vintagepascal

james - she/her - 24 - masterlist

[vintagepascal]

yours in the morning

word count - 11k+ (lord help me, so sorry this took so long)

rating - mature, minors DNI

content warnings/tropes - violence, threats to life, angst, children in dangerous situations, enemies to lovers if you squint, cat calling, sexual harassment, guns, smut, kidnapping its an emotional rollercoaster okay

summary - in a desperate attempt to save yourself, you end up kissing Javi in a bar, which puts you in enough danger that he feels like he needs to protect you... if he can

———————————————————————-

All you had wanted was one fucking drink. And you’d earned it too - after the day you’d had, no one would have judged you for downing your vodka the way you just had in the bar behind you. They may have given you a bit of a look for the second one, but fuck it. Your self defense instructor from back in the states, however, would have much to say about where you were now. 

Walking the streets of Colombia at any time could be seen as dangerous, especially as a foreigner who stuck out like a sore thumb, but you weren’t doing yourself any favors tonight. Purse on your hip, still in your work scrubs, by yourself as the sun set behind the town lights, with a ten minute walk home ahead of you.

Textbook bad move.

Of course, you weren’t a total idiot. You had a few tricks up your sleeve that you could use in a pinch if you had to. But most days you were smart enough to avoid getting yourself into a situation where you would have to worry. Straight to the hospital and straight home, in the daylight if you could help it.

Tonight was not one of those nights, and it seemed that luck was not on your side. Even with the bit of fuzziness in the edge of your vision, you noticed the three men leaned up against the car immediately. They were a few blocks away, but you took note, pretending to look busy and crossing the street quickly. 

The knot in your stomach tightened when the tallest of the three stood up, beginning to move in your general direction. It was only then that you noticed the car. Raised bed, nice tires, new rims. There were only a few people in Colombia who drove cars like those, and everyone knew it too. 

Bile began to rise in your throat. Suddenly, the ever present humidity was even more stifling, the exhaust of the cars and constant haze of cigarette smoke choking the oxygen out of the air all around you.

The women in Colombia had a code, even for outsiders. You never, ever, went with anyone in the cartels if you could help it. But if they took you? You did what they asked, and you didn’t fight, or you’d never make it. Rule number one was to avoid it at all costs. 

“Aye, preciosa, ¿a dónde vas?” One of them called out. You kept your eyes down on the pavement, quickening your steps. Could you make it to your apartment?

No, that would be a stupid move. You couldn’t lead them to your house. You racked your brain for any safe havens between where you were and the safety of your place. It was true that the embassy wasn’t far, but that seemed like a bit of a stretch, and you knew they wouldn’t let you get that far. In the distance, you saw the faint lights of La 40, the bar closest to your place. Surely you could make it there.

The men were enjoying the chase. You chanced one glance behind you and sure enough, they were on your heels. You could barely hear their catcalls over your heartbeat in your ears.

Just get to the bar, just get to the bar and find someone, make them think you’re with someone, find someone who will help you, just get there, just get there, you chanted mentally over and over. 

A hand grabbed your shirt, yanking you backwards momentarily. You felt something rip, shred, and you didn’t stop to think. You shoved at them as hard as you could, the keys in your hands puncturing skin hard enough to startle, giving you a chance to break free. And you started to run, full speed, towards the purple lights of La 40, practically bursting through the doors when you got there, not caring about the looks you got. You knew they wouldn’t be far behind you, and you didn’t put it past them to try to take you from there, especially since you’d drawn blood. 

In the few seconds you had to spare, you scanned through the bar. It was sparsely filled up with groups of friends, and the occasional lonely man. Sitting at the bar was the only one who looked the part you needed - handsome, alone, strong. He was nursing what looked to be a whiskey, and you could see a gun holster on his belt. 

Perfect.

You heard the men yelling behind you, and you weren’t sure if it was the vodka or the adrenaline that made your next move, but you didn’t hesitate. Instead, you walked straight across the bar to the man you’d found - who luckily had seemed to notice you as well - and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss.

Besides the obvious, you had an additional ulterior motive. By catching the stranger by surprise, you loosened him up enough to wiggle your way between his knees, turning the barstool so his body was between yours and the door, his gun on display for the men to see when they appeared moments later.

Your stranger played his part well. After his initial shock wore off, he melted just enough, one hand going to your waist to hold you steady when you pulled away, his other hand on his gun. And he was a damn good kisser, so you didn’t mind that he pulled you back in for another quick one, his mustache just the right roughness against your skin, his lips warm with the burn of whisky that lingered when he pulled back again to look at you.

“Hola, mi amor,” you said loudly, loud enough for the men in the doorway to hear. 

“Hola,” the man in front of you said cautiously, not chancing a look behind him. The panic must have been evident in your eyes, because he didn’t hesitate. “You okay?” He whispered to you. You nodded at him once, smiling when he brought a hand up to brush some of your hair behind your ear. You blushed at him, turning your cheek to kiss his palm.

His eyes flitted across your face, then down to your shirt. You followed them, drawing in a sharp breath. There was a gaping hole in your scrubs, and the place where your badge usually hung was entirely gone, as were your credentials. Your heart sank.

“My-my badge,” you whispered. The man in front of you looked confused for a moment, and then angry as he turned his head quickly towards the door. He watched as one of the men dangled your badge in the air and then disappeared out of sight. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled. “That’s got your hospital and your name? First and last?” 

You could only nod. You took a step back, disentangling yourself from him as soon as they were gone. With a huff, he took his leather jacket off the back of his chair, offering it to you. You weren’t cold, but you felt exposed enough to take it gratefully, shoving your arms through the sleeves. 

“Do you know them?”

“No”

“You didn’t meet them at the hospital? Are they patients of yours?”

“No, they just saw me outside. Saw I was alone I guess,” you muttered, the memory already making your skin crawl. You looked at your stranger, the disgust in his eyes obvious.

“I’m-I’m sorry about ambushing you like that.”

“Believe me, I didn’t mind. But -”

“They were following me, and I panicked. You seemed like the safest bet in here.” You explained further, already feeling guilty for getting him involved. Had you put him in danger? The thought made you sick.

The man sighed heavily, pinching at his forehead with his hand.

“Well sweetheart, you’re simultaneously really smart, and really, really god damn stupid. You know what they were driving?” 

“Red, four door. Maybe a Ford but I’m not sure.” 

“How many of them?”

“Three.”

“And they were just outside on the street?”

“Yeah. I was walking home from work.”

“Nurse?” You nodded.

“From the states.”

Another nod.

“What are you doing down here then?” 

“Everybody left after Escobar. But they still need people, there’s hardly any nurses here. I just wanted to help.” Your voice was smaller than you liked it to be, and you steadied yourself with a breath. “Wait, what about me picking you out makes me stupid?”

The man sighed before leaning back in his chair, reaching onto his belt loop for something beside his gun that you hadn’t seen. 

He pulled out a badge. 

DEA.

Fuck. 

“Agent Javier Peña, at your fucking service,” he chimed, picking up his glass. “And those guys out there are with Cali.” “The cartel.” It wasn’t a question. You slid back down into the seat next to him, burying your face in your hands. Fucking around with the cops in town never looked good on anyone. “They know who you are?”

“Everybody knows who I am,” Peña muttered, downing the rest of his liquor and raising two fingers at the bartender, pointing at you. Despite your urge to humble him, it was true - now that he had said it, you realized that you had seen him before, on TV. He was known for calling out the political connections of Cali, and he’d made several big arrests.

“Vodka, actually,” you corrected the bartender, rubbing at your eyes. “How bad is this for me?”

“Well, since you decided to jump my bones in front of some of the most dangerous men in Colombia, you just got yourself added to the hypothetical hit list, minus the protection of the US government.” 

“You’re kidding.”

He took the new glass of whiskey in front of him and tipped the rest of it back as his answer.

“So what the fuck am I supposed to do?” The bartender sat your glass down and you snatched it, downing it almost immediately. It burned the whole way, and you fought back the gag it threatened to unearth.

“Get on a plane and go home.”

“Not funny, Peña.”

“Not joking,” he shot back. “And it’s Javi.”

“Seriously. Can those guys really find me just from my badge?”

He looked at you incredulously. “They’ll have your address by the end of the night. You can’t go home. They might not go so far as trying to kidnap you, but you’d definitely be in danger of being attacked, especially since you got away from them. They don’t take well to losing. And now that they saw you with me, they’ll just assume you’re leverage to get to the DEA, which makes you priceless. They’re particularly pissed with me at the moment, so your timing is spot on.”

“I thought they didn’t mess with Americans. They always said it was too risky.” You couldn’t hide the hope in your voice.

Javi’s eyes were cold.

“That was Escobar. Cali plays hard ball.” 

You fought back the tears that threatened to spill over, pressing your palms into your eyes. It didn’t work, and the colorful mosaic of the bar top was blurry as you tried to settle yourself without much luck.

 When you finally looked back up, Javi was staring at you intently, as if he was trying to solve some sort of puzzle. His lips parted a few times with words unsaid before he sighed, running his fingers over his eyes before he looked at the ceiling in surrender and finally spoke. 

“C’mon. I’ll take you to your place to grab what you need and you can hole up at my apartment until we find somewhere for you to go.”

“What?”

“It’s my place or the embassy, who will just ship you home.” 

Javi dropped enough pesos on the bar to cover both of your drinks and stood up quickly. 

“Offers expiring cariño.” He reached for his jacket, remembered that you were still wearing it, and turned towards the doors without another word.

You didn’t see many other options besides standing up and following him out of the bar. To your surprise, he offered you an arm that you gratefully took, seeing that the room was partially spinning. How had your night turned into this? It didn’t feel real. But soon enough you were climbing into his car, watching him move around to the drivers side and giving him directions to your place. It would have been easier to walk with all the traffic on the roads, but you made it there quickly nonetheless.

“I can have a bag packed in 15 minutes,” you told him, but he caught your thigh with his hand before you could move. 

“You’re not going in there by yourself. Wait.” 

You tried to ignore the way your skin burned while you watched him climb out of the car, pulling his gun out of the back of his pants while he walked around to your door.

“Might as well play the part,” he muttered after he opened it for you, offering you a hand. You walked quickly with him, unconsciously squeezing his fingers as you walked down the hallway to your apartment door. 

“Let me clear it first,” Javi said, motioning for you to stay behind him and wait. You handed him your key, trying to control your breathing as he disappeared through your doorway, pulling you in behind him and placing you by the door. 

A few minutes later, he returned, gun still in hand.

“You’ve got ten minutes. I’ll keep watch.” 

He posted himself at the door, eyes already flitting back and forth across the corridor as you ducked inside. You didn’t have time to think- you grabbed your suitcase and began shoving your most worn clothes in, your scrubs, your makeup and everything from your shower. You hadn’t brought many comfort items from home, but you couldn’t stand the thought of leaving them behind. Into the bag they went, followed by a few pairs of shoes and your favorite blanket. 

You rolled the suitcase to the door and out to Javi. 

“That was fast, I’m impressed,” he chuckled, taking the handle.

“One more thing and I’ll be out.” 

You headed back inside quickly, reaching into the hall closet to find the carrier you’d only recently purchased. 

“Bear, cmon buddy, we gotta go, cmon,” you called out, peeking around the apartment until finally you spotted him, cowering in the corner of your bathroom. You felt awful having to grab him and push him into his carrier, but you knew it would all be forgiven once he was safe. You gathered his essentials as well and took them to the hallway before emerging with his carrier and closing the door behind you.

Javi’s eyes blew wide when you reappeared. 

“Is that a cat?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“What?”

“You’re not bringing your fucking cat to my house.”

You raised an eyebrow at him and attempted to stand your ground by setting your feet, but you didn’t anticipate for the world to suddenly be spinning. The final of the vodkas had finally gotten to you it seemed.

“I’m too drunk for this conversation sir. Either take me and Bear, or leave me here to be disappeared or whatever the cali fucking cartel does to people,” you slurred with what you hoped was a smile, turning on a heel towards the car. A strong hand on your elbow turned you in the opposite direction and kept you from slamming into a wall. He was muttering in Spanish under his breath as he led you to the car, gruffly putting you in the front seat before locking the door and going back for your things - Bear included. 

You let your head rest against the cool glass of the window, hoping it would sober you up slightly on the drive. It served its purpose well enough, though the ride was short. You were able to at least carry Bear as Javi took your bags, eyes darting around as he hurried into an unassuming complex. Even drunk, you noticed that it took three separate keys to get in, and once you crossed the threshold you felt safe for the first time since you’d spotted the men on the street. 

Javi’s apartment was cooler than you expected - both in temperature, and in style. It was obvious that Uncle Sam was paying a pretty penny for a place like that so deep within Bogota, but you couldn’t quite be bothered about the details when you noticed that there was a nice leather couch in the middle of the living room. 

You began to walk towards it, and suddenly the tile floor was spinning up towards you.

“Jesus christ,” Javi muttered. There was a crash, presumably your suitcase falling as he dropped it, catching you instead. “You’re alright, I’ve got you” was the last thing you heard before the morning.

The first thing you noticed were the sheets. 

Silk. 

Definitely not your bed, and definitely not the couch. 

The lights were still out, but there was enough sunlight filtering through the blinds to illuminate the room and simultaneously hurt your eyes. The squint it caused immediately alerted you to your headache, causing you to roll over and bury your face in a pillow.

Something rough bit into your neck.

A zipper. A leather jacket zipper, from a man who you were suddenly very concerned about. 

You sat up quickly, head spinning a bit as you tried to scan the room, gather your surroundings. On the bedside table sat a glass of water and two small pills you recognized as advil. You took them gratefully, already feeling the pounding behind your temples. 

The air was chilly - a rarity in Colombia and a testament to the dedication of the AC unit you could hear whirring in the window. Even over the hum, you could hear the quiet clink of dishes in the kitchen. You pulled the sheets back, wrapping Javi’s jacket around yourself tightly and following the noise. Javi was in the kitchen, shirtless with his back turned to you. You couldn’t help but take the opportunity to stare at him. He was even more beautiful without the clothes - strong, sharp lines down his back that lead to the waistband of his pants. 

