in the end I hope it’s you and me

He had known fear before.

He had tasted it in the metallic air before dawn, with a rifle pressed against his shoulder and his heartbeat loud enough to drown out reason. He had carried it through deserts that smelled of smoke and blood, tucked neatly between his ribs where no one could see it. Fear had always meant survival. It had sharp edges. It barked orders. It told him to keep moving.

But this fear arrived in the quiet.

In a bathroom with two pink lines. In trembling hands holding a pregnancy test. In the way she looked at him, eyes already shimmering with tears before she whispered, "Frankie..."

He forgot how to breathe.

A baby.

His baby.

For one impossible, breathtaking moment the whole world stopped spinning. He laughed first, then cried. Then laughed again because he couldn't believe both were happening at once.

He wrapped his arms around her so tightly he worried he might break her, burying his face against her shoulder while something ancient and gentle cracked open inside his chest.

"We're having a baby, mi amor."

The words never sounded real, no matter how many times he repeated them after.

And then came the real fear. 

Not the kind that came with helicopters or gunfire.

This one was crueler. Because bullets were honest. They came at you head-on. You could duck, fight back, pray your luck held out.

This? This asked him to trust the universe with two people he loved more than his own heartbeat.

He had never known love could make a man this terrified. From that day on, she hardly touched the ground. He carried the groceries before she even reached for them. Knelt to tie her shoes when her belly made it impossible. Rubbed aching feet that swore they were "fine." Learned how she liked her tea, how many pillows made her back hurt less, which side of the bed she slept best on now.

He kissed the stretch marks before they had even fully been visible. Cradled her bump every night and spoke to their unborn child, as if they already understood him.

Somewhere between assembling cribs and painting nursery walls and arguing over names they both secretly already loved Frankie stopped looking over his shoulder.

Stopped waiting for the next disaster. Stopped believing happiness was only ever borrowed. Because suddenly the future wasn't something to fear anymore.

It had a heartbeat.

And somehow, without taking a single breath, that tiny human had already rerouted the entire course of his life.

Then came the day. The longest day he'd ever lived.

Her hand nearly crushed every bone in his, he didn't care.

She cried. He cried. She screamed with all her might. He whispered every prayer he'd forgotten he knew. Bargaining with a God he didn’t even fully believe in.

"Please let her be okay."

Hours blurred into one endless torment.

Until a sharp and small cry filled the air. The kind of sound that split the universe clean in two. And then a nurse placed the tiniest person Frankie Morales had ever seen into his arms.

His entire world. Six pounds of miracle. Loved from the moment they hadn’t been more than two pink lines and a flicker on a screen.

He stared down at the tiny bundle in his arms, afraid to blink. 

And just like that the soldier was gone. 

Not erased. Just gently set down beside the man he'd become in one single breath. 

His knees nearly gave out, he laughed through tears that refused to stop falling. Not quiet ones he'd learned to hide. These came from somewhere so impossibly deep they felt older than language itself.

Relief, wonder and a gratitude so enormous he had no place inside himself to put it so it burst out of him and spilled over. 

He pressed the gentlest kisses against the baby's impossibly soft head of unruly curls, just like his own.

Then he looked at his girl. Exhausted, hair damp with sweat. Eyes heavy and still by far the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

More beautiful now, because she had done the impossible. She had carried their flesh made love beneath her heart and somehow brought it safely into his arms.

Finally he leaned down to her, kissing her hair again and again. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice breaking beneath the weight of everything he couldn't possibly fit into two words.

She smiled that tired, crooked smile he'd fallen in love with years ago.

He thought he'd loved her then. But watching her become a mother rewrote every definition he'd ever had for love.

She hadn't just given him a child, she had given him tomorrow. 

And for the first time in a lifetime spent surviving Frankie wasn't fighting for another sunrise. He was living for every single one that came after.

thanks for reading 💌

moodboard done by my better half @rhapsodyofdarkness <3

main masterlist • ko-fi

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

"Frankie, kiss me", you utter these words like a plea, you feel, in this instant, that if he doesn't kiss you, you might wither away. He looks stunned for an instant. You wonder if you should just turn around, open your door and forget everything, or grab his shirt and bring his mouth to yours. But you don't have to make a decision. His frozen state barely lasts, and he cups your jaw, guiding your face to meet his and kisses you like he is afraid you will change your mind.

The kiss, it's everything. It's both a little messy, a kiss exchanged by two people who don't know each other's lips, but also like a breath of air and a mouthful of dessert. Lips slowly discovering each other, delicately, like you are both fragile. Frankie's hand travels from your jaw to cradle the back of your neck, and you let out a sigh into his mouth, as your own hands travel to his torso, one up to his neck and hair, the other exploring the wide chest and shoulders. That alone brings a different energy to the kiss. All caution is gone; his other hand grabs your waist, and you both bring your bodies together, like powerful magnets attracting each other. Frankie pushes you against your door, and you grab his ass, showing him he can crush you, try to merge with you. You need to feel his weight on you as his tongue and yours get acquainted.

When the kiss breaks, you feel light heated. Frankie doesn't leave your body long, his mouth travels to your jaw and neck in a delicious trail that leaves you breathless.

"Frankie, do you want… do you want to come in?" It takes him a moment to register what you just said, but when it does, he breaks away to look at you before asking, "Are you sure?" which makes you melt a little.

"It's either that or my neighbors will get quite a show." He nods, and you turn around, getting your keys out of your purse while Frankie's hands travel your waist and stomach and his mouth goes back to your neck. You fumble with the key and the lock, which prompts you and him to laugh, but eventually you manage to open the door and get inside. What happens next is both a slow and rushed trip to your bedroom, rushed because you both shed each other's clothes, kissing, touching, looking. Slow because every so often you are pinned to a wall while Frankie's mouth discovers the newly exposed part of your body: shoulder, breast, nipple. You return the favor when you finally arrive at your bedroom; you push him on the still closed door, hands down his chest, following the trail of hair from his navel, opening his jeans and kneeling in front of him.

"Wait, wait, you don't have to do this, we don't even have to do anything." Frankie's hand is on your cheek, but you don't listen, and you start kissing his erection over his boxers. The hiss he utters makes you smile, while your hands drag his pants down his legs, then trace their way back up to his ass while you continue kissing until he moans.

"Fuck." He drags you back up, his eyes boring into yours, pupils wide, his kind brown eyes are now almost black, and he looks almost feral. "I'm gonna need you to stop. It's been a while, and I want this to last."

You can barely talk, all you do is nod and open your bedroom door. He tries to follow but almost trips on his jeans and exclaims "mierda [shit]," sighs, and adds, "damn boots!" You can't help laughing while he has to crouch down to untie his shoes and take his jeans off. You take that time to take off your pants and crawl backward on your bed, eyes never leaving his.

You don't have to wait long until you feel his body over yours and the kissing and groping starts again, this time with more passion, his hand going straight between your legs, over your panties, making you moan. His mouth travels to your breast, licking and sucking your nipples, one after the other, while his bold hand explores your soaked pussy, a slow tracing of your folds, your entrances, your clit. Your eyes are half open, trying to make sense of everything, of how the night you were supposed to meet Di's boyfriend ended up with you almost naked in bed with the coworker you've been crushing on hard. The fact that this mouth is trailing a path down your stomach, your mound, his nose tracing over your clit, with so much delicacy it felt like torture.

"Frankie." You don't know why you say his name. Maybe because you want tangible proof he is here, with you, that this isn't just a dream, that the large hands that hold your hips are indeed real, as is the man who inhales you and moans, who looks up when you call his name, mind gone, eyes unfocused, drunk in the moment. "Frankie." You say his name again, this time with so much affection, with so much need, while one hand grips his, grounding you in the moment, the other reaching for his face, to touch his cheek, to feel him in this moment. Your eyes hold each other, and you hope he understands what's going through your mind, because you barely know yourself. It's the tenderness and the heat of the moment that has you on a ledge, ready to fall into whatever this is, in the safety of Frankie's presence. And he does understand; he is ready to catch you, intertwining his fingers with yours, turning his head to kiss your palm, eyes closed in the reverence of the moment. And when his eyes look back at you, you see that not only will he catch you, but he will be with you during the fall, cradling you to make sure you are OK.

"May I?" He asks as his hands grip the panties.

"Yes." There is no need for more words, and you let him remove the last piece of clothing, your head falling back as his tongue slowly drags between your folds, little licks that make you gasp, his hands steadying you. He takes his time, and you savor every instant, letting your pleasure slowly climb. You don't feel like you need to rush to your climax, the way Frankie licks and kisses tells you he wants to take his time, discovering you, understanding every little gasp, moan, and eventually cries you utter. You don't know how long you revel in this moment, but soon you can't take it anymore; the slow drag of his tongue at your entrance, around your clit, barely grazing it, is torture. Your hand caresses Frankie's forehead, brushing away the curls damp with his sweat. He doesn't stop, only moans sinfully and drags his eyes up to yours. "Frankie." This time you plead, you beg, you need more. "Please, I can't take it anymore."

You feel him smile on you and his large hands grip your thighs tighter, bringing you closer to his mouth and he starts eating you like a starved man, open mouthed kisses around your hole, tongue fucking you, dragging up and encapsulating you clit, his grip preventing you to move, even if the sensation has you pulling slightly at his hair on the back of his head, the pleasure so intense after the slow torture you were subjected to.

"Fuck, Frankie!" You cry out, as he continues, unrelenting, driving you up and up, "Frankie." It seems that in the height of your pleasure, his name is the only word you know. "Frankie!" you shout one last time, eyes opening wide and back arching from the bed as you come hard, while he prolongs your orgasm, kissing and licking, bringing you to the edge of overstimulation, stopping only when he senses it, moving his mouth to your inner thigh, and kissing slowly back up your body, letting you regain your senses.

"Holy shit, Frankie, what was that?" you exclaim when his body lies next to yours. And you can see past the small smug look, a blush on his cheeks. You laugh and bring him to you so you can kiss him, your taste and his mingling in a kiss that brings back the heat between both of you.

Your hand goes to his boxers, sliding it under, your thumb grazing his slit, making him gasp, and gathering some precum as you slowly start stroking him, while your other hand drags the fabric down, until he finishes removing it himself.

"We don't have to do more, I promise, but I would very much like to fuck you." His eyes are two black wells drowning you in lust.

"Then fuck me." You don't think you ever demanded like that to be fucked, or maybe you just don't remember, but in this moment, the hunger he shows for you makes you feel like you are a goddess, the most beautiful woman he has ever laid his eyes on as he sits back on knees and let's his gaze wonder on your body, drinking in every little inch of skin you display.

Just as you are about to sit up and crawl to his cock, wanting to taste him before looking for a condom, a phone chimes.

"Shit!" Frankie exclaims and looks at you with apology. "I have to take it, it might be nothing, but if something has happened to Mia–" You cut him. "Of course, go! Don't worry."

He gives you a peck on the forehead and gets up to find his phone that is still ringing. When he sees the caller, Frankie swears again, goes down the hallway as he answers, "Pope, what the fuck." and you can't help admiring his naked ass as he walks further away.

With a sigh, you plop back on your bed. You can tell he's going to have to leave, and you feel a crushing disappointment. But you also know that what happened tonight isn't just a one-time thing. If he leaves tonight, you will see each other again. This is just a beginning.

Frankie comes back, and you see he has picked up the trail of clothing on his way back. He sits down on the edge of the bed, next to your lying form.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. Tom got in a fight, and he's in jail. I'm meeting Santi and Will to bail him out. I don't want to leave, but I don't want to leave them to take care–"

"Frankie, it's OK, don't worry." You sit up and settle next to him, giving him a tender kiss. "Just go, Frankie. And let me know when you get back home, OK?"

He smiles at you. "Scared something might happen to me?"

"Let's say I tend to be a worrier, so even if I'm sleeping, I'll be happy to have a text from you when I wake up."

"You know, you don't have to go through an elaborate scheme; I'll text you anyway," Frankie smirks and then has the audacity to wink. You playfully push his shoulder, embarrassed that his wink makes you feel flustered. "Go put on some clothes on that pretty butt of yours."

"I knew you were staring at my ass." He playfully answers as he gets up and starts dressing up. You put back on your panties and t-shirt and walk him to your front door. Before going out, Frankie turns to you and apologizes one last time.

"I'm really sorry to leave, but I would love to take you out soon."

"It's OK, Frankie, you are a good friend. But I'm counting on you to make sure we can pick up where we left off eventually."

"Believe me, I want that very much."

And with one last kiss, admittedly a little too long for someone who is expected at the police station to bail out his friend, you closed your door after Frankie waved goodbye.

Back in bed, after quickly replying to Di's text, "Girl, what happened? Are you OK? Also, Frankie drove you home? I'll need a debrief! But seriously, I hope you are OK. Text me." After your nighttime routine, you toss and turn in bed. Deciding you won't fall asleep, you get up to make yourself some herbal tea and sit back in bed with a book, hoping sleep will find you despite the many thoughts spinning in your head. Your phone lights on your nightstand and you see a text from Frankie.

Hey, just got back home. Sorry again for everything. Would you be free this week for dinner?

You smile at his text, and an idea pops in your mind. Instead of answering him, you fire a question.

Would you have stayed the night after we fucked? A few dots appear on your screen, and you watch, transfixed, hoping for a positive answer.

If you had asked, yes.

I would have asked you. Your reply is quick, and before he has time to say anything, you add: What would you have done tomorrow?

I'd have taken you out for breakfast. You smile wide

Are you free tomorrow for a late breakfast? You ask, deciding you don't want to wait.

I am.

Good. So am I.

You don't get an answer as quickly as the others, but you see the dots appearing and disappearing, and you stay hopeful.

So if I came to pick you up at 9, would it be too early? You check the time, it's a little over 1 AM.

Nope, not too early.

I'll be there.

I 'll be ready. Good night, Frankie.

Good night, mi tormenta [my storm].

Frankie wakes up early, and his first thoughts are for you. A smile spreads on his face and doesn't leave while he showers and prepares coffee, even while he tidies the living room and kitchen, making sure he doesn't make too much noise so as not to wake up Santi. They stayed up late, after they came back from the police station, talking about what happened and how they could help their friend. Will had volunteered to let Tom crash at his place, knowing Frankie probably wouldn't be a welcome face when Tom woke up. Yet, even the thought of all of that doesn't take away anything from Frankie's happiness.

"You are awfully cheerful for someone who barely slept." Santi's words make Frankie jump, he had been standing up at his kitchen counter drinking coffee and staring into nothing, a stupid smile on his face.

