Summary: Joel likes to be read to and held and have his hair stroked. He would never dare admit it, though. Based on this lovely ask.
Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader
Word count: ~4k
Warnings: Joel being insecure about his looks, age, gray hair (idiot 🙄 affectionate), Joel being a nuisance by sweating and chopping wood, Joel's bad attitude, reader is implied to be from the south/Appalachia (and has an accent), food as a love language, food mentions and eating, minor internal angst, Joel character study?because I'm insane, very domestic, fall vibes
A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you like this and thank you to the anon who sent that ask. I wrote this in just a few hours because you inspired me so and a price can't be put on that. Thank you all for always being so lovely and letting me write whatever comes to mind/inspires at the time💕
“Are you almost done with that?”
The ax arcs through the air again, splits solidly through the log and then thumps down onto the stump beneath. Two halves of split wood go flying in opposite directions, and you set about gathering them up for Joel, who pauses, one hand on his hip as breathes heavily through his nose.
There’s a tendril of sweat snaking down his temple; the ax hangs loosely from one hand like it weighs nothing.
“What?” He snaps.
You smile and repress the urge to laugh, turning your back so he doesn’t see. “I said, are you almost done?”
He makes a disbelieving noise, an indignant half-squak. “This has gotta be done before winter sets in, in case it slipped your mind.”
“I didn’t say it doesn’t,” you agree, rounding the stump to prop up one of the halves back onto the ax scarred stump. “It’s just that you’ve been at it for a good long while. Ain’t you tired?”
You step back and Joel straightens his shoulders, fingers tightening around the handle of the ax again. He lifts and swings, muscle straining in his arms, shirt lifting just enough that you see a thin line of his skin. The log splits, and you step forward with the other piece, ignoring the flutter in your belly at the sight of him. “Would go faster with help,” he grouses pointedly.
“Mhm, or you could come get some dinner. It’s gettin’ dark.”
Grunt, lift, swing, slice.
No answer.
You roll your eyes and instead sweep the fallen pieces of scattered wood into your arms and start toward the growing pile of firewood along the back side of the house. You don’t get very far with your burden. “Hey,” he says, tugging you back by your shoulder. “Quit that. C’mere.” The firewood is out of your arms before you can protest.
He shoulders past you, heat radiating off him in dizzying waves. The autumn air is chilly and growing colder, the day dunked in a gray, dusky fading light. The sky is that late autumn purple it sometimes gets to be, rosy like blush and lavender, the fingers of the trees sharp and black against the horizon. “If you want help,” you comment, following closely behind him. “You do actually have to let me help.”
His shoulders pull taut, the wide cut of them straining at the red flannel he’s outfitted in. “Uh-huh.” He drops the wood on the top of the pile and turns back to you. His eyes flicker over you, chin tucking down, head tilting as he assesses you. “You eat?”
You suppress the urge to roll your eyes at him.
Typical Joel.
“Might be what I’d come to fetch you for. Supper’s on.”
“That so?”
“Chicken and dumplings,” you say by way of explanation. “And gravy.”
“Sounds good.” He says it with a note of surprise in his voice. “Real good.”
“‘Cause it is. Come eat. The work will be here tomorrow. You’ll even have my help that time around. If ya happen to let me help that is.” You beckon him with a jerk of your chin toward the open back door.
He swipes the back of his hand over his forehead, then runs it down his face, palm cupping his chin. The thick tendons outlined in his throat tighten when he clenches his jaw and considers the mess of the backyard. Warm yellow light is starting to unspool across the lawn, over long dead grass and the whisper of browned leaves. “Ellie eat?”
“She’s with those friends of hers tonight. Suppose she’ll eat with them.”
He makes another vague noise in the back of his throat, still looking at the stack of logs he’d yet to split.
Joel does this sometimes. Works himself like a dog, gets grouchy and sharp, forgets to eat.
Sometimes it takes a firm hand and hard pressed coaxing to get him to give it up.
If you weren’t there, you wonder how long it’d last, that rise and fall of the ax, the strain of his body, already well past its limits.
He must be exhausted and hungry, not that he’d ever rightly admit to that.
That’s another thing you wonder after — did Joel even feel those things anymore?
Yes, you think. Since Jackson, yes. He just had a way of ignoring his own needs. He’d run on empty for days if he had to.
But he hesitates, makes a show of surveying the work he has left for him, the last dregs of the dying sun spilling weak across the yard. Or, maybe it's not a show. With Joel, things rarely are. He’s earnest, feet rooted firmly to the ground.
You watch him while he deliberates. One huge hand is still fisted around the handle of the ax, the bulk of his forearm straining, muscle and vein twisting prettily beneath flushed, damp skin. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, the top few buttons of his shirt left undone. His chest and neck are tinted the same color, dappled in the same sheen of sweat.
His hair is starting to go properly silver, a dark attractive gray that extends to his beard, the chest hair that just pokes out against the top of the flannel.
It’s unfortunate, really, how he seems to get more beautiful each year. Age shouldn’t look as good as it does on him.
When your eyes flicker back to his, he’s already watching you. An unreadable expression is tangled over his features, complicated and unknowable. Just as quick as it’s there, it’s gone, his expression cleared. You aren’t sure what he’s seen on your face that makes him fold inward, shut the door closed on you.
“All right,” he agrees, leaning the ax against the stack of wood, seeming reluctant about it.
Still, he follows you up the back porch stairs and through the door, wipes his shoes on the mat and then toes them off as you close the door to the encroaching night.
There’s something about socked feet, bare feet, that is painfully domestic, painfully homey and full of a feeling you don’t know how to articulate anymore. Something that reminds you so starkly of life before. You’d both gone months, once, without ever taking your shoes off, aside to tape them and switch socks, too afraid you might not have a moment to put them back on.
Joel glances at you as you shuffle past him, a hand placed gently between his shoulders for just a second, before you trek further into the house. “Smells good,” he compliments, following close on your heels. “I ain’t had chicken n’ dumplings in years.”
“That so?”
“Mm.” He moves toward the stove in what you’re sure will be an attempt to serve both of you.
“Nuh uh, sit,” you intercept him bodily and direct him into the chair at the breakfast table.
He huffs at you and sits, only mildly annoyed.
“Crabby,” you comment, spooning out a sizable portion. You always feel that he doesn’t eat enough, that he tries to leave too much behind for you and Ellie, especially after hard work. Joel still ate like he expected rations to run out. It’s unconscious, but it still worries you.
“I ain’t crabby,” he gripes.
You roll your eyes, sit the plate in front of him, and press the back of your hand to his cheek. The sweat is drying tacky on his skin, the strained rose color fading from his cheeks in the warmth of the house. He should have been wearing a jacket; his skin is a clammy kind of chilled, even sweaty and warm as he is. “You’ve actually never not been crabby, and it’s worse when you haven’t eaten,” you inform and hand him a fork with your other hand. “Ellie would agree with me.”
His hair curls at the base of his skull with the evaporating humidity of his skin. Like his socked feet, it feels painfully domestic to witness. Incredibly human, which Joel seemed more than, sometimes. “Guess she would,” he agrees. You lean your hip into his side and wait for him to take a bite, moving your hand away from his cheek to rest on his shoulder.
Joel might show his love through killing himself chopping wood for the winter, but this is the way you do it. He can’t cook, anyhow, and it makes you feel good to give him something good. It reminds you of better times.
When he swallows, eyes fluttering closed at the taste, you pat his shoulder and start to pull away to get your own plate.
“Hey,” he catches at your hand. His fingers tangle briefly with yours. His thumb sweeps over your skin, soft about it, though he doesn’t say anything else for a long moment. “It’s real good.”
“You’re welcome, Joel.” You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek.
When you’re both done eating, he does the dishes, builds a fire in the grate in the living room so the room is warm when you find your way there, book in hand with the intention to complete a nightly ritual that he’s never raised complaint at since it was quietly started.
You alternate between words and music, and last night Joel had played the guitar for you in the chilled air of the back porch, a blanket tucked around your legs.
Joel would never dare admit it, not in ten thousand years, not in the pits of hell with a knife at his throat, but he likes to be taken care of, too.
It’s just so often that he bristles at it, feels guilty and faulty over it.
After dinner, with a full belly, and a stiff drink in him, he’s better about it.
Better about letting you shove him down onto the couch to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging at those delightfully gray locks. It’s longer now, too, and you like that too. You hope he forgets about getting it cut.
It’s such a nice look on him. Handsome. You should probably tell him that, but the words never come out.
He lets you do as you like, easy about it, eyes closed, breathing even and slow as you settle beside him, pressed tight to his chest, ass hanging off the edge of the sofa. You mean to open the book lodged somewhere between your bodies, but you don’t. You just look at him, sleepy, between the fire and the heavy food.
Maybe he’d never admit it but this is one of the many little ways he can accept it. He lets you feed him food that reminds you of your childhood, lets you read to him on alternating evenings, lets you bring him in from the cold when it starts to get dark.
“Should I add chicken and dumplings into our rotation?” You wonder aloud, tracing the lines by his eyes carefully, the vein in his throat, the hollow at his clavicle, the slope of his broad shoulders.
He only grunts and doesn’t open his eyes. “It was good.” And that’s the closest you’ll get to an admission that he would like to have it again.
“Glad for it, Miller,” you say and tuck yourself under his chin. You hear the book fall to the floor and make no move to get it. “You need a shower,” you complain instead, nose pressed to his throat.
He does, but he doesn’t smell bad. He smells like himself, sweat and sawdust and cedar, the faintest whiskey. It’s a human scent, almost comforting. And Joel has, frankly, smelled much worse.
He just locks one thick arm around your waist, the wide flat of his palm against your spine. “In a minute.” But he’s breathing deeply already, halfway to a place you can’t reach. His arm tightens, his head tips down heavily against yours, solid and comforting, mostly asleep.
“In a minute,” you echo.
Joel wakes to a dark living room, a chill creeping in around the edges of the room. You’re still pressed tight against him, though he can’t see how with the way you’re practically halfway onto the floor. If he loosens his arm even a fraction, you’ll go tumbling down.
He considers doing it for just a second, suppressing a chuckle at the unimpressed reaction it would garner, the wet cat look of anger and indignation that would pull over your face.
Instead, he nudges you awake, rubbing your back until you start to stir. The bedroom would be warmer for you, now that the fire had burned down. He hates the thought of you cold, always has. “Let’s go to bed,” he says in your ear.
He doesn’t know exactly where you came from before. It doesn’t really matter anymore, doesn’t hold any weight or meaning, since most places are just empty graveyards that can’t really be returned to. But wherever you came from gave you a pretty little accent, a twang in your voice that’s different from his.
It’s something he loves about you, sounds like home.
“Joel,” you complain, brow scrunching. “You just go on and leave me be.” It’s almost funny, how much twangier it is when you’re close to sleep.
“Can’t do that, honey. C’mon now,” He pats your hip and keeps a steady pressure on your back until you grumble and start to sit up. “Go up to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”
You’re rubbing your eyes, leaning back against his legs. “Why?”
“Fire,” he nods to the still glowing embers as he sits up. “Don’t want the house burnin’ down. Wanna make sure Ellie got home all right, too.”
“Okay.” He keeps a hand on your waist until you’ve got your tired feet under you, still mostly asleep, he thinks, as you balance with one warm hand on his bent knee until you stumble away towards the stairs.
He sighs and tends to the fireplace, then checks out the kitchen’s back window to see the glow of Ellie’s lights on, before following you up the stairs. He expects a dark bedroom but you’re propped up against the headboard with the bedside lamp on, changed into sleep clothes but definitely still awake. “It ain’t that late,” you say when he arches a brow at you and leans against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “And it’s my turn,” you hold up the battered copy of the book you’ve been slowly reading to him.
“It’s all right—”
“Uh-uh,” you interrupt. “Go shower. Then come here.”
He holds up his hands. “Yes ma’am.”
“Mhm,” you hum and flip idly through the book, no longer looking at him.
There’s a hope lodged in his heart that you’ll fall back asleep while you wait. It ain’t that he doesn’t want to hear you read. He’s invested in that story now, and he loves your voice even if he didn’t. The cadence and shape of the words, the rumble of your voice against his ear is a nice balm to drift off to.
What's more is that you deserve the sleep, that he shouldn’t have fallen asleep on you downstairs.
There’s a lot of things about you that scare him. How much he cares for you, for one. But the thing bothering him most now is the one that stares back at him when he looks in the mirror.
Jesus, it’s like everyday there’s more gray in his hair, his beard, even his chest hair is starting to go white and gray. It’s like everyday, he looks and gets a little bit older.
It’s goddamn embarrassing the way he worries about it, the way it bothers him. He doesn’t remember aging, isn’t really sure when it happened. Maybe he spent so many years avoiding the mirror he missed it.
And, well, it wasn’t important before. But now that he has time to think beyond the next day, the next meal, he thinks about it. About how fucking old he looks, especially next to you.
You aren’t younger than him, not but maybe a couple years, if you are at all—another thing that doesn't matter anymore, birthdays and age and counting the years—but you don’t look your age. Your hair has retained its color, aside from the very artful looking gray starting to creep in at your temples, just barely there. Your face isn’t lined, not like his anyway, delicate, graceful little lines by your eyes, instead of the deep creases that crack up his. You don’t seem to ache in the same way he does, either. You don’t seem to feel old.
Maybe that’s why he’s so set on working himself down to the bone over chopping that wood, to prove he was still worth something to you, worth keeping around. Proof that he could keep up with what needed keeping up with.
He watches himself in the mirror, the lines under his eyes and across his forehead, age creeping in around the edge of him like a slow poison. The way you look at him sometimes. . .he knows you think about it too, know it too. You had been in the yard before dinner, eyes locked on him, a look on your face he couldn’t quite get a read on.
It worries him. Makes him sharp with you when he should be the opposite.
It’s embarrassing, really, the way he thinks about it, hates the way your eyes linger on him and feels too fucking self-concious about it to just ask you what you’re thinking. Maybe he just doesn’t want to know.
He glances away from his reflection, a sigh heavy in his chest. He needs a damn haircut, if nothing else.
He makes quick work of the shower, dressing in something warm because he’s always cold, even if that's just another thing he won’t admit to and that is an aversion that gets worse as the years go by.
You gave him a scarf recently, blue and soft, and he wears it because he likes the way you look at him when he leaves in the morning with it on.
When he pushes the door open, you’re still awake, curled up on his side of the bed, book held open with one hand. “Thought we were supposed to do that together,” he says mildly.
“I’m just re-reading where we left off.”
“Mm,” he sits down at your hip. “Scooch.”
You move over just enough for him to lie down, which he does with a huff and a groan. “You got that whole other side there, you know.”
“I like being close to you.”
“Well it ain’t like I’m far. Now c’mon, move it.”
“Cranky.”
“Thought it was crabby?”
“Ha ha,” you deadpan. “Real funny. Y’know sometimes I don’t even know if y’like me at all.”
The way you say it makes something sting in his chest, a sharp little barb wedged between two of his ribs.
You start to move further away, like he asked, when he hooks an arm around your waist, props himself up over you, tangled up in the middle of the bed like you’d end up anyway. “Like ain’t exactly the word I would use.”
A wicked smile pulls the corners of your mouth up. “What word would you use then?”
“Hm,” he looks you over, feels the curve of your thigh, the hook of your knee, press against his hip. “I think you already know what word I’d use.”
You reach up to cup his face between hands that have seen too much violence. The skin of your palms is softer than he remembers it being just a few years before, calloused thumbs sweeping in a tender arch over the apples of his cheeks. “Mm, I think I do.”
“Yeah, y’do,” he agrees, and then lets you pull him down against your chest. The comb of your hand slides through his hair, against the back of his neck and the tops of his shoulders. It’s nice. It’s the kind of affection, attention he’s not sure he’s ever had before.
Not since he was a kid, at the very least. He’s never been the one that got held, just the one doing the holding, and he hates that he likes it.
And he does like it, craves it.
Things like this, they were so easy to get used to, and the hardest thing in the world to adjust to. The mix of it, the easiness and the hard knot of disbelief and potential rejection, make for a disarming cocktail.
You’re so warm and soft under him, the scent of you wild and homey, like cooking and chilled air and soap.
“You smell better,” you tease and pinch his bicep. “You awake?” He feels you shift, book cracked open over his shoulder. “Or am I reading to the ghosts?”
“You got me,” he mutters, curling his arms around your waist, behind your back, and you arch just a little to accommodate him. The material of your shirt rucks up under his hands, soft, scarred skin warm where he touches you. “I’m listenin’.”
You rub the back of his neck again but don’t start reading. He waits a few minutes, listening instead to the sound of your breath, even and slow in your chest, the tap of your heartbeat against his ear.
“You forget how or somethin’?” He asks eventually.
You shake your head, and the paperback comes to rest against his spine. “Have I ever said—” You stop and he waits, but nothing more is forthcoming, just your silence and the kind way you touch him.
“What?”
When he picks his head up, your brows are tilted down over your eyes; you’re frowning at him. “Nothin’,” you dismiss, massaging two fingers against his temple, not quite meeting his eyes.
“Said what?” He tries not to have a bite in his voice about it but he does anyway. Just a little bit of a snap, because he worries whatever you might have not said are all the things he thinks about himself.
You shrug. “I just think the gray looks real nice on you.” You twist a strand of his hair around your finger and tug gently.
He huffs, expecting you to grin at him so he knows you’re just teasing him. But you don’t, your gaze is reverent, adoring where it’s focused on him. “It just makes me look fuckin’ old,” he disagrees and sounds bitter about it.
“No, it means you got to get older, Joel. Not everyone gets the privilege.”
That takes the wind out of his sails. He doesn’t say anything else, words collecting in the back of his mouth like a little ocean he can’t seem to make drain away.
“It makes you look. . .rugged,” you decide, tracing the curve of his jaw. “Handsome.”
“You like it?”
“Yeah.” Another tug. “I love it.”
“Mm.” He clears his throat, tips his head down against your body again, the trapped wing of your heart fluttering faster than it had been before. “All right. Get to readin’ now.”
It makes it just a little bit harder to hate, if that look in your eyes was appreciation, affection. Maybe that’s what he’d seen in your face earlier, and couldn’t quite recognize it.
You tap the book against the back of his head. “Idiot,” you sigh, and then start to read.
It’s some kind of thriller, something you’d started at the beginning of October and still haven’t entirely worked through. The plot is a little ridiculous, all things considered. After all the horrors he’s seen, this book doesn’t do much to thrill him, though it is entertaining in its own way, maybe a little funny.
He’d have to find something new when you’re done with it. Something seasonally appropriate, if he can help it. Some kind of Hallmark holiday romance ordeal. He’d like to hear you giggle through reading something like that out loud.
Yeah, even if it keeps him up, he’d find you something like that.
When your voice fades, each word cottony and long in your mouth with fatigue, he reaches back to pluck the book from your hands, and then flick out the light.
“Baby,” you coo, and it’s nice to hear, nice to have you reaching for him in the dark, kissing him goodnight, because he’s yours, and you like him fine.
What’s the other word? The one that’s decidedly not like?
“Love you,” you say against his mouth, the edge of your lip sticking wetly to his. “Even though you’re always crabby.”
He loves you, too, even though he’s cranky about the whole goddamn world.
💕 Thank you for reading! I would love to hear any thoughts you might have! 💕
Summary: You and Javier become parents for the first time
Rating: Explicit 18+ (By proceeding to read beyond this warning, you are agreeing that you are 18 years or older)
Content: Mostly fluffy, some mentions of grief, non-graphic descriptions of childbirth, I love them your honor
A/N: Sorry to keep you all waiting, but I think once you read this, you'll see that it was fitting. Thank you to @frannyzooey for giving this a look over and for being the amazing person she is. And thank you again to my Crush fam. Love you always!
To receive updates on fic and original work, turn on notifications for @ren-browne-writes!
--------------------
The drive from your house to Laredo Medical Center takes just shy of 24 minutes. Give or take a single traffic light.
You know this because over the last two weeks, you have driven there no less than four times. Twice for your weekly appointment and twice because you were sure it was time.
It was in fact…not.
“Braxton Hicks contractions are tricky,” your doctor kindly explains as she removes a variety of sensors from your overdue belly for the second time. Her understanding smile not making you feel any less foolish as you sit in the hospital bed. “Think of it as your body’s way of doing a test run.”
“But she’s okay?” Javier asks again, staring intently at the monitor as if he means to check the readings for himself. “Should we wait here a while just to be sure?”
“No, no, home is far more comfortable,” the doctor says, clearly doing her best to be reassuring. “Mr. Peña, everything looks great. All very normal. Some babies just take their time.”
As she walks from the room to start your discharge paperwork, you give Javier’s hand a gentle squeeze, and his head quickly turns away from the monitor and back in your direction. His worried expression makes your chest tighten.
“At least, we know you know how to get here,” you tell him, glad when his seriousness lessens. “Next time it’ll be the real deal.”
He leans down to brush a kiss across your forehead, still standing in the same place at your side that he has occupied since you arrived in this room. Stubbornly remaining within easy reach no matter how many nurses work around him.
“Next time,” he agrees, trying to make you feel better as much as himself. “I’m sorry, Bonita. I know you are ready.”
God, so ready. Ready enough that you had tried every trick in the book, including more than a few from your mamá who was only slightly less desperate to meet her grandchild than you were to have them. Very clearly indicated yesterday by the way she had asked your husband—while standing in the middle of your unfinished kitchen—if he was doing his part to help things along.
Javier had looked at her then at you, an unhung cabinet door in his hands and his face a mix of confusion and beginning distress at the idea that he was letting you down in some way.
“Mamá,” you had been quick to defend. “Javi has been wonderful. He takes such good care of me. He—”
“Mija,” your mamá had cut in, “you’re almost a week past your due date. I’m simply suggesting that maybe you try…finishing things how they started.”
It had been your turn to look confused then, right up until the moment that Javier had made a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh.
“Eva, are you suggesting I sleep with your daughter to kickstart her labor?”
“No,” you had said quickly, close to horrified as you gave your husband a warning look. As if your mother would ever—
“I am,” your extremely proper mother had easily countered. “It’s just something to try if this goes on much longer. An idea to think about.”
“Oh, trust me, I think about it plen—” You had clapped a hand over Javier’s mouth just in time, able to feel his laughter against your palm as you had declared that part of the conversation over.
Although you and Javier had picked the discussion up again privately that night. Twice.
“I know it will happen but it’s starting to feel like it’s never going to happen,” you say with a labored huff as he helps you sit up in the bed.
“I just want to see her. Or him. You know?”
He chuckles, crouching down in front of you so that he’s at eye level with your rounded stomach, and he carefully places both hands there before speaking.
“Bebita, that’s enough now,” he says, practicing a stern tone of voice that makes you grin. “It’s time to come out. Your mother is getting impatient.”
You roll your eyes. “Oh, I’m impatient?”
Ever since the two of you found out you were pregnant, Javier has kept one eye on the circled date in the calendar and one on his seemingly unending to-do list. His fingers flipping through each at least once every morning as he decides what will keep him and his thoughts occupied.
Some things, such as building a house, he’s tackled with the help of Chucho and your brothers. The five of them sometimes able to be heard carrying on well into the evening after all the usual chores are done. Tired but pleased expressions on their faces when they drag themselves into Chucho’s kitchen for dinner once it finally becomes too dark to see.
Other things, such as building a crib, he’s tackled mostly on his own. Sawdust at his feet as his hands sand the wood soft and smooth, mind on the future until the moment you call him back to the present.
“Javi.”
The third time you’re sure it’s time comes the day after your last trip to the hospital. Just as you're getting ready for bed by pulling on one of Javier’s well worn t-shirts and a pair of his sweats.
“I think—,” you start to tell him, your voice strained as you grip the door frame of the nursery where he’s been busy hanging shelves. For a moment, all your focus goes to staying standing through a contraction that makes you want to curl into a ball on the floor. “I think—I think we need to go.”
When your water breaks five minutes later, you’re already in his truck, country roads zipping by as he keeps one hand on the wheel and the other in your lap for you to grip to the point of pain.
“We’re almost there,” he tells you again and again. “Hang on. We’re almost there.”
He sounds so calm. So in control that you don’t notice until he’s helping you out of the truck that he’s shaved several minutes off his usual time. A good thing since suddenly you don’t seem to have much to spare.
“Okay, Isabel, when I say, you’re going to push, alright?”
You’re back in the same room you’d been in the day before, only now everything feels different. Everything feels so much more real, including the pain, but you don’t even care. You’re ready.
You nod to the doctor crouched at the foot of the bed, your jaw clenching as soon as you feel the wave of the contraction start to build. The overwhelming pressure blocking out everything else but the person at your back.
“That’s it, Bonita,” he tells you as he sits behind you in the bed, the rise and fall of his chest anchoring you and reminding you how to breathe. “You’re doing great. You’re doing so good, baby.”
You know he’s scared even if he doesn’t sound it. Any time his hands were idle, any time there weren’t ice chips to fetch or extra blankets to grab or pillows to adjust, you could see it on him. Any time he asked the nurses if there was anything more they could give you for the pain, if there was anything more he could do.
Whether the nurse told him to get up in bed with you because it’s what you needed or because it’s what would keep him still, you’re not sure but you’re grateful either way.
Your head falls back against his shoulder as the contraction recedes, already more tired than you’ve ever been in your life when the doctor tells you she needs one more big push.
“Javi—your turn—you push,” you demand between pants, smiling when he huffs and bends to press his lips firmly against your brow.
“I would if I could, mi vida. I’d take it all away if I could.”
“I know,” you tell him, tensing as you feel the next contraction start. You turn your head to kiss him quickly before you clasp his hands tightly and start to push. Hard.
This time when the pressure fades away it’s eclipsed by an earsplitting cry, and the relief at the sound is enough to make you cry, too, before you’ve even had a chance to open your eyes and look.
“She’s beautiful,” Javier murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s perfect, Isabel. I’m so proud of you. You did it. She’s here.”
She.
Wailing with indignation at her arrival into the world, you have to agree your daughter is the most perfect thing you’ve ever seen. Even before they clean her up, before Javier cuts the cord with a still surprisingly steady hand, before you even have a chance to really look at her big brown eyes or her dark head of hair…she’s perfect.
“Hello, mi corazón,” you murmur to her as soon as they lay her on your chest. Her little face still scrunched up with the type of deep frown that you’re positive only a child of Javier Peña could muster. “We’ve been waiting to meet you.”
His arms around both of you, Javier’s chin rests on your shoulder as he gazes down at his daughter in awe. “She’s so small.”
Her eyes move to his face at the sound of his voice, her expression immediately soothing, and you laugh. “So it begins…”
“What?”
You laugh again, tipping your head back to kiss his cheek, still damp with tears of his own. “Already loves her papá.”
