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loslentesdepedrito · 4 months

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I'm Your Wife- Chapter Seven

Javi gif by: @skyshipper Jack gif by: @javier-pena My Masterlist

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Six

Word count: 9.2k+

Chapter summary: It's time for Ángel's surgery and the transplant preparation. Following the procedure, Jack visits his son, providing some closure regarding your marriage.

A/N: This chapter concludes the final installment of the series and stands as my penultimate post on this blog. Next week, hopefully, I'll be sharing one more post—a Din piece—officially wrapping up this blog. I intend to maintain my writing for another two weeks before ultimately closing my account. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!

Rating: 18+ No explicit content, but this is an 18+ page. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the Whiskey bottles. Also, Jack's texts are in bold.

CW: angst is back again, but a happy ending is guaranteed, some science, mentions of surgery, chemotherapy, and stem cell transplant, Jack cannot use an iPhone, Javi and Jack tension, jealousy, pregnancy, divorce, and childhood disease.

Your conversation with Jack three hours ago left you drained and exhausted, and now you're perched on the chair in the corner of your son's hospital room. You're engrossed in watching Ángel and Javi talk about an upcoming soccer game and the probability of their favorite team winning the match when your phone vibrates underneath your thigh. With a subtle shift, you reach for it and once it’s in your hand, you flip it over. Your phone is illuminated with a family picture of you with your husband and son in the background and there’s a message on your Notification Center.

Jack Daniels: HI. TEXTING YOU FROM MY NEW PHONE.

Another vibration follows, prompting a second message.

Jack Daniels: WHY DID THE TEXT SEND IN UPPERCASE?

The sequence of messages from Jack continues, each notification accompanied by a vibration.

Jack Daniels: HOW DO I TURN THIS OFF?

Jack Daniels: HELP me. Wait, I figured it out. Sorry.

You haven’t clicked on the messages to take you to the chat. Instead, you hold and press, sending him a brief response:

Hi, Jack.

He doesn’t send anything back, and you turn off your phone. As soon as the screen is black, it lights up again.

Jack Daniels: I went to the store and picked up a new phone.

A second later, an image comes through.

You hover over the message once more, and it’s a front selfie Jack took. Well, it’s not quite a full-face selfie. It only captures just beneath his eyes, and his eyes and face are not looking directly at the camera, so you guess he was looking down trying to take a picture of something else.

You’re proven correct when a second picture comes through. This time it’s a box of an iPhone.

There’s a bubble on your text chain, and this time you fully click, opening the message thread with Jack.

Sorry, I don’t know how this phone works. I just didn’t want my phone to fail, and you didn’t have a way to contact me, so I got a new one. Did I miss anything?

You reply back with:

Ángel is already ready to go, we’re just waiting for a room to open up in the OR. Could take hours, though.

How did he take the news?

Very well, actually. Saying he’s excited to go home is an understatement. He sensed that we were worried about his surgery and he kind of gave us a lecture on how important it is to listen to doctors and gave us a small list of the benefits of chemo ports. When we asked him how he knew about the port, he said, and I quote, "some light reading."

Jack doesn’t take long to reply:

Smart boy. He definitely got that from you.

A smile graces your lips at his message, but you decide to shift the conversation:

We never talked about it, but do you want us to tell Ángel that you’re his donor?

Your nerves are on edge, and waiting for Jack��s response heightens your anxiety. Glancing up from your phone, you see Ángel still in deep conversation with Javi. Your phone vibrates again, and you look down at Jack’s response:

No. I don’t want him to want a relationship with me because of the donation. If he wants a relationship with me, I want it to be because he truly wants it, not because he feels any obligation.

You exhale, relieved, and reply:

Okay, we won’t tell him.

Thank you.

A text bubble appears:

How do I send the accent on his name?

Suppressing a laugh, your fingers glide over the keyboard:

Press the letter A for a good two seconds, and a whole lot of options should appear. Click on the third one.

It doesn’t take Jack very long to send a single:

He follows with:

Be honest, does it sound a bit funny when I pronounce his name?

You weigh your options, lie or be honest. You decide to go with the latter:

A little bit.

I remember when you used to make fun of my accent…

Liar. I didn’t make fun of you.

I miss that...

Oh, God, not again.

You’re about to reprimand him when, by some divine intervention, a fist knocks on the door, followed by a man in a polo and khakis. Quickly, you turn your phone off, redirecting your full attention to the man.

“Hi, I’m Will. I’m with patient transport services, and I’m here to take Ángel down to the OR,” he says.

“Come in,” you invite.

Javi stands up and retrieves your thick to-go bag from underneath the sofa. It's filled with water bottles, a variety of snacks, sweaters, sweatpants, and a few changes of clothes—because, as Javi says, uno nunca sabe (one never knows).

Will walks over to Ángel and looks at his hospital bracelet. He takes out a phone with a bulky blue case and scans the ID barcode. Will asks to no one in particular, “Can you please confirm his full name and date of birth.”

Javi does that for you.

Will nods and types something onto the phone. After a moment, he looks at Ángel, “Hey, little man, how are you doing?”

Ángel smiles, “I’m good, sir. I'm just waiting to get my chemo port. After that, I can get chemo and then a transplant so I can go home.”

Will chuckles, “That's a great plan, buddy. We’ll get you down to the OR, and they’ll take good care of you so you can go home soon. Ready to go to the sixth floor?”

Ángel nods enthusiastically, his eyes filled with trust.

“Great,” Will says, glancing at you and Javi. “If you guys are ready, we can head downstairs.”

Javi, lifting the heavy bag over his shoulder, nods in agreement. He glances at Ángel, a mix of tenderness and concern in his eyes, and then turns to Will.

“He’ll be under anesthesia, right?” Javi asks, his voice a bit gruffer than usual.

Will offers a reassuring smile, “Yes, sir. That's what his chart says.”

Javi nods, visibly swallowing some of his worry. “Okay, let’s get him down there.” He moves to help his son get up from the bed. Will positions the wheelchair closer to Ángel's bed, and together, they carefully lower Ángel onto the wheelchair. You reach for one of the blankets—a gift from your father-in-law—and drape it over Ángel. Will takes the IV wire and secures it on the designated hook at the back of the wheelchair.

"Are we all set?" Will asks.

"Yes," you affirm, and then Will wheels Ángel toward the door. Javi, anticipating the need, beats them to the exit, opens the door, and holds it wide open to let them pass. Stepping into the corridor, Javi instinctively reaches for your hands, intertwining fingers not just for your comfort but for his own solace as well. Together, you trail behind your son as Will expertly steers Ángel's wheelchair through the hallway.

Descending from the tenth floor via the patient elevators, you and Javi follow Will, who scans his badge to usher you through the double doors into the pre-op room.

Guiding Ángel to the left side of the room, Will selects a quiet corner and draws back a side of the arctic blue diamond-print curtains, revealing an unoccupied bed. Positioning the wheelchair beside the bed, he assists Ángel in transitioning onto the soft mattress.

"Alright, good luck, buddy. You'll do great in there," Will encourages, raising a fist. Ángel meets it with his own, and as their fists connect, they both playfully mimic the sound of an explosion.

"Thanks, sir," Ángel replies, his voice carrying gratitude. Then, in a quiet and unsure tone, he adds, "I'll see you after?"

Will's smile is reassuring. "Absolutely. I'll be the one taking you back up."

With that, Will takes a step back, giving Ángel some space. He turns to you and your husband, saying, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Peña, Mrs. Peña. Someone should be with you shortly."

"Thanks for everything, Will," you say, watching as Will, with a warm smile, exits and closes the curtain, providing you with some privacy with your son.

With only one chair in the room, Javi insists you take a seat, not wanting you on your feet.

"¿Y tú? (what about you?)" you ask, concern etched in your voice and face. Maybe it's because you went so long without a partner prioritizing you, or because in the time your son has been in the hospital, Javier has really taken care of almost everything. Sometimes you can't help but feel guilty that he always puts your comfort above his own.

"Me paro (I’ll stand)," Javi shrugs his shoulders as if it's the most obvious choice in the world.

"Papi, you can sit here," Ángel offers, patting the mattress.

"Está bien (it's okay), mijo, I can stand for a while," he smiles, loving that his son is always considerate.