"¡Puñeta! Me asustaste. [Fuck! You scared me.]"

"I can see that. Thinking about your girl?"

"¡Cállate! [Shut Up!]"

"I see you've cleaned pretty much everything. You should've waited for me. How long have you been up?"

"Since 7. My internal clock is on full Mia mode. I just wanted to keep busy."

"Give me some of that coffee, and I'll take care of the backyard. Get ready, you have a date."

Of course, last night Santi had badgered Frankie until he had spilled that he was at your place when Santi called. And Santi had witnessed the text exchange.

"You like your girls like a natural disaster. Your daughter is a tornado, and your new girl is definitely a storm, quiet until she will destroy you if you piss her off." He had snickered when Frankie had smiled while writing to you.

When you open the door, Frankie's back is turned to you. He spins around, and you are struck by how handsome he is. Despite the dark circles that enhance his tired look, his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you, and your breath catches. His t-shirt looks soft and stretches around his arms and shoulders, and his hair looks wet under his hat. You can feel his eyes roam around your body while yours do the same. When your eyes both meet again, the shy smile on your face matches his blush.

"Hi." How can you be shy when the lips you are staring at made you come only a mere few hours ago?

"Hi." He probably thinks the same because he looks at the ground, still smiling, his dimple drawing you in, "Are you ready?"

"Yeah, let me get my stuff."

Sitting in his car while Frankie drives, you're both silent, and the air is charged. In an attempt to break the ice, you start to speak, but it seems he has the same idea.

"Where are you–"

"I was thinking of–"

You both laugh, and instantly the tension leaves the car.

"I was going to ask where you were taking me."

"A diner I like. It's not far from here. They have a very good breakfast."

And indeed, a few minutes later, he parks in front of an old building. Around the corner sits the diner. The sign is old, but you can still make out the name 'Mel's Diner'. Inside, the place is bustling with clients and servers. The place looks exactly like what an old diner in a movie would look like. A little derelict, seats and tables a little faded, but clean, and the smell, a mixture of pancake, bacon, and coffee, is heavenly.

A waitress arrives to seat you and instantly recognizes Frankie.

"Frankie! You're here to join Benny?"

"I'm what?"

"Let me take you to them." She barely hears Frankie's astonishment, and starts walking to a table a little further down, where, sure enough, you spot Benny and Di, seated in front of copious plates.

"I had no idea–" Frankie turns to you to apologize, but his sentence is cut short by Di screeching your name and waving your way.

"Oh my god! How funny! Come and sit!"

You can't help but smile, turning to Frankie. "I guess we don't have much of a choice," and you go sit next to Di, who scoots over to leave you some room, immediately hugging you and whispering in your ears, "I'm gonna need a full debrief!"

"Fish, what the hell?" Benny gets up to hug Frankie, and they sit back in front of you and Di. "So I guess you both had an interesting night?" Benny adds after looking at both you and Frankie with a smug smirk.

"You are worse than Diana, you know?" You answer him, which makes Frankie laugh and Di elbow your side. "Ow, what? It's true! I can see why you like each other, you live for gossip."

"Fine, I won't comment on the fact that you both arrived together, after leaving together last night." You roll your eyes, but laugh and enjoy the fact that everything seems so easy between all four of you.

Breakfast does end up being not only delicious but really fun. Without going into full details, Frankie manages to tell Benny a bit of what happened last night with Tom, since Benny and Di left shortly after you did. You purposefully left Di in the dark about what had happened exactly with Frankie, but when you both leave together, she can't help but make another crude comment. You flip her off before leaving the diner, which has her and Benny howling.

Frankie drives you back home, all along wondering how he could stop time. He doesn't want this date to end. He doesn't want to go home and fall asleep alone in front of the TV, because he knows that's what's gonna happen after the shitty end of the night he had. Right now he wants to spend time with you. Even if breakfast ended up being fun, he hadn't planned it to end up as a double date, and he feels robbed.

He barely has time to turn off the ignition before you turn to him, biting your lower lip before saying, "Do you want to come in? I mean I'm probably going to crash in front of my TV, so I'm not like, offering more, but since we didn't end up having a proper date, I thought you might want to come in for some coffee, or, I don't know–"

"Yes, I'd love to. I'm exhausted, but I don't want to go home. But let me warn you, I'll probably fall asleep on your couch in front of a shitty show."

"Look at us! Two sexy adults ready to have the time of their lives by taking a nap."

"Right now this sounds better than sex." Frankie is happy to see you laugh, head.

"Come on then, let's take a nap."

You lead him inside your house. He takes more time to look around. It's a decent-sized house, with an open kitchen, a nice-sized living room that opens to a small backyard that seems a little shabby. You seem to follow his gaze because you say, as an apology, "I haven't lived here long, and I was never good at gardening."

"I can help if you want."

You smile shyly and walk to him, putting your hands on his shoulders. "That's really nice, maybe." And then you lift your head to kiss him. His hands automatically wrap around your waist. The kiss is soft, just at the edge of desire. Like you both want to explore each other, but there is also some languor to it. He feels your hand pull off his hat, before breaking the kiss and taking his hand.

"Come, let me show you my pride and joy." You pull him into the living room, to a plush corduroy burgundy couch that looks soft and comfortable.

"I paid a lot to have something on which I could fall asleep without hurting my back."

He mimics you as you take off your shoes. The seating is wide and can easily hold two people lying across it. He sits next to you and follows your lead when you lie down, his back to the back of the couch, his arms wrapping around you as you nestle comfortably, your back to his chest.

"Wow, OK the couch is really comfortable." Frankie sighs, letting himself melt into the arms of the seating, which feels soft while giving support.

"Told you." You sigh contentedly, and your breath soon evens out. He falls asleep soon after you.

You wake up slowly, the feeling of comfort and warmth keeping you from opening your eyes. You don't know if Frankie is awake yet, and you want to stay a moment in his arms. His arm is heavy across your waist. The feeling of soft lips on your shoulder, and the slight tingle from his mustache make you smile.

"Have you been awake long?" you ask him, eyes still closed, savoring his lips slowly tracing a path from your shoulder to your neck.

"Only a few minutes. I slept like a log."

"Mm mm, me too."

His large hand splays on your stomach, under your top, his thumb gently caressing, while his kisses travel back to your shoulder. Your own hand travels behind you, reaching for the back of his neck, fingers lightly scraping his scalp. And your other meets his hand on your stomach, fingers interlacing. You both stay like this, enjoying the quiet, until his hand leaves yours to travel down your body: down your hip, down your thigh, and you nestle your ass closer to him, feeling him getting hard behind you. You turn your head, and your lips meet for a slow kiss, one that is a little messy, lips not fully catching each other's, his tongue tracing your lower lips, making you moan slowly.

You spin in his arms to face him, giving you full access to his face and mouth. You feel his hand grab your ass, turning the moment into something more passionate, messier. You feel the need inside you grow, and you bite his lower lip. He groans in your mouth, and in a movement, you are under him, his weight delicious on your body. You feel his hard cock pressing against your core, and you move your hips, trying to get more friction.

"Cosa linda [Pretty thing], you are going to kill me." Frankie's low voice reverberates in your ears, and to prove his point, you wrap your legs around him, bring him closer, elated in the sensation of him rutting against you, of his hands traveling over your body, your own griping his shoulders.

"Frankie, I want you naked."

"Mierda [shit], I need you to be naked, mi tormenta [my storm]."

"Then why are we still dressed then?" you laugh, pushing him so you can sit up, taking off your tank top while Frankie removes his t-shirt, kissing again, the process of removing your clothing slowed down by the kissing and biting and licking. Finally you can look at Frankie's glorious body, you feel overwhelmed, almost shy when you see him looking at you in turn, as you lie down, his eyes roaming everywhere, now that daylight allows him to see you fully.

"You are so beautiful." He breaks the silence with these words, and your first reflex is to fold your legs and hide your face with your hands. It's a sentiment you hadn't felt in so long, feeling exposed, not because you are naked, but because he looks at you with more than just lust. His gaze is pure openness and admiration.

"Shh, don't hide. Is everything OK?" He gently pulls your hands away, looking worried.

"Yes, I promise." You grab his face and kiss him. "I felt a little... I don't know, intimidated, I guess."

"We can stop, if you want."

"No, I don't want to stop. I need you."

Lying between your legs, Frankie gently kisses you, both arms around your head. Kissing you until you are a puddle under him, ready to beg for him to fuck you. He reaches to grab his pants, pulling out a condom from his wallet.

Sitting up, he opens the wrapper, but your hands go to his, taking the condom from him and slowly putting it on his cock. You watch Frankie close his eyes, head back, hissing like the pleasure borders pain, as you slowly unfold the condom and stroke him a few times.

Settling back on you, he notches his tip at your entrance, slowly entering you. You both gasp, the feeling enveloping you both in the moment. You feel the delicious stretch of him inside you and then the slow and deep rhythm he sets. You both move, like one, your forehead touching, eyes boring into each other. Frankie lifts one of your legs and sets it on his shoulder, shifting slightly. You feel him deeper and deeper, your eyes closing from the intense pleasure that rises inside your body, enveloping you. You grip Frankie's shoulders, nails scratching him, but you barely notice; your cries cover his own moans, and it feels like you are now both rising together, pleasure taking you in its wake, higher and higher, until you come hard, taking Frankie with you seconds after, holding each other, falling together, and floating back as one, in a deep kiss.

Javier’s been restless for days, waiting for you to wake up from your surgery. He’s been stuck to the same chair in the lobby, going back and forth between it, the vending machine, and the restroom. In his life, he’s seen things no one could ever imagine, but he’s never been more terrified than he is now.

His leg bounces with apprehension, body slouched over with his hands clasped together. Every now and then, Steve comes back with an update on Jerónimo’s condition and it’s the same as yours. 

He understands why your father isn’t awake yet, but you should be already. The man lost entirely too much blood to even be alive right now but they’re in a place full of miracle workers; he was bound to be saved.

From what the doctors told him that day, it was the pure shock of the situation that made you pass out and not your wound. All the blood he had on his hands and clothes after carrying you inside made him beg to differ, but he didn’t have the energy to argue.

The stale air made his head pound as he washed his hands, scrubbing aggressively to get everything off. He should’ve fucking waited. Waited until you got out of the house, waited until you verbally told them to come in. But the second he heard your father’s hand make contact with your face, he ordered everyone to move in without thinking twice.

Everything played out like a nightmare that you have trouble waking up from: men from both sides taking bullets, blood everywhere, most if not all of your family dead or arrested. And then the back and forth between him and Jerónimo, that nearly made him pull the trigger himself.

Seeing you held at gunpoint by your own father – your own flesh and blood – made him furious. Jerónimo kept pointing the gun back and forth between your head and Javier’s, unsure of who he should shoot first. If he had shot Javier, he would’ve been gunned down, and you: collateral damage. Same thing if he pulled the trigger on you first instead.

It’s hard for him not to blame the sniper for taking the open shot. Yes, it took down the drug lord, but it also took you down and now there’s a chance that you won’t wake up.

Steve sits down in the chair next to him with a heavy sigh, matching Javier’s exhausted expression. He leans his head back against the wall, squinting his eyes at the harsh fluorescent lights above them.

Nurses rush by, sneakers squeaking across the vinyl tile. News stations on various different TVs run the story of the fallen cartel, giving Colombia some semblance of hope. The air smells of strong disinfectant and sweat, a chilling breeze settling throughout the lobby.

Javier rubs his thumb across his bottom lip, looking over at his partner. “Did I fuck this up?” he murmurs, voice low.

The blonde man shakes his head faintly, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. “No, Jav. I don’t see a way how that could’ve panned out any differently.”

He goes quiet, staring up at the small TV in the corner. It’s only a matter of time before the DEA has to make a statement with the Colombian police. He’ll have to deal with reporters yelling out questions simultaneously in a conference room, overlapping one another and giving him a pounding migraine. 

The feeling he got when Carrillo died washes over him once more. All he does is fail the people around him. He had a feeling that something was going to happen to you in that house and he sent you in anyway.

With the job that he has, he’s not sure how you’d ever be safe around him. You wouldn’t be in the state that you’re in if he never approached you that night, but he also would’ve never fallen in love with you. To him, that’s the only good that may come out of this. You’ve already stated that you want to go to the states, and he’s already arranged a meeting for you at the Embassy to get a student visa so you can go to school there.

It means nothing if you don’t wake up, though.

People in Colombia have very different opinions about how everything played out. Most are grateful for the violence to finally be over but the few people that have opposite thoughts, they’re the loudest. They went as far as to call Javier reckless for how he handled this case. While he understands the frustration, they weren’t there, so he tries to ignore those as much as possible.

His main priority right now is you.

You lay under the crisp white sheets of your hospital bed, machines beeping steadily. He’s found himself in here a lot; whether it’s to hold your hand, pray – which he hasn’t done since his mother passed – or just sit in your presence.

Right now, he’s on the phone with his father, telling him everything that’s happened within the time that he’s known you. Chucho has always expressed his concerns about Javier being down in South America but he can never get through to his son. Still, he gives him his full attention when he needs it because he raised Javier.

He listens to the older man give him words of wisdom, thumb rubbing his bottom lip without thought. The sun is starting to go down, painting the room in soft golden rays as it dips towards the horizon. Visiting hours are going to end soon… but he’s managed to use his credentials as a way to stay in the hospital. Plus, there’s an unconscious drug lord under their roof, so they need the extra protection.

Steve is out handling things at the Embassy: questioning the people that were arrested, dealing with paperwork, and organizing the important stuff. To say that Javier is grateful for his partner is an understatement; Steve’s sacrifice gives Javier the space and time to sit with you without worry.

Although, he still thinks about what happens after you or your father wake up. If Jerónimo wakes up first, only God knows what he’ll end up doing. The man was and still is a ticking time bomb. If you wake up first, what are you going to do? 

The little voice in his head is telling him to send you on your way. He can get everything for you to enter the states legally, but then you need to be on your own – get away from this life and… him.

It’s not what he wants – fuck, he just wants to be wherever you are – but he’s gotten you hurt because of his job and it’s eating him alive.

“¿Qué ha pasado allá, mijo? (What’s happened down there, my son?)” Chucho asks over the phone.

Javier exhales deeply, closing his eyes and leaning back in the chair. “Es complicado, papá. (It’s complicated, dad.)”

He hears the older man sigh, probably rubbing his forehead. “They’re sayin’ that…” he starts, figuring out a way to phrase this. “People are sayin’ that you had… relations with the man’s daughter.”

