escape reality with me

Joel throws his head back and laughs, eyes squeezing shut for just a moment before brightly focusing back on you with a huge grin.

"Get the hell over here."

"No!" you shriek, then you just... make a run for it. You manage two circuits around the kitchen table before you bolt for the living room. Your combined shouting and laughter is too loud for either one of you to hear the front door open and a woman's gentle voice curiously call out Joel's name.

You're first to notice her. Skidding to a sudden stop, your face falls when you see a short, older woman with dark hair and eyes looking entirely confused at Joel's front door.

"Oh!" you manage to softly whisper before Joel barrels into you from behind, locking his arms firmly around your middle and picking you up.

"Gotcha," he grunts, oblivious to the woman standing there clutching her purse.

"Joel! Put me down," you hiss, shoving frantically at his arms. They loosen when he hears the tone of your voice and your feet find the floor again.

"Wha—"

"I'm so sorry," she says, "I thought you said six..."

She glances down at her wrist and your eyes snap to Joel's. You watch in real time the way his face pales and his eyes go wide before quickly putting way too much space between you both.

It should have occurred to you before he spoke, but for some stupid reason it still takes you by surprise.

"Ma," Joel says with a slight tremble to his voice. "S-Sorry. You're right. I—I forgot."

Ma?

After testing the restraints a few times with no luck, you try to squint through the darkness. Where is he? Is he asleep in the cockpit? Will he be angry if you call for him?

He'll be angrier if you pee on the floor of his ship, you think, so you nervously clear your throat and call out into the eerie silence.

"Mando?"

It's what Druk called him. A nickname, you assume, but it's the only name you have.

You wait a minute but hear nothing above you. No scraping of metal, no heavy footfalls indicating he's coming to check on you. Nothing. So with a deep breath, you try again, just slightly louder now.

"Mando?"

This time you hear something. You pinch your lips together and wait, gaze fixed where you think the hatch is for the cockpit, but to your surprise a door slides open just a few feet away. You yelp and scoot backwards in surprise as the Mandalorian emerges from a very small room tucked into the wall on the other side of the ladder. How didn't you see that before?

"What?" comes his irritated, filtered voice. You swallow.

"I—I need to pee."

The light from his room illuminates him as he stands to his full height with a sigh. When he bends to unlock your cuffs, you realize his gloves are off. And so is his armor. He's just left in some black clothes he must wear underneath all that metal.

"Stand up," he orders. You blink and hurry to your feet, not even realizing he had uncuffed you. He points to the fresher door, now visible in the light spreading from his bunk. "Be quick," he tells you curtly. You nod and murmur your thanks as you stumble forward and shut the door behind you. Even without the armor, he's still intimidating and big. Solid. He has to be, you think, in order to carry around all that metal every day.

Once you've relieved yourself, you return to the hull of the ship. Mando is standing exactly where you left him, next to the rumpled blanket he bestowed upon you a few hours earlier. His thick arms are folded across his chest and you have to assume he's glaring at you through his dark visor because the energy radiating off him right now is less than positive.

So he doesn't like to be woken up. Got it.

"Thank you," you say again, slinking past him and curling up on the cold floor. It's not so bad once the blanket is covering you, but it's far from comfortable.

Once you're settled, you start to close your eyes, but frown when you realize he hasn't moved. One eye pops open, then the other, and you look up at him curiously.

"What?"

"Hands."

Oh. Right.

You suppress a groan and offer up your wrists, but can't help yourself when he leans down to tighten the cuffs around your sore skin.

"Do you have to? I promise I won't—"

"Non-negotiable."

You sigh and let him do it. It was worth a shot, anyway.

Once you're secured to his liking, Mando turns to retreat back to his bunk. You watch him fold himself into the small space. Just as he's about to close the door, you speak again.

"Where are we going?"

His fingers hover over the button to close the door and the lengthy pause after your question makes you think he's just going to ignore you and go back to sleep, but to your surprise, he answers.

"Nevarro."

"What's in Nev—"

The door slides shut. Darkness and silence engulfs the hull of the ship once again.

This man really doesn't like to talk much.

***

You'd only ever heard of Nevarro, never visited. But word has it, it's a lawless land in the Outer Rim. You remember it was under Imperial control for some time, even establishing a military base there and it stayed that way until the end of the war. Now, you have no idea who—or what—lives there.

You suppose that's why Mando insisted you come with him after he docked. Or maybe he still doesn't trust you to be entirely alone on his ship. Regardless, you're thrilled to get some fresh air and see someplace new, even if it is under the threat of the big, hulking Mandalorian by your side.

"Here," he grunts, tugging on your ragged dress to make you stop in front of a vendor. Your eyes scan the booth, taking in the shirts and shoes in every color and pattern imaginable.

When you give him a confused look, he sighs. "Pick out something new," he tells you flatly. Your brows raise in shock.

"I—I can't. I don't have any—"

"I have plenty," he says, "just pick out something."

It doesn't mean anything other than he doesn't want to be seen next to someone who looks like they just crawled out of a pig's den. Still, the gesture makes your face warm, which you quickly try to hide under the guise of browsing the clothes. You settle on a simple blue dress made from lighter fabric that goes down to your ankles with two slits up either side that stop just above your knees. When you show him, Mando nods and crosses his arms.

"Get one more."

Another one? You quickly shake your head.

"I can't. I won't be able to repay you."

"I never said you needed to."