"Baja ese bolso (put down that bag), at least," you plead with him.

"I'm good, someone should be here soon," Javi reassures.

"Pero, Javi- (but, Javi-)" You're interrupted when you hear a woman asking if she can come in.

He smirks and whispers, "Ves (see)." Dropping his cocky look, Javi opens the curtain to let the woman in.

"Hello, my name is Dr. Gaddi. I'll be Angel's anesthesiologist. Can I please get a full name and a birthday?"

Your son happily responds to the doctor's requests while she verifies the information on the computer.

"Great, thank you, sweetheart. Mom or Dad, I'll need your signature on the consent forms. If one of you will please follow me," she says.

"I'll go," Javi says, and to your relief, he finally drops the bag from his shoulder.

"It's just straight this way," the anesthesiologist says, motioning past the curtain where the nurse station is in the middle of the big room.

Javier nods and follows the doctor. "Ya vengo mis amores (I’ll be back my loves)," he says with a big smile before closing the curtain.

Once on the other side of the curtain, where you and his son can't see him, he exhales a shaky breath. The fear is there, gnawing at him, although he doesn't want to show it. He wishes he could share it with you, as he normally would, but you're pregnant. The stress is already too much, and he doesn't want it to affect the baby. That thought terrifies him, and he can't risk it. Through the course of your marriage, he's come to understand that sometimes, marriage isn't a perfect fifty-fifty. There are moments when one partner has to carry more, and right now, he knows it's one of those moments. He must bear the fear and shoulder some of yours. While he wants to share these worries with you, a deep-seated commitment to putting family first holds him back. His protective nature takes precedence, always prioritizing his family.

Javier raises his head back up and quickly turns around to follow the doctor, who is waiting for him.

Once he catches up to her, she tells him the forms are for consent of treatment. The doctor reads the online document, informing Javi about the procedure, the benefits, and the risks it entails.

Dr. Gaddi must have seen the look on Javier's face after she listed the risks and the way he nearly crumbled when she said "or death" because she stopped and turned to him.

"But... everything will be okay, right? He’s in good hands?” Javi asks, his voice cracking as if he's on the verge of tears; even speaking those words makes his throat ache, causing a noticeable strain in his voice.

"Sir, I can't make any promises. Every surgery does come with risks, but my team and I have successfully done this procedure multiple times.”

Javi tries his best to remind himself that everyone in the OR is experienced and has done this procedure before.

"Where do I sign?" he manages to ask, his voice slowly regaining its composure.

While Javi is with Ángel's anesthesiologist, a nurse, and another doctor come in to check on Ángel. He had only managed a short nap, so now, as he rests, you take out your phone and send a text to Jack.

Hey. We're in the Pre-op area. There's a room in the OR now, and I've met his doctors. As soon as the anesthesiologist comes back, they'll take him.

Jack replies instantly as if he's been sitting by, waiting for his phone to ring:

Thank you for letting me know.

He sends a follow-up:

His surgery is only supposed to take an hour, right?

That's what the doctors said. I'm sure he won't be in there for too long.

As Javi, Dr. Gaddi, and a nurse approach, you text Jack:

The anesthesiologist will be here soon. I'll send you any updates I get, and I'm going to send you Javi's contact info just in case.

After adding Javi's phone number and hitting send, your husband and the surgical team arrive.

Dr. Gaddi approaches, “Hi, Mom, everything is ready on our end to take the patient to the OR."

“Okay,” you say, rising to your feet. The staff gathers around the bed and begins to move it. Ángel stirs at the movement, calling for you and Javi before opening his eyes.

Javi quickly rushes to your side, closer to your son, and reassures him, "It's okay."

"Oh, am I going to surgery?" Ángel asks.

"Yes, you are, Angel," the nurse responds as he releases the brakes on the left side.

"Oh, okay, yay," Ángel smiles.

The nurse chuckles at his excitement, "You know, not many kids are excited for surgery."

"I'm excited because chemo ports look more comfortable than the IV. It gets in my way when I do, like, anything," Ángel explains with a huff.

"Well, I've heard from other patients that they prefer the port, so hopefully you will too," says Dr. Gaddi as she stands to the side, waiting to wheel Ángel out of the room.

She turns to you and your husband, saying, "You guys can follow us until that red line, and then you'll be taken to the waiting room."

You start feeling more anxious, and Javier senses it. He begins to rub your lower back, his warm hand moving up and down, offering comfort.

"Okay, ready," says the nurse.

With the curtain open, they go through first, and you and Javi are right next to your son’s bed.

You're so hyper-focused on your son that you don't realize you've made it right before the line that you can't cross.

"Love you, Mommy, love you, Daddy," Ángel says, reaching out for your hand.

You take his little hand in yours, and Javi covers both of your hands with his.

"Te amamos más, mi niño (we love you more)," Javi tells him in a soft voice. Everyone can hear the love pouring out of his words.

Ángel knows this and doesn't try to contradict his dad because he knows it would be in vain. Instead, he simply says, "Nos vemos en un ratito (We’ll see each other in a little bit)."

"Okay, mijo," you say, fighting back tears.

The doors open, and Ángel is wheeled in. You think the tears are coming, but when you hear the light sound of your son's laughter, you're able to compose yourself.

"Would you like to be taken to the waiting room now?" a non-surgical nurse asks.

Thirty minutes pass, and you and Javier are seated in the waiting room, the only occupants at the moment. Purple chairs surround you, and you're on a blue seat cushion against the wall, your attention fixed on the TV opposite. It's a modest 35-inch screen designed to keep you informed about the ongoing surgery. Your son's name is displayed in green, and the message changes from ‘Surgery in progress: Incision and Pocket Creation’ to ‘Surgery in progress: Port Implantation.’

"They're placing the port-disk-chamber thingy inside the incision they made on his chest," Javi says matter-of-factly, pointing at the text.

You turn your head toward him, an amused smile playing on your lips. "'Port-disk-chamber thingy'—is that what the doctor said, Jav?"

He bursts out laughing, placing his right hand over his chest, realizing he was mimicking the tone doctors use when imparting information: authoritative. "Casi me cago del miedo (I almost shitted myself from fear) when the doctor told me step by step what they would do, so I don't remember exactly what he said," he chuckles.

Javier's laugh is contagious, and you can't help but laugh too. Your laughter fuels his, and vice versa. The only thing that interrupts your laughter is when you feel the baby kick.

"Ay, me pateó (oh, he kicked me)," you exclaim happily.

Javi instantly stops laughing too and shifts his hand to rest on your bump. As soon as you feel the weight of his hand on your stomach, your son responds with another kick, right where Javi's palm is placed.

A boyish look crosses your husband's face. He always loves feeling the baby kick, reminiscent of the first time he felt his first son kick.

"¿Hola, mijo, ya te despertaste? (Hi, my boy, have you woken up yet?)" he hums softly.

In response, the baby kicks again.

"He loves your voice so much. I swear he only kicks so you could talk to him. A mi no me quiere, nomas le gusta que le cantes y le leas (He doesn’t love me, he just likes it when you sing and read to him),” you huff out in fake annoyance.

"That's not true. The second-born is always the momma's boy. So the baby loves you the most," Javi says.

"And the youngest loves daddy the most, so no," you refute.

"He won't be the youngest for long," he grins suggestively.

You gasp, “ya me embarazaste, sinverguenza! (You already impregnated me!)"

"But if it was scientifically possible..."

"Shut up," you playfully scold him.

With Javi's hand still over your stomach, your son kicks again, this time much lighter.

"He's upset you told me to shut up," his gaze shifts from looking at you to your stomach as if he could see the baby, and he lowers his voice, “¿verdad, mijo? Dile a tu mami que no sea mala conmigo (right, mijo? Tell your mom to stop being mean to me).”

He looks back up at you, "te acuerdas cuando Ángel hizo eso por primera vez? (Do you remember when Ángel did that for the first time?).”

“Jesus Christ, he scared me, and he made you cry,” you laugh, a smile on your face remembering.

"Oh shit! I forgot to update Jack," you realize and scramble to get your phone. As you start typing to let him know what's going on in the OR, you tell Javi, "By the way, I gave him your phone number."