Despite himself, he snorts, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Christ, where’d you hear that?”

“On the news,” Chucho answers, dousing his son in cold water and giving him a sense of reality. “Is that true?”

“That’s–”

“Also complicated?” the older man interjects his sentence, knowing his son. “Es un sí o un no, Javi. (It’s a yes or no, Javi.)”

He smooths out his mustache, glancing over at you as you rest. A pang shoots through him, unwanted tears pricking at his eyes. It all just keeps going back to this once specific thing – about how it’s his fault all of this happened. You may never forgive him and he has to deal with that, whether he wants to or not (which he doesn’t).

The good times that the two of you did have, he’ll cherish those for the rest of his life.

Seeing you in this state, he decides what he needs to do.

The world returns to you in fragments. A steady, constant beeping slips through your consciousness, a metallic taste in your mouth from disuse. You feel groggy, slowly blinking your eyes open. The first thing you notice is the white ceiling above you, then the strong antiseptic floating around in the air hitting you like a punch.

Slowly, things come back to you: your father dragging you down the stairs, the shootout between Sombras de la Cruz and the Colombian Police, being held at gunpoint, and then… nothing. Everything goes blank after that – no dreams, no light, no color – just… nothing.

You take in the room, a small lamp next to you bathing it in warmth. Light spills into the room from the hallway, the hospital is calm for now. Wilted flowers sit on the table, telling you that at least someone has been in here.

It takes most of your strength to turn your head, spotting Javier asleep in the chair next to your bed. He looks softer, wrapped up in a blanket as he slumps back in what you assume is a very uncomfortable position. 

Why didn't he just lay on the couch up against the wall?

You try to call out to him, your voice sounding more like a dying animal than coherent words. And when you move, pain shoots up your side, planting you right on your back again. With an unsteady hand, you clutch at your side, feeling the bandages beneath your gown.

A small whimper leaves you and that seems to alert Javier, hearing the leather of the chair when he moves, immediately standing up and coming to your side. He says your name gently, a smile tugging at his lips as he registers that you’re finally awake.

He pushes your hair back, pressing his lips to your forehead before pulling back slightly to whisper. “You scared the shit out of me.”

A huff of air escapes through your nose, your version of a laugh right now. You gesture your head towards the plastic cup on the side table, silently asking for water. He gives it to you without question, holding the back of your neck to help you sit up to sip from the straw.

The water soothes the dryness in your mouth and throat, ice cold liquid that you chug down embarrassingly fast. Javier doesn’t say anything, just admires your alert features with a tender look on his face. When you come up for air and lay back, he sits on the edge of the bed, holding your hand in his.

He tells you everything that’s happened while you were out, explaining to you that most if not all of Colombia knows who you are now. The news makes you sick to your stomach. If everyone knows here, it’s probably absolute hell in the U.S. 

Honestly, you never thought about how you would be perceived if that ever got out to the public. It was never something you had to worry about considering how you lived.

“... Witness protection has offered to help you for as long as you need,” he murmurs, looking down at your joined hands rather than your face.

Confusion etches across your features, scoffing at his words. “I thought we already talked about what I would do, Javier.”

He meets your gaze again when you say his full name and not a nickname, silently berating himself for this conversation already. It’s going to be hard, but the bandaid needs to be ripped off regardless.

“I know we did,” he nods, running his thumb along your knuckles. “But I could only do so much for you. I got you an interview at the Embassy for a student visa; It’s good for about 6 years… but then you have to come back here.”

You narrow your eyes, tilting your head to the side slightly. “Javi–”

“Just,” he holds out his hand, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw. “Let me finish… please.” He uses his deep espresso eyes against you, begging without really saying anything.

You lean back against your pillow, staring up at the ceiling but listening.

Javier exhales slowly, still rubbing your skin despite the tension building between the two of you. “My father agreed to help you get on your feet in Texas. He can give you a room at his ranch and pay you to work there until you go to school wherever you decide to go.”

To you, this sounds like he’s pushing you away. He hasn’t mentioned where he’ll be once during this whole fiasco. You know firsthand how difficult he can be, but is it really that bad for him to have a life with you outside of all this?

“Your father is still alive,” that catches your attention, pulling you out of your inner turmoil and drawing your attention to him. “He has a bank account set up for you and the funds were frozen for a long time.”

You raise your brows in surprise. This is news to you. The only money you’ve been using has been your own and money from your father’s credit card. Granted, the cash you have frequently has to be turned into pesos for you to use it. It’s a hassle that you hate with a passion.

“Are they still frozen?” you ask carefully, glancing at him sideways.

Despite the situation, his lips curve at the way you ask. “No, cariño. They’re not.”

“So what’s the problem?”

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, letting the silence stretch on. “None of the money was obtained legally.”

Of fucking course.

Jerónimo put drug money in your bank account, and now you’re left with absolutely nothing.

“I’ll kill him.”

Javier sighs, long and low; like he was expecting this from you. Part of him wants to amuse the comment from you because he feels the exact same way. But he has to stay serious for the both of you.

“Cariño–”

“No,” you cut him off more firmly than you mean to, all of your built up frustration tipping over. “Lo único que hace es arruinar todo lo que toca. Me saca de quicio. (All he does is ruin everything that he touches. It pisses me off.)”

He feels something simmer low in his gut at your rapid Spanish, truly seeing you angry for the first time. Now is not the time… but he can’t help it.

“Todas las estupideces que me decía antes de que todo se fuera al diablo... ¡Debería haberlo hecho yo mismo! (All the bullshit he was saying to me before everything went down… I should’ve done it myself!)”

Days pass and recovery hits you like a train. Every little movement hurts like hell and pulls at your stitches. Sure, you’re healing nicely, but that numb ache still weighs on your chest. It feels as if everything has crashed into you at once and you’re finally processing.

You go through the motions of your physical therapy twice a day, performing okay while you collapse inside. The doctor tells Javier that it’s normal for someone to feel so much grief after an accident so traumatizing. He’s not sure if the ‘accident’ is really the thing that’s bothering you, but he’s there by your side through it all.

Regardless of the full night’s rest that you get frequently, you still feel exhausted. 

Other people have been through so much worse than you, you tell yourself. Suck it up before it swallows you whole.

Unfortunately, Jerónimo wakes up when you least expect it, not able to move because of the cuffs on his wrists. He causes a ruckus that you can hear from your room when he realizes where he is, scaring children in the lobby and nurses who have never been around this kind of thing.

All you do is lay on your good side and cover your ears with the pillow.

After a while though, you manage to convince Javier to take you to your father’s room. He does it during the middle of the day – when more people are in the hospital – wheeling you towards the room. You feel small and fragile in the wheelchair, keeping your head down and your hands in your lap until the guard opens the door.

Immediately, Jerónimo snaps his head towards the sound of the door creaking, narrowing his eyes when he sees Javier before they ultimately fall onto you. Something you can’t quite name flashes across his face, although he lays back down like a defiant child.

“Hay que tener mucha cara para venir aquí, los dos (Both of you have some nerve to come in here),” his voice is rough and groggy from not using it a lot.

Neither of you say anything, Javier locking the wheels and kneeling down in front of you. His brown eyes meet yours, a silent question in them: Are you sure about this?

You nod – just barely – before reaching out your hands for his help. He eases you onto the edge of the bed, taking a small step back to give you space but also stay close enough if you need him.

The bed shifts when your father moves, absentmindedly giving you more room to be comfortable despite how he feels right now. You fidget with the gown on your body, building up the courage to make eye contact with him.

Jerónimo says your name once, prompting you to look at him. “Estoy esposado a una cama por tu culpa. ¿Qué quieres? (I’m cuffed to a bed because of you. What do you want?)”

Oh, you think. So it’s going to be that kind of conversation.

“¿Alguna vez has pensado que tal vez tú eres la razón por la que terminaste aquí? (Have you ever thought that maybe you’re the reason that you ended up here?)” you query, your voice low. “Tú eres el que lleva años haciendo negocios así. Yo no. (You’re the one who’s been doing business like this for years. Not me.)”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I did it for you.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that,” you whisper, drained completely from his foolishness. “Eres un hombre enfermo y solitario que solo sabe mentir y llamarlo amor. (You’re a sick, lonely man who only knows how to lie and call it love.)”

He seethes, gritting his teeth. “¿Podrías ser más desagradecida? (Could you be more ungrateful?!)”

The sudden yelling makes you jump in your skin, closing your eyes and hearing Javier shuffle behind you.

“Eres mi carne (You are my flesh),” he patronizes you, condescendance dripping from his words. “You wouldn’t exist if not for me!”

Rage boils over you at that comment. It almost sounds like he’s completely sweeping your mother under the rug as if she was never in your life at all. “Nunca te atribuyas el mérito de eso. (Don’t you ever take credit for that.)” You take a deep breath, pointing at him. “Mom raised me. Abuela raised me. I can even say that Frankie did, too. But you were never there!”

Jerónimo rolls his tongue over his teeth, fists clenching in the cuffs. “I have failed as a father,” he murmurs, sitting up despite the pain shooting up his side. “Me parece una locura, porque sangré, me dejé la piel y permití que me odiaran, todo para protegerte. Todo para que pudieras creer que eras verdaderamente especial. (Which is crazy to me, because I bled and toiled, and allowed myself to be hated, all for your protection. All so that you could believe that you were truly special.)”

“Don’t lie–”

“Let me finish,” he cuts you off firmly, snarling. “Pero en lugar de... agradecimiento, recibo una puñalada por la espalda de mi propia hija. ¡Enviaste a tu pandilla de amigotes a matarme — a tu propia sangre — cada maldita vez que tuviste oportunidad! (But instead of… appreciation, I get backstabbed by my own daughter. You sent in your clan of good ol’ boys to kill me – your own blood – every chance you fucking got!)”

Despite trying to stand your ground, tears prick at your eyes but you refuse to let them fall; you sit there and take his ridicule for as long as you can.

“It is you who is sad. It is you who have no comprehension of love.” 

The words cut through your soul, breaking you down piece by piece until a lump forms in your throat.

He tilts his head to the side slightly, mocking you. “¿Se te revuelve el estómago cada vez que me miras? Bueno, deja que sea yo quien te lo diga, cariño: simplemente te estás mirando al espejo. (Your stomach turns every time you look at me? Well, let me be the one to break it to you, sweetheart: You are simply looking in the mirror.)”

Abruptly, you stand, reaching for Javier’s gun in his waistband and pointing it at your father with steady hands and a shaky breath. The man sighs deeply, averting your direct gaze and clicking his tongue.

You’re sick of it; sick of everything that he’s put you through just because he thinks you’ll be better as a soldier rather than a person.

Jerónimo says your name once, meeting your eyes again. “Watch yourself.”

It’s a warning wrapped in resignation, his eyes narrowing at you.

Still, you keep the gun trained on him, barely hearing Javier’s slow footsteps over your inner turmoil. Your father has made you a shell version of yourself. Pieces of your personality have been chipped away over the last 7 months, finally facing the horrors of the world that is your father.

He ruined you.

And he’s wrong about you not being able to comprehend love. Javier was the one to show you that. Regardless of the arguments, you love him with your entire being and you’re willing to die for him.

“La locura comenzará pronto (The madness will begin soon),” he pauses for dramatic effect, looking at Javier as well like he’s telling this to him too. “Y nadie puede detenerlo. Sin mí, nadie puede detenerlo. (And no one can stop it. Without me, no one can stop it.)”

He looks directly at Javier, gritting his teeth with barely concealed anger. “Te ahogarás en sangre y caos. Ahora verás qué sucede cuando la jaula se rompe y todos los animales quedan libres. (You’ll be drowning in blood and chaos. Now you’ll see what happens when the cage breaks open and all the animals run free.)”

His haunting words send a chill down your spine as the silence stretches on. Cautiously, Javier takes hold of the gun from behind, his touch immediately grounding you back to reality as his hands hold steady over yours. He leans in to whisper in your ear, reassuring you that you’re safe now and he can’t get to you. But right now… you don’t believe it, and neither does he.

“Mucha gente fue arrestada o asesinada por tu culpa, cariño (A lot of people were arrested or killed because of you, sweetheart),” your father says. “Recuerda eso cuando el diablo venga a llamar a tu puerta. (Remember that when the devil comes knocking on your doorstep.)”

Jerónimo tilts his head to the side slightly, almost pouting as he says his last and final statement. “Me vas a extrañar. (You’re going to miss me.)”

Complications with Jerónimo’s surgery are reported back to you by his doctors. They did everything that they could, but his body couldn’t recover. It doesn’t hit you until a few days later. You barely register when Javier tells you that Francisco is going to meet you at your grandmother’s house on the day that you’re discharged; too busy staring off into space.

When you look at him with a perplexed look on your face, he elaborates. “I know you saw him get put in cuffs but he wasn’t arrested. He’s been in police custody for protection until today.”

Despite the situation, a faint smile spreads across the lower half of your face, giving him a small nod of appreciation.

As if it’s an automatic instinct, he slips his hand into yours when you finish filling out paperwork. Steve waits for the both of you outside, leaning against his Ford Bronco with a cancer stick between his lips. Him and Javier greet each other before Javier opens the door for you, a hand on your lower back to help you in.

You sleep for most of the car ride, head on his shoulder with your arms wrapped around one of his. The weight of his hand rests on your thigh, warm and comforting during the difficult adjustment back to reality. Right now, he’s your only anchor and you greatly appreciate him.

Did things pan out the way you thought they would when you sought out help from an American agent? Not at all; but you fell in love in the meantime and you’re ready to get on with your life.

Nostalgia washes over you when the car is put into park in front of your grandmother’s house. After she died, Frankie bought it so it could stay in the family. He’s not even related by blood but he sure as hell acts like it.

You didn’t know about the gesture until he gave you the keys on your 18th birthday. Though you haven’t stepped foot into the house since she passed. 

Today that changes.

The weight of everything hits you when you step out of the car, tilting your head back to look up at your old bedroom’s window. The butterfly stickers you stuck onto it are still there, reminding you of the good times you had in this house with her and your mother.

So much time has passed; but right now it feels like it was just yesterday when you were running around this place, pretending you were a literal princess. Life seemed magical back then and you believed that anything and everything was possible. Part of you still does but a lot of your spark died when everyone around you showed their true colors.

Javier and Steve stand by while Frankie sits with you on the couch, going through the plethora of photo albums that are stashed in the drawers of the coffee table. The spine protests when you open one, plastic coming off and the first pages of pictures so dark you can’t even tell who they’re of.