You blink up at him slowly. It's hard to find the words for your gratitude: this man could have killed you—especially after seeing his face, or kicked you off his ship and left you for dead, but he didn't. And now he's buying you clothes. With his credits.

Your mouth opens then shuts as you struggle to express your appreciation. He must see the wetness forming in the corners of your eyes because he quickly shifts his weight and looks away.

"Don't. It's fine. Just get something that's comfortable and practical."

Blinking away your tears, you scan the other dresses. There's a black one you liked but it was lower cut and the fabric was clingier, but it was comfortable like Mando said. And practical, you figure, since you could move around easily in it.

When you hand the two items to the vendor, Mando grabs a matching set of dark grey clothes and tosses it onto the table.

"In case it gets cold," he mutters before handing over the appropriate credits.

"Thank you," you whisper. It's all you can manage because your throat is closing up. He doesn't answer. Just packs the long sleeved shirt and pants he picked for you and jut a chin towards the small changing tent.

Oh. So he wants you to ditch your filthy dress now. Okay.

You choose the blue dress and Mando folds up the black one to pack away while you slip into the tent. When you emerge, you stuff your old dress into a sack of garbage under a table and give Mando your brightest smile.

"What do you think?"

You do a little spin and you swear you see his shoulders jump like he had actually, maybe, possibly chuckled. But then he clears his throat and swivels on his heel.

"Good. Let's go."

You scurry to keep up, trailing behind him as he weaves seamlessly through the crowd. They all naturally part for him, you notice, and it makes you curious.

"Where are we going?"

"The cantina. I have business there."

The last thing you expect is for him to buy you food, but he does. He sets you up at the end of the empty bar with a bowl of stew and tells you not to move, that he will be watching if you try to run. You almost want to laugh—why would you run at this point? He's given you no real reason to. But you suppose since you've seen his face, you're a liability to him until he can figure out what to do with you, and he can't let you out of his sight.

Whatever he ends up doing, he's not going to kill you, so you're not worried. He would have killed you by now if he was going to, and he certainly wouldn't be spending money on clothes and food if that were the plan.

... Right?

***

Greef Karga.

That's the name of the older man sitting across from Mando. From what you've gathered eavesdropping on the conversations from the workers behind the bar, he's an agent of the Bounty Hunter Guild. You could've presumed as much when you watched Mando slide a few pucks across the table, exchange a few words with the man, and then a moment later receive new ones along with a heavy pouch filled with credits.

Mando doesn't look your way, but you know he's watching. You can feel it.

"Can I get you anything else?"

A younger man with light brown hair behind the bar asks you the question with a warm smile. You return it and shake your head.

"No, thank you."

He clears your plate and you sip slowly from the cup of water you were given as you continue to scan the room. It's still not terribly busy, but the cantina appears to attract all forms of life, most of which are new to you.

Then your gaze slides back to the booth where you're surprised to find Mando's helmet aimed in your direction.

You nearly choke on your drink under the scrutiny, which only worsens when you realize Karga is also looking directly at you.

Karga says something to Mando and you notice his shoulders stiffen before slowly raising one hand. He curls a gloved finger and your feet hit the ground obediently.

They both regard you silently when you stop next to the table with your hands clasped. Then Karga smiles.

"Why, hello," he says sincerely. Then he glances at his guest. "What's her name?"

There's an uncomfortable silence then, for both of you. It never even crossed your mind to offer your name and he never thought to ask. No one's ever bothered to ask.

To save you both, you give Karga a smile and say your name. You miss the way Mando's fist involuntarily unclenches on the table when he first hears it.

Karga's eyes scan you once before he gives you his name along with his hand to shake. You accept it with a polite smile and he chuckles before turning back to Mando.

"You're full of surprises."

His helmet tilts ever so slightly. "She's a stowaway. It's not what it looks like."

"It never is," he grins before plucking a shot glass from the table and tossing the liquid back in one quick go. Your lips tighten but say nothing. "Forgive me, but how did a stowaway sneak onto the Crest? Last I checked, Mandalorians have infrared."

"I was distracted," he mutters, "your quarry gave me a hard time. Were you aware he was being held hostage on that planet?"

Karga opens his mouth to reply but someone else speaks first.

"He was no hostage. He's a liar."

Shit. Did you say that out loud?

There's a thick silence after that makes you fear looking at either one of them. Instead, you pin your gaze to the floor and wait.

"And how would you know that?" Karga asks slowly. You swallow tightly and force yourself to look at Mando. Seeking permission, you suppose. He gives it with a subtle nod.

"Because I was held hostage there," you say bravely, "and I heard things. Saw things. Druk was not held against his will. He received the best foods and the most comfortable bed. He roamed freely."

"What did he do there?" Mando asks with an edge to his filtered question. You swallow again.

"I'm not sure," you admit, "but the others had guesses. Intelligence, maybe?"

"A spy?" Karga supplies, and you nod. He drags in a deep breath and looks down at the pucks on the table. He taps one softly while he thinks, and you shift your weight nervously while you wait.

"How did you hear these things?" Karga finally asks. You shrug.

"The ones who spoke Basic never saw me as a threat. They spoke rather openly when I was around. Druk included."

Mando shifts slightly but he's otherwise unreadable. You wonder what those kind brown eyes are doing under all that metal. Are they tight with tension, or wide with esteem?

"They underestimated you," Karga says with a note of awe. Your cheeks warm but you remain silent. Then he looks at Mando. "She might be a good asset for you."

"I work alone," comes his firm reply.