When he turned, you pulled your eyes up as quickly as you could, but his smirk let you know that it didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Buenos dias,” he hummed. 

“Good morning,” you blushed, pushing your hands into your pockets. “Thank you, for last night. I feel better than I deserve.”

“You’re welcome. Also, your kitten is a menace.” He frowned at you. 

“Sorry, he can be a bit shy around new people but he’ll warm up.”

Javi quirked an eyebrow at you and ducked down for a moment. When he stood back up, Bear was in his hand, gnawing on his finger. 

“Yeah, real shy. He’s been trying to make a meal out of me all morning. What’s his name again?” 

“Bear. At least, that’s what the woman who was feeding him in the street told me his name was. But that’s the only English word she said to me, so who knows if she was even giving me his name. He never responds to it anyways.”

Javi walked over towards you, sitting Bear down. He immediately greeted you, rubbing against your legs. 

“Oso,” Javi said. Bear immediately looked up, and you were surprised to see Javi smile. “We’re gonna have to start some Spanish lessons for you if you’re so intent on staying in Colombia. Which is still a terrible idea, by the way.” 

“I’m not leaving just because some assholes in the street decided to catcall me. They probably didn’t even recognize you anyways.”

Javi looked at you incredulously. 

“Do you know the first fucking thing about the cartel? Their reach? Any idea what the hell they’re capable of?”

His tone made your blood boil, both under your cheeks in a blush and in your fingertips, which gripped the edge of the counter. You didn’t take kindly to being spoken down to, especially hungover.

“Yeah actually, I do. I’m plenty aware of what both Cali and the DEA are capable of. Generally, when you all are raining bullets down in the middle of towns, I’m one of the nurses stitching up the aftermath.”

He was silent for a moment. Two pieces of toast shot up from the toaster on the counter, but only you jumped at the sound.

“All the more reason for you to just go home before it gets worse.”

“Who's to say they’re even going to come after me anyways? Javi, it feels like we're blowing this wildly out of proportion. So they saw me with you, big fucking deal. It doesn’t mean they’re going to target me - I know nothing about the DEA, or anything special about the cartel. I’m not actually important to you, and if they can really find all that information about me they’re going to figure that out pretty damn fast.” 

His eyes were cold when he turned to you. He looked as if he was ready to say something, but he stopped himself, thinking better of it. Instead he turned back around, putting one piece of toast on a plate and passing it to you, along with butter and a small jar of jam. 

You ate in silence, the tension palpable as you tried to think of the next thing to say. Javi seemed to be doing the same, stealing glances towards you that he thought you didn’t catch between bites of toast. 

You finally broke the silence. “I should just go home.”

“To the states? I’ll book your flight.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“It’s not an option.”

“Fine.”

Javi stopped mid bite, quirking an eyebrow at you. Obviously he expected more of a fight. You turned on a heel and went back into the bedroom in search of your suitcase. It wasn’t hard to find - Javi didn’t have many things to begin with, and your bag stuck out like a sore thumb. You ignored the wrinkles in your scrubs as you pulled them on, wrapping your hair up in a bun and promising yourself a good shower later as you finished getting ready.

You knew that getting out the door wasn’t going to go smoothly. So you set your jaw and took a deep breath before you opened the door, not looking away from the exit as you headed straight for it. 

He was quicker than you thought. 

His hand hit the door just as you opened it, slamming it back shut.

“You don’t seriously think you’re going to work.” 

“Move, Javi.”

“Tell me you aren’t this stupid.”

“Move.” You repeated.

He didn’t budge, or warrant you with a response.

“If I realized that going with you last night meant being kept prisoner in here, I would have picked differently.”

“Yeah? And your night would have ended very, very, differently.” 

You chose to ignore that jab. 

“We have security at the hospital. I’ll tell them what’s happening, they can keep an eye out for me. And I’ll come straight back here after if that makes you feel better.”

“This isn’t about making me fucking feel better, Y/N. It’s about keeping you alive. Cali owns this entire fucking town, they probably are the security at the hospital.”

“Then what the hell do you suggest I do Javi? And if you say go back to the states one more fucking time, I swear to god-”

“Just…” He leaned up against the door frame, pinching the bridge of his nose like he had the night before. “Just give me a day or two. Call in today, let me get some stuff arranged and we can figure it out.”

Every part of you wanted to argue with him - it burned hot in the back of your throat, but there was something in his eyes, something earnest and true. 

Why do you care so much?

You chose your next words carefully. “Figure what out, exactly.”

“How to keep you safe.” 

“Fine.”

“Fine?” He obviously didn’t trust you after your earlier stunt in the kitchen. 

“Yes, Javi. Fine. I’ll give you today, and I’m already off tomorrow. But then I’m going back to work, one way or another.”

“Okay.” He looked you over a few times before turning back to the apartment and disappearing into his room. 

You wandered back towards the kitchen, busying yourself by cleaning up the plates from breakfast. Javi emerged shortly after in an outfit similar to what he was wearing the night before - devilishly tight jeans, with a bright red button down tucked in behind a belt, gun holster and badge on his hip and the outline of a pack of cigarettes in his pocket. 

“Phone is over by the table. Help yourself to whatever you can find, but there isn’t much. I’ll bring dinner later. Don’t leave the house, and don’t answer the door. Por favor,” he added sweetly at the end, throwing you a small smile before slipping out without another word. 

The next eight hours were boring to say the least. Javi’s apartment was the epitome of a bachelor pad. After you called in with the bullshit excuse of a stomach bug, you went on the hunt for something to entertain you for the day. The news was too depressing, every DVD you found was in Spanish, and otherwise, all you came across was liquor and various empty shelves in need of decor. It was obvious the man lived in his office and simply slept in his home, but you lucked out, finding an old English copy of Wuthering Heights tucked away on a shelf in his bedroom when you went to change out of your scrubs. 

It helped you pass the time, and Javi held true to his promise of bringing dinner home later that evening, coming through the door looking much more exhausted than when he’d left, with two paper bags in his hands. 

“Arepas,” he muttered, placing them on the counter. “Necesito ducharme, estoy asqueroso. Puedes comer sin mí.”

You stared at him for a moment over your book cover and he looked back, confused before he sighed. 

“Sorry. Long day. I’m gonna shower, I’m sweaty. Feel free to eat without me if you’re hungry.” 

“It’s alright, I’ll wait for you,” you answered, turning the page and pretending not to notice the way the sweat on his back made his shirt cling to his muscles. Damn. You really had picked a good one to follow home. 

Fifteen minutes later and he was back, rubbing a towel over his head as he spoke.

“Come eat, I’m fucking starving.” 

He was shirtless and in a pair of linen pants that took all of your focus to keep you from drooling over. They left little to the imagination, and you were grateful for Bear on your lap, or you may have gotten up embarrassingly quickly to follow him to the kitchen. 

There was a new energy buzzing around the apartment again - it had been faint in your haze last night, and you’d blamed it on the vodka but it was undeniable now. Unlike many others, you didn’t feel uncomfortable around Javi though. It was almost an excitement, a school girl nervousness that had you unwrapping your first arepa with your eyes cast down and afraid to look at him standing across the island from you. 

Javi was the one to eventually cut the tension. “So what’d you get up to all day?”

“I read mainly. Hung out with Bear. Or Oso I guess I should be calling him,” you chuckled. You’d only managed to find snack foods throughout the house, and the meal was welcome to your grumbling stomach. Javi didn’t hesitate to dig in, and somehow it was endearing to watch the crumbs get caught up in his mustache. Watching him be less than perfect broke his stoic persona. 

He looked back over at the couch, noticing your book choice.

“Are you a Brontë fan?” 

“It’s the only thing in English I could find. Are you is the more important question.”

He pondered it for a moment, eyes inquisitive as ever while he chewed before he shook his head. 

“I plead the fifth.”

“Uh huh. So, is it inappropriate for me to ask you what you did all day?” 

“Inappropriate?” He quipped around a bite of his barbacoa.

“I’ve heard you aren’t supposed to ask cops that. And, I’m not sure if you’re allowed to tell me anyways. Thought maybe it was top secret or something.”

That got your first true laugh out of him. “I don’t work for the CIA hermosa, it’s not highly classified. Mainly just run of the mill surveillance. Most stressful part of the day was watching your hospital, actually.”

“What were you doing at Marly?” You asked earnestly.

“I figured you’d be on my ass about when you could go back to work as soon as I walked in the door, so I’ve been trying to find an answer for you all day.”

You waited, chewing quietly. 

“They’re more lax than I’d like. But, there’s only your one main entrance and the ambulance bay, so if you can give good enough descriptions to your security guards they can probably keep you safe enough. Does anyone else know your work schedule?”

“My manager is the only one. It’s posted on the board when I get there so the other nurses know who is on the floor, but that’s required for safety. No one knows ahead of time though, so shouldn’t be a problem,” you reassured him before he could ask. 

He nodded at the new information, chewing through another bite of his arepa. The rest of dinner, and Javi’s two whiskeys, went down quietly, but you couldn’t help but tell him at the end of the night what had been on your mind since he’d gotten home. 

“Thank you. For doing all of this when you didn’t have to. I wasn’t fair to you earlier.” 

“You’re welcome.” His tone was sincere, and it made you relax. “It feels nice to help someone. Feels like all I’ve done since I came back down here is play damn politics. And I get it, it doesn’t feel good to be controlled.” 

“So… I’m forgiven?”

Javi gave you a true smile, and you felt your heart catch in your chest a bit.

“Forgiven, cariño.”

The rest of the evening went quickly, and suddenly you were faced with the realization that you’d forgotten about since that morning when you went in search of your suitcase.

Javi’s place was a one bedroom. 

You’d made up your mind by the time you’d brushed your teeth - over complicating things would be a bad move this early. And so you headed back to your couch, grabbing a blanket and towing it over to you. 

“Can I borrow a pillow?” 

“What for?”

“The couch.” 

Javi waited for an explanation, then laughed when he realized what you meant. 

“You don’t seriously think I’m gonna let you sleep on the couch, do you? Mi madre would roll over in her grave.” 

“I don’t see another option,” you murmured, picking at the fuzz on the edge of the blanket so you didn’t have to look at him. 

“I don’t bite cariño. We’re just gonna sleep, yeah? It’s a king bed, won’t even know there’s someone else there. Promise.”

If your pulse was any indication, you doubted that. But, you’d learned one thing for certain in your short time with Javi - he wasn’t one to back down from an argument. And so you sighed and brushed past him to the bedroom, avoiding looking at him as you climbed back into the bed you’d woken up in. You swore you heard him chuckle but you chose to ignore it, relieved when Bear jumped up onto the mattress and bumped up against your hand, giving you a welcomed distraction from Javi, who was looking around the room for something. Eventually, he grabbed his gun, his pack of cigarettes and a lighter, placing them carefully on his nightstand. 

He climbed into bed gently, as if he was afraid to jostle you. He did feel far away, but there was a tension between you, a rubber band someone could strum with the slightest flick of their finger. 

“Goodnight, y/n. I’ll try not to wake you up in the morning, I have to go in.”

“It’s fine Javi. Goodnight.” 

•••

The routine settled in as easy as a key in a well made lock. Javi drove you to work each morning you had a shift, and was there waiting for you like clockwork at 7pm on the dot when you left each evening. You shared dinner with Oso playing at your feet. After two weeks straight of arepas you’d finally demanded that Javi let you go to the market, which he of course demanded he accompany you to on his lunch break. But at least after that addition, on nights you didn’t work he came home to a fresh cooked meal, claiming that you ‘spoiled’ him. You felt it was the least that you could do considering you were living under his roof. Other small things changed. He brought home a few more books in English for you. You unpacked your suitcase. The space in the middle of the bed had gotten smaller. Some mornings you even woke up with a leg thrown over Javi’s, or your fingers touching under the sheets. Neither of you mentioned it. 

It was comfortable, and simple. 

Until it wasn’t.

He was supposed to be home at 6 that night. He wasn’t the most punctual of individuals, so you didn’t start dinner until close to it anyways. By 7, the pasta had gone cold, and by 8:30 you were pacing the living room, eyes darting towards the phone each time you walked past it. The last time he’d been running late he’d called, and that was when he was going to be home at 7:30. 

He’s probably just on a call. Surveillance. Maybe he had to travel. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine.

By 9, you were searching every shelf in the house for some form of the Colombian yellow pages, desperate to find the number for the DEA, or the embassy, or anyone who could tell you where he was. 

You were so engrossed in your search that you didn’t even hear the first two locks on the door click. The third one was louder, and it was the only warning you had before the door burst open.

“Y/N!? Y/N! Where are you!?” Javi’s voice boomed louder than you’d ever heard it, echoing through the apartment. 

He found you before you could answer. You didn’t have time to process what you saw - his drawn gun, his wild eyes, the tear in his shirt or the blood running down his arm. It was all gone too quickly. All you could see was white linen, all you could feel was a strong arm around you as Javi held you to his chest in a bone crushing hug, the tightest you’d ever experienced despite him only using one arm. 

“Javi, what-”

Then he was dragging you, towards the door as he clicked the locks back into place one by one, sucking in each breath through his teeth as he held you against his chest, still checking his six, gun metal cold against the back of your shoulder, your face still pressed to his chest. 

“Are you okay?” He whispered to you, just loud enough for you to make it out. 

“I’m fine Javi, tell what’s happening,” you pleaded for an explanation. 

You smelled it then - that metallic smell that you associated with work, and usually chased quickly with bleach. 

Blood. The image of him running in came back to you and you fought against his grip and won, leaning back so you could see his arm. 

You knew a bullet graze when you saw one.

“You’re shot,” you breathed, brain clicking back on. “Why the fuck didn’t you go to the hospital, why did you come back here?” 

He didn’t answer. Instead he leaned forward, chest pushing into yours as he fished into his back pocket and handed you something square and white. 

Your knees buckled when you recognized it.

Your badge.

“What-”

“That was on the hood of my car. They’ve been watching us.” His eyes were still just as wild, his chest still heaving, and you were afraid he was going to collapse in the doorway. There was no way you could move him if he went down.