The next one is specifically for your life, the first page having pictures of Sara and Jerónimo’s wedding day. They looked so in love, their smiles big and bright while being surrounded by loved ones.

You glance over at Javier, beckoning him to sit next to you. He hesitates before slowly making his way over, wrapping an arm around your waist and leaning in to kiss your cheek before getting a better view of the album.

A silent agreement passes between him and his partner in your peripheral vision, both of them nodding to each other before Steve walks out.

Your parents’ entire life unfolds in your hands: the day they found out Sara was pregnant with you, all 9 months of it, family reunions, the day you were born and how happy they seemed. All of it tugs at your heartstrings, reminding you that this is no longer your life.

Tears sting your eyes, grieving what could’ve been if she didn’t get sick. Everything fell apart after your mother’s passing. Jerónimo lost his fucking mind, burying himself in his business to keep his mind off of it. And your grandmother… you had never seen her so distant. All she had was time to think about her daughter and it ate her alive. 

To this day, you still think she died of a broken heart rather than old age.

You don’t even realize that you're crying until Javier presses his lips against the top of your head, embracing you in his warmth.

The suit on Javier’s body is uncomfortable to him. He hasn’t had to wear one of these things in God knows how long but, when in the U.S. Embassy, it’s required to dress professionally. You sit next to him, a small notebook under your intertwined hands, wearing a black pencil dress with a boat neck. He watched you fish it out of the office closet in your grandmother’s house last night. 

Despite everything that’s happened lately, your face lit up as you told him all about Sara and her fashion line. The dress that’s clad on your body now is one of the first pieces your mother made; all because she needed an outfit to be taken seriously in during her first meeting.

He can easily tell that you got your strength from her, and it makes him appreciate how strongheaded she was and it reflects in you.

While you’re doing your interview, Javier steps outside, lighting a much needed cigarette and people watching. The pavement is still wet from the rain this morning, the smell of it lingering in the air. A handful of dark clouds loom above, signaling that the storm is far from over.

He’s had a lot of time to think about it and talk to his father. Of course, Chucho will support anything that his son does, but Javier can tell that he wants him to come home.

Fuck, maybe he should.

If he does, that opens the floodgates of peoples’ opinions in town and that’s the last thing he wants right now. He already has to deal with enough shit from his superiors and the people of Colombia, why add on that extra weight when he can avoid it entirely?

Right now, he still hasn’t fully told you what he’s doing once you get your visa and have to take a flight to ‘good’ old America. The only people that know are himself, Chucho, and Steve; and his partner already gave him hell for it. He’s watched you and Javier form this bond that he knows will be broken once he reveals the truth.

It’s not ideal but a lot of legal bullshit would have to be done if you were to move to the states fully. The process is grueling and you wouldn’t want to go through it – he doesn’t want you to anyway.

Obviously, he’d rather be selfish and get you a fiancé visa instead. Yet, he couldn’t imagine tying you to him when all you want is a life outside of here. It would be wrong of him to give into those needs.

So instead, he’s doing what he does best: Running when things get tough.

“Can I get one of those?” a woman’s voice pulls him out of his inner turmoil, turning to see a lady with blonde curly hair and blue eyes.

Javier shifts on his feet, reaching into his pocket and letting her take one. “Quit four months ago,” her accent is thick, leaving him to believe that she isn’t from Medellín or Bogotá.

“Looks like it’s going well,” he muses, lighting her cancer stick and studying her. It takes him a moment before he nails the accent; she’s from Cali.

They stand in silence for a moment, Javier staring up towards the sky before she turns fully to him. “Carolina Alvarez. El Tiempo.”

And there it is. A fucking journalist, and he walked right into her trap.

Carolina extends her hand out for him to shake. He leaves her hanging for a second before shaking it, no longer looking in her direction. Right about now, he wishes that the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

“So,” she draws out, facing ahead again, “what conclusions should be drawn from the fact that a high ranking DEA Agent had ‘relations’ with the fallen drug lord Jerónimo Matías Cruz’s daughter?”

He closes his eyes, blowing smoke towards the sky.

“And not to mention that said daughter… is right inside this building.”

“You can call the press office if you want a comment, Miss Alvarez.” His tone is short, fed up with the press and civilians asking him questions about the way he decided to handle things.

What bothers him the most though, is how they speak about you.

“Carolina, please,” she corrects him, watching him stomp out his cigarette.

“Have a nice day.”

You immediately notice the tension in Javier’s shoulders when he walks down the hallway to you. The ambassador shakes your hand one last time before she nods towards him and heads to her office.

He crosses an arm over his chest, rubbing an ache in the back of his neck. “How’d it go?”

“Good,” you inform him. “Though, she had questions about my father. Even in death he’s still fucking up my life.”

The sarcasm dripping from your words makes him huff in amusement, nodding in sympathy. “I’m sorry, cariño.”

You wave him off, hooking your arm in his as he walks with you. “No es tu culpa, Javi. Solo podemos culparlo a él, ¿verdad? (It’s not your fault, Javi. We can only blame him, right?)”

His jaw tics, warring with his mind right in front of you. A crease between your eyebrows forms, worried about how quiet he’s been since… since you woke up, really. You know not to push but you’d rather know than be left in the dark. That’s something you’re tired of happening to you.

A possible good thing is occurring and you want to share it with Javier, his brooding is just throwing you completely off.

Briefly, you remember the conversation the two of you had in the hospital when you finally woke up. Journalists have been pressuring him into giving a statement so maybe that’s what’s bothering him. But then you remember the way he phrased specific things. 

“My father agreed to help you get on your feet in Texas. He can give you a room at his ranch and pay you to work there until you go to school wherever you decide to go.”

What did that truly mean?

He didn’t mention himself at all. He said nothing about his job and whether he’d been transferred back to the states as reprimand for the way he decided to handle this case. Growing up, you heard about it happen to countless agents who were kicked out of the country because of their… unique ways of catching drug lords. And this was well before your father was at the top of the chopping block.

You’re silent as you watch him stand in front of a corkboard with various sicarios’ faces on it. The ones that are dead have a red X over their photo, while the ones that were arrested have a black circle over theirs.

At the very top of the board sits a surveillance picture of your father. His name is under it but there aren’t any markings on it. Javier leans against a desk with his arms crossed tightly across his chest, his molars grinding together and flexing the muscles of his square jawline.

Unbashfully, you inspect his side profile like you’ve done countless times before. You’ll never tire of looking at him admiring his beautiful features. Maybe it’s because he’s the only person you’ve ever been with, but you don’t think you’ve ever loved someone as much as you love him. He’s up there with your mother – which is fucking insane to you – but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Still, you get the feeling that he’s hiding something from you.

Is he doing it to protect you? Probably.

But if anything, that makes you want to know even more.

Without much thought, you walk up to the board, grabbing the red marker and crossing out Jerónimo. You should feel something as you do it, but you just feel… hollow. The man drained you of so much that you feel absolutely nothing when you cross out his face. 

It’s a cruel thing but you’ve never been more relieved that someone is out of your life for good. You can move on without him and not get belittled for it. 

Being trapped in that house with him felt like you’d hit a brick wall in life and got stuck on one side of it. All the luxury you were surrounded by made it bearable for a minute, and then the weariness settled in again. It felt like there constantly was a weight on your chest: that weight being your own father.

All this time, you thought you might’ve been the problem, but it’d always been him. He was what was wrong with you.

The evening wind whispers through your hair, a cigarette dangling between your lips as you take a break from packing up your life. To your surprise, you still had a lot of your stuff in your abuela’s house, and Javier, Francisco, and Steve make good movers. They’ve packed up most of it and the sun is only just beginning to set.

Steve left a while ago, something about getting back home to Miami. Frankie is out getting more boxes. And truthfully, you and Javier have been avoiding being in the same room for too long all day. He’s dodging telling you the truth, and you’re dodging the reality of everything.

If he doesn’t tell you, then you don’t have to face it… or something like that.

From how hard he’s been evading it, it’s obviously something that’s going to upset you and you have enough on your plate already.

Still, you don’t move a muscle when he walks up next to you, lighting his own nicotine stick. The sunset paints across both of your faces, highlighting your features as you take long drags simultaneously. The bleeding sky and descending sun give you a sense of dread, like it’s taunting you and telling you that you’re slowly running out of time. Because of it, an unsettling pit forms in your stomach.

Javier lets the silence stretch on for a minute before he speaks, voice low and tired. “You’ll like Texas.”

An involuntary snort leaves you. That is what he decided to start with? You think there’s a much heavier discussion that needs to be had right now, otherwise he wouldn’t be doing circles around it.

“Why are you so prominent in getting me to leave?” you turn your head, catching his fleeting gaze.

His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, trying to figure out the best way to approach this like you’re some sort of wild animal. In some sense, maybe you are.

“You’re free, Mimi. You can go wherever you want.”

You narrow your eyes by a fraction, trying to read between the lines of what he’s saying. “Everything that you told me at the hospital – you avoided mentioning where you would be like the plague.”

Finally, he meets your gaze, expression steady despite the storm you can see brewing in his dark eyes. “I still have a job to do.”

“Bullshit,” you cut him off more harshly than you mean to, turning to face him fully. “There’s something you’re not telling me, Javier.”

A muscle in his jaw tics, his vexation rising alongside yours. Honestly, you don’t understand why he’s more frustrated with you than you are with him. This entire scheme was his idea to take down your father. He made big promises along the way – or at least that’s what you thought they were – and now it feels like you’re being thrown to the side.

You’re not upset about leaving Colombia, that’s what you’ve wanted since you can remember. You’re more upset at how vague he’s being. Over time, you’ve become so dependent on him and it makes you wonder if that scares him. Maybe you’re too much and being overdramatic for something so simple.

But then you remember the way he treated you in the past; all the lingering looks and the way he touched you. That couldn’t have all been in your head, right? His feelings are real – they’ve been real this entire time.

To be honest, the last conversation you had with your father weighs heavily on you. Perhaps he knew you better than you thought and he was right about your lack of comprehension when it comes to love.

“Just tell me the truth,” you plead quietly when he doesn’t say anything else, swallowing the lump in your throat. “It’s the least you could do.”

Javier crosses his arms over his chest, rubbing his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. He shifts on his feet, taking a subtle step away from you. “I have to go to Brazil for another case. Don’t know how long it’s going to take, which is why I need you to go on with your life.”

Your stomach twists into knots, stupefaction swarming your head. The sudden shock leaves you speechless, parting your lips but nothing but a breath comes out. 

He wants you out of his life completely?

“So you lied to me?” you don’t think before you ask, earning his attention again.

His frown deepens, the crease between his brows becoming more visible. “Withholding information and lying aren’t the same thing.”

An incredulous scoff escapes you, averting his gaze when your eyes feel damp. “Why make all those promises if you couldn’t keep them, Javier?”

Emotion seeps through your words and without warning, you shatter.

Broken promises are a constant cycle in your life. You thought they would stop once your father was gone but clearly not. It repeatedly makes you doubt yourself. The intrusive, unwelcome thoughts get the best of you over and over.

Throughout your whole life, it’s been so much easier to focus on the negative things impacting you rather than the positive. And the second you had something good, it hit you right in the face again. You thought Javier was your shot at being happy and free; it was wrong of you to put that kind of pressure on him, but love blinded you.

All your personal issues are deep rooted and shouldn’t be his burden to carry as well. It’s never been his job to suck the toxins out of your bloodstream, or fix your broken heart and soul. And that took you entirely too long to realize.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to get out through hot tears, stomping out your cigarette and wrapping your arms around yourself.

Javier’s heart breaks at the sight, desperately wanting to comfort you but staying rooted in his place anyway. “Don’t apologize for your emotions.”

“Is it me?” you look up at him, his face blurry from your tears. You wipe your face with a shaky hand, smearing your mascara. “Am I the problem? Am I not lovable?”

His face twists in somber, brows knitting together as he finally reaches out for you. “No, baby,” he crushes you against his chest, cupping the back of your neck. “You are perfect in every single way.”

“Why don’t you love me then?” you ask shakily, voice small. “Why can’t I be in your life?”

The pressure of his hand tightening slightly sends a shuddering warmth through you, his lips pressing against your hairline. His other hand rubs soothing circles on your back, trying to communicate without saying anything but he knows that you need words.

Slowly, he pulls back, cupping your face and wiping your tears. “I do love you. A whole lot more than I should,” he confesses, running his thumbs along your cheekbones. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted and more. But I can’t give you the relationship you deserve, cariño.”

You sniffle, eyes darting across his face like it’s the last time you’ll ever see him again. In this case, it probably is. “You’re not willing to try?”

Briefly, his expression pinches, giving you the slightest hint that this is hurting him more than he’s admitting. If it’s affecting him too, why is he pushing you away so hard?

It frustrates you.

Since you can remember, you’ve only been surrounded by loss. During the entire time that you’ve known Javier, he brought out a side of you that you haven’t seen in a long time. He filled you with a sense of hope that is actively dying right in front of his very eyes. 

What’s the point of being free if you’re alone?

You want him. You lost the meaning of love until you found him. But you know that’ll never be enough until you heal from everything that’s haunted you for so long.

Javier’s arms slip from your frame when you take a step back. “I think it’s best for the both of us, baby,” he murmurs, his eyes bloodshot and shiny with unshed tears.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

Silence washes over the two of you, him nodding solemnly. This feels like a goodbye to you. It’s the last thing you want but the love both of you feel for each other is not enough to cure anything. At least not right now.

It doesn’t matter how hard you try, you won’t be able to change his mind; so you say something you immediately regret.

“You’re a selfish piece of shit, Javi.” It comes out as a whisper, his gaze locking with yours. “I wish I never met you.”

Javier doesn’t blame you for what you said that night. He thinks the exact same thing – if not worse. It’s been difficult during these last few days with you, leading him to make the decision to have Francisco take you to the airport instead. Before doing so, he tells you that the U.S. Embassy rewarded you generously for your cooperation; funds that should cover tuition and anything else you want were wired to your bank account and your bank was notified of your travels so nothing is marked as fraud.

You give him a pointed look but don’t say anything, pushing past him with your carry-on over your shoulder.

His mind screams at him to chase after you and kiss you all over; to apologize for everything he’s done and beg you to go to Brazil with him. But his feet stay firmly planted, watching you slam the car door behind you.

As the vehicle peels away, it feels like a big part of him is being ripped from him. He watches with his hands in his pockets, until the car disappears from his direct line of sight. 