Javier lets out an unenthusiastic and dry, "Yay."

“Mira (look),” he says while you’re still typing. You look up to where Javi is pointing, and the TV changes to Surgery in progress: Catheter Insertion.

You wince, "They're in his vein now."

"The catheter is the tube that delivers the medicine to his body, right?"

"Yeah," you mumble, typing the next update to Jack.

Javi reaches for one of your hands and rubs soothing circles, “Deja de pensar en eso. Él está bien con ellos (stop thinking about it. He’s safe with them).”

He removes his hand and turns his body to the to-go bag. Javi reaches for the zipper and undoes it. He digs in the back, and you see him pull something out. "Do you need a blanket?" he asks, with a large fuzzy blue blanket in his hand and his soft brown eyes looking at you tenderly. Before you can reply, he places it in your lap and goes back to the bag. Javi fights a little and finally tugs a pillow out of the bag, "a pillow?" he asks with the same puppy eyes.

“I- thank you," you accept both items. You put the pillow behind you so you won't rest your back against the hard and cold wall. You take the blue blanket from your lap and extend it to drape it over the both of you.

"¿Tienes hambre? (are you hungry?)" Javi asks adjusting the blanket.

"Sí"

He goes back to the bag and pulls out some snacks: Goldfish, Chips Ahoy, granola bars, fruit snacks, dry plantain chips, and a pack of assorted nuts.

"Sorry, I don't have any actual food," he looks at what he's offered you and feels guilty at the limited options. Javi gets up quickly, "I can go get you real food. Are you craving anything?"

"Hey," you wrap your fingers around his wrist and grip somewhat tightly. You look up at him and push him to sit back down. "No. I don't want you to leave."

"Okay. I'll stay," he says softly, kissing where your hair and forehead meet.

A knock reverberates in the room, and a nurse comes in. "Hi," she says, closing the door to come closer to you. "Everything went well. There were no complications. They're ready to transfer Ángel to the Post-op room if you guys would like to follow me."

Both of you look relieved at the news, and you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

"Thank you," you tell her, and Javi can't get any words out. His eyes are watering, and he tries his best to not let them fall.

He starts hurriedly putting away the snacks, just keeping the bag of nuts, while you fold the blanket back up into the neat roll Javi had it in. After the snacks, blanket, and pillow are in the bag again, Javi helps you get up. You send Jack a quick text informing him that everything went well, and you're on your way to see Ángel. Javi puts the bag over his shoulder, and you both follow the nurse to go see your son.

Next morning - Day 1 of Chemo:

Hey, Jack. Ángel is awake and doing well. He asked about having visitors and hoped you would come see him. We explained that it's not possible right now. He understood but wanted to call. Would you like to FaceTime?

That's great. What’s FaceTime?

It's a video call.

Yes. How do I do that?

Instead of texting him back, you initiate a FaceTime call and hand the phone off to Ángel when it starts to ring.

As soon as Jack accepts the call and his face takes over your screen, Ángel's little face lights up. "Mr. Jack!"

Jack's face mirrors Ángel's: a smile so wide, eyes so soft looking at his son.

"I just started chemotherapy," Ángel blurts out just before Jack greets him.

Jack's heart glows watching his son's face. "How are ya feeling?"

"Mmm... I feel okay. Oh! I got the surgery last night, and look at my chemo port." Your son takes one hand off your phone and pulls his hospital gown just enough to show Jack his port. "Look! You can see the bump of the port under my skin. Eww, it looks gross. It's so cool."

Jack laughs, and that makes Ángel move the phone back to his face.

"Does it hurt?" Jack asks.

"Nope. It was a little bit like... sore when I woke up, but it doesn’t hurt now. I had chemo in the morning, and it pinched for a second, but it's wayyy better than the IV."

"It's not a pain to use the restroom, huh?"

"It's easier and faster to go now," his brows pinch in the middle, "I almost peed myself once 'cus I had to wait for the wires to detangle from the bed." Ángel trails off, tilts his head to the side, and squints. "What do you have behind you? Is that a needle?"

Jack turns his head behind to see what his son saw. He had picked up the prescription he needed to be Ángel's donor from the pharmacy the previous night. Jack opened the box out of curiosity and took out a needle to look at, but then he got caught up texting you in the morning and forgot to put the small vial and needle back in the pharmacy bag.

"Umm... yeah?" Jack says uncertainly, not knowing how to explain it to his son. He doesn't want him to know that he's his donor, at least not yet. "That is some medicine I have to take in two days," Jack says, trying to keep it vague.

When the words come out of Jack's mouth, Ángel's eyes show pure concern, "Oh, are you sick?"

"No, buddy," Jack blurts out immediately, "I'm not sick. I'm just takin' them for... to... Just takin' them to stay healthy. They're like vitamins."

"Maybe I should take some so I could be healthy. What's the name of the medicine?"

Jack's heart drops at his son's words. His mind starts spinning, but he takes a deep breath. He'll be healthy soon, he tries to remind himself. "You can't take this one, buddy. It's for adults."

"Oh," he sounds disappointed, but his voice goes back to normal, "Well, that's okay. I can't take vitamins on chemo either way. I think. Vitamins can affect chemo because of cancer cells, but I don't have any so I don't know. I can ask later. How are the horses?"

Donation Day - Day 7 of Chemo:

Jack sat comfortably in a green chair, his right hand extended over a pillow, squeezing a small blue ball as his blood cycled through the machine. Two hours had passed since he settled into the chair. He arrived at the hospital early in the morning with the last dose of his five-day filgrastim prescription, and for the first time, someone other than him administered the injection. Throughout the morning, he had been texting you, checking in on his son, and, though he wouldn't admit it, checking in on you. Of course, he cared about his son and wanted to know every detail of what he was going through, but this had been the only line of communication he had with you for years, and he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity while you were willing to entertain his conversations. From you, he learned that Ángel's last day of chemo had gone smoothly.

Jack's head spun when he heard a knock against the door. His heart thumped wildly in his chest at the thought of seeing you. When the door opened, a wave of disappointment washed over him. It wasn't you who set foot in the room; it was fucking Javier.

Jack instantly tenses and clears his throat as Javier walks over to him.

"Hi."

Javi crosses his hands over his thick biceps, "How's the donation coming along?"

"It's goin' well. They think in 30 minutes we'll have enough for Ángel," Jack fills Javi in.

"H-how are umm... how are you feeling?" Javi gets the words out, although with much effort. He sounds physically pained asking a simple question to Jack.

"You sound very concerned for my well-being," Jack quips sarcastically.

Not really, Javi wants to say. Instead, he tells Jack, "I’m trying really hard to not hate you.”

It doesn't faze Jack one bit. "Same."

"So just don't do anything to piss me off. More like don't do anything else to piss me off even more," Javi lowers his voice more, "She's my wife; she tells me things. Don't you ever dare call her ‘baby’ again. You're lucky she's not that uncomfortable with ‘sugar’, but if she ever shows one ounce of discomfort, you will stop."

"She never minded all those names before," Jack challenges, glaring at Javi."

Javi smirks, wearing a shit-eating grin as he nonchalantly shrugs. "Yeah, she never did lots of things before me."

Jack is furious. All he sees is red, and just as he begins to rise from his chair to get up, the nurse walks in.

"Oh! A visitor," she exclaims.

"Hello," Javi greets the redheaded nurse in blue scrubs with ducks all over them.

Seeing the nurse enter, Jack comes to his senses and sits back down. Subconsciously, he squeezes the ball so tight in his hands that his knuckles turn white.

"Mr. Daniels, are you okay?" the nurse questions with concern. All she sees is her patient gripping the ball so tightly that his nails are about to rupture through the material. She moves to him and checks his arm to see if there are any signs the needle is causing pain.

Jack's glare tears from Javi and shifts to the nurse. "I'm okay, thank you for checkin’ in on me," he tells her and moves his hand to signal for the nurse to release his arm. "Nothin’ hurts," he smiles up at her.

The nurse understands and checks the progress of the donation. While looking at the machine, she decides to make small talk with her patient and his visitor. "Are you Mr. Daniels' brother?" She turns to ask Javi innocently.

"No," Jack's words drip with disgust.