"This one," Karga taps a fresh puck on the table, "has a soft spot for pretty girls. And he's in Coruscant."

Mando groans beneath his helmet and you frown.

"Why is Coruscant bad?"

Karga smiles up at you. "It's not bad. It's very well populated. A bounty hunter's nightmare."

"I always find my quarries on that planet," Mando argues, then under the sharp look from Karga, he sighs. "It just... takes longer."

"I—I can help," you say eagerly, "I mean, let's face it. It's probably easier to question locals when you're not a walking wall of metal draped in weapons."

If you had to guess, Mando is pinning you with a deadly glare under that helmet, but you don't wither under it. You grin.

"You're proving my point, you know," you say with a raised brow. Suddenly, Karga barks out a loud laugh that grabs the attention of the few patrons in the cantina.

"Oh, Mando. You'll have your hands full with this one," he chuckles, "but I think she'll be good for business."

Mando stands abruptly and scoops up the fresh pucks. You stumble backwards a couple feet but otherwise hold your ground.

"She won't be here when I come to turn these in," he tells Karga, "don't get too attached."

You swallow and try to ignore the pit in your stomach. What is he going to do with you? Has he already decided? Is he going to leave you on some remote barren planet to fend for yourself? Feed you to a rancor?

"Bye," you whisper to Karga with a small wave before hurrying to keep up with the pissed off Mandalorian stomping away.

"It's not me you need to worry about getting attached!" Karga laughs, and you cringe when you see Mando's fists tighten at his sides.

Okay, so maybe he will kill you.

***

"I promise I won't touch anything if you let me go," you say as he tests the restraints one more time. His hands still over your wrists and he leans forward ever so slightly. His helmet is so close now that you can see your own worried expression mirrored back to you.

"You know," he begins, voice low, "anyone else I've allowed on my ship has been frozen in carbonite. If you don't like the cuffs, I can make other arrangements. Just say the word."

You lean even closer.

"And yet you didn't throw me in there the moment you found me," you reply just as softly. "I can make it worth your while if you release me."

"Why do you keep offering me your body?"

Your smile falls. His response is so quick, it makes you falter.

"What?" you breathe.

Mando doesn't move. His helmet is still inches away from your face, studying you, staring you down.

"It's not your only asset," he says, "stop suggesting otherwise."

You blink. "W-What other assets do you mean?"

Finally, Mando sits back on his heels, creating a small bit of space. "You're quick. You're observant. You're clearly a survivor. So start using those skills. Use them to your advantage like you did today and stop using your body first like those monsters taught you."

The air rushes out of your lungs like you've been struck.

"Okay," you whisper. Then Mando rises to his feet with a sigh.

"We're going into hyperspace," he warns, "but once we're stable... I'll undo the restraints."

Relief floods your veins.

"Thank you."

He stays true to his word. Once the ship lurches into hyperspace and silence engulfs the hull, Mando unbuckles your cuffs with a stern warning not to do anything stupid.

"What do you expect me to do?" you ask, rubbing your wrists and sitting up against the metal wall. "We're in hyperspace and you're encased in metal. Do you really think I'll somehow get the upper hand on you and magically learn how to pilot a ship?"

"Funny," he says dryly.

"You're very... intense," you say as you watch him move around the hull. He's carefully putting away each one of the weapons he carried on him while in Nevarro. It seems like an endless supply, ones you hadn't even noticed before.

"Mandalorian," is all he says in response. You roll your shoulders, working out the stiffness there as you think. There's so many questions you have, why not use the time to ask a few?

"What does that mean exactly?"

Mando's hands freeze on a blaster. Then his helmet slowly turns to the side.

"What?"

"Mandalorian," you echo, "I've never heard of your kind before. Can you tell me about your people?"

He shrugs before turning back to the armory. "There's not many left now," he tells you, and your breath stalls. "Not as many as there used to be."

"Why?" you ask softly. Mando keeps his back to you while he works.

"The Empire."

You could have guessed as much.

"Everything was lost that night," he continues solemnly, "and what remains is a shell of what it used to be. I'm told the rest of the Mandalorians are scattered across the galaxy. Some alone, some in smaller groups."

"Have you... do you speak to any?" you ask carefully.

"There was a group in Nevarro. They call themselves the Tribe."

"What?" You rise to your feet. "Why didn't you go to them?"

Mando's fingers curl tightly over the rifle he just cleaned and put away. You can hear the creaking from the leather gloves from where you stand.

"I... can't. Not anymore."

You frown, poised to ask more, but he stops you when he swivels around sharply.

"You've seen my face," he says, and you blink slowly a few times.

"Wha—"

"It's against our code," he tells you now, voice tight, "I'll be exiled. Nobody can see our faces."

He stomps past you to dig through his bag, the one he carried on Nevarro. You watch as he unpacks the clothes he bought for you, setting them on a small shelf near the fresher before fishing around for the bounty pucks.

"B-But... why?" you finally sputter. Mando pauses with one hand gripping the puck he was after.

"It isn't The Way."

"What does that mean?"

"It's a creed," he tells you before placing the puck on the floor. "I swore as a child I would never remove my helmet in front of another. We all took the same oath. And I broke that oath."

"But it was an accident!" you exclaim, filled with a heavy guilt now that you understand a bit more. "Surely, that doesn't count!"

"It does."

"Well... what can I do to fix it?"

Mando tilts his helmet in your direction and regards you silently. Seconds stretch on like minutes under his scrutiny. It makes you squirm.

