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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 3 months

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The Slip Up, Part One

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Virgin Reader

Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI

Word Count: 9.3k

Summary: Two years you had worked with Javier Peña, and it had been two years since your attraction to him started. What happens when at a works party you accidentally slip your secret to the man himself?

Warnings: 18+ SMUT mdni, no use of Y/N, age gap (25/40), plot, Javi and reader are friends and work together, alcohol consumption, cheeky confessions, pet names, Virgin!Reader, innocent reader, Javi is a ladies man (obvs), kissing, F!oral, fingering, kinda public shenanigans?

Well well well what have we got here?? I’m so excited to share with you my first ever fic of the Javier Peña. I haven’t wrote about Javier Peña before so please be easy on me. (And it definitely won’t be the last 👀) This is going to be a two parter as it was getting so long 😭 Anyway, I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍🫶🏼

Taglist: @millercontracting @harriedandharassed @mumma-moonchild @chyannealaniz

Also a little shoutout to @schnarfer 🤍 for helping me with my tiny little breakdown I had whist writing this 🤣🫶🏼

You’ve been working for the DEA in Bogotá, Colombia coming up close to two years, and you had known Javier Peña, your colleague for the same amount of time, working with and for him as his former secretary. You would answer his calls that he’d regularly miss, wether he was out or in the office, too preoccupied with gathering and processing important evidence for cases. You’d file any major documents that he’d lay on your desk and assign meetings to fit into his already busy schedule.

You were the one who’d keep his feet firmly on the ground when the office would stir and shake. You were the one who’d alleviate that pressure off his shoulders. You were the one who’d stop him from crumbling when things got too tough.

Working for the DEA was a huge part of your life, and right now, with the underling issues and risks it had to be. It was a demanding place to work and the office held a lot of tension; the buzzing of printers, the constant ringing of telephones, people rummaging and rushing around one another. The office held immense pressure and big responsibility, with everyone involved performing their duty with focus and determination.

But behind all the stress came the reward, the pride. You knew that people wanted justice for anything they’d set their mind and body to. To help make the world a better place, a place where people shouldn’t worry.

And if you hadn’t excepted the offer two years ago, you wouldn’t of had the experience of working in this sort of environment, and you wouldn’t have met the man who would eventually change everything for you.

Wether it was for good or bad, you hadn’t quite figured that out just yet.

🖤🖤 Two Years Ago 🖤🖤

Anxiety. That was the first emotion you detected when the words fell from your bosses lips. You were apprehensive and too anxious, being offered an open secretary position at the US Embassy in Bogotá. Having to move across the country and live for however long you needed to in Columbia. A place you’d never been to before, a place that wouldn’t have taken your interest in if it wasn’t for the job. And to go fly out there, all on your own.

Your hometown was all you had ever known; walking past the same streets, chatting to the same people and indulging in the same conversations. Your life had become this ongoing routine. It was repetitive, and deep down you knew things had to change.

You had been keen to move out of the US for a while, and your family and friends had come to notice it too. From an early age you were independent, eager to live a life where there would be no set backs, a life you could be proud of, where you worked hard to get where you wanted to be.

So no longer than two weeks later, you said your last goodbyes to the people who you loved and cared for the most, with your suitcase packed full and your passport ready in hand, all set to bring on the new life that was waiting for you.

Walking into the Webb County Sheriffs Office for the first time was nerve racking. You could hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears, a deafening sound, sweaty palms imprinting your visible anxiousness on the entrance door when you walked into the main office, seeing so many unknown faces. People who you’d soon be close and accompanied with and being surrounded by a workplace that was so foreign to you. You can feel the pressure, the twisting of your stomach as you hold tightly to your bag that hangs across your shoulder, nameless eyes and limbs ceasing to a standstill as people watch you walk passed.

And in just a moments time, you’re about to be introduced to your brand new co-worker.

Who in fact, took you completely by surprise.

He was a lot younger than you thought he’d be, you were guessing late thirties maybe early forties. He seemed charming and his stance was very open and welcoming. You noticed that had the softest brown eyes, his skin tanned in colour and a moustache and strong nose that fitted his facial structure.

Your breath hitches when you eye his figure; his shoulders broad and covered in a black leather jacket with a white buttoned up shirt underneath, and washed out blue jeans that were incredibly snug on his thighs and waist area.

Wait, what were you doing? Had you just checked out your work colleague?

“Javier Peña. I’d like you to meet your new secretary.”

You give him a warm smile and gently introduce yourself, praying your nervousness and instant attraction to him were unseen as you kindly shake his open and outstretched hand. You grasp him with a firm grip, a grip filled with confidence, and the tingle that’s left behind when he pulls back travels across and up your arm and down your spine. His touch feels homely, hands large that enveloped your own.

His tone breaks the silence between you both with words that mean to comfort. “It’s nice to meet you darlin. And welcome to Bogotá.”

“Thank you sir,” you muster up. “I’m excited to be working alongside you.”

Javier smiles widely at you. A smile that makes your stomach churn, your cheeks blush a crimson red.

“I’ll leave you both to it. Anything you need Javi just let her know. She’ll be outside there and ready for you.”

Javier nods at the receptionist, giving her a thank you as she walks out of his office, closing the door on her way out and leaving you alone.

“Please. Sit down,” Javier says, pointing to the chair opposite his own. “I just wanna start off by going through a few things with you. Just to get you up to date with what’s going on around here. Get you used to everything.”

“Thank you sir,” you repeat, settling yourself on the chair and resting your bag alongside it.

Javier looks at you with a teasing expression. “Okay, first things first. You don’t have to call me sir darlin. Please, just call me Javi.”

From your minor introduction you immediately felt something you couldn’t quite put your finger on with Javier. Something remote and unexplored, and you didn’t know if it excited or scared you. How your brain had turned into mush, your throat swallowing all self-possession and thighs subconsciously clenching together.

And even after two years you still felt it, and it was something that Javier would never come to be acquainted with. Well, that’s what you think.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Being Javier’s secretary for as long as you had you’d come to know him very well. He probably didn’t know it himself, being a man who was persistent and overly busy, you saw everything he got up to when he was here at the Embassy. You’d taken you time to watch him, to observe and understand parts of him and his personality, and that was both inside and outside of work.

Javier was good-hearted. He was bounteous and made you feel part of the team straight from the beginning. He was a hard worker and the two of you had gotten close from all the shared time with one another. Being around each other for lengthy periods of time you had become good friends.

But with Javiers overall kindness he was also flirtatious, smooth in personality and someone you’d call a ladies man. Everyone knew Javier had made his way around certain woman in the department. Wether the woman were new to the job or had been in the embassy a while, or even if he had only known them thirty minutes when you’d go out together for a few drinks after work. You knew he paid women generously to get secretive information out of them to help with his cases, and obviously because he wanted a quick and easy fuck. This had become a pattern and was Javiers strategy, and he had been like this way before you had even started.

A girl like you could never change him, could you?

He would arrive at work late sometimes; A lipstick mark on yesterdays collar, a purplish bruise appearing on the crevice on his neck, that indistinct linger of cheap women’s perfume clinging tightly to his shirt. Possibly vanilla scented? No, it definitely smells fruity this time. But whatever it is it makes your head spin, it’s overpowering and it makes bile fill up your throat, threatening to spew over.

You’d happen to notice it all, and you couldn’t help yourself, already held down deep by him. All of him.

What made it worse was he was never like this with you. Not amorous and never flirty, never using his charm to add you to his list of women he’d fucked in the department, only asking if you wanted to join him for a drink to extend the night when you both wouldn’t need to worry about work the next day. He’d always have you questioning yourself; Why wasn’t he like that with you? What was it about you that he maybe didn’t like? Why had he fucked most women and leave you with wondering thoughts? Yeah you technically ‘worked‘ for him but he wasn’t a boss in the department. And his role hadn’t definitely stopped him from trying it on with women who were higher in rank than him.

You couldn’t help but feel envious for the woman he’d talk to; the woman who’d sit in the passenger seat of his jeep as he drove off, the desks he’d perched his full weight one as he’d compliment their nails, their hair and clothes. The way he’d brush a loose strand of hair behind their ears. You’d hear what they’d say behind closed doors. How incredible he was in bed, how he was the best fuck they’d ever had. How sweet and gently he could be or rougher if intended.

You wanted him. Indefinitely more than he’d ever want you. And it hurts you more than the last.

You knew his coffee order, and how if it had too much cream he wouldn’t even take a sip. You knew that on thursdays he wore that pink button up shirt that you secretly adored on him so much. You knew he’d get little line across his forehead when he was stressed, how he’d pick at his bottom lip and fiddle with the curls on the nape of his neck when he couldn’t quiet figure something out.

Sometimes you’d even wonder if it was love that you felt for him. No, it couldn’t be. How could you be in love with a man who wouldn’t love you. Who wouldn’t look at you the way you looked at him. Whose hands you wouldn’t ever feel glide across your naked skin. Who’s lips which you’d never have faintly brush along your own, his voice singing delicate praises in your ear, telling you that he did like you back, and that he finally wanted something. Something with you.

No man had made you feel this way. That’s why you knew your feelings were different than anything you’d ever experienced. Javier had shown you kindness when life was tough and days were new and scary. You appreciated him completely, and simply knowing him was an experience in itself.

At 25 you’d never known what it was like to be with someone so intimately, what it would be like to have someone sexually. Someone so bare. You wanted to of course, but life and work and Javier had got in the way. So for now, you’d just reel in your own imagination, picturing yourself in a moment of intimacy, and how every time you did, Javier was the man who was giving it to you. Experiencing it with you for the first time.

You own fingers would pull an orgasm from you so easy when Javier was the only man on your mind. Racing you to that peak where your back would arch off creased bedding, thighs clamping and shivering, your breath cutting off and replaced with only his name.

Javier Javier Javier.

You felt stupid. You knew you were giving yourself false hope and waisted time. It had been two years and so far your feelings were still kept closed and hidden, too afraid of the rejection you knew would come soon after.