Javi smiles at how fast Jack denies the nurse's initial thought and says "Not related," under his breath, mumbling, "Thank God."

The nurse doesn't seem to pick up on their animosity and comments, "You two look alike, what a coincidence. Best friends then?"

"No, nothing like that. My wife and I know him, and he's giving our son a gift," Javi says 'our' while looking at Jack.

Suddenly, Ángel crosses their minds, and they both feel some shame for their earlier behavior. They know they can't go on still hating each other because it'll eventually turn into a fight. They just don't know how to set aside their differences.

"I'll call the doctor to get her thoughts, but it looks like we have what we need for the donation," the nurse says, taking note of the blood volume. "In a few hours, one lucky little boy will receive the cells, and he’ll be one step closer to being healthy."

After Jack was hooked up to the machine for two and a half hours, the staff deemed the collection enough and sent the blood bag to the lab to confirm that Jack’s procedure had collected enough stem cells. Four hours later, it was confirmed that there were the desired amount of stem cells, and the team took the cells to Ángel’s room. Due to your son being immunocompromised, he isn't allowed to have visitors other than legal guardians. So, you and Javi update Jack on the transplant.

Day 11 post-transplant:

Remember how I told you he started grafting on the tenth day?

Yes! How his body was accepting the stem cells, and the cells were growing and making new cells.

Mhm. Well, if everything keeps going at the speed it’s been going, Ángel gets to go home in four days!!

Oh, wow! It’s just day 11 after the transplant, and the doctors estimated it wouldn't happen until closer to day 25! Can I go see him then? I know I was cleared to go five days ago, but because I wasn’t feeling well, I didn’t go. My fever’s still here, but I’ll continue to monitor myself.

Sure! You need to be cleared of a fever for 24 hours and have absolutely NO symptoms.

You have my word, sugar.

Day 14 post-transplant:

You're packing all of Ángel's belongings to take home. It's been 14 days since your son's transplant, and he's cleared to go home. You don't know who's happier— you, your husband, or your son. But that doesn't really matter; all that matters is that your family is together. Just as you're collecting your son's toys and getting them ready to shove into the white personal belongings bag, someone knocks on the door. Javi stops placing Ángel's books into a box and hurriedly opens the door. He was expecting the doctor to come in with discharge papers, but it was Jack waiting on the other side.

"Oh, right, you said you'd stop by," Javi remembered.

When you saw Jack standing there not quite stepping inside the room with a red gift bag, you gasped. "Sorry, we forgot you were going to stop by." You turned your neck and saw Ángel reading the book Jack had gifted him, One Hundred Fun Facts About Horses.

"Come in," you usher Jack in. "Mijo," you call, and Ángel looks up from the book he's got his nose buried in.

"Mr. Jack!" Ángel's face lights up like a Christmas tree. He pats a spot in his bed as he tells Jack to sit down next to him. "I want to show you something," Ángel puts the book aside and lowers his shirt to show Jack that the port is gone. "They took my port out!"

Jack almost reaches out and touches his son's scar but settles for examining it with his eyes. "Are you sore?"

"Not really. I'm just excited to go to my house. Did my mom tell you I'm leaving the hospital today?"

"Yeah," Jack chuckles, "she mentioned it. And here I brought you this," he lifts the gift bag onto the bed.

Ángel tears it open and begins to pull the items out. The first gift he reaches is a book, Her Right Foot. "Oh, my God!"

You see the title and direct your question to Jack, "He's wanted that book for a while, how did you know?"

"Really?" Jack's smiling ear to ear. "I just went to the bookstore and thought he'd like that one." His heart feels like it could rip right through his chest because he feels like he knows his son. Jack had browsed many children's books and read the synopsis of every last book. The one he had purchased was the one he felt his son would love, the book his son is currently holding, and Jack was right.

The little boy takes out the next item, which is a box. "A Lego set!" Ángel flips the black box to the front, and he sees that this particular set is one of horses. The horse in the center looked similar to Andor, one of Jack's horses his son loved the most. "Is this an Andalusian?" Ángel looks to Jack, his eyes sparkling."

Jack nods his head, "It is, buddy. It's like a mini Andor."

Ángel seems pleased with Jack's answer and moves on to the last gift. It was another box, but this one was a shoebox. The little boy lifted the top off, and he was met with boots—dark brown leather boots with beautiful and intricate stitching all throughout.

“Is that a longhorn?” Ángel points at the center of the boots. He doesn’t wait for an answer before speaking again, “My grandpa has longhorns on his ranch. Do you have them on your ranch, Mr. Daniels?”

"I don’t have any longhorns, but umm... I have the same boots," Jack looks down at the floor like he’s suddenly interested in the simple pattern of the hospital floor. He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, but when his son's sweet voice reached his ears, Jack looked up.

"You do?" Ángel was beaming, a smile brighter than the sun. He leaps to move sideways so his legs would hang from the bed. He took his left boot and put it on his baby blue non-slip sock-clothed feet and did the same for the right boot. When both boots are on, he pinches the tip to feel where his toes are. Ángel drops to the floor and begins to walk, showing all three of you his new footwear.

"How did you get his shoe size?" You're amazed at how they seem to fit perfectly.

"I asked him," Jack nods his head towards your husband, who is smiling broadly, showing his perfect teeth. Javi squats down to Ángel's level and presses his fingers on his son's boot toe box to feel if they're pinching Ángel's feet. "Perfect fit," Javi smiles up at his son, dimple on display, still on the floor.

Once Javi's hands are removed from Ángel's boots, he runs to Jack, "Thank you so much, Mr. Jack," he says, jumping up and down. Ángel runs back to Javi, who is now standing up straight, "¡Papi, quiero una foto! (Daddy, I want a picture!)" Javi complies and takes out his phone from his back pocket.

You turn to Jack, and your voice falls to a whisper, "We're hosting a dinner in a few nights to celebrate Ángel coming home, and we'd love it if you'd join us."

Jack's head reels at the prospect of seeing you and Ángel in a few days, but beneath that excitement, there is fear, "Is your family going to be there?" he asks.

"Yes, and Javi's too."

"It's your family I'm worried about," he confesses, looking into your eyes.

You take in the way his face pales slightly, his eyes widen, and his eyebrows shoot near his hairline. "No. You're more than worried; you look genuinely scared, but you'll be fine."

"'Course I'll be there, Sugar," he says, looking at his son laughing while Javi takes his pictures. If Ángel was a happy and giddy boy before the transplant, Jack now sees how his innocence is amplified now that he's healthy, and Jack can't wait to see more of his son's childhood joy outside the hospital.

"Hey, can I talk with you alone before you leave?" Jack asks you, hoping you'll agree.

"Um, yeah, we can go outside," you agree, noting his urgent tone.

"Javi, Ángel, I'll be back soon. I'm just going to walk Jack out," you say, moving to the door with Jack on your heels.

"Okay, we'll keep packing, amor," Javi tells you, brushing his hand with yours. You lean into your husband for a while until Ángel and Jack say their goodbyes, promising they'll see each other at the dinner.

You and Jack exit the room, and you take him to a little corner further down the hall.

"What did you want to discuss?" you ask resting your back on the wall with brown and cream diamond wallpaper.

Jack's nervous to tell you what he wants: a father-and-son relationship with Ángel. You two never went into detail on how you would tell Ángel the truth about Jack and he's terrified of asking you for something this big so soon after a big weight of stress has been lifted off you.

"Jack?"

"Sorry," he clears his throat, "I wanted to talk to you about telling Ángel that I'm his dad- biological."

"Oh," you sound surprised. "Yeah. We didn't really discuss that, did we? I haven't thought about it in so long, I'm sorry. Maybe we can get some pointers from Ángels counselor?" You suggest. "Javi and I thought about making an appointment with a child therapist because of this entire hospital stay. We were hoping to get your opinion on that actually."

It's Jack's turn to be surprised. "I think that's wonderful, Sugar. Thank you for including me in the decision."

"Of course. I think it would be great if we could get the counselor's opinion on how to best handle the situation. And we too can figure out how this new dynamic would work. For example, medical decisions moving forward. We'll tell Ángel about you and I have no doubt he'll want to have the relationship you want to have with him. We can talk more about the appointment in a few days. We haven't set an exact date for the dinner but it will probably be this upcoming Sunday."