He doesn’t say anything in response, only reaches forward to touch her nose, her hands, her feet. Just as hesitant then as he is a little while later when your positions have shifted, you leaning into his side as you carefully pass him a baby who looks even smaller in his hands than she had in yours.
“I didn’t think…” he says quietly, even though it’s just the three of you now. “I didn’t really think I’d get to have this.”
You look up at him, and you know he means it. The disbelief is as clear on his face as the sheer adoration.
“Not after everything. I didn’t think…” He turns his head to look back at you, leans in to kiss you softly before he whispers, “Thank you.”
That confession prompts the first of several good cries you have over the next few hours. One wave of tears had arrived as you tried to get the hang of nursing, another as you got to have your first proper meal, and one more because your favorite telenovela was just ending right as you got to the right channel.
“Oh, honey, don’t worry they play reruns all day,” the nurse had reassured you.
“It’s fine. Sorry, I don’t—I don’t know why I’m crying,” you’d told her, wiping away tears as Javier held the baby in one arm and gave you a gentle squeeze with the other.
“You just had a baby, Isabel,” he had reminded you after the nurse gave you a very scientific explanation about fluctuating hormones. “If you want to cry, cry.”
You did. Again. First because you loved him so much but then because you thought him and the baby looked so pretty together.
“They do! Of course, they do!” your mamá declares when you share that observation with her shortly after she arrives. “But look at my gorgeous daughter. You did wonderfully, mija.”
She hugs you for a long time before she starts fussing, demanding a full firsthand report from your doctor and nurses before she reaches for the baby with the seasoned confidence of a mother of four.
Javier chuckles and passes her over, immediately digging into the bags of food your mamá had brought and making you a plate for this rare moment when both your hands are free. He’s halfway to making himself one, too, when his dad walks in.
“Hey, Pop,” Javier greets him, intercepting him with a proud smile and a tight hug before Chucho wanders over and gives you one as well.
“You want to meet your granddaughter?”
He nods, his kind face looking at the bundle your mamá is placing in his arms as she tells him, “Just wait, Chucho. She’s going to have us all wrapped around her finger.”
“Just like her mamá then,” he says, grinning down at your daughter as Javier laughs.
When her small hand grasps Chucho’s finger in agreement, you start crying again, grateful that Javier is back sitting next to you so that you can hide your new tears in his shirt and give him a meaningful nudge.
He glances over at you for confirmation before clearing his throat and saying, “We, uh, have a name for her.”
Immediately both Chucho and your mamá look from him to you and back again, eager for one of you to share, but you know there’s no way you’re going to be able to get it out without fully sobbing.
“We want to name her Maria,” Javier says, struggling too. “For mom.”
Your mamá sniffs, pulling a handkerchief from her purse and nodding adamantly as she looks down at your daughter with a soft smile. Speechless for once but you don’t need her to say anything to know you have her approval.
For his part, Chucho takes a deep but unsteady breath, hiding his eyes beneath his hat before he nods, too.
“That’s…” He clears his throat. “I know that means a lot to your mamá, Javi.”
You don’t have to give Javier another nudge this time before he’s on his feet, crossing the distance to his dad and giving him another hug as your newborn daughter is sandwiched in between. Not that she seems to mind, barely stirring until a few minutes later when she’s ready to eat again.
“We’ll give you kids some time,” Chucho tells you, giving you a kiss on the crown of your head before he skillfully herds your mamá from the room. On her way out, you think you hear her say something that sounds a lot like, “Your brothers will be by later.”
Javier sighs, lying next to you and looking as tired as you feel as you rest your head on his arm and nurse the baby.
“Do you think if we bar the door that would stop them?” asks you, teasingly. “I think I can make a good barricade just with the bags of baby clothes Eva brought. It’s that or we’re going to be smothered by five additional people trying to fit in here at once.”
“Could be six,” you say, biting your cheek as you try not to snicker at Javier’s aghast expression.
“Six? Who?”
You shrug, still grinning. “I don’t know for sure. But Gabe thinks he has someone he likes and says whoever it is, she’s giving him a hell of a time.”
“I love her already. I hope he suffers.”
“Javi,” you say, nodding your head in the direction of his daughter. “Try to set a good example.”
“You’re right, Bonita. I’m sorry.” He leans down so he’s close to Maria’s head. “Bebita, we take any opportunity to enjoy your Tío Aarón’s pain, alright? One day you’ll understand why.”
You laugh, knowing there’s no real malice in his words. Not anymore.
“I hope she does,” you say softly, and when Javier raises his eyebrows at you, you clarify, “I hope she understands. What it’s like to love someone so much that you’d fight for them.”
He smiles, leaning in to kiss you before looking back down at his now sleeping daughter. “Me, too. When she’s all grown up. At least one hundred years from now.”
You shake your head at him even though you understand the sentiment perfectly, struggling to picture your tiny newborn any bigger than she is right now. Her first steps. Her first words. Her first day at school. Things you can’t wait to see even though you already know they’ll break your heart when you do.
“Yeah,” you agree, gently lifting her so that you can press another kiss to her soft head before you curl against Javier’s chest. “A hundred years sounds good.”
——————
Addl A/N: I am now working on turning Crush into an original novel! If you’re interested in receiving updates, please give me a follow on TikTok or Insta at renbrownewrites. 🫶🏻
Rating: Explicit 18+ (By proceeding to read beyond this warning, you are agreeing that you are 18 years or older)
Content: Fluffy, fluffy, fluffy, Javi being a supportive king, Javi and Isa's daughter being the exact kind of chaos you'd expect
A/N: A little slice of life set between The Letter and The Home. Thank you to Crush fam for continuing to love these two!
--------------------
It’s your first article. The first of many as Javier frequently reminds you, and honestly you’re not sure which of you is more pleased.
“Look at that, bebita,” Javier tells your daughter, holding her on his lap at the kitchen table with the front page of the paper spread out in front of them. “Look at your mamá. Already on the front page.”
Maria’s toddler face scrunches with confusion, trying to figure out why the grown-ups are so pleased about something that has only one picture, but she still listens attentively to her father’s voice.
“She’s going to be running the place in no time.”
You laugh, shaking your head and grinning as you stand beside Javier with your hand resting on his shoulder.
“God forbid, as if I don’t already have my hands full enough as it is…” You look down at the pair of them, and Maria and Javier look at each other.
“I think she’s talking about us, mija,” he whispers to her conspiratorially, and Maria’s brown eyes light up as she giggles. “But she’s got it all wrong, doesn’t she?”
In answer, Maria points at the floor, babbling to be set down and no sooner do her feet hit the ground than she’s off running with a high pitched squeal.
“She’s probably just putting herself down for a nap,” Javier says, moments before the sound of a giant tub of Duplo blocks being upended erupts from the living room. When you raise your eyebrows at him, he adds, “I’m sure that’s nothing.”
“With your daughter it’s never nothing…” you tell him as he stands, wrapping his arm around you and tucking you into his side. “She’s always up to something. Just like her father.”
“Not true, Bonita,” he says, turning to face you with a grin. “She’s her mamá through and through.”
You open your mouth to argue, but he’s already cupping your jaw in his hand as he bends his head to kiss you softly.
“Smart and kind. Beautiful and brave and…” The sound of wooden blocks being tipped over crashes in from the other room. “Trouble.”
You laugh, and he kisses you again, deeper this time. Lingering over it until by the time he pulls away your hands are fisted in his shirt and you’re wishing your daughter really was down for a nap.
“You did so well, Isa,” he murmurs to you, still holding you against his chest as his hand rubs up and down your back. “I’m so proud of you.”
Your heart squeezes in your chest, the sudden urge to cry making your words harder to get out. “It’s just a little article, Javi. In a local paper. It’s not a big — ”
“It is a big deal,” he tells you firmly, leaning back so he meets your eyes. “Everyone in Laredo will see it. They’ll read it, and they’ll think about it. They’ll know more because of it. That is a big deal.”
You glance over your shoulder at the paper, the headline declaring that the 2000 US census had seen unprecedented growth in the immigrant population over the course of the nineties. Enough that it accounted for nearly seventy percent of the country’s growth in the last decade, though without the proper programs and support in place, many were finding themselves living both below the poverty line and without affordable healthcare.
You’d poured over the story for weeks in an attempt to get it right, finding families to interview as well as people who worked at the local immigration advocacy office. Something Javier had taken a particular interest in when you had asked him to read over draft after draft, and you keep meaning to suggest to him that he should go talk to them himself.
It’d be good for him, you think. To feel like he was doing something to help make a difference.
“Well…” you say, quickly swiping away an escaping tear, “I’m not sure how much of Laredo will actually see it.”
Javier frowns, brushing another tear away from your cheek with his thumb, “Why do you think that?”
You laugh, stepping away and grabbing the top paper from a very large stack on the kitchen counter. “Because I think you bought most of them.”
He rolls his eyes. “I did not. I just wanted to make sure we had a copy. And Gabe asked me to save him one. And Chucho and Eli and Aarón said for me to grab one for them while I was out. Your mamá said she grabbed one for them, but I thought I’d get one just in case. It’s only printed the one time.”
“Javi, everyone you just mentioned — with the exception of Gabe — already gets the Laredo paper so I’m pretty sure — ”
He cuts you off with his mouth on yours, and you can’t help but laugh as you playfully shove at his chest.
“Going to buy twice as many next time,” he mutters, still chasing your mouth while also reaching for the paper in your hand as if afraid you’ll hurt it. “Just watch me.”
You grin, not questioning for a second that he would. “You’re ridiculous.”
He offers no disagreement, too busy nuzzling into the curve of your neck and muttering all the other things he’s going to have you watch him do. The list growing increasingly heated until the moment you’re both interrupted by a cooling splash of concern.
“Uh oh,” your daughter’s small voice calls, sending both of you into the living room where you’re relieved to find any real damage is limited to a book with a freshly torn out page. She holds it up when she sees you, completely oblivious to the idea that her parents could want to do anything else in that moment but fix it for her.
Javier chuckles, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before walking over and taking the offered item.
“Come on, bebita, let’s get the tape,” he tells her, already heading for your office with his little shadow on his heels. That is until she realizes you aren’t there, too.
“Come, mamá,” she directs you, holding out her hand for you to take. You let her wrap her fingers around yours, leading you away until she pauses and stares at the newspaper still in your other hand. Clearly not done puzzling over its importance.
“You know your papá used to be in the paper,” you tell her, crouching down so that you’re at eye level as you offer it to her. “I used to watch for him. So that I’d know he was okay.”
She looks at you, her expression open. Brown eyes and brown curls that remind you so much of Javier’s that it makes you want to start crying again.
“It was a secret,” you explain, and when her eyes light up at the word, you’re quick to add, “but not anymore. Everyone knows I love your papá.”
Maria smiles, more likely at the mention of Javier than due to any real understanding of what you’ve just told her, although you appreciate the support all the same. Especially when she looks down at the paper with renewed interest, trying to open it when it’s practically as big as she is.
“I know, they’re not the easiest to read,” you tell her, scooping her up and heading in the direction of Javier as you talk, “My editor said that they are going to start putting the articles online, too, but let’s not tell daddy about that. You know how he gets about computers.”
this was supposed to be posted on friday which was the release date for both movies but i was in mexico and i had no signal 😭 also i will always be a whore for cillian murphy 🫶🏼🫶🏼 he’s literally the reason i watched a quiet place 2 twice sooooo
liked by ameliadimz, ariana_greenblatt and 4,277,280 others
barbiethemovie TEASER TRAILER OUT NOW!
y/nmymother this is going to heal my depression
murphyfam y/n and cillian having their movies come out on the same day is so iconic of them
pascalismybf clearing my schedule just for them on july 21st
violetdelights y/n: 💕💖🌸💓💝🌷🎀🩰 cillian: 🖤⚫️💣🔪🧍🏻🔥💥🧨
View all 34,266 comments
y/nl/nmurphy has added to their story
liked by barbiethemovie, oppenheimermovie and 5,277,288 others
y/nl/nmurphy cillian and I spending today with the birthday boy instead of working. happy birthday, my sweet boy!!
barbiethemovie he’s more than kenough! happy birthday, alexander!
florencepugh what a legend! auntie flo sends so much love to the birthday boy❤️
tomhardy my godson is looking great! love you alex!
extratv barbenheimer day? no, it’s alexander murphy day!
Heyo, how are you doing? I’ve to say that lately I haven’t been in a Cillian mood but since all those new pics of him have surfaced, I just feel like devouring him 🤤. So, I was wondering if you’d be up writing an oneshot about an idea I had please? ❤️🙏
He’s getting ready for an event or similar and I don’t want him to leave because it’s like he ends up being more handsome which each passing day and just want to keep him behind doors and never let him out of the house (even having their two dogs help her). Deep down it’s just insecurity that he might wake up, realise how mediocre she is, and find someone better.
The Only One...
Pairing- Cillian Murphy and Reader - Not based on real life
Thank you for your support, would love to hear your thoughts!
Hope this is what you wanted @being-worthy
Watching your husband unzip his suit bag, you resisted the urge to sigh. It was the Dublin Premier, of Oppenheimer today. It had been a whirlwind tour, LA, Paris, London. You had joined him in Paris and London, but were glad to be home. With your son.
At eighteen months, he was a whirlwind of energy. Having stayed at his grandparents, for a few days. You were wanting to stay home with him. He needed his parents, his own bed. And honestly, you found the events soo hard.
As much as you were proud of Cillian, showing a United front. You always felt, like you had imposter syndrome.
People judging you, criticizing you. Wonder why he was with you, no doubt. Plain old Y/n…While he stood next to Hollywood’s elite. Surrounded by beautiful women. You always ending up feeling so insecure.
Plus, with the Sag strike he was only going to attend the red carpet. Not stay for the night. Still, you wished he didn’t have to go. Taking his black suit out of the bag, he caught your eye in the mirror.
“You ok?” He asked, eyebrow raised.
“Yeah,” you smiled, climbing from the bed. Where your son was playing with his toy animals. “Can’t wait to see you in the suit,” You ran your hands across his chest.
“Daddy go?” Your son, Finn asked reaching his arms out.
Scooping up his son, Cillian kissed his nose. “Dada won’t be long, I will see you in the morning. After sleepy time,”
Finn wrapped his arms around his Dad’s neck. “Me no night night,” he protested, frowning up at his Daddy.
"Mummy will do night night," you smiled, stroking his nose, as he clambered out of Cillian's arms. Finn ran off into his bedroom. Making sure the stairgate was closed. You came back to see Cillian, watching him start to strip off.
He had put the weight back on, that he had lost for Oppenheimer. And was trying to bulk up again, for the Peaky movie. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you rested your head against his toned back.
"Are you horny, baby?" he chuckled, turning to look at you. Taking your face between his hands. The noise of your two dogs barking, floating up the large staircase.
"No," you shrugged, "I just..." you stopped mid sentence, not being able to articulate your thoughts.
Running his tongue along his lips, he softly kissed you. Hands reaching for your ass, he picked you up. Holding you against his body, kissing your collar bone.
"I can tell you are, Mrs Murphy, I know you're tics,"
"Mama, woof woof," Finn babbled, running back into the bedroom. He didn't walk anywhere, always ran. Such a boisterous little boy, loved to be outside, getting dirty.
Squeezing your bum, Cillian placed you back down with a wink.
“Me up?" Finn asked his daddy. Scooping up his son, Cillian spun him around like an aeroplane. Dropping him onto the bed, as Finn burst into giggles.
Leaving him to get dressed, you went to feed the dogs. Catching sight of yourself, in the hallway mirror you sighed. Your hair wasn’t as glossy, you had lines appearing around your eyes. You needed some sun.
All you had been reading, was how much chemistry Cillian had with his female Co stars. How they had a deep connection. Journalists had even commented, on him having a crush on Florence Pugh.
She was only five years younger than you. But you felt twenty years older.
Feeding your two black Labradors, you grabbed a glass of wine. Heading back upstairs, you should be starting dinner really. You just couldn't snap out of this lull.
Cillian was tucking his black shirt, into his suit trousers. The top two buttons of his shirt left open, chest hair showing.
“Do I look like I’m going to a funeral?” He questioned.
Walking over to him, you let your fingers brush through his hair. “No you look good, very handsome, you always do,”
Sitting back on the bed, you sipped your wine. “I wish you were coming with me,” Cillian stated, fastening his belt. “He would have been fine at my brothers,”
"He's already been left for a few days, Cill. It's just easier if you go alone. I don't feel like dressing up again," Scrolling through your phone, sipping the wine, you watched him walking over to you.
"Cillian Murphy, to join his two female co stars for Dublin Premier,"
The article read, as you scrolled through it. Pictures from the London Premier there.
"Well, I think you look beautiful as you are." Cillian replied, hovering over you.
He noticed what you were looking at. Pressing kisses against your neck, "When you wake up in the morning," Slipping his hands around your waist, he made you look at him. "Always perfect,"
"Have you read what they are saying, about you and Florence?" you asked, ignoring his attempt to distract you.
Cillian took your phone, placing it on the bedside table. "Don't start reading that shit, letting it get in your head, hmm?" His thumb stroked across your chin. "You are the only one for me... my wife... the love of my life,"
"Yeah?" he asked again, spreading your legs apart, while you hooked them around him. "I love you,"
"I love you too, Cill," you answered, staring into his eyes. "And you look sooo gooood, when you come home to me tonight. I think Daddy deserves some attention, hmm?"
Cillian nodded his head, like an eager teenager. "Would it be the red lace slip sort of attention?" he pouted, eyebrow raised. Pinning your arms over your head, as you ground up against him.
"Me Horsey?" Finn asked, pulling at your arm.
Cillian groaned, "Careful Daddy, nearly got caught again," you chuckled.
Eventually waving goodbye to Cillian, you felt happier. Knowing it was you his was returning to in just a few short hours.
Note-
After writing this request, I realised I had written a similar story to this ➡️ Insecurities
Summary: After you meet Javier Peña giving a presentation at your elementary school, you get ready to meet him at your co-worker's backyard cookout. You just hope that he remembers you.
Warnings: Mentions of Javi's past with the DEA, mentions of grief/death, mentions of food and alcohol, mentions of blood and needing first aid (nothing major), Javi taking care of you, allusions to sexual tension, you being a sarcastic asshole and Javi being too smitten to care
Word Count: 8.5K
A/N: Shout out to Chucho Peña for being the G.O.AT. And Javi putting his DEA first aid skills to the test. Thank you for the likes and reposts! These two are fun to write.
Series Masterlist Next Chapter Previous Chapter
Javi couldn’t think of the last time that he had turned on the radio in his truck. It had practically gone untouched since he had returned home to Laredo. But today, on his way back to the Sheriff's Department, he had put music on full volume the whole drive. His brain overflowed with images of you. Your smile, your laugh, God, the way you looked in that damn dress. The sweet smell of you still lingered in his mind as you had gotten only inches away from his lips. “See you on Saturday.” If he had known that today’s trip would have ended like this, he would have become the damn D.A.R.E representative of the office. He was so consumed with thoughts of you, that it wasn’t until he had passed City Hall that he realized he had driven by the Sheriff's Department 15 minutes ago.
“How’d it go, Peña?” Javier could barely take 3 steps into his office before Carter was already at his door. “You sure look happy.”
“Hey, look who made it out alive!” A 2nd voice chimed in from outside the office door, Carter’s partner, Detective Miller.
“Told ya it wouldn’t be that bad! Was the hot one there that I told you about? Jesus, I’d go back to do that stupid ass presentation again just to see her.”
“God I hope she was, she must have been out sick the day I went because all I got were 3 middle aged ladies and disappointment.” Carter and Miller laughed to each other.
“Definitely would have paid way more attention if she was my fuckin’ teacher, god damn, she is a hot piece of a-”
Javier was no stranger to his co-workers checking out women on the job, hell, he was guilty of it too. But there was something about the conversation that made his stomach churn with jealousy.
“She’s got a fucking name, alright? Don’t talk about her like that.” Javier snapped, leaving the two men standing in his doorway stunned. Given his reputation, Carter and Miller thought Javier would be quick to join in on the banter.
“Jesus, sorry man. Just trying to have some fun.” The two backed out of his office, not expecting such a reaction from him. Carter was just about to open his mouth, hoping to gain some intel from Javier’s trip, but before he could, Miller gave him a silent shake “no”, gesturing to get the hell out before Carter did something else stupid to piss their boss off.
Despite his interaction with Carter and Miller, Javi spent the rest of the day in a surprisingly good mood.
Fuck, did he feel… happy?
It obviously wasn’t a look that Javier wore often, considering that as he left the office for the day and gave a smile, accompanied by “Have a good night!” to the office secretary, she looked up at him with legitimate concern and asked if he was okay.
Dust swept around his truck as Javi pulled down the dirt driveway to the front of the Peña ranch. The quaint house was nestled amongst acres of farmland, sat in front of a well loved barn where the horses were kept. The porch was lined with a colorful arrangement of flowers and figurines, all lovingly placed by Lucia, and even more lovingly tended to by her husband, Chucho, who swore his best to keep her garden alive after she no longer could.
The front door let out a faint squeak as Javier made his way through, taking off his shoes and setting down his things before making his way over to the fridge. Reaching at the handle to grab a beer and something to eat, he saw the bright yellow sticky note placed at eye level as he bent down.
Javi,
It’s Wednesday. I’m with Las Vengüenzas (The Embarrassments) for cards. Will be back around 9. There’s leftovers in the fridge. Símon is being an ass today. Watch out.
Love, Pops
Chucho Peña was notorious for leaving notes everywhere around the house. Javi was pretty sure if he didn’t make a bi-weekly trip around the ranch, the entire thing would be covered in yellow post-it notes.
After inhaling half of a leftover sandwich, and finishing off his beer, Javi slipped on his boots and made his way out to the barn to round up and feed the horses for the night. Before accepting his new position at the Sheriff's department several months ago, Javi spent the beginning of his time home from the DEA working with his father on the ranch. When he came home from Colombia, he didn’t really have a plan. Just that he couldn’t take working for the DEA any longer. Even after he had leaked the dark, unsettling truth of what had happened with the Cali Cartel and made a point to politely tell the DEA to fuck off, Javi would still receive the occasional call asking him if he would consider coming back to help fight the drug war raging across the border in Mexico. The request to fuck off got less and less polite with each call.
Still, Javi felt unsettled resigning himself to a life of ranching forever. His body had proved to him that he definitely was not as young as he once was, and he couldn’t help but miss the fact that what he was doing held some sort of significance to make things better.
When Dean Morris approached Chucho about the new training position opening up for the department, he told the elder Peña that the office was willing to do just about anything to have Javi be a part of their team. No field work, normal office hours, pay raise, and good benefits. Just providing his expertise and knowledge to new recruits and staff about strategies to stop trafficking across the border. Javier had considered the option of telling him to fuck right off too, but the more he thought about it, the more he felt like an idiot to pass something like this up. He felt guilty leaving his position at the ranch with his dad, but his father assured him “If I could do it all these years while you were gone, I’d sure as hell look like a fool if I couldn’t keep doing it now. Don’t think you’re still getting out of helping while you’re around, though. You can promise your old man you won’t leave me too high and dry. ”
So here Javi was, making good on his promise. As he opened the gate to the barn, 2 of the horses trotted up to him immediately, knowing that it must be close to dinner time. 3 more slowly followed, leaving one left for Javi to corral.
Where the hell was he?
“Son of a bitch.” Javier muttered to himself, noticing that the last horse he was looking for was all the way across the field, perfectly content where he was standing. Chucho was right, Símon was going to be a pain in the ass today.
“Símon! Get your ass over here! I’m not going all the way out to get you!”
Nothing.
“Fine, starve to death, see if I care.” Javi had a sweet spot for animals, but Símon’s antics tended to make the horse an exception to the rule.
Javi turned his back and made his way to the other 5 horses choosing to give him much less of a hard time. Javi filled the troughs with food, leaving the horses happily munching on their dinner. As he got one last scoop from the bucket to place into the trough, a soft muzzle bumped its way under the scoop, causing the food to fly everywhere. Símon let out a loud whinney, mocking Javier for letting out a startled yell and dropping the remainder of the food all over the floor of the barn. “Stupid ass horse…” Javi grumbled.
As Javi ventured his way back to the house, several more lights had been turned on inside the house, signaling that his dad must be back from his weekly cards night.
Kicking his boots off on the back step, Javi greeted his father. “Hey Pops. You were right about Símon. Pendejo scared the shit out of me and knocked a whole scoop of food out of my hand.”
“Well from what I gather, it seems like that’s a small tarnish on what otherwise seems to be a pretty good day.” Javi could hear the delight in Chucho’s voice from around the corner. He had forgotten that both Maria and Estelle’s husbands were a part of Chucho’s card club, and were probably both delighted to gossip to their husbands about their eventful day at school.
Javi joined his father in the kitchen, pulling out a chair from the dining room table and plopping himself in it. “Word travels fast, I guess.”
“Not fast enough for Maria, apparently. She called me as soon as she got home from school to tell me about today. She was delighted to see you, and even more delighted to tell me that apparently you’re now joining me for the cookout that you very adamantly told me you weren’t going to.” Chucho raised his eyebrows and smirked. “I heard she’s a sweet girl.”
Javi rubbed his hand across the width of his face, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Pops, listen, it’s not that big of a deal, I just met her today. She seemed nice.”
“Must be a little more than just nice if you’re willing to go through the ringer your mother’s friends are about to put you through on Saturday.” Chucho now delighted in the fact he could tell Javier was becoming increasingly more sheepish as the conversation continued. “Ah, the things we do for love…”
“Dad, listen I-”
“I know, I know, you just met her. But let me tell you hijo, I knew from the moment that I laid eyes on your mother, she was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. The fact that you’re volunteering yourself to talk with your friends and family you’ve been avoiding since you’ve been home just for another chance to see her? She must be something special.” Chucho sighed, and made his way past Javi, extending his arm out to pat him on the shoulder as he passed by. “I just want you to be happy, hijo. Sounds like today was a good start. Well, this old man is off to bed, I may not be beautiful, but I sure need my sleep. Good night, Javi.”
“Night, Pops.”
Chucho retreated to this bedroom, leaving Javi alone in the kitchen. Javi stared at the pictures hanging on the wall across from the table. His gaze traveled across the wall noting the variety of framed photos. Him as a toddler in nothing but a cowboy hat and diaper, his mother and father standing next to him holding his diploma from his high school graduation, and Chucho and Lucia slow dancing together at their 25th wedding anniversary party. Javi smiled at the joy and happiness radiating off their faces in the photo.
Today was a good start.
………..
You were convinced that time could not have moved any slower than it did between Wednesday and Friday. Exhausted from the end of the school year excitement, you were sure that even a constant IV coffee drip was going to be enough to keep you alive for the next few days. The only thing keeping you going was Saturday. Specifically, Javier Peña.