"I... I want to fix it," you add, softer this time.

"You can't," Mando tells you, and his voice sounds almost apologetic. Stars, you wish you could see his face right now.

"There has to be something," you whisper. "You saved me and I... ruined your life."

"Enough. You need to study this—"

He taps the puck and a hologram suddenly flickers to life. You can see the back image of a man, and alongside his face there's small text written in neat little letters.

"Mando," you plead, heart burdened with guilt, "there must be something. I can't—can't be responsible f-for—"

His chin lifts and he must see your watery eyes because his spine straightens and he takes a weary step back.

"Don't—"

One lone tear trickles down your cheek.

"If you killed me, would it—would it erase everything?"

You watch his shoulders sag.

"No."

There's a long, tense moment where neither of you speak. You should feel relieved. There's no reason for Mando to kill you. Instead, you feel... awful. Sick. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, Mando is staring at you, utterly bewildered that you'd so much as suggest he harm you for what happened.

What sort of person offers themselves up as a sacrifice?

A brave one? Or a fool?

"I can... there's someone I can ask," Mando finally tells you. Your sad eyes find his visor with a flicker of hope. "Back on Nevarro. The Tribe. Their leader... we call her The Armorer. She... might know what to do."

"Yes. Okay. Let's go back," you say, pointing to the ladder. "Turn it around."

"I can't just—turn it around," he scoffs, "I'll ask when we've returned with these bounties. It's not worth the fuel."

"Fine. Then I'm helping you catch these guys." You circle around to plop down on the ground in front of the hologram. "It's the least I can do."

Mando sighs heavily behind you. "You'll help me with this one and that's all. You'll get yourself killed, silly girl."

There's an uncomfortable pause after the term of endearment slips out. You stare straight ahead, pretending to study the last known whereabouts of the quarry, but in reality your mind is buzzing. And Mando? Mando must be blushing under his helmet. He's shifting nervously on his feet while trying to come up with anything else to say but he's drawing a blank.

You finally jump in.

"Well... then I'll clean your ship or. Something. Make food and... anything else you need me to do to earn my keep."

"I told you," he huffs before crouching down next to you on the floor, "stop offering yourself—"

"Oh! I—I wasn't. That—I didn't mean—"

Shit, now your face is burning up. You press your palms to your cheeks to try to temper the flare.

"Maker, I'm sorry—"

"No, no, it's fine!"

"—I just thought—"

"Really, it isn't a big—" You fan your face with an awkward laugh. "You made it very clear you're not interested, and I respect it."

"I never said that."

Your head snaps in his direction, eyes wide. Your pulse skips frantically in your throat as the Mandalorian fumbles over his words.

"Wait. Okay. That came out wrong," he says slowly. You have to bite your bottom lip to keep from grinning. "I just—I meant—I didn't want you t-to think you're not..."

"Pretty?" you offer.

"Careful," Mando warns.

"Desirable?"

"Stop."

"Sexy?"

"Okay, enough," Mando snaps, "focus on the mission."

You giggle behind your hands. It's the first time you've felt lighter in... years.

"I'm sorry," you laugh, "I'll try not to distract you with my radiant beauty. I'll save it for the quarry."

Mando grumbles something inaudible inside his helmet but you can tell he's not really angry. You're pretty sure, at least.

"Keep it up and the cuffs are going back on."

You manage to bite back a snarky quip about the handcuffs being foreplay, too afraid to push your luck. Instead, you settle down and let Mando explain his whole process, from start to finish, when hunting down a quarry. Where he starts, what he packs, what to expect. Best places to isolate them. How to stay undetected. And the whole time you listen quietly.

You meant what you said. You don't want to let him down.

Food is shared along with information about Coruscant. A plan is formed while you help clean up after eating. And finally, when Mando notices your eyelids begin to grow heavy, he suggests turning in.

He's sealed into his small bunk and you're seconds away from sleep when it hits you: he never put your restraints back on.

You fall asleep with a smile.

Taglist:

That job being a... companion. Often times you're required to just serve food, clean up, and look pretty while doing it. But then other times, more is requested of you, and it appears today is one of those times.

Thankfully, you never had to service the army who imprisons you. They don't seem like the sexual sort of creatures, whatever they are. You and the other two girls have figured out by now that they're an army for hire. They're primarily put on this planet to train and defend. But in the past, they have occasionally made you available to any guests or visitors who stop by, either as a way to create an alliance, or to act as payment for some service rendered.

The steward tugs you forward but stops you before opening the door. He inspects you up and down, curling a thick lip at your ratty excuse for a dress. He sniffs you to make sure you're clean and you flinch away—they don't usually hit you where it can leave a mark, but you're still timid.

When you're deemed acceptable, he straightens up and knocks politely on the door. He doesn't wait, just pauses before gently cracking it open. You follow behind with your head bowed, mostly so you can watch where you're walking, but also as a sign of respect. When you lift your chin, the steward is standing in front of you, blocking your view.

He makes a series of clicks and grunts in his native language, one you haven't yet mastered but have figured out bits and pieces based on context. You catch the words for food, night, and sweet. Then he steps to side, revealing you to... a droid?

At least, he looks like a droid. While the steward unchains your hands and feet, you stare at the shiny metal man sitting on the couch across the room. He looks comfortable but also like he's ready to spring into action at any moment. His knees are spread wide, arms spread even wider across the back of the couch, and he watches silently. Or, you think he watches. It's impossible to tell because he's wearing a helmet. The longer you look, the more details you take in. Hardened steel plates cover most his body. His cape is tattered at the end. Gloves are a thick, worn leather. Boots are heavy and lined with artillery.