"I'll clear out my entire schedule," Jack says sincerely

"We'll have food for you that won't send you into a choking fit," you tease.

Jack covers his eyes with his hands, "God, 'M so sorry."

You laugh at his embarrassment, "No, it's okay. I understand the food we serve can take some getting used to." You continue to tell him about the plans for the dinner that is slowly turning into a party and he just stares at you while you keep talking he gets lost in the moment. He thinks about your laugh and the consideration you still have for him and suddenly Jack blurts out, “I love you."

The smile you had vanishes.

“Jack,” you warn dangerously. “We were doing so good, Jack.” You don't want to—can't see him now, so you close your eyes. The words only needed to be said once for them to threaten tears to spill. "How dare you say those words to me now?” You hiss, your tone now angry but more than anything, filled with frustration and pain. You thought you could handle seeing him, so you open your eyes. "What do you expect me to do with that? I won’t leave Javi if that’s what you’re hoping for.

"S-" Jack opens his mouth, but you cut him off immediately. "No, Jack, let me speak."

"Once, those three words would have made me the happiest person in the world, but now? They’re only causing pain,” you pause, exhaling a shaky breath. “You humiliated me, Jack. Time and time again. Even if I didn’t have Javi, I wouldn’t go back to you.” You sound defeated, your voice carrying the pain of past wounds, and it crushes you to keep thinking about the past.

“I did love you, through everything,” Jack whispers, his eyes searching yours. They are watery and dazed.

“I think…” you run your tongue over your lips and then purse them, “I think you loved me in your own way. But that’s not how I wanted to be loved. During our engagement, and more so during our marriage, I never really felt loved by you. Can you blame me for that if I can count with my fingers the amount of 'I love yous' you gave me?” Your words are like shards of glass, cutting through the air with the sharpness of your pain.

“When you did show me your love, I was so happy, Jack. So happy that I thought, hoped, you would give me more love, so I stayed with you. I longed for the morning you woke up and things would be different, better. Because that’s exactly what happened. You woke up after the night of our engagement, and you were a completely different person, and I couldn't comprehend what I did wrong. I was willing to stay with you forever for the odd chance one day you would feel for me how I felt for you.”

“And I stayed because I always hoped you would go back to your old self. Sometimes there were indications that you were going to become the old Jack. Well, I don’t know if I fooled myself, but sometimes I thought you were happy. Like right before I told you I was pregnant, you had this smile on your face….” Your voice trembles with the weight of those memories.

“Other times I genuinely thought you hated me, and then I thought that’s not possible. ‘Why would he ask me to marry him if he couldn’t stand me?’”

“Did you always think that?” He sounds sad, a quiet plea for understanding. But your heart, scarred by the past, struggles to find solace in his remorseful gaze.

“Yeah. When… when we were together, it was rare you would look at me in my face. The majority of times you had me face down. How do you think that made me feel? You made me feel used and disposable.”

“I wanted to be loved by you," you continue, your tone a mix of vulnerability and strength, "and you always made me feel like I was the other woman. Then I decided I should stop trying and let you go.”

“What changed?” Jack's question hangs in the air. Everything you’ve revealed up to this point has felt like glass shards embedded in his heart. He knows you still have a lot left to say, and it will continue to hurt him, but he owes it to you to hear everything you went through.

“I was at a park one day after you didn’t come home," you recall, emotion tinging your words. "I came across this older man, and he showed me pictures of his family. When he talked about his wife…” you pause, emotion catching up with you. “It was beautiful. And I realized that would never be you. You wouldn’t talk about me that way. Since that day, I took off my rose-colored lenses and thought everything through."

"I thought about your behavior but also about mine. I hated who I was because it sounds ridiculous, but I was jealous of someone who wasn't here anymore. And I swear I never wanted to replace her or erase her from your life, I just wanted you to love me too. I loved you so much; I would've settled for half the love you had for Allison, but you couldn't even give me that. I never told you you couldn't love or mourn Allison. She was your wife, I get that... but I was your wife too, and knowing you would never love me like you did her was slowly killing me.”

"I thought about one night, which I don't know if you remember," you confess, the vulnerability in your voice palpable. "But one night on her birthday, you got extremely drunk, and you kept slurring your words. I couldn't understand half of what you were saying, but I heard loud and clear when you yelled at me that you didn’t choose to stop loving her; you were forced to. And you said that you would’ve never looked at me otherwise. That you wish she came back and I disappeared… That we s- switched places,” you confess, exposing the scars engraved into your heart, and the pain of that night that is still etched in your memory—a wound that refused to fully heal. You were surprised that you weren't sobbing, because the night he told you those words, you felt your world had ended.

Jack was appalled, his face reflecting the shock and guilt that surged through him as he listened to your words. The heaviness of the past, the pain inflicted, all rushed back to him as a floodgate of memories suddenly opened, each carrying the weight of its own hurt.

"I always felt I was the third person in our marriage. You made me feel things I hated, and maybe even worse, I became someone I didn't recognize. After that day in the park, I was going to ask you for a divorce because I didn't want to be the person you settled for… then I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to give us one last try, and well, you remember what happened after I told you the news,” you say, the bitterness of the past lingering in your words.

"You kept hurting me, and you're smart, Jack. Did you not think I would leave you?"

Jack exhales, the reminder of his own mistakes heavy on him. "I think I couldn’t let ya go, so a part of me hoped you would leave me if I treated you horribly. Every day I fought with myself to treat you like you deserve, but I wasn’t strong enough to open up to you."

The silence lingers, and Jack takes the opportunity to share a piece of his truth. "The night after I proposed, I had a dream about Allison. She told me I was replacing her, and I dunno, instead of working out through my issues, I took it out on ya.”

“Over a dream? You... you let our relationship go to waste because of a dream,” you say, a mix of disbelief and frustration in your voice. You want to be angry at him because such a trivial thing ruined the chance of happiness, but then you put yourself in his shoes. "Oh, Jack," you add, this time with a tone of understanding and sadness.

“Have you been to therapy?” you ask him, your tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Yeah…” Jack admits with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

“Can I be honest?” you tilt your head, your fingers playing with the collar of your shirt.

He nods.

“I don’t think it helped.”

Jack smiles, a sheepish expression on his face, “If we’re being honest, I went in for two sessions and never saw my shrink again.”

“Well, your therapist probably knew what they were doing,” you playfully scold, but then your voice softens, "Please see a therapist so Ángel can get to know the best version of you. When I knew that Jack, he was amazing, and that's the man I want my son to know."

A sad smile greets Jack's face, "Yes, Sugar."

There's another thing you've always been curious to know but never had the stomach to ask, and this seems to be your window. "Can I ask, did you, um, did you ever sleep with someone else while we were married?"

"God no," the words tumble out of his mouth.

"Well, that's something, I guess," you say, a sense of relief evident in your voice.

"I'm really sorry about everything, sweetheart. I can't believe I ever hurt you. I just miss you so much. I’ve never regretted anything in my life as much as I do not telling you I loved you when we had a chance," Jack confesses, the weight of regret heavy in his words.

"It’s okay, Jack. I’m not your wife anymore, but we had some good times. Sometimes love doesn’t work out how we thought,” you tell Jack, your gaze turning when you hear footsteps that are familiar to you.

And Jack would forever kick himself for driving you away and not accepting your love. The only piece of solace is that Ángel will have a happy and full life, and you finally got the love you deserved and dreamed of.

Javi starts calling your name, and you answer him so he can walk over to where you are. Once Javi comes into view, he tells you that Ángel’s been discharged and that they're ready to go home.

Jack looks at you once more, his gaze lingering, as if trying to capture every detail to hold onto. He sees the love in your eyes for your husband, a love he once had the chance to cherish but let slip away. It hurts, but at the mention of his son, it gives him the slightest glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he has learned from his mistakes, and he'll find a way to be a part of your lives, even if it's not in the way he once dreamed. The love of his life and his son are happy and healthy, and that will have to be enough for him.

"Bye, Jack. I'll let you know what time we're having the dinner," you say, while Javi wraps his arms around you—a protective gesture that Jack once held the privilege of doing, but did so sparingly.