“You left out the part where you got shot,” you said, just to keep him talking. You weren’t sure you could take hearing him tell you about getting hurt. 

“Got ambushed trying to make it back here.”

“In your car?” He shook his head. Only then did you realize how sweaty he was.

“You ran here?”

“I lost them on the way,” he shifted his shoulder, then groaned, head rolling back. 

“You should have gone to the hospital Javi.”

“Had to know you were safe,” he panted. “Besides, I’ve got a nurse.” 

Despite all his pain, he offered you a smirk that made you want to smack him and kiss him simultaneously. Instead, you just shook your head and tucked yourself under his good arm, leading him over towards the bathroom as smoothly as you could. He winced the whole way, but you could tell he was trying to keep himself quiet for your sake. 

You had never been more thankful for your paranoia than you were when you pulled out your spare medical kit from under the sink. You’d seen too many accidents in the street, too many times where you didn’t have what you needed that you’d stocked up and vowed to always have the essentials. Sure, you’d rather have a hospital supply room, but you had enough to get him stable. 

Javi looked pale, leaned up against the porcelain edge of the bathtub as you scattered supplies around you, throwing anything you didn’t need out of your path in search of sutures and iodine, gauze and bandages. You ripped his shirt the rest of the way off his arm, panicking when he didn’t react. His eyes were screwed shut, sweat still pouring down his face.

“Javi, baby you gotta keep talking,” you muttered, opening the first package with your teeth. 

You received a hum in response, but nothing else until you poured the iodine on to disinfect the area. Javi’s good hand shot out towards anything he could grab as you began to dab at the wound. His fingers curled into your thigh hard enough to bite, but you didn’t care. 

“Tell me about Texas,” you demanded, moving to straddle his thigh and get a better angle - the bullet had grazed his bicep, and it wasn’t as deep as you had originally thought now that you’d cleared some of the blood. 

“Texas?” He mused, voice much weaker than you’d like.

“Tell me about Texas,” you repeated. “What’s it like there?”

“Hot.” He rasped. “Dry.”

“Good, that’s good Javi. Keep going. Where’s your favorite place in Texas,” you coached him as you pulled out a needle. It wasn’t going to be pretty, but you knew you were going to have to stitch him up if you had a hope of stopping the bleeding before he fully passed out on you. 

He began to murmur about the state while you prepped your sutures, the guilt already heavy in your stomach about the pain you were about to cause him. You let him talk about the Rio Grande and a trip with his dad, happy to hear his voice until you had to cut him off.

“Javi. I have to stitch you up. It’s going to hurt, but you have to sit still. Okay?”

He only nodded at you, eyes darting between yours until you broke away, leaning over him to brace against his arm, pressing the needle into his skin.

“Mierda,” he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut tight and your thigh tighter.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll be done soon, Javi, I’m sorry.”

“S’fine,” he grit out through his teeth, but you could tell it was anything but. You tried your hardest to go as quickly and smoothly as you could, using every bit of medical training you had to stay calm and collected until the last suture was through and his skin was pulled back together. You tied it off, letting out the breath you’d been holding as you leaned back. 

“Done. It’s done. I just need to wrap it and I can let you rest.”

He only groaned in response - you could see his adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard, head still leaned back on the porcelain. 

“Gracias,” he murmured when he felt the gauze begin to wrap around his skin, taping it off as gently as you could. 

You stood up off of his lap, but he caught your ankle before you could move towards the door.

“Don’t.” Even as weak as he was, there was authority to his tone that made you listen. 

“I just need to clean up the blood, get some rags from the kitchen.”

“Use the towels. Don’t want you out of my sight.”

You were so relieved to hear him speak a full sentence again that you didn’t argue. Instead you grabbed the white towel and ran it under the water, wiping away the blood stains on Javi’s skin gently, methodically. When you looked up, he was watching you, his eyelids still heavy.

“You this nice to all your patients?” 

“I try to be,” you smiled despite having to switch to a new rag almost immediately, the first one saturated red.

“Maybe I should get shot more often.”

“Not funny Peña.”

“Not joking, Y/N.”

“Shhh,” you instructed. “Nurse’s orders.”

He obeyed, though you weren’t sure it was entirely a choice. He looked exhausted as you continued cleaning him up, your breath coming easier with each bit of skin you revealed from under the blood. 

When you were done with his arm, you surveyed Javi again. His pulse seemed stronger, his breathing more even. The adrenaline was wearing off, and in turn the exhaustion from his escapade was catching up to him it seemed. You used the last clean rag to clean his face, wiping away the sweat. He leaned into your palm a bit, grateful.

“We need to get you to bed Jav. Can you stand?”

“I can try,” he huffed, looking a bit sheepish. You got yourself settled under his good arm and heaved with all your might, glad that he was able to help as much as he was. His injured left arm hung practically dead next to him - he wouldn’t be able to use it much for a few days, that much you knew.

You led him to the edge of the bed, ignoring the butterflies it put in your throat to bend down and untie his shoes, slide them off his feet with his socks. Next was the remaining scraps of his shirt. You expertly unfastened the buttons, pushing the fabric off his broad shoulders gently and tossing it on the floor. 

“Stand up,” you instructed. You couldn’t look at him as you reached for his belt, pulled his gun out of his waistband and checked the safety the way he’d taught you before placing it on the bedside table. You’re just helping him. Just like a patient. You’re just helping. You repeated it over and over and you coaxed the leather of his belt through the loops of his pants, trying to ignore the way it set your core on fire. You unbuttoned his slacks quickly, careful not to touch more than you needed as you pushed the zipper down. They fell just enough and you were grateful to see boxers beneath - it wasn’t lost on you that Javi wasn’t a stranger to going commando, but he usually refrained at work.  You pushed them down from his hips, letting him steady himself on your shoulders as he stepped out of them. 

“This is humiliating cariño,” he whispered as you stood back up. 

“I doubt you’re going to remember it in the morning,” you reassured him, but you hoped that he did. “Lay down, get some rest.”

“Stay in here. Need to know you’re safe.”

His words were already slurring as he followed your instructions.  You knew you could leave as soon as his eyes closed, get the bathroom clean, get him some water, but something about the sentiment pulled at you, and you couldn’t help it. You wanted to stay. 

“I’ll be right here Javi. I’m safe.” 

With his good arm he caught your hand, squeezing it weakly as if to reiterate it. 

“Stay.” 

You obliged him, climbing gently into your usual spot next to him, taking care not to jostle the mattress. Before you could overthink it, you placed a hand on the center of his chest, felt the rise and fall with each breath he took.  He was snoring after 15 rises, and you relaxed for the first time since he came in the door. 

Only then did you let yourself actually begin to process what had happened - picturing Javi with guns pointed at him by faceless men, your badge in their hands, his blood dripping behind him in the streets - you felt the tears begin to prickle. You let them fall for what felt like hours before you could finally understand that it was relief that caused them - relief and sadness and gratefulness and anger and… love. 

So in his peaceful sleep, you allowed yourself to touch him like you wanted to. You ran your fingers through his hair, dark strands soft against your skin. You even chanced a few traces along his face, down his nose, over his cheek and down his jaw, memorizing him. He stirred and you pulled back, not wanting to disturb his rest. 

He was peaceful for a few hours as you kept watch, and then things began to change. It started with his head - when he first turned towards you, you almost thought he was trying to cuddle. But he turned away just as quickly, muttering something in spanish. His movements grew faster, his breathing quickening as his arms started to tense up, wincing in pain as he strained his wound. You recognized it then. Nightmare.

“Javi, Javi hey, wake up, wake up,” you said, gently shaking his shoulder. You flicked the lamp on so you could see him better.

“No, no no don’t,” he groaned, and you watched as his good arm reached for the bedside table. 

As quickly as you could you climbed across him, knocking his gun out of reach. You weren’t sure if it was the weight of you on top of him or the crash of metal hitting the ground that startled him awake, but either one brought him up gasping and grabbing at you. 

“Javi! Javi it’s me, you’re okay, you’re okay,” you repeated, bracing on his chest. 

His eyes were wide as you came into focus, and to your surprise his hands immediately went to your face, cupping your cheeks. 

“Oh christ, you’re alive, oh gracias a Dios (thank god).”

And then he was kissing you. Desperate but somehow gentle, his lips were against yours, his neck strained up to reach you as you hovered above him, too shocked to move as he held you. When he pulled back and his head fell against the pillow, his eyes searched yours, darting back and forth as he brushed the hair from your face with gentle fingers. 

He moved his left arm too much chasing a strand, and the pain seemed to pull him back to reality, shock replacing the fear as he realized what he’d just done.

“I’m sorry mi amor, I had a dream you were dead… I should have asked, I-” 

You shook your head before he could finish stumbling through his words. 

“Ambushing each other is kinda our trademark, no?”

He gazed up at you for a moment, calculating his next words carefully. 

“If my memory serves me, you got two kisses in at La 40,” he hummed, hands moving slowly down your sides to settle on your hips. “So I think I’m owed at least one more.”

You let out a breath of relief when you realized his confidence was back and that whatever had plagued him in his sleep seemed to have passed. You dipped down to kiss him sweetly, letting your lips linger against his as he chased you just enough to keep you there for a moment longer before you sat back up. 

It gave you a sense of confidence, his warm hands on your hips as you straddled him, and even you were surprised at the next words you said. 

“And the nurse who took care of you? What’s she owed?” 

That earned a chuckle from him, and you melted down into him as he kissed your forehead. His bare chest was warm, skin heating yours through the thin material of your tank top, but his next words set you on fire.

“She can have whatever she wants.” 

You hummed, leaning down to kiss him earnestly, letting yourself have what you had been craving for weeks without even realizing. Javi tilted your head up with his good hand, lips finding your neck. His mustache was rough against you and you groaned at the feeling, settling your hips down over his, seeking friction anywhere you could find it. The rubber band had finally snapped between the two of you, and you couldn’t get enough. 

“Tell me when to stop,” he whispered, breath sending goosebumps all along your collarbone. Something about him giving you an out made everything ten times hotter.

“Please don’t,” you begged, pulling him back up to your lips. He groaned into you, grabbing at your hips to move you and hissing at the pain it caused. 

“Easy,” you cautioned.

“Not in my nature,” he retorted. You smiled, shifting your hips to press against him like you knew he wanted, resisting the urge to laugh at the way his head fell back against the pillows just barely. 

“Let me take care of you.” You ran your nails gently down his chest. 

“Not in my nature,” he repeated, but his breathing was already getting heavier.

“I thought it was whatever I wanted.”

It was Javi’s turn to smile, and you gasped as his hands slid into your shorts, down over your ass to squeeze softly, kneading the flesh and pulling you along his own hips. The rhythm was electric, and you didn’t feel like arguing anymore, too caught up in him to care. You tried over and over again to speed him up but he kept you steady, back and forth as he grew harder and harder below you.

He guided you through it, lips tracing a pattern along your jaw, up to your lips and back down to your throat, along your collarbone until you were practically clawing at him. 

“Need more,” you moaned into his mouth, hands in his hair.

“Then take it.”

You didn’t need telling twice. You reached between your bodies, pulling him out of his boxers easily. He was velvet soft in your hand and you couldn’t help yourself - you began to stroke him gently, achingly slow. 

But Javi wasn’t one to be out done. He sat up slowly, leaning against the headboard so he could free up his good arm. You helped him get your shirt off, and as soon as it was over your head his fingers dipped into your waistband, cupping your folds and making your hips buck into him.

“Sucia,” he breathed, sliding one finger inside, making your nails dig into his shoulders. He put up a good front, but you could see his pulse in his throat, and you knew your unfaltering hand was having just as much of an effect on him. 

You gave in first, pushing his hand away and scooting back up to straddle him. He caught on immediately, helping guide you up so you could sink down onto him. You went slowly, giving yourself time to savor each inch of stretch and sting and Javi.

“Fuck,” you groaned when you finally settled fully, letting your forehead rest on his shoulder. He was big, there was no denying it.

“You okay hermosa?” He murmured, holding you steady. You nodded, shifting just barely and groaning again. You had never felt so full before, even just breathing was enough movement that you could feel him shift inside you, making your eyes water. 

“I’m okay. I’m okay,” you reassured him, trying to find your words. 

“Takin’ me so good baby,” he hummed, kissing your jaw. You leaned back to give him more access and the shift was delicious. You followed it, lifting your hips up just enough and moving back down slowly.

It was Javi’s turn to moan then. His fingers dug into your hips and he grit his teeth, using every bit of restraint he had to not pound into you the way he wanted to. 

You moved again, bracing on his shoulders but careful to avoid his arm. Based on the way he was groaning, you weren’t sure he would care if you stitched him again - he might not even notice. 

“Need more cariño, whatever you can give me,” Javi said, screwing his eyes shut. You gave him what you could, lifting up and lowering down as quickly as you could. 

“So fucking tight.”

You couldn’t really hear him anymore - you could only feel. You set a pace, willing your muscles to relax as you began to rock above him, wiggling your hips back and forth. 

He thrust up once and it was game over. 

Your orgasm came out of nowhere, ricocheting from your core to your fingertips. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, and you collapsed forward, chest to chest with Javi as your body shook. 

He stilled until you did, and then he was back to moving, lifting his hips and pushing against your fluttering walls. You whimpered at the sensation, and he wrapped his good arm across your back, hooking around your waist. 

“Doin’ so good cariño, so good for me,” he groaned. “Give me one more.”

“I can’t,” you panted, still reeling.

“You can.”

Something about the demand in his tone had you pushing down to meet his hips. Your teeth sunk into the muscle of his shoulder as he chased his high, pulling another orgasm out of you that had you practically blacked out as he came with a resounding groan, burying his face in your hair.

“Holy fuck,” was all you could pull from your burning lungs as you both settled in the afterglow, Javi tracing patterns along your back. 

“Fuckin’ a,” Javi chuckled, kissing your head. “What a day we’ve had.”

“How’s your arm?” You hummed, leaning up just enough to check his gauze. You frowned at the fresh blood you could see.

“I’m fine. Had much worse, believe me.” 

“Guess sex is off limits till you heal,” you sighed, looking up at him through your lashes.