Your week became a little more bearable in the moments in the staff lounge you got in between inhaling your lunch, listening to your co-workers drabble bits of information about Javier and the Peña family. You tried to absorb as much of it as you can, without trying to sound too over-eager or ask too many questions. On Wednesday, after your encounter, you asked at lunch how the ladies knew Javi. From there, you had learned that his late mother used to work with the rest of the 3rd grade team before passing about a decade ago (And had been inseparable up until then), he had started his new job at the Sheriff's department a few months ago after returning back to Texas (but you couldn’t figure out where or why he was gone), and they were definitely not a fan of some woman named Lorranie (you weren’t sure why on that either, but the look on their faces told you Lorranie was bad news). If there was one thing your co-workers loved to do, it was talk. While you were happy it provided you with some intel about Javi, the thought of what these ladies had been saying about you behind your back was also petrifying.
Some way or another, you finally managed to make it to Friday at 4:00 PM, students now all gone from your classroom and headed home for the weekend. With the few ounces of energy you had left, you began to gather your things from your desk to pack up and head out with the promise of Saturday finally on the horizon.
As you were turning off your lights and closing the door behind you, the 3 Amigas of 3rd grade came strolling up behind you.
“So, mija, are you excited for tomorrow?” Maria said, giving you a playful nudge in the arm as you joined the group of ladies walking down the hallway towards the parking lot. You could already feel your cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. Of course you were excited for tomorrow. The thought of seeing the tall, broad and handsome man that was Javier Peña was the only thing you through this week. His deep brown eyes, the way his shoulders stretched the back of his navy blue suit, his hands? You had only known this man for less than a week, yet the image of him flooded your brain every day since you met. Not to mention the fact you hadn’t been on a first date (or anything even close to that) since you met Paul almost 3 and a half years ago. It was only now that you felt the nerves swirling around in your stomach, realizing tomorrow you were actually going to see him again.
“Yeah, I’m really excited! I’ve been looking forward to it all week. I’m uh, actually kind of nervous though.” Your voice began to trail off as the women looked at you with a smirking suspicion. You quickly elaborated, trying not to make it too obvious the reason why you were worked up was because of the one person you were most looking forward to seeing.
“You know, because this is my first big party I’ve been to since moving here, and I don’t know a lot of people, and want to make a good impression and-”
“You’ll know us” Linda cut you off with a smile.
“You’ll know someone else there besides us old broads, too.” Estelle winked.
“Mija, there is nothing for you to worry about. Just be yourself, and I’m sure that everyone there will love you. Anyways, we’ve already put in a good word for you, so I wouldn’t be too nervous. ”
“Maria, leave the poor girl be! She’s a tough cookie, she can fend for herself!” Linda retorted. She could tell from the look on your face that this conversation was turning out to make you more anxious than expected. “It’ll be a fun time, mija. Drive home safe and we will see you tomorrow.”
The 4 of you waved and said goodbye as you parted ways to your cars scattered across the parking lot. As you sat down in the driver’s seat, you couldn’t tell if you were covered in sweat from the hot, Texas sun beating through the windows of your car, or because the idea of tomorrow had you a hot mess.
………..
Your apartment was finally starting to feel like home. Pictures of your family hung on the walls, furniture finally delivered, contents of moving boxes unpacked and put away. You were a little too Type A for your own good, and while for the most part, your boxes had been sorted and organized you still didn’t feel settled until everything felt like it had a place. The last thing left to put away was a box marked “CHICAGO” that had sat in the corner of your living room, long after its counterparts had been sorted to their rightful home. You had told yourself that you needed to finally face unpacking this box before the school year came to an end, and with your countdown at 4 days, time was starting to run out.
After you had finished putting away the contents of your school bag, you changed out your work clothes, tossing them in your hamper and rummaging through your dresser to pull out a pair of black biker shorts and an oversized Chicago Cubs shirt, its logo faded and fraying from all of its wear. On your way back to the living room, you passed through the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. If given a choice, it was always Miller Lite. Growing up with 3 older brothers, it was the beer they would sneak you sips of when your parents weren’t looking. It was the beer you drank in college, knowing that a night drinking most liquors would send you to an early grave the next morning. It was what you drank almost every night for months after finding out you had wasted years of your life with Paul, who couldn’t be bothered to give an apology for what he had done to hurt you. If there was one thing you were, it was a little too stubborn for your own good, and you and Miller Lite had a history you weren’t willing to part ways with now.
That lead you back to public enemy #1- The “CHICAGO” box. You saw crossed legged on the floor as you rested your hand on your face, the other bringing the beer to your mouth for some liquid courage. The thing that frustrated you the most about this stupid box was that you knew exactly what was inside it. You could probably name where the contents were positioned inside the box. But every time you came close to ripping the packing tape off, you found yourself frozen in fear. If you opened that box, you would be admitting to the fact that when you were faced with the toughest moments in your life, you chose to run. Run half way across the country without looking back. And that- that made you feel a sense of cowardice that hung heavy on your conscience. You’d like to think that you were strong, determined, willing to stand up for yourself. But when it mattered most, you were none of those things. You were far from it.
So here you were again. You and that damn box. After this week, you didn’t have it in you to intensify the staring contest you had started with an inanimate object, and the prospect of tomorrow was enough to ruin your mood over a stupid container full of things. Exhausted, you sat yourself down on the couch, curled up in a blanket and turned on the TV to watch the next NHL Playoff game.
There were a lot of things you loved about Texas, but their lack of enthusiasm for hockey was a bit disappointing. When people asked you some of things you missed most about the midwest, a hockey fix was at the top of your list. Growing up with 3 older brothers who all played, you were convinced you came out of the womb with skates on. You were also convinced the need to keep up with your brothers is what fueled the fire for your overly competitive nature. The only downside to your love for hockey was when it came to dating. Being around your brother’s teammates, you constantly heard “how hot it was” or that it was “so sexy” when girls knew about hockey, or sports in general. In reality, whenever you brought up your interest on dates, it backfired. It turned into “Well you only know about it because of your brothers” or “It’s weird that you play hockey, that’s too manly.” One man once made the mistake of taking you on a first date to a skating rink thinking it would be cute to teach you how to skate, until you lapped him several times as he wobbled like a baby deer, and made him storm off in anger because a girl was better at skating than him. His loss.
Taking another sip of your beer, you could feel your eyelids growing heavy as you leaned your head further and further into your couch pillow. Despite trying your best to stay awake, exhaustion and comfort swept over your body, as you were lulled to sleep by the sweet sounds of cheering and bullhorns coming from the TV.
It wasn’t until you were greeted by a sharp, stiff pain in your back that you realized you had fallen asleep, curled up on your couch, not even making it into bed last night. You grunted and rolled over to look at the clock hanging above your kitchen counter
10:13 AM
Shit. You were definitely not planning on sleeping in this late. The cookout wasn’t until 2:00, and all you had on your to-do list was to shower and get ready, but the last thing you wanted was for anything to make you late for something you had been looking forward to for the past 3 days.
After taking what you so lovingly deemed the “3 hour shower” (washing and conditioning your hair, shaving, and scrubbing down every inch of your body), you stood wrapped in your towel, staring at your open closet. You swiped through several pieces, throwing them down on the bed, bracing yourself for the personal fashion show that was about to ensue.
Almost an hour later, and half your closet now scattered about on the floor, you were convinced that if you had woken up at 7:00 AM you still would be crunched for time trying to pick out an outfit. What the hell does someone wear to a casual cookout full of a bunch of people they don’t know, and one really hot one that they want to get to know better?
After a few more combinations, you ruled out shirts and shorts, worrying that you were going to look too informal amongst a group of strangers. You dug back through your pile of dresses, trying a few back on hoping to find a solution. At 12:30, you landed on a baby blue sundress covered in small, white and pink flowers. Considering it was going to be 89 degrees today, you figured the spaghetti straps and knee length cut would be acceptable. It made you feel confident, and even a little sexy. After almost an hour of trying to toe the line between cute and casual, you threw on the dress and give yourself a quick run down in the mirror. Not half bad. You spent the last bit of time in the bathroom finishing your hair and a little bit of makeup, a routine you had down to a science, followed by swearing at yourself under your breath as you shoved the explosion of clothes on your floor back into your closet.
As you gathered your things, you took one final deep breath for reassurance as you headed out the door and down the steps to the front of your apartment building. You had been to Maria’s house before for her Cinco de Mayo party, recalling directions and that it wasn’t too far of a walk from your house. The whole way there, your hands were balled in fists squeezing your fingers, fueled exclusively by your increasing anxiety as you got closer and closer to Maria’s house. Knowing the social butterfly Maria is, you shouldn’t have been shocked by the massive number of cars lining the street leading up to her residence. As you walked up to the back gate of the house, you took several deep breaths before mustering the courage to make the trek down to the party. With each step across the hot cement of the sidewalk, your brain swirled with questions
“Is he already there? Is he actually excited about seeing me too, or do the ladies at work just feel bad for me and they’re trying to make me feel better? God, does he even remember that I’m coming or who I am? Fuck, was this dress even a good choice? What if I’m way too dressed up and he thinks I look like an idiot? Jesus, I hope they have alcohol at this thing.
Your heart raced as you approached the gate to her backyard, with a sign in bright, colorful letters that read “Fiesta this way!”. As you pushed open the gate, you were greeted with the thick scent of meats cooking on the grill, followed by upbeat Latin music and chatter amongst the guests. When you looked around, you were greeted by a sea of unfamiliar faces. You began to walk further into the crowd when a tight embraced wrapped around you from behind.
“MIJA! I’m so glad you came!” Maria’s familiarity gave you a slight sense of relief. “Listen, I have to go help with the food, but there are lots of drinks in the cooler so help yourself, food should be up in about half an hour! Not everyone is here yet, but if anyone comes looking for you, I’ll be sure to send them your way.” Before you could make any attempt at a comeback, Maria winked at you and escorted herself back to the porch to continue setting up dinner.
Taking another sweep around the backyard, you made your way over to the drink coolers sitting on the side of the house, when you felt a tug at the bottom of your dress. Surprised, you turned around to see a small freckly face staring back up at you.
“Extoose me. My big bwother says dat your his teacher and dat sometimes you pway with dem at weecess and dat dey weeelllllyyy want to pway baseball but none of da other gwownups will pway and dey need someone to pitch. Will you pweeeeseeee pway wif us?”
Looking up, you noticed a small group of kids gathered in a cluster now smiling and waving at you.
“Hi, Alex. Hi, Sophia.” You waved back at two of the kids you knew from your class. “You know it’s okay to come ask me to play, you don’t have to send your little brother.”
Alex looked at you with a sincerely confused look on his face. “I didn’t know if we were allowed to talk to our teacher if they’re not at school.”
Sophia slapped him with the wiffle ball bat. “Of course you are, stupid. Teachers don’t live at school. They do real people stuff too.”
“If I’m so stupid, why didn’t you ask her, Ms. Know-it-all?”
As the two continued to argue, you took another look around at the party. With the familiar face count only at 3 (being Maria, and Estelle and Linda who you had waved to from afar), you realized that your choices were to either go converse with people you’ve never met, stand alone awkwardly, or go play baseball. The choice seemed easy enough.
“It’s okay you guys, I’ll play with you. Only for a little bit though, okay?”
The kids cheered as they placed a bag full of wiffle balls in your hands, glad to have an adult that would be able to throw a semi-hittable pitch. The kids took turns lining up to bat, as you threw towards them. Giving a little extra encouragement to the ones who needed it, you high-fived each kid as you let them have a “homerun” by running as fast as they could around the backyard. Noticing your collection of wiffle balls had dwindled down to zero, you sent the group of kids to scatter around the backyard to collect as many as they could. As you bent down and reached your hand out to pick up one of the balls close to you, a much larger hand set itself on top of yours.
“It’s been a while since I’ve played, but I don’t think the pitchers are supposed to go out in the field to collect all the balls.”
Shifting your gaze upwards from the grass, your eyes traveled up the length of the figure standing before you. Tight, dark washed jeans, followed by a white, short sleeved button up, that exposed the tanned skin of his chest. Next, a strong jaw and mustache, and deep, chocolate brown eyes that had lived vividly in your memory since first seeing them a few days ago.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would have figured that you’re a teacher by day, MLB pitcher by night.”
You shrugged your shoulders and mischievously rolled your eyes. “Damn, you caught me. My secret is ruined!”
Javi shifted the hand that was on top of yours under your palm, engulfing your hand in a gentle grasp, pulling you up to a standing position.
“Thanks.” you blushed as you brushed your hands down your sides to flatten your dress. You watched as Javi’s eyes darted looking you up and down, his tongue darting out to lick across his bottom lip.
“Can I uh, get you something to drink?” Javi asked. Noticing that his hand was still holding yours, he shifted his weight and tried to casually place his hands on his hips.
“Yeah, a beer would be great. Unfortunately, I don’t think they allow players to drink on the field, but it looks like they called someone in from the bullpen to take my place so I should be in the clear.” You both laughed, looking over to see that none of the kids had seemed to care that you had gone missing, and someone else had gladly taken your place as pitcher.
“I’ll be right back.” As you sat down at the edge of an empty picnic table on the patio, you couldn't help but gawk as Javier’s back turned to yours, revealing just how tight his jeans were and how broadly his shoulders stretched. His trip to get both of you drinks was prolonged by several people coming up to him, either shaking his hand or patting him on the back. You were curious why so many people had such an interest in Javi, and why he didn’t look thrilled about it.
After a few minutes, Javi made his way back to you, two beers in hand. “Well, you sure seem like a popular guy, Mr. Peña.” He slid your drink across the table to you, letting out a small scoff at your comment.
“Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve been home.” He looked around as if he was checking to see that no one else was coming up to bother him.
“It’s okay, you don’t need to apologize. Do you mind me asking where you were?” You took a sip of your drink, and traced your thumb along the condensation of the bottle.
Javi shifted in his seat and continued to look around. “I was uh, I was in Colombia working for the DEA.” It was his turn to take a much longer drink than the one that you just took.
“Oh shit, like the Drug Enforcement Administration DEA?”
“Last time I checked, that was the only DEA I knew of.” He looked down at his beer and let out an uncomfortable laugh. You had seen plenty about the happenings in Colombia on the news the past several years. Needless to say, none of it was “feel-good” content. Working for the DEA was one thing, but if he was down in Colombia? He would have really been in the thick of it. Putting two and two together, it now made sense why his trip to get you both drinks had taken so long.
“Well, um, it does sound like a really interesting job. If you ever want to talk about it, I would love to listen. But I totally get the whole feeling uncomfortable when everyone thinks you’re a hero and wants you to tell them everything when all you want is to not talk about it at all.” You reached out to place your hand on top of his and give him a reassuring smile. He looked back at you with crinkled brows and genuine confusion. You could almost feel his demeanor shift, like you were the first person who had ever considered trying to understand how he felt about the situation he was in. “My dad was a firefighter, I had 2 brothers who were in the military and another brother who’s an EMT. Obviously it’s not fair to compare anyone’s jobs, but they always hated how everyone else felt entitled to their heroism when a lot of the time, they felt far from it.”
He swallowed and clenched his jaw as his puppy dog brown brown eyes locked with yours. No one had ever even bothered to consider the fact that Javi had no interest in talking about his past. That the last thing he felt like was a hero, that he regretted the things he had done. Yet here you were, holding his hand, reassuring him he didn’t owe you anything. He opened his mouth to speak.
“It’s okay, really.” You reassured him once more. “The one thing I do want to know…” Your voice trailed as you took another sip of your beer, Javi’s face once again shifting to concern “is how much Maria has told you about me, and how much damage control I need to be doing.” Breaking the silence, you and Javi both laughed to yourselves. You watched as the tension seemed to dissipate from Javi’s body.
“I could say the same thing. If it makes you feel any better, the only thing I know about you is that you just moved here not that long ago from Chicago, and that Maria was very insistent that I would be an idiot if I tried to do anything to mess up my chances with a gorgeous girl like you.”
“Well the first part is true. I moved here at the end of December, so that’s what? 4 months now? And yeah, I’ve lived in or just outside of Chicago my whole life, so it’s definitely taken some adjusting. The 2nd half seems like a bit of an exaggeration.” You had never been good at taking compliments, but you could feel your cheeks flush.
“Damn, Chicago to Middle-of-Nowhere-Texas? That’s a big move. The 2nd part is definitely not an exaggeration in the slightest. You look…” His eyes shifted over you once more, biting down on his lower lip. “You look beautiful in that dress.”
“PEÑAAAAAAA! How have you been?! Mierda, it’s been too long, amigo!” A clearly drunk party goer was standing next to you and raised up a hand holding his beer, extending it towards Javi. As he continued to stumble toward Javi, he lost his balance, and the glass beer bottle he was holding slipped from his hands, shattering on the cement patio. Glass shards and beer foam went flying on contact, and your shin was in the way of the cross fire.
“Jesus, that hurts, shit!” Looking down at your leg, you watched as blood dripped from the point where a piece of glass lodged its way into your skin. Javi looked like he was about to murder whatever drunken idiot had stumbled his way over to him, but before he could, he had already rushed around to the side of the table you were sitting at. You tried to get up to get a better look at the damage, but Javi firmly grasped your hips and ran his hands down the sides of your thighs to sit you back in your seat. Well, being insanely turned by a man trying to help you get a piece of beer bottle out of your shin was a new first.
“Don’t move. I don’t want the glass to shift around anymore and make the cut worse.” His hands still hadn’t left your thighs.
“Javi, I’m fine. I can walk.” You began to stubbornly protest. You tried to hide the grimace on your face from the pain you felt as you began to stand up again. “Seriously, it’s fine, I’ll go find some first aid stuff and- OH, okay?!”
Before you could finish your sentence, Javi had scooped you up like it was nothing and was carrying you bridal style towards the house. Your head rested against his chest, coming face to face with unbuttoned flaps of his shirt. His scent overwhelmed you, somehow smelling even better than when you bumped into him just a few days ago. The thumb of the hand that was holding you beneath your legs traced back and forth across your knee.
“This seems a little unnecessary, don’t ya think?” Trying to hold it together, you looked up at Javi.
“You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you?” He looked down at you and shook his head with a slight grin on his face.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Javi made his way through the crowded patio to the sliding glass door that led into the house.
“DIOS MIO, WHAT HAPPENED?!” Maria shrieked, her face darting between you, Javi, and the blood running down your leg.
“I don’t know what to tell you Maria, the baseball game back there got pretty heated. Those kids are ruthless.” Your sarcasm clearly did not go over well, as Maria’s expression was now flooded with confusion and panic.
Javi rolled his eyes. “Tell Don he needs to get his drunk-ass together. He dropped a bottle and it shattered, some of the pieces flew into her leg. I’m guessing the first aid kit is still in the upstairs closet by the bathroom?”
“Yes, mijo, but-”
“No, Maria, she doesn’t need to go to the hospital, I’ll take care of her.” Boy, have you never been so excited about being injured.
“I don’t know, Maria, I think I’m dying!” You flopped one of your free hands up to your forehead, doing your best to look like a tragic Renaissance painting.
You could tell Javi was trying his best not to laugh, knowing that Maria was already halfway to dialing 911. “She’ll be fine, I promise.”
Javi used his hip to slide open the door, leading you through the kitchen and up the staircase. All jokes aside and adrenaline subsiding, you were now beginning to realize how much pain you were in as your legs jostled while Javi carried you up the stairs. You scrunched your face and bit down on your lip to try and ignore the pain, but it wasn’t doing much. Javi looked down at you, noticing your face.
“Hermosa, are you okay? We’re almost upstairs, I’m sorry about that pendejo.”
“Yup, I’ve never been better. I feel great, actually. LOVE having this piece of glass stuck in my leg!” You noticed your sarcasm meter was probably getting a little too high for the situation. “No it’s okay, thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”
“Well, I wasn’t gonna let you bleed out on the patio.” As you crossed the threshold of the upstairs bathroom, Javi shifted you in his arms and sat you down on the top of the bathroom counter. He gave the top of your knees a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be right back, don’t move.” He made his way out of the bathroom, hearing him rummage around through the closet in the hallway.
“Do I really have a choice?” You heard him chuckle from outside the door. He came back holding a first aid box and a few towels and squatted down in front of your leg dangling off of the countertop.
“You help women take glass shards out of their legs at barbeques often?” You gestured down at the first aid kit, noting how fast he had found it.
“Surprisingly, you are the first.” Opening up the kit, he pulled out a few supplies. “I spent a lot of time playing here as a kid, and definitely went through my fair share of band-aids.” Carefully, he placed one of his hands around the back of your leg, pulling it closer towards him. You were surprised that with hands as big as his, he was incredibly gentle.
Trying to downplay your pain, you looked down at him and asked, “What’s the prognosis, Dr. Peña? Do I get to keep my leg, or are you destined to carry me everywhere for the rest of your life?”
“As much as I would love to, I think you’re gonna make it out okay.” He plucked a pair of tweezers out of the kit and looked up at you with remorse. “I’m gonna pull it out, but it’s probably gonna hurt. Is that okay?” He rested his free hand on top of your thigh. “You can squeeze my hand if you need to.”
Without hesitation, you released the hand that was gripping the edge of the counter so hard, your knuckles were turning white. You slowly interlaced his fingers with his, his thumb stroking back and forth over the side of your hand.
“Okay, whenever you’re ready.” You said, beginning to squeeze his hand tighter.
“Okay. 3…2…”
“FUCK! Agh, so much for 1?! Holy shit, that hurt!” You were trying everything in your power to hold back the tears welling in your eyes, trying to be as tough as possible.
“I could say the same for my hand. Jesus, you’ve got a death grip, hermosa. I’m surprised my fingers aren’t broken.” You released his hand as he laughed and shook it out, now using both to rummage through the first aid kit again. Pulling out some gauze and tape, he carefully wrapped up the cut and tied up the bandage to hold it in place. He was so attentive making sure that you were properly bandaged up, that it wasn’t until he heard your small sniffle that he looked back up at you, noticing a small tear streaming down your face.
Generally, you prided yourself on being pretty damn tough. Growing up with brothers, you learned to play rough and deal with the consequences. More importantly, you hated crying in front of other people. Trying to quickly regain your composure, you tried to subtly wipe the tears off your cheeks, hoping Javi wouldn’t notice. Slowly, he rose up, placing one hand on the counter just outside your hips, the other coming up to your cheek, using his thumb to brush away the wetness under your eyes.
“I promise I’m not a baby, this shit just really hurt.” You said, trying to defend yourself. His hand cupped the side of your face.
“Cariño, you don’t need to apologize.” He leaned his body in closer to yours, your faces now only inches away. “You’ve been un soldado, if anything.”
“A what?” You were surprised your brain even had the capacity for questioning at this point.
“A trooper” Javi leaned in closer, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. “So much so, you’re making it hard for me to try and take care of you, considering how damn stubborn you are.” His words whispered down the side of your neck, followed by another kiss. You could feel your heart racing, your breath becoming heavier with each word. Slowly, his body shifted down between the opening of your legs, his hands wrapping around your injured calf, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your bandage.
Your mouth hung half open, praying that your brain would concoct a half coherent sentence. Your hand traveled down to brush the top of Javi’s soft, curled hair, forcing his gaze to shift back up to you. “Last time I checked, I don’t think doctors are supposed to kiss their patients”
He stood back up, both hands now cupping your face as he leaned in and whispered, “well it’s a good thing I’m not really a doctor, am I?” Your mouths met with a magnetic attraction. His hand had now slipped behind your head, raking his fingers through your hair as he pulled you in closer. Your hands that had been grasping the edge of the counter as a form of self control now freed themselves, grasping around Javi’s biceps, reciprocating the closeness you craved. Your body lit up with an electricity that no kiss had ever made you feel before. His hands began traveling down your body, his intensity causing you to let out a small, breathy moan. Your legs slowly wrapped around the small of his back, pulling him tighter. You could feel the heat pooling between your legs as his hands grasped the meat of your thighs as they slowly slid their way under the hem of your dress.
“JAVI?! MIJA?! IS EVERYTHING OKAY?? DO I NEED TO CAL 911?? THERE BETTER NOT BE BLOOD ON MY BATHMAT, I JUST WASHED IT.”
Both out of breath, your mouths parted as Maria’s shrill voice carried up the stairs. You had blacked out for the last few minutes, forgetting you were sitting on top of your co-worker’s bathroom counter, door wide open. Javi rested his head in the crook of your shoulder as he whispered “God dammit, Maria…” under his breath.
“Impeccable timing on her part, to be fair.”
“IF YOU DON’T RESPOND I’M COMING UP THERE AND CALLING THE AMBULANCE!”
“All good, Maria!” You shouted down, Javi’s face still resting by your neck. “Dr. Peña told me it was a close one, but I’m gonna make it out alive.” You both giggled. “We’ll be down in a second!”
“Are you gonna clear me to walk, or am I getting carried again?” You said, giving him a playful nudge.
He gave you a quick kiss. “Just take it easy okay?” Grabbing your wait, he lifted you up and helped you off the counter. He gestured his arm towards the doorway. “After you.”
After you had hobbled your way down the stairs, you and Javi found empty patio chairs along the fence of the yard. After you had sat down semi-comfortably, Javi started making his way back toward the house. “Drink?” He said, looking back at you and continuing his stride.
“As long as you don’t drop it on me, absolutely.”
You were shocked by how quickly the next few hours went by as you sat and talked with Javi. The conversation flowed between you effortlessly as you covered the basic conversations, like your likes and dislikes, favorite things and families. You had even worked up the nerve to tell him how you ended up in Laredo after you broke things off with Paul. Now a few drinks in, your liquid courage had you diving in deeper.
“So, tell me this, Javi. You are arguably one of the most handsome men I have ever seen. You nursed me back to health from what was clearly a life or death experience, and you have impeccable taste, besides the fact that you haven’t seen Indiana Jones, which I will forgive you for, as long as you do good on your promise to watch it with me. You have also proven to be an exceptional kisser. How the hell are you still single? Is there something I’m missing? Are you like, secretly married and have a family, a serial killer, stalker, c’mon, there’s gotta be something?!”
Javi coughed on the beer that he had just sipped down his throat. “Jesus quierda, no! What would make you think that?”
“You seem too good to be true, there’s gotta be a flaw somewhere, c’mon!!”
“Well, I’m gonna take the high road and assume you’re not any of those things, I could say the same about you. This is most fun I’ve had since being back home.”
You raised your eyebrows and gave him a questionable gaze.
“I’m being serious, hermosa.” You could feel in his words that he meant it.
“Well I’m glad. This is the most fun I’ve had in a really long time too.”
You sat in a comfortable silence. Looking around, you noticed that not only had the sun gone down, but the once bustling backyard had now dwindled down to only a few party goers on the patio and a small crowd inside. The last thing you wanted to do was leave, but you also didn’t want to be walking alone at night, half hobbling from your injury.