"Take care," Javi tells Jack over his shoulder, his voice firm but not unkind. He then leads you to Ángel's room, leaving Jack standing alone in the corridor, grappling with the ache of what could have been.

You both start heading down the hallway, and Javi pauses halfway. His eyes search yours, concern written all over his features.

"Are you okay?"

"I am now," you lean into him and smile. "Jack and I were talking about when we were married," you begin, and Javi tenses involuntarily.

"Hey, no, you don’t have anything to worry about," you reassure him, cupping his face with both of your hands. "Our talk was more about what went wrong, and the bottom line was that I‘m okay with the fact that he wasn’t the one for me."

Javi takes a deep breath, visibly trying to control the surge of emotions within him. "It’s just- me cae mal ese - (I don’t like that-)” You can't help but chuckle lightly at your husband's choice of words.

"As stupid as it sounds, I wanted to make it work when we were married. I saw it in his eyes, I felt it in his words and actions; he didn’t love me, and I couldn’t stay in a marriage like that. I wanted a life with him... It didn't work out, and it's okay. Everything I dreamed of having, I found it with you. I'm the happiest I've ever been at your side. You’re the love of my life and I love being your wife, don't ever doubt that, okay?" Since the beginning of your relationship, you always repeated your love to Javier, not because he was insecure, but because you knew how it felt to be second place, second best, a consolation prize, and you never wanted Javier to think that you settled for him after Jack.

"Say it again," Javi requests, a genuine smile softening his features as he looks down at you.

"What?"

“That you’re my wife," Jack wants you to repeat the words that make his heart flutter.

“I’m your wife," you say.

Javi, still reveling in the warmth of the words, spins his finger in a playful circle, silently requesting you to say the words again.

“I’m your wife," you repeat, the pride evident in your tone. You take Javi's hand and begin walking to your son’s room.

"Again," Javi insists, stopping you in your tracks.

“I’m your wife.”

“Otra vez," he requests, this time in Spanish.

You comply, “Soy tu esposa," you tell him and drag him further down the hall to your son's room.

When Javi playfully asks you to say it once more, this time it's you who stops. “Por dios, Javi, ¿en cuántos lenguajes quieres que te lo diga? (My God, Javi, how many languages do you want me to say it in?)” you feign annoyance.

He shrugs, answering with a mischievous grin, “En todos (in all of them).”

Amused, you grab him by the collar of his blue button-down shirt and bring him to a level where you can whisper into his ear, “Ay, Jav, apenas y hablas español (Oh, Jav, you barely speak Spanish).” You kiss his cheek and pull back, leaving him slightly offended but oddly proud. He had hoped for a different outcome when he saw you pull him down; the glint in your eyes made him believe you were going to kiss him on the lips. But, to his dismay, you chose to tease him instead.

"Take it back!" he demands as you stand right outside the door.

“Si lo dices en español (if you say it in Spanish),” you tease with a grin. Javier contemplates for a moment, and in the brief silence, Ángel's laughter and Dr. Navarro's voice echo from inside the room.

"Please?" Javi implores, wanting to savor one more of those heart-skipping phrases before joining his son. Unable to resist his pleading eyes any longer and mindful of the precious moments with Ángel, you relent.

“I’m your wife.”

END

Extended Note: The end! Thank you, everyone, for your kindness throughout the series. I truly appreciate every interaction 🥹.

As for my departure, I'm unsure whether I should deactivate my account or just private my writing. There's one post I received only positive comments on, especially from people with SPD who found it relatable. Apparently, there's a shortage of such stories, so I'm conflicted. Hopefully, I'll have a definitive decision next week.

I'm planning to post the Din story next Thursday; it's just one part, a sex pollen with Virgin!Din, titled 'Paleta.' I'm a fan of El Alfa, and I recently discovered that a song in his new album was sampled from the one I used for the Din story. It got me thinking about what I had written, and I wanted to share it with y’all before I bow out.

Thank you for reading 🫶🏽!

Taglist: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy @mishasminion360 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @stileslvr @pedrostories

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lavendertales · 2 years

Text

Rekindled || Javier Peña x f!reader**

summary: back in Laredo, Javi’s past weighs heavily on him. luckily, a long lost love is there for him.

word count: 4.4k

warnings: mentions of religion, loss and depression, alcohol and smoking; piv, cunnilingus, fingering, praise kink, doggy (what can I say, sad slut Javi needs some comfort). song inspo.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @skyshipper

read on AO3

The air is thick with heat, sweat and long lost memories. Some better than others. Not a single breeze rushes through the air. It’s all still, almost as if dead.

In all honesty, Laredo is both comforting and haunted.

Can’t be any worse than Colombia though, Javier thinks fleetingly as he tosses and turns in his bed. The heat is holding him in a chokehold, but you think he’d be used to it after facing years of it both here and in the drug paradise. But there’s a certain sadness attached to his hometown.

The looks people throw him, the smiles, the soul-aching melancholy that creeps its way into his heart each time he sets foot back home, they’re all making him feel even more disappointed with the outcome of his so-called career.

Home, he scoffs and stands to the side of the bed, his head in his hands. It’s been far too long since he last thought of a place as his home. Laredo is, now more than ever before, a dusty memory at the bottom of a box filled with many more of the same kind.

People here view him as a hero. Javier, on the other hand, feels like a failure. Yet he still shakes the hands of those who reach out to him to thank him, still offers a faint smile in their direction that fades into regret not a second later. He’s glad he can at least help his father though. He’s not getting younger, and the ranch needs a lot of work. That is now his sole satisfaction.

Okay, perhaps not the sole one.

He remembers your face vividly, like it is permanently tattooed on his brain. You were never exclusive; there was never any definition attached to your relationship and truly, there never seemed to be enough time. You were two acquaintances finding occasional solace in each other’s arms. Bodies entangled together, creating the only safe space either one of you ever knew, bringing pleasure to the other.

You’ve known each other for a long time. You were barely teenagers when your connection blossomed. Time split you apart, threw you in completely different directions and yet, whenever Javier made his back to Laredo, he subsequently made his way back to you.

He is a special part of you. That you would deny to no one should they ask, not even to yourself. Always has been, always will be. But you know him better than to admit to some childish feelings that could imprison you both to a lifetime of misery, or unwanted responsibilities. Things tend to work like that in this silly town: traditional, ancient, and you and Javier were either of those things. Each time you saw each other it felt like the first time, and there never seemed to be enough time to give in to each other.

But you do care for him, just as much as he cares for you. He needn’t say it or even show it in some way. You feel it.

Sometimes enough for you both.

It’s a little over midnight as he’s arriving to your house through Laredo’s heat in that rusty old truck he claims to hate, but that he can’t rid himself of. All he can hope to do is have a smoke, a conversation and maybe even a little taste of you, just a singular taste, then he can go to bed.

Except it’s never just one taste when it comes to you. And certainly not little.

It’s hard to explain. You’re… familiar, soft and comfortable. You understand, you reciprocate and you care. And it’s the best Javier could ever ask for.

He cares, too. Too much for his own good. So it’s far easier to conceal it underneath a thick cloud of nicotine and waves of liquor and carnal pleasure.

He parks a little further down the road so as to not stand out with that truck, and takes a deep breath. There is a faint light coming from your house, much to his relief. He wouldn’t want to wake you up just for his usual shenanigans. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting out of tonight or what he needs. He just needs to see you, to be with you, however that may be.

Usually confident with the opposite gender, you somehow render him speechless. A devilish trick, he likes to say and watch you chuckle with a je ne sais quoi that makes his heart tremble each time without fail.

Maybe he cares for you even more than he himself knows.

He musters the courage to knock on the door, pack of cigarettes already in his hand. He still plans to quit. Just… not tonight.

“Hi,” you greet him with a reassuring smile.

Javier releases a long breath, his gaze locked in a trance on you. Your hair is loose, combed and luscious as ever, and you’re wearing a silk robe that makes him swallow—hard. Unsurprisingly, the sight makes him a little hard, too, but he pushes it out of his mind. He hasn’t seen you in a few weeks by this point and it feels simultaneously like an eternity had passed and that it was like yesterday.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

One look in his chocolate, warm eyes that gape at you like a lost puppy and you are ready to surrender everything.