“No deal,” Javi argued, making both of you laugh. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be. Besides, you can wake me up for that anytime,” you hummed, shimmying up to kiss him again. When your lips grew tired, he rolled you over, tucking you up to his chest and coaxing you to sleep. 

Your nights ended up with the two of you intertwined for the next month. Javi’s arm healed well, and he put it to good use every chance he got. He was busier at work, with new breaks happening in his case, which meant every evening you actually got to spend together was precious. 

And the evenings you weren’t together were spent wishing you were - at least, when you had a spare minute. But that night, you didn’t have many seconds to spare, much less minutes. 

It had been a long time since you’d been pulled off your typical unit at the hospital, but the emergency department was short staffed, and with multiple gun fights in the city they needed all hands on deck. The ensuing chaos put you in the ambulance bay, with a radio to your ear getting details of an incoming 9 year old gunshot wound case in the truck you could see pulling up. 

Right where they wanted you.

It happened quickly, and quietly. There was a child in the bed of the truck, covered in blood. You wouldn’t find out until afterwards that he worked for the cartel - simply a pawn to get you to climb into the bed and assess him. Your mind was racing, and though you’d never admit it, you were only half present with your patient. The other half of you was imagining Javi, desperately hoping that he wasn’t somewhere caught in the crossfire. 

It put you just enough off your game to not notice that the passenger had gotten out of the truck, snuck around the side. 

You didn’t know what he hit you with. Javi would find it later - a brick, stained with your blood, left in the street. He knocked you out, gave the child his payment and drove away with you in the bed, covered in a blanket. 

And so your nightmare began. 

You awoke in a foreign bedroom, sitting on the floor. Unsure of how much time had passed, unsure of where you were - all you knew was that your head was pounding, your hands were tied behind your back, and ankles tied together. You didn’t dare make a sound. There was a window covered in newspapers with a sunbeam shining through a gap, landing on your shoe and illuminating the blood left on them. Your stomach turned and you swallowed down the bile in your throat. 

All you could do was a quick self check - you were sore, your shoulders tight from where they were pinned back, your neck pinched from where you were leaned up against a metal bed frame. You could feel that your head was split somewhere, with dried blood caking your hair that you were desperate to itch. But otherwise, you seemed to be unharmed. So you started to plan. 

There was nothing in the room you could see that could be of use, and as you looked you heard them for the first time - voices, in the hall, that made your palms sweat and your heart race. You tried to picture their faces, but everything was blurry in your memory. The only face that seemed to come to mind was Javi’s. His sweet smile, right before he’d kissed you goodbye that morning from the driver’s seat and sent you into the hospital.

You’d give anything in that moment to go back to that first morning, to have him bracing the door and demanding that you stay home. 

“Focus. Fucking focus,” you whispered to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. Javi had told you what to do if anything like this had ever happened. 

“You stay quiet,” he’d said. “Don’t try to lie your way out, don’t tell them anything, even if you think it’s what they want to hear. No matter what they do, you survive, and you stay quiet until I get to you.” 

So when the first man walked into the room, you set your jaw. You found a small black dot on the wall across from you and locked onto it. You let yourself disassociate, let the man’s words, his blows, his kicks, wash over you one at a time as if they were nothing. Deep down you knew he was angry, knew he was going to come back. But you stared at your speck, and willed yourself to be okay. 

Time passed, more men came. More blows. More time. Maybe even a day.

Your facade broke only once, when you heard a familiar name, a break in the murmur. 

“... Peña. Dinos dónde está perra, o estás muerta.” 

You looked up then, only for a moment, and then back to your speck, repeating the words in your head. 

Javi is coming. Javi is coming. Javi is coming.

You had no way of knowing just how close he was. The last 64 hours had been some of the most stressful of his life. He’d arrived at his usual spot outside of the hospital, and he’d given you fifteen minutes before he was headed through the front doors. He didn’t bother stopping at the front desk - the night that you’d gotten stuck in a patient’s room past shift change, they had sent him upstairs anyway. 

He didn’t start to panic until they told him you had changed units.

He found the brick in the ambulance bay as soon as he burst through the doors, and put the pieces together after that. His next stop was the store across the street to get their security camera footage. 

When he found the cameras disabled, he ripped a shelf to the ground on his way out and called his team. 

The next hours were spent surveying every piece of footage they could get their hands on until they finally, finally spotted a vehicle that came and left the hospital far too quickly. 

When Javi saw the bedsheet in the bed of the truck, his lunch remade its appearance in the back of his throat. 

He didn’t let himself believe you were dead, though he could tell his team thought otherwise. They knew better than to even suggest it though. The office had never been busier, between tracking the red truck across the neighborhoods to running possible mugs to figure out who could have possibly taken you. Javi couldn’t stand to stay still, so he spent every hour on the streets, running surveillance and tracking down every possible crumb that his men fed him. He had everyone involved, every person who owed him a favor, every single individual he knew in Colombia that he thought may help.

 The crack came when one of Javi’s reporter connections sent him a lead, a cartel member who fit the description of what he was looking for. The entire team took to the streets, and by an act of luck, or possibly a higher power Javi would be thanking for the rest of his life, he found the truck, tucked into an alleyway on the south side of the city.

Inside the apartment, your speck was getting harder to see. 

You weren’t exactly sure why. It seemed like it was getting harder to stay awake, but you fought your weary eyes. Awake meant alive, no matter how painful. 

There were new noises in the hall. They were hard to hear over the wheeze of your breathing, but the man in the room with you muttered something before he left. You didn’t dare look away from the speck, afraid of what you might find. But you let your ears wander. 

One gunshot sounded, and then it was all yelling and commotion, too much for your exhausted brain to sort through. You leaned closer to the door, hoping to hear something recognizable. One inch too far and suddenly you were falling to the side, unable to catch yourself. Your face hit the carpet, hard, startling you out of your daze. You desperately searched the wall for your speck, but it had disappeared, invisible from your new angle. 

“No, please,” you cried, your lifeline suddenly gone. 

Another gunshot rang out from downstairs and you screwed your eyes shut, curling your knees up to your chest, accepting what was to come. You hoped in that moment that anyone but Javi would find your body, and that he would know that you tried. 

More commotion followed, and you curled up tighter when you heard the door burst open. 

“Mi amor. Cristo.” 

The hands that found you were as gentle as a feather, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes. The now familiar sound of a knife clicking open sounded out through the room and you whimpered, waiting. But instead, a bit of friction on your wrists and then they were free, then your ankles. 

“Open your eyes Y/N. Look at me.” 

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes, and you were met with pools of deep brown - you’d know them anywhere, and the relief was almost your undoing.

“I’m here. You’re safe, you’re alive. I’m here.” 

You nodded once, unable to move more than that. His lips on your forehead were a welcome comfort before he scooped you up from the floor. 

“Close your eyes,” he told you, and you listened, burying your face in his neck and letting him carry you out to the car. 

There were others outside. You could hear them, but you kept your face hidden. Javi spoke to them briefly, instructed them on what to do and selected one of them to drive. Almost immediately he was climbing into the passenger seat of a larger car with you in his lap, and you were on your way. 

The tears were falling by the first street you turned down, burning your raw cheeks. Javi felt them, hot and wet on the collar of his shirt.

“Shh, shhh shh amor. I’ve got you.”

He was scared to hold you too tight, to agitate the injuries he could see. But that didn’t stop you from clinging to him with everything you had in you. You clawed at his shirt, dragging yourself as close as you could to him, breathing him in, trying to make yourself believe that you were really truly there with him. Safe. Alive. 

You lifted an arm up, ignoring the way it pulled at your sore muscles, wrapping your fingers in his hair as you had so many mornings. 

“Javi,” you whispered. 

“I’m here mi amor.” He kissed your forehead again, blinking back his own tears at the sound of your voice. 

“I love you.” It came out too quiet, but you knew he heard it from the way he choked out a small sob. 

“I love you,” he replied. 

You sighed, wincing as you let your muscles relax. 

“What? What is it?” Javi’s hands ghosted over you, too scared to touch and make it worse.

“It hurts.”

“I know, baby. We’re going to the hospital, we’re going to make it better. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” 

“Okay.” You clung to his words with everything you had left and let your eyes close, the exhaustion finally taking over, safe in loving arms.

[perotovar]

Javier Peña in Every Episode: Sin Salida

[clanmudhornblog]

This scene. This transformation.

The Last of Us.

[vintagepascal]

.

[netherfeildren]

“how interesting that something so huge and life-changing should happen so early in your life and so late in mine.”

my emmy nominated father and child duo i love them so much i’m so happy and so proud of them ❤️❤️

[figmentof]

[katestewartt]

“Just be yourself…Which is a huge mistake” - PEDRO PASCAL

[calkestis]

him: me:🧎‍♀️

Disney Gallery: The Mandalorian | The Making of Season 3

[attackoneyebrows]

so time heals all wounds i guess. it wasn’t time that did it.

[thewaythisis]

[vintagepascal]

@tlounetwork​ | The Last of Us week 2023

day two: "FAVORITE QUOTE"

↳ "stay awake with me"

[pedrorascal]

PEDRO PASCAL in every episode of NARCOS (2015–2017)

► 1x01 - Descenso

[trulybetty]

Joel Miller | pre TLOU vibes.

[janicesopranos]

— “Fleabag” (2x04), by Phoebe Waller-Bridge

[vintagepascal]

ah yes, me with another poll. what do you all wanna read next 👀

frankie fluff

frankie angst or smut

a part two to yours in the morning (recovery, mostly fluff, etc)

a pedro x reader fic (fluffy smut ☺️)

Voting ended onJun 26, 2023

[imaginary98]

God I need help 😫 my partner thinks I've lost the plot 🤣

[dustydaddyyy]

sweetheart | joel miller x fem! reader

pairing: joel miller x fem! reader

summary: you're home from college for summer '99 to visit your parents, when your eye wanders upon their next-door neighbor, joel miller.

a/n: basically just porn with some plot that started at 2k and ended up becoming 13k. enjoy these 13k of unhinged depravity :)

warnings: (18+) SMUT (extended warning are under the cut), age gap (reader is 22, Joel is 32), swearing, mentions and consumption of alcohol, use of petnames (mostly sweetheart and one darling), probably inaccurate descriptions of the southern US, reader's mom is kind of annoying, reader kind of seduces joel (ish), neighbor!joel (is this a warning?) single dad! joel (what about this one?), reader babysits Sarah a few times

extended warnings: smut, fingering, p in v unprotected sex (pls in the name of the lord practice safe sex people), some (relatively tame) dry humping, couch sex, definitely some praise kink (we're moving on), for sure some soft!dom!joel, but also a pinch of dom!reader (👀), a lil cockwarming, maybe like a bit of a breeding kink if you really, really squint and i think that's it! please let me know if i've missed any. no use of y/n in this fic.

"Is this really how you're going to be spending your entire holiday?"

You bite back a groan as you look at your mom from where you'd been laying down on the lounge chair in the garden, book dropping from in front of your face so you can peer at her from behind your sunglasses.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask her, and she shrugs as she continues to water her rhododendrons.

"You've been home a week now," she tells you pointedly, "And you've sat more in that chair than I have all year,"

"I'm on break," you say matter of factly, "That's kind of the point," Your mum lets out a hum as she continues watering her flowers, which you ignore as you bring your book back up in front of your face. 

It's hot out in the Texas sun, almost too hot, but having come from the constant cold and rain in Seattle, you find yourself not caring too much as you bask in the sunlight. You're not wearing much, dressed only in a bikini top and pair of old shorts, that are maybe a touch too snug, but survived your parents' move from Galveston. They'd moved to Austin at the end of last summer for your father's new job. You hadn't been to the new house over Christmas, your parents having come up to visit Seattle for the holidays, instead. Austin and Galveston weren't such different cities, it was all still Texas, but the one thing you found yourself desperately missing, especially now in the heat, was the ocean.

Somewhere in one of the neighbouring gardens, the sound of a lawnmower being turned on fills the air. You ignore it, putting down your book for a second instead and watching as your mother shuffles over to the flowers lining the wooden fence which separates your neighbour's garden from yours.

"I'm getting a drink," you declare, swinging your legs over the side of the sun lounger, "Can I get you anything, Mom?"

"I'm alright," your mom says with a wave of your hand, and you nod, before turning on your heel and going inside to get your drink, pushing your sunglasses to the top of your head. The house is delightfully cool as you open the screen door. On your way to the kitchen you pass the living room, finding your dad passed out on the couch, fan on full blast and TV displaying the U.S. Golf Open.

You bite back a chuckle as you step into the kitchen, filling up a glass of water before chugging it down, wiping the rest off your chin, before filling it up again. You spend a couple of minutes leaning against your counter taking small sips, before your ears perk up at the sound of your mom's voice from the garden. It's faint, like she's talking to someone, and you frown slightly as you think about who she could be talking to, considering your dad is in no state to have conversation with anybody, right now. 

You shrug it off, taking a few more sips before you go back through the house the way you came, your mother's voice becoming clearer as her laugh floats through the screen door. The sun bears down on your face once more as you step back into the garden, your eyes taking a second to adjust to the bright light as you close the screen door behind you.

"–there you are, peanut! I was just telling Joel about you, come and say hi. . ."

"Goody," you mutter to yourself as the screen door clicks shut.

"­–you remember I told you about Joel, don't you, honey? He lives next door with his daughter, Sarah,"

You bite back a sigh, before plastering a smile over your face as you turn to the garden to meet another undoubtedly middle-aged, pot-bellied man.

Either way, you're not expecting the man standing by the wooden fence; he's pretty young, maybe early thirties, with dark, scruffy hair and an equally half-kept scruffy beard and mustache. He's a handsome man, with dark, warm eyes that scan your face and an angular jaw and nose.

"Sure, I remember" you let out, smiling at him sweetly, "Pleased to meet you,"

"Hello," he returns your greeting with a slight nod, and his voice is deep and gravelly, tinged with that telltale Texan accent, "Nice to finally meet you, your mom sure does talk about you a lot,"

You give him a dry, sarcastic smile, raising your brows slightly. "She sure does like to talk,"

Joel lets out a chuckling breath, corners of his mouth twitching in amusement as your Mom rolls her eyes.