“Hey, I’m really sorry, believe me, the last thing I want to do right now is leave, but I probably should start waking home before it gets too late. Not a huge fan of being a woman walking alone in the dark, ya know?”
Javi quickly set down his beer. “You were going to walk home?!”
“What, I’m not allowed to walk?! I don’t live that far, and it won’t take that long, I’ll be fine!” You crossed your arms in defiance.
“The shuffle across the yard I watched you take to go to the bathroom an hour ago says otherwise. Hermosa, let me drive you home, please?”
Too in pain to prove a point, you let out a huff of defeat. “Fine.”
“Thank you. I know you CAN do it, but I will carry your stubborn ass back before I let you walk. Here.”
He extended his arm out to help pull you out of your seat. He followed your lead taking slow steps across the yard, leading you out to the street where his truck was parked. Before you could argue, he opened up the passenger side door and lifted you up into the seat. “Just gotta get the keys from my pops and then I’ll be right back.
“What if I try to make a break for it?”
“It won’t take me long to catch you.”
“Touché.”
Javi closed the door behind him as he headed his way back into the house. Watching him in stride, you really needed to thank whoever made those jeans.
Javi found his dad amongst his friends at the kitchen table inside, talking and laughing amongst themselves. “Hey Pops, can I have the keys?”
Chucho took a sip of his beer and looked around at his friends. “Seems like things are going well then, huh?” The men chuckled to one another. “She’s very cute, Javi. Seems like she doesn’t put up with your Mireda either, I’m surprised she wants to spend more time with you!”
“Well she lives close and walked here and after Don’s clumsy ass still broke a bottle in her leg, I’m not gonna let her walk home. Believe me, I was worried I was gonna have to carry her.”
“I’m giving you a hard time, Javi. Here, take the keys. Don’t worry about me, I’m sure one of these fine gentleman will give this old man a ride home.”
“Thanks pop.” Javi took the keys that were outstretched in his father’s hand. As he began to walk back out to the car, he grabbed Javi’s arm.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smile like you have tonight. It’s a good look on you, hijo.”
Fall Into Temptation | 1/3 (Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader)
Summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamn preacher’s daughters.
Pairing: Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Female Reader
Warnings/Tags: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. NO DESCRIPTION OF READER despite the nickname Joel gives her, it doesn’t speak to her body type. AGE GAP (reader is late 20’s and Joel is 56, I know, I know but this was self indulgent because my birthday is next month idk just let me have this one) canon language, canon violence, several mentions of religion, terms pastor and preacher are used interchangeably here and there, mentions of the bible and religious symbols (cross), innocent/virgin reader, very brief scene of attempted sexual assault, no explicit smut (yet). Asshole Joel, protective Joel, hints of softish dom Joel?
Word Count: 8.2k
A/N: I teased this forever ago. Originally, it was going to go VERY differently, but I ended up revisiting the drafts I had saved and tweaked them more to my liking. This is a 3 parter, I want to test the waters and see how it goes, it might not be everyone’s cup of tea but I am so happy to be back trying to get into the groove. I might end up making a masterlist for this but again I’m just testing the waters. If y’all could let me know your thoughts, it would be very much appreciated! 🤍
Joel had seen him around the community before.
He’s an older man in his late sixties or possibly his early seventies with thinning, snow white hair and silver, wire rimmed glasses that always seemed to be perched on the tip of his pointed nose. He was a kind man from what Joel could gather—offering up warm smiles and friendly waves to anyone who happened to cross his path, stopping to greet and say hello to familiar faces. The hem of his starched white shirt is tucked into pressed black slacks and even from he stood across the road near the horse stables, Joel noticed the book clutched in his right hand, old and bound in supple, worn black leather with the words Holy Bible etched into the cover in gold lettering.
Jacob, he thinks his name is. Or was it Josiah?
Something biblical—a name fit for a man who was so fucking clearly devoted to the big man upstairs.
Joel knew his own name was a biblical one, but he was the furthest thing from a man of God. After all that he’d done in the past twenty years, there was only one place he was going and that place wasn’t exactly known for its pearly gates.
Joseph? Was that it?
He couldn’t be certain.
Not that Joel really even cared to know his name.
It’d been a couple months since Joel arrived back in Jackson with Ellie after Salt Lake City and truth of the matter was, he preferred to keep to himself whenever it was possible. Joel had zero interest in getting to know the people of this settlement, not unless he had to for the sake of patrol duties—and that’s only if he hadn’t been able to weasel his way out of getting assigned with a partner who wasn’t Tommy or Maria, the only two people in the whole community Joel could stand being around. Minus his kid of course, but even he and Ellie could really only take each other in small doses lately. Perhaps it was their tense, strained relationship that was to blame for the fact that Joel Miller walked around with a standoffish attitude and a permanent scowl plastered on his face.
Most people were smart enough to scamper off in the other direction when they saw him coming. He was never offended by it. It’s what he wanted.
He wasn’t here to make friends.
The closest thing he had come to a friend outside of his brother’s wife was Esther, the woman Maria and Tommy had tried setting him up with when he first got back to Jackson. He wouldn’t go as far as calling her a friend, either.
More like a good fuck when he couldn’t drown his bitterness with Seth’s barrel aged bourbon and he needed a different kind of distraction.
But there was a reason this particular man piqued his curiosity. Actually, there were three reasons he managed to garner Joel’s attention and all three of them were trailing behind him in an orderly, single file line, each one more fucking gorgeous than the last. He was positive he’d never seen them around before—because how could be possibly forget the faces of the most beautiful women in this town?
They’ve got to be sisters, Joel thought to himself, his hand resting on the neck of the horse that he’d ridden out to patrol that morning, a dark chestnut mare named Willow. Although he was supposed to be walking her inside the stables and back into her stall, he found himself far too distracted. While the three women weren’t identical to one another, the similarity in their traits such as hair color and their skin tone confirmed his suspicions that they were related. They all styled their hair in halo braids and wore slightly different color variations of the same getup—pressed, long sleeved blouses tucked into knee length floral printed skirts and Oxford shoes.
Clutching the brown leather strap of his rifle in his opposite hand, Joel leaned himself against Willow and squinted against the bright afternoon sunlight in an effort to get a better look at them.
The first two were slightly on the older side. If Joel had to take a shot at their age, he would guess the women were in their thirties—a man of fifty six, he still had about two decades on them, easy. Joel let his gaze shift, his dark brown eyes flickering to the third one. His breath hitched in his throat and part of him wondered just how fucking dumb he had to be to be drawn to the youngest one of the three. It couldn’t be fucking possible—you couldn’t be that much older than your late twenties, and even then that was a goddamn stretch.
Joel’s grip on the strap of his rifle tightened.
All three of you were stunners, so why the fuck did it have to be you who had held over his interest?
“Take a picture,” Maria remarked with a tiny laugh. She dismounted her horse and peered at Joel over the black stallion’s back. “It’ll last longer.”
She’d led that morning’s patrol, her first time back on duty since she had given birth to her son in the spring. Joel had returned to Jackson right on time to meet his one month old nephew, Noah.
He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Just tryin’ to figure out what their deal is, that’s all.” He paused, then remarked, “Polygamy a thing around here?”
His comment must have struck a nerve in his dear sister in law—fiercely protective of the people who were under her leadership, Maria hadn’t found the sister wives implication the slightest bit amusing.
“Watch it, Joel,” she admonished, shooting him a warning glare. “He is the town’s pastor and those girls happen to be his daughters. So let’s keep our wise ass cracks to ourselves, shall we?”
His daughters?
He almost couldn’t believe it. Surely the girls must have taken after their mother because they sure as hell didn’t get their good looks from their old man.
“Pastor,” Joel repeated with a small hum. He then remembered her pointing out an old church house back during the winter when she’d given him and Ellie the grand tour of the commune. “He ain’t got a real job like the rest of us?”
Maria rolled her eyes. “His job is a real job, Joel. It might be hard for you to believe, but there are still a lot of people of faith around here,” she explained to him. “He provides them with comfort, hope—”
He snorted sharply through his nose. “Hope?”
“Yes, hope,” she snapped at him.
“Hope for what? That things will go back to fuckin’ normal? The the end of the world is temporary?”
Maria crossed her arms over her chest, jutting her chin. “Some people never lose hope, Joel. There’s a lot of people who need this man and he serves a much bigger purpose than what you’re giving him credit for.”
“And what about the girls? They have it easy too? Do they just stand there lookin’ pretty on Sundays while their old man reads verses out loud from the most useless book known to man?”
“If you must know, they work in the schoolhouse,” she answered, tossing him another glare. “They’re teachers. The oldest one, she teaches Ellie’s class. The middle one, she teaches primary school aged children and the youngest? She takes care of all of our little ones. She prepares our preschool kids for her sister’s class by teaching basic literacy. Shows them how to start reading and writing, things like that. She also helps run the commune’s daycare.”
“At least they have real jobs,” Joel mumbled under his breath.
“What was that?”
He feigned innocence. “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.”
“That’s exactly what I thought.” Maria pointed her finger at him. “Come on, let’s get these guys back into their stalls. It was a long ride this morning, I’m sure they could use some rest.” Taking her stallion by the reins, she started leading him over toward Logan, one of the stable hands who helped take in the horses coming back from patrol.
Joel took Willow’s reins in his hands—but before he could even think of moving another muscle, he glanced up and saw the preacher leading his three daughters past the stables and right past Joel. His self control faltered. All that he could do was stare at you, his eyes fixed on you so intently that one of your sisters had taken notice. Grinning, she turned back towards you and lifted a hand to her mouth. She used her palm to shield her mouth from Joel’s view as whispered something over her shoulder.
Shit.
He’d been caught caught gawking.
He thought about making a beeline for the stables but it was too late.
Perplexed by whatever it was that your older sister had just said to you, you gave her an odd look, but then followed the subtle nod of her head.
Glimpsing over in his direction, your lips parted in complete surprise and you came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the dirt road when you found your gaze meeting that of the much older, rugged man.
Unsure of what to do, Joel offered you a polite nod of his head. The gesture was innocent enough but it startled you. He could tell by the way you let out a small gasp and turned away from him, your eyes falling to the ground as you scurried to catch up to your father and sisters like a spooked little mouse.
Joel couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh.
“Is the preacher aware that his precious daughters pay frequent visits to The Tipsy Bison at such late and ungodly hours?” Joel quipped. He gestured to a booth nestled over in a corner of the dimly lit bar with a subtle jerk of his chin. “Gotta be the third or fourth time I’ve seen them here in the last couple of weeks.”
Tommy’s eyes followed his brother’s gesture. “Oh man, not again,” he said with an exasperated sigh. He shook his head. “Those girls, they ain’t got any business hangin’ around this place and much less at this fuckin’ hour. But the middle one, she’s a lot of trouble.” He paused, just long enough to nod at one of the three sisters, the one who was wearing her hair loose around her shoulders, twirling a lock of it around her finger as she made flirtatious fuck me eyes at the group of drunk patrolmen sitting a few tables away. “She’s somethin’ of a rebel. Likes to drink a lot, get herself involved with things that she ain’t really supposed to be messin’ with. She’s the one who convinces the other two into sneakin’ out and comin’ to the bar when their old man goes to sleep.”
Joel chuckled in disbelief. “You fuckin’ serious?”
“As a heart attack. And then there’s the older one. I know she likes to drink too, but she’s a lot calmer than the other one. Ain’t gotta worry about her too much, you know?”
“What about the youngest one?” Joel asked in the most nonchalant tone he could possibly muster.
You’re carefully perched on the edge of the booth, your pretty features twisting in disgust with every sip of the rich, amber colored liquid in your glass.
Unable to stomach the burning alcohol, you set it off to the side, abandoning it in favor for a glass of water instead.
“Her?” Tommy grinned, leaning back into his chair as stated, “Oh, she’s just about the sweetest thing you’ll ever see in your whole damn life, big brother. She’s gotta be the kinda girl who all the little birds and woodland critters probably sing to when there ain’t no one around,” he laughed. “She’s good. Too good. It wouldn’t surprise me if the good lord sent her down from heaven himself.”
Joel tossed him a skeptical look across the table.
“She really as innocent as she seems?”
“I don’t think she even knows what it’s like to hold another man’s hand,” his younger brother laughed again and reached for his beer, taking a swig.
Joel hummed softly and lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips. The mere thought of you being so pure, so innocent and untouched—it caused something to stir deep inside of him.
“Any of them taken?”
Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Joel, don’t tell me—”
“No, I’m not interested,” he rolled his eyes. “Just a curious motherfucker, that’s all.”
He didn’t seem too convinced by Joel’s answer.
“They’re all single from what I know. To be honest, there ain’t a whole lot of men around here their old man would approve of,” he remarked. “He is a nice man and all, but he’s real strict with them. Not like that controllin’ has done him much good, though.” He lowered his voice as a fellow patrolman walked past their table. “The middle one’s fucked her way through this entire town and then back again. She even made a pass at me while Maria was pregnant with Noah, if you can believe it.”
Joel snorted into his drink. Ballsy. “How goddamn drunk was she?”
“Wasted.” Tommy ran a hand through his jet black curls. “Oh and by the way, just in case you haven’t figured it out, this stays between us, Joel.”
He smirked. “Which part?”
“All of it. And take it from me, those girls? It’s best you keep your distance from them,” he warned as he stood up from the table. He picked up the blue denim jacket draped over his chair, shrugging into it. “Don’t go gettin’ any dumbass ideas, alright?”
“Look, if she makes a pass at me, I ain’t gonna say no. Not like I’ve got a pregnant wife at home.”
“Joel, I fuckin’ swear. If you even think about it—”
He held up his hands to stop him. “It was a joke.”
“Right. I’m sure it was.” Tommy snorted. “Listen, I gotta get back home. Don’t wanna leave Maria on her own with the baby for too long.”
“How’s she been holdin’ up?”
“She’s been so tired. Jugglin’ motherhood, runnin’ this place, and bein’ back on patrol duty. I keep on tryin’ to tell her to slow it down, but she just won’t listen to me.” He let out a small sigh. “But anyway. If you’re all good to head out, I can walk you back to your place since it’s on the way to mine?”
Joel looked down at his glass, still half full. “I think I’m gonna hang back for a while longer. I’m on the roster for evenin’ patrol tomorrow, not like I’ve got to be up at the ass crack of dawn.”
“Suit yourself.” Clapping him on the back, Tommy bid him goodnight and started towards the door.
As soon as he was gone, Joel looked over towards your booth. He watched as you whispered into the ear of your eldest sister who nodded her head. You stood up and said something else to her, and then spun around on your heel, long skirt flowing along with the movement. Head down, you hastily made your way across the bar, being careful so as not to bump into anyone along the way.
You were leaving.
Alone.
In the middle of the fucking night?
While drunk morons poured in and out of the bar?
She’ll be just fine, he tried to convince himself.
Joel frowned to himself, gripping his drink tightly as he scanned the room.
Sitting at a nearby table was Kent, some idiot he’d been stuck with a time or two for patrol. He clocks the smirk that crossed the younger man’s face, his eyes following you all the way to the door. Leaning forward over the table, he whispered something to his buddies, his smirk widening. His comrades, all who looked and behaved more like idiot teenagers rather than men, lifted their beers to him, nodding in encouragement. Drunk off his ass, Kent drained the rest of his own beer, slamming the glass bottle down onto the table before stumbling to his feet.
Joel momentarily froze as soon as he had realized what was happening.
Kent was going after you.
Joel’s lips pressed together into a tight, thin line.
Setting his drink down, he stood up from his table and slipped on his jacket before following in suit.
Joel stepped out into the night, looking around.
You were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kent.
That couldn’t fucking be good.
“Where the fuck are you two?” he muttered under his breath.
That’s when he heard it.
The sound of muffled screaming coming from the side of the building. Joel didn’t hesitate. Following your smothered cries for help, he whipped around into the dimly lit alley nestled between the bar and the commune mess hall. You’re pinned under Kent with your skirt bunched around your waist. One of his hands was covering your mouth while his other hand clawed it’s way up your bare thigh.
“Aw, come on now, sugar,” Kent slurred his words together. “It’d be a fucking shame to let someone as cute as you stay a virgin. Don’t be coy—I know you’re just like your stupid slut of a sister. She has no trouble spreading her fucking legs for me.”
Red.
It was the color that flashed in Joel’s mind. It was all he could see as he went up behind Kent, letting his hands reach for fistfuls of his leather jacket. He lifted him off of you with ease, slamming him hard against the brick wall of the mess hall. Pulling him forward, Joel slammed his body into the wall once more, knocking all the wind out of him.
“Miller, what the fuck are you doing!” Kent gasped out, frantically pawing at the older man’s hands in an effort to break free. “Get the fuck off me!”
“Takin’ advantage of an innocent girl?” Joel hissed at him, tightening his grasp on the collar of Kent’s jacket. “Think that makes you a fuckin’ man?”
Though he was still intoxicated, the sheer terror of being caught Joel Miller’s hands sobered him just enough that he started sputtering an explanation.
“I wasn’t fucking taking advantage of her! Her and her whore sisters were making eyes at me and the guys all fucking night! She fucking wanted it! She asked me for it, couldn’t even wait long enough to get back to my place—”
The lie came straight through his teeth. The same teeth he would be picking up off the ground in the next minute or two.
Joel knew he didn’t need to ask. Still, he turned to you, his rage only intensifying when he took in the sight of you lying there on the ground, the hem of your light blue floral skirt hiked around your waist.
“That true?” He questioned you. “You wanted it?”
You stared at him with wide and fearful eyes.
A single tear slipped down the side of your face.
“Answer me, darlin’ girl. You wanted this?”
“No. I didn’t.” Your voice was small, barely audible.
But he’d heard it loud and clear.
“She’s lying!” Kent tried to tell him. “She’s—”
Joel delivered the first punch, a blow so hard he’d felt the the younger man’s nose crack underneath his curled fist. He struck him again and again, the blows coming in harder and harder, turning Kent’s face into a bloodied pulp.
If Joel didn’t get a grip, he would kill him.
Part of him wanted to fucking kill Kent for putting his hands you—and even more for accusing of you wanting it. Pathetic fucking bastard.
Holding Kent up by the throat with one hand, Joel pulled his switchblade from the back pocket of his jeans with the other. Fingers curled tightly around the hilt, Joel held up the knife into Kent’s view. He had left his eyes black and swollen, but judging by the pitiful little pleas for mercy, it was clear that he could see the sharp blade being held an inch or so away from his face.
“If I ever catch you anywhere near her again, I ain’t gonna be so generous,” Joel growled warningly. “I ain’t gonna let you walk away next time, boy. That understood?”
He nodded. “Un—Understood.”
“Good.” Joel released him, stepping backwards as he fell to the ground. “Get the fuck outta my face.”
Kent managed to get to his feet and staggered off, disappearing from the alley.
Chest heaving, Joel inhaled a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled it through his mouth before turning to you once more.
Petrified, you still hadn’t moved a single muscle.
You looked fucking terrified. Whether it was from Kent’s assault or the way Joel had nearly beat him to death right in front you, it was hard to tell.
Crouching down beside you, Joel clocked the way that you flinched. He proceeded to move slowly as he reached for the hem of your skirt. Delicately, he gripped the soft, flowing fabric and pulled it down into place. Joel then held his hand out to you.
You hesitated for a split second, but then took his hand and allowed him to help you up to your feet.
“You alright, little dove?” The nickname had fallen from his lips before he could even think to stop it.
“I think so,” you replied, nodding your head. You’d started to tremble and even though it had nothing to do with being cold, Joel took notice of it and he shrugged out of his camel colored jacket. He gave it to you, draping it over your shoulders. The scent of him instantly enveloped you—a mouth watering masculine mixture of clean soap, sandalwood, and musk. It was far more intoxicating than the scotch you had tried back inside the bar. He didn’t utter a word to you as he wrapped his jacket around your body, both of his hands pulling gently at the lapels to bring them together in front of your chest. That was when you glanced down and saw he’d injured his hand. You gasped lightly. “Are you alright?”
Maybe it was the adrenaline, but Joel hadn’t even noticed that he’d split his knuckles open. Giving it a light shake, he assured you gruffly, “I’m fine.”
Without thinking it through, you gingerly grabbed Joel’s hand, holding it in both of yours. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” you countered. You inspected it as best as you could in such poor lighting. “You’re bleeding.”
“Trust me, I’ve had a lot worse,” he deadpanned.
Ignoring his remark, you asked, “Can you move all your fingers for me? Just to make sure that it isn’t broken?”
Joel felt a strange warmth radiate in his chest.
Fucking hell, Tommy had been right about you.
You really were too good.
“Darlin’ I already told you I’m fine—”
“Please?”
That word, and the way you’d said it, sent a shiver up the length of his spinal cord.
Joel started wiggling his fingers in your palms. He winced slightly at the soreness. More than that, he knew his cuts and bruises would be all the fucking proof Tommy and Maria would need to know that he had been the one who rearranged Kent’s face.
“See?” He spoke after a minute as he continued to move his fingers up and down. “It ain’t broken.”
“Let me clean you up,” you offered. Looking up at him, you cradled his hand as if it were a baby bird.
“That really ain’t necessary—”
“You just saved me from—it’s the least I can do for you,” you insisted. Seeing him open his mouth just to protest again, you cut him off. “Please?”
There it was again.
Christ. That word sounded too good coming from those plush, pretty lips of yours.
Joel sighed out in defeat. “Alright,” he relented. “I suppose there ain’t no harm in lettin’ you clean me up a bit, little dove.”
Pleased that he had finally accepted, you carefully let go of his hand and took a step back, beckoning for him to follow you. “Come with me,” you said to him. “I know somewhere private we can go.”
When you came to a stop at the old church house, Joel shook his head and took a step backwards.
Puzzled, your brows knitted together. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
He backed away further. “I ain’t goin’ in there.”
You tossed him an amused glance. “It’s a church.”
“Yeah, I know that. I ain’t exactly a man of God.”
You couldn’t help but giggle. “So? What does that have to do with me taking you inside to clean your hand up for you?”
Shuffling from boot to boot, Joel shrugged. “I just don’t think I belong in there, that’s all.”
“Do you think you’re going to melt if you step foot inside?” You teased him. After a minute, it became apparent that he was being serious about it. Joel’s discomfort about going inside the church was not some joke on his part, it was real. “Don’t be silly. It doesn’t matter that you’re not a man of God. That doesn’t mean that you’re going to explode or burn into a pile of ashes for going inside, you know.”
“After all the terrible shit I’ve done?” He looked up at the building, shaking his head again. “I actually just might burn, little dove.”
You bit back a small smile. You’d already grown to be quite fond of his sweet nickname for you.
“There’s a first aid kit inside I can use to patch you up,” you told him. “It won’t take long, I promise.”
His lower lip rolled in between teeth as he thought it over. “I ain’t too sure about this—”
“It’s only going to take me five minutes to get your hand cleaned up and then you can leave. Okay?”
You were as stubborn as you were sweet. How the fuck was he supposed to say no to you?
Reluctantly, Joel agreed to it. “Okay.” He followed you up the creaking, wooden porch steps towards the double doors. He’d just started to wonder how the two of you were even supposed to get into the building after hours when you leaned down, lifting the mat on the floor to reveal a set of keys. Unable to help himself, he scoffed out, “Serious?”
“Doesn’t everyone keep a key under their mat?”
“Yeah at their fuckin’ house, not their church.”
“Well to be fair, this is kind of like a second home. I spend quite a bit of time here,” you confessed.
Joel raised an eyebrow at you. “So much time that you’ve decided to keep the keys under the mat?”
Sheepishly, you nodded. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, I’ll come here alone and sit with my thoughts for a while.” You shrugged. “Maria let me have the spare set of keys. She knows I come here and so does the rest of the council. I trespass with their full permission,” you kidded with a small grin.
Unlocking one of the two doors, you stepped over the threshold and waited expectantly for Joel. But he stood there, making no move to join you on the other side.
“This place gives me the creeps,” he admitted.
You laughed. “It’s only the outside that’s creepy.”
Grimacing, Joel finally walked inside, his back and shoulders stiff with tension as he stepped into the place of worship.
You closed the door and flipped on the lights, then opened a second set of double doors with another key from the ring.
“Whoa.” He was pleasantly surprised. For as old as this place was, the interior of the church was quite nice. He could tell that it had been well cared for in its lifetime—the former contractor in him had little choice but to appreciate the high ceiling, the large windows, and the satin finish of the white paint on the rustic, wooden panel walls.
There were a total of twelve pews, six on each side of the church. There was an older, antique piano in pristine condition nestled over in one corner of the room and in another, there was a large chalkboard propped up on a wooden easel, biblical verses that had been the focus of the congregation’s previous gathering still scribbled across it in white chalk.
“See?” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “This isn’t so awful, right?”
“I suppose it ain’t all that bad,” he muttered.
Your eyes twinkled with pure amusement, adding, “And you didn’t burn into a pile of ashes.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Joel grumbled out in response. “Can we just get this over with so I can get outta here?”
You tossed him a playful little eye roll then nodded towards the pews. “Go ahead and just have a seat anywhere,” you instructed him. “I’ll be right back.”
You disappeared down a short, dimly lit corridor.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel slowly made his way down the aisle holding his injured hand against his chest. It’d started to throb with pain.
There was an altar at the front of the church—if he could even call it an altar.
It was a plain oakwood table with a white fair linen cloth draped over it and nothing else.
Above it, bolted into the wall, was a wooden cross.
He averted his eyes, turning away from it.
Of all the shit to be intimidated by in this world.
A fucking slab of carved wood.
Joel’s attention shifted over to the chalkboard. He squinted at it, silently reading the verse to himself.
God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability. 1 Corinthians 10:13
“But with the temptation, he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it,” You recited the rest of the verse from behind him.
“No offense, but it sounds like nothin’ but a whole lotta gibberish to me,” he remarked to you over his shoulder.
“No offense taken, Joel.”
Whirling around on the heel of his worn boot, Joel blurted, “How did you know my name?”
“You’re Tommy Miller’s brother. Everybody in this town knows your name.” You held up the white tin box in your hands; a big, red cross had been spray painted onto the lid. You sat down in the first pew and patted the seat right beside you. “Come sit.”
He sauntered over and dropped down next to you, watching as you opened up the box and started to dig through its contents. “You know my name,” he stated after a few seconds of silence. “Sure would be nice for me to know yours, darlin’.”
Smiling politely, you told him your name.
Joel repeated it. It rolled almost too sweetly off his tongue.
“That’s real pretty, little dove. Just like you.”
His compliment nearly knocked all of the air out of your lungs, making it difficult to breathe.
Cheeks burning, you murmured a small thank you and plucked a bottle of saline solution from the kit along with a piece of clean cotton. You tried not to think about the way his eyes were fixed intently on you as you unscrewed the cap and poured a bit of the liquid onto the cotton. “It shouldn’t sting,” you reassured him, reaching for Joel’s injured hand. It was rough and calloused, a stark contrast against your own soft and smooth. You set his hand down on your knee, a strange sensation fluttering in the depths of your lower belly when the warmth of his skin seeped right through the fabric of your skirt.