What... is this man? You've never seen anything like him before. Stars, you hope he's human.

The steward then excused himself, leaving you alone with your droid-man. He doesn't move a muscle, doesn't make a sound. You fidget nervously and glance around the room, eyes snagging on the feast that had been laid out for him. As if on cue, your stomach growls, but you quickly clear your throat to cover the noise and focus your attention back on your quiet client.

"I hope you're enjoying your time on our planet," you murmur with a smile. Typically this is the time when the other person responds, but apparently your droid-man isn't very good at conversation because he continues to just stare you down through his pitch black visor.

You take a few steps toward him, sandled feet sinking into the plush carpet. It's so soft and so much nicer than the hard, cold cell you're used to. When you get a foot away from his knees, you stop and fiddle with your dress.

"Would you like me to rub your shoulders? Or bathe you?" you offer sweetly. A long minute passes where yet again, he says nothing. "That armor looks so heavy, you must be strong," you try again before slowly stepping between his spread knees. "Would you like to take it off and show me?"

You're giving him your flirtiest smile. You're batting your lashes and subtly inching your dress up to expose more leg. Your nipples are even poking through the thin material... how is he just sitting there, not doing anything? Are you... doing something wrong? Does he speak Basic?

Your smile wavers with a flicker of insecurity. What is this? Why isn't he doing anything? If he ends up rejecting you, you can only imagine the sort of torture you'll have to endure from the master. Fear trickles down your spine as your mind races to think of something, anything, that will get him to relax.

Well, there's one thing you know a man can't resist. With a sultry smile, you stare right into his visor as you sink slowly to your knees. You think you see his helmet shift but the movement is so minuscule that you wonder if your eyes are playing tricks. Both hands carefully rest on top of his bent knees, then you begin to slide them up, over the cold steel covering his legs until they stop right at the apex of his thighs. Your gaze breaks away to look down at his lap and relief floods through you when you see it.

"Ah, so you are human," you grin before reaching for the noticeable bulge in his pants. Before your fingers even come close, he's snatching your hand away and hauling you up. It all happens so fast that the pain doesn't even register until you collide harshly with his chest plate and you cry out a soft curse.

"I—I'm—I'm s-sorry—"

His helmet tilts. The grip around your wrist is still too tight. The way he has your body stretched upwards is causing one of his plates of armor to dig into your ribs and all you can do is wince because there is no getting out of his hold.

A choked sob gets lodged in your throat and tears fill your eyes. "P-Please, I-I-I'm sorry... the—they'll hurt m-me if I—I'll d-do anyth—anything you w-want—"

"How many are there?"

The filtered growl in your ear is entirely unexpected because, honestly? You still kind of thought he might have been half droid. But from the four words he's offered you, it sounds like he's all man under there.

"Ho—how many—wha—who?"

His grip tightens and you whimper in fear.

"How many soldiers?" he snaps, and it takes you a minute because you truthfully don't know, nor do you understand why he wants to know, but most importantly if you don't give him a good answer, you're afraid he might break your arm.

"Um, we—we don't g-get out—I'm kept—" A ragged sound rips from your throat and to your dismay you realize you're shaking. "—I've never c-count—counted, but... right n-now? At least... th-three hundred."

It's a reasonable guess. The army rotates in shifts—when one or two are disbanded to other planets to fight, the third battalion remains here, to protect their home, rest, and train new soldiers. And to the best of your knowledge, the last ship you heard that left was two weeks ago, roughly a month after the first ship. You manage to tell him all of this and at last, he seems pleased.

Droid-man releases you and you fall to the floor, clutching your wrist and murmuring your gratitude as you try to steady your breathing.

"Do you have somewhere safe to hide?" He stands and strolls across the room to the food, leaving you a trembling pile on the floor.

"Uh—we ha—have. Cells. They're reinforced so we can't escape."

You watch him pick at a pile of fruit with his gloved hand, but then he pauses and slowly turns his whole body in your direction.

"Escape?" he echos. He's holding a green fruit in his hand and your stomach grumbles again.

"Yes." Your answer is short. There's a silence between you for a stretch of time, long enough for your wrist to stop hurting and for you to haul yourself up from the floor onto the couch. He's impossible to read with a helmet on, so you don't bother trying. Instead, you subtly readjust your dress and fix your hair, hoping to salvage the reason you were sent here in the first place.

"Come here."

Even through the modulator, his voice is low and firm. You rise to your feet and give him a soft smile, doing as your told despite the fear that lingers in the back of your mind. You watch your reflection in his helmet as you get closer and closer, then stop when you're near enough to tilt your chin up and look at him. He's tall and broad. He commands a room with his stature, no doubt leaving his enemies quaking, and his silent nature just makes him that much more formidable and... interesting.

"Would you like me to feed you?" you ask with practiced sweetness.

There's a long pause then and you're beginning to think he enjoys making you squirm, but you continue to bat your lashes and gaze up at him with complete ease because after the way he just manhandled you, you don't want to give him the satisfaction of your discomfort.

"No," he finally says, then lifts the hand with the fruit. "Open."

Your face falls. You blink at his hand a few times before you find your voice.

"What?" you breathe.

"I said—" He brings his hand closer so the fruit is just barely grazing your lower lip. "—open. You need to eat."