"Always so dry, that one," she comments, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes as you sit back down on the sun lounger.

"Your mom said you were home from college for the summer. . . How long you visiting for?" Joel says with a clear of his throat.

You go to open your mouth as Joel waits patiently for your answer, but your mom beats you to it. "Until about mid-August. . . good to have her home, she hadn't been down here at the new house since we moved, you see. . ."

Joel's gaze lingers on you for a second before his eyes turn back to your mother, whose animated conversation you tune out, as you pull your sunglasses back down onto your nose, and pick your book back up, stretching your bare legs over the lounger. 

Your mind is anywhere but the book, however, and you make sure to hold it at such an angle that you can still peer over the spine, eyes shamelessly rolling over Joel's form from behind your sunglasses. He's wearing an old, dark green t-shirt that's covered in white paint splatters and looks like it's several sizes too small, but you don't find yourself complaining as your eyes linger over the bulge of his biceps under the shirt, broad chest stretching out the faded logo on the front. Your eyes travel down his torso to the shorts he's wearing, and you're pretty grateful for your sunglasses because you find your gaze lingering down from his belt to his zipper, material bulging slightly outwards­–

"­–Peanut can do it, can't you darling? She's real good with kids,"

Your mom's voice startles you out of your philandering thoughts, and eyes, and you pretend to look up from your book, heart skipping in your chest for a second as the idea that you'd just been checking out your parents' ridiculously attractive neighbor .

"Huh?" you let out, rather dumbly, lowering the book, and your mom makes an impatient noise.

"Joel's sitter called in sick and we've gotta be at the Council meeting after dinner," she explains, "You can watch Sarah for a couple of hours, can't you?"

"Uh–" you struggle to find your words for a second as Joel looks at you, before he puts up his hand in a reassuring gesture.

"Don't worry," he ensures you, shaking his head, "I ain't going to interrupt your evening plans, they don't need me at the council meeting, anyway–"

"Plans!" your mom says through a surprised chuckle, shaking her head "She doesn't have any, don't you worry," 

"Thanks, mom," you grumble under your breath, and again you watch as the corners of Joel's mouth twitch in held back amusement at your comment, before you clear your throat and nod, offering him a tentative smile, "Sure, I'm happy to help,"

"You sure?" he asks, and you nod, "It's just a couple hours, I'll be back before ten,"

"No worries, I can do that. . . uh–. . . how old is Sarah?" you ask, cringing slightly at the fact that you don't know, but Joel doesn't seem offended.

"She's eight," he informs you, and you nod again, "But don't worry, it won't be much work. . . she usually only stays up a couple of hours after dinner and then crashes,"

"Yeah, no problem," you reassure him, smiling slightly, and Joel gives you a grateful look. 

"Perfect! She'll be over after dinner, then," your mom beams, and he nods, clearing his throat.

"Thanks a lot, you're doing me a real favor," he comments, but something in Joel's tone tells you he would've rather stayed home with his daughter than attended a 3-hour long community council meeting chaired mostly by the middle-aged ladies of the neighborhood,

"No worries," you tell him with another sweet smile, and Joel's eyes linger on your face for a second, before he clears his throat, wiping his hands on his shorts and looking back at your mom. "Right. . . gotta get back to this lawn, but I'll see you both later, then,"

"See you later, Joel," your mom beams, and you give one more saccharine 'bye' in his direction before he disappears back into his garden. The minute she hears the lawn mower turn back on, your Mum comes to sit on the edge of your sun lounger.

"He's nice, isn't he?" she says, and you give an affirmative hum as you continue reading, "Handsome, too. . .been living out here 5 years,"

"Interesting," you say, and your voice sounds far from interested, but your mom doesn't pay it any attention as she continues.

"No wife, though. . . Betty said he's just raising Sarah on his own, has been his whole life. . . she thinks the wife ran away, or something, one of these nutjobs that abandons their own child–"

"Mom," you interrupt, putting your book down as you tip your glasses down your nose and give her a look, "You shouldn't be gossiping about this,"

You mom looks guilty for a second, before she purses her lips haughtily, getting back to her feet. "You're right, I suppose. . . well, either way, we gotta do what we can to help him out, don't we? Can't imagine it's easy being a single parent,"

"I'm sure it isn't," you comment, before you close your book with a small smack, deciding that reading in the vicinity of your mother is going to be impossible, "I'm gonna head back in. . . grab a shower, before dinner,"

"Sure, peanut," your mom says with a nod, before she redirects herself back to pruning the rosebush.

You make your way back inside the house, past your dad in the living room and up the carpeted stairs to your bedroom. It's not decorated exactly the way your old one in Galveston used to be, but it still has your old bed and dresser, and your mom has hung a couple of paintings you did when you were in middle school on the walls. You drop your book on the dresser, letting out a sigh as you walk over to the window to open it and let some air in.

Your room is on the left side of the house, closest to the neighbor's garden, and as your fingers grip the edge of the window to pull it up, they stall as your eye falls on Joel as he mows his lawn. Your eyes widen slightly as you see that Joel's isn't wearing the olive-green shirt anymore, having instead discarded it in a heap on one of his faded deck chairs, leaving him in nothing but those shorts. You watch as the sun glistens on his sweat-drenched skin, accentuating every contour of the muscular physique that had been hidden away by his t-shirt earlier.His strong arms flexing as he grips the lawnmower's handle, his movements deliberate and confident. The rhythmic sound of the engine fills the air, blending with the gentle breeze and the sounds of the kids three houses up playing in their pool. He moves with a surprising grace, a sensuality even in such a mundane task as his forehead creases with effort and focus.

You're almost mesmerised as you lean in closer, breath fogging against the glass of your window. He stops for a second, hand coming up to wipe some sweat from his brow, and in that split second he looks up, hand shielding his eyes from the sunlight, almost directly at you. You fumble slightly with the windowsill, eyes quickly moving away as you push the window up and open, pretending not to see him and fussing with your curtains, instead. Your eyes move back down for a split second, heart pounding in your chest at the idea he may have caught you staring at him, but Joel is already focusing on his lawn mower again, continuing on his way across his garden. 

"It's open, come on in!" comes a shout from inside the Miller house as you stand in front of their screen door, and you push it open gingerly.

Stepping across the threshold, the first thing that catches your eye is the haphazard mix of shoes strewn under the coat hook, ranging from Size 9 boots crusted with mud to a pair of bright pink trainers with glitter laces. The house isn't much different from yours. The stairs to the second floor are in the same place as your parents to the right of the hallway which you assume continues into the living room and kitchen. The wall is decorated with a mix of children's drawings, a few faded posters and various pictures of Joel and a young girl with curly black hair and a beaming smile.

"Sarah, where's my watch?" Joel's voice echoes from upstairs through the hall, and there's hurried steps on the landing upstairs, "I told you to stop playing with that thing!"

"I didn't take it. . . It's in your dresser drawer," comes another voice, a young girl's, from upstairs. There's the sound of thundering steps as someone hurries down the stairs, and you look up from where you'd been taking off your shoes to be faced with the young girl from the photos. She's older, but the smile is unmistakable as she stops three steps short of the ground, grinning brightly at you.

"Hi!" she lets out, and you give her a cautious smile.

"Hey there," you return, trying to keep your tone from being awkward, "I live next door,"

"Dad told me," she says with a nod, "He's almost ready, he gets really scatterbrained when he's in a hurry is all,"

"It's no problem. . . so do I," you say with a chuckle, and her smile widens as she contemplates you.

"You're really pretty," Sarah blurts suddenly, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Sarah," comes Joel's voice from the top of the stairs before you can open your mouth and respond, "That doesn't sound like it's any of your business, now does it?"

Joel cleans up nice. Gone are the faded t-shirt and frayed shorts, and they've been replaced with a pair of dark jeans and a plaid blue short-sleeved button down, albeit still wrinkled in some places. His hair still looks damp, and either Joel forgot to run a comb through it or he just doesn't care enough, because his curls are an unruly mess on his head, but it suits him. He's fastening a watch on his wrist as he comes down, and it takes a decent amount of willpower not to let your eyes run across the length of his muscular arm as it flexes with effort.

"It's alright, Mr. Miller, I don't mind," you say with a slight laugh as Joel hurries down the stairs, Sarah jumping the last few steps ahead of him. At your use of his last name, his head snaps up suddenly, eyes boring into yours.

"Joel," he corrects almost immediately, his voice soft but with a sharp undertone, before he grimaces, "Please. . . Mr. Miller makes me feel. . . old,"

"You are old," Sarah teases, before she turns back to you, "So do you?"

"Have a boyfriend?" you ask her, and she sighs, rolling her eyes.

"Duh,"

"I don't right now, no," you say, chuckling slightly.

"Oh," Sarah sounds put out, her eyebrows knitting into a frown, "Why not?"

Joel lets out a tutting sound as he stops a few steps away from you, slipping his feet into a pair of shoes hastily.

"Sarah, enough," he chides her, giving his daughter a look, "Go and do something else rather than harass your babysitter,"

"I'm eight," she grumbles, "Don't even need a babysitter. . . you're just grouchy because you have to go to the community meeting and hang around all the old biddies,"

"Sa-rah," Joel hisses pointedly at his daughter, giving her a glare, but you laugh, shaking your head.

"I don't blame him, I'm not a huge fan of the old biddies myself," you tell Sarah jokingly, wiggling your eyebrows at her, "Besides, a handsome man like your dad? I'm sure they stick to him like flies in a honey trap,"

Sarah lets out a giggle, her nose scrunching. "Oh, they love him,"

"Okay, alright," Joel says with a roll of his eyes as he grabs his keys off the small table in the entrance hall, "You're both being very funny. . . Sarah, why don't you go do the dishes in the sink you were supposed to do half an hour ago instead of standing here talking smack,"

You chuckle slightly as Sarah giggles again, before she darts off down the hallway to what you assume in the kitchen.

"Right, okay. . . she's had dinner already, there's some ravioli in the fridge if you get hungry, there's beer if you want–" Joel stops midway through his sentence, his brows knitting together as he regards you, "Hold on, can you even have beer?"

"I'm twenty-two, Joel," you say with a half-sarcastic, half-reassuring smile, nodding, "I can have beer,"

Joel's face doesn't change for a split-second as he seems to process this, before mouth opens into a nervous chuckle as he stuffs his keys in his back pocket. "Right, makes sense, sorry. . . uh–. . . that's it, right? My number's on the landline speed dial if anything happens, and I'll be home before 10,"

"Got it," you say with a nod, "Enjoy what I'm sure will be an absolutely riveting meeting about the neighborhood lawn maintenance standards,"

Joel grimaces, before chuckling dryly. "I'm sure I won't,"

You give a giggle as he steps towards the screen door, opening it up.

"See you later," he says, and you nod. 

"Bye," you say in a honeyed tone, and you watch him walk down the walkway towards his truck. Your eyes follow him as he gets in the car, feeling something pool in your lower belly just at the sight of him. Then, Sarah's voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

"You coming?"

Turns out, Joel's babysitter ends up being sick for a lot longer than he'd anticipated, which means you end up spending a lot more of your days and evenings in the Miller household than you anticipated doing this summer.

It does nothing but encourage your growing attraction to Joel, like adding kindling to an ever-growing fire with every second you spend in his presence, and after two weeks of babysitting Sarah a few nights and a few afternoons, you feel yourself start to get bolder.

You're braver with your touches, the occasional light brush of your fingers against his arm becoming more deliberate, hands lingering during a conversation or shared moment of laughter. You've noticed that Joel reacts to you, as well, albeit in a much more restrained way, but it does nothing to deter you.If anything, his restraint only encourages you to push further, a little more each time. It's like a challenge, and shit, do you enjoy a challenge.

It's Wednesday evening, and you're in the entrance house of the Miller house again, kicking off your shoes as you hear Joel move around upstairs.

"Hello!" you shout into the house, and almost immediately you hear Sarah's footsteps race through the corridor, before she comes tearing around the corner. When she catches sight of you, more specifically what you're wearing, she lets loose a screech of excitement.

"You look so good!" she lets out in a squeal, her feet stomping on the spot as she looks at you, "He isn’t going to know what to do with himself,”

“Yes, thank you, if you could keep your voice down about it that would be great,” you tell her as you take off your coat, giving her a look, and she giggles. 

“He’s too busy running around the house getting ready to eavesdrop,” she says with a roll of her eyes, “When are you going to meet him?” 

“Don’t know yet,” you return in a mockery of her dreamy tone, before rolling your eyes, “I’m here watching you first, he’ll come pick me up after,”

Sarah’s eyes shine with excitement. “You mean I get to see him?” 

“You better be in bed snoring when that happens missy,” you tell her, your hands coming to your hips as you give her a stern look. 

“Who better be in bed when what happens?” comes Joel’s voice as he appears at the top of the stairs, before hurrying down like he always does. This time, however, as he’s fastening his watch strap, his eyes momentarily move expectantly onto Sarah. 

“Nothing, Dad,” Sarah lies surprisingly well, “Just that I’d better be in bed by the time you get home,” 

“Which won’t be very late, by the way, probably around te–” Joel’s voice stalls in his throat as his gaze falls on you, and his eyebrows fly up his forehead, “What are you all dolled up for?”

He’s not wrong that you’d gotten dolled up for the evening, but it wasn’t for babysitting; you were having drinks with someone you knew through a friend later, after babysitting. 

“It’s part of my very elaborate plan to seduce you,” you say simply, shrugging innocently but corners of your mouth pulled into the beginnings of a smile. 

There’s a split second of silence where Joel’s eyes widen slightly, before Sarah bursts into laughter, and a full smile starts spreading over your features. 

“Well I gotta say you’re failing pretty desperately, then,” Joel counters, and Sarah breaks into another round of laughter as your jaw falls open in shock and almost theoretical offense.

“You jacka–” you stop yourself, suddenly very aware of Sarah’s younger ears as you hold in your swear, pressing your lips together into a grudging smile, and it makes Joel chuckle slightly as he gets to the bottom of the stairs. 