With a heavy breath, he tightens his jaw, clenching and unclenching his hand at his side. Everything you risked for him, he’s eternally grateful for. But something still doesn’t feel right. The last few days he had with you in complete silence didn’t feel right. Your relationship was left up in the air and unresolved, and it’s fucking with his head.

He curses under his breath in Spanish, taking large steps until he’s reaching for the door of his Jeep. It’s as if his mind is on autopilot as he speeds towards José María Córdova International Airport. 

The last thing he wants is for you to leave him – he told you that he did because he thought he would be protecting you from himself. Instead, he sent away the one person that’s understood him in God knows how long. You broke down his walls and got under his skin, permanently marking your teeth in his flesh. He wants all the things that you do, truly; it just took him too fucking long to figure it out and now it’s too late.

For so long, he kept his heart guarded. In this line of work he needed to. But you – God – you’ve stripped him bare and vulnerable. It’s so unfamiliar and new to him that he finds himself chasing after you when you just told him you wish you never met him.

You’re it for him and he’s making a huge mistake by leaving your relationship like this.

The airport overwhelms you the second you step out, big swarms of rushing travelers coming in and out. You feel small, grabbing your duffel bag and rounding the car to meet Frankie at the trunk. He takes out your two luggages, placing them down carefully and slamming the trunk back down with a final thud.

“Eres buena? (Are you good?)” he asks, looking down at you with a steady expression.

“No,” you reply easily, the large sense of urgency in this place scaring you shitless.

Frankie huffs in amusement, “Estará bien, Señorita Cruz. Se lo prometo. (You’ll be fine, Miss Cruz. I promise.)”

You don’t know how much you believe that, and the next thing tumbles out of your mouth without much of a thought. “He should be here,” you shake your head slowly, looking out into the parking lot as if hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

After sitting on it for a while, you realized the way you acted was out of emotion rather than consciousness. That night was tough on you, both mentally and physically, and leaving a stain on your relationship wasn’t the way to go.

You understand that his job comes first. You understand why he feels like he needs to shield you from all of it. You understand the war that’s been happening in his mind for months on end but still, you’d rather him be selfish than practical. How greedy that makes you? You’re not entirely sure.

So much was sacrificed to get both you and the country in this state, and unfortunately that meant your relationship as well.

Rivers of people snake around both of you as you think intently, anxiety whirling in your stomach, making you uneasy fairly quickly. Still, you say your goodbye, lingering for longer than necessary as you take in Frankie’s face, before you’re gone. Hundreds of plastic wheels roll on the polished floor inside, sharp announcements echoing through speakers.

You go through check-in and security, studying your ticket to find your gate. You hadn’t noticed it before, but Javier got you first class somehow, making you smile slightly. It’s been a while since you’ve been in an airport, but when you were, your mother always made sure to only fly first or business class. She had the money, so why not, right? There never was a time where both of you weren’t enjoying yourselves, traveling for her line – even if you still stayed in Colombia.

The noises around you create a stable wall between your thoughts as you sit, knees drawn up to your chest. You try your best to look at the silver lining out of all of this, but don’t deny yourself of thinking of Javier.

There is no such thing as a perfect ending and it’ll be okay in the future that you didn’t get yours with him. The two of you were never going to make it, and that has to be okay. It sucks that things didn’t play out the way you wanted them to, but a new chapter is waiting for you two flights away.

You fidget with the drawstrings of your hoodie, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes. After all the chaos and bloodshed, you can breathe freely; not having to suffocate from your father’s antics for the first time in your life. There’s no more running now that you’ve finally chosen yourself.

That’s the only way you’ll be able to get through this.

Finally, you exhale, opening your eyes when your flight is called. You stay seated for a while, watching families and business men line up to board. Two people stick out to you though: a mother and a daughter. The little girl is tired, rubbing her eye and clutching her stuffed teddy bear to her chest. She leans against her mother, yawning dramatically and closing her eyes when her mom runs her fingers through her curls.

How familiar it is tugs at your heartstrings, reminding you of your mother yet again. She’s always with you, if you think about it. If it’s not wearing her clothes and jewelry, it’s two people on the same plane as you going to America.

When the line thins out, you stand up and grab your bag. You get your boarding pass and passport checked one last time by the gate agent. “Que disfrute de su vuelo, señora. (Enjoy your flight, ma’am.)”

With a nod and polite smile, you take your things back, only to hear your name called behind you. Automatically, you freeze in place, registering the voice and turning around to confirm your suspicions.

Javier’s hand twitches at his side as he walks towards you, showing his DEA badge to the lady and locking eyes with you.

“What are you doing here, Javi?” you ask quietly, moving to the side to let the last few people through.

The intercoms crackle to life overhead, announcing your gate once again. “I have to–”

“I’m sorry,” he interjects, clenching his jaw and confusing you. “I shouldn’t have chosen my job over you.”

“But you did anyway,” you retort, raising your brows. “Eso no se puede cambiar. (There’s no changing that.)”

“I…” he falters for the first time since you’ve known him, rubbing his temples. “Pensé que estaba protegiéndote quitándome de tu vida ... y estaba equivocado. (I thought I was protecting you by removing myself from your life… and I was wrong.)”

Your face goes through a series of emotions: bewilderment, relief, awe, love, somber, then surprise. “Entiendo por qué lo hiciste. No tienes que disculparte ni poner excusas. (I understand why you did it. You don’t have to apologize and make excuses.)”

“I’m not making excuses,” he claims, taking a small step closer.

Your plane is called for the last time, but you don’t move under his gaze. So much has happened and you’re not sure what to believe anymore. Why is he telling you this now out of all the time he had before? You’ll be two oceans away by tomorrow and he’ll be further down south. 

“Javi–”

“Wait for me,” he grips your arms, guiding you backwards towards the gate and ignoring the agent telling him that he can’t get on the plane without a ticket.

You raise your brows, eyes practically popping out. “What?”

“I will come find you the second I’m done with this job.”

You’re speechless, unsure if he’s serious right now. Still, you feel like it’s a sign – like the chapter with Javier is long from over, and it’s only just beginning. You don’t realize that you nod until you see the small smile form on his face, letting you go for the last time.

Before you turn around, you throw yourself at him: wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him hard. Immediately, he melts into it, placing his hand on your back to press you closer. It’s a bittersweet goodbye, not wanting to leave him but trusting that he’ll keep to his word this time.

“Tiene que abordar el avión, señora (You have to board the plane, ma’am),” the woman’s voice pulls you back to reality, reminding you that the clock is ticking.

Reluctantly, you pull away from Javier, turning around and making your way down the tunnel without a second thought.

epilogue - series masterlist - main masterlist

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But when he showed his wife, Ana, she said tactfully.  “This is great research baby,” for one perfect shining second, he thought he was off the hook, “but I still need to see what we’re getting.” Fuck.

So, there they were at 10am in Berkely, California walking through an elaborate maze that Javier was certain had been expressly designed by Swedish intelligence officers as some sort of social experiment designed to torture fathers with college aged children. As if sending his baby girl three states away wasn’t cruel enough.

So that morning Javier grumbled as he slid a short pencil behind his ear, wishing it was a cigarette instead.

“If you’d like,” Ana said cooly, too busy to indulge her petulant husband, “we can leave you in the playroom with the rest of the children, if you intend to pout this entire time.”

“No mi reina, I’m sorry, let’s get this over with.”

By the time they’d gone through the kitchen and living room showrooms, Javier’s eyes were darting around looking for an exit sign, as though he were a caged beast, “How big is this fucking place? This has to be the near the end right?”

“Javi, have you never actually been to an Ikea before?” Ana asked. They’d shopped for their house furniture at far nicer places, investing in pieces that would last for their cheerful San Antonio home. And truth be told, Javier had always just bought what Ana said would be best anyway. She had great taste and it minimized the time in the store. The only time he was remotely interested in a piece of furniture they bought, it was so he could plan what way he might be able to ravish his wife on top of it once they brought it home.

Shopping for his 17-year-old daughter’s dorm room furniture, Javier was very much hoping absolutely NO ravishing would be done on the items they purchased that day. He eyed the pressed manufactured wood. The good news there was that he doubted the cheap college furniture would be up to the task. Was there a bed that could automatically collapse if more than one person was on it at a time?

Javier stood hand on hip as he watched his wife and daughter discuss the pros and cons of each single bed. Then sighed quietly while they went over what comforter and sheets paired best together.

“Javi! Did you hear me?” Ana, he realized, was staring at him.

“Sorry, I was looking at this…” he lifted the tag on the nearest bed frame, “KL- KELPSTAAD?”

“Well, we’re going to go with the HERMANS it’s a little bit more expensive, but it seems more sturdy, we wouldn’t want it to break, and it has drawers for more storage underneath.”

Javier pinched the crown of his brow, “Great.”

“Anyway, I said we’ll grab lunch now.”

He brightened up instantly, freedom! He couldn’t believe they were getting out of there already. Though it had been nearly two fucking hours of torture. “Okay what do we feel like, Italian, Mexican, Chinese…”

“Swedish meatballs.” Hels said cheerfully.

Javier heart sank as they turned the corner to the in-store restaurant, “I can’t believe there’s a fucking restaurant in the middle of a fucking furniture store.” This place really was a Swedish fucking prison.

P.S. He liked the meatballs but he wouldn't admit it.

Masterlist

If you want to know how the rest of the college drop off week went I wrote this one shot of them dropping their daughter off at her dorm then going for a little vacation in San Francisco (it gets spicy once they ditch the kid😏): With Somebody Who Loves You

You shiver slightly when he comes into the office, shying away slightly and trying to be polite because your momma raised you with manners and it never pays to be rude to a man who beats people up for a living. 

Maybe that’s why he scares you. The intense silence as he watches you when you hand him the paperwork that he needs. The names of the people that have not paid back the loans, their addresses and where they work. Handed to him with an almost clinical professionalism that is in stark contrast to what he’s going to do with that information. 

“Hey, dollface.” He’s never rude. He’s actually always very polite when he comes up to your desk, shoving his hands into the pockets of the black leather jacket that seems like a part of his persona. Your eyes flicker up and you immediately tense slightly, shooting him a nervous smile. “Hey, Clint.” You hum, looking around for any papers that might have been laid on your desk to give him. You hadn’t been told about anything, but he normally never comes and seeks you out unless he needs something. “What’s up?” You ask as you search around. “Need something?”

“Whatareyou doin’ tonight?” His jaw is set, almost taunt as he stares at you. Waiting for you to answer almost impatiently. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and looks over his shoulder when something moves out of the corner of his eye. It’s just Leonardo, the cat that has more rights in this office than everyone else, jumping up onto the counter to drink from a random coffee cup that someone had left sitting there half empty. 

Your stomach twists and there is a heaviness that presses against your heart tonight. He must need a favor. Tonight of all nights. You sigh and shrug. “I- I don’t really have anything-”

Clint frowns, brows pulling together harshly and you break off the rest of your sentence and let it die. “Okay.” He turns and walks away from you, the bell over the door out of the office ringing as he pushes it open and leaves, making you stare after him in complete bewilderment, unsure of what the hell was going on. 

Leaving promptly at five o’clock can sound strange when you think about a criminal organization literally having 9-5 hours, but the little loan office is supposed to look legitimate. There are smaller loans, $100-200 that little old ladies borrow against their social security checks to pay for an unexpected expense, all legitimate and kept in a proper set of books in case the IRS comes poking around. They never do. 

You gather your purse, slide the ring for your keys onto your index finger as you walk to the door to shut off the lights. Everyone else had already left, just kind of disappearing like normal before the end of the day, assured that you would lock up like you do every night. Making you feel even more invisible as you lock the door with dissatisfaction over the day and wondering if picking up some take out could make it better. 

He’s leaning against your car. Watching you as you carefully lock the front door, tugging on the handle, just to make sure that it’s locked. Knowing that you might jump when you see him, but he waits anyway. The thing behind him something that might make you smile, or it might not, it all depends on if you like fucking roses or not.

It’s a horrible habit, but you walk to your car with your head down. Watching your feet as you count the steps to the compact little Ford you drive, hating yourself for the way your eyes are getting watery and knowing that you're going to have a good cry on the way home. Looking up at the last second before you need to stop in front of the door and jumping nearly a mile into the air when you see Clint Flood leaning against the front fender of your car. “Clint!” You gasp out and almost immediately look around to see if anyone else is nearby. 

“Easy, dollface.” He hates that he scared you, but he hadn’t wanted to call out, almost curious to know what caused that focus that blocked out the rest of the world. It was a dangerous thing for you to do, but he wasn’t here to lecture you. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” That’s true, he hadn’t, and he reaches behind his back to pull out the thing that he had left laying on the hood of the car. 

Roses, a beautiful bouquet of them, a dozen blood red, crisp roses are bound together with greenery and a pretty silver paper, with ribbons curling down from the bow, is in his hand as he draws it into view. Making your eyes widen in surprise, watery and beautiful, then confused as you try to understand. “I-”

“It’s your birthday today, right?” Clint asks, knowing that he hadn’t mixed up the date. It’s today, even if you hadn’t said a word to anyone. Even if no one had thought to say ‘Happy Birthday’ or bring in a cake. 

You stare at him for a moment, jaw slack and then back at the flowers. “It’s- these are for me?” You whisper quietly, hopeful in a way that makes his heart twist and his nervousness about doing this vanishes. 

“Of course they are.” He holds them out as he pushes upright off your car. Suddenly getting about four inches taller out of his slouch and moving closer to you in a gentle step. Careful not to make you jump again. “Every beautiful woman deserves beautiful flowers on her birthday.” 

You make a sound, soft and disbelieving as you slowly take the bouquet he is holding towards you. You gather them into your arms and cradle the fragrant, tender blooms and press your face into the flowers and close your eyes. Overwhelmed by someone remembering, someone caring. You had gone all day without anyone saying anything, thinking that it was just forgotten and pretending it was okay. That it didn’t matter. Adults didn’t need things like ‘Happy Birthday’ greetings and recognition. Except this completely calls you out for being the liar that you are. 

Clint watches you, not saying a word as you hug the flowers and breathe them in. Wondering if he should have done this earlier, but he hadn’t wanted to make you more nervous and he seems to do that easily enough. When you finally look up, he shoots you a small smile. “Come on, we’ll be late.” He tells you, almost laughing when your face clouds in confusion. 

He guides you over to his car, parked just on the other side of yours, and around to the passenger door. Opening it for you and waiting for you to climb in, turning and watching as you slowly walk closer. 