You shouldn't. They don't like it when you eat the food designed for their guests. But your stomach twists and your mouth waters from the sweet scent of the fruit and then your jaw drops obediently. Your gaze flickers back up to his visor and you don't dare look away as he slowly slips the fruit into your mouth. Your lips wrap around his leather bound fingers with a moan. Before he tears his hand away, you notice the brief shudder rolling through his shoulders and you have to hide your smirk behind your hand.

"You're so generous," you purr when he offers you more, but this time on a plate, "would you allow me to repay your kindness in another way?"

His weight shifts and he shakes his head. "No."

You're disappointed. For the first time, you actually wanted to hear the other man in this room say yes. But what truly worries you more is the steward standing just outside and what he will do when he finds out their guest wasn't satisfied with their offering. Giving your thoughts away, your gaze nervously flickers to the door and your companion reads your mind.

"They won't know. It won't matter soon, anyway."

Slowly, you turn back to your droid-man. With a curious tilt of your head, you study him for a moment while you slowly chew on the delightful fruit plate.

"What do you mean?"

Something lights up on his gauntlet and you don't get your answer.

"You said your cell is reinforced?" he asks with his focus still aimed down to his wrist.

"Yes..." you say slowly before taking another bite.

"Good. Stay there. You should be safe."

Then he whips around, cloak snapping in the air from the force as he stalks towards the door. Fear grips you then. With wide eyes, you call out and to your shock, he skids to a stop.

"You can't," you tell him, "it's only been a few minutes. They—they'll know."

"They won't." His back is still turned to you from where he stands. Your feet move quickly and quietly across the floor. When you get close enough, you set your plate down and gently glide your palms over the broadness of his shoulders.

"Just stay a little longer," you coo, "I can make it worth your while."

"I told you, no." Yet he still hasn't stepped away.

"Hm, I don't know about that." Your hands drag down his back, slowly, and even though there's a thick layer of steel separating your hands from his skin, he shivers. "From what I saw earlier, you seemed very interested," you tease. It's a risk—he might not like that. He might even turn and strike you. But you want to test him. You want to humanize him a little bit.

The helmet pivots left. "Knock it off," he tells you sternly. With a pout, you reluctantly drop your hands.

"Maybe you are half droid, after all," you grumble as he marches towards the door once again. His hand falls on the knob but pauses to address you over his shoulder.

"Not a droid," he says, the last word laced with disgust. "Mandalorian."

And with that, the door whips open and he's gone, leaving you standing alone in the lavish guest room.

"What the hell is a Mandalorian?" you say to yourself right before the steward barges into the room to retrieve you, chains in hand.

***

Rocks, debris, and blaster beams fill every corridor, it seems. The explosions started shortly after you were returned to your cell, then one of the walls took heavy damage and left a crack just big enough for a person to squeeze through. The other girls were too terrified to leave, but some flash of bravery struck you and before you could give it another thought, you just... did it. You fucking did it. You ran. But now that you're by yourself, struggling to find your way through a literal active warzone, you're beginning to wonder if you made the right choice.

Of course you did, you remind yourself just as another bomb goes off nearby. You stumble to the ground with a cry, but no one hears you. Screams and commander orders in a series of clicks can be heard all around, but it's impossible to see through the smoke and rubble.

When you stand, you take three steps and slip, falling in a puddle of... blood? It's sticky and thick but it's blue. You try not to dwell on the smell of death as you push yourself to your feet and keep going.

You don't have a plan. Once you escape the fortress, then what? Hide on this planet? You don't even know what planet you're on, let alone if anyone else inhabits it.

It doesn't matter. It's better than being a slave, you think as you scramble over a fallen stone pillar. It's rough on your hands. They're scraped and bleeding and covered with dust and sand, but you don't stop. You can't stop.

To your right, there's clear air. You'll need to climb through destruction and over dead bodies, but it's there—freedom.

With one more fearful glance around, you run. You run towards your best chance at survival. Bruised and battered feet carry you over the broken walls and glass. Weak, dirty fingers clear your path. You keep your focus on the sliver of night sky you can see through the smoke and dust. Over the pile of thick stone, slide past three dead soldiers with their black eyes still wide open, shimmy through the broken window and don't stop when you dress tears on a shard of glass.

And finally—finally—you're outside.

You take a very brief moment to breathe the fresh air in deep. When was the last time you were outside? Stars... you've lost count of the days.

Another explosion and more blaster fire erupts somewhere behind you and you break out into a sprint, into the darkness. You have no idea where you're going. Anything could snatch you and kill you out here. You might be running full speed into a huge body of water, for all you know. But you don't care because it's better to die free than live and be a slave.

You run like never before. Your feet pound the dirt, your breath comes in short bursts, your hair flies wildly around your face. Your lungs burn and your hips are starting to ache but you can't stop smiling because you're free. The smile dissolves into laughter which eventually becomes happy tears streaming down your face. You slow down then because it's hard to see, and that's when you realize you're deep in a forest. Leaning tiredly against a tree trunk, you take a few minutes to desperately drag more oxygen into your lungs while looking around.

The plant life isn't anything you're accustomed to seeing. Everything is so thick and lush. The trees have branches that extend upwards for miles. The shrubs are bright orange and softer than silk. When you curiously touch one, it shrivels up, but you find after a while, it unfurls itself once again, fanning its leaves out to bask under the bits of moonlight from... three moons? Yes, three that you can see through the branches.