“Careful. . . little ears are listening,” he says the last part in an airy voice as he passes you by, and you scoff, shaking your head. 

“Sarah, please go away so I can call your dad a name,” you tell her after a second of silence, and Joel lets out a sound of protest as he puts on his shoes, Sarah laughing again before she dutifully turns on her heel and runs back down the hall. 

When she’s gone, you turn to Joel, leaning slightly towards him to ensure he hears you. 

“Jack–ass,” you enunciate, and he nods with a smirk. 

“You started it,” 

“Sarah told me you have a date,” you say, smiling, “You sure it’s only going to be 10?” 

“Once again, my eight-year-old shares my business with the entire world,” 

“I’m not the entire world, I’m me,” you chime in, and Joel snorts. 

“It’s not that kind of date,” 

“Oh,” you let out, making a small grimace of disappointment, “Boring,” 

“Thanks,” Joel says with a dry smile, and you make another face, this one apologetic. 

"How do I look?" he asks you, holding his arms out semi-nervously, and you bite back a smile.

"Very pretty," you say half-seriously, and he rolls his eyes at you.

"You're funny," he tells you, pointing a finger at you and shaking his head, "Alright, I think I'm off then,"

With that, Joel goes to turn on his heel, but suddenly he feels your fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling gently.

"Joel, wait," you let out through a breathy laugh, taking a few steps forward so you're standing in front of him suddenly, your fingers releasing his wrist. Joel goes stiff, but you don't notice as you bring your hands up, one falling on his shoulder gently and the other moving towards his face, before he feels your thumb swipe over the edge of his jaw, "You've got­ shaving cream–. . . there you go,"

Joel's eyes watch your face as you chuckle slightly, before you tut as your eyes fall to his shirt, corners on your mouth twitching upwards into the beginning of a smile.

"–and your collar's crooked," you say, your hands moving to straighten out the lapels of his shirt, letting out a chuckle, your voice a little lower and a little deeper than Joel's ever noticed before, ". . jesus Joel,"

When you're satisfied with the correct shape of his shirt collar, your eyes move from his jaw to find him staring down at you. You're suddenly very aware of Joel; how close he's standing, the way his eyes are trained on yours, lingering, the way he smells. He smells really good, a mix of sandalwood aftershave and ––

You can't help yourself as you sniff the air, before your eyebrows crease slightly, eyes full of sudden question. "Do. . . do you smell like strawberry?"

You watch as Joel's cheeks color a slight pink, lips pursing with an expression as if he's been made, "I ran out of shower gel. . . had to use Sarah's,"

Your lips press together and Joel can tell you're trying desperately not to smile, but he can see the laughter in your eyes as you look up at him, twinkling with amusement.

"Very manly," you manage to bring out, giving him a teasingly reassuring smile, and for the first time that evening Joel's shoulders deflate of tension as he lets out a laughing scoff, shaking his head and looking away, smirk growing on his lips as he hears you start to laugh.

"You are a mean woman, you know that?" he tells you, and for the first time, you hear something in Joel's tone, something. . . friendlier. It’s teasing, almost flirty.  

"I was joking," you let out with a chuckle on your own as he turns back to laugh at you, raising a single eyebrow as his eyes meet yours.

"Didn't sound like you were joking, sweetheart," he says, and you feel something in your stomach at the sound of the nickname rolling over his lips. 

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” you tell him, sarcastically, and when you find yourself looking into his eyes a split second longer than you should, you swallow, pulling your hands away from his face, and taking a step back. 

"Thanks," he says, clearing his throat as he steps towards the screen door.

"Anytime," you say, giving him a smooth, playful smile, covering up the moment of tension that passed between you just now, "You look great, Joel. . . she's a lucky woman,"

He gives a little scoff, raising his brows slightly. "I'll be back by ten,"  

“I believe you,” you tell him sarcastically as he steps over the threshold, “Bye, Joel,”

Joel is late. 

Only by half an hour. You’d already texted the guy you were meeting to tell him it would be later and that you’d keep him in the loop, but that doesn’t stop you making sure all your things are ready to go already an hour before Joel even gets home. It’s 22:34 when his keys sound in the front door, 20 minutes after he’d sent a one-word text that he was on his way back, and you’re sitting on the couch watching a rerun of the Wire. 

You look up as Joel walks in.

“Hi,” you let out in a softer voice as you sit, pulling your denim jacket off the couch armrest, “How was it?” 

You don’t miss the way Joel’s eyes run over the exposed skin of your shoulders and chest in your thin-strapped dress for a small moment before he looks back up at you and gives a nod. 

“Nice,” he tells you, and you nod with a smile, pulling the jacket on and getting up off the couch, “Did Sara behave?” 

“No complaints,” you say with a laugh, “Kid’s an angel,” 

Joel smiles slightly as he nods, before he watches you grab your bag, which had been lying by the couch and sling it over your shoulder, “You headed home?” 

You stifle a small yawn, before smiling with a shake of your head. “No, I’m headed into downtown. . . meeting someone for drinks,” 

“You should’ve told me!” Joel lets out in surprise, eyes widening slightly, and you chuckle softly, waving him off. 

“It’s really fine, he can wait a half hour,” 

“How are you getting downtown? Do you need a ride?” he offers, but you shake your head, before you pull your phone out of your back pocket to look at the plastic display. 

“I’ve got one,” you say, and your voice is almost a little timid, as though being picked up by your date from Joel’s was somehow more embarrassing than at your own house. 

“He picking you up?” Joel asks, and you nod. 

As if on cue, a set of headlights flash through the living room window as a car pulls up on the side of the curb on the opposite side of the street. 

“Do you need me again this week?” you ask, looking back at Joel from where you’d watched the car pull up. Joel shakes his head. 

“Don’t think so,” he comments, before his brow creases for a split second, “But try not to get abducted on your date, I’d like to keep the option open,” 

“I’ll try not to,” you reply through a knowing chuckle, before walking past him towards the front door, hand on the knob. 

“If I suddenly stop answering texts, call the police,” you say half-jokingly, and Joel turns to give you a look and points his finger at you as you open the door. 

“That isn’t funny,” he tells you in a half-serious tone, and you snicker once more before you step over the threshold. 

“Goodnight, Joel,” 

Joel watches you walk down the front path, denim jacket pulled tightly over your shoulders against the evening chill, legs bare under your dress. He watches you get in the car parked on the curb, greeting whoever is driving with the same blinding smile you sometimes give him, and Joel feels something rear up slightly in his chest. It’s like a shock through his body, and he averts his eyes as the car drives off, shuffling back into his living room with a mild frown on his face as he pulls out his mobile. It's a cheap, battered Nokia model that Joel doesn't use enough to replace.

You’ve barely turned the curb when your own phone buzzes, and you pull it out of the pocket of your jacket. 

from: joel. 10:39 PM  

pls call if getting murdered 

You can’t stop the slight chuckle that falls over your lips, and it makes the guy driving you look over, giving a tentative grin. “What’s funny?” 

“Sorry,” you say, shaking your head with a smile as you type a reply, “Just something stupid,” 

to: joel 10:40 PM

i’ll try my best

You don't see Joel for the rest of the week, which is really only a few days if you think about it.

You hear his truck, the sound of his deep voice floating through the Miller's open back doors and windows as he hollers through the house for Sarah or Tommy, you can even hear them come up their front driveway if you're in the living room, but you don't see him.

You haven't seen Joel, and yet you think you're going a little crazy, because you're still thinking about him.   

You don't know what's consuming you, but every time you hear him around the neighborhood, your thoughts redirect to him, to your interactions. . . and then your mind starts to wander. . . you think about how his hands might feel running over your body, gripping the dips of your hips, how it would feel to kiss him, trace your lips over the curves of the muscles in his chest–

"Kiddo, you still with me?"

Your dad's voice interrupts your train of thought, and your mind returns to the present situation, which is you putting the plates your dad is handing you in the dishwasher.

"Hm?" you return, and your Dad chuckles.

"What's got you so deep in thought, hm? You've been absent all day,"

You give a shrug, taking the plate he's handing you and leaning over to slot it into the dishwasher. "It's nothing Dad. . . just thinking about my book,"

"Since when is book code for boys?" your dad chuckles, and your eyes widen as you look at him, thinking you've been made.

But how the hell could he know what you'd been thinking?

"What?" you bring out, and your dad smiles knowingly.

"You've been like this ever since you went out for those drinks," he tells you, raising an eyebrow, "You may be older, but you're still my little girl. . . I can read you like a book,"

You make a note of how happy you are that your dad can't actually read your thoughts like a book, because you're pretty sure if he could he'd be shipping you off to a convent right about now.

You give a small smile. "You got me,"

You figure it's easier to explain you've been thinking about some guy you'd had three drinks with and never plan on calling again instead of confessing to your dad that last night you'd had the possibly dirtiest dream about the very man he likes to invite over for monthly poker nights.

"You seein’ him again tonight?" your dad asks, and you shake your head with a chuckle.

"No," you say pointedly, "Tonight it's just me and some friends,"

"Alright," your dad says with a nonchalant raise of his hands, before your eyes fall on the clock hanging on the wall.

"I should be going soon, actually," you say, and your dad nods, "Laura said she'd be by around eight thirty–"

At that precise moment, you hear a honking noise from the street, and as you peer through the window, you see Laura's fern green Toyota Corolla parked on the curb in front of your house. 

"That's my cue," you say with a smile, before grabbing your purse from the dining table and leaning in to kiss your dad on the cheek, "See you later, dad,"

"Have fun honey," your dad says, and as you walk to the door of the kitchen, he adds, "If you need a ride home, call me, alright?"

"I will," you holler over your shoulder, before you step through the corridor and swing the door open.

It's somewhere after 8:30 PM, and the sun has only just started setting in the sky. It's mid-July, so it's still warm out, but you find that the evening heat and humidity is a little less oppressive than during the day. Nevertheless, you're not wearing anything but the silk slip dress you'd had on all day, deciding not to bring a cardigan at the last minute, guessing you’d be fine.

Laura honks again as you step out of the door, and as you make your way towards her car, she leans out the driver's seat and whistles. "Well hello there, hot stuff!"

You let out a laugh, shaking your head and your cheeks burning slightly as you wave her off. You'd met Laura at college in Seattle; you'd been in the same statistics class, and it had been pure chance when you'd become friends after you'd pointed out her Texas Longhorns shirt, which had led to you telling her your parents had just moved to Austin from Galveston, which happened to be where Laura was from.

"Shut up," you tell her jokingly as you pull open the car door, before getting in, "How are you doing?"

Laura is a short girl, with fair, freckle dotted skin and hair the color of rust. Her usual chartreuse green eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, and she gives you a smirk as she tilts her head down, giving you a look over them.

"All good here, doll," she says, before pushing her sunglasses up her forehead into her hair, "How was your day?"

"Good," you say with a nod, before you watch as Laura's eyes shift to something over your shoulder, eyebrows creeping up her forehead.

"Is that your neighbor?" she asks, and you turn in your seat to look at where she's staring, "You never told me he looked like that!"

True enough, Joel is standing in his driveway talking to Tommy, who's leaning out of the window of his truck, cigarette between his lips. He's wearing those same ratty beige shorts you've come to know so well, and a grimy grey t-shirt covered in black grease marks, undoubtedly from working in the garage all day. He still looks good, despite the sweat and the grime, shirt hugging his biceps and chest in just the right way and hair mussed on his head.

"It's criminal," you mutter, and Laura laughs, before you watch as the Miller's front door flies open and Sarah bounds down the path, purple backpack slung over shoulder.

"That his daughter? The one you babysit?" Laura asks, and you hum in agreement, "Jesus. . .who knew they made daddies so yummy, these days,"

"Maybe we shouldn't be staring," you realize suddenly, very aware of the fact that Joel could move his head any minute and spot you ogling him. He's probably already noticed you when Laura had honked at you from the front door.

"Hey, it is my human right to stare at your hot neighbor," Laura defends, before giving you a look, "You tried anything with him yet?"

"Laura!" you let out, trying to act as though you hadn't been flirting with Joel for the better part of two weeks, but she doesn't buy your tone, and lets out a full laugh.

"I knew it!" she says, shaking her head again with a smirk, "I can't blame you, doll. . .anything?"

"No," you say pointedly, "I mean, maybe. . . probably not,"

At that precise moment, you hear a call of your name, and your eyes widen to watch Sarah giving you an enthusiastic wave from where she's half-way into the passenger seat of Tommy's truck. You try not to look too guilty as you wave back at her, eyes shifting to Joel for a second only to find him looking at you with a half-amused smile. Laura gives another short honk and waves herself as your eyes shift quickly back to Sarah, before chuckling to herself, polite smile plastered on her face, "He's looking at you,"

"Drive, please," you mutter back through your smile, and she snorts as you turn back to her.

"You ready to have some fun?" she asks, wiggling her eyebrows, and you giggle, humming.

"As long as it involves a significant amount of drinking, I'm happy," you tell her, and she laughs loudly.

"Trust me," Laura says with a chuckle, before turning back to front and shifting the gear, foot stepping on the gas, "I know just the place,"

To give Laura credit, the bar is fun.

It isn't too busy, nor too empty, and the music is good, at just the right volume to have a conversation without having to yell.

You're about three beers in, one of which was paid for by one of the two guys that had sidled up to you and Laura about half an hour ago. They were cute enough, and Laura seemed pretty taken with the one she was talking with, but your conversation was not nearly as riveting and you quickly felt your mind drifting.

Joel had been floating through your thoughts for the past few days, and seeing him earlier had lit something electric in you; he seemed to occupy your brain like a parasite, thoughts never straying far from his face, his lips, his arms–

Joel (?!)

You feel something like a jolt pass through you as your eyes register his familiar face, and you blink a few times to assure yourself it's him. But he is there, it isn't a figment of your imagination, he's standing on the other end of the bar by one of the tall tables, and he's looking at you.

You feel your cheeks start to burn as a bashful smile overtakes your features, and you look away from him with laughter in your eyes as you turn back to the guy talking sitting opposite you.