Because you were well aware that Javier would never be like that. Javier wasn’t a man who settled down with someone and added feelings to an already hectic life. Javier was someone who ran away from emotions the second they crept up on him, to cut people off when they got too close.

So you just watched. Taking a moment to yourself to admire him. He’s currently sat at his desk with piles of paper and files stacking higher and higher. His fingertips rub the tenderness of his temples as puffs of thick heavy smoke cover the air while he smokes his third cigarette of the day. Steve’s sat opposite him, the both of them deep in conversation, with Steve pointing to the pinboard that displays evidence and connections to possible outcomes.

You cherish these moments, watching him secretly from afar. Those soft hazel eyes furrowed in concentration, his plush lips wrapped around the cigarettes tip. You can hear his laugh when his mouth perks upwards, and every so often he’d lick his thumb, revealing that subtle glimpse of his tongue, the calloused digit shiny from his saliva as he turns the file pages over. Turning them over and over and over. Thinking what it would be like to feel his tongue on your—

“You coming to the work party tomorrow?” Melissa asks casually.

Your body jumps in your chair as she breaks you out of your trance, plopping herself on the corner of your desk with a hand flat on the wood to keep herself secure, legs crossed as she peers down at you.

“Oh don’t mind me,” she adds, wiping her finger across your bottom lip, “just gonna remove that drool pooling from your mouth.”

You groan at her teasing and pull your head away, “really Melissa? I wasn’t even staring so don’t start.”

Melissa was the only woman, well as you know of, who knew about you infatuation and crush on Javier. After you’d confessed it to her on a very drunken night at a bar one weekend, stomach full and head wavy from an overly sweetened gin and tonic. You remember how she looked at you with widened eyes and revelation. The one thing she never did from your confession was judge you, which you were appreciative for. She knew of Javis tendencies, and she had said very honestly that you shouldn’t go near him, that he was only going to break your heart if you delved into your feelings too much, and even though it hurt you. You knew she was right.

But then she wanted you to enjoy yourself, she wanted you to get yourself out there, to be more open. What could possibly go wrong with a feelings free hookup.

“So?” she waits, “you gonna come?”

“I don’t know Melissa,” you reply back.

She gives you a sly smirk, “well I think you should come. Go on, enjoy yourself for once. You can wear that dress we brought at the mall last week.”

You mind goes back to that day. How Melissa had pushed and pushed and practically begged you to buy this dress, until moments later, you left the store with a bag in hand and a damaged purse.

She leans her weight down so her face is close to yours, “Javi’s gonna be there.”

You’re fiddling with your pen, twirling it around your fingers and thinking. Of course Javier was going to be there, he’d never miss an opportunity to drink at the job. And if he was going, you were.

“Fine,” you ultimately give in. “I’ll be there.”

“Atta girl.” Melissa praises. “I’ll see you tomorrow hun.” She gives you a wink before walking back to her desk, leaving you with tomorrows public gathering pondering through your mind.

🖤🖤 The Next Day 🖤🖤

Today was a day free from work life and you had spent the majority of your time locked away in your apartment, gathering yourself and getting things prepped and ready for the works party that was only a couple hours away; you started off by having a deep cleansing shower, then blow drying your hair and styling it in soft bouncy curls that rested against your back, then adding a light layer of makeup and finishing off with some perfume and your outfit of choice. A long black tight fitting dress with black stiletto heels.

You look at yourself in the mirror, head tilting to the side, glancing at your attire as you patiently wait for your taxi to arrive. The material you wore accentuated you curves and brought out the colour in your skin. You stare at your back in the reflection and your eyes are met with bare skin, the fabric low cut and finishing just at your lower back.

The dress was beautiful, and you wonder if a certain someone tonight might think the same way.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

You arrive back at work a hour later, the sound of your heels clacks across marble flooring as you walk through the entrance of the Embassy and down the hall. The vibration of music is loud and the chatter of people gets closer and closer, your anxiety about what the evening will entail already settling in.

You can see people drinking, how they’re laughing and bickering to one another. Your co-workers are dressed in formal attire, there’s woman in dresses and men in blazers, and there are people everywhere. They’re everywhere you turn, and there’s some faces you’ve never seen before. Probably parters or dates that have been invited as plus ones.

You stand there with that same well known anxiousness. It continues to pour out and you’re desperate for someone to come save you, to pull you into the swing of things and make you feel not so abandoned. So lost in the familiarity of it all.

Melissa’s across the room and her eyes brighten up when she sees you, skipping and scooting around the crowds of people to get to you, giving you a quick smile and a peck on the cheek.

“Knew that dress was a good idea. You look fucking ravenous hun.”

That apprehension you felt ceases and you actually laugh, trying to hide the radiance that flutters across your features from her remark.

“And you don’t look too bad yourself,” you say, eyes observing her own outfit.

“I know,” she teases and gives you a wink, her hands bringing you further into the room and handing you an alcoholic drink. Well needed.

You and Melissa chat to one another for a while. You’re both a few glasses into the night and the conversation between you goes smoothly, talking about life outside work and everything general. Melissa goes silent for moment and her eyes clock to the side of your shoulder so quickly you don’t immediately catch on, but whatever she saw has her grinning back at you.

Her lips pull up and ghost near your ear, voice vamped over the speakers. “I think someone’s liking this dress a little bit more than me.”

A faltering expression falls over your face and your own eyes avert and follow her stare, twisting your head around until you lock eyes with the person in question.

And of course, it had to be Javier Peña.

He’s already looking right at you. His shoulder perched on the wall over and across the room from where you’re standing. He was accompanied by the new receptionist. Of course. Who had started a couple weeks back. His legs were crossed over and he had a cigarette settled in his one hand and a beer bottle held firmly in the other.

Javier would usually be quick with it, with his tendencies. Winning her over with his slick charm and confidence. But this time he was ignoring anything she had to say, his eyes occupied with something more to his liking.

You.

You match his open attraction and give him that same look back because, why the fuck not? Your gaze following his face and peering down lower at his body.

He looked incredible; he wore a smart white button up shirt that was rolled halfway up his arms, showing his gorgeous golden brown tanned skin. He had tucked his shirt into dark navy jeans and paired them with a black belt, matching it with his typical black leather jacket perched over his one shoulder.

Javier had been eyeing you up for a while, and right now he doesn’t seem to want to keep his desirability for you hidden. His stare is fully distinct and you yourself can’t look away. It makes your body feel giddy, your skin hot as you dig your fingers into your palms. The girl he’s talking to is clearly getting aggravated as she knocks his shoulder, regaining his attention on her once again.

You pull your focus back onto Melissa and she tells you that she’s grabbing another drink and that she’ll be back soon. You give her a small nod, watching her walk away.

What was that moment you and Javier just shared together? You couldn’t be overthinking, could you? You know that intimate look from Javier anywhere, but seeing it on you, targeting you makes every hair on your body stand up.

A voice beside you breaks you out of your withering conscience, and you swiftly turn your head to the interruption.

“How’s your night going so far sweetheart?” Steve questions, his voice strident and raised so he could be heard above the music and gossip.

You show him a tender smile. “Yeah it’s going okay,” you simply reply back, “it’s fine. You enjoying yourself?”

“Going alright,” he says, washing down his words with the remains of his warm and flat beer, lifting the bottle up to his lips and eyeing the busy crowd.

“What y’doing stood over here all on your lonesome?” Steve adds.

You don’t reply. Fuck you must look so sad and lonely if Steve’s come over here to ask you how you are. You look down at your champagne glass, bubbles spreading across the surface before finishing off the rest of the orangey zest flavour in one full swig. Your face winces.

“Was talking to Melissa just a bit ago,” you reply back. “Said she’s just grabbing another drink.”

Unconscious to you, your attention is averted back to Javiers, eyes glazing and clouded over from the intense stare. Steven narrows his eyes and follows your observation, until he leans down to you, his tone low and soft. “Why don’t you get your ass over there and talk to him.”

You furrow your eyebrows, shoulder stiffening in interrogation, “talk to who?”

He looks at you dumbfounded, pointing with his pinky finger into the opposite direction, trying not to make his motions too obvious. “Javi,” he simply says, like it’s a completely clear conclusion. “Come on. Don’t tell me your little crush on him wasn’t noticeable.”

Well shit.

“W-what do you mean?” You stutter, a tense chuckle mixing in with your intonation. “No I don’t. We’re just friends Steve. Why would you think—”

“Sweetheart. You don’t think I see the way you look at him. You ain’t very good at hiding it. It’s written all over your face.”

Your chest feels tight, needle like thorns prickling at your throat and cheeks swelling. You’re panicking from the inside out. If Steve knew, how many others did? Fuck what about Javi?

There’s no point in hiding it from Steve now, so instead of arguing you accept defeat, asking him the question you don’t even know you want the answer to.

“Does Javier know?”

Steve’s eyes dart down at you, “I think we both know Peña’s not the best at seeing things like that. So, I’m afraid that’s a definite no.”

Does his statement give you that sense of relief? Do you feel your heart race decrease to a normal pace knowing that even through Steve knew, nothing would change on Javiers end.

Steve saw the way you looked at his partner, to your unascertained eye. He’d see how your stance would stall whenever he was near, how your gaze would linger on him for far too long, how you’d become a nervous wreck when he’d complement you. And how every time, devastation would rush over you when he’d walk out the bar, with a woman hugged under his shoulder. A women he barely knew. A women who’s name would be forgotten the next morning he woke.

Steve was a good man, and he was good to you, being there for you just like Javier had been. But unlike Javier, Steve was capable of attempting to fix people emotions, so when his arm wraps snug over your shoulder, you know that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

“You think you’ll ever say anything to him?” Steve inquires, “maybe tell him how you’re feeling?”

You stare at Javier again but only briefly this time. Seeing how he’s back to giving the girl next to him his full attention, and that motion right there, is why you will never say anything.

“No. I don’t think so Steve. I think we can both see how’s he’s pretty occupied right now.”

Steve let’s out a huff, yeah you were right. Typical Peña. Steve tugs at your arm. “Alright then. Come with me. Don’t want you sulking the whole night. We’re gonna have a few drinks.”