Comfortable silence fell over the both of you like a curtain as you started cleaning the blood off of his knuckles and his long, thick fingers.
“Do you really believe in all this stuff?” Joel spoke, his question echoing off the walls of the church.
You continued dabbing at his cuts, thinking it over in your head for a moment.
“I honestly don’t know,” you admitted.
Your answer took him by complete surprise.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I have always been taught to believe in God, Joel. It’s all that I’ve ever known. I grew up in a religious community,” you explained to him, making sure to keep your eyes focused on his hand. Tossing aside the bloodied wad of cotton, you picked up another piece adding more saline to it. “After the outbreak, things changed, of course. I couldn’t imagine how He could let something like this happen. When we lost our mother to infection about five years ago, I stopped praying. I finally stopped holding onto the ounce of hope I had that He would make the world right again. I refused to believe in God. Sometimes I still do,” you confessed quietly.
“You said you spend a lot of time here. Why come to church if you’re not even sure you believe in any of this shit anymore?”
“I’m always here because part of me thinks there’s a chance for me to believe again. When I told you I come here when I can’t sleep at night, it’s true. It’s my time to be here completely alone, the time that I use to mend my broken relationship with God. Or at least, I’ve been trying to mend it.” Taking a little glass pot of homemade antibiotic ointment one of the women in the town made and traded, you took off the lid and scooped out some of the salve with the tip of your finger. You applied it carefully to his cuts and continued, “But lately, the more that I try to pray and talk to Him, the more foolish I feel. It’s just not working. It hasn’t been working for a long, long time.”
“Then why keep tryin’ if it ain’t workin’ anymore?”
“Because I don’t really have much of a choice.”
“Your old man?” Joel guessed, wincing slightly as you went over a particularly sore spot on his hand, right over the torn up knuckle of his index finger.
“Mhm.” You nodded. “My father never lost faith in Him. He knows how I feel, but he refuses to let me give up on God. He won’t ever let me miss church or go to bed without reciting my nightly prayer. He won’t let me abandon faith. Not until the day he is cold and buried in his grave.”
“So what I’m gettin’ is that he forces you?”
You finished applying the ointment and wiped the remnants lingering on your finger off on your skirt.
“Force is such a harsh word. I wouldn’t say that—”
“He’s forcin’ you,” Joel said, flatly.
“Joel—”
“You can twist it however the hell you want, sweet girl,” he cut you off. “But if you’re tryin’ this fuckin’ hard to make yourself believe in somethin’ just for the sake of appeasin’ your dad because he can’t or won’t accept how you really feel about all this, well I hate to break it to you, but you’re bein’ forced.”
Your eyes widened ever so slightly at his words.
You had never thought about it like that before.
Placing the lid back onto the pot of ointment, you put it back into the first aid kit and then set the tin box down onto the floor. You sat back and clasped your hands together in your lap, not knowing what else to say to him.
He was absolutely right, after all.
Joel’s fingers lightly squeezed your knee. “Hey.”
You brought your gaze over to meet his. “Hm?”
“Can I ask you somethin’ about your dad?”
“What is it?”
Joel chose his words carefully. “Has he ever—he’s never done anythin’ to hurt you, has he?” he asked you. “He ever put his hands on you or anythin’ like that?”
“Never,” you assured him quickly. “He would never lay a single finger on me or my two sisters.”
He gave your knee another squeeze. “Just needed to make sure of it, sweetheart.”
“Look, my father isn’t perfect but he’s a good man who only wants what is best for us. He’s strict and he can be tough, but it’s because he cares. He just doesn’t want us running down the wrong path.”
“The wrong path?”
You shrugged. “Life here in Jackson is decent, but there’s a lot of temptations he doesn’t want any of us falling into. He wants to protect us.”
“By controllin’ you.”
It had been a statement, not a question.
Giving him a wry smile, you assured him, “Joel, it’s really not as bad as you’re making it sound. I could be a whole lot worse off than this, you know.”
There was another short bout of silence.
Joel’s dark eyes fell to your blouse, noticing how a couple of the top buttons had come undone.
He caught the slightest glimpse of the soft curves of your breasts—all it had taken was just a peek at them for his cock to twitch against his zipper.
Don’t you get hard in a fuckin’ church, Miller.
His gaze wandered down a little further and that’s when he caught sight of the cross hanging from a delicate gold chain clasped around your neck.
Joel expected the sight of it to calm the straining in his jeans.
Somehow it made it worse.
“Earlier, when we were standing outside,” you had started to say. “You were nervous to come into the church because of all the terrible shi—things that you’ve done.”
“That’s right.”
You peered at him with curiosity. “So what exactly have you done, Joel?”
Joel leaned back into the pew, shaking his head at you as he finally pulled his hand from your knee.
“You really don’t wanna know, little dove.”
“Why not?”
His answer was honest.
“Don’t want you to be scared of me.”
Angling your body towards him, you placed one of your hands on his thigh. Your fingers burned right through the dark blue denim of his jeans.
Joel’s lips parted slightly, taken aback by the bold move and the sudden shift in your demeanor.
Were you the same girl who’d nearly had a fucking heart attack a couple of weeks ago when Joel had nodded at you back at the stables?
“I’m not scared of you,” you murmured, softly. You gave his leg a squeeze, pulling your plump bottom lip between your teeth. Between that and the wide innocent doe eyes that you were giving him, it was taking every last ounce of strength Joel had inside him to keep a straight face, to pretend you weren’t driving him absolutely wild with desire.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt such an incredible need to have someone.
Want, sure.
He had wanted Tess. He had wanted Esther.
But Joel didn’t want you.
He fucking needed you.
“I’m not scared of you,” you repeated, trailing your hand further up his thigh, setting a fire neither one of you would soon be able to contain.
Joel leaned forward, bringing his face dangerously close towards yours. His warm breath fanned over your lips. It was still laced with bourbon. “You sure about that, darlin’ girl?”
You tried to answer him in the steadiest voice that you could muster, but it was impossible for you to hide the effect this man had on you.
You breathed out a shaky, “I’m sure.”
Lifting his uninjured hand, he reached up to tuck a loose lock of hair that had fallen out of your braids behind your ear. As his hand fell away, the palm of it grazed against the silkiness of your cheek.
Though brief, the contact sent an electric current through each and every last single nerve ending in your entire body.
Exhaling sharply, your eyelids fluttered closed. You nearly whimpered out his name. “Joel?”
“What is it baby? What do you want?”
“I—I want you to kiss me.”
Joel leaned in even closer, stopping only when his mouth was less than an inch away from yours.
You heard him chuckle softly.
“I’d expect better manners from a girl like you,” he tsked lightly, his nose skimming near the corner of your mouth. Closer. “What’s the magic word, little dove?”
“Please.”
“That’s much better.”
Your heart pounded with anticipation.
It was almost too much for you to handle.
Joel closed the remaining gap of space, capturing your lips with his own. He remembered his brother talking about you at the bar—how he had told Joel that you had never even held a man’s hand before.
It occurred to him that he was giving you your first kiss. Him. Joel Miller. The town asshole and a man who was well over twice your own age.
He was the one giving you your very first kiss.
The guilt suddenly started to creep in, sinking into his bones. What the fuck had he been thinking?
And what about you?
Where the fuck had your common sense gone?
Probably ran off together with Joel’s.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling away slightly in an attempt to stop it from going any further. He tried again, mumbling against your lips, “We gotta stop. This ain’t right—”
You were having none of it.
None.
Clutching fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt, you swung your leg over his thighs and straddled his lap. Your knees rested on either side of him on the bench.
“Please,” you nearly pleaded. “Just kiss me. I want it—I want this. I promise you that I do.” You placed both of your hands on his broad shoulders, sliding them around him as you slowly sank down further onto his lap. “I want this, Joel.”
Suddenly, he realized that you were asking him for more than just his kiss. Now he knew for sure that all common sense had left that pretty little head of yours.
“Baby, y’need to think real hard about this—”
Desperate, you uttered one final, “Please.”
Joel bit back a groan. How could he deny you?
He couldn’t. Simple as that.
“You sure about this?”
Your fingers toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “I’m sure.”
“C’mere then, darlin’ girl.”
Joel cupped the side of your face in his large palm and tilted his head up towards yours. Your mouths fused together and although he tried to be gentle, it was proving to be much too difficult—how could he be gentle when you were practically clinging to him? Holding onto him with fervor as if you’d been holding onto dear fucking life itself?
Temperatures rising, you quickly shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind you with a soft thud before wrapping your arms around him once again. You melted against him as your mouth molded to his in a perfect fit.
His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore the cavern even further.
Eagerly, your lips parted, granting him access. His tongue slipped past them, meeting yours in a slow and sensual heated dance.
You breathed him in deeply into your lungs, a little moan vibrating at the back of your throat.
Joel’s hands went to your waist and he yanked the hem of your blouse free from your skirt.
“Can I feel you, baby?” he asked, breathlessly. His mouth abandoned yours and he began to trail hot, open mouthed kisses underneath your jawline.
Dazed, all you could do was nod in reply.
Joel’s hands slipped under your blouse and he slid them up the length of your sides. “Fuck, you gotta be the softest fuckin’ thing,” he cursed against the delicate, tender flesh of your neck. His lips latched onto your pulse point, suckling at the skin there as his fingertips dug into your hips. He needed to feel more, but he forced himself to wait. The last thing he wanted was make a wrong move.
“Joel,” you mewled his name. “Joel, I need…”
You trailed off, moaning when his mouth released your skin with a loud, wet popping noise.
“Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you,” he promised. “Anythin’ you need or want, I’ll give it to you. Just say the fuckin’ word.”
“You, Joel. I need you—”
His hips involuntarily bucked upwards and you let out a startled gasp the moment you felt his bulge, hard as a rock, brush against your clothed cunt.
Tearing away from him, it suddenly hit you. You’re in a church, straddling a much, much older man in a pew—and if that wasn’t sinful enough, the warm and slick arousal pooling between your thighs only proved that you were ready to fall into temptation, give into the lust and give your body to Joel. But it was none of those things that worried you.
It was something else.
You pulled yourself out of his arms and jumped up off his lap, nearly tripping over your own two feet.
“Darlin’ are you—?”
You didn’t even hear the rest of his question.
Knees trembling, you somehow managed to make your way up to the altar. Heart pounding and head spinning, you planted both of your hands firmly on the table and steadied yourself. Part of you hoped that Joel would just get up and leave. But a bigger part of you hoped he wouldn’t.
Joel rose to his feet. “Listen, ain’t nothin’ wrong if you changed your mind, alright?”
“I didn’t,” you choked out. “That’s not it at all.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
Embarrassed, you tried to explain yourself. “I have never done anything like this before. I’m a—”
You couldn’t even bring yourself to say it out loud.
“You’re a what?”
Blazing heat flooded your face. “Joel, please don’t make me say it,” you groaned. “For the sake of my sanity, don’t make me say it.” You heard the sound of his brown leather boots as he walked up behind you, one heavy footstep after the other.
“Turn around.”
Joel’s command was firm but still gentle.
Swallowing dryly, you obeyed and did as you were told. He stood close and you found yourself at eye level with his chest.
“Look at me.”
You tried, but couldn’t.
“I said, look at me.” Joel gingerly took your chin in between his thumb and index finger. He lifted your face, forcing your gaze to meet his own, timid and submissive meeting bold and dominant in a sweet and tender exchange. “Never known the lovin’ of a man, have you little dove?”
He backed you up against the table, pinning you in between it and himself. Planting both of his hands on either side of you, he caged you in and brought his chest flush against yours, pressing your bodies together.
Close, but somehow not close enough.
Joel lifted his hand to your cheek, cradling it in his palm. His thumb swept your quivering bottom lip.
You reached behind you, clutching at the fair linen as you tried with every fiber of your entire being to remind yourself that you were standing at the altar where your father preached and delivered all of his sermons to the faithful people of Jackson.
The very same altar where your father encouraged you to kneel and pray in effort to mend the broken relationship you had with God.
You couldn’t help but to think if you were to get on your knees tonight, it wouldn’t be for prayer.
“I asked you a question, darlin’.” Joel’s voice broke into your train of thought. “Need you to be a good girl and give me an answer, alright?”
“My father loves me,” you stammered out in reply. “He loves me and my sisters—”
“C’mon, baby.” He chuckled and shook his head at you, lightly pinching your cheek. “That ain’t what I mean and you damn well know it.”
Sighing softly, you finally answered, “No, Joel.”
“No what?”
“No, I’ve never known the loving of a man.”
Joel slipped the tip of his thumb between your lips and leaned into you, his hardness pressing against your upper thigh. Even through all the clothes, you could feel every inch of him. “Do you wanna know how it feels, baby? What it’s like for a man to make you his?”
You nearly moaned around his finger. “Yes.”
“Yes what?” he prompted, pulling his hand away.
“Yes, please.”
“I can show you.” Joel paused. “But not tonight.”
You stared at him in disbelief. Both of you were so clearly riled up and he was going to take a pass? Is that how sex worked?
He almost laughed. “Don’t give me that face.”
“But Joel—”
“I just don’t wanna rush it, not with you,” Joel said in a tone so soft it nearly threw you for a loop. “I’m gonna need you to be real patient for me, just for a while. You think you can do that, little dove? Think you can be patient for me?”
Chapter Summary: You wake to find the world has changed.
Turn on notifications for @ren-browne-writes to be updated when I post new content.
Word Count: 3.3K
Rating: Explicit 18+ (By proceeding to read beyond this warning, you are agreeing that you are 18 years or older)
Series Content Warnings: Age Gap (~20 years, Joel is mid 40s), Slow Burn, Explicit Smut, Grief, PTSD, Strained Family Relationships, Peril, Death, Violence, Weapons
A/N: Apologies for the large gap between chapters but we are back, baby! Thank you to @frannyzooey as always for listening to me ramble and for giving the best advice. Love you.
Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 4
Your mom used to take you and your brother into Nashville when you were young, pile both of you into the car with packed lunches and make the day of it.
Sometimes to the zoo. Sometimes to the river. Sometimes to the park where you could sit and hear the musicians play. Peanut butter and jelly smeared on your fingers and cheeks when you hesitantly ran up and dropped in whatever money your mama could find in her purse.
They always smiled so nicely at you when you did it, asked you what song you’d like to hear next, and you never really cared as long as you got to listen. Sit cross-legged on the grass with the music and the breeze until your brother got bored and demanded the three of you go do something else.
You wish you’d known when it was going to be the last time. Known that the next time your mother would put you in the car, it would be with more bags than she usually packed, fumbling with them as she told you to buckle yourself in next to Jake and tried not to let either of you see that she was crying.
Your father had intervened before she’d made it into the driver’s seat in front of you, pulled you right back out again as he’d told her it wasn’t safe. Wasn’t safe to go to the city. Wasn’t safe to go where there were so many people. Not anymore.
That night you had played the radio while you sat scrunched up in the closet in your room. Tried to drown out the sound of your parents fighting down the hall until you were tired enough to let yourself fall asleep and to let the radio fall to the floor.
During the nights in the bunker that came later, you used to wonder sometimes if your radio was still there where you’d left it. Wonder if you had thought to bring it with you if it still would play, if it would still help you sleep.
You wish you’d known when it was going to be the last time.
*****
What’s a QZ?
Joel walks on cracked concrete with an empty gas can in one hand and a rifle in the other, glancing back over his shoulder at where he had attempted to blend the truck into the sea of cars that had been abandoned along the side of the highway. Having gotten as far gone as he’d been able to get before the fuel had run out, though not nearly as far as he would’ve liked considering what is probably on his heels.
What the fuck had he been thinking? Without question, his stunt back there would put him at the top of Edison’s wanted list as soon as he figured out what Joel had done. Likely other lists, too, depending on how deep Edison’s connections went with the other Hunter groups.
Which meant that for the foreseeable future, Joel would have to consider the cities they had reclaimed off limits, and since even the idea of living in one under FEDRA’s control tended to put a lead weight in his stomach…
Tommy. Once Joel saw you taken care of, he could try to go and find his brother and his Fireflies, although he highly doubts he can still pretend convincingly that he believes humanity can be saved.
So what does that really leave?
Not much.
His odds out here on his own for any extended length of time would be dismal at best but then it’s not as if anyone’s are all that high anymore. Not as if he really wants his to be.
In the dim morning light and from yards away, he can just barely make out your outline through the windshield when he looks back again and sees you still slumped against the passenger side door as you sleep. You had succumbed to your fatigue not too long after he’d first put the truck in drive, but still longer than he’d thought you’d last. Only really giving up the fight with it after repeated assurances that he was just finding a place to hide for the night. That come dawn Joel would take you back for your brother.
He had lied to you. Because he figured it would be less painful than the truth. Because he figured you had already been through enough for one evening.
Several times as he drove through the night, he had thought of the still forming bruises around your neck and reached over to check that you were still breathing, his fingertips gently finding your bare pulse point just below your jaw and measuring its steady, reassuring thrum.
There would be time later to figure out how exactly you’d come to be in that clearing. How three men ended up dead in the trees behind you while you stood there with your hands bound and your eyes on the sky.
What’s a QZ?
You had asked him like you really didn’t understand. And even without the obvious honesty in your voice he would’ve believed it just by the look of you.
People now… they have a hard edge about them. One that only continues to be sharpened by survival until eventually it breaks. Or is broken for them.
But not you. You still look —
Just before you’d fallen asleep, your head had lifted and turned in his direction as if you could hear him thinking, your eyes searching his face in the soft glow of the flashlight still switched on and resting between you and him. Just light enough to see your features and the way that as your gaze held his, you were still trying to make up your mind, still trying to decide what he was.
What’s a QZ?
If you knew, you wouldn’t have to decide. You would already know.
*****
You’re not where you’re supposed to be.
No smell of stale air, no sound of humming overhead lights, no feel of scratchy cot sheets beneath your cheek. Instead there’s the press of cool glass against your forehead, the call of birds not far away, and the scent of something that makes you feel warm.
Smoke? Leather? Gunpowder? You’re searching your mind for memories to help you identify it before you’re even fully awake, but you’re unable to grab onto anything other than that one repeating persistent thought.
You’re not where you’re supposed to be.
Your eyes fly open as you sit bolt upright, emerging panic breaking through the cover of sleep as you try to orient yourself through the throbbing pain in your head. So severe that it makes you wince and look out again through eyes that you slowly crack open this time.
You’re in a truck. In the passenger seat while the driver’s side sits empty. The daylight bringing your surroundings into clear view, and when you first see the other cars to the side of you, your first thought is that you must be moving until you realize that everything around you is still. That it has been for a long time.
Suddenly desperate to get out of the close confines of the cab, your hand shakes as you reach for the handle and clamber out into the crisp morning to take your first big breath. Out in the open, your eyes struggle to adjust even more to the bright light, your throat stinging at the rush of fresh air but you hardly notice as you try to find your footing. Your steps tangling in overgrown brush on the side of the road before you stumble onto the road and inspect the closest car.
Eroded by time and the elements, the rusted hood feels sharp under your hesitant hand, even more so on the edges of the doors that had been left flung open. Dozens more just like it as far down the road as you can see on either horizon.
Turning back and forth in search of a direction to follow, you bend down to peer inside one car, then another and another and another. Close to running in between them as you look for something that will tell you what had happened, where they’d gone, why they’d left everything behind. Sun-bleached clothes and fractured belongings strewn across the road like scratches in its surface.
No, no, no.
You keep searching, looking for something that would tell you something. Even if just where you were.
Maybe not everywhere is like this. Maybe it’s only some places. Maybe everything else is okay.
“Hey.”
When you hear the deep voice, your first instinct is to flinch away from it, waiting for the reprimand that you’ll inevitably receive for being out here. For being where you shouldn’t be. Certainly for seeing what you shouldn’t.
“Hey,” says the voice again, a large, well-calloused hand reaching towards you before you dart away. He lets you, holding up his hands and keeping his distance as you turn to fully face him. Everything about it feeling so familiar right down to the words when he murmurs, “You’re alright.”
Joel. His name comes back along with everything else from the night before. The argument you’d had with your father. The men that had broken into the bunker. Your attempts to escape. The way Joel had helped you. The way he’d promised to — Oh, God. Jake.
A wave of guilt washed over you as you realize you had left Jake there just like he always seemed to think you would. Always believing you’d take the first chance to run and hadn’t you done exactly that?
You’re just like mom.
He’d been right. Your father had been right, too, and you’d hated him for it. Needed so badly for him to be wrong that you’d refused to listen and… What if you were what led them back to the bunker after you snuck out that morning? What if all of it was your fault?
What have you done?
Hands still raised, Joel takes a step towards you, and you take an instinctual step away as your focus returns to him once more, able to see him far better now than you had in the middle of the night.
Big, you think, not just his build but his presence. Different from your father or brother, even from the men who broke in but…
Hadn’t Joel helped you? He’d killed those other men. Cut you loose. Checked your wounds… Granted he had apparently abducted you as well.
“Where are we?” you ask Joel, your voice sounding too high, and you wrap your arms tight around yourself as if that could be enough to steady you. “What…”
What happened?
“We’re about an hour north of Charleston,” Joel tells you, watching you closely without trying to approach again. “I’m sorry, but I needed to get us out of there.”
“Charleston,” you repeat, trying to think back to classrooms and classmates and textbooks and maps on the wall. “South Carolina?”
“West Virginia,” Joel says, not a correction so much as a guide in the right direction. “There’s a QZ up in Boston. A quarantine zone.”
Quarantine… Had people gotten sick? Did he think you were?
Your eyes search the state of the cars and the road, the sagging power lines and the degree to which nature seems to have crawled out from any sort of confines.
It frightens you to see it all broken. It frightens you even more to see that no one has fixed it.
“You’ll be safe,” he stops, his jaw clenching as he weighs his words. “Well you’ll be better off in there than out here.”
In there.
You can see him watching you, assessing your next probable move and you only wish that if he’s figured it out he’ll tell you, too. Your hands clenching at your sides and your eyes falling to the gun on his hip while you curse yourself for not thinking to look for a weapon of your own before you got out of the truck.
Quarantine. Quarantine means confinement. Isolation. You would be trapped again.
“Let’s just talk for a minute,” Joel says, the way he shifts in his stance making you notice the denim shirt he’s still wearing from the night before. The tiny dark burgundy stains across his chest in their haphazard pattern, and your stomach clenches when you realize what they are.
You had just wanted to get out.
“Don’t,” Joel says, his eyes holding yours on the quiet word. A small shake of his head, and he really does seem to know what you’re going to do even if you don’t until you’re already doing it.
You run.
*****
God fucking damn it.
Loose gravel skids beneath Joel’s feet as he takes off after you, sprinting faster than he’s had reason to for a long while as his muscles immediately protest the movement. His boots thudding against the concrete as he dodges through the abandoned cars and represses the urge to yell.
He doesn’t know what else is out here. Hadn’t checked as thoroughly as he might otherwise as he had intended to be quick. Just get some gas in the truck and get back on the road.
Of course, he’s not that lucky, and he can’t figure out why the hell he thought he would be. What he does know is that if you weren’t already injured from your escape last night, he likely wouldn’t have a prayer of catching you. Not after you take a sharp left into the brush on the side of the road, scrambling through it into the trees, weaving in and out as if you’ve done this a thousand times before, and it puts heat in his chest to think that he’s already seen you do it twice.
“Stop,” he calls after you as you move deeper into the woods, trying to keep his voice low but still loud enough for you to hear him. “You need to stop.”
You keep moving, your pace slowing slightly but you’re still charging ahead with a single-minded determination and fearlessness that he might admire if it wasn’t such a Goddamn pain in his ass right now.
He keeps running as you do the same, your smaller steps landing at a rapid pace on the forest floor as he does his best to lengthen his own and eat up more of the distance between you, bringing himself nearer until he needs just a bit more than he thinks he has in him to give.
“Gonna get yourself killed,” Joel snaps out, and he sees you falter for just a second at his words. Just enough to let him get just close enough that when something else startles to the left of both of you, he is able to take enough advantage to grab you. A quick jerk and step sideways that puts you in between him and a large tree that he hopes is enough to conceal you both.
As he drags in uneven, labored breaths, Joel holds a finger to his mouth, gesturing for you to be quiet, and you give him the smallest nod as you look up at him. Panting much like he is, your eyes are wide with fear, and he hates that part of the blame for it is undoubtedly in his direction even if he can still hear the sound of something walking in the fallen leaves.
“If I tell you to run, you run,” he tells you as quietly as he can while simultaneously reaching for the gun at his belt. “Head for the truck. There’s a rifle under the seat. You kill whatever comes near you. You don’t hesitate. We clear?”
You nod again, and from this close, he can see the detail in the bruises on your face, your neck, your wrists and hands where they’re resting against his chest. All of it and the way you’re trembling slightly against him pulling at him as he shifts just enough to peer around the tree to find the source of the sound. His finger already hovering near the trigger as he looks and it’s –
“Fuck,” he exhales, watching a lone deer pick its way through the trees in the opposite direction. “Fuck, it’s — it’s just an animal.”
He turns his focus back to you, watching you nod again in acceptance, bite your lip as your eyes brim with quickly escaping tears, and though he has an idiotic instinct to reach out and swipe them away he steps back to give you some air instead. Careful not to go so far however that he couldn’t easily intervene with another attempt to flee.
Why he cares so much about not letting you just disappear into the woods when he has every intention of dropping you off to fend for yourself in a few days, he doesn’t know. Not much of a future either way.
“We need to go,” he tells you, taking one last look around before stowing his gun back in its holster. “I know I haven’t given you much reason to trust me but I need you to — ”
“I don’t want to go to the QZ,” you say, tilting your chin up at him and planting your feet. “I need to go back. You said you’d take me.”
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. What the fuck had he been thinking?
“You don’t want to go back there. I can promise you that.”
“No, I don’t, but…” you start to say, giving him temporary hope. “But my brother is still back there. I can’t let him think I just left him.”
“He’s not,” Joel responds, his tone matter-of-fact in hopes of convincing you. “There’s nothing back there for you.”
Your eyes narrow, and you cross your arms again, defiant. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Joel argues back. “The one that was still left in the bunker with him? Edison? He doesn’t leave survivors. And even if your brother did manage to get the drop on him somehow, I can guarantee that Edison likes himself too much to not have planned for backup in case something went wrong. There would’ve been a second crew.”
Your eyes fall to the ground as you mull his words over, and Joel steps forward again. This time you don’t bolt at least, and thank fucking Christ for that cause he’s not chasing you again. Fuckin’ knees can’t take it.
“You said you have a brother… If it was him…” you say after a long pause and his stomach sinks. Already knowing the answer to the question you’re about to ask next because he’s already found it out the hard way.