Late? What would you be late for? There was nothing planned, unless….he had asked about your plans earlier today. Did he have something planned now? With you? For you? A surprise? You don’t think that it’s something bad, not after giving you the most beautiful flowers that you’ve ever seen. You can tell he knows that you are confused but he doesn’t say anything, just waits and watches you with that same look that is always in his eyes when he looks at you. 

You get into his car. Part of him is surprised that you got in without any questions, the other part of him is relieved. He knows that he has to talk to you, to explain why, but it will be easier once he gets you to the restaurant. 

You interest him. In a way he hasn’t felt in a long time, in a way that he thought he might never feel again. Grace had made him feel that way, had been the love of his life, will always have a piece of his heart, but he feels something for you. He had wanted to ask you out, but the words hadn’t come. Grace had done the same kinds of things to him in the beginning before he relaxed and opened up to her. 

The drive is quick, he had chosen the place not too far away that he had heard you talking about in the office one day. The steakhouse with the good linens and candle light. The one that you had gushed over the food review in the paper talking about the best salmon they had ever eaten. The one you wanted to eat at but didn’t have a reason to go. Your birthday is obviously the best reason why you should go. 

The entire ride you are staring at the flowers, wondering why he got them for you. Not looking up until he pulls into a parking spot and you look out the windows. “Um, what are-” He doesn’t let you ask, putting the car into park and shutting off the engine as he answers. “Got reservations in ten minutes, dollface.” He says as he turns towards you. “You deserve to be taken out and celebrated.” 

For a long moment, he thinks you might refuse. You stare at him like he’s just spoken another language. One that you don’t understand. Stare at him before looking down at the flowers and then back up at him. “Reservation?” You ask and he nods. “Ten minutes.” He reminds you. “They said if we came early we could get a drink at the bar.” 

He had made reservations. He had planned this. You are confused but the way your heart is pounding, you don’t think it’s a bad thing. Butterflies swim in your stomach and you bite your lip as you look back down at the flowers. “Can I bring them inside?” You ask, not wanting to leave them behind. 

Clint chuckles softly and looks down at the blooms in question. “You can do whatever you want, dollface.” He promises. “It’s your night.” You bite your lip, something that he’s found adorable and even more so now. “Bring them in.” He says before he gets out of his car to round the front of it and open the door to let you get out. 

You unbuckle your seatbelt and slide out, flowers still in your arms and almost floating along in a sense of disbelief as he guides you towards the building. His hand is hovering just above your lower back, not touching you, but you can practically feel the warmth. Making you shiver again slightly. 

There is fancy, almost overly ostentatious music flowing through speakers when Clint opens the front doors. There isn’t a dress code that requires him to take off the leather jacket, but the black slacks he’s wearing are rarely pulled out of his closet. He had pulled them out for you, for tonight. He doesn’t hesitate to walk up to the host stand and give his name.  

You can’t believe that he made reservations. That he is bringing you here based on a conversation you had with Tammy in the office a month ago. A wistful, daydreamy want that is now apparently coming true. It’s everything you imagined it to be, romantic with low lighting and flickering candles at each table. The crisp white linens are almost too fancy to touch, and the host even pulls out the chair for you to sit down. 

It’s after the drinks have been ordered and you have finally swapped the flowers for a menu that you look up at Clint with a curious frown on your face. “Why did you bring me here?” You ask softly, as if you are afraid of making him angry by asking. Clint looks up and closes the menu as he contemplates how to answer without scaring you. 

“It’s your birthday.” He reasons, but that just makes you frown a little more. “I-” he shrugs. “I wanted to do something nice. To treat you.” 

“Why?” You bite your lip again. “I mean, you don’t- we don’t really socialize.” You point out and he flashes a quick half smile before he shrugs again. “It’s hard to socialize when you seem scared of me most of the time.” 

Your stomach drops, and you hate that he had realized that you were nervous around him. You had fooled yourself into thinking that you were hiding it so well. Your hands tighten around the menu and you look down at it in embarrassment. 

“Hey, don’t-” Clint shakes his head, upset that he upset you. “I just- I wanted to do this. Because….I would like to get to know you.” He confesses softly, opening up for the first time since he had lost the woman who had meant everything to him. 

That makes you look up, eyes almost startled as they find his and you soften. Your shoulders seem to drop and relax and you shoot him a shy smile. “You do?” You ask, making him give you a smile of his own as the waiter brings the drinks and asks if you are ready to order. “I do.” 

You seem to really relax and settle into the dinner, asking him questions and answering his own, your guard dropping and he hears you laughing at his admittedly bad jokes. Acting like you are enjoying yourself and moaning over the salmon when you try it. Claiming that it is every bit as good as the food critic had claimed, even insisting on feeding him a bite from your own fork. It was good, for fish. Although it hadn’t beat the buttery steak he had ordered for himself. Offering to let you have a bite of it too since it was just good manners. Watching you carefully take the bite from him and smiling when your eyes slip closed with a groan of pleasure that hits him in the gut like a punch. 

He had ordered you cake. The piece was indulgent, double chocolate with ganache, a single candle in the top of it when it’s brought out. He doesn’t tease you when you nearly cry, just urges you to make a wish and smiles when you blow it out. It would seem like such a small thing to someone else, but it means so much to you. How much thought he had obviously put into tonight. Almost like it was a date.

You are quiet on the drive back to your car. Making him nervous as he grips the steering wheel and glances into his mirrors so he doesn’t look over at you for every few seconds. He doesn’t try to talk to you, letting the silence settle but it’s not a heavy silence. Just comfortable in a way it might have not been before tonight. 

“I- I had a great birthday.” You admit when you’ve opened your car door and set your purse and the flowers inside. Turning back and shooting him another smile. One that pulls him closer as he resists the urge to pull out that pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and light one up. Clint nods and takes another step towards you. “Better than your earlier plans?” He asks, making you laugh. “My plans were to eat take out and watch tv.” You snort, reaching out and patting his arm. 

Clint reaches for you slowly. Giving you time to pull back if you want to, but you don’t. You bite your lip and look up into his eyes. “Don’t know…” Clint murmurs, “that could be a good night.” He teases quietly. “With the right company.” 

Joel Miller

After Midnight - @hsispunk - joel is feeling lonely in austin, so he calls a sex hotline.

Taco Tuesday - @time-for-my-weekly-spanking

No One But Me - @koshkamartell - your relationship with Joel Miller was a secret, one in which he would break you over and over. Tired of mistreatment you leave. But what happens when Joel cannot handle losing the control he has over you? And what happens when another man catches your attention?

Let Me Teach You - @aurorawritestoescape - your boyfriend begs you to have anal but knows jack shit about the act. Much to your surprise and pleasure, his dad steps up and teaches him. By example.

Take my hand where you want it - @time-for-my-weekly-spanking - After you discover that your husband is cheating on you with Joel's secretary, Joel becomes your confidant. One night, after your husband comes home late yet again, you rush to Joel for comfort. And Joel makes sure you get everything you deserve.

stay away - @coolgirlmonolog - you left your small town in austin to study in new york and, after graduating, found a nice job in the big city. every year you go back home to visit your parents and your high school best friend, tommy miller. last year you went back for a whole week during the summer, and joel wasn’t exactly friendly with you. you were never friends, but after 10 years of knowing each other, his attitude caught your attention. this summer you’ll see him again… how will it turn out? 

Unfaithful - @peepawmiller - Joel takes you on a date. And then he takes you home.

Humiliated - @broad-shouldrs - joel accidentally comes inside you

Bad Neighbours - @koshkamartell - Joel Miller is a grumpy old man who enjoys peace and quiet. Ever since you moved into the neighbourhood he can't seem to escape you.

Happy Campers - @baronessvonglitter - Joel Miller, the new head counselor at Camp Happy Trail, makes sure this summer will be one you won't forget.

What happens behind Buc-ee's, stays behind Buc-ee's - @kindahecticinside - 56 year old Joel Miller spends his days as a blue collar contractor busy on the job site, though his idea of being 'busy' involves standing around cat-calling ladies all day long. One day he tries his luck with you and he gets more than he bargained for in the process.

Your Needs, My Needs - @honey-moon-13 - The worst part about injuring his hand isn’t the pain. It’s having to take off his wedding ring—and being unable to jerk off properly. Luckily, Joel has a wife who’s more than happy to lend him a hand.

Sloth | se7en collection - @milla-frenchy - after you promised Joel to try something new in bed and managed to make him skip patrol and stay home, he makes sure you mean it. So you enjoy a chill morning with him, and then you make good on your promise

Tess & Joel

Awakening - @time-for-my-weekly-spanking - When you join Joel, Tess, and Tommy, you shake Joel to his core. But he may not be the only one awakened by your presence.

Frankie Morales

Frankie - The Best Friend | Guy-Crazy - @baronessvonglitter - After a disastrous breakup, Daisy's best friend Frankie offers her the jumpstart she needs to get over her ex.

Javi Gutierrez | Guy-Crazy - @baronessvonglitter - We go back several years to find Daisy healing her very first broken heart.

Tommy Miller

Maid Discreetly - Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Series - @mountainsandmayhem - After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or should you just settle for kinky hot sex with an older man?

Joel Miller & Javier Peña

Lust (Taste in Men Part 2) | se7en collection - @milla-frenchy - you’ve spent a perfect night with your best friend Javi and your ex-boyfriend Joel, and the next day holds the promise of what’s to come

Javier Peña

Puff, Puff, Smash - @half-moon16 - When you're reunited with your old crush, Javier Peña at a get together at his dad's ranch, you proposition him with a theory he just has to test out for himself.

Clint Flood

Changes (In the House of Flies) - @quickiesgirl - Clint recognizes a familiar face while conducting business at a strip club, someone he'd known quite intimately.

You don’t even bother to close your robe when you stomp out into the damp night. Your bare feet squelch in the wet grass, and you don’t care. The music gets louder when you get to your neighbor’s door. It’s nice? You guess. You don’t even know anymore.

You pound on his door. Three rasps. You give your neighbor time. Nothing. So you pound again. Until the music stops. Footsteps get closer, floorboards creak.

The door opens, just like your jaw drops. Dark hair slicks back from a face that the gods might as well have sculpted. Sharp cheekbones, strong nose, plush lips, big brown eyes. He’s in a black tank top, ridiculously broad shoulders escaping the flimsy fabric. His gray sweatpants hang loose on his hips. His whole look suggests either a strategic carelessness or a total lack of giving a shit. It might be due to how fucking horny you are, but your new neighbor could be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

His dark eyes size and assess you. Your robe. The flimsy, light pink tank top sticking to your skin, the short, barely there sleep shorts with tiny, green polka dots. Your hair’s probably a mess, your skin still damp with a sweat of frustration. He looks almost amused at the sight of you, but his eyes linger a little longer than propriety should suggest at your thighs.

“Can I help you?” he asks. Deep, kinda dark, like a freshly poured cup of your favorite coffee.

“It’s la—” your voice squeaks. You clear your throat, square your shoulders. “It’s late. Your music. It’s… loud. Some of us have to, you know. Sleep.”

He leans on the doorframe, folds his arms, and your eyes square in on the way his biceps bulge, the line of his forearms. “Sleep,” he says.

“Yes. That’s right. It’s past 11.”

“Didn’t think it was that loud.”

“Could you turn it down at least?”

A thick eyebrow arches up. “Guess these walls are paper-thin. I suppose I could use a different bow.”

There’s no shame in his voice, no apology, and it just irks you more. You wobble a bit in the way he looks at you, half wanton desire, half boredom.

“I’d… appreciate that.”

“Mm,” he says, and his lip quirks up in a maddeningly handsome smirk… like he knows he’s gorgeous and getting under your skin. “You best get back to… sleep,” he says.

You nod, because you have no other fucking clue how to respond under his heated, cocky gaze and the revelation that the music was being played by him and not a too-loud stereo.

The silk of your robe swishes across your hot skin as you make your way across the grass to your bungalow. You’re sure your neighbor’s watching you the whole way and you don’t dare look back.

He keeps his word, you can barely hear the music when you lie back down in bed. Fuck him for being beautiful. Your whole body is still reverberating from the baritone rasp of his voice. You press a pillow over your face and scream an annoyed sound into it, as the heat of his gaze still blooms across your body.

At least now all you can hear is nothing but the sound of your breathing, picking up when the heel of your hand slinks its way back between your thighs. Jesus Christ, you’re even wetter now. You’re leaking a frustrating hunger, the image of your neighbor’s big shoulders and golden skin playing in your mind. You imagine his biceps pinning you down and his thick fingers hooking against your waist as he pounds into you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, picturing his wide palm against your mouth. You wonder what he sounds like when he cums, is it as sad and tragic sounding as the music he plays?

God, it’s so easy now. Your body’s arching up, desperate to feel how soft his tank-topped chest is when it’s shoved against your chest. You can almost feel him, the weight of him atop you, his dark eyes searing into you as you edge yourself closer and closer. You’re pressing needy circles against your clit, your thighs tensing and toes curling. “Fuck, fuck,” you moan out, too loud for your own good and the silence of your own bungalow. Your hips are moving against your hand harder, faster, and when you think of that damned smirk of his and the way he’d watch you shatter apart for him, you orgasm, hard and hot and loud. “Oh fuck, godddd,” you moan. You don’t even care. You want him to hear it. Maybe he will, with the thin walls. Maybe he won’t, because he’s too busy playing that damned music. Maybe he heard a hint, and now he’s sat, frozen in his chair, bow in one hand, listening to your own symphony between the walls.

—-

Two nights of silence, and then you hear it… a loud cat-like moan around 11 PM. Followed by another high-pitched mew. “Aleeeeex,” the shrill sounds. “Oh god, Alex.”

So, your hot neighbor’s name is Alex.

A rhythmic thumping starts up against your wall, fast, brutal, not sweet. You can’t help yourself as you move towards the wall, listening in for any type of low grunt or groan, but there’s nothing… just a repetitive smack of wood against drywall and the squealing of a woman.

You roll over, turn on your speaker, and pick up your phone. You know the perfect song. You scroll to the B’s in your music, find Cello Suite no. 2 by Bach, and let the sad, melancholy play… loud.

The pace just behind the shared wall picks up, and the wails of the woman speed up, along with the tapping against the wall. Now it’s your time to smirk, take that, Alex, and whoever he’s decided to fuck.

And when the roaring sadness of the music slows and quiets at a point… you hear it. A long, low groan timed perfectly to the song, almost like he was waiting for it.

You feel the angry roar of want in your body at the sound of him and let the song fade out as you reach into your drawer and pull out your vibrator.