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

You’d definitely had a few drinks. Eyelids heavy, body swaying to the song playing and you can feel the alcohol run through you. It’s relaxing, it’s stress free as it heats you up, unravelling the nerves that clutched tightly to your skin since you first walked through the doors, and ever since Javier had looked at you the way that he did.

You actually began to feel…good. Great. Energised. And it was just what you needed to get Javier out of your thoughts, to think about something else entirely, to end your night on a positive.

Steve talks to you about how him and Connie are getting on. He mentions how life is outside work, how his family is back home and the enthusiasm in his voice makes your chest pull, but this time in a happy way. It’s nice to see how well he’s doing, watching how his face lights up when he says that him and Connie have officially settled down.

He talks about how certain cases are going, that him and Javi are getting closer to something big. You don’t mention anything about him bringing Javier into the conversation, because you know how passionate and devoted Steve is to his job, how much effort he puts into his time here.

With all the good Steve gives you, your time together is about to end.

“Uh honey. He’s coming over.” Steve says abruptly, adverting his gaze so his eyes look down as he fiddles with the head of his beer bottle. Steve’s easily able to communicate back to you with just his stance, and it’s not long until someone else joins in on your conversation.

“Nice to see you enjoying yourself,” Javier says to you.

You give him a confident smile as your stare falls down to his lips. You can see the ends of his moustache are slightly wet from the alcohol he’s been drinking. Fuck what are you doing? Your eyes quickly look away as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I am,” you comment truthfully. “Thank you Javi.”

His eyes follow down your body. Now that he’s close to you he can fully admire your dress in all its glory. “And this dress…”, he proclaims, looking up at you again with a smirk, “you do look really beautiful tonight hermosa.”

It’s right there, those words, virtually hanging right on the tip of your tongue. ‘And it’s all for you Javi, it’s always been for you’ you want to say. But instead, you reply back with another thank you Javi.

Javier opens his mouth to talk to Steve, but Steve’s already once step ahead, “I’m gonna go and grab another beer,” he buts, “don’t have too much fun while I’m gone.”

Steve’s off before you can react, his body disappearing into the flurry of people. Leaving you and Javier alone. Great.

“It’s nice to see you let loose cariño,” Javier says, “always working too hard for me aren’t you. I like seeing you like this. Enjoying yourself.”

Javiers cockiness always finds a way to shine through, his dark brown eyes sparkling whimsically.

“Well I have to Javi,” you retort, sarcasm hidden behind your words. “It’s my job to work hard.”

“Yeah I know I know,” he teases. “Still. You’re too good to me.”

You subconsciously clench your thighs together, his words having a massive effect on you, palms flattening out the creases in your dress that rested across your stomach.

“So…,” Javier continues, “come on your own tonight cariño?”

“I did indeed,” you say, and the words leave your lips more bluntly as you would have intended, pairing it with an over exaggerated smile.

His eyebrows furrow together as his hand falls into his front pocket, “you had any boyfriends while you’ve been here?”

You’ve endeavoured around conversations like this with Javier before, wether it was late at night when you’d both stay late in the office, or after hours, and every single time you’d shrug off anything to do with your romantic life.

Because there was no romantic life.

“I hope that ain’t coming across as rude darlin. I just never see you with anyone when we’re all out. Give me an update with how you’re settling in.”

You brush aside the hesitation in your voice, showing Javier that his question hadn’t bothered you. “Not really Javi. I mean, there’s been moments with some guys but work takes up a lot of my time. And I’m not really interested in anyone at the moment.”

Big. Fat. Lie.

Javier’s stance shifts, watching you swallow that dishonesty, his eyes glistening and lips curling up, shooting you that too familiar look. “There is someone. Isn’t there?”

“No Javi,” you’re quick to protest. “There isn’t I promise. Just give it up please—”

Javiers quick to nudge in. “I knew it! Is it someone in the office? Go on, who’s the lucky fella?”

You laugh at him awkwardly, “Javi stop it. It’s…it’s nothing serious so just drop it.”

He’s chuckles back at you, adoring the way you always fluster and get agitated when he questions anything about you. Quietness falls between the two of you for a moment, and your body jumps forward when his hand rests on your lower back, touching your bare skin, softly stroking you with his thumb.

“Why are you like that cariño?” He asks, and you can hear how genuine he’s trying to be, the care flowing from each syllable.

Your brains working on multiple tasks; Javiers just asked you a question but how the fuck are you supposed to answer with his hands on you. With nothing in the way. Skin to skin.

“W-why am I like what?” That’s what he said, wasn’t it?

“Always so jumpy around me. Cariño we’ve known each other long enough that you should feel comfortable when you’re around me.”

He’s right, where had your confidence gone? You can still feel the alcohol lingering and buzzing through your system, buts it’s unhelpful. It must be Javier himself, his presence. You turn your body to him, huffing of your honesty, “you…you just make me nervous sometimes Javi.”

“Come on cariño,” he sounds shocked, “what do I do that makes you so nervous.”

“I don’t really know why. You just do.” You know why. “Why are you asking me this anyway.”

He shrugs, “wanna know why so we can get past it. Can’t keep having you on edge around me can we. So go on, enlighten me,” he challenges.

Well maybe it’s because I like you Javier. That every single time I look at you I wish you’d look at me the same way. And even though I’ll never have you, it doesn’t stop me from wanting you as badly as I do right now.

He’s looking at you like you’ve told him something so unforgiving, his body frozen and his eyes widened in a state of surprise. You’re suddenly confused, and why is he looking at you like that? You haven’t even said anything—

“Fuck,” you spurt out, “did I—shit did I just said that out loud.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah you did.”

A cold wave of dread washed over your body and you pray that the ground would just swallow you whole. You want to run away and never look at his face again. You’re embarrassed, you’re dumb. And so fucking stupid. Your confessions just fallen so easily from you lips that you haven’t even registered it.

Javi’s voice is weak, “Cariño. I…listen. You—,”

You palm meets his chest, stopping anything else that was threatening to spew over the two of you. “Don’t say anything Javier. Just…I’ve had a lot to drink okay so… please ignore anything I’ve just said. I don’t. None of it was true so don’t worry.”

Javier tries to carry on this mess that’s unraveling, but you’re too overcome with emotion you turn yourself away from him.

“I’m gonna head off,” you say, foggy eyes looking at the clock on the wall, “my taxis probably outside waiting for me.”

You place your empty wine glass on a table closest to you and move towards the entrance door. You can hear Javier call out your name but you can’t stop your feet as you try not to trip over yourself. The alcohol in your system not helping your situation. You don’t even look back, too afraid that if you look into Javier’s eyes, that look of rejection will have your life crumbling to a stop.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

It’s been exactly one week since you’d woken up with that raging headache, body aching and stomached weakened from acidic liquid, that sickening feeling gradually pooling up your throat, ready to spill over. How much did you drink? Surely it wasn’t a lot? The morning after the party you were grateful that your shift was later in the day, because the second you woke up, you felt like shit. It wasn’t until you pulled your body out of bed to swallow a whole glass of water with some aspirin, and forcing a few slices of toast down with it that last night’s happening would creep back into your memory.

And holy fucking shit.

It had to be a dream. A dream that you could erase and never be reminded of again. There was no way in hell you had confessed how you truly felt about Javier to the man himself. That after two long years, your secret had finally come climbing to the surface.

It hurt, and what made things worse was that you knew it going to come out eventually. But in a hazily and drunken confrontation was the last way you pictured it going. Javier was your friend, you worked for him and you had stepped way over the line. You had ruined that strictly professional relationship, that friendship between you both and now you had to work along side him. To see him everyday.

Yeah, you were well and truly fucked.

And that’s why you avoid Javier as much as possible, which for you was going to be a difficult task, as you were his god damn secretary. If he was coming your way you’re going the opposite direction soon after. You hadn’t gotten him his usual coffee you’d get on the way to work for him alongside your own. You hadn’t been out with work colleagues for a drink, knowing indefinitely that he’d be tagging along. If you had received new information, you’d tell Steve, not him. The minute the clock ticks at five, you wouldn’t stay back like you would usually do, you’d head for the door and straight home. You know this embarrassment will come around sooner or later, but if you can avoid it for now, fuck you’re going to do your best to.

You can tell Javier wants to talk to you. You know he wants to go back to that conversation that you left so abruptly. But right you just can’t. You can’t go back to knowing that his dismissal is waiting around the corner, yourself feeling ashamed of your petty and drunken words.

You make your way into the filing room and start by sorting out new documents that had been placed on your desk early this morning. You rip off the post it note that hanged loosely on the top of the pile, the neon note saying ‘please section in order’ ogling back at you. You can make out that writing anywhere. Everywhere you turn he’s always one step ahead, inhabiting all aspects of work life.

Your memory takes you back to the hours you’d spend in here with him, just enjoying the quiet and serenity and simply just…each other.

“I come in here when I need a minute,” Javier says, placing a file in it’s designated spot, “just to get away from it sometimes. Just to be on my own. You know, when shit in this place gets too much.”

You’d treasure that day. Just you and him, having him all to yourself while the world was running wild and crazy around your heads, having him talk about things and stuff he wouldn’t usually talk about, and just being so open with you. Only you.

You brush the memory off, back to regaining attention on the task in hand, with eyes averted down when suddenly the door opens and softly closes behind you. The sound so discreet and barely above a whisper.

Without warning, a sense of heat radiates on your back, a delicate warmth and you turn yourself around, a startled yelp leaving your now parted lips, hands forcefully clutching onto your heavily banging chest.

Javier looked tired, his face was flushed and parts of his hair were hanging out of place, like he’d ran his fingers through it, frustrated. His eyes could paint a thousand pictures, the brown in them becoming lost, unrecognisable, looking at you with an apologetic expression.

You voice quavers, “fucking hell Javi. Don’t sneak up on me like that. You scared the shit out of me.”

He always finds a way to make you jump and a tight smile pulls on his face from your reaction, a smile that you can see holds more than amusement.

“Sorry darlin,” he apologises, “didn’t mean to frighten you.”

You nod at him in forgiveness, twisting your body around so you’re now facing away from him. Again.