“Joel,” you prompt as he turns away, putting his back to you as he tries to think of a different way to get through to you. To avoid having to take you back into something you shouldn’t have to see. As if that’s a choice anyone gets now.
He hears you step towards him from behind, feels your hand reach out for his upper arm, and when he looks back at you, your eyes are looking up to meet his.
prompt: the bear needs a social media rebrand. sydney hired you, and carmen gets more than just followers after meeting you.
an: bad descript i'm sorry lol. basically you're a social media manager and carmen likes you lol or how you and carmen meet <3 also thinking this will be a part 1???? lmk if you want a part 2!!!
contains: reader is a social media manager. language. carmen denying himself happiness ofc. mentions of mikey. fluff, fluff, fluff!!!
“What the hell is this?” Sydney’s voice raised, brow raised even higher to heighten her suspicions. Maybe her disgust.
After Carmen looked at the snarl on her face, he decided it was definitely disgust.
“What?” Carmen shrugged, looking at the screen in front of him. “It’s the, uh, The Beef’s old Instagram.”
“Right.” Sydney said slowly, blinking at Carmen obviously. “The Beef, and we are not that anymore. We are The Bear.” She scrolled for a moment. “They also haven’t posted since twenty-twenty, which is-”
“-Well, Mikey ran it, alright?” Carmen huffed, glaring at Sydney with annoyance. “I just found the fuckin’ password on a fucking gum wrapper in a folder labeled ‘important shit’ so I don’t know what to tell you.”
Sydney nodded slowly, looking back at the phone, before sighing deeply. “I know what you should do.” She said, typing on her phone. Carmen grunted, still looking at the piles of order forms for produce in front of him. “You need a social media manager, because Carm, this? It's not gonna work.”
“Social media what?” Carmen’s brows creased, shaking his head. “I don’t- no, I don’t need to do that. I’ll just, I’ll get Gary or fuckin’ Sweeps or Fak to run-”
“No, no, Carmen, seriously? Look at this. There’s- oh my God- there’s a thing here that says bring your own plate and you’ll get a free drink, Carmen… What the fuck?” Sydney sighed, shaking her head at him.
Carmen nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I-I’m thinking that was a, uh, a Mikey special.” He muttered, pinching his eyes shut. “I can’t afford to hire someone on the payroll for that long, ok? Not when I could hire another hostess or-or a runner.”
“They only come in to revamp and get it started. Just a little kick start for now. To get us started.” Sydney explained, clicking on her screen. “Look, I have a mutual friend with this girl who’s really fuckin’ good, ok? She did Lobo’s that pizza place? Got them from two hundred to eighteen thousand followers in like two or three months.”
Carmen’s eyes flashed, looking at Sydney with a raised brow. “Seriously? Fuck…” Carmen looked at the screen, the crisp photos, videos, fun and trendy- vibrant and alluring. He hated to admit it, but it was good.
“Look, Carm, it’s free advertising, ok? You catch the influencers if it goes viral. Could really put this place out there.” Sydney countered. “It’d be a lot cheaper than paying for some shitty advertisement on the news that no one watches anyways. Could bring in a lot of business and attention.”
Carmen’s fingers drummed against the counter, sighing sharply. “Fine, whatever, see if you can get her in and just… Just tell me how much I need to put aside, alright? I’ll push the new glasses until then.”
Sydney smiled triumphantly, nodding at Carmen. “Yes, Chef.” She saluted, walking out of the office.
Three days later, you were standing outside of The Bear, newly opened, freshly renovated, and steady but not booming. “Uh, excuse me?” You waved through the window at the man in the beanie, looking at you carefully.
“Hey, we’re closed until dinner, alright? But you can-”
“Oh, no. I, uh, I’m not here for eating.” You cringed, shaking your head. “I’m looking for Sydney? Or Carmen? I’m the new social media person?”
“Social media?” The man repeated, pushing the door open further. “Oh, shit! You’re the girl who does the, uh, Lobo and Avec!”
“Yeah, I am.” You blushed, walking into the restaurant.
“I love watching those reels of the asmr cutting the bread. Ugh, I watch it every night before going to bed.” The guy laughed, locking the door behind you. “Oh, I’m Marcus by the way.”
You took his extended hand, introducing yourself, while you took in the fixtures on the wall, the art, the overall ambiance. “I am going to get Carmen, but you can stay right here if you want.” Marcus grinned, pushing the sliding doors open.
You set your things down, pulling out your notebook, and looking around the restaurant. You knew that this was once The Beef, Sydney had sent you a few things about Carmen’s credentials and you looked up the rest. Impressed was an understatement, a guy your age that had ran the best restaurant in the world? Quite possibly was the best chef in the world or at least Chicago and needed your help? You were nervous, to say the least.
Marcus called your name, making you jump slightly as you turned around. “Uh, so this is Carmen. He’s the owner, the head chef.”
“Hi,” You were met with piercing blue eyes, hidden under a stray blonde lock of hair. Carmen’s hand reached for yours. “Nice to meet you. Sydney, uh, she couldn’t stop tellin’ me about your work. Thank you for helpin’ us out.”
“No, no, thank you.” You reached for his hand, strong, a little rough, trying not to stare at his inked fingers. “It’s a pleasure to work with you. She told me a little about you, about the restaurant. It’s very impressive. Surprised you needed me.” You grinned.
Carmen bit back a smile, looking down to hide his blush. Fuck, Sydney said you were good at your job, she failed to mention that you were so fuckin’ pretty too. Carmen could feel his heart fluttering in his chest, taking flight like he was a middle schooler again with a school yard crush.
“So, if you have time, I want to go over some goals with you?” You say, gripping your notebook tightly.
“Goals. Right, uh,” Carmen looked through the back doors. “Sydney is on her break, and-and my sister, Sugar- well, her name is Natalie, she’s like our manager. Richie too, uh, shit- I’m sorry that’s a lot of people, I know.” Carmen shook his head, an anxious laugh pealing out from his lips. “Those are the people you need to talk to, basically. I can grab them, just-”
“-But you’re the owner, right?” You asked, lifting a brow gently.
“No, I mean, yeah, I am.” Carmen stuttered.
“Then I need to talk to you, too.” You gave him a small smile. “I mean, you know this place better than anyone, right? All the ins and outs? And from what Sydney told me, you redid this entire place. Right?”
“Yeah, I did.” Carmen nodded. Fuck, he kept staring at your lips, he didn’t mean to, he was just… he was distracted.
“So, we can all meet if you want, or I can do it one at a time.” You pulled your pen out of your notebook, looking at him with a gentle smile. It had Carmen’s heart racing. “I just have a few questions about the vision.”
“The vision?” Carmen repeated, swallowing around the growing lump in his throat.
“Yeah, the vision.” You smiled. “Just… tell me about this place. Tell me about you.” You slid into the chair across from him.
Carmen wiped his hands on his pants, turning to look at the doors, hoping someone would come to his rescue. He wasn’t good at talking, especially not to pretty girls, especially about himself. Still, he couldn’t leave you sitting there. He’d hired you after all, and you were here to help him. So he sat down across from you, hoping you didn’t see the way his knee bounced under the table, hoping you couldn’t hear how his heart pounded.
“So, Carmen Berzatto,” You grinned, every syllable of his name rolling off your tongue so sweetly, Carmen was sure he was going to faint. “Tell me about The Bear. Why did you start it?”
“Well, it was The Beef before. And-And my parents owned it, then my brother Mikey did…” Carmen started, watching the way you scribbled, eyes flickering to him with a small smile.
“Hello!” You called, pushing through the back door. They’d given you the code a week ago, so you didn’t have to wait or pound on the front door until someone took mercy and let you in. “It’s content day!” You sang, cheery and bright.
Carmen could hear the pretty trill of your voice, trickling down the hall and into the kitchen. Tina smirked, watching the way he stopped, turning to look at you, blush rising under his white shirt. “Hey, Jeff,” Tina smirked, his head snapping to her. “Your girl’s here.”
The staff had been teasing Carmen relentlessly about how smitten he was with you. Something he’d been so reluctant to do, he now looked forward to. Carmen swore it was because of your work. You had taken them from the measly six hundred followers they’d had since they started the account in twenty-eleven to six thousand, strategic posts and tags and tagging a few buzz accounts that were Chicago foodies. Business had gone up, reservations filling slowly. Followers poured in from TikTok, from the reels, from the posts. One tag from a micro Chicago influencer had brought in a good chunk and was still, all because of a photo with the pretty light features and the dessert.
“Where’s the Bear?” You grinned, passing Sydney, camera in hand, bag slung over your shoulder. You pushed open Carmen’s office, dropping your bag in there. He’d told you that you could keep your things in there, since you didn’t have a locker, of course- and not at all because that meant he’d see you before you left.
“He’s in here, baby!” Tina called, smirking at Carmen.
“C’mon,” Carmen shook his head, a deep breath to keep him from looking so flushed. It worked for a moment, of course, until you rounded the corner. All bright smiles and fuck, you smelled so good. Camren wanted to drown himself in your perfume. “Good morning, Bear.” You beamed.
Carmen grinned, cheeks heating with every step you took forward. “Mornin’.” He muttered, looking at the clock.
“It’s content day.” You grinned, shaking your camera lightly. “Tell me you got something good for me, Chef. What's the special this week?”
“A lamb tenderloin with a gorgonzola sauce served over pasta- house made, of course.” Carmen answered.
“Of course.” You repeated with a tiny grin. You turned on your camera, taking a test shot, before you looked at Carmen carefully. “Ready whenever you are, Chef.”
Carmen bit back his own grin, clearing his throat lightly. “How do I start it? The same as last time?”
“Yep.” You nodded, pressing the camera to your eyes. “Tell me your name, name of the restaurant, and then just this week's special.”
“On your mark.” Carmen nodded, picking up his clean utensil.
“On yours.” You laughed. “I’m already recording.”
Carmen spoke to the camera easily, trying to stay trained on the lens and not at you. How you’d grin and nod encouragingly at him, zooming in closer as he chopped, seasoned, pulled the already prepared and finished product out of the oven.
Richie crossed his arms, leaning against the wall next to Sugar, lips pursed knowingly. “I know you’re thinkin’ the same shit as me.”
Sugar hummed. “That Carmen’s into her?”
“Way fuckin’ into her.” Richie grinned, watching as Carmen blushed, grinning back at you, genuine and a little shy at your compliment.
“Fifty bucks says he doesn’t make a move.” Sugar looked at Richie.
Richie snorted, scoffing with a shake of his head. “Alright. I’ll take your bet. I say he does.”
“Get ready to be out of fifty dollars, Cousin.” Sugar said smugly. “This is Carmy we’re talking about. Not Mikey. Carmen’s not gonna make a move on her.”
“Eh, not so quick, my dear, Natalie. Carmen’s changed a little since this place.” Since the horrendous freezer incident with Claire. “He really likes her too, look at ‘em.” Richie nodded, watching as Carmen held the spoon out for you, blushing when your hand touched his to take it, groaning before smothering him in compliments. Tina looked at Richie, amused and grinning from across the room.
“Carmen will seal the deal. It’ll be last fuckin’ minute and it will be a mess, because it’s fuckin’ Carmen, but… I believe in him.” Richie nodded.
Natalie snorted. “I genuinely hope you’re right, Cousin.” She looked at Carmen with a small smile, watching the way he looked at you, eyes cutting like he was being so cool about keeping his feelings underwraps. “I really do.”
That night, Carmen lied in bed, scrolling through his footage from the day, seeing the video pop up from @/thebearchicago. Set to classical music, snobby and dramatic, the cuts, Carmen’s voice laid over describing the meal for the week, and a particularly good close up of his hands cutting the onions fiercely. Carmen was shocked to see the number of likes… the number of comments flooding in.
“the cameraman knew exactly what they were doing lmao”
“New necklace available!!!”
“I will give you my vital organs and let you chop them up like that if you let me watch chef please”
“What the fuck?” Carmen snorted lightly, shaking his head, scrolling through the comments. He clicked to the main page of the restaurant, seeing you were just a few away from ten thousand followers. Fuck… Sydney was fucking right. You were good.
Carmen’s face fell, mind racing and screaming with the reminder that you were only there for a few more days. He’d only hired your for two months- two glorious fucking months. You seemed… permanent now. Like he couldn’t imagine you not coming in on Tuesdays and Thursdays and after three on Fridays. You were a staple there. The staff loved you, you were good, and-
And Carmen really liked you. Liked having you around. Looked forward to talking to you. To get the chance to lean over your shoulder as an excuse to touch you when you showed him a preview of a post. Or when you’d send him cute text messages, a funny comment attached, your text reading: “you’re a hit, bear! they love you!”
It was like you could read his mind, your contact flashing across the screen at him.
To: Carmen
‘told you this would be a good one! the fans love you berzatto!!!’
Carmen grinned, the faint twinge of a blush on his face. He could feel his heart racing, fingers dancing over the keyboard, and worst of all- he could hear Mikey’s fucking voice in the back of his head. A nagging tone repeating over and over and over, “Let it rip, Bear! Don’t be such a pussy! Ask her out!”
Carmen looked at his screen, fingers typing out the message, a short, less than smooth invite to make you a special thank you dinner and his place- a date. He hoped you picked up on it. Heat hammering in his chest, he could feel his chest tighten, ribs knitting together uncomfortably, stomach twisting in the worst way.
So, Carmen did what he always did.
From: Carmen
‘Never doubted you. Thank you. The video was great.’
He watched as the blue sent, the delivered turning into seen, and followed by your thumbs up over the text. Carmen put his phone on the table, lying back on his pillow, but he couldn’t sleep. His stomach still turned, unsettled with regret.
“Oh! Marcus stop!” You gasped, Carmen’s head turning at the sound of your voice. “You didn’t need to do all of this!”
“Yeah, I did.” Marcus beamed. Carmen turned the corner, seeing a beautifully piped cake there, candles and icing cursive that read “thank you!” in the middle of the buttercream. “You’re cool and you got us on the map, girl. Plus, we’re gonna miss you.”
“Yeah,” Sydney nodded, holding a small balloon that said that exact phrase on it. “We will miss you.”
“I’ll miss you guys.” You grinned, hugging them both tightly. “This has been my favorite job so far. You guys have been so nice. Way nicer than a lot of these assholes around here.” You grinned.
Richie stood on the wall, foot tapping, eyes darting back from you to Carmen. He could see his cousin’s stuttering movements, hesitant and careful, before retreating back into himself. C’mon, Carm, fuckin’ do it, Richie thought, shaking his head. Carmen wouldn’t though, wouldn’t let himself be happy. Richie took a deep breath, head shaking with annoyance.
“Goddammit, Berzatto,” Richie muttered, pushing off the wall. “You know, sweetheart, it’s been so great having you. Seriously, you blew us all away.” Richie said, walking towards you.
You smiled. “Thanks, Richie. I really appreciate it.”
“And you know what, we want to really show how much we appreciate you.” Richie’s eyes cut to Natalie, a silent plea to help him out. “I had a cancellation for this evening, and I would love for you to come instead. Let us really cook for you, give you the whole experience. No bill, of course. All on the house, for you, my dear.”
“Oh, I-I couldn’t let you guys do that.” You shook your head politely, eyes cutting to Carmen’s.
“No-No, please.” Carmen nodded, finally speaking. Richie sighed silently in relief. “It would be great actually. Please?”
You felt your heart melt, nodding softly. Before you could even reply, Richie was stepping up again. “And you know what? You gotta do one last post for us, right? The big chef spotlight one. The, uh, c’mon, Sydney what am I lookin’ for here?”
“Oh, the one about the staff spotlights?” Sydney asked.
“That’s the one. See, that’s it. And you’ve done everyone except the big boss.” Richie pointed at Carmen, ignoring the way the younger man’s face fell.
“I didn’t get one-” Fak started, Richie shoving him out of the way.
“You gotta end with Carmy, and it's funny because it’s gonna be real slow tonight anyways. Wednesday, ya know? And I think what better way to experience the night, really craft that staff spotlight thing, than with Carmen. The two of you, have dinner and get to talk.” Richie knew it was rocky, not at all smooth, but it was the best he could do.
“What? Cousin, what are you-”
“-No, you’re right, Richie.” Sugar added, stepping towards Carmen, and cutting him off. “And Carm, you were saying you wanted to see everything in action for yourself. You do the customer experience so you make sure everything’s good, and we’ll serve you both dinner. All the stops.”
“How’s that sound?” Richie clapped his hands together, nodding at Tina, who grinned.
“Jeff, it would be really nice to make sure we can work without your instructions. A good night for it too.” Tina added.
“Yeah, and Sydney’s got it.” Richie nudged the girl beside him.
“Totally, Carm- uh, Chef. I’ve got it.” Sydney nodded, catching on to Richie’s glare at her.
Carmen felt like he could melt into the floor, face red and palms sweaty. His ears were ringing, tongue swelled thick in his mouth. You looked over at him with a small smile. “I mean, that does sound really nice. If-If it’s ok with you guys, you don’t have to-”
“-Oh no,” Richie shook his head, walking over to Carmen to clap him on the shoulders. “We insist, don’t we, cousin?” Richie laughed, leaning down to Carmen. “Don’t fuckin’ stand there like a jagoff, say somethin’.” He whispered.
“Yeah.” Carmen said, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat. “It’s, uh, yeah. That-That sounds great.”
“Wonderful.” Richie beamed. “Six o’clock sounds good for you kids? Give you enough time to get it together.” Richie looked from you to Carmen. “Maybe for some of us to take a shower.”
Carmen could feel the heat rise from his neck to his cheeks, covering him in a furious blush. You giggled. “Definitely gives me time to get a blow out.” You laugh. “See you at six then?”
“It’s a date.” Natalie added, practically bouncing on her toes behind Carmen.
Carmen glared at her, before turning back to you. “Yeah, I-I’ll see you then.”
You friend sees you at the Beef while you were helping out at the counter. Carmy feels insecure. (mean!carmy, angst to fluff, just :(, sydney is such a sweetheart, protect carmen at all cost, not sure if there are spoilers, unedited.) - ACCEPTING REQUESTS!
He comes to the Beef with authority and an air of confidence. Richie noticed that he had a designer shirt on, the monogram of some brand littered on it. The shoes on his feet could cover some expenses at the Beef. You were helping out at the counter that day. Carmy has been telling you how stressful the Beef had been since day one and you decided that on your days off, you’d go down to the shop and help. Carmy wished you didn’t come that day…not if he was there.
The first time you came, Carmy was bewildered. He was a blushing, babbling mess when his girlfriend came to help. “Ayo, Jeff, stop staring and give the girl a job!” Tina teased, making Carmy’s ears turn red.
“Alright, Chef,” he said, looking at you, finally breaking out of his trance. “Come to the office and I’ll…orient you,” he takes your hand and brings you to the back office before you could say hi to his coworkers. “Syd, cover for me!”
“Yes, chef!”
He locked the door behind him and kissed your head.
“Hey, baby. What are you doing here?” he asked. His voice was soft, dripping with vanilla and honey.
“It’s my day-off and you’ve been telling me how much you needed another person at the counter and I decided to come down and help out. I’m sure Richie could help me,” you said. “But if you think that I might disrupt the system, I can leave and stay in the area! We can go on a date after your shift,”
Carmy could just melt. How were you so considerate and beautiful and kind to him? He was so sure that he didn’t deserve you. He was almost certain that you were too good for him. Too good for everyone.
“I promise, I won’t mind whatever you choose, Carm.” you said, smiling softly at him. You could see the gears in his head turning.
“No, no. I want you here,” said. “I want you here.”
“Okay. I’ll stay,” he hears, and you kiss him softly. “I’ll go to Richie and ask him to teach me the basics, okay?”
“Alright,” he said, pecking your lips “Just come to the office if you’re not feeling it, okay?”
“Yeah,” you nod, leaving the space and leaving a lovesick Carmy in the office.
“Hey, guys! Sorry if I’m here on short notice. I’ll just keep out of your way and help Richie out, okay?” you asked. The kitchen hums and releases a series of “sure”, “okay”, and “thank you’s.”
“Chefs! I’ll take care of family today,” Carmy said a few moments later. He was watching you joke around with Richie. He was teaching you the basics and teaching you how to take orders.
The first time you helped out, Carmy was tense. He didn’t want anything to happen to you. Nothing to touch you but soon, once you were well-integrated in their system, the kitchen found themselves looking forward to every Wednesday when Carmy was calmer, less annoying, and less rude. It’s like you take out every bad thing in him.
-
Not today though. Not when Richie saw your eyes widen in recognition, an instantaneous sweet smile plastered on your face.
“Ayo, cousin!” he calls, while you almost literally jumped over the counter to talk to this guy.
“Lawrence!” you greeted, taking him in a hug. “How are you? Richie, this is my childhood friend, Lawrence. Lawrence, this is Richie,”
Richie could only give a grimace and a half-assed wave. Where the fuck was Carmy?
“Wait for a bit,” you asked. “Sit down, okay? Your sandwich is on the house.” You looked at Richie to ask if he could cover for a few minutes and he nodded. He shouts at the order in the kitchen.
“Who’s that asshole?” he asked, getting a glass of pop.
“My childhood friend,” you said. “We grew up in the same street together,”
“What does he do?”
“Finance…I think? It’s been a while since we last talked. I think last year?” you wondered. “I didn’t even know that he was still in Chicago because we saw each other in New York,”
“Carmy knows him?”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t talk about him alot. I think Carmy only knows him as a childhood friend,” you said. “They’ve never met each other.”
Richie gives you the drink and the sandwich that Tina prepared. You uttered a thanks before walking to whereLawrence sat.
“I didn’t know you worked here,” he said, taking the sandwich from the tray.
“I didn’t know you still lived here,” you said. “The last time that I saw you was in New York. I thought you were a big finance guy?”
“Ah, I quit,” he shrugged. “Decided to start my own start-up here in Chicago. I had enough savings and well, you know,”
“Of course,” you nod. “I don’t work here. I just help out once a week because everything’s been so busy,”
“Hm,” he hums. “My employees have been raving about the sandwiches here since the new management took over. Decided to try it out and sure enough, you were there.”
“Fuck! Where the fuck were you?” Richie asked Carmy when he finally came through the back door. Some rich asshole has been wooing your girl in the seating area. Says he’s her childhood friend or some shit,”
“Who?” Carmen asked, removing his jacket.
“Your girlfriend took a break to talk to a customer, Jeff.” Tina said. Carmy frowned, walking briskly to you. The staff huddled, intrigued at how this could unfold. Carmy has never felt jealousy before. He’s never had to deal with girlfriends and their guy friends that definitely look at you too long. He’d never have to deal with Lawrence who was so obviously flirting with you. He’d never have to deal with you accepting it. The jealousy consumes him.
“Carmy! Come here,” you said when you finally noticed him. He’s been standing there for minutes while you listened to this guy drone on about how bored he was with his money. How you were probably meant to see each other again.
“Hey,” Carmy greets the guy in front of you. A chair scrapes loudly on the floor, reverberating in the whole restaurant. He sits down.
“Carmy’s the owner of this place,” you told Lawrence. “He’s my boyfriend.”
“He is?” Lawrence asked and Carmy could feel him sizing him up in his dirty white t-shirt. “I’m Lawrence. We grew up together,”
“Oh,” Carmy said. “Uh, babe, can I talk to you for a minute in the office?”
“Sure,” you said. “I have to go,” you told Lawrence, who stood up as well. His sandwich was half-eaten and it annoyed Carmy. Had he no respect to at least finish the food in front of the chef who made it? Asshole.
“No, it’s fine. I’m leaving too,” Lawrence said. “I have a meeting around here. I’ll see you?” he asked.
“Of course,” You removed your hand from Carmen to hug Lawrence and it fucking hurt. Lawrence kisses the side of your head before sparing a glance to Carmy. What an asshole.
“What was it, Carm?” you asked, smiling. You were almost forgiven because of how sweet you looked but Carmy have always felt things too intensely. He couldn’t stop what came from his mouth and it was too late. Too fucking late and the damage has been done.
“Go home,” he said, coldly. Your face fell and Carmen wanted to take it back. He felt you recoil yourself away from him, as if he’s hurt you. As if he burned you.
“Bear?” you asked softly.
“Go home,” he repeated. You frowned, grief-stricken but you nodded.
“Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll…I’ll just get my stuff from the locker,”
Carmy looks away from you and you clear your throat. Walking away from him, you saw the staff pretend like they weren’t listening.
“Hey, guys. I’m going…going home,” you said, trying to stabilize your wavering voice. Tears were threatening to spill but you blink them away. “I don’t feel well, and I realized I have this…thing to attend to.” you lied.
“Of course, sweets,” Tina says. “Get home safely, okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’ll let you know once I’m home.”
“I’ll come with you,” Sydney says, glaring at Carmen.
“No, it’s— “
“It’s just a few blocks away. I’ll take you.” she says, and you nodded, walking to the locker room with her.
“Sorry for being such a bother,” you said while you waited for her to change into her outside shoes.
“You’re not,” she reassured. “Let’s go?”
-
“I didn’t know what I did wrong,” you said, walking away from The Beef. “I was just so excited to see my friend. We grew up together, you know? In the same street. Went to the same school and we haven’t seen each other in a year. I didn’t know what I did for Carmy to be so mean.”
“It’s okay,” Syd says, not wanting to get in the middle. “Just explain things to him, okay? You’re the only person he listens to.”
“I guess,” you nodded, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I just…he’s never been that way to me before. It feels new and I don’t like it,”
Syd, who’s been on the receiving end of Carmy Berzatto’s anger, wanted to protect you from him but it wasn’t her place. She wanted so badly to tell you to let him cool off.
The remaining walk back to your apartment was quiet. You both didn’t know what to say, where to start.
“Do you want to come in?” you asked Sydney. “Refresh a bit?”
“No, I’m fine. I might be needed at the restaurant,” Syd says. You nod, going in for a goodbye hug with your friend. “I’ll see you?”
“Yeah. Thanks for walking me home. Stay safe, okay?”
-
The kitchen hated Carmy that day. He was ruder, more annoying, more…insufferable. Tina said that he handled the situation wrong, Eibrahim and the others, except for Richie agreed. So, when Sydney comes back, the first thing she say was, “What the fuck, Carmen?”
“Stay out of it, Sydney,” Richie warns but Sydney did not give a fuck. Seeing her friend so defeated, so sad stirred something in her. Maybe she was biased because she actually liked you
“She was crying all the way from here,” she said. Carmy felt like he was going to throw up. “Grow up, Carmy. Just because you can’t handle that she has other friends, doesn’t mean you have to take it out on her.”
“Fuck off, Sydney.”
Sydney stands, taken aback. She was just trying to help.
“Fine,” she says, blinking. “But if you come to an empty home, don’t take it out on us.”