—-

The next night, the cello is back, at 11 on the dot. Louder. Like it’s back to mock you. You shake your head and smile, willing it not to bother you as you turn in bed and put a pillow over your ear, but even through the muffled down, you recognize the song. It’s Cello Suite no. 2, just like you played him last night.

Damn, he’s talented. You have to give him that.

By 11:30, he hasn’t stopped, and the cello almost plays like a siren song to you and your sleepy, horny frustrations. You step out into the night air, and you swear the cool air hisses against your heated skin. No robe this time, just you and your light blue silky, short nightdress, complete with the lace trim across your breasts.

You punch at his door again, then stand back, arms crossed. You’re sure your nipples are pressing against the thin fabric, and you don’t care.

He answers almost instantly, and good lord, he’s only in a pair of boxers and a loose, button-up shirt.

“You’re playing on purpose now, aren’t you?” you ask him, no greeting, just attitude.

“I need to practice. Figured you’d like to hear it.”

You snort. “So why that song?”

His hand rests against the doorframe and he looms over you. “Thought I’d return the favor of last night.” You roll your eyes and huff. “Thanks.”

He turns his head back to his living room, then back at you, deep brown eyes searing into you. “Come in. I’ll play you something else.”

“It’s late.”

“It’s not like you were going to sleep anyway.”

You don’t say anything, you just walk past him into his place. It’s neat, in order, vintage furniture with modern touches. His bow is discarded on the floor, the cello leaning against the wall.

He lifts his hand, guides you to his couch, a soft, buttery leather that dips when you settle on it, mindful of just how short your nightdress is. He bends to pick up the bow, and your throat goes dry as you stare at his ass. You blink yourself back to reality as he takes a seat and places his cello between his legs. God, his legs, strong and dusted with hair, he looks to be golden all over.

He begins playing. Something you don’t recognize, but it’s smooth and sultry. Your heart and body answer, heating and beating with each note of music that flows from the instrument.

Alex doesn’t look up, he’s transfixed by the music he plays, and you’re just as spellbound. You’re sure you’re breathing hard, sure your pulse is thrumming along to the song. You don’t know how long you sit like that, mesmerized by the music and the man. If this is how he looks as he plays, then you’ll surely sacrifice the nights of sleep, just to let this beauty out into the world.

His head tips back, neck straining as his head lulls back and forth, caught in the notes, and when he looks at you, dark brown eyes meeting yours, you know he can see the way your chest is rising and falling, the heat of your stare. He gifts you one of those damned smirks, but this time it’s different. It’s heated and full of desire. He watches you watch him, and you can’t look away. Every note he plays flows through you, from your ears to between your thighs.

Alex’s arm slows, the bow stopping, and the last warble of the strings escapes the cello. He sets the cello against the wall with reverence, his loose shirt gapes open as he turns, exposing golden chest and a dark line of hair. You try to adjust how you’re sitting, the leather couch sticking to you with the heat of your thighs.

His eyes roam over you, from your bare legs up to your chest, up, up, finally meeting your eyes again. He licks his lips, pink tongue against his plush bottom lip. He smiles, hot, knowing, painfully cocky. “Did you like it?” he asks.

You answer with a bobble of your head. Any type of words would just fail to be husked out of your dry throat. Goodness, you want him. You want him a way that’s almost embarrassing in the desperate, feral way you do.

"You want to try to play?" he asks.

You’re silent again, just another nod sent to him.

He pats his thighs, beckons you over, and you rise and pad towards him, going to exactly where he wants you. He parts his legs, and you straddle his lap, your back meeting his chest. You’re painfully aware of the silk of your dress clinging to the arch of your ass, the way your thighs bracket his, his skin meeting your skin. You move, hoping he can’t feel how wet you are for him, but you hear the small grunt, and you know he absolutely can.

He picks up the cello and sets it between both of you, the smooth wood is cool against your thigh. He wraps his arms around your waist, enveloping you in his strong arms, his chest flexing against your back.

You’re glitching, absolutely dumbstruck by how gentle and low his voice is as he places your fingers over the strings. “Here,” he whispers, guiding your hand to the cello’s neck. “Thumb here. Not too tight.” His hands are big and hot. His breath fans across your ear, and it makes you shiver.

“Now, try,” he says, handing you the bow. You attempt to make a song, but you’re so heady off the closeness of him that you’re too clumsy to do anything right. The bow draws across the strings, and it’s… like a car crash of a note, but he tightens his arms and chuckles low against your ear.

“Again,” he whispers, and you try. This time, the note is softer, a pleasant hum leaves the cello. “Good,” he says, lips grazing against your earlobe. He rewards you by letting his hand skim against your thigh.

There’s a shared hunger, an almost understanding, guided by the music and want that’s drifted between the walls. You melt and tense at the same time, and you feel the press of his cock against you when you tilt back and press yourself into him.

He slides his hand up, rucking up the hem of your dress. “You still want to play?”

You’re dizzy, barely holding onto the bow. “No.”

“Then set the bow down.”

You obey, letting it clatter to the floor. He takes the cello from between your legs and sets it aside while keeping you still locked against him, hand splayed against your belly. “Spread your legs,” Alex tells you.

You instantly spread, letting him slip his palm between you and trace your soaked pussy through the wispy layer of your lace panties. You almost lose it right there, hips jerking at the thick, callused fingers of his exploring the drenched line of your cunt.

He lets out a low, incredulous growl as he touches you, pressing his mouth to your neck, sucking at the skin. “Feel good?” he rumbles. “Yeah?”

“Fuccck,” you manage.

He smiles into your neck, slides his fingers into your panties, parts you, thick, middle finger slowly exploring before plunging deep into you. You moan, noisy and erupting, louder than any song he can play.

He fucks you with his hand, two fingers, thick and skilled, shallow then deep, giving you a pattern you’ll never guess. His thumb rubs circles on your clit, making you stupid with just how good he is at this. You’re sweating now, shaking, under the control of Alex’s possessive hands against your body.

He’s rutting and hard against you, whispering “that’s it, that’s it,” over and over as his fingers play you like an instrument he’s mastered.

You cum for him, so hard you shudder and squeeze. Head knocking back against his broad chest. He growls, licks up the sweat of you, holding you tighter as you ride and writhe against his fingers.

He pulls his fingers out, yanks your panties to the side, and frees his cock from the thin cotton of his boxers. You don’t know if you’ve ever wanted someone so bad before and when he brushes the fat tip of him against your accepting hole, you gasp at the promise of his size.

It’s one monstrous, behemoth of a thrust that makes your eyes flutter shut and all the air escape you. He fucks up into you hard, and you grab at his big hands, holding on as the old wooden chair frame creaks. He’s so fucking thick, overwhelming and rough, but Christ, the way your slippery cunt swallows him, it’s like he was fit for you. You ride him, back rubbing against his chest as he pumps in and out of you, the noise of your slick and his grunts crescendoing in the sex-heavy air.

He grabs your hips, planting both feet on the floor, and starts railing up into you so deep you let out a sob of his name. He’s rewarding and withholding at the same time, sliding all the way out, holding you above himself, letting you beg for him, until he plants all of himself into you. He slinks a hand up your body, thumb stroking your cheek before he sticks two of his fingers into your mouth.

You taste the sweet tang of your orgasm, tongue licking at the rough and ridges of his fingers. You suck, and he groans, bucking so hard the chair actually scoots back across the floor.

He must want to see you desperate and dumb, his other hand moving between your legs, playing with you there. It only takes a couple strokes of his fingers against your puffy, needy clit for him to orchestrate your orgasm out of you. It’s shocking how fucking hard you cum for him, how white your vision goes, how the pulse of your body pulses a cacophony of beats. Alex fucks straight through your orgasm, cock spearing you as you whimper around his fingers and drip around his cock. But, he’s losing it now, panting into the crook of your neck, hips snapping so loud against you.

He pulls out, and you feel the slide of his cock head against your clit when he cums, thick, white ropes painting against your panties, your belly, the silk of your dress. You’re still floating high like the music notes he plays, a trembling mess in his arms when you lean your head back and can’t help but laugh. Alex chuckles, too. Both of you are sticky and soaked, pressed together, glazed in shared sweat and cum.

The cello sits unused, the bow on the floor. Alex’s forehead rests against your shoulder as he comes down. You think he’s going to say something smart and frustrating, but he just kisses your shoulder blade and tightens his arms around you.

So much for hating your new neighbor.

—-

You spot a man at the bar, his presence instantly commanding attention. Dressed in a vibrant tropical polo adorned with lush palm leaves and exotic flowers, paired with swim shorts. He looks relaxed, yet confident like he's not somebody you could easily fuck with. He stands out against the laid-back ambiance of the bar. His dark curls are slightly tousled, and a hint of a beard frames his chiseled jawline, adding to his charm. His eyes, a deep, soulful brown, seem to watch you with an intensity that is both comforting and unsettling. A slight smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and you have to look away for fear that your blush might become permanent.

"You're doing great!" Your friends continue to cheer you on.

"I'm going to die," you whisper to yourself, not so quiet as the man's smile grows.

"You are not going to die," Jane, your best friend and the mastermind behind this whole scheme, says while her drink-fueled bravado wavers. "Besides, we're here if something goes wrong."

"What if I panic and pull you down with me?" You ground yourself, your feet back on. the pool floor.

"That's not going to happen, now focus."

"Jane, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I think you've had too many Mai Tais."

Jane looks around, her gaze stopping on the hot guy at the bar, who's sipping a colorful cocktail while his gaze continues to linger on you.

"Well, I can think of worse people to drown with." She nudges you with a smirk. "Maybe Mr. Pool Boy will give you mouth-to-mouth."

You glare at her before glancing back at the bar, but the mysterious man is nowhere to be found. You try not to let your disappointment show, though. You really don't need more reasons to doubt yourself, and drowning because you were distracted by some hot dude feels like an embarrassing way to go out.

"Alright, I'm ready," you say. "Let's get this over with."

"Great!" Jane exclaims, "So, we're going to have you lay back, and put your arms and legs out, and--"

"'Scuse me."

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of the deep, velvety voice beside you.

"Yes, can we help you?" Jane asks, not missing a beat, hearing her shit-eating grin from behind you.

The man smiles at you. "Well, I was takin' a look at what you all were doing, and I figured I could offer my services."

"Services?" you ask him and you can see the scatter of grey in his scruff when his lips quirked up on one side. "Are you a lifeguard?"

He laughs and the sound makes you embarrassed, and a little flustered. You feel your face get hot again.

"Not exactly, but I do have some experience in the pool," he tells all of you. "I taught my kid how to swim back home and and it seems like these ladies are having some trouble and I'd be happy to take it off their hands." He looks to you, specifically. "If you'd like."

Your friends are looking at you and the man and you're not sure what to say, but Jane decides to answer for you.

"Actually, that would be really nice. We could use the extra help. I'm Jane, by the way," and she nudges your back while introducing you, moving you forward towards--

"Joel." He sticks out his hand and you take it, the massive grip of his hand engulfing yours. You can feel the callouses and roughness of his fingers, and you curse in your head anyone else that's had the chance to feel it in places that would bring them to their knees.

Joel lets go, and before you can ask what comes next, he pulls off his shirt and plunges into the pool, submerging himself completely before resurfacing with a shake of his head. Water cascades down his chest and broad shoulders, and his shorts cling to his thighs.

"Well, don't be shy. Get on in here," he beckons.

You and the girls are still standing there, watching him.

"Go on," Jane tells you, and you realize Joel was talking to you. "Get in there."

You give her a look and she pushes you down the steps further into the shallow end. The water is warm against your legs, and you wade forward toward Joel.

"Alright," he says once you've joined him. "We're gonna have you lean back, and just hold out your arms and legs for me. Sound good?"

You nod, swallowing thickly.

"Don't worry, I won't let you fall," Joel assures you.

You do as he says, leaning back and putting your arms and legs out, and the moment your weight is supported by the water, you start to panic.

"It's okay, darlin', you're fine. Just stay calm." Joel's voice is low and soothing. "Just focus on my voice. I've got you."

You take a few deep breaths, trying to keep yourself from freaking out.

"There you go. Just relax. I'm not gonna let you go."

As he speaks, his voice a deep rumble, you feel your heart rate slow and the panic subside. You can hear the others cheering and encouraging you, but it's almost drowned out by the sound of his voice.

"There you go," he repeats. "Just relax, honey. I've got you."

You lift your feet up, and for a second you're completely horizontal, suspended in the water. Then you feel his hands under your back and the back of your head, supporting and guiding you as you float effortlessly on the surface. You look up at this handsome relative stranger

"I told you I'd take care of you," he says. "How's it feel?"

You let out a breathy laugh. "It feels amazing."

You stay like that for a while, his hands holding you steady as he talks you through it, his voice never faltering. And when you finally stand upright, the applause and cheers from your friends echo around you.

"Thank you," you tell him, still a bit breathless from the experience.

"My pleasure," he says, and his gaze lingers on you, making your heart race for a different reason. "Y'know, if you wanna get back to your friends I get it. But there's still so much I could teach ya if you're interested."

You can feel the warmth of his body so close to yours, and you can't deny the attraction between the two of you. You know it's reckless, but something about Joel makes you want to take a risk.

"Let me just tell my friends not to wait up."

-----------------------------

You're not sure how long it's been since you've been in the pool with Joel. But your friends are gone and other people have started to clear out. After dinner at the pool bar, and more drinks, the two of you are back in the pool. Joel was playfully tugging at your leg, trying to get you to join him in the deep end.

"Joel, I can't swim!" You're laughing as you cling to the wall.

"That's what I'm here for. C'mon, darlin', it'll be fun," he says, his hand reaching out for yours. "If you don't wanna go, we really don't have to but if you wanna come, you can trust me. I won't let go."

And that's all you need to hear.

You hop on Joel's expansive back, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"Ready?" he asks.

"As I'll ever be."

He laughs. "Okay, here we go."

Slowly, he begins to walk into the deep end, taking you with him. The water rises to your hips, then your waist, then your chest. You can feel the firm muscles of his shoulders under your thighs, and the heat of his body against yours.

"Still good?" he asks.

"Yep."

"You know, if you wanna move your hands, I think you're safe."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

You hesitate for a moment before slowly removing your hands from the top of his head onto his tanned shoulders. Your legs tighten around his waist, your core flush with his back. He keeps walking deeper, until the water is up to his neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as he wades around.

"See? It's not so bad," he says, turning his head to look at you.

You're so close to him, his face mere inches from yours.

"No, it's not," you whisper.