“Anything y’need in here Javi? Thought it was your day off today.”

You can’t bare to look over your shoulder, you can already feel your eyes welling up, how pathetic. The salty tears threatening to pour down your cheeks, leaving a mark of pity on your skin, the wavering sound in your voice prominently giving you away.

“I am off,” he says, “just needed to pop in and collect a few things.”

You hum at his words, don’t you dare give yourself away. You move stacks and files of paper around to keep you occupied, anything to stop your emotions getting the better of you.

Javier doesn’t leave. “I came here looking for you too actually,” he adds. “Wanted to have a chat.”

Fuck, here it comes.

By the way you haven’t replied and the way the room is surrounded by silence, Javier carries on. “I know you’ve been avoiding me darlin. And about the other night last week I—“

“Please Javier,” you intervene. “I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“Well I wanna,” he states, “we can’t keep going on like this, it’s awkward and uncomfortable and I don’t like it.”

And all because of you. You’ve made it awkward. You’ve made it uncomfortable.

He lightly rests his hand on your upper back, “cariño—“

“What d’you want me to say Javi?” You interrupt him, turning back around so you’re both parallel, “you want me to say that everything I said was true? Huh? Is that what you want? Well it was true. And yes, I’m fucking embarrassed about it.”

He shuffles himself away, unexpected from your hurried outburst, “let me speak. Please.”

How have you become so breathless? You can feel your nails digging into your palms, leaving marks and leaving indents in your skin. A remembrance. Your chest is pounding and hands shaking with adrenaline.

Javier huffs out a sigh, “why didn’t… fuck why didn’t you say anything? I may of looked or acted surprised and it’s because I was. I had no fucking idea and that’s the honest truth. I never expected…”

Gathering enough courage in yourself, you look up at him, praying that he’ll carry on with whatever he’s about to say, to rip this two year bandaid right off and give you air to breath, to put an end to your ongoing misery.

Instead, he cups your face in his palm, fingers dancing across your jaw. Javier’s never touched you like this, and the warmth you instantly feel sparks all over your skin.

He follows your gaze with a guilt-ridden stare. “Hermosa,” he utters quietly. “Why didn’t you say anything.”

Your lips part in delay, ready to explain yourself. “I couldn’t handle the rejection Javi. And we work together it’s so inappropriate, and well…you’re you and I’m me. I’ve liked you for a while and I just knew if I said anything that you’d say no.”

His eyes look deeper into you, like he’s thinking or perhaps, contemplating. “It’s not a case of no cariño. This isn’t how I do things. I ain’t a good man. You’re too good for me and I can’t mess things up with you.”

You bow your head at him in understanding, head falling further into his palm. Wait, what does he mean by his first statement?

“You wouldn’t have said no?”

Javier pauses as his feet move closer, his body towering above you. He’s visibly much taller than you and the courage you have to muster up to look up at him is formidable.

“No, I wouldn’t have,” he states.

“But the other women,” you look across to the door, “you’re always…you’ve never been like that with me.”

There it is. That admission. Having confessed how you’d noticed how Javier acted with other women, and how after so long you’d wanted it to be you.

“I know. But you’re not those other women querida. You never were.”

The both of you stay silent, gazing at each other, inhaling in one another’s air, chests so near that if you move an inch closer, just ever so slightly…your body would be pushed up and touching his.

His thumb moves from your cheek and across your face, landing on your bottom lip. Your mouth parts in surprise, your heavy breath coating his finger that starts to slowly rub side to side.

His eyes drop down to your lips, his eyelids becoming hooded, lustful.

“And after all this time, I thought you were just shy.”

You whimper at his words, and Javier can sense the tension drifting away, his comment and touch now affective. Having dreamt of his digits against your skin and face, his calloused fingertips gliding over the plushness of your mouth. It’s close, so so close that you could take it into your mouth, to taste him, to swirl your tongue around him and suck.

“But instead it was the complete opposite…,” his tone lower in octave, “wasn’t it hermosa.”

You can’t speak, voice lost and unforgivable as he gives you a subtle glimpse of divulged seduction.

“Tell me querida,” he whispers in a soft command, “is that what you want? You want me all to yourself?”

With thighs clenched together you give in, a rising pressure felt yearning in your core. “Fuck Javi…” you whine, “yes. Yes I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

He leans his face down, his mouth now level with yours and pulls your face just a smidge with his thumb and index finger on your chin, until finally his mouth touches yours. Yourself instantly embracing him.

You’ve kissed a few men, and that had been a long time ago. They had been rushed, forceful holds and overall disappointing, but you knew the second Javiers lips landed on top of yours, that it would never be like those other times.

He starts off with gentle pecks, each one lasting longer than the previous, and only when Javier senses no hesitation on your behalf, he pulls your mouth in deeper, his tongue licking across your lips as an invitation, and you grant him access so willingly.

His arm wraps around your frame, hugging your waist as his other hand grips the shelf behind you, pushing your back flushed and up against it while still keeping your lips glued to his.

His tongue maps out the inside of your mouth. He taste like cigarettes and minty toothpaste, and the taste is overwhelmingly addictive. Like your own personal drug. You want more. You begin to copy his actions until the both of your tongues are dancing with one another, a small but noticeable moan swimming down his throat.

Javier draws back and kisses the skin on your jaw and the dip of your neck, his voice mumbled. “Christ querida you taste so fuckin’ sweet. You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to do that.”

You peer up at him with lustful eyes, fingers tugging on his shirt to keep yourself upright. “Me too Javi. I want—”

You don’t particularly know what you’re asking for. You know you want to continue kissing him, but if that throbbing that you feel in between your legs isn’t released, you think you’ll pass out.

”What is it cariño?” He asks, “you want me to show you what I’ve wanted to give you after all this time?”

In response you crash his lips back down onto yours and Javier sucks your bottom lip into his mouth. His one hand threads though your hair and the others at the seam of your skirt, fingers ruffling the tight material up your hips, and only until your own tries to stop his motions.

You’re panting, fighting against the lifting of your skirt, trying to keep it down and in place. “Fuck Javier wait. Just—just stop for a second.“

Which his does, stopping his greedy movements immediately, pulling both his mouth and hands away. His lips are swollen and hold a reddish hue, shining with the mixture of saliva, and the image only makes your situation worse.

“You okay? What is it? You don’t want—“

“No,” you’re active to protest. “Wait not no as in— yes I do. I’ve wanted this. I want this. It’s just…well…Javi I’ve never actually…”

His eyebrows raise, “you’ve never?”

Please don’t make me say it, you think. Please don’t make me say it. Can he see how his questions made the hairs on your arms prick up? Can he recognise that innocence shine in your pupils?

And by the way his eyes widen, he may of just got it.

“Like at all?”

Your eyes shut in embarrassment, cheeks hot and humid as your stand small and hopeless in front of him. You inch your skirt that was creased on your thighs lower, wishing your clothes would hide the inexperience and bashfulness. Javier, the man’s who’s known around the embassy as being a womaniser, who’s fucked more woman than he can count on both hands, is stood over you. A woman, who has no knowledge about intimacy.

What could be more embarrassing than that.

“Hey,” Javiers speaks. “Cariño look at me.”

Your eyes flood when you stare back, his features covered in empathy and compassion. “You know that’s okay, don’t you,” he says truthfully. “No need to feel embarrassed by it. We all gotta start somewhere.”

“I know Javi, “you agree, “but I’m 25 and I should have—.”

“Shhh,” Javier interrupts, “none of that hermosa.”

His voice is calm, reassuring and earnest. Mind analysing your own words. “Do you want it to be me?” He interjects, “is that what you’re trying to say?”

You nod your head at him, yes. God yes.

Javier tucks a loose strand of hair over your ear, “we don’t have to do anything right now. Not if you don’t want to.”

You’re quick to assure him. “I-I do Javi. I really do. I want it to be you. It’s just, I’m not really…I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Visible to you, that sets a fire in Javier. He likes your purity, your innocence, and you can see by the way his pupils dilate to black, hiding that chocolatey brown that would usually flourish through them.

“So say it,” Javier directs, “what is it you want right now. You’re in charge cariño. We’ll go at your pace.”

And again, you don’t really know. “I want anything.”

Javiers grin is pure sin. “Anything?” He interrogates. “Well what would you say if I wanted to get down on my knees right now and eat that pretty pussy of yours. Would you like that hermosa?”

Holy. Shit.

Your back arches in anticipation, your cunt clenching from his filthy mouth and suggestion. “Fuck Javi. Yes please. Yes I want that.”

Javier kisses you again with fever, trailing his marks down your covered body until his knees hit the carpet floor, shuffling your pencil skirt up so it rests comfortably on your hips, his face now level with your clothed core, shielded by your tights and panties.

“Mmm so pretty querida. Tell me, has anyone ever kissed you here?”

You lick you lips, hands resting on top his shoulders, whimpering out a simple no. No one’s ever touched me or kissed me there.

Javiers quick to soothe. “You just relax for me cariño. If anything I do doesn’t feel good or pleasant you let me know. This is for you, okay?”

You bow your head at him as he drags the last remains of material off, the fabric now pooling at your feet. This is the first time a man’s seen you so openly, and you can feel a tingle when the breeze hits your swollen clit. You know you’re already wet, very wet. Your neglected folds covered in your arousal and evident and right in front of him, glistening and eager, ready for whatever he wants to give you.

Javier can see how your panties are completely ruined, bringing them up to inspect before popping them in his back pocket. “This may be your first time doing this cariño. But fuck your pussy’s so ready for it. You’re so fucking wet for me.”

Javi brings his middle finger up to your wet folds and your knees instantly buckle underneath you, your hands reaching out to the shelves at the sides to keep you up.

“H-holy fuck. Javi—”

Javier hoists your one leg over his shoulder, hands gripping the flesh of your bare thigh to hold you steady.

He pulls on your hood, your clit pulsing and he pokes his tongue out, flicking the muscle on your needy bundle of nerves, giving you soft and delicate stokes as he gets you used to the new sensation.

“You still with me baby?” Javier checks in, “feeling alright?”