Fortunately, you don't hear any creatures. The forest is silent, except for the soft sway of leaves in the gentle breeze. If you hold your breath, you can still hear blaster fire and buildings crumbling in the distance.

Good. You must have made it very far.

Food and water will be a concern soon, but you aren't too worried. This forest wouldn't be so lush if there isn't a water source around. If you keep walking, you'll find it.

And that's exactly what you do. You start walking, stepping carefully over shrubs and rocks and uneven ground as you explore the forest until you find it—a small waterfall tucked discreetly within the trees. Looking up, you hardly see any night sky. The branches hide this little oasis perfectly. Maybe this will be a good place to call home base for a while.

With shaky hands, you kneel down to cup the sparkling clear water in your hands. You drink and drink and drink until you have your fill and then you sit back happily to gently clean yourself—Maker, when was the last time you had a proper bath? The steward lets you take a sonic shower before seeing guests but it's nowhere near as clean and refreshing as actual water.

After slipping your torn dress back over your head, you decide it will be a good idea to find a place to sleep. It's hard to see in the dark, but you move and feel around anyway, determined to find somewhere safe. What you don't expect is to run smack dab into something very hard, big and metal.

"Ow!" you exclaim, rubbing the spots on your body that came in contact with the foreign object. With a frown, you squint into the darkness to decipher what could be hiding out in the woods like this. You walk and feel around until it dawns on you and you gasp.

It's a... ship. A ship!

Are you a pilot? Absolutely not. But it's worth a try to get off this death trap of a planet.

It's easy enough to open the hatch. That's a good sign, you think. You close it behind you, then feel around for a light. There's a panel a few feet away from the hatch and, after trial and error, you find the button for the lights. You blink and close your eyes when the harsh cold lighting flickers on. It hurts from how bright it is, especially compared to the darkness of the forest. It takes a few minutes, but your eyes adjust and you slowly reopen them to look around.

It's a decent sized ship. Not terribly big inside. In far corners there are some crates covered by netting, which is bolted to the walls. You make a mental note to search them for food later before you keep looking. Straight across from the telescopic gate you just walked is huge slabs of what looks like silver resin built into the wall on hinges so you can flip them like pages in a book. You're hypnotized for a moment, inching closer and closer as you grow more curious. There must be a hundred different buttons for each slab, along with a bright green square screen.

"Emergency release... instant freeze..." you murmur to yourself as you scan the controls, "... thaw... refill..."

What is all this? Too consumed with curiosity, you push two of the slabs apart with a grunt. Stars, they're heavy, you think before they finally spread. Panting for breath, you start to examine the slab, but suddenly stop with a petrified scream.

You have to clap your hands over your mouth to muffle the fearful whimpers that refuse to stay inside. Tears fill your eyes and your stomach churns with disgust but you can't look away—

It's a creature of some kind. A species you haven't seen before, but it's certainly a living thing... encased in metal.

Terror grips your throat. Every alarm in your head is screaming at you to run. And once you're able to collect yourself long enough to slow your breath and dry your tears, that's exactly what you plan to do—run.

Unfortunately for you, as you spin around to open the gate, you hear metal grinding against metal as it begins to unlock on its own and your eyes go wide.

Shit! Whoever owns this ship and has tortured these people is coming back... and all the lights are still on.

Somehow, you smack the wall and turn off the interior lights half a second before the gate starts to open with a metallic groan. You blindly stumble around until you wedge yourself safely behind a large stack of crates in the corner. With your mouth covered to quiet your shaky breaths, you peer through the tiny crack between two crates and watch.

Slow, heavy footsteps echo inside the hull of the ship, growing louder the closer they get. You curl in on yourself even tighter and wait, trembling, for whoever it is to show themselves.

"Mando, I swear! I wasn't hiding! The Vowclan, they kept me captive!"

The lights flash on, illuminating the droid-man—or, the Mandalorian—along with a man you immediately recognize.

Druk.

Druk being held captive? Fat chance. Even though he's human, Druk got the best bunks, the best food, and free rein over the entire fortress. He looked down on you and the other girls like you were cattle. There's a zero percent chance he's telling the truth right now and it's burning you up. Especially because the Mandalorian seems to be hesitating.

"None of my business," comes the familiar, filtered voice, "take it up with the one who put a bounty on your head."

Druk continues to beg but you don't pay attention because there's something else you've noticed. The Mandalorian—he appears to be injured. Even though he has one strong arm guiding the shoulder of his bounty, his body is bent ever so slightly forward, as if he were in pain.

When you watch his free hand come up to swipe the side of his neck, your suspicions are confirmed: blood is smeared across his leather palm.

As if angered by this discovery, the Mandalorian straightens up and shoves Druk forward—hard. He disappears behind a slab but you can hear him begging for his life, for mercy.

"Shut up," Mando snarls, then heaves forward to smack a big red button. He holds himself upright with both arms pinned to the metallic slabs and watches while plums of gas erupt instantly around Druk. His screams are instantly silenced and you squeeze your eyes shut to keep the panic and fear at bay. If he finds you, you'll have the same fate.

Finally, the sound of the gas being released stops. You open your eyes just to close them once again—the room is filled with smoke from the gas, you can't see anything even if you wanted to. Then, you listen to his tired, heavy footsteps scrape across the metal floor. They come to a halt and then there's a slight pause before you hear the gate being lifted and closed.

Stars, you're trapped.