"I'll be right back," you tell him, your smile changing slightly but your voice staying honeyed and soft, "I'm getting another beer,"

"Okay," he says, looking almost a little relieved, and you bite back a smile at the fact that the poor dude is probably just as bored as you are wing manning his friend, and jumping at a chance to disrupt the semi-awkward silence.

You get up from your seat, grabbing your almost empty glass and making a beeline for the bar. From the corner of your eyes, you think you see Joel moving as well, but you don't look his way as you give the bartender a smile, setting your glass down.

"Can I have another, please?" you ask him, and he nods as he takes your empty glass from you.

Then, to your left, someone clears their throat, and you turn to find Joel standing there, giving an amused smile.

"Hello," he tells you with a chuckle, and you press your lips together in a bashful smile as you nod.

"Hi, Joel," you tell him, chuckling slightly, "Long time no see,"

"I know," Joel muses, setting his own glass down, "Was wondering when I'd run into you like this,"

When, not if.

"Didn't think you were much of a bar person," you comment, and Joel's brows raise slightly.

"You makin' assumptions?" he asks you, and you shrug, making a joking grimace.

"Just sayin', Joel," you reply, and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards into the beginning of a smirk. 

Your conversation interrupts for a second as the barman sets down your drink, and you pay for it. Then, you turn to Joel, beer in hand.

“Well, I'm going to enjoy my beer, which I can have," you say, your tone a joking reference to earlier.

"Yeah, yeah. . . what gets me is that you only think you've been made now," Joel says with a subtle raise of his brow.

"Oh?" you let out, and the corners of Joel's mouth twitch upwards into that smirk again.

"Sweetheart, I've been watching you all evening,"

Oh.

The moments his words reach your ears you feel something sending a small shockwave through your system, and your thighs involuntarily clench, which you try to cover it up with a small scoff.

"Guess I'm not as subtle as I initially thought," you mutter, and Joel lets loose a soft chuckle as he shakes his head.

"I've seen you throw back like 4 beers already, aren't you starting to feel it a little?" he jokes, and you scoff.

"This is my fourth, so no,” you say pointedly, before you press your lips together in a second of silence, "Okay I may be starting to feel it,"

"Alright," he says with a laugh and a raise of his eyebrows, before he finishes the beer at the bottom of his glass, setting it down on the bar next to you when he's done.

"You let me know when you want to go home," he informs you, and your brow creases into a frown as you stand up a little straighter.

"What?” you ask him, and Joel gives you a look, "Joel, no–. . . I'm a big girl. I came here on my own just fine, I can find my way home,"

"I'd still feel better if it were me taking you home," Joel replies in a tone that makes it clear he isn’t going to argue about it, and you suppress a sigh as you feel a shiver run down the back of your neck at his words.

Christ, this man had you in his grip. 

"This is sort of ridiculous. . . I'm an adult, you know," you tell him eventually, and he gives you a dry smile.

"Indulge me, sweetheart,"

He's been a lot more liberal with the nickname lately than you think he's ever been, and it does something to you; every time it falls over his lips, your heart skips and your breath falters, leaving you scrambling to act completely normal about it.

"Fine," you give in, shaking your head with an eye roll, before you push off of the bar, your fourth drink in hand, "But I wouldn't wait around, Joel,"

Joel does wait around, and rightly so, because after another two hours, you've had enough.

You're not quite drunk, but you find that the alcohol you have drunk is not combining well with the exhaustion of a bad nights' sleep. Laura's been talking to the same guy who'd been by your table for about two hours, and even though his friend had tried chatting you up again, you'd been too distracted by Joel standing on the other side of the bar to be even remotely interested in what he was saying. Finally, you decide to bite the bullet.

"I'm sorry," you tell the guy with a small smile, before putting a hand on Laura's arm, who is deep in conversation with the other guy, "I think I'm headed home,"

"You all right?" she asks immediately, and you nod with a small smile.

"Yeah, just exhausted. . . lack of sleep catching up to me a little," you tell her, and she nods.

"Alright, I'll take you home," she says with a nod, reaching for her purse but you shake your head, giving her arm a squeeze.

"No, no! You stay here and have fun. . . Joel offered me a ride home," you tell her, and you watch as she bites back a smile, raising an eyebrow as her eyes quickly flick over to the bar to look for him.

"Okay," she says knowingly as she looks back at you, before she tries to cover up her smirk, "Get home safe, doll,"

“You too,” 

You excuse yourself, and spot Joel leaning across the bar slightly, saying something to the bartender over the music, not immediately noticing as you walk to him. He only turns to look at you as he feels your fingers graze his arm lightly to get his attention.

"So," you say, your tone joking, "You still want to get out of here?"

To your surprise, Joel's mouth twitches into an amused smile at the double-entendre, which makes you smile slightly, and nods.

"Sure," he says with a knowing look, before he finishes off the rest of his beer, setting it down and saying goodbye to the bartender. He turns to you, pushing off the bar and motioning wordlessly for you to walk ahead, which you do. As you step through the thinning crowd of people in the bar, you swear you can feel Joel's fingers graze the small of your back, but the minute you notice, they're gone again.

The minute you step outside, you shiver slightly, and Joel frowns at you as you walk towards his car. 

"Didn't you bring a sweater?"

You shake your head. "It wasn't this cold when I left. . . besides, I left my usual cardigan on your couch, I think,"   

Joel had only noticed it the next morning, when he'd been sitting in front of the TV with his coffee and suddenly his nose had filled with the smell of you, which had startled him, until he'd spotted your cream cardigan stuffed unceremoniously in the corner of the couch.

Joel gives a hum as you reach the car, and you waste no time getting in the passenger seat, the car offering little extra warmth. Joel gets in, and for a second there's silence as he fastens his seatbelt and puts the key in the ignition, starting the car.

"Sarah at Tommy's tonight?" you ask him, and he hums as he puts the car in reverse, arm coming against the side of your headrest as he turns to look behind him. You feel something flutter in you as your gaze falls on the side of his face, but his eyes remain focused on behind him, oblivious to his effect on you.

"She's at a sleepover," he tells you, "Tommy just took her there,"

You nod in understanding, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you process this information, and finally Joel turns back to the wheel as he pulls out onto the road, eyes crossing yours furtively.

"Thanks for taking me, by the way," you say, and Joel nods, "Didn't mean to put an end to your night,"

"No problem, sweetheart. . . it was getting kind of stuffy in there, anyway," he tells you, and you chuckle lightly, before you turn to look out of the window.

"Spoken like a true old man," you say, under your breath, but Joel obviously still hears it, because he snorts.

"At least I'm not drunk after 4 beers," he counters, and your head snaps to look at him as you frown jokingly.

"I'm not drunk," you defend, and Joel chuckles.

"Really? Is that why you sat through an hour and a half of almost silence?"

You feel your breath stall in your throat for a second as you register that Joel had been watching you, and at least for the majority of the night for him to know this.

You purse your lips, shaking your head with a grudging smile. "He was boring. . . besides, I didn't do it for me, thank you very much, my friend was having a great time with his buddy!"

Joel nods with a hum. "You’re a good friend, then,”

His tone has a hint of teasing sarcasm to it, and it makes you raise your eyebrows in challenge. 

"Well what about you, then?" you counter, and Joel raises an eyebrow as he glances at you from the road for a second.

"What about me, sweetheart?" he inquires, and you snort, shaking your head as you look out of the window.

"I saw you turn down, like, four women," you say pointedly, before giving a sarcastic chuckle, "Not good enough for you?"

Joel just shrugs. "Nobody special,"

You let out a bark of laughter, looking back at him. "Joel Miller is picky, is he?"

Joel doesn't look at you, but you watch as he pursues his lips, corners of his mouth twitching into a smile as he shakes his head.

"Not picky," he says simply, and his eyes cross yours for another split second, before they go back to the road, "Just had my eye on something better,"

It feels like something kickstarts inside you at his words, and you try your best to keep your smile from growing as your eyes drift back to the road with a hum and a sarcastic nod.

Finally.

In no time, Joel is pulling into your familiar street, and your heart is beating a million miles per hour as he turns into his driveway, headlights illuminating his garage door. Your hands feel sweaty as he switches off the engine, and when the lights die and plunge you back into the darkness of the evening, you start to feel nervous. What if you'd been reading it wrong? What if you were about to try something that would end in a decidedly awkward situation and forever taint your trips home?

You watch as Joel starts to speak, and you panic.

"Do you mind if I come in for a sec?" you ask, and Joel's words die in his throat as you hastily add, "To get my cardigan. . . I kinda need it tomorrow,"

Joel closes his mouth, and you can't quite decipher his expression in the dark of the car, but you hear him let out a measured breath. "Sure,"

Before you know it you're standing on Joel's porch as he unlocks the door, and he motions for you to go first as the door swings inwards. The house is dark but still recognizable, and you don't even think twice as you take off your shoes, not quite decided on whether you do it out of pure habit or because you’re finding an excuse to stay. If Joel notices, he doesn't say anything about it, and as you walk deeper into the hallway, he points at the kitchen.

"Put your cardigan on the kitchen table," he lets you know, "Thought it would remind me to come over and drop it off, but uh–. . .  I ran out of time today,"

"That's okay," you say with a chuckle as you walk in the direction he's pointing, before stepping sideways into the kitchen. As you flick on the light, you hear Joel’s heavy footsteps in the hall before you hear the unmistakable creak of the couch as you assume he sits down, followed by a slight groan.

"You all right?" you call as you locate your cardigan, and you hear him hum.

"Glad to be home," he returns, "That bar gave me a headache,"

You stall in the kitchen door for a second, before you turn back on your heel and reach for a glass in the cabinet, filling it up at the tap with water. You take a deep breath, steeling the nerves bubbling in your stomach as your mind races with the thought of Joel sitting on the couch just past this room, legs undoubtedly spread and back leaning against the couch.

"The bar?" you ask, your voice humorous, "Or the beers?"

"Not usually a drinker," Joel says after a second as you switch off the tap, and make your way out of the kitchen with the glass in hand, your cardigan forgotten in the kitchen, "But Jerry kept buying em', and hell, saying no would just be bad manners, wouldn't it?"

You chuckle as you step past the threshold of the living room. Joel is sitting exactly as you imagined him, except his head is thrown back and his hand is pressed against his forehead as he lets out another heavy breath. You can just about see the rise of his bulge through his jeans when he's sitting like this, and the desire that overcomes you makes the nerves you'd felt earlier in your stomach disappear into a puff of smoke.

"And yet this is your first glass of water…getting behind the wheel after more than 3 beers?" you say in an almost chastising tone as you come around the couch. "How irresponsible of you, Mr. Miller,"

Hook.

From the corner of your eye you notice Joel's thigh clench under his jeans, foot digging into the carpet but not moving from the way he's sitting on the couch as his head moves, hand coming back down to rest on his thigh as his back straightens slightly. His eyes have moved to you, and you can feel them watching you as you put down the glass on the coffee table in front of the couch, standing straight. His gaze tracks you, so that when you're standing, Joel's eyes meet with yours, expression unreadable as you raise your eyebrows expectantly for an answer.

"Don't do that,"

His tone isn't easy to discern; the timber of his voice is a little deeper than it was a second ago, but you can hear the conflict between desire and restraint in his tone, which makes you bite back a smirk.

"Do what?" you return with a shrug, playing dumb, and you swear you see the color of Joel's eyes darken, and he clears his throat, pursing his lips.

"It's playing with fire," he warns you, and you let out a small breath of laughter as you take a step towards him, sitting on the couch, so that his head angles slightly to look at you as you get closer.

"Playing with fire," you muse jokingly, before you bend down ever so slowly, fingers going to close over an empty mug that had been left out on the small table destined for the lamp and remote. You have to bend slightly over Joel to do so, and your knee grazes his as you reach, Joel's eyes leaving your face for a second as they move over the curve of your back, and the rise of your ass, "What does that even mean?"

Line–

"It means you have to behave around me," he tells you, and for a minute you hear his usual stern tone bleed through the low and heavy pitch of his voice.

"I have to behave?" you ask, fingers leaving the mug on the table as your head moves to look at him with a raised eyebrow. Then, you move, leaning slightly over him, and Joel feels your leg move, knee coming to rest on the couch beside his thigh as your eyes never leave his, "I don't have to do anything, Joel. . . 'can do whatever I want,"

With that, you move again, leaning slightly on your knee and putting a gentle hand on Joel's shoulder in order to bring your other leg up onto the couch, so that you're straddling him, thighs over his and hands on his shoulders. It's risky, you know that, and at any moment you're half-expecting Joel to push you off of him, but he doesn't. He stays still, his eyes fixed on you.

"And what is it you want?" Joel asks, and his voice is raspy, almost breathless as he stays stiff beneath you, but you think you feel the tips of his fingers graze over your knee slightly. Your hand moves from his shoulder down his chest, nails digging slightly into the material of his shirt as you drag them down.

"I want you to touch me," you breathe, and your tone teeters on desperate, the pent-up frustration from all of this week coursing through your veins, "Please touch me, Joel,"  

–and sinker.

You can see it in the darkening of his eyes, the clench of his jaw; you know you've got him right where you want him.

"Sweetheart," Joel's voice is low, a barely controlled grumble that comes from deep down in his chest, teetering between warning and wanting as he feels your palm move over his chest lightly, "This is wrong,"

You look at him, eyes low and searching his as your nails dig into the material of his shirt. His words and the tone of his voice fuel a fire in your belly.

"I know," you whisper, and Joel can feel your breath tickle his lips, before you lean forward, lips brushing past his cheek as you lean down to whisper in his ear, "Tell me to stop. . . tell me you don't want me and I'll stop,"

Stop.

Joel wants to say it, but somehow, the words refuse to cross his lips as you take it a step further and rock your hips against him, and then he's had enough. His hands move suddenly, planting themselves on your hips firmly, fingers digging into your exposed skin as he holds you in place, stopping your movements suddenly. You pull back slightly, so that you're looking at him again, and for a second you can read it all in his eyes. They flash between lust and guilt, and for a minute there's nothing but silence filled with Joel's measured breaths.

And then, at last, Joel Miller gives in.