You make sure to close the door behind you, noticing that Javier steps aside to let you first. You diligently guide him to the living room, where you had been reading for the past hour, hoping to fall asleep.

Yet sleep eluded you, now more than before.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” you ask.

“Too fucking hot,” he says, already lighting his cigarette. “Too many… thoughts.”

“Was one of them me?”

“It always is.”

You smile at him and extend your own cigarette at him. “My lighter died,” you explain.

Sometimes you enjoy talking to Javier. There is plenty to be said and he is a remarkably smart man. But you have the feeling that right now, wrapped in the smell of nicotine, isn’t one of those times.

“You remembered to park closer to the trees, right?”

“Don’t worry,” he reassures you.

It’s not that either one of you cares about those folks commenting on your whereabouts, but you really didn’t need to be the town’s hot gossip, especially when Javier’s reputation had never been better.

“What’s keeping you up?”

Javier takes a long drag out of the cigarette before releasing the smoke and answering you.

“Life.”

“And I was worried you’d be vague.”

He looks out the window for a while, and you know not to push for more.

You know all the insignificant things about him that make up his puzzle-like persona: how he likes his coffee, his go-to breakfast, his favorite cigarettes and whiskey, as well as his favorite past times. But you also know the big, ugly truths: the heartbreak, the pain, the anger and the disappointment, the lost hope… you suppose you know him inside out.

But you could never say with certainty what he is. He’s merely a friendly face. You don’t dare think more. He’s there when you need him, and you are there when he needs you. That matters more than anything else.

“Everyone thinks I’m some sort of hero,” he says after a while.

“According to what I hear, you are.”

“Yeah, well, I feel like a fucking failure.”

You observe him quietly, steadily, like he’s your biggest and dirtiest secret. In a lot of ways, you suppose he is. Right now, you only see a disappointed man who is searching for a purpose, for more answers. He was always the kind of man who needed to know everything. He could never let things without definition.

Which is surprising considering that neither of you labeled this, what you were doing. Certainly more than friends with benefits if it were up to you, but who could say what was truly going on inside his head?

“You made it out of this town,” you remind him. “I call that a win.”

“I’m right back to square one.”

“Come on, don’t tell me you want to stay in this shithole forever.”

Javier chuckles softly, trying his hardest not to remark the way your robe is sliding up your leg and teasingly exposing your thigh to him in the golden, dim light.

“I don’t know,” he replies. “It’s a pretty bleak future ahead right now.”

“Have you been praying?”

You know the answer to this one, so the question is, technically, redundant. He’s never really been a believer, but he didn’t fight against it either. He sort of let the idea float in the air.

But there was a time in his life when he prayed. Day and night he desperately prayed for his mother, breaking your heart little by little. One day, Javier stopped simply wishing for good things. The day his mother was gone, he stopped. His hope began to fade away, but he never fully cast it away. He rather put it in the same box of old things he longed to forget about.

“For what?” he asks, slightly irritated by the notion and crushing his cigarette in the ashtray. “For justice? For a better tomorrow?”

You shrug. “Just because.”

Instead, Javier scowls. “Without any purpose, reason? ‘Just because’?”

“Not everything needs a reason, Javi.”

He doesn’t fight you on it. He simply looks at you, his eyes sneaking the occasional glance at your thigh, and gulps. His head is spinning, the room is much hotter all of a sudden.

“We need reasons to go on, don’t we?”

His voice is breaking in the slightest, and it makes your heart ache so.

“Some of the best things in life don’t have a reason behind them,” you try to reassure him.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Do you think people fall in love for a reason?”

A tricky question, but Javier is smart, and deep down he knows why you ask.

“No,” he responds. “I think it just happens.”

“See? A lot of good things happen without reason.”

“Alright. No argument there.”

You hide your smile as you finish the last of your cigarette. Some of his Texan accent slips in and it charms you as it always does. You rise from the armchair, headed for the kitchen. Javier follows, his eyes hungry and darkened. You pretend you don’t notice for the sake of the game because you know where things are inevitably headed.

What you don’t know is how things will progress.

“Whiskey?” you offer, and he instantly nods.

It’s his favorite, and one of your personal favorites too. You know it warms him up and makes his blood boil in his veins to the point where he craves a way to release all the tension.

“Have you ever fallen in love?” he asks.

How bold of him, you chuckle to yourself. If you play the cards right, you could offer a smooth answer that might tickle his curiosity. Why give the best away?

But again, Javier is smart. As everything has a reason for him, this question has its intentions laid out before you as well, only concealed in a very innocent manner. Maybe he craves to hear something flattering, something that would soothe his nerves and erase his melancholy and inner conflict, but he isn’t sure how to go about it.

“Maybe,” you reply with a coy smile.

Javier chugs his whiskey, placing the glass on the counter and approaching you with the same hungry eyes.

“Thirsty, are we?”

Javier shrugs, moistening his lips. “You don’t know the half of it.”

The smile on your lips stays longer this time, paired with flattery and heat from the drink you also chug. With Javier, you always need a little preparation to keep yourself calm.

“Have you ever been in love, Javier?”

“Once or twice.”

“Better than most.”

He’s so close to your face now that his warm, whiskey and nicotine-infused breath is tickling your nose. You stare at him, waiting and pleading for more, an insatiable hunger nesting in your belly.

And the key to its ignition is right before you.

One of his large hands goes around your waist to pull you in, the feeling of skin on silk maddening enough. He looked you over from head to toe, slowly undressing you of your robe. He lets it slide down your shoulders and draws in a quick, sharp breath upon seeing your silky nightgown.

“You could easily kill me one day, cariño,” he whispers as if in disbelief.

There it is. That little pet name that burned your whole being by simply being spoken in his husky voice.

“Honey, I wouldn’t dream of that,” you reassure him and caress his stubbly cheek.

His lips are on yours in an instant, hands rubbing your sides tenderly. You feel the tension in the way he kisses you, how it resides in his whole body in spite of his efforts to seek relief. You sigh brokenly as his lips travel to your neck and he pushes you into the granite counter, spreading your legs to make room for him to grind in between them.

The throbbing in your cunt weeps and aches and you squirm in his strong arms, your hunger only increasing.

“Javi—“

He licks a spot on your neck that triggers a moan out of you and spurs him on. You need this as much as he does, and you figure whatever crisis he’s going through, you can at least provide some physical comfort to him.

He spreads your legs further and lifts your nightgown enough to expose your pretty pussy, and suddenly you throb even more.

“Commando, huh?” he teases. “Were you waiting for me, by any chance?”

“You know I always do.”

He lowers himself to pepper kisses on your inner thighs, working his way up to your pussy, giving a tentative lick from your overly sensitive bud all the way down. You moan and reach for his hair, tugging with desire.

“Javi—“

He starts working against your clit, a wet and rather loud pop of his lips on your soaked ones. You feel a smile breaking from his lips along with the faint tickle of his stubble and you smile in pure bliss already.

“Easy, cariño,” he tells you in between wet kisses. “I got you.”

You can only moan at this point, and then he starts to really eat you out.

With Javier, everything’s a mission; he leaves nothing to his broken faith, so he seeks to do what he knows he’s good at. Obscene slurps emerge from in between your legs, with Javier’s face utterly buried there. It was far better than whatever late night snack you might’ve planned to have, and the same could be said about Javier.

Fast paces breaths leave your throat as Javier’s tongue dips in and out of you, up and down and in any possible way he can think of. The sounds emerging from you work as a terrific stimulant for him, so he dares add a finger to his ministration, starting to stretch you out. You moan louder, much to his delight.

“You don’t want the whole town to hear us, do you, cariño?” he asks sweetly.

“I don’t care—I don’t care—oh, fuck—“

He adds a second finger, carefully stretching you out and listening to your sounds to make sure you’re okay. When he sees your head thrown backwards and feels your hand tugging his hair tighter, he smiles. Son of a bitch actually smiles, knowing he’s doing the right thing in getting you nice and wet for him.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you at a faster pace, growing harder with each passing second, but so desperate to feel you cum that he’s close to spilling himself in his jeans, like a pathetic fucking teenager.

“You’re doing so good, cariño,” he encourages you. “So good… do you want to cum on my fingers? Hm?”