“Yes Javi just—please don’t stop. Fuck it feels so good.”

Javier contradicts, “I ain’t planning on stopping querida. Not until I feel this pussy come on my tongue.”

He gets back to it, moving his licks lower and lower into your folds, his nose catching your clit with each pull of his mouth, and the gesture has your fingers gripping into his hair and pulling at the base, causing Javier to hiss against your cunt.

It’s a sensation you’ve never felt before. You knew that it would feel good but this good? It’s feels fucking amazing. His tongues so warm, finding his way around your sensitivity, changing his motion when a certain spot has you whining out for him.

“Oh my god, Javi—,” you moan loudly.

“Shhh,” he mumbles, “gonna have to be quiet hermosa, don’t want anyone hearing or catching us do we?”

Through all the kissed and the touches and everything else, you had blatantly forgot that the door was open, and anyone could walk in. “Fuck Javier wait, someone could walk—“

“Already sorted that out doll,” he interrupts, “locked the door after I got in here.” This fucker.

You relax after his words, knowing nobody is going to walk in, to disrupt your inappropriate affair. But somehow you do like that excitement, that feeling of being caught, of being seen.

For someone’s who never done this before, the moment that ounce of pleasure flows through your body you do like to show it. The way you moan out for him, how you’re so confidently whimpering and pleading him.

Javier starts to get hungry with it, lapping at your folds and clit with eager flicks and sucks and kisses as he brings his index finger up and teases your entrance, before slowly easing it into you.

Your walls clench around his finger tightly. You weren’t new to masturbation and had used your own to get yourself off, but Javiers finger was already becoming a slight stretch compared to yours.

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “Just breathe for me cariño. Need to open you up. Make sure you’re ready for when it’s time to take my cock.”

“Fuck o-okay, just go slow,” you whine, bringing your hand up to cover your open mouth with the back of your hand, muffling your vocal and desperate moans.

He slowly eases his finger in and out, just like you asked, and then switches to curving his digit in an upwards motion, hitting that spot inside that’s so euphoric and you whine into the air.

“You just can’t keep quiet can you.” And he fucking loves it. “Pussy feels too good you have to tell the whole office, don’t you hermosa.”

“I can’t—fuck I’m sorry Javi. It feels…god you feel amazing.”

At a slow pace he inserts another finger, his tongue mapping fixed circles on your bundle of nerves while he pushes in, the pleasure he’s giving you overcoming the stretch his fingers are pulling from you.

You look down at him; his hand squeezes the flesh of your thigh, his eyes fluttering closed and concentrated. You can feel his lips vibrate when he moans into your cunt, and it turns you on beyond belief that he’s enjoying this as much as you are.

You can feel it; your core starts to tingle, your lip quivers as Javiers name falls seamlessly from it, oh fuck Javi. yes Javi I’m so close. please don’t stop Javi. He pulls his mouth even closer to your cunt, swirling your hips to help hit your orgasm that’s threatening to spill over.

Javi barely removes his mouth from you, “that’s it querida. Tan buena chica. I can feel you’re close. Go on, let go for me.”

“Oh my god, Javi—”

His words tip you over the edge, your pussy let’s go and your orgasm ripples through you, your walls clenching down hard on his fingers as he continues his movements, your release dripping and drooling down his fingers and knuckles as he continues to play and flick your pulsating clit, making sure you experience every single part of it.

Once Javi knows that you’ve come down from your high, he removes his mouth and digits from your sensitive cunt, pulling himself up so he’s stood in front of you.

You look at him, his moustache and chin are covered in your orgasm as well as his fingers. He brings them up to his face and plops them into his mouth, keeping his eyes locked on yours as you watch him clean the remains of your taste off of them.

“You taste fucking sweet hermosa. If I knew this is what you were hiding from me, I would’ve done this a long time ago.”

Your mouth finds his lips again, and it shocks him. You can just taste yourself as you kiss your way into his mouth, and you can feel your pussy become needy again. Wanting his cock inside you.

With a shaky hand you cup his bulge, and fuck he’s so hard. He feels thick and his jeans become even tighter and restrained. You squeeze his length and he moans into your mouth.

Oh how the tables have turned.

You pull at his belt loops, fiddling with the buckle until Javier is quick to put a stop to your wondering hands.

You pout at him and he lets out a chuckle. “I ain’t gonna take your virginity in the filing room baby.”

No of course he isn’t. Even though you desperately want him to.

“When Javier? I don’t want to wait any longer.” You skin your fingertips over his crotch, “really really want you inside me.”

“Fuck querida,” Javier says, wrapping his hand around your wrist, “so needy now aren’t you. You want my cock inside you that bad? Want me to fill you up?”

“Mmm,” is all you can say, rubbing your bare pussy on his jeans.

“And I’ll give it to you baby,” he promises, “but not right now. Let me do this right, okay? Let me take my time with you.”

You smile at him. You’re not disappointed, because how could you be? Impatient? Definitely. Now you’ve become exposed to the newness of your shared sexual desires, you want it all. You want to learn everything. And you know it’ll come, but right now as he said, he wants to take his time with you.

And right now, you have all the time in the world.

Tysm for reading!🤍

🦋 Tan buena chica - such a good girl 🦋

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 3 months

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girls r like "but he's my comfort character" and then it's literally the most emotionally traumatized man you have ever seen ever

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 3 months

Text

Sweet past - ch.3

Summary: You meet Ellie for the first time and see Sarah again after three years.

Pairing: dbf!Joel x reader

Warnings: mention of death, foul language, angst.

AN: This will be angsty for a while, so buckle up... And a slow burn soooo.... :D

Masterlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Source: Pinterest

“You are aware I'm 15, not 5?” He knew this was how she would react. Typical Ellie. But he knew that if he hadn't called, she would have given him hell for not letting her know he wasn't coming back for the night.

“I am just letting you know, kid.” He sighed and sat down. “I'm not sure what time I'll be back."

“That bad?” There were so many differences between her and Sarah; however, one thing that they both had in common was how emotionally alert they were.

“She's forcing herself to be strong." He sighed and closed his eyes. “She's always been like that. I don't want to push her. We got time, you know?” Ellie hummed, and Joel smiled softly at the teenager. When he discussed you with the girl, she was excited to meet you, but it was also her intention to tell Joel not to push you if you didn’t want to talk. She, after all, knew perfectly well what it was not to want to talk about things.

“Make her that omelet you always make us when we have a shitty day." He chuckled softly, but his heart skipped a bit at the protectiveness in the girl's voice, despite not meeting you yet. “I'll be fine here, so take care of her. Say hi from me.” And she was gone. Joel sighed, laughing quietly to himself. Every teenager is the same.

Joel Miller wasn't a man with all the answers. Far from it, most of the time he didn't really know what he was doing. Whether it was with Sarah, Ellie, or now with you, what he does know is that he will do whatever he can to take as much pain away from you as he is capable.

He never considered himself an aggressive man, either. Normally, he tried to be calm and steady, trying to think as logically as possible. It's not that he never took part in any fights. He was from Texas, after all, and Tommy was his brother. But even when the fights did occur, they were the last possible option. He tried to always follow his head rather than his heart. Emotions were never the answer for Joel.

He tried to take logical steps when he heard about Sarah being bullied in primary school; he didn't kill her first boyfriend, who broke her heart; and he definitely did not punch every couple out there that rejected Ellie. And yet, he got physical with his best friend the second he hurt you. Something broke in Joel that day. He tried to get his friend straight after his wife died, but he never felt like he had a right to do anything. Sure, he was the family's friend, but that was it.

He has hated himself for that since then. He hated that he didn't do anything sooner. He blamed himself for your leaving. If he had done something sooner, maybe your father would have woken the fuck up and you would not have to go through so much pain. And yet all he did was punch his best friend after he dared to lay his hand on you.

He stopped at the entrance to the kitchen, seeing you staring into nothingness. He knew you were suffering the same kind of pain he did. If not even bigger, after all, Joel was able to see your dad's change. He has been here with him for the past three years. He didn't blame you, and he wasn't even sure if he could ever truly understand your pain. This was why he decided that he would make sure that you would not have to live through it anymore.

And so he hugged you and let you lean on him. He has taken care of you like he wanted to since your mother died. This is why, when you asked him to stay, he did lay next to you, letting you use him to repel all the nightmares.

***

You weren't sure you remembered when the last time was when the smell of someone else's cooking woke you up. What was also surprising was the fact that you felt like you had a good night's sleep. And it hasn't happened in a very long time, for sure.

You frowned, not really remembering how you got into bed or why the hell you slept with your clothes on, but this wasn't really important now. Your stomach was pulling you into the kitchen, where that amazing smell was coming from. And what you noticed was something you thought you'd never see with your own two eyes.

“Is the world ending?” He turned, raising his brows at you. “Joel fucking Miller in the kitchen. Cooking!"

"Keep running that smart mouth, and you won't get anything.” You raised your hands in the air in surrender and walked towards the coffee machine, but he stopped you, pointing at the table. “I got it; sit down. You still drink orange juice after coffee?” You nodded, blushing softly at the fact that he remembered. “You taught Sarah that, and now I always have to have that fucking juice at home when she visits.” He grumbles, and you can't help but laugh. A sweet, quiet laugh he adores so much.

“It's healthy for you!” You tried defending yourself, thanking him when he got your coffee. Already with milk and sugar. Your heart skips a beat at the thought that he knows you so well.

“That shit has more sugar in it than whatever the hell Sarah drinks at Starbucks.” You rolled your eyes but smirked while drinking the juice. "Trouble,” he muttered, pushing the plate with an omelet on it. “I make it for girls when they... well, don't have the best of times in their lives.” He noticed you blinking rapidly, not to let the tears fall, and all he wanted was to drag you into his arms and never let go.

You were a family, after all.

“It's actually amazing!” You exclaimed and happily devoured the breakfast.

“Stop sounding so surprised. I needed to learn how to cook someday... “ He mumbled, and you raised your brow at him.

“Does that mean you can cook anything else?”

“Shut up and eat your omelet!” You chuckled at that, and he forced himself to ignore the skip of his heartbeat at the sound of it.