His lips are on yours in a second, hand moving to the back of your head to pull you in, his other arm snaking around your waist as he sits straighter and pulls you flush to him. It makes your hips move against the hardening bulge in his jeans, the sudden movement of your panties against him making you let out a small moan of surprise into his mouth as he pulls you impossibly close. Your sound is swallowed by his mouth, moving with a desperate fervor against yours, taking advantage of the parting of your lips to let his tongue explore your mouth. He practically devours you as his palm covers almost the entirety of your lower back, the heat of his skin seeming to come through your dress. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, fingers tangled in the curls of his hair as you try and grab as much of him as you can. 

It's messy, desperate, all clashing tongues and teeth as nearly two weeks' worth of tension comes to a head. You roll your hips again, this time slowly, and as you feel Joel's bulge grow underneath you, he pulls away from your lips to draw in a sharp, throaty breath.

"Fuck," he groans, eyes pressed shut for a second, before he tangles his fingers in your hair and uses them to pull your head back slightly, exposing your neck to him. Joel wastes no time running his lips over the edge of your jaw, kissing down into the crook of your neck and the column of your throat as his hand moves from your back to your shoulder, pulling down the flimsy strap of your dress. His hand moves with it, before tugging on the neckline of your dress. You let loose another moan at the action, his mouth kissing over your collarbone and moving to the side down the top of your now exposed breath.

You let out a strangled moan as Joel's lips close over your nipple, teeth grazing over the tip as he bears down on it, his hand cupping under your breast, fingers kneading into your skin.

"J–Joel," you stutter out as pleasure courses through your chest, your fingers tightening in his hair as his tongue draws illicit shapes over your nipple, before his mouth moves in hastened kisses back across the center of your chest, up your collar bone, until finally you feel his lips brush the bottom of your chin. The grip in your hair loosens, your head angled back down enough for his lips to meet yours in another searing kiss.

It's even more intense than the last, and it steals your breath, every move against his body like a shock, skin igniting with his wandering touches.

You mentally take note of how happy you are that you wore a dress tonight, because there’s nothing more than the thin material of your panties separating you, and you can feel Joel's bulge through his jeans. As Joel kisses you, his mouth slowly tracing kisses back down your jaw line, you reach for the button on his jeans, popping it, before your fingers move to the hem of his shirt. You tug, and Joel pulls away from you for a second to help you pull his shirt over his head, before he's kissing you again, your fingers undoing his fly.

It's one big rush, almost frantic, but for some reason, you can't wait any longer. Your fingers run under the hem of his underwear, while Joel's hand moves down between the two of you. Your body freezes suddenly as you feel the pads of Joel's fingers graze over your entrance. You had been so busy trying to get his pants off you hadn't even noticed him moving your panties to the side, but you can feel him as he pushes the tip of his thick, calloused middle finger inside of you.

You let out a stuttering gasp at the feeling, and you feel Joel smirk against your lips.

"Needy little thing, aren’t ya?" he whispers as he sinks the first knuckle between your folds.

Your only response is a whimpering sound as Joel pushes on, until finally his entire finger is buried in your pussy. Your eyes widen slightly at the feeling as your lips part in a breathy gasp.

"Fuck," you whisper out, and your eyes press shut and hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders as your feel Joel's finger curl inside of you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks, his voice deep and velvety, his tone like music to your ears as you feel his other hand press firmly against the small of your back, keeping you close to him.

Joel clearly knows what he's doing, because in a mere manner of minutes he has you keening against him, a combination of expletives and his name falling over your lips in pleasured breaths. The heel of his palm grinds against your clit with every stroke of his finger, and the combination of the friction and the feeling of the pad of his index pushing inside of you as well almost sends you over the edge.

"Ah–. . . oh god, Joel," you stutter out, and you feel him smirk against your skin as he kisses down your neck back towards your breasts, recognizing the way your back stiffens and your thighs clench around his, your hips rolling over his hand desperately as he curls his fingers inside you again, working you open.

"Come on, sweetheart, I got you," he breathes against your chest, trailing your collarbone with his tongue, before his head dips, "Be a good girl and come all over these fingers, hm?"

With that, you feel Joel's mouth close over your nipple again, and your orgasm crashes through you. Joel does nothing to silence your sounds of pleasure as they echo through his living room, eyes pressed shut and brow furrowed as your head tips back slightly. Your chest heaves for breath as pleasure consumes you, your hips stuttering against his hand, and his head moves, eyes watching your face with a victorious expression, enjoying the sight of your blissed-out features. Eventually your moans become pants as your heartbeat starts to slow down, and you feel Joel kiss you again, your mouth opening to let him in willingly as you feel his fingers pull out of you, making you gasp slightly against his lips.

It takes a second for you to catch your breath, but not much longer, the weeks of lingering touches having filled you with so much anticipation neither of you can wait any longer to feel the other. You move off him for a split second to allow him to lift his hips so you can drag the waistline of his jeans down, Joel's lips leaving hungry kisses against yours. Neither of you bother pulling his pants down all the way, and as your hand wraps around the length of him, Joel lets out a stuttered gasp, fingers ghosting over the hem on your panties before moving them to the side again.  

You slowly lower yourself until you feel the tip of him press up against you, before your hips stall at the feeling, your mind seemingly registering only for the first time tonight how big Joel might be. He definitely feels bigger than you'd anticipated, and your hips freeze for a second at the thought. When you look back at Joel, his eyes are already on your face, analyzing every frown, every twitch of your features to gauge a change in your mood.

"You all right there, sweetheart?" he asks you, and his tone is so different from a second ago when he'd been talking you through your climax, so gentle, it throws you a little off guard, "You still want to keep going?"

You feel your chest warm at the question and the feel of his hands placed gently on your hips, dress bunched up to your waist as his hands caress the skin underneath with gentle strokes. A smile creeps up on your lips as you lean forward to press a kiss to his lips.

"Yes," you let out a whisper, before you move your hips down and the head of his cock pushes past your folds.

Your mouth parts as you sink down onto Joel, his fingers digging into your skin as you watch his eyes close and a frown furrow itself deep in his brow. He doesn't push you down, and lets you control the pace as you work yourself down his length, which feels impossibly thick, but you find yourself enjoying the slight burn of stretching around him.

Finally, with a final push down of your hips he's buried to the hilt. The guttural groan Joel lets out, as he throws his head back slightly against the couch, mingles with your own moan as you dig your nails into his shoulders.

"Holy shit," Joel rasps out, "S'tight, baby,"

You just let out a whimpering hum, barely coherent as you feel Joel's hips press against your ass, skin igniting where it touches against his. 

He brings his head back to look at you.You're a sight to behold like this, sitting in his lap, dress hiked up to your hips and flimsy straps halfway down your arm, exposing the tops of your breasts. Your eyes are shut, brow creased in effort and concentration, full lips parted in pleasure.

"There you go," Joel goads as you try and adjust to the feeling of being impossibly full, teeth biting down into your lip, "Knew you could do it,"

"Jesus, fuck, Joel," you stutter out, closing your eyes slightly as you feel him press his forehead against yours, perfectly still as he's buried into you as far as he can go, "You're so deep,"

"I know, sweetheart, I know" he coos, and you feel his hand run soothingly over the skin of your hip, "Is that what you've been thinking about every time you're over here, hm? How deep I'd feel inside of you?"

"Y–ye–. . . oh fuck, yes, Joel," you bring out as his hands gently roll your hips, making you whimper as you throw your head back slightly, eyes pressed shut, "Not just when I'm here. . . been thinking about it all week, Joel,"

"That so?" he hums, and you feel his lips leave open-mouthed kisses down your neck, "You been touching yourself thinking about me?"

The question makes your cheeks burn, and you open your eyes looking down at Joel. His eyes shift to yours as he looks up from where he's kissing your neck, a smirk spreading across his face as he catches sight of your embarrassed expression.

"Don't go shy on me now, baby," he tells you with a deep chuckle, before you feel him move your hips upwards slightly, pulling out halfway and waiting, "Been rather bold, haven't you. . . ? Bein' all flirty, pushin' up against me when you know I can't do anything about it. . . now, answer me,"

"Y­–yes," you bring out, and with that, Joel pushes down on your hips suddenly, burying himself to the hilt once more, eyes never leaving yours. You can't stop the loud, desperate moan that falls over your lips and echoes through the living room as he does, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure courses through your body, and Joel watches with a satisfied smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

"That's bad, sweetheart," he says in a mockingly chastising, shaking his head, "Maybe you don't deserve it, then, hm? Maybe I'll just teach you a lesson instead,"

Joel's head dips again, one hand firmly on your hips, keeping you in place in his lap, the other moving up to cup your breast. His lips close over the sensitive skin of your nipple, you gasp slightly, before a moan builds in your chest. You try to move your hips, desperate to release some of the friction, to feel him thrust into you again, but Joel's hand is like a vice.

"No, baby," he rasps against your skin, before you feel his teeth nip at your nipple slightly, "You sit tight. . . don't get to move yet. . . not until I say so,"

You let out a plaintive whimper as you feel him flex inside of you, your walls fluttering around him desperately in anticipation.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you're squeezing me so tight," he groans, but still he doesn't move his hips, or let you move yours, lips resuming the onslaught on your breasts.

"Joel," you let out in a whine, and you feel him smirk against your skin.

"What is it darlin'?" he asks you, fingers digging into the skin of your hip, "Want me to move, hm? Why don't you beg for it?" 

Joel watches as your eyes open, and you use your hand, tangling it in his hair to move him off your breasts, angling his head slightly upwards, looking down into his eyes.

"I don't beg," you tell him, your voice hinting at authoritative, and you can see in his eyes that Joel likes that you're challenging him.

You feel his hand move from your chest down between you again, and you can't stop the sudden gasp that escapes you as you feel the pad of his thumb press down on your clit, rolling over it slowly.

"You do now," Joel says, raising a single eyebrow as he smirks at you, your eyes widening at the feeling of his finger drawing steady circles over your sensitive bud.

Fuck this, you think to yourself. You need Joel to move.

"P–please," you stutter out as Joel's finger speeds up, and his chest rumbles as he chuckles deeply.

"Please what, sweetheart?" Joel hums, and you give him a look, eyes flashing with slight frustration at his insistence, which makes him smirk wider, eyes knowing as he waits for you.

"Please move, Joel," you let out in a breath, "Please just fuck me,"

"Atta girl," he says finally, and then, Joel releases his grip on your hips.

It isn't gentle, and it isn't slow; your hips stutter, and he thrusts up to meet them as he pulls you down on him over and over again at a fast pace. Your brow creases as your eyes shut, arms wrapped around Joel's shoulders as you push yourself up and down his cock desperately, the feeling of him filling you repeatedly almost too good for words. Joel isn't holding back anymore, either, and both of his hands are on your hips, pulling you down onto him just as hard and as desperate as your own movements.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you let out in small breaths, "God, Joel,"  

The noises Joel is making under you are downright sinful. Deep throaty grunts with every thrust, like music to your ears, as his arms wrap tightly around your waist, keeping you close to him as you move in a rhythm.

"Shit, baby. . . that's right," he mutters, before moving one of his hands to run over your cheek, fingers burying into the hair at the nape of your neck, face so close to yours he's practically grunting into your mouth, "Feels so fucking good. . . pussy s'made for me,"

"It's all for you, Joel," you bring out between moans as he pushes up into you, "Fuck, oh god,"

The feeling of Joel is beyond words; you feel every vein, every ridge as he slides in and out of you, tip repeatedly hitting a spot deep inside you, that makes your vision spotty. You're almost ashamed to say it doesn't take long before you feel yourself getting close, and when Joel's thumb presses over your clit again, rolling in slow circles, you find yourself tipping over the edge again.

"That's right," Joel whispers against your lips and you moan into his mouth, legs shaking from your orgasm.

You know he isn't far behind you, either, by the way his thrusts are caught between speeding up and slowing down. His breath becomes shallower as his fingers dig into the flesh of your waist. As your walls flutter around him, you lean down, lips grazing from the corner of his mouth across his jaw and towards his ear.

"Come on, baby," you let out, your tone between breathy and sultry as you use the nickname he'd been using all night on you, "Want to feel you coming inside me, Joel,"

"Fuck, yeah?" Joel groans as he hears you let out another moan in his ear, your orgasm only just subsiding, "Fuck, shit. . . I'm coming,"

Your name falls over Joel's lips in a faltering breath as his hips stutter. His brow creases suddenly as his eyes press shut, before he buries his mouth against your shoulder, teeth nudging against your skin. His arms tightens around your naked chest as you feel him twitch against you, Joel's hips suddenly pressing against you so desperately he nudges something inside you that makes you whimper.

"Fuck–ah!" Joel lets out, followed by a whimpering groan against your ear as his teeth sink further into your shoulder, "Shit. . . sweetheart, ooh, fuck!"

He comes hard inside of you, no sounds filling your ears but his blissed out, whimpering moans for a second, which gradually turn into pants as his forehead comes down to rest on your shoulder, his breath against your skin.

Trying to compose yourself, you take your own regular breaths as your heart rate slows down. 

"Jesus," Joel whispers to himself as he looks up from your shoulder. Then he's facing you again, looking into your eyes as you chuckle slightly, still trying to catch your own breath.

"Good enough for you?" you joke as you raise an eyebrow, and Joel gives you a look, before his forehead falls against yours. 

"Sweetheart," he grumbles jokingly, his arms tightening around you as his eyes close and he lets out a contented breath, "I'm going to need you to do that like, 10 more times,"

You can't stop the small laugh that crosses your lips as you lean forwards and kiss him. When you pull away, you trap Joel's bottom lip between your teeth, which makes him groan deep in his chest as you pull away with a smirk pulling at the corners of your mouth.

"I think I can do that," 

writing this took it out of me, so reactions are sooo appreciated and feedback is more than welcome ღ k

a special shoutout is owed to @cutetomholland for her incredible help proofreading, so say thank you otherwise ya'll would be reading some straight shit teehee

[vintagepascal]

oh... my god? this is a fucking masterpiece HELLO??

the build up, the fucking dialogue, the detail, the voice... hook line sinker is fucking RIGHT bitch I am SAT

forreal some of the best smut I have ever read in my life pls god teach me your ways holy fuck