He turns back to bring you towards the edge of the pool. He sits you down on the side, keeping himself in the water. He hovers over you, his hand braced on the ledge, the other resting on your thigh.

"You did good tonight," he says, his thumb drawing circles on your skin. "I'm proud of you."

His praise sends a jolt of arousal straight to your core, and its taking everything in you not to scare off this nice stranger with your growing infatuation.

"Thank you. Really, I don't know what we would've done if you hadn't offered to help. Now I can actually enjoy the beach and the pool a little more."

He chuckles. "Well, I'm glad I could help." He tilts his head, his gaze soft and warm. "You know, you don't have to stop learnin' if you don't want to. There's plenty more I can show ya."

You're not sure how to respond, but the offer is tempting. You've already learned so much today, but the thought of learning more, especially from him, is enticing.

"What else ya got, Miller?" you ask, your voice low.

"Oh, there's a lot more where that came from," he says. His voice is deep, the words rolling off his tongue with a delicious drawl that makes your stomach flutter. He opens up his arms, and the water glistens down his body. "C'mere. Swim to me."

You bite your lip. "I don't know..."

"Remember what I told ya." Joel smiles. "I got ya. I ain't gonna let you sink."

You take a deep breath and jump back into the pool, slowly wading as you repeated his mantra in your head. Joel's eyes never leave you, watching as you move towards him, the water coming up to your shoulders.

"That's it, darlin'. You're doing great," he coos.

You finally reach him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you hold onto him. He chuckles, pulling you close.

"I knew you had it in ya." He murmurs. You can see the freckles scattered across his face, and the deep pools of his brown eyes. You feel his arms wrapped around you, his hands caressing your lower back, the warmth of his body. It's intoxicating.

"Thank you, Joel."

"My pleasure," he breathes, his voice low. You're not sure who moves first, but before you know it, his lips are pressed against yours, and all rational thoughts leave your mind.

The kiss is gentle, almost tentative, like he's waiting for you to decide the next move. You usually aren't the person to kiss strangers on vacation. But something about him makes you want to throw caution to the wind.

Your hands tangle in his wet curls, pulling him closer, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue skating into your mouth with the taste of alcohol. His beard is rough against your chin, and you can't help the moan that escapes your lips.

His hands wander down your back, grabbing a handful of your ass as he presses himself against you. Your tongue moves slowly in his mouth, matching the rhythm of your hips as you start to grind against his growing bulge.

He breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours, his dark brown eyes gazing into yours. "Sweetheart..." his hands squeeze your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, and his lips graze yours. "We need to get outta here before I do somethin' stupid."

"Like what?" You trail the stubble of his jaw with your fingertips and look at him, testing him. Daring him to say what you both wanted.

"Like takin' you right here." He rolls his hips, the hardness of his cock rubbing against your clit through your soaked bikini bottoms. "Lettin' anyone who comes by see how pretty you look when I'm fuckin' you."

"Fuck." The moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and Joel grins.

"I wanna hear more of that." He peppers kisses on your neck, and down to the top of your breasts. "Wanna hear every pretty sound comin' outta that mouth of yours."

"Then I guess we'd better get out of here," you say, breathless.

Joel helps you out of the pool and grabs a couple towels from a nearby cabana, wrapping one around you and sliding his hand around your waist. You liked how he towered over you, like he was already claiming you as your own.

He leads you inside, down the hall and to the stairs, the two of you making the decision knowing there would be less people around. You go up a flight up steps and you stop at a corner of the steps, turning around and backing into the wall. He crowds in on you, looking at you like he's ready to devour you.

He cups your face with his calloused hands, his lips capturing yours in a hungry kiss, your tongues moving in tandem. You grind against him, as he moans into the kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair, his other hand grabbing a fistful of your ass. Caution and carefulness be damned, you just want him.

He moves his hands from your face to your breasts, tweaking your nipples outside of your bikini fabric. You whine into his mouth and his hand snakes between your bodies, rubbing you on the outside of your bikini bottoms. You gasp as his fingers rub the material against your clit.

"If I could I'd take you right here." he breathes, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. "Would you let me do that? Take you right here, where anyone could see? Where everyone could see what a good girl you are, lettin' me take you how I want?"

You arch your back, grinding into his palm as he rubs your clit through your damp bikini. "I might take you up on that."

He chuckles, and you can feel the deep rumble of his chest. "Well, I might just take you up on that later. But for now..."

He slides your bikini bottoms aside, dipping his thick fingers into your slick cunt, and curling his finger inside. He slowly moves them, fucking you open, and you have to cover your mouth to keep from moaning too loudly. He presses his lips to the base of your neck, kissing and sucking as he fucks you on his fingers.

"You're so fuckin' wet," he murmurs against your skin. "Love the way that little pussy feels. So tight."

You roll your hips, feeling his thumb rubbing against your clit and his rhythm speeds up. The echo of the stairwell amplifies every sound and the thought of someone catching you makes the whole thing that much more arousing.

He slips another finger inside of you, and you hold onto his arm as you hear his wetness sliding against his fingers. The sound of your soaked pussy echoes in the stairwell.

"That's it, honey, just let go," he murmurs. "Let everyone know how good I'm making you feel."

His fingers curl inside of you, and sends you over the edge. You wail as you feel yourself throb around his fingers, your cunt fluttering as he holds you upright.

He slowly pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, moaning as he sucks them off. You whimper as his mouth is on yours, letting you taste yourself. He holds you upright, adjusting your bikini bottoms and stroking your hair as you come down.

"Pretty girl," he says, peppering kisses on your face and neck. "You think you can make it to my room?"

----------------------------------

You knew you'd have some new adventures on this trip.

But never in your wildest dreams would you have guessed you'd find yourself here.

Sitting on a man's face as he ate you out.

Joel's big, calloused hands held onto your ass as he lapped at your cunt, his tongue running along your folds, his beard scratching your thighs.

"That's it, sweet girl," he groans. "Just like that. Keep ridin' my face. You're doin' so well."

He squeezes your ass as he spreads your cheeks, his tongue teasing your asshole and making you moan. He moves his mouth back to your pussy, sucking on your clit as his beard scratches the sensitive skin of your thighs. You ride him in earnest, your hands gripping his hair, holding him in place.

"Oh, god," you pant, grinding on his face. "I'm gonna cum again, please please please."

He hums against your clit, sucking on the sensitive nub, and your orgasm crashes over you. You cry out in what sounds like a pornographic moan as you shake, your cunt throbbing around his tongue.

He holds you through it, his hands on your thighs, keeping you steady. Once you've come down, he gently moves you off his face, lying back and breathing hard. His face is slick with your cum, his lips swollen and red. He looks beautiful.

He quickly recovers and sits up, moving to lay you down on the bed, his heavy cock slapping against your folds. He teases you, rubbing his length up and down your slit, coating it in your arousal.

When he finally enters you, it's heaven. You moan as he stretches you, your cunt gripping him tightly as he bottoms out. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

"You want it deep, pretty girl?" Joel murmurs, his breath hot on your ear. "Want me to fuck you so deep and hard, make you feel me for days?"

You nod, moaning and writhing under him.

He starts slow, rolling his hips as he thrusts in and out, the two of you moaning as you feel every inch. But his pace quickly increases, his hips snapping against yours, his balls slapping against your ass. He pounds into you and your mouth is open, In a silent scream, as you take every inch of him.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he growls. "This pussy's so fuckin' perfect."

You can't form any coherent words, you've never been fucked like this. You can't tell if it's because you know this is a passing encounter. After this vacation it's not like you'll see Joel again, so why not indulge yourself in a way you normally wouldn't? Guys back home were usually so gentle, treating you as if you were delicate.

But Joel is different. He fucks without mercy or shame in how much he wants you. He holds you down, pinning your hands above your head as he rails you, as if he wants to make sure you'll remember him.

"Look at me, baby ," he grunts, and you turn your head to see him, his pupils blown and his chest covered in a sheen of sweat. He lifts your legs higher, the angle hitting that spot inside you that makes you scream.

"That's right, let 'em know how good I'm fucking ya," he growls, his lips hovering over yours. "Let everybody in this damn hotel hear how good you take dick."

You cry out, feeling the pressure build up as he fucks you harder, his cock hitting your g-spot. You've never felt this full, this wanted, this satisfied.

You can feel him getting close, his thrusts becoming erratic and his rhythm faltering. He lets go of your hands, one moving down to rub your clit, his other hand tangling in your hair. He holds you in place as you cum a third time, chanting like a mantra "please fill me up, please please" and Joel does just that. He lets out a guttural moan as his cock twitches inside you, his cum filling your throbbing cunt.

He collapses on top of you, panting, his weight a comforting presence. You run your hands along his broad shoulders, his muscled back, feeling the sweat that coats his body. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, placing featherlight kisses along the column of your throat.

You feel him seeping out of you as he pulls out, his cum spilling onto the sheets. He lies next to you, his arm draped over your stomach, his hand resting on your hip.

"Was that alright, sweet girl?"

"More than alright," you murmur, stroking his beard.

He pulls you closer, and you're enveloped in his warmth, his arms wrapped around you, his hands drawing lazy patterns on your back. You snuggle into his chest, your legs entwined.

"I should probably get back to my friends at some point, though." You murmur, half-heartedly.

"They won't miss you for one night," Joel murmurs.

He's right. You check the time on your phone and it's midnight, and Jane has your location. You've kept her updated until recently when you'd been too busy taking Joel's cock. She knows where you are, she knows you're safe and one or two more rounds wouldn't hurt.

"You know, I can always show you a lot more ways to swim," Joel drawls, his fingertips drawing patterns along the base of your spine.

"Oh yeah?" You smile, propping your head on his chest.

"Yeah, sweetheart." He grins. "There's the breast stroke, the backstroke, the butterfly. Pool is probably closed and I ain't got nothin' but a bathtub, but..."

You can't help but laugh at his stupid jokes, and he joins in, his eyes crinkling in the corners. You love the way he smiles, the way he laughs.

"We could also stay in, watch some movies, order room service, all that." He continues, his tone light, casual.

You raise your brow, amused. "Is this the part where you ask me out?"

He chuckles. "It's the part where I'm asking if you wanna spend the night."

"I'd like that," you murmur, your fingers running through his salt and pepper curls. "I can meet the girls back at the pool tomorrow and show them what I've learned."

Taco tuesday @time-for-my-weekly-spanking

Let me teach you @aurorawritestoescape

Your boyfriend begs you to have anal but knows jack shit about the act. Much to your surprise and pleasure, his dad steps up and teaches him. By example.

Guitar gig @baronessvonglitter

You show up for Joel's gig when your dad can't make it

Unfaithful part 1 | part 2 @peepawmiller

Your husband is unfaithful, and your contractor is hot

The sleepover @baronessvonglitter

Your plan to seduce your best friend's stepdad is coming along perfectly. But there's one small hitch

Put me in a movie @cadavercarcass

You hitch hike to escape your small town, but the man that picks you up isn't the savior you initially see him as

Bad neighbours | part 2 @koshkamartell

Joel Miller is a grumpy old man who enjoys peace and quiet. Ever since you moved into the neighbourhood he can't seem to escape you.

Happy campers @baronessvonglitter

Joel Miller, the new head counselor at Camp Happy Trail, makes sure this summer will be one you won't forget

how does Joel react in the wifey verse when someone suggests he’s disappointed with only girls @pedge-page

You should feel lucky | part XII @ess-evo

He's found you. He's obsessed with you. And you're never getting away from him.

Better in my head part 3 @broad-shouldrs

Thirsty @time-for-my-weekly-spanking

Getting a glimpse of one of your intimate, tender moments triggers something in Joel that he never would have expected

The summer fling @baronessvonglitter

You head to the beach for some R&R, only to find what you really need is some Big D.

After the rain @avastrasposts

Age over experience | chapter 1 | chapter 2 @bardot49

Embattled survivor, protective older sibling, surrogate parent, town leader, skilled craftsperson. Fifty something Di has a lot more in common with Joel Miller than either of them would ever admit. They’re two sides of the same coin, and they can’t stand each other. An enemies to lovers romance that proves it’s never too late for love.

Kept woman @koshkamartell

Your older boyfriend Joel knows what's best for you, even if you don't agree

Joel and Tommy Miller

Bad Blood | Nothing's gonna hurt you baby @aurorawritestoescape

Feeling sad about leaving Austin and returning to college, you decide to take something with you — a hot sex tape, starring Tommy, you and Joel

Dave York

The blind date @baronessvonglitter

Daisy's sister sets her up on a blind date

Ted Garcia

Office hours | part 5 @baronessvonglitter

You and Mayor Ted Garcia have kept your working relationship strictly platonic. But so much can happen after office hours

Tess Servopoulos

Fantasy made real @time-for-my-weekly-spanking

Clint Flood

The helping hand @baronessvonglitter

In need of a helping hand, Daisy turns to a familiar place - and a familiar face

Alex Serian

Let me play @604to647

Frankie Morales

The small things of a whole | A song @sawymredfox (Frankie x Ben Miller)

Intimacy glows in many ways: a knowing glance, a gentle caress, a hug, a playful smile, an inside joke, whispers of understanding and support, vulnerability, and offers of care with no demands of being repaid, among others. It grows if nurtured, blooming, making a whole.

Take me home tonight @bergamote-catsandbooks

Meeting, dating and leaving Frankie. You try to get over him and your troubled relationship, until you see him again

Date night @frannyzooey

Javier Peña

Birthday present (re read ✨) @604to647

Someone leaves you a birthday present on your desk

Medium well @604to647

You and Javi go grocery shopping in Laredo

Lola @time-for-my-weekly-spanking

Javi just wanted a burrito that night. But then he met you and Lola and realized maybe he wanted something more

With somebody who loves you @vodkaandpizza

Javier and his wife drop their youngest daughter off at college then spend a few days in San Francisco on a little vacation

Dieter Bravo

One room left @ess-evo

A bad storm hits California, causing you to pull off into the nearest hotel. The cost of the room at the luxury resort is shocking, but what's even more shocking is who you end up sharing it with

Sober @time-for-my-weekly-spanking

After being sent to rehab and after reaching his newfound sobriety, Dieter is ready to work on a new project. When he meets you, he’s totally struck by your demeanor and your confidence. Little does he know, you’re going to make a sweet perfect sub out of him and you will give him a new and rediscovered joy of living

My writing

Sloth (Joel x f!reader)

after you promised Joel to try something new in bed and managed to make him skip patrol and stay home, he makes sure you mean it. So you enjoy a chill morning with him, and then you make good on your promise