The silence was just right. There was no awkwardness there, and he was surprised to feel natural. Domestic in some way, but he liked it. He wanted you to be comfortable with him, and this moment showed that despite the time difference, you haven't seen each other, he is still someone special to you. Or at least he hoped for that.

“Joel?” He tilted his head, hearing a change of tone in your voice. He was happy to see you ate everything off, but something was weird about the air now. All of a sudden. “I want this to be small. Just family. Just us…” His eyes widened for a second, but he nodded, taking your hand in his. “I will take care of everything; will you let me?” Even at times like that, you were considerate of him and his feelings. “I want it done as soon as possible. It may sound awful, but the longer I wait, the more I can't live with myself thinking that…”

“It's all up to you. It was your father, sweetheart. I will help you if you need me, and stay away if you want to do it all by yourself.” You nodded, and deep down, Joel thought there was something more bothering you. But Ellie's voice nudged him not to push it.

***

It took three days to make everything work. Apparently, when the whole ordeal isn't big, this can be taken care of by hand. You didn't know if it was something your dad would want, but you didn't really have anything else to give. You decide to bury him next to your mother so they can be together forever. After all, you assume this was what he really wanted.

You were in your kitchen, preparing food for tomorrow when you heard your name called from the house entry.

“In the kitchen!” you yelled back, cleaning your hands. You turned around to welcome Joel but stood there frozen. There, in the middle of your kitchen, stood a teenage girl. She couldn't be more than 5’3”. Her auburn hair was tied in a ponytail. Intelligent, pale green eyes were staring at you. There was some mischievousness in them, but also softness that reminded you of Joel a bit. Her fair skin was decorated with freckles and a scar on her right brow. She was a beautiful girl. “Hi!” You finally said, smiling softly at the girl. You cleaned your hands onto the apron and extended it towards her.

“Hi! I'm Ellie," she introduced herself, grabbing your hand. A small, awkward smile appeared on her still-a-bit childish face. “Joel assumed it would be better to introduce myself before you know..."

“Ellie!” Joel growled at the girl, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“It's fine!” You chuckled, pulling her down to sit down at the table. “I'm happy to finally meet you.”

“Really?” She sounded surprised, and you frowned, hearing the actual surprise in her voice.

“Of course! After what Joel told me about you, I couldn't wait to finally get to know you." Her eyes shone with innocent happiness from your words, and from the corner of your eyes, you could see Joel whispering a very quiet ‘thank you’. “I am preparing some food for tomorrow. I'm happy to get some rest and eat something. You guys hungry?”

“Starving!” Ellie groaned loudly.

“You're always hungry!” Joel scoffed, taking his phone out of his pocket. “Is Chinese fine?”

“Let me pay, Joel. You paid for the pizza, and you did the shopping for me.” You were about to take out your card when his hand landed on yours.

“Put that away, before I get mad.” You raised your brow at him in a challenging matter, but let it slide. This time. You will get him for that the next time.

“So tell me, Ellie, how is Mr. Grumpy doing?” Seeing the mischievousness in her eyes and the smirk, you knew you would find common ground with the teenager very quickly.

***

“How are you holding up?” You still cannot believe how much Sarah has changed in the three years since you last saw her. She wasn't a teenager anymore. She was a young woman, a student. You didn't know her mom, but the more you looked into her eyes, the more you saw Joel in them.

“Been better. But hell, it's been worse as well,” you shrugged, leaning your head on her shoulder. The ceremony was over. It was short, but it was nice. The pastor prepared a nice speech, and you were surrounded by family. Your small family. And there was something in you that made you happy that your parents were together again.

You have never seen anyone as in love and happy as they were while together. You always laughed that they acted like those teenagers in love. It was sickly sweet. You envied them for that.

“Tired.” You added after a while, and Sarah held your hand, rubbing it softly. “I'm not sure I'm even hungry.” She chuckled, especially when Joel went to the kitchen to heat up the food, taking Ellie with him. You were sure he kind of felt that it would do you good to spend some time with Sarah. Just Sarah.

“You did well for all of this," she murmured, leaning her head on yours. Sarah loved you like a sister. Despite the age difference, you were always close. When you left, you still asked her how she was doing, but something was different. It's like that situation with your father has completely shifted the way you were. And despite all this, you still managed to stay the same kind-hearted person she remembers you for. “What's the plan now?” She felt you tense for a second, hoping she didn't spook you too much with that question.

“Since your dad called me, nothing was really going according to plan.” You sighed and straightened, pulling your head off Sarah's shoulder. “I took two weeks off from work, hoping that it would all work out, but..."

“There's still time then,” she interjected, shrugging, making you raise your brow. “It hasn't even been a whole week yet. Give yourself some time.”

“You sound like Joel; you know that!?” She laughed at that, looking at her dad, who was saying something to Ellie. “How are you with that whole Ellie situation?” She smirked at your change of topic, but let it slide. You were never truly good at opening up.

“Ellie's a spitfire, but damn, it's hard not to love her, you know?” You smiled at that, happy to hear that Sarah wasn't feeling left out in all of this. “Not to mention, I like to know that the old man isn't alone when I'm at uni, you know."

“He's not that old, you know!” She looked at you and sighed, rolling her eyes. “He's not even 40 yet.”

“He will be this year." You chuckled at that and shook your head. “Can I be honest with ya?” You nodded, and she smiled sadly. “I don't know if ya want to hear it or not, but your dad and my dad... they were able to make up. Your leaving was like a slap in the face for your dad, and he got his shit together. But despite all of this, I always felt like Dad was bearing some heavy burden on his shoulders. I asked him once what it was, but you know him," you hummed, frowning slightly. “I think he feels guilty for what happened. I feel that as well.” You turned around to Interject, but she put up her hand, asking you silently to let her finish. “I always thought that I couldn't do anything because I was a kid. I was a stupid teenager, but I realize now that I was just afraid of seeing you fall apart. As long as you were standing tall, I thought everything was OK. But I now understand that we, as your family, should have done something sooner. If I feel that way, I can't imagine what that stubborn mool feels.” She took your hand and looked at you with teary eyes. “So I will ask you for the last selfish thing. Talk to him. Have the conversation you two probably need but have tried to avoid. If there is anyone who can take that burden off his shoulders, it is you. And he is the only one who knows you and sees the true you. So promise me that you both will talk."

“You, Sarah Miller, are the least selfish person.” You squeezed her hand and smiled encouragingly, hoping it would ease her mind. “I'm sorry that we made you worry. I never intended for this, whatever that was, with my father to have such an impact on you two. I guess I was trying to ignore the fact and didn't want to see how it would have affected my father's best friend.

“I didn't mean..." you chuckled softly at her awkward tone.

“I know you didn't. You just made me realize that saying goodbye to my father is not the only thing I need to do.” She smiled and nodded, looking back, when you heard both Ellie and Joel arguing about something. The tired look on his face made you chuckle. Unaware of Sarah's gaze traveling between you and her dad.

#joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #tlou #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedrohub #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 3 months

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DAD BEST FRIEND JOEL EVERYONE SHUT UP

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 3 months

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Even Pinterest knows Pedro is an animal (more like a beast, but you know 🤷‍♀️) and who am I to argue...

#pedrohub #pedro pascal #pinterest

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 3 months

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 4 months

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Sweet past - ch.2

Summary: You and Joel catch up, trying to avoid the crucial topic. It doesn't always work.

Pairing: dbf!Joel x reader

Warnings: mention of death, foul language, angst.

AN: This will be angsty for a while, so buckle up...

Masterlist Chapter 1

He did indeed stock you up. He brought you some coffee, sugar, and milk. You smiled softly at the way he remembered how you drank it. There was some food and soda as well. Typical Joel. Always worrying about everyone he deemed close. And when you thanked him, he waved his hand at you, dismissing the nice gesture.

“Here,” he nodded, thanking you for the coffee. You were both sitting at the table in the kitchen. A four-people, oval, little table that your mom has chosen for a morning coffee. You were happy to see it was still there. “How are you? How's Sarah?” Were you postponing the talk? Sure, but it wasn’t anything anyone would want to talk about. Ever.

“Sarah is well. She's at Uni, doing her big girl things.” You chuckled softly at that. “She's fucking smart, you know? I don't know where she gets it from.” He jokes and you roll your eyes.

“You still don't give yourself enough credit.” He raised his brow, but you kept your ground. It was astonishing how someone like Joel fucking Miller was not able to see how incredible he was.

A single father that has raised his daughter into not only an amazing, strong woman but a damn good human being. He was able to create his own company with his brother while being a single parent. And on top of that, he was such an amazing friend to your dad and a great supporting system for you. He was your biggest friend and you were never embarrassed to call him that.

“And you are still as sweet as I remember” He winked at you, trying to switch the tone of the conversation a bit. He took a deep breath and you frowned seeing him getting nervous. “I kind of adopted a girl…” your eyes widened, almost spitting a coffee you just took a sip of. “Her name is Ellie and she's 15. It's a long story for another day, but yeah, at least I'm not alone since Sarah left.” You smiled at that, happy that he had it going on for him.

“Maybe I should not have left him alone then…” you didn't know where that came from. It was you who started the topic of Joel's life not to talk about it and yet here you were.

“Don't do that, kid,” Joel murmured, looking at you with the same softness you missed so much. “You left because you needed to. He made you leave. And if you want my opinion, it was a good thing you did. He was able to stand back on his own two feet. You, leaving? It gave him a boost to realize it was the time to stop being a jerk.”

“I hear ya, Joel.” You muttered, your voice shaky with emotions. “I know I had a reason for leaving, but I can't stop thinking if he would still be…” you choked on your words and closed your eyes to get back in control. “I sent him money every month. I told him I'll stop if he comes back to drinking… I didn't want him to think he was nothing but a bother to me. I thought I would be able to help him.”