-
Sydney’s warning rang in his ears as he drove home. He was anxious but his anger superseded every emotion that he was feeling. That was why, when he opened the door, he immediately looked for you.
“Who was that?” he demanded. Anxiety and anger had such a bad mix and he knew it. He couldn’t stop. That friend of yours made him feel so insecure.
“Carmen,” you sighed. “He’s my friend. Lawrence. I told you about him before,”
“Carmen?” he chuckled. He’s just Carmen now? “I don’t like him.”
“Why?” you asked, exasperated. “He’s nice. I was actually so excited for the two of you to meet until you ruined it. He’s my friend that I haven’t seen in over a year, Carmy. Wasn’t it a natural reaction to be excited?”
“What? You’re telling me that I ruined your little date in my restaurant?” he asked, voice raising. “That’s nice. Sorry for bothering you,”
“We weren’t even doing anything wrong!” you said, walking away. You didn’t want this—you just wanted to talk about things without screaming.
“Hey! Get back here, I’m talking to you!”
“Talk about what, Carmen?” you asked. “You’re not listening to me. Okay? What is there to talk about?”
“You let him all over you like that! Took a break just to spend time with him,” he sneered. “And-and he looked at you like you were his. You let him kiss you. You let him do things to you and you just fucking accepted it.”
“What?” you asked. “Lawrence and I grew up like that There’s nothing wrong with it,” you tried. You were probably being too defensive, not letting Carmy explain his side but you were hurt when he dismissed you just like that. When he let you go without a kiss. He just looked away when you were pleading with him.
“So, you’d rather defend your old fucking friend instead of trying to fix this bullshit,” Carmen spits. “Heard,”
“What?” your heart dropped. “Bullshit?” The first tear falls like it was rehearsed. It broke your heart to hear Carmy call you relationship bullshit when you’ve spent the best days of your life with him. When you helped him through the nightmares…when he took care of you. “Bullshit, huh, Carmen?”
You couldn’t form a string of coherent sentences. Your mouth was agape, trying to process what he just said. Fix this bullshit. Fix this bullshit. You nod, pursing your lips to stop yourself from crying.
Bullshit. It was when you stayed up late to make sure that he slept peacefully, threading your fingers in his golden hair so he could feel your presence. Bullshit. It was when you picked him up from some bar downtown because he decided to drink with Richie. Bullshit. It was when you sacrificed your days-off just so you could spend more time together. Bullshit. It was when he showed up on your first date with flowers that you pressed in between the pages of your favorite book. Bullshit. It was when Carmen told you that he loved you because you made him a burnt grilled cheese sandwich. Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit. It was ringing in your ear, breaking your heart in a million pieces.
“Fuck, baby,” Carmen takes it back when you moved to walk towards the door. “I’m sorry— “
“Is that all it was to you?” you asked. “Bullshit? Is that why you dismissed me so coldly earlier? Because it’s bullshit?” Tears are on your face now and you wipe them away. “It’s bullshit, huh?”
“Baby…”
“Don’t,” you said. “Fuck, you’re so…so mean,” you said, crouching on the floor to shield yourself away from him. “I…I don’t know what I did wrong,” you whispered. “And I’m sorry if my actions hurt you but that’s how I grew up with Lawrence. I didn’t know that I was hurting you but, fuck,” you sobbed. “You’re so mean to me, Bear.” You didn’t mean it as an endearment, and he knew that.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he says, crouching down to your level. “I didn’t mean to say that. I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers, taking you in his arms. You didn’t want to fight back. “I’m sorry for-for doing that. For projecting my insecurities on you. I just…he has life figured out and I could never give you what he could give. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry,”
“I don’t want him,” you sniffled. “I’m with you, you know? Please…please, don’t call it bullshit. Because it’s not…for me, at least.”
“It’s not bullshit. I’m sorry, so fucking sorry for saying that. I’m so sorry,” he rambles sincerely. “You’re the best person that I’ve met. I love you. I love you so much that the thought of anyone else loving you drives me mad. I’m sorry,”
“You were mean to me,”
“I was, baby. I was,” he said. “I promise to stop myself from being mean. I’m so sorry. I don’t-don’t want to lose you. Please-please don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave.”
“I’m not going to leave you, Carmen.” you cooed, and you felt his arms tighten around you.
“Not that name, please. I’m just so fucking sorry for saying that and making you feel bad. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” you said. “I’m sorry too. I should have been more considerate. I love you so much, Bear.”
“It’s my fault. All my fault,”
“It’s not.”
“Can we-can we go to bed?” he asked, pulling away from you. You nodded. That night, when you were half-asleep, you felt his calloused hand caress your cheek. You’d never tell him, but you heard him. Loud and clear.
“I love you,” he whispers. “You don’t know how much I love you and I’m sorry. I love you.”
A/N: No Carmen Berzatto taglist yet! Also, if you’re waiting for the Tommy Shelby fic, you might have a to wait a week more before I release it. I want to release a chapter every week and I haven’t written the second chapter for this week yet. Thank you for reading! Don’t forget to leave comments and reblogs :)
would it be enough if I could never give you peace?
Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, Established Relationship, ASHWAH Universe
Summary: You settle into your relationship with Joel, but struggle with the anxiety of possibly losing him one day.
Warnings: Themes of Anxiety and Grief, Description of a Panic Attack, Angst from PTSD/Loss. Hurt/Comfort. Talking about emotions/fears. Very brief mention of sex. Some things can be read as foreshadowing for Part 2 (it's not canon in ASHWAH universe, but can be interpreted that way)
Wordcount: 3.6k
A/N: Been struggling with writing lately, so I ended up going back to my roots and writing some more for ASHWAH. This was a little thought experiment on how Reader would adjust to a relationship and reveal some of her anxiety around it, along with a bit of Joel's. I may end up writing a companion piece of Joel's anxieties from his POV.
When you knew you were in love with Joel Miller, the three words falling softly from his lips and pulling them from your own in a confession you hadn’t consciously realized you felt until that moment, you wondered how you hadn’t known before.
There was some part of you, something resting deep in your soul, that knew you loved him all along. There were a few times where you think you realized it—after Thanksgiving on that rainy street, during the holiday party when you opened the gift hand carved by him and caught his gaze from across the room—but another part of you, the girl who was still so unsure and afraid of anything resembling that kind of love, kept you from fully acknowledging it.
Still, there had been no ounce of hesitation when you repeated his affection back to him with your own that first time when lying in bed, and that whole morning where you laid in each other’s arms and dreamed up another life together was a memory that quickly became one of your most cherished moments.
You didn’t profess your love for each other at every waking moment. Most of the time, you didn’t say it at all, instead letting it speak for itself in the way you moved around each other, the way you touched each other, casual as much as intimate, with such a comfortable ease that said everything you ever needed to know.
Those moments where you did repeat the three words to each other were still some of your favorites, though. They came so naturally, murmured against each other’s lips in the heat of a passionate embrace, Joel’s rough voice mumbling it against your ear after he stole a kiss from you while out shopping in Jackson’s markets—one of his favorite activities, for some reason, though you couldn’t quite understand the joy he tried to conceal for those painfully domestic moments in your lives—or your whisper of it as you kissed his cheek before he left for an early morning patrol.
“Come back to me safe,” you’d sometimes add on those mornings, the quiet plea pulling Joel right back to you from where he had moved towards the front door, dropping his backpack to be forgotten momentarily on the ground before he pulled you into his arms for a deep kiss full of all the emotions you both had fought so hard to accept and nurture for each other.
“Oh, mi luna,” Joel would whisper against your lips as he kissed them again and again, unable to resist giving you one more peck even as you pushed him gently away so he wouldn’t keep Tommy waiting at Jackson’s gates. “Always.”
Those were the days where you felt the most anxious. Even though you knew Joel’s near unrivaled skill in combat and survival, having seen it firsthand more than once, you couldn’t help the doubts and fears that crept into the back of your mind if he was just the slightest bit late.
Most the time you managed to contain your pacing to the house you now shared with him, wearing a hole in the floorboards in front of the front door until it opened, and you’d spin around, feeling all the anxiety flood from your body as you saw his tired face from a long day of hard work, relaxing in the same moment he did when you saw each other.
But if Joel was just the slightest bit late, you’d be out the door, walking down the streets until you were pacing in front of the gates, waiting with increasing panicked breaths until the gates were open. Your entire body would tense as you hoped you wouldn’t see one of the Miller brothers walking in alone, then relaxing when you saw them both ride in on their horses each time.
“Hey,” Joel said quietly as he brought his stallion to a stop, quickly demounting it to move towards you when he saw the look on your face that first time you were waiting at the gates. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing,” you sighed, shaking your head to try and rid him of his own worry, something you failed in and felt guilty for as he cupped your face in his gloved hands.
Tommy would pat you gently on the shoulder before taking his and Joel’s horses back to the stables those days, letting Joel wrap his arm around your shoulder to take you back home.
The very first time you had waited for them like that, your best friend had teased you about it, saying something along the lines of you never having waited like that for just him.
But when he got a closer look at your face, any jokes quickly stopped, understanding exactly what drove your fear even as you tried to ignore the cause, as much as it lingered subconsciously in the back of your mind.
A suicide mission you had begged her not to go on. Days going by with no word from them. Pacing at the entrance to the camp when you caught wind of a radio call that they were returning. Seeing Eugene walk in without her. Without her. Without her.
Some of those nights, you’d wake up struggling to breathe from the nightmares that plagued you, trying to quiet your whimpering not to wake Joel as you curled in on yourself on your side of the bed.
But every time, it was like something woke him up, some deeper part of him knowing that you needed him in those moments, even if you still wouldn’t admit it.
You’d be tangled in the sheets, hand pressed firmly to your chest as you tried to calm your racing heart, only able to relax when you felt the familiarity of Joel’s strong arms snake around you gently and pull you back into his broad chest.
“Don’t let go,” your voice would rasp out into the darkness of your shared bedroom, grabbing his hands where they held you tighter, breathing easier when you felt his lips press to your shoulder. “Please, don’t let go.”
“I’m not letting go,” Joel would always murmur back, voice raspy with sleep, but completely in the moment with you, here to keep you grounded in a way so effortless compared to your struggles to do so by yourself. “I’m with you. For as long as you’ll have me.”
Tommy was right with his comments about you waiting for Joel on those long patrol days, even if it was just teasing. Even though the younger Miller brother was your closest friend, you had never felt this anxious over his patrols, or anybody’s—not even Joel’s, not until your love had been confessed out loud to each other.
There was something so painfully vulnerable about what you had with Joel, opening up to him slowly over time until every part of your soul was bare to him, intertwining with him completely until you couldn’t bear the thought of anything ripping him away. Not like how it had happened to you once before.
You had hardly been able to pull yourself back together that time, and you didn’t think you could ever manage to do it again if you lost him too.
But on those nights after long patrols, the ones where your body didn’t succumb to its anxiety, you found yourself having some of your favorite conversations with Joel. Most of the time, you were both too tired to have sex—except for maybe a self-indulgent quickie or mutually getting yourselves off—but instead you both laid comfortably in each other’s arms, heads resting on the same pillow as you talked.
One such night, you hardly even realized as a question you began to mull over slipped past your lips until you heard yourself say, “Were you ever in love before?”
As soon as the last few words fell from your mouth, you froze, feeling Joel’s body stiffen from where his arms were wrapped around you, both of you realizing what you had just said aloud at exactly the same moment.
You coughed, lifting your free hand to cover your mouth, an attempt to try and cover up how horrified you were at the random, blunt question you had asked.
“I—fuck, sorry,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks flush as you worried you were prying too much. Even as you had started to open up to each other in as many ways as you could discover, this hadn’t been a topic you had broached yet. “That was fucking weird. I didn’t mean—”
“Yes.”
The simple, one word confirmation brought your face back up, blinking in surprise at Joel
His face wasn’t entirely closed off, but it was pensive; strong brows furrowed to show he was deep in thought, pronouncing the wrinkles on his forehead. You felt the sudden, inexplicable urge to reach up and smooth them out with your fingers, to ease the tension your own words had caused in him.
“Or, I thought I was,” he added in a mumble, eyes focusing in on the scar on your cheek, reaching a hand up to stroke his thumb over it in his usual habit he fell into whenever he wanted to remind himself that you were with him. “It…”
Joel glanced back towards your eyes then, his eyes flickering over your face.
“It felt like it at the time, at least,” he finally said, thumb stroking your scar again.
But his grip around you now was still stiff, still awkward, so you shifted closer to him, pressing your lips to the beard he had grown as much as he could on his jaw, still charmingly patchy in places, before pulling back to look into his eyes, showing you were nothing but open ears for whatever he had to say.
“Oh?” you asked lightly, arching your brows before starting to wiggle them suggestively. “Was there a Mrs. Miller in the picture at some point, then?”
Joel huffed out a quiet laugh at your words, his brow smoothing out as he glanced over your face, and you felt that same flutter of emotion, that same surge of love you only ever had for him, unable to help but smile when his arm around your waist loosened from a firm, awkward grip to something more natural again.
“There was,” he confirmed quietly, and your eyes widened briefly in surprise at the gentle answer before you softened again once you saw the conflict in Joel’s eyes. “Didn’t last long, though.”
Your head tilted, watching as unnamed emotions surged in Joel’s gaze before settling into something somber, something melancholic.
“What happened?” you asked, keeping your voice just as quiet as his, afraid you would shatter the vulnerability of the moment and have to deal with Joel’s walls rebuilding. It didn’t happen that often anymore, but old habits were hard to shake at the worst times.
But as Joel answered your question, you suddenly realized that he had been keeping those walls down just around you, for you, for a while now, “We were young. Far too young. But she was pregnant, and…”
You watched Joel struggle for the words as he shifted his gaze from your scar to your eyes, then back again, as if he was looking at options for what to say, turning them over in his mind before he settled on, “Getting married seemed like the right thing to do. I wasn’t going to be a deadbeat like my own old man.”
Slowly, you began to realize that you were addicted to this side of him—the Joel that opened up to you, telling you things that he may have not said aloud to anybody in years, if at all.
“I quickly learned it wasn’t what she wanted,” Joel huffed out quietly, his face pinching into a pained expression for a moment before it quickly cleared, but that brow was still furrowed, still enhancing every line of age and weariness on his face that you had grown to be so fond of. “She wasn’t ready for marriage, or kids. When she wanted to leave, I didn’t stop her.”
Subconsciously, your free hand lifted to smooth your fingers across the deep furrow in his brow, thumb stroking the wrinkles there.
When the furrow of his brow finally smoothed out, and Joel glanced back at you with a small, hesitant smile, his thumb stroking along your hip, you melted back into him with relief that he wasn’t regretting letting you in on this little-known fact of his long, tumultuous life.
You wanted to know every crack and chip in Joel’s carefully constructed armor, to feel them underneath your fingers as you ran them over the hidden crevices of his life, knowing the parts of his soul so surely until you couldn’t distinguish them from your own.
“What about you?”
You froze up, blinking in surprise as Joel’s returned question sent nerves ricocheting through you, and you quickly looked away.
“Uh,” you hesitated, clearing your throat as you forced yourself to remove yourself from the present and think back through your life.
When Joel’s thumb stroked along your hip again, his hand squeezing you gently, in a gesture to reassure you that saying nothing was always okay, you found yourself saying, “No.”
“You haven't?” Joel murmured, and you laughed gently at the surprise in his voice at your confession.
“No, not really,” you finally whispered, still not meeting Joel’s gaze as you thought back through your childhood, your time in Seattle up to the whirlwind days with the Fireflies, and then to Jackson. “I mean…maybe I…”
You sighed, forcing yourself to pull your gaze up and finally meet Joel’s eyes.
And when you saw that they were nothing but open and understanding and devastatingly warm, a soft breath was pulled from your lungs, as if just the sight of him looking at you in such a way made you fall even more in love with him.
“So there was someone?” Joel finally asked gently, picking up on what you had left unsaid, his eyes moving over your face, lingering on the scar on your cheek before meeting your gaze again.
You shrugged, suddenly feeling frustratingly shy at the topic of a matter that was so utterly foreign to you, even as you were the one who had brought it up.
Combat? You could do combat, having learned how to fight even before the world went to shit at your father’s urging.
Sex? Oh, you could do sex. It was a familiar coping mechanism, a way to escape the cruel, harsh truths of existence, if only for a little bit.
But feelings?
Emotions?
Love?
Yes, you loved Joel, and you were comfortable telling him now, on more than one occasion. But you had never really talked about love as a whole this much, with anybody, and it frustrated you how out of your depth you still were in it.
But the way that Joel was looking at you now, like he knew what you didn’t, like he knew you—and you knew without a doubt that he did, better than you knew yourself even…it was comforting.
“Maybe,” you finally relinquished, shrugging a shoulder as you gazed up at his face. “I had a…friend.”
Another sigh pulled from your lips as you gently bit your bottom lip, shaking your head again, more to yourself as you thought back to your youth.
“In Seattle,” you elaborated, struggling to get yourself to relive those feelings, let alone admit them. “It was just a stupid crush. Nothing ever came from it.”
There was silence for a moment, and then Joel broke it by almost teasing in a gentle way, “There’s a but in there somewhere.”
You laughed, feeling a sense of relief at his rare show of humor that you cherished every glimpse of, unable to suppress the warmth it made you feel whenever you heard it.
“I don’t know,” you sighed, tilting your head back to glance over his face before looking away. “I guess…sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had stayed. Maybe…”
Trailing off again, you struggled to find the words, until Joel seemingly pulled them right from the deep subconscious part of your mind, or perhaps the buried longing in your heart, “Maybe you could have.”
Your face turned back to him, surprised eyes meeting those of complete understanding, and you softened.
“Yeah,” you murmured, giving a small nod as you watched him watch you.
“I had somebody like that,” he admitted, a frown pulling onto his face as you watched his eyes shift into an even more somber look than when he had been talking about his wife. In fact, it was almost…
“Back in the Boston QZ,” Joel continued, eyes darting away, and your lips parted in a silent breath that was pulled from you as you realized, oh.
Mournful.
His look was one of grief.
Your thumb stroked along his cheekbone, and Joel answered by stroking his own thumb along your hip, his grip tightening on you a fraction before he began to speak about this love lost, “We worked together for years. She was a…companion, I guess. A partner.”
The words sent some kind of nostalgic feeling through you, a memory dangling in the back of your subconscious.
I made a promise to someone.
Joel’s dark expression from then appeared in your mind, followed by your own words that had answered his quiet admission, and then his almost pained confirmation.
Must’ve been someone important, to do that for them.
Yeah.
When you remembered it, you found yourself saying softly, “She’s the one who wanted you to take Ellie, wasn’t she?”
Joel nodded slowly, not seeming surprised in the slightest that you had remembered your discussion in the nursery from so long ago.
“Yeah, Tess,” he said quietly, his voice almost choking on the name, and he cleared his throat as he turned his gaze away from you. “She was…”
You watched as Joel turned onto his back, and you gazed at his side profile, trying to find a pattern in the way his hair curled above his neck as you heard him mutter in a voice that was rough, nearly strangled with grief, “Fuck, she was better than me. She deserved so much more, and I couldn’t give it to her. I…”
Tears began to blur your vision as you heard him whisper almost more to himself than you, “I wasn’t enough.”
He sucked in a breath then, and your heart broke at the way you could hear it shake, your hands reaching out to hold him close, burying your face into his chest as his arms wrapped around you by reflex when he felt your embrace.
“Think that’s what I’m most afraid of, darlin’,” he whispered, and you squeezed your eyes shut at the weight of the somber revelation, feeling a few stray tears fall down your cheeks. “Not being enough. Never being enough.”
For a moment, you thought he wasn’t going to say anything else as silence filled your room, but when he mumbled again, you pulled yourself up to look at the man who you knew was the love of your life—maybe every life you ever had, and would have.
“What are you afraid of?”
You took another deep breath, wishing that you didn’t have to answer. Wishing that you could just fade into him, without ever having to leave this moment.
But after all this time, Joel deserved an answer. You knew he did.
And so you steeled yourself, treating it as casually as talking about the weather, even as your voice shook as you whispered one simple word.
“Loss.”
Joel froze, his body stiffening underneath where your chest rested against his. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the world even as you continued, “I’ve lost so much, I can’t—I can’t…”
He didn’t say anything then, even as his body relaxed again, because he knew.
You knew, you both knew, that loss was everywhere. You had both lost so much already.
No, not just so much, but everything. You had both fucking lost everything.
There were no promises you could make, no vows that would erase the ever-haunting possibility that somebody might not come home at the end of the day.
In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but marvel at what a pair you were.
Here you were, afraid of losing a peace that could never really be yours to lose in the first place.
And Joel, afraid that he wasn’t enough to…
To what, exactly?
Not enough to protect those he vowed to himself to keep alive?
Not enough to make those he cared about happy?
Not enough for you to give up on the false hope of ever finding peace?
“Is it enough?” the three words falling from Joel’s lips made your eyes reopen, gazing down at the tired lines of his face, pinched in a way that told you he was holding back a wave of emotions, your throat choking up at the sight of your strong, steadfast love so shattered by his own grief. “If…”
You exhaled heavily, nodding before you could even find the words.
Because despite the fears that held you captive awake or asleep, you knew Joel. You knew your love for him, his love for you, and even if there was a day to come where one of you would be left without it…
“It’s enough,” you whispered, tears falling down your face to mix with his as you leaned down to press a kiss to his lips, one that assured him of what you both needed to know. For however long you had him, however long you could love him…
Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, established relationship, ASHWAH Universe
Summary: You're confused when Joel seeks nonsexual intimacy after a long day, then fall in love with the feeling of wanting each other without sex.
Warnings: Fluff, Soft!Joel, they're so in love, a bit of self-conscious awkwardness from both at first, touch-starved desperation, familiar intimacy/touch without sex.
Wordcount: 2.2k
A/N: This might quite honestly be my favorite thing I've written for these two. My babies have come so far, and this made me melt. Inspired by this post
You hadn’t realize you drifted off into a light slumber while reading another one of Joel’s books—a silly little action one, your eyes glazing over through each fight scene and description of convoluted political intrigue that the world had ended before you could fully understand, even as you kept reading, too stubborn to give up halfway through—until the novel was gently tugged from your fingers.
You jerked back awake, blinking a few times to focus on Joel standing next to your side of the bed, in the process of setting the book down on your nightstand.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, and you hummed in response, not able to form a coherent thought yet as you were still in the process of waking up from your unintended nap. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
A yawn fell from your lips as you shifted, laying on your side and pulling your pillow closer to yourself as you replied sleepily, “You better have marked my spot, cowboy.”
The few seconds of silence that stretched out after your tired comment pulled a quiet chuckle from you, the sound huskier from sleep as you peeked an eye open to see Joel quietly flipping the book back open, flipping through the pages to try and find the page you had been on. You caught him clearly marking one at random before slipping your eyes back shut, a knowing smile curling on your lips that you hid against the pillow when he set the book down.
“‘Course,” he replied, and you snorted, unable to hide your sound of amusement as he leaned down to brush a kiss against your temple before moving back around to his side of the bed.
The mattress dipped under his weight, and you turned over to face his back at his quiet grunt of fatigue, watching the muscles between his shoulders flex in his flannel as he went through the process of unlacing and tugging off his boots, kicking them underneath the bed before undressing to his boxers.
You watched him silently as he did so, eyes roaming over the tanned, scarred skin that was revealed, lingering on those darling back dimples that traveled down the dip of his lower back, smiling stupidly to yourself at how after months of being determined not to strip for each other, you now did so nearly every day without a second thought.
“How’d guard duty go?” you asked, your voice a bit less raspy now as you began to wake back up fully, and Joel turned to climb under the sheets with you, leaning down to give you another quick kiss fully on the lips, a familiar greeting that still made you feel those goddamn butterflies before he stretched across your body to turn off the lamp on your nightstand.
“Fine,” he replied simply, arm moving to encircle around your waist and pull you closer to him, face dipping down into your neck as his large hand slipped underneath your shirt, traveling up your back while he pressed kisses down the skin that was available in the large t-shirt that you were wearing.
It was a shirt that belonged to him, one that smelled like him, and you could feel the moment Joel realized this as he smiled into the crook of your neck before nipping at the skin there gently, pulling another small mark to form on you, as if evidence of him wasn’t handprinted over every part of your life, over every inch of your body and soul already.
“You’re always such a talker, aren’t you, Miller?” you murmured, smiling in the darkness at his quiet chuckle, feeling the rumble of it in his broad, bare chest from how he was pressed to you, and your fingers slipped between you, finding the hem of your panties to begin to shimmy them off when Joel’s gentle caressing of your skin stopped.
“What are you doing?” his voice rumbled from his chest, genuine confusion in the question, and you paused in your actions, resting your head back against the pillow in the same moment his head lifted from your neck to gaze down at you.
Your eyes were adjusting to see his face through the darkness as his did the same, the both of you blind to each other for a moment other than the feeling of his arm still around you, long fingers splayed across your mid-back, keeping you tethered to him as you replied awkwardly, “Um…fucking you?”
You didn’t need to see him then to know he was frowning, able to hear it just in the subtle inflictions of his low drawl as he replied, “I wasn’t…”
Now you were frowning too, removing your hands from your panties to rest your elbows on the bed, pushing yourself up to get closer to his face, waiting until you could make out his features as best you could in the dark, hating the sudden surge of hesitation, of embarrassment you felt as you said slowly, “You…don’t want to?”
Joel’s mouth opened, then closed, brows pinching together in a way you always wanted to soothe whenever you saw it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to touch him in that moment, suddenly uncertain as to what was happening—Joel didn’t want to fuck you? He always wanted to fuck you—before he replied quietly, in a voice as hesitant as yours, almost bashful when he said, “I just…wanted to touch you.”
“Just…” you trailed off, an audible exhale of confusion leaving your lips as your face scrunched up, not understanding what he was getting at. “Touch me without…fucking?”
Joel shifted, his hand trailing from your back down to your hip, fingers squeezing your waist gently in a way that was reassuring without asking for more, and you softened from your trepidation as he murmured, “Well…yeah. It was a long day, and I missed you.”
You blinked a few times, a soft “oh,” leaving your lips, and the two of you continued to stare at each other in the dark for a moment, eyes adjusting to see the other’s face in the same moment, and you softened as you saw his face was just as awkward as you were feeling. Just as uncertain how to be in love, even as you both fell into it harder, deeper, with each passing day.
“Joel,” you murmured, finally lifting a hand to stroke along his cheek, and the sigh that instantly exhaled heavily from his lips was a balm on your soul, a familiar longing for him forming in your chest as you glanced over where you knew the most heavyset wrinkles on his face were by now, even if you couldn’t see them fully in the darkness of your shared bedroom.
“Mi luna,” he whispered back, the longing palpable in his own voice, and a shuddering exhale escaped your mouth in the same moment it met his, wrapping your arms around him to hold him close as his hand moved from your waist, slipping under your shirt to your back again.
