force he’d used on the man in the club.

“You called me Frankie,” he murmurs. Your brow furrows and seeing your confusion, he continues. “You’ve been calling me Francisco but just now…you called me Frankie.”

“I guess I did,” you murmur, your gaze trapped in his. God, the way he’s looking at you makes you feel just like when you were fifteen, when you’d been laying beside each other in the field and he worked up the courage to kiss you for the first time. The hand around your wrist slides lower, warm palm kissing yours and tangling your fingers together.

“Lead the way,” he says.

________

Frankie has the same rush in his veins that he gets when he’s flying, soaring through the clouds like nothing can touch him, and it’s all because of your hand wrapped in his and the sound of his name from your lips after fifteen long years. It awakened a dormant part of him that he buried behind memories of you, ones where you were laughing and smiling at him like he’d hung the moon and stars in your honor.

When you reach the elevators, hands still clasped, you press the button for your floor. You don’t ask which floor Frankie is on, and he doesn’t offer it. He just holds your hand tighter and smiles when you squeeze him back.

You only let go of his hand when you’re at your door, digging your room key from your purse. You swipe the card, pushing into the room and holding the door open behind you for Frankie.

The room is dark, but the blackout curtains are open, the glittering lights of the Las Vegas strip illuminating the room. You set your bag on the desk before turning to lean against it, regarding him with those keen eyes and open expression that have haunted his dreams since leaving home.

“Hi,” you murmur.

“Hi,” Frankie echoes. He takes a step closer. “What are you thinking about?”

You smile, ducking your head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Well, now you gotta tell me.”

“I was just thinking…I didn’t even get to kiss you goodbye.”

Frankie pauses. “You could kiss me hello instead,” he says carefully, reaching for your hand. You let him pull it from where it’s curled around the edge of the desk and he steps closer, his chest now brushing yours when he takes a deep inhale, the citrus and mint scent of you invading his senses.

“Yeah?” You whisper.

“Yeah.”

You lean across the scant few inches left between your bodies, pressing your lips to his. His eyes flutter shut, savoring the experience. It feels like a homecoming he didn’t know he missed out on.

He can feel you drawing back, but he doesn’t want this to end. His hands come up, framing your face in his. He almost feels bad about it, holding your precious face between hands that killed while you were off saving lives, but when you gasp and he gets the opportunity to dip his tongue between your lips, he’s forgetting all about his morbid thoughts.

Frankie wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you onto the desk and stepping between your spread legs. He drops his hands to your knees, sliding them up your thighs until his fingers tease the short hem of your dress.

“Frankie,” you whine as his lips descend on your neck, leaving soft kisses and teasing bites of his teeth on your soft skin. He can’t help but smile.

“What do you want, mi querida,” he murmurs. Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders and he can feel your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He thinks back to nights when he’d borrow the truck and a pile of blankets, taking you out to the middle of the fields to stare up at the stars, his head pillowed on your stomach as you played with his hair in much the same way.

“Just you, Frankie,” you whisper. “Please?”

________

At your plea, Frankie takes a step back, helping you down from the desk. His hands are immediately lifting your dress up and over your head, leaving you in the lingerie set you’d worn.

“Christ, Baby, you’re killin’ me,” he groans. He pulls you close, his lips trailing along the newly exposed skin of your chest, hot as a brand. He snaps the elastic of your panties against your hip, making you jump. “Thinkin’ you would get lucky tonight?”

You smirk at him. “Maybe. Claire did say Will had hot friends, after all.”

Frankie’s eyes go dark, the sweet brown of them swallowed by lust as he turns your body and guides you backwards until you hit the bed. He crawls up after you, lying on his belly as his broad shoulders force your legs apart.

He turns his head to kiss a trail up your thigh, stopping just shy of where you desperately want his mouth before he gives the same attention to your other leg. You squirm beneath him, already so worked up because this is Frankie. The boy who chased after rabbits with you on the farm when you were children, the one that made you a jewelry box in woodshop in tenth grade, the one who touched you with shaking hands and fevered lips when you were sixteen.

“Te extrañé mucho,” he says, placing a kiss right over your clit through your soaked panties, making you gasp. He sits up on his knees to give himself space to pull them down your thighs, balling them up and shoving them in the pocket of his pants. You raise an eyebrow at him and he smirks. “You won’t be needing those, don’t worry.”

Frankie resumes his position, flat on his stomach between your legs. He leans in close, his breath ghosting across your aching clit before he puts you out of your misery, his tongue dragging through your folds as he hums appreciatively.

“Fuck, Baby,” he groans before diving in, tongue swirling around your clit and dipping lower to lap at your entrance, his nose bumping your sensitive nub and driving you crazy, your hips already writhing beneath him. He places a heavy hand on your hip, holding you down and you can’t help the little moan that leaves you.

You reach down, tangling your fingers into his soft curls. He groans against your heat, tongue moving faster over your clit as he reaches up and slides a finger inside of you, your back arching in appreciation. He looks up at you as he works your body with expert precision, mouth and fingers working in tandem and bringing you to the edge with record speed. When he works a second finger inside of you, the stretch of them makes you moan.

“Want you to cum all over my fingers, sweetheart. Come on, I’ve been a starving man for fifteen years, you gotta give it to me,” he says, fingers curling on each withdrawal of his hand.

“Frankie,” you moan, hips pumping desperately, fingers pulling his hair so tightly you’re certain it hurts but all he does is moan, the sound of it music to your ears and enough to send you toppling over the edge.

He works you through it, fingers slowing as he lifts his mouth to smile at you, a lust drunk tilt of his glistening lips. His head tilts to your thigh and he nuzzles his nose against the sweat damp skin. It takes you a moment to realize he’s not removing his fingers. In fact, they start curling against you again, softly at first, then with more intent when you can’t hold back a moan.