“You did help him”

“He's fucking dead!” You shouted, standing up from the table, ignoring the chair falling. You knew you were being unfair toward the man in front of you, but the imaginary barrier that was blocking your feelings had finally slipped. “He's dead because I was too proud and left a man in need alone! What kind of a daughter does that? Tell me Joel!” Heavy, angry tears were running down your cheeks. “He hated me so much that he didn't even tell me he was sick!” Before you were able to do anything else, you were pulled into the strong and always protective arms of his best friend. His hand on the back of your back, softly patting it, kissing the side of your head. “I'm so fucking selfish!” You continued, so angry at yourself. Your fingers clenched into the fabric of his shirt. “You lost your best friend. And you have been nothing but supportive all my life and I'm such a bitch!” Joel chuckled softly and his hug tightened.

“You're neither selfish nor a bitch!” He took a step back and looked into your eyes. His were so soft and supportive, it made you sob a bit more. “You're human and that is normal. But…” his voice got stern and you swallowed, thinking you had done something really bad. “Try not to use that language in front of Sarah and Ellie. Especially Ellie.” You raised your brow and for the first time since he called, you laughed. The way his expression changed, he looked like a typical tired single father of a teenage girl.

“She's giving you trouble?”

“Don't even get me started…” He pulled you towards the couch in the living room. Pushing the touchy subject just a little bit further away, he ordered some pizza and told you all about how Ellie became such a huge part of his and Sarah's life.

***

“She seems delightful!” You chuckled at the story Joel told you. Ellie was most definitely a mischief. He found her running away from yet another temporary house. Something about the couple there being so boring. They bumped into each other while he was shopping. She made him a part of some monologue of her own, forcing him to listen and lose sense of reality. She talked that much and with no sense at all, that he didn't even notice when he paid for her stuff. Before he was able to say anything she was gone, only a booming laugh could be heard in the distance.

The second time she bumped into him was near a playground. He was too tired to remember her, but apparently, she remembered him quite well. With no worry, she just once again started talking. She was quite witted and to Joel's surprise, she didn't annoy him that much. Sure she talked a lot but she had a weird sense of humor and he enjoyed her presence. She told him about a book she wanted but the new couple didn't want to buy her as they had a stick up their asses - her words not his. Joel forced himself not to laugh at the seriousness on an 11-year-old's face.

“So you bought her the book?” You exclaimed, shaking your head in disbelief.

“A part of me hoped that she would leave me the hell alone if I did, but yeah, she seemed to want it and it didn't seem like she would stay with that couple for a long time.” You rolled your eyes but smirked at him to continue. “I think she went through what was it like 8 couples?” He frowned and got serious for a minute, sipping his beer. He did buy you everything, even some beer for the evenings. “Ellie… she's kind of difficult, but she is a good kid. She's great, you know?” He chuckled nervously. “She just doesn't trust easily, you know ?”

“Well, I know someone very similar.” You winked at him and he rolled his eyes at your suggestive tone. “She sounds lively. I'd love to meet her if you'll let me.”

“Of course, you're family, I want you to meet her”, your eyes widened and tears appeared in your eyes again. Deep down you knew that what Joel said was true, but hearing it coming directly from him was something completely different. Especially now, when you are alone in this world. No family left, no real friends. You never really had time for that. Even when you moved you focused on working to be able to send your father some money. Sure, you had colleagues, but that was it. “Kid, you're OK?” You looked up, hearing concern in his voice. You raised your hand when he wanted to get up and walk towards you.

“I think I'm a bit emotional lately. Sorry about that!” It was your turn now to chuckle nervously. You took a deep breath and smiled softly at him. “I'm just relieved that I have you in my life, Joel.” His eyes widened and he frowned. “When I left I was afraid you won't want to talk to me anymore. But here you are calling me a family when I abandoned you all…”

“You haven't…”

“I know” you interrupted him, swallowing harder, trying to control your beating heart. Your aching heart, thanks to this man hasn't broken into pieces yet. “All this is new and painful right now and what I want to say is that … I'm just happy you are by my side.” You both jumped when his phone rang. A frustrated sigh left his lip but he frowned and picked up.

“Ellie?” You smiled at the way his tone changed dramatically after that annoyed look he had just seconds ago. You got up and collected the empty bottles from the beer. You wondered if Joel had cleaned the home before you came back. Everything looked too clean to have been kept that way by your father.

Your heart beats faster, thinking about that man. You met him when you were almost 13 and you moved here with your parents. A house they always dreamed of and you couldn't be more happy moving from a one-bedroom flat to an actual home.

You met Sarah before you were able to meet Joel. She was playing around in the garden, she was 4 and full of energy. Joel had bought her a little pool where she could splash during hot days.

You are still unsure what possessed you to go there but after giving your mom some puppy eyes you went to the house where Sarah was playing happily in the water. It was 4 houses away from yours so it wasn't that far for your parents to worry.

“I love your pool!” You exclaimed and apologized when she jumped hearing you out of nowhere. She frowned slightly, and now when you remembered, she looked just like her own father. You introduced yourself then, smiling brightly at a little girl. You always wanted a younger sibling. But your mother couldn't have any more kids and so you were raised by yourself. “I and my parents just moved in. Can I play with you?” And this was the beginning of your friendship either Sarah. Being 9 years older, you finally had a little sister and Sarah had a big sibling as she always wanted.

You met Joel the same day, a couple of minutes after you started to play with Sarah. You still remember the softness in his eyes when he noticed you playing with his kid. The little, gentle “sweetheart” he called you then. The way he kneeled next to the two of you, splashing you both with water. He didn't mind you were a random kid from the neighborhood. All he cared about was that you played with his little girl.

Later on, your parents met him, when they came to pick you up. He was invited to a dinner, after that, you were invited for Sarah's birthday and it went like that. Joel has become a huge part of your family's life and yours. When you turned to that awkward teenage years, before all went to shit, he was that cool family friend who you spoke to about all these awkward things. He was the one who picked you up from your first drunk night and listened to you crying about your first breakup. He was also the one who threw condoms into your bag one day when you started to date. Something you picked up on with Sarah, for which he was very thankful. It was one thing to be a cool friend to you, but he wasn't as OK with all these when it came to Sarah.

There was a moment in your young life when Joel Miller was your best friend. Your parents used to laugh that you would spend more time at his place than yours. To your surprise, he didn't mind, when your dad asked him if you ain't a bother.

“She's a cool kid. Don't worry about it.” Being called cool kid when you were 17 by someone like Joel, was the best fucking feeling in the entire world. Spending so much time with him of course led your stupid innocent heart to fall for him. You knew he was too old for you, after all, he was 30 while you were just a teenager. Despite the young age, you were smart enough to keep that attraction to yourself. His friendship and support were much more worth than your romantic feelings towards him.

It all dramatically changed when your mother died. It was an accident. A drunk driver hit her car. Of course, nothing has happened to him, but your mother didn't survive. Here brain stopped working after a week in hospital. And just like that, all your life changed.

Your father was in such despair that he completely forgot that he had a 21-year-old daughter. He would just sit in front of the TV and eat. Joel would come from time to time to take him out somewhere. You were thankful for that. Not only did it give you some time to yourself to mourn - after all you did lose your mother - but also cleaned up the house a bit.

But the more time flew the less power even Joel had over your father. The old man got so depressed that he stopped working, losing the job altogether. He didn't leave the house and showered only when he got that extra energy. And he started drinking.

In the beginning, it wasn’t much. Just a beer to the movie. Later it turned into 3 up to 5 beers a night. When these didn't help with the pain he changed into whiskey, but that was too expensive so he switched to vodka. Not only was it cheap but it was easiest to get drunk on. And when he was drunk, he just let himself forget. And when he forgot, well he forgot about everything.

He forgot that he had a daughter who needed to quit college to find a full-time job. And after a while another one. A daughter that at the age of 22 was working two jobs around 70 hours a week. A daughter who was acting more like a nurse and a cleaning lady than his child. He forgot that he was once a stoic man, with a big heart and gentle voice.

It started with an angry comment about something you didn't do. Then that comment turned into insults that became more and more painful to hear. After that came the shouting. He would shout at you for any minor inconvenience. Normally it was when there was not enough vodka in the fridge.

You became a shell of a person. At the age of almost 25, you looked like you were close to 50. Bags under your eyes, skinny as a stick, white like a ghost. Joel would come to visit as much as he could. But Sarah was in high school when she was thinking of going to college. His own company had an extra job and he had to ask Tommy to become his partner. He still came to visit. He would try to talk to your dad, but the man was a shell, non-responsive.

And it broke his heart completely seeing you. Well, at least when he got a chance to. You were never home. And even when you were, you were on your way out, or too busy cleaning and taking care of your drunk father. And yet, even then he remembered you would talk with Sarah when she needed it or help her with her applications. He wasn't sure how you were able to function and he was fearing the moment that it would all be too much for you.

It was on your birthday, of all days. You were turning 26 and Joel wanted to make sure that it would be the best day of your life. You remembered how he would bring that cake, how he disappeared in your father's room and made him take a shower and look decent for once. You took a day off to sleep. Even Sarah came that day. They bought you a new phone, your last one broke a while ago and there was no way you would be able to afford a new one with how everything looked at home. You cried happy tears, finally smiling, hugging them both.

But it all went to shit when you lost sight of your father. He used that moment to go to his love and get a bottle of vodka hidden under the bed. When he walked down the stairs he was already drunk. A bottle was almost empty. He looked at the phone in your hand and the hell broke.

Thinking you spent the money by yourself he started shouting and swearing at you. Joel tried to calm him down, but you begged him not to interfere and leave. You would take care of your father. He was your problem, and Joel and Sarah have seen enough. And as they were leaving, you walked them to the doors, a bottle was thrown right next to you, trashing into the wall. You still remember the silence after that and then, just like that, you felt a slap on your cheek. An angry move from your drunken father, who felt like he owned you. What he saw was his daughter being disrespectful for turning around while he was shouting at you.

You have never seen Joel as angry. He ordered Sarah to go back home and he shoved the man you used to call dad away from you. You remember that as if it happened yesterday. You remember how you weren't even able to cry. You just stood there unable to comprehend what just happened. And then your brain caught up to what happened. And you have had enough. You went to your room. When Joel came to see you, you apologized that he had to see it. You do not remember much of what was said. But you remember you spent the night, after he left, writing letters. One to Sarah, one to Joel, and one to him. And you left. Packed the most important stuff and left. When you saw a bus ticket to Washington, you just bought it and went for it.