“Yes—yes, please, I do—“

You’re running out of breath already as you’re moving your hips forward to meet with more of his head.

“Can you make it a good one for me?”

“Mhm—“

“Go on. Fuck yourself on my hand.”

You do just that; you rock your hips to the best of your abilities to meet his fingers pumping in and out of you for a few more seconds till you come with a muffled cry of his name, almost ripping his hair out from how hard you’re tugging.

Your whole body is flushed with his presence and the aftermath of that climax. Javier’s fingers leave your swollen cunt and, just as he meets your eyes, he takes them to his mouth and thoroughly sucks on them, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You taste so fucking good,” he tells you.

“Javi.”

“Yes?”

“Would you please fuck me already?”

He giggles, a childish, playful sound that brings happiness to you.

“If you ask so nicely,” he teases.

“You’re the one who came to me.”

“Guilty as charged.”

You bite your lower lip, getting down from the counter. One of the best things about sex with Javier is that, no matter how sweet and romantic or rough and needy, it always leaves you feeling dirty. The feeling lingered.

He unexpectedly picks you up and carries you to your bedroom, making sure to turn off the light on your way there. After all, you wouldn’t want anyone drawing the wrong conclusions if they saw that old truck parked there and a light inside the house.

Then again, hiding is one of your fortes.

The only light now is the moon breaking through the glass windows, and it’s more than enough. You fall underneath him on the bed, the slickness of your cunt growing to be almost uncomfortable. Your legs wrap around his waist on their own accord, making his mission of undressing more difficult. You feel him hard against your stomach and you shudder.

“You feel that?” he asks from the crook of your neck. “You feel—how hard you get me? Every—fucking time.”

“You know how to flatter your women.”

He lifts his head, a few stranded locks of hair bouncing from his forehead as he looks down on you. “There’s no women, plural. It’s only you.”

You hold your breath, begging your mouth and your heart to not accidentally spill something that might drive him away.

So you struggle to pull the nightgown over your head, but Javier stops you. Instead, he breaks from you only to remove his jeans and underwear. Looks like he’s going for practical and needy tonight.

He smells of alcohol and cigarettes and cologne, as per usual, but he also smells like… him. Your unspoken safe haven wrapped up in a musky, earthly scent.

Javier takes himself in hand, giving himself a few preparatory strokes under your studious eyes. He can tell you’re enjoying the show, maybe as much as he does, but it hurts to touch himself like this. It hurts when you’re right there, legs spread and your pretty pussy glistening for him, waiting.

Finally he guides himself to your entrance, his weeping tip barely touching your soaked lips, and he moans.

“Fuck,” he exhales. “Fuck, I could cum right now like this…”

“That’s fine.”

“N-No, I need—I need to feel you—from inside out.”

You both gasp as his cock pushes past your soaked lips, slowly filling you up to the brim, just the way you both liked it. One hand goes around his neck to pull him down for a hasty kiss as he gives a first thrust.

“Oh God,” you moan.

“He’s not here right now. Only me.”

“Only you.”

It’s your reassurance to him that, indeed, there is no one else for you. Come to think of it, you’re not sure there ever was anyone else. Your mind and body carry all of his touches, all of his kisses and warm breaths.

He starts moving, and it’s not rough or fast because of the lack of time. Not tonight. It’s intimate and passionate, but deep enough for you to feel every single thing. He’s throbbing wet right there inside of you, each sharp snap of his hips bringing you closer to nirvana. Your moans get mixed up, coming out as a singular shaky one. He’s kissing you messily as his hips fall apart into yours, your bodies rocking against one another.

You feel so full, so heavy and cared for that the burn in your lower belly arrives faster than you might’ve anticipated.

“J-Javi—Javi, I think I’m—“

“Yes—yes, that’s it. Cum all over me, that’s right—you’re doing so good, cariño.”

“Fuck, I’m so—close—“

“Cum on me, give it all to me… you got this, you’re so good—so fucking good and perfect—and warm—“

And mine.

But he doesn’t finish that thought out loud. He’s too afraid to say it, even after all that time, and even with you.

You’re both as loud as you can be by that point, and it doesn’t help that the window is open. But you can’t help it. There’s nothing in the world that could stop you from reaching that high.

You start to clench around him, and unbeknownst to you, Javier smiles like a madman. This is the best feeling in the world, being sheathed inside of you like he’s part of you. He starts to feel the thrill of his own climax fast approaching and he fucks into you faster. The only sounds are ragged breaths, the nearly violent slap of skin on skin and the endless stream of yes, yes, yes coming from you.

You cry his name when you cum, nails digging into his still clothed back as his cock twitches inside of you, shooting his burning hot seed as deep as he can. You gush hot and wet around him and so does he. It’s a concoction of bodily fluids, quick breaths and sweet nothings whispered to each other. Sweat breaks down the navel of his back, his neck and temples, and he feels like he’s about to explode.

How the fuck is he still half hard? What kind of witchcraft are you pulling on him?

He doesn’t pull out. He’s barely moving, but he stays there. He’s afraid to even leave you. What would he be without you? He’s not sure. But maybe he’s not that broken when he’s around you.

“Still not enough?” you ask cheekily.

Ever the insatiable man, Javier. He smiles kinda shyly, like he doesn’t want to ask for anything more.

“Then let me take care of you,” you propose when he fails to talk.

“No, I—want to be inside of you.”

“That’s… where you are.”

“Need more.”

“So take whatever you want.”

“Can I?”

You nod, and his tongue moistens his bottom lip. You sure knew your way around him. It always went back to just how well you got him, how much you knew every scar, every navel and ridge of his body, every quirk of his.

He pulls out, grabbing your hips with strength and care alike as he turns you around. He gives your ass a big squeeze, followed by a few playful slaps, and again you shudder. He always molds the skin of your body like it’s playdough, kneading it between his calloused fingers with ease.

You moan out loud when he starts fucking into you again, this time from behind. His thrusts are no longer controlled; you gave him full control so he takes exactly what you give him. He’s downright railing you, his hands holding onto your hips as he reaches to the deepest part of you. You moan and grunt, unable to form any coherent thoughts.

“So—fucking good – “Javier mutters. “Fucking—perfect.”

He’s chasing his own high, selfishly so, and there’s something terribly hot about that. Even more so considering that he had asked for your permission. It was a lethal mixture, really, the sweet side of him that not many got to see, and the insatiable man who went after what he wanted.

There’s not much else said; soon, Javier’s haste is rewarded when his climax hits again, unexpectedly prompting yours. Surprised, Javier snaps his hips as fast as he possibly can in order to help you both, knocking all the air out of your lungs—and his, subsequently.

“You like this? You like—feeling me get so—fucking hard for you, all the time… and fucking you like this?”

“Y-Yes, Javi—“

He slows down, his hands arching your body all the way up so he can pepper messy kisses on your face, his cock still twitching inside of you, barely settling down. Your cheek is a little salty on account of your ragged, happy cry from your third climax. You feel him everywhere, in your whole body.

Then you both lay there, underneath the moonlight, with your needs sated, your head on his chest. Your mind resumes its furious pacing, but you don’t give it full control.

“You’re the best thing I have, you know that?”

Javier’s confession comes out of the blue and it almost shocks you. Although in retrospect, it probably shouldn’t. It’s not like you don’t know you each feel strongly about the other. It’s just never been verbalized.

And perhaps that was for the best.

“You got your family,” you remind him. “And don’t say something about me being family too because that would soil what we just did.”

He chuckles, moving a little so he can take a better look at you. His thumb sweeps across your cheek, then his lips find it and press a chaste kiss on the same spot.

“I don’t know if I believe in any mightier deity, but when I’m with you… pretty sure this is heaven.”

You smile, somewhat melancholic yourself. “Don’t try to butter me up.”

“If anything, I’d try to either liquor you up or spread some melted chocolate on you.”

“Ah, but you forget we did that one time.”

“Oh, right. Vegas.”

You both chuckle, with Javier pulling you in closer, wrapping his arms around you. He can feel your heartbeat as you rest against him, fast still, and he smiles, kissing on your forehead.

He might’ve not been religious, but you must’ve been some sort of angel who looks out for him in the best way she can.

And right now, that’s enough.