“Can you give me another one? Please?” Frankie asks, his thumb now circling your clit. “Need it so bad, cariño.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “Frankie, please!”

“What do you need, Baby?”

“Your mouth, god, please,” you beg, nearly incoherent with your desire for him. “Need it so bad.”

The strokes of his tongue are leisurely, wide swipes that drive you wild, your fists curling into the sheets as your back arches from the mattress.

“Please fuck me, Frankie,” you plead.

“One more for me, Baby, and I promise I will,” he says, fingers moving faster and sucking your throbbing clit between his lips.

You come again, clenching around his fingers as you cry out a prayer of his name. He lifts his head, eyes laser focused on you as he works you through this second release.

“That’s right, Baby, such a good girl for me,” Frankie growls. He finally pulls away, standing at the side of the bed to hastily remove his clothes.

He removes his shirt first, revealing miles of tan skin that makes your mouth water. He’s gotten thicker since you last saw him, his formerly lean muscles now hard with strength. You can’t help but catalog the new scars he’s gained, like the slash across his ribs and a circular one on his abdomen.

Frankie’s eyes trap yours as his hands come to the fly of his pants, popping the button and dragging down the zipper. He shoves the fabric down his thighs along with his boxers, standing gloriously naked before you, his thick cock

“You keep looking at me like that, Baby, this is gonna be over before it even starts,” he jokes as he crawls back onto the bed and between your legs. He presses his hips between yours, his hard cock sliding through your wetness and making you gasp. He freezes. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

“I don’t care,” you murmur, dragging your nails down his back. “Please, I need you so fucking bad.”

Frankie’s head drops, fevered kisses pressed to your neck, words you can’t make out murmured against your skin as he reaches between your bodies and notches the head of his cock to your entrance, pressing in slowly as you gasp.

“Aquí es donde estaba destinado a estar,” he says. “You feel that, Baby? How you’re still made just for me?”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your heart bursting with that overwhelming feeling of home as you look up into Frankie’s gorgeous face. He leans closer, his chest against yours as he draws his hips back before thrusting sharply back into you. His cock fills you so completely, dragging against the spot in you that drives you wild, your sensitive walls already fluttering around him.

Those tears spill from your eyes, sticking to your lashes and slipping down your temples. Frankie leans down, kissing each side of your face where the salty tracks are, so gentle it makes them rush faster.

“Baby,” he murmurs. “Don’t cry. You know I could never stand it.”

That takes you back to when you were children, no older than eight, and a newborn calf had passed in the night. You cried into Frankie’s shirt until it was soaked.

Or when you were fourteen and didn’t make the cheer squad, fighting back tears on the bus home as Frankie held your hand in his, whispering about how they didn’t know what they would be missing.

Most of all, it takes you back to when he ripped a cavern between your souls. His parting words, the vitriol in them, and the way your heart felt shattered for years.

Frankie captures your lips with his, like he knows where your mind wandered. It feels like an apology and a promise in the same shared breath.

He pulls back, focusing his efforts on the movement of his hips against yours with deep, sharp thrusts that leave you gasping and babbling his name like the sweetest prayer and plea.

This orgasm is slow, syrupy, all encompassing as it washes over you. You shake beneath him with the power of it and he presses his body to yours as his hips stutter in their rhythm, chasing his release. He buries his head against your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he moans your name, pulsing inside of you.

Frankie collapses beside you, folding you in his arms as he whispers praise against your temple. You can feel his heart racing against the palm of your hand where it rests on his chest.

“It’s funny,” Frankie says.

“What is?” You ask.

“Mamá said I didn’t lose you, just had to find you again.” He grins at you. “Guess she was right, huh?”

You grin back. “Yeah. She always was.”

________

Six Months Later

Frankie checks his watch for the thousandth time, then checks the arrivals screen at the airport.

He removes his cap, running a hand through his hair nervously. You’ll be back in his arms any minute but it feels like it’s taking forever.

The baggage claim alarm sounds, the conveyor belt grinding into motion. A wave of people appears at the top of the stairs leading from the terminals to the baggage claim, crowding the escalators and stairs. Frankie’s eyes scan every face in search of you.

A blur of movement from his left is all the warning he gets before a body slams into him, nearly knocking him off balance and punching the air from his lungs.

“Fuck, I missed you,” you say against his chest, nuzzling your face against the fabric of his shirt.

Frankie chuckles, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I missed you, too, Mrs. Morales.”

The ring on your left hand catches the light, a purchase from the hotel jewelry store in the early morning hours of your weekend in Vegas. Giggly and full of excitement, fingers tangled together as he pulled you along the strip in search of a wedding chapel. It didn’t take long with one on every corner, a man in an Elvis costume having you repeat your vows after him as you grinned at each other.

Frankie will vividly remember it as the day the love of his life came back to him.

You pull back from him with a smirk. “It’s actually Dr. Morales.”

Frankie laughs, loud and carefree, ignoring the gazes that land on him.

“Come on, Dr. Morales. Let’s get you home.”

Translations:

Aquí es donde estaba destinado a estar - This is where I was meant to be

Te extrañé mucho - I missed you so much

Cariño - honey/darling

mi querida - my dear

Frankie Morales tag list: @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @cutesyscreennamee @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @str84pedro @brilliantopposite187 @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @afterglowsb-tch13 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreall @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @casa-boiardi @sexpoisoned @mswarriorbabe80 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @darlingpedro @pascals-cat @therealcap @Sadbloatedegg @dimitra300 @ievutebebe @gracieispunk @alec0 @vabeachazn

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kirsteng42 · 2 years ago

Note

This tale was perfect for this tale. I love a good reunion of old loves and this was a great 1!!!