Life wasn't easy, but at least you were free. Free from the man you hated, but caged by the past and the fact that you still loved him and couldn't just leave him. And so you sent him the money. What he did with them was up to him. He was an adult. You just wanted to shut that conscious up.

“Ellie says hi!” You jumped and turned around. Joel hid his phone momentarily and jogged toward you, seeing tears in your eyes. How many times will you cry in front of him, before he gets tired of it? You were too afraid to even think that. You were sure that if you had lost Joel, you would have fallen apart. “It's late, sweetheart. How about we get you to bed and we will deal with whatever that is tomorrow?” You nodded and leaned into him, letting him take care of you. You trusted him and wanted nothing more than for this day to end. You have fallen asleep thankful for Joel to be a part of your life once again.

#joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #tlou #angst #fanfiction #pedrohub #pedrostories #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 4 months

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Sweet Past - Masterlist

Summary: 3 years ago, you moved away from Austin, leaving your wreck of a father behind. Now, some news brings you back, and you try to navigate the new life with your dad's best friend, Joel, by your side.

No outbreak is happening here.

Pairing: dbf!Joel x reader

Warnings: mention of death, foul language, angst, age difference (Joel is 40 the reader is 29), eventual smut (I think), this will be a slow burn.

AN: This is my first time writing for any Pedro Pascal character. The story is a bit angsty and a little different from typical dbf stories out there. Nevertheless, I hope you will enjoy it :)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

#joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedrohub #fanfiction #no outbreak!joel miller

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 4 months

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Sweet past - Ch.1

No outbreak is happening here.

Pairing: dbf!Joel x reader

Warnings: mention of death, some foul language, angst.

AN: This is my first time writing for any Pedro Pascal character. The story is a bit angsty and a little different from typical dbf stories out there. Nevertheless I hope you will enjoy it :)

Words: 1 231

Masterlist Chapter 2

It was one of those days when you really just wanted to lay down in bed and do absolutely nothing. You normally work with competent people, but somehow, all of them forgot how to actually think today.

Putting your shopping away, you turned on some random movie, poured yourself some wine, and just sat down, opening Instagram for a while. Just to see how the world looks outside your four walls.

Life was good. It wasn't perfect—far from it—but you finally started to stand on your own two feet. You thought less and less about that awful memory, and your job was getting better. You got promoted to sous chef recently, and you actually liked it. Likewise, you never thought you'd work for a restaurant, but hell, you can't really predict anything in life.

You jumped when the phone in your hand ran. A frown appeared on your face as you saw a number you thought you would never hear. You felt your heart quicken, if he was calling you, it meant that something distressing had happened.

“Joel?”, you answered, your voice small and uncertain. You haven't heard from him for three years now.

“Hey kiddo.” Yes, this was definitely Joel Miller. A gravelly, hoarse and husky voice that hasn't changed since all the years you have known him. The voice was so specific that you would recognize him anywhere. “How are you?”

“What happened?” You asked, ignoring his question, not in the mood for a small talk when your gut was telling you that something was wrong.

“What made you think…”

“Joel”, he sighed, hearing the sternness in your voice. You felt it waver a bit, like he was nervous. Joel Miller was never nervous. Grumpy, annoyed. Sure, but never nervous.

“This is not something I want to talk about on the phone, but you never left an address.” He trailed off and took a deep breath. You heard him take a seat and made yourself ready for whatever bad news he got. Was it your father? Was he back to his old habits? Is he in jail or something? “He never wanted you to know. He didn't want you to worry…” You let him talk, take his time. Whatever it was, it was difficult, even for someone like Joel. “He's gone, kid”, your heart stopped, or at least that's what you thought. The same as the surrounding time. You looked straight ahead, unable to comprehend whatever was happening. “I'm sorry.” He said your name, but you weren't able to focus. “I… I… his liver…”

“Was he in pain? When he died?” Your voice shuttered, and tears appeared in your eyes.

“Sweetheart, this is not a talk to be done over the phone.” You sniffed and closed your eyes. He was right. It wasn't, and yet you weren't sure if you would be able to have that conversation in person. “I can plan everything out if it's too much for you.”

“I'll be there in three days. Thank you, Joel.” Turning off the phone, you laid back in the coach, letting your cries put you to sleep.

***

Austin was one of these places that brought so many happy memories, only to make you suffer when you truly tried to remember. Leaving the town was painful, but coming back here felt like someone was ripping your heart out. You knew you were coming back to nothing, but something was pushing you towards the path of the memories.

The ride to your old home wasn't that long and, thankfully, was spent in silence. The scenery hasn't really changed since you left the town 3 years ago. It was like the town stayed the same without a will to improve. And yet you knew and saw more and more new houses and shops. Yet they all looked like they could have been built all these years ago.

You thanked the driver, took your bags, and looked up to look at the house where you grew up. You smiled softly at the good memories. The one way before everything went to shit. Yes, you had a pretty good childhood. Two loving parents, a nice house, a good school and some good friends turned out to be more like colleagues when all went to shit.

You opened the doors with the key your father gave you the day you left. He was hoping it would make you stay and stop you from leaving the town, the house, and him. You kept it just in case, but you never knew you would use it so soon. 3 years sounded like a long time, but it went by way quicker than you thought. So much has changed since then, and you still weren't sure how those changes would affect the present you. You didn't know why you were even here. You didn't know what you expected from it.

You frowned in the hall of the house. It looked much cleaner than the last time you were here. The bottles weren't lying around, there was no smell of alcohol around, and the walls seemed to have been repainted even. A new carpet, and you froze, seeing the pictures hanging on the walls. Pictures of you when you were a child. Pictures from your high school graduation—the ones with your mom and dad. Before all went to shit. Such happy memories are all gone now.

You closed your eyes, stopping the tears from falling. Life was good then, even happy. You left the bags behind and walked around the house, surprised to see it in such a good state. It looked like your father had made some changes since you left. It looks like your money didn't go to waste after all.

Other than some refreshments, nothing has really changed in the house. It was just the way you remember. Your heart clenched when you walked to your room. He hasn't moved anything. There were still posters hanging, some pictures, and the same books you read in school. Even some CDs and DVDs you loved to watch with your parents on Saturday movie night. The three of you would prepare some snacks and watch whatever movie was chosen for the night. You loved those nights, they were like a fresh breath in your busy life as a student.

Your fingers reach for one of the movies when the bell runs around the house. You frowned and walked towards the doors, looking through the peephole. Your eyes widened as you saw who was on the other side of the doors.

“Long time no see, kiddo!” The man hasn't changed a bit. Still the same handsome face, rugged, tall, dark hair and beard signed with grayish strands. The familiar smile that looked more like a smirk. Something he would always send your way. Something soft and familiar now that you think about it.

“Joel!” You smiled, and without really thinking about it, you hugged him tightly, hiding your face behind his neck. You exhaled when his arm rounded you and hugged you back. His deep voice sounded like your name, almost unsure if you were really here.

“Let's come in; I've stocked you up a bit.” Holding your hand, he pushed you back into the house, ignoring the single tear that fell. It wasn't the time for it. Not yet, at least. Not after he already brought you the pain himself.

#joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #angst prompt #dbf!joel #angst #fanfiction #pedrohub

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 4 months

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It was so beautiful. Heartbreaking but still amazing!

Pickup Truck

summary: frankie hates your boyfriend. in fact, everybody does. but he’s willing to give him a chance. you’re his best friend, after all.

until frankie discovers something he can never forgive.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

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

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

wc: 9.8k

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

Frankie really doesn’t like your boyfriend.

Scratch that. Nobody does.

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

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

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

Not until last week, anyway.

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

And how do you get out?

Walk you home to see

Where you're livin' around

And I know this place

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

It’s his favourite moment of the night.

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

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

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

Frankie loves you.

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

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

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

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

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

And then you’d met Tanner.

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

‘This is me.’ You say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pour yourself on me

And you know I'm the one

That you won't forget

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And in your denim eyes

I see that something's awry

And I see you’re weak

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘He’s okay.’

Frankie’s jaw twitches, his stomach clenching uncomfortably.

‘Just okay?’ He asks.

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

‘Yeah,’ you shrug. ‘He’s good.’

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

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

And he hates himself for it.

When he comes around

I see you're fixin' to shine

And my face won't speak

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

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

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

And over your shoulder, Frankie exchanges a look with Santi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Frankie knows Jessa won’t take you shopping.

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

So worried, they tell you.

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

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

‘You’re right. You’re right.’

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

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

Hate to be so emotional

I didn't aim to get physical

But when he pulled in and revved it up

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

And in the moonlight I throwed him down

Kickin', screamin' and rollin' around

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He whirls around to the other man and spits -

‘Who the fuck are you?’

Frankie almost laughs, too. Almost.

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

‘Santi’s one of my friends.’

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

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

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

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

‘Pope.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Boy, fun bunch you are.’

You look at him through your eyelashes.

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

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

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

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

‘Well, well, well.’

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

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

Tanner hasn’t noticed, but everyone else has.

The awful unveiling of your last secret.

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

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

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

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

Frankie gets to his feet, slowly.

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

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

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

He expected the wrong war from a soldier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trembling misery

And as cold as a hole

I hug your bones and skin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Please stop apologising.’ You whisper.

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

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

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

He closes his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

‘You think I love him?’ You croak.

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

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

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

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

You blink up at him through red, swollen eyes.

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

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

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

Crackling wood’s gone white

And my eye swole up now

I can see the light

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And finally, he begins to cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re here.

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

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

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

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

You look up at him through gorgeous, glazed eyes.

‘I want to,’ you say, ‘Do you?’

Dangerous, dangerous question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I love you,’ he says.

‘I love you, too,’ you giggle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Pinky promise.’ You say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Good?’ He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

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

And Frankie does not need to be told twice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You manage a nod, a broken whine escaping you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile lazily at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

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