You shivered from the familiar caress of his callouses against your skin, letting yourselves gently fall back onto the bed together, nothing else existing except for the love that you shared for each other.
A surge of adrenaline fueled by strong emotion coursing through you made you hold him tighter, fingers winding through the longer curls that you had grown so fond of as he grew them out, lips parting from his for just a moment to whisper a desperate, “I love you.”
The sound Joel made then was one of pure need, and it made you desire him even more—but not a familiar physical desire you had felt for him from nearly the first moment you met.
No, this was that desire to know him. The desire to lay in his arms until you were settled into his soul, finding your home in his heart time and time again, and you knew without a doubt that he would never let you leave that place in him that you had found as he whispered back against your lips, “I love you too. So much.”
Both his strong arms were around you now, holding you tight to him as his body weight pressed against you, and you exhaled a soft sigh, revering in the way the presence of his entire being against yours made you feel so safe, so secure, so fucking loved in the same moment he affirmed it with his words, pulling the emotion from your soul and out of his lips as he murmured again and again, “Love you so fucking much, I love you so fucking much.”
“Joel,” you whimpered, hooking your leg around his waist to bring him closer, but there was no rolling of your hips. You didn’t need to come tonight, didn’t need his body in a primal way, but you just needed him. Just him. Always him. “Joel.”
Your name fell from his lips in the same breaths that his left yours, prayers and vows exchanged between you with the way you uttered each other’s names alone, mouths swollen from the passionate kisses you exchanged.
You loved him so much, you loved him so much, you didn’t think you loved anyone like this. No, you knew you hadn’t, but the sheer intensity of it as it grew the more you accepted it was almost overwhelming.
Still, you couldn’t get enough, letting yourself fade into him as your hands touched and explored each other in the dark, not needing to see to know how your bodies molded to each other so naturally now, even as you caressed each other without the need for sex.
It was intimacy.
It was addicting.
The way he touched you showed how he knew you, fingers grazing across the spots of your body that made you sigh in content. He claimed you in that way, the act of purely knowing you, making you his the same way you made him yours.
He also caressed the parts of you that you weren’t the fondest of—his fingers dancing across the ink of the tattoo on your torso, thumb stroking along the outline of it and making your heart ache, because you knew he hated them, that he despised the Fireflies the same way that you did. But he loved you more.
You touched him in the same way—stroking your fingers along the taut muscles in his arms that you knew he was proud of, gently grazing your palms across the softer stomach from the comfort in Jackson that he didn’t like so much, but had become one of your favorite fucking things about his body.
Wrinkles on his face that he detested, grays in his hair that you were obsessed with—they all made him Joel, made him yours. The man who had survived through hell the same way you did to get here, to be in each other’s arms like this, for as long as you could.
And when the heat of passion faded, love still remained. You both laid back on the bed, limbs completely entangled, still softly touching, and you didn’t need him to explain to understand what he had meant. But Joel finally found the words to tell you anyway, filling you with a joyful satisfaction only he could bring to you as he said them.
“There’s not much I need,” Joel murmured, running his fingers through your hair and watching how the soft strands slipped through them, humming as the scent of your shampoo filled the small space between you. “Just you, waiting in my bed for me like this. Don’t need to fuck, I just want you.”
You laughed a little, unable to help your faint amusement at the sentiment, even as it warmed your heart and nearly turned you into a fucking embarrassing puddle of emotions for him.
Joel arched an eyebrow at your laughter, his other hand spreading across the small of your back, tugging you closer to him as his head ducked down to nip at your neck, almost as if in a reprimand for your giggles, an action that only made you laugh louder as he grumbled playfully, “What’s so funny?”
“Well,” you giggled a few more times, not missing the light in Joel’s eyes as he pulled back up to gaze down at how your face scrunched up in a rare expression of pure joy from you. “It’s just that we wouldn’t even be here if we weren’t both really fucking horny in the first place.”
Joel gave a sigh that bordered on over exaggerated, and you laughed again, loving the way he smiled into the kiss he placed on your lips, so wide that your teeth nearly clashed, pulling more laughter out of both of your meeting lips and bodies as you tangled them together, enjoying a soft, easy night of caressing each other, touching and exploring just for the sake of intimacy.
When you drifted off again wrapped up in his embrace, his calloused fingers still stroking gentle, calming circles across the spot between your shoulder blades that Joel and you both quickly learned was one of your favorite places for his hands to be—you couldn’t help but briefly entertain the passing thought that this may be your new favorite activity with your love, even blowing sex out of the water, as Joel’s soft murmurs into your hair and loving touches lulled you to sleep.
A/N: A silly little piece for a silly little author, who wanted to have more of husband!Javi and The Peñas. This is a follow-up to Fever!
Summary: It’s early in the morning when you go into labor with you and Javier’s first child.
Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader/You (No y/n)
Tags: Sfw, pregnancy, angst, non-explicit descriptions of labor, love!!!
Word count: 2.1k
Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48493402
Firstborn
Your water breaks at 03:48 AM on an early Sunday morning. You know this because your initial thought is to check the clock on your nightstand, too tired to register why you’ve woken up and briefly thinking that you have wet the bed. You’ve had contractions on and off for a few days, but this marks something new, something real and exciting and oh God, soon something extremely painful too.
Still being slightly disoriented from sleep, you reach between your legs without thinking much about it. Immediately, you shoot up from your lying position until you are sitting, suddenly very awake and aware of what is happening when a contraction starts at the base of your spine. Yep, definitely more painful than the ones you have had up until now.
Javier feels your movements, blinks awake as slowly as you had just done, but then does the same thing as you; stirs, realizes and widens his eyes. He looks to you, swears under his breath, and nearly falls on his face as he stumbles out of bed, because he accidentally forgets to untangle himself from his covers.
“Now?” He just asks, ending up on the floor nonetheless. He sits on his ass, awaiting your answers. You can see the slight redness in his face from his pulse having quickened, giving away his nervous state.
“Now,” you nod. You have a brief moment where you curse the fact that he will have to take you to the hospital in this state; clumsy, nervous, boyish and excited. Then you remember all the other things too: Caring, loving, supportive, serious and absolutely in love with you.
“Right,” he rubs a hand over his face as if collecting himself, smooths his thumb and forefinger over his mustache before fighting to get off the floor despite the thumping in his chest. He also somehow looks a little paler than usual, but powers through anyway, “Let’s get you out of the door, momma.”
“Javi,” you get helped off the bed with only a slight struggle of keeping your balance, placing a hand on your belly afterwards to soothe your child who seems eager to let you know of their arrival.
Javier is frantically stuffing useless things in the bag that has been packed and ready for weeks, and you take a deep breath when he shoves three extra towels in there. You’d be fine with it if it wasn’t for the anxiety creeping up the back of your neck at what is about to happen, “Javi.”
“Yes, amor?”
“Just take the fucking bag and let’s go. It’s packed. It’s been packed for a month. They have towels in the hospital,” you waddle towards the door, “Javi, let’s go.”
*
You know that you are over-prepared with a bag; stuffed toys, beanies, pacifiers, onesies, candy, apparently a million towels. Yet in the car, between contractions, you realize that you are in no way mentally prepared, because you start to feel absolutely terrified at the idea of going into actual labor.
You keep it together during the car ride though, afraid of Javier losing focus of his driving on the main road if you start to hyperventilate from being scared instead of in pain. It’s already hard enough to tell him to have his eyes front when you feel your whole pelvic floor start to cramp horribly, holding on for dear life as you breathe through the pain.
“Almost there,” he reassures, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
You want to turn the car around and go back home.
*
You arrive at the maternity ward twenty minutes later. The latest contraction came as you were walking across the parking lot and nearly knocked the wind out of you, so when they finally get you a bed in your very own hospital room, you can feel relieved tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Javier is sweet, and has gotten you ice water and a chocolate bar from an overpriced vending machine, but he nearly drops both when he sees you crying as he enters the white room again.
Softly, he says your name and rushes to put everything down on the bedside table to empty his hands. He stands by your side, and you smile weakly at him until your bottom lip starts to tremble and your facade starts to crumble.
“¿Qué pasa? Do you need a nurse?” He tries to seem calm for you, but his nervousness bleeds through. You know him better than anyone, and you can see that he is worried. You want to let him know that he doesn’t have to be, but you’re filled with anxiety as well.
“No need for a nurse, she’ll come check when she thinks it’s time to check,” you say through a few tears.
“What then? What’s happening?”
“I’m—“
Then another wave of pain hits you. This time is stronger than ever, causing you to groan loudly, holding onto the bed for support and trying to breathe through it.
Javier watches you nervously, looking at the call button for a moment and then back at you.
“Don’t call,” you say through gritted teeth. The pain gives you something to blame the tears on since you feel quite silly for being scared of something you’ve prepared yourself for, for months, and so you let yourself sob once and then twice as you wait for the contraction to fade out again.
“You want something to drink?” Javier asks, picking up a cold rag from a bowl on the table. He gently dabs your forehead, sneaks down to tap away the flowing tears as well, “Chocolate?”
“No,” you pant as the cramping sensation passes. Your whole body relaxes into the bed again, grip loosening and your eyes fluttering closed, “I just want this to be over.”
“You’re so brave, momma,” he says with a little smile, replacing the cold rag with his hand instead. He runs it over your hair soothingly, repeating the action over and over, “And a fucking badass too. Not scared of anything.”
“Javi,”
“No no, it’s true,” his voice is usually enough to calm you.
“Javi, I’m terrified,” you confess and then immediately burst into more tears. You turn your head away to avoid his eyes from where you are lying down, feeling the tears run down over your cheek and into your hair, “I’m already exhausted. What if I can’t do it? And what if I’m hurting the baby? What if I’m going to be a shit mom?”
Javier is silent for just a moment, holding onto the bed’s railing and tapping it anxiously with his fingers. He opens his mouth to say something but then hesitates just as he is about to.
“Say something so I know you don’t agree,” you sniffle, heart pounding in your chest.
“Agree?” Javier’s tone is a little more high-pitched than usual, but he clears his throat to bring it back down again, “Of course I don’t agree, amor. We’ll figure it out, yeah? The baby-thing? We always do, and you’ll be the best momma out there.”
You dare to turn your head to face him again. He looks perfect; eyes soft, smiling down at you with an expression that tells you it’ll be okay.
“And I’ll be right here until he’s here, ain’t gonna be one of them fainters now, am I?” He jokes, drumming slightly on the railing, “Not even if you break my wrist. I’ll even allow you to do that.”
“He?” You ask. He comes down to kiss you and then you watch him push himself back to stand upright, going to put a straw into your ice water and holding the cup up to your face. You take a sip.
“I don’t have hard proof right here, but I just know it’s gonna be a boy,” he looks a little embarrassed as he says it, but you just love him more. He sets down the cup again, takes your hand afterwards, “You can do this, and I’m not going anywhere.”
*
“Javier F. Peña! You! You did this to me! Fuck you!” You spit his name venomously as you endure yet another contraction, which has become more intense and frequent by now. You have been scooted to the edge of the bed, legs in the torture instruments they call leg supports.
Javier looks like someone who is about to turn on their heel to run off in the opposite direction of danger. He doesn’t though because as much as your eyes are wild, they are also full of tears. He stays by your side, holding your hand as you continue your scarily accurate impression of the girl from The Exorcist.
“Alright,” your midwife says, “I think it’s time to push, contractions should become less intense but more frequent.”
“You think it’s time?” You yell loudly through a contraction. Javier says your name softly.
“I know it’s time,” she corrects herself, “You got this, mom. When you feel the next one, you give me what you got, alright? I’ll count down with you.”
You whimper as you nod, but at least you can see light at the end of the tunnel, and so you give it your everything and more until Javier is nearly brought to his knees from you squeezing his hand.
“Fuck!” You swear through your teeth and throw yourself back into the mattress to catch your breath. Your hair is wet and your skin is glistening from sweat and tears, making you sob from the exhaustion that has completely overwhelmed your body. You shake your head rapidly as you pant, “I can’t do it. I can’t— I can’t do it, I’m sorry. I don’t want to. Please, I don’t want to.”
“We’re almost there, almost,” your midwife encourages, but you just feel naked and sweaty and tired. She keeps going, “Just a few more pushes, I promise.”
Javier kisses your damp hair as you cry, holding your hand tightly. When he draws back, he finds your eyes, “I’m right here, amor. Just a few more, hear that? C’mon now.”
“I can’t do it,” you sniffle but it just turns into more wreaking sobs.
“If anyone can, it’s you, baby, it’s you,” he presses another kiss to your hair, shifting his hand to entwine your fingers and gently squeezing, “One more push. Please. For me.”
“O-okay,” you hold his gaze, bottom lip nearly splitting in half as you bite down on it when another contraction starts.
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1…” Your midwife counts out loud.
It is in fact just one more push, and then you hear the cry of a newborn fill the room. Everything has been worth it, you decide in an instant, and whatever pain you’re experiencing is numbed by the insane amount of happy chemicals flooding your tired form.
“It’s a boy,” the midwife says and through heavy eyes, you can see Javier tense up at the mention of the sex, “We got a name?”
“Lucas,” you and Javier say at the same time.
It takes them a moment to wipe Lucas down and cut his umbilical cord, but when you feel the weight of his tiny body on your chest, you start crying all over. He cries in your arms, searching instinctively for food and you sniffle quietly as you admire your creation.
“Hello you,” you say weakly as he suddenly looks you in the eye, “Oh my God, look at him. I made him.”
Lucas Peña. Nothing but a mess of dark hair, tiny hands and feet, and somehow such a strong resemblance to his father despite being so new and frail.
Javier is silent beside you, and you’ll never say it out loud, but you have forgotten he is there for just a moment. It’s only when he clears his throat that you realize how strained his voice is, cracking for just a split second as he tries talking.
“He’s perfect,” he sniffles, daring himself to reach out and run a knuckle down the infant’s back, breath hitching in his throat, “You did so fucking good, mi amor.”
Lucas wiggles a little under Javier’s touch, small fingers moving in the real world for the first time. You force yourself to look up at your husband to see his reaction, but you’re scared you’ll miss the tiniest thing that your baby does.
“I love you,” you smile tiredly. Javier leans down to kiss you ever so gently and it’s like a permission, a promise that everything is under control of his unconditional love for the both of you.
You can feel your eyes starting to close at that despite knowing not everything is over just yet. You’ll take the chance of resting for just a few minutes.
Besides you, Javier is trying his damn hardest to suppress a sob. He does manage, but only until he gets to hold his first- and newborn son against his chest for the first time.
What’s Mine | Joel Miller x Best Friends Wife F!Reader | 1k
A/N: because you all asked so nicely for some infidelity from reader 💀 this might just be the beginning, oops . Thank you to my bestie @fallenfairydust for this idea that made everyone absolutely feral. Ily🤍
Warnings: infidelity, unprotected piv, dirty talk, creampie in a world where conception doesn’t exist apparently, mild hair pulling, light choking, mentions of teasing.
Joel f*cks his best friends wife during a barbecue party.
————
It started off subtle. The small looks he would give you when he’d come over to watch NFL with your husband - his best friend.
Then it turned into helping. Coming over early like he did today to set up the tables in the backyard, while your husband and the rest of his friends hover around the barbecue talking about the stock market.
Shortly after - touching.
At first, innocent swipes of his hand on yours when you would both stock the beer in the mini fridge.
Eventually, it lead all the way to his index finger running over the centre of your panties without anybody noticing, whenever you bent down.
Or his body rubbing past yours, between guests, with his cock stiff in the confines of his jeans.
At first you didn’t know what to do about it but the flustered smile on your face made Joel continue his efforts. Seeing just how far he could push the envelope.
Eventually, you both gave in. Your relationship becoming strictly sexual while your husband remained clueless.
—
“God, Joel - right there,” you moan softly, as he pounds into you from behind. His body curled over your back as he pushes your head down into the bed you share with your husband.
He and the rest of your neighbours just below the window, for a barbecue in your backyard.
“Yeah, that’s it baby,” he grumbles. Plunging himself in deeper, curling the rhythm of his hips upward as they slam into you. The only sound taking over the room is skin slapping and the wet noise of his cock breaching your entrance over and over.
You feel so stuffed with him, creating an addictive ache low in your gut. One that makes you miss him when it’s been a while.
“You miss this cock, huh?” He grunts having read your mind, with his mouth parting in various shapes at the feeling of you squeezing him. Bottoming out again and again, pulling back to admire you spilling your arousal all over his length.
“Yeah, so much…” you whine, knowing just the sound of your voice will move him closer to giving you what you want.
“Ugh- fuck yeah,” he groans loudly and your brows scrunch together. Adrenaline pumping through you at just the idea of someone hearing you when they come inside to refill their drink. Brings you closer to finishing.
“Pussy jus’ loves it,” he drawls, reaching his hand under your waist and moving it between your legs. Rubbing tight circles around your swollen clit.
“Always soo wet and ready for me… practically gushing down your thighs in this thing,” he grabs the fabric of your summer dress that rests high on your hips.Bawling it into a fist and using it help you meet his thrusts.
You can’t find the words to respond, eyes squinting shut and mouth falling slack as you lift your top half onto your hands from resting on your chest.
“Mhmm..pussy’s mine,” he spits, one hand still gripping your dress and the other now running through your hair before he gives it a light tug.
“Better not let him touch what’s mine.”
His hand slithers down near your face, coming over the top of your throat and pulling your head back towards him.
“Tight little hole’s made just for me.”
You try and nod, more so with the desperation in your eyes.
“Mhmm,” you moan in eagerness.
“All yours, Joel.”
He growls at your confirmation. The speed of his hips shifting between rough and fast, to slow and deep.
Each time he slows down he shutters at how wet you sound. Your orgasm creeping right around the corner and darkening your vision.
“Fuhh- I’m close,” you mutter between choked breaths
He uses his grip on your neck to pull you up into him. Your back pressing into his front, your clothes rubbing against each other makes it even hotter. Everything has to be done strategically in order for this to keep happening.
“Me too, baby,” Joel breathes against your cheek while he pounds into you mercilessly. Your skin tingles at the sound of his voice. Your walls fluttering around his thick cock as he twitches inside you.
“Mmm, so deep in this juicy pussy - you want it inside?”
You whine while nodding ‘yes’ in response, finally letting your shaking orgasm consume you.
“Oooh, - fuck yeah,” Joel moans as his hot load spills deep inside you, the warmth making you feel so full.
Your head spins as he thrusts into you one last time, pushing his load in further as you flinch.
“Yeah,” he pants, letting your body fall forwards back onto the bed, and giving your ass a quick squeeze.
You giggle, shifting your ass back and taking his length all the way inside you again.
“Ooou,” Joel groans, a crooked smile gracing his tired face.
You smile lazily, biting your lip and cranking your head sideways while teasing him some more.
“Don’t want me to stop, huh?” He grumbles, his strong hands massaging and squishing your ass cheeks together as you coat his cock with a mixture of his and your release.
“Mmm no, Joel,” you whimper as he slips out of you, tucking himself back into his underwear while you still remain face down ass up for him.
“Want t’be full of you all the time,” you murmur, your hand coming up to your folds from below your stomach, your finger playing with his cum as it spills out of you. Pushing it back in repeatedly as Joel groans, watching you while he’s fully clothed.
He kneels down, his fingers replacing yours to push himself further into you.
“S’right baby… want you walkin’ around him while I’m drippin’ down these pretty little legs.” He pinches the inside of your thighs and you yelp, before hearing your name being called from the kitchen downstairs.
Joel stands up straighter and adjusts his hair, running his hand over his beard twice.
You shimmy your panties back on and Joel helps you with your dress. His dark eyes wrinkling at the corners, as he smiles while adjusting your hair. The tender grin molds into a cheeky smirk and he winks.
“What’re waiting for?…go on and get your husband a drink.”
————————
If you like Joel and infidelity- check out my Maintenance Man! Joel fics here
No taglist as of July 1, 2023 - follow @graciessideoftheweb for fic notifs.
Those who also wanted this fic: @toxicanonymity @chaotic-mystery @love-the-abyss @fullldash @arklaytears @777-wonders @milla-frenchy @daddy-din
Congratulations on your milestone, sweetheart!!! 💜💜💜
How about: Frankie, fluff, 20/P?
i had so much fun with this one tysm lucy i hope you enjoy the fluff!!
you that i hold onto | f. morales | 1.3k
frankie "catfish" morales x f!reader
prompt: frankie, "it's always been you", singing together/slow dancing
summary: frankie has a past, but you are his future (aka: slow dancing and admission)
warnings: 18+, insecurity, fluff ❤️
a/n: im putting this in the same universe as parts we rearrange and you can't stop me :)))
megs follower celebration! | main master list
You have always loved weddings. Granted most weddings you had attended didn’t also involve your partner's ex. You knew she would be here when you accepted the invitation, her best friend was marrying your partner's chosen brother. Frankie had always kept in touch with Gabi, his ex-girlfriend. Of course they kept in touch, they have a daughter together who he would take every other weekend.
You and Frankie had been together for almost a year now and you admired how kind and gentle of a father and coparent he was. He wanted to make sure his daughter grew up in the healthiest way possible, whether or not her parents were together. It wasn’t her fault she was born to two people not right for one another, but she wouldn’t be loved any less for it.
You and Gabi had met on occasion but never for more than a few minutes at a time. This was the longest you had been in the same room as her, it was also the most you had seen her and Frankie interact.
You weren’t going to lie, they moved with one another like a river around a rock. As if they had known each other their whole lives and could anticipate the other's next step. You saw why they were together for so long, they could communicate with just a look. You weren’t one to be envious or insecure, but it was hard to feel confident when the love of your life would always be so connected to someone who he looked so right with.
You knew there wasn’t any regret from either of them in their break up. They were ancient history, but being here and watching them you couldn’t help but wonder. You didn’t know anyone at the wedding super well either, it made it hard to not feel insecure just generally. You normally were very calm and collected, usually helping Frankie through his personal struggles with his mental health. You didn’t want to put your irrational anxieties on him, this was his best friend's wedding.
Your own insecurities would be alleviated by morning, so you would fake wanting to be here until you made it to the end of the night.
The reception was well underway at this point in the evening. A few songs had played since the first dance and the cake was being prepared to be cut. You had mostly been sitting at the table nursing your glass of wine from dinner, but Frankie and Santi had pulled you to the dance floor for ‘No Scrubs’ by TLC. Just as you were getting ready to take your leave from the dance floor, the music slowed and Taylor Swift’s ‘Lover’ began playing over the speaker.
“Dance with me, cariño,” Frankie said, putting his arms around your waist.
You nodded in response and rested your forearms on his shoulders, hands around his neck.
“You alright? I feel like I’ve barely seen you tonight?” He whispered softly into your ear as you swayed to the music.
“I’m okay. I’m happy to be here, Fish.”
“But what is running through that anxious head of yours hermosa,” You went to deny it. “And don’t tell me nothing; I can read you like a book,”
You sighed, rolling your eyes fondly at him. “You’re annoying you know,“ you said resting your head on his shoulder hoping he’d drop it.
“Please cariño, look at me?” You moved to meet his gaze. “What is it?”
“There’s just a lot of history here that I’m not a part of, and that’s okay. Obviously we had lives before each other, but…” you trailed.
“But?” His gaze softened.
“It’s hard not to wonder what your life would have been like with her. You two still get along so well, all that history, it’s intimidating,” Your gaze shifts away from him, embarrassed to even be thinking this.
You know Frankie loves you, you know all of the guys love you and you know why they broke up all those years ago. Even knowing all of this it's hard not to see how handsome of a couple they would have once been; how well they fall into a rhythm with one another.
“Oh, mi amor,” He spoke softly.
He pulled you into him, bringing you closer, you hugged your arms around his neck and he inhaled deeply. He hummed along to the song as you swayed slowly together on the dance floor.
“I didn’t know you were a Taylor Swift fan, Francisco,” You smiled as you rested your head against his shoulder.
“Only for you,” He said, rubbing your back lightly. You knew he didn’t really know what to say to your admission, but you’d gotten used to Frankie saying more with his actions.
You continued to sway softly to the music with Frankie. As you swayed you couldn’t focus on him, or anything really, your heart was heavier than you’d like to admit.
“Frankie?” You looked up at him.
“Hmm?” He hummed in reply.
“I think I’m going to head back to the room after this, to give everyone time to catch up with one another. Okay?” You smiled.
“No,” He said looking directly into your eyes, his gaze was soft and concerned.
“It’s totally fine Fish, I just feel out of pl-,”
“No.” He interrupted, raising his eyebrows at you.
“I need you here, I can’t do the formal shit without you by my side,” He said.
You rolled your eyes at him.
“I mean it cariño, you keep me grounded. You support me, make me confident, give me strength to face my past. I wish I had met you sooner, I wish life had brought me to you before anyone else,” He said the truth radiating from his words.
You smiled at him, tears welling up in your eyes. Frankie’s love language had always been physical touch, he wasn’t one to speak romantically often. When he did though you fell in love all over again. When he could find the words, they were always the right ones.
“You’re it for me, my beginning, my middle, my end. You know I often can't find the right words to say, but I love you. Eres mío para siempre, you are my forever.”
You had stopped swaying around the dance floor. Even though you were surrounded by people, it was only you and Frankie. Tunnel vision for one another. He had brought his hand to your face and brushed his thumb along your cheek. Your hands were still around his neck, your finger played with the curls at the nape.
This moment gave you a second to really take him in, the way his hair was styled up and out of his face, not hidden under his signature blue cap. His eyes were so soft, you knew how much they had seen, and yet there was light behind them. You sighed and leaned into his hand.
“From the moment I met you, it was you. It’s always been you, it will always be you, mi amor.”
The music had stopped and the next more upbeat love song had begun, but you and Frankie stayed in place. He slowly leaned down, his lips barely brushing up against yours; as if he was unsure like this was the first kiss you’d ever shared. You brought yourself to meet him and close the gap between you.
The kiss held everything you couldn’t say, it was soft passionate and loving. Frankies hand that had stroked your cheek, held your face. The other was wrapped around your waist and his grip had tightened slightly drawing you in closer to him.
As your lips moved against his you felt like this was the first kiss toward a lifetime with Frankie. His admission ran through your head over and over, and suddenly you couldn’t remember why you wanted to leave in the first place. Nothing else mattered as long as you had each other to lean on, a love like this was inimitable, it was forever.
tag ur it: @cavillscurls @morning-star-joy @tightjeansjavi @cupofjoel @pedgeitopascal @sinsofsummers @thetriumphantpanda & @harriedandharassed @skysmiller will be adding master tag list in the morn!
main character @brunetteeras - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
yousharknotpass
andulkaphoto
vaporwave
dededos
germansingergirl
jbbartram-illu
jacobvanloon
pixelskylines
ellievsbear
dailybridgerton