Well, maybe not. Maybe you can hide as a stowaway until he reaches another planet, then you can sneak off and start a new life. Yes, maybe this isn't so bad after all.

The gate latches shut. You heard the metal click into place. You swallow thickly and listen—you hear sounds of metal clanging together again, but it's lighter. Then there's a loud, heavy thud followed by a slight roll—something heavy being dropped to the floor. You hold your breath and wait, too terrified to move a muscle. There's quiet shuffling and the sound of softer materials being shifted and torn, but you don't open your eyes until you hear him curse loudly in agony.

You expect to still see the room filled with smoke, but no. What you see changes your fate forever.

The Mandalorian is standing just a few feet away, hunched over a first aid kit. His gloves are off and discarded next to his feet, along with some trash from whatever items he selected from the kit to tend to his wound. But that's not what draws your attention.

His helmet is gone, lost somewhere on the floor after he ripped it off so he could inspect his wound. What remains now is a mess of chocolate brown curls falling limply every which way. When he shifts and slightly turns his body, you see he has a short beard, too. It dusts nicely around his chiseled jaw and plush lips. Before you can stop it, your gaze sweeps up to his strong, angular nose and lingers for a beat on his deep, rich, dark brown eyes.

Maker... he's handsome. Why would he ever want to hide in a helmet?

It takes you longer than you care to admit to realize his expression is one of great pain. He's still tending to the wound on the side of his neck—it's wrapped up and he's about to inject himself with a large needle. You watch from your spot behind the crates, eyes wide and curious now as the needle gently pierces his tan skin. The low grunt he lets out has your heart skipping a beat against your will, then the needle clatters to the floor. His eyes squeeze shut and he breathes deep for a few seconds as whatever he injected himself with courses through his veins and helps ease the pain.

When his eyes reopen, he looks healthy again. Strong. You'd never had known he was doubled over a minute ago, gasping for breath. Now his breaths are slow and shallow. He's regained control and now that his head is clear, he looks around. With one arm he scoops up his helmet and then stands to push the slab containing a frozen Druk back into the wall. The motion creates a sudden cloud of residual gas that infiltrates the air. The Mandalorian coughs gently into his closed fist before pivoting to hurry up the ladder, which happens to be located right next to your hiding spot.

It's fine. He can't see you from here. You're well hidden behind the crates, even from the side. And he's rushing to get off this planet. There's no way he would—

But then you feel it. Your throat... it tickles low, then squeezes. The fucking gas—it's drifted over to your side of the room and you inhaled too deeply and now... well, now you're about to get yourself killed because you're fighting the urge to cough and losing... badly. Your eyes water. Your lips press together so tightly they feel numb.

Just a few more seconds. Just a few more, and he will be up in the cockpit, and then you—

It's soft. It just barely slips out. And if it were anyone else, they wouldn't have even registered the noise. But you'll soon discover that the Mandalorian isn't like everybody else. Nothing gets past him.

Including your cough.

Everything is a blur. The helmet gets jammed back on at lightning speed, then the crates get shoved aside as if they weighed absolutely nothing.

You can't look. Your eyes clamp shut and you curl in on yourself, as if doing so will make you invisible. Your entire body trembles in a ball when you hear him curse loudly and punch the metal wall above you with so much force you feel it in your feet.

When you hear a soft metallic click, a jolt of fear shoots down your spine and your eyes open.

The reflective metal helmet is staring down at you, unreadable of course. He's not moving an inch, just... staring as tears begin to stream down your face because it takes you a second to realize the click came from the blaster currently aimed right between your eyes.

"P-Please," you beg quietly, "I-I won't—won't tell..."

"Shut up."

But you don't. You can't.

"I pro-promise I w-won't say a-a word," you continue through the steady flow of tears. Panic seizes your throat when his finger wraps around the trigger on the blaster and then your hands lace together as if in worship.

"Please—"

"Shut up! Fuck! I need to... to think!"

You whimper on the floor at his feet, heart just about pounding straight out of your chest. Every muscle is tense, your body unsure whether to run or fight. Both are fruitless but you can't just sit here and let him kill you. You need to at least try to survive.

The gate is up. There's a blaster two inches from your face.

Okay so running and fighting maybe aren't the best choices.

Back to begging, it is.

"I did-didn't see an-anything," you plead, imploring up at him with big watery eyes and a trembling lip.

"You did!" he roared, stepping forward to press the blaster tightly against your forehead. You cry out, body absolutely convulsing with terror at the press of cool steel against your sweaty skin. Sobs constrict your voice and pour openly from your mouth. It's impossible to remain calm now, absolutely sure that you're moments away from death.

"You did," he repeats, slightly more somber this time, "y-you saw... you saw my face."

His voice breaks on the last word, as if it pained him to admit it out loud. As if his entire world had just shattered.

"Not r-really," you blubber, "not... not enough t-to—I won't be able to... identify you. I s-swear it."

"That's not—" The Mandalorian curses under his breath before flexing his fingers around the grip of his blaster. You flinch but keep your eyes pinned on his dark visor—if he's going to kill you, he's going to have to look into your eyes when he does it. "—Nobody can... identify me. That's the fucking problem," he growls through the modulator.

If you weren't moments away from death, you would have asked him what he meant, but right now you don't care. You don't care one bit.

"I'll do an-anything," you continue through the tears, "p-please. Please. You can—you can do wh-whatever you want, I won't f-fight. Just—please—all I w-want is to get off this fucking planet."

He's so quiet and still for a moment. All you can hear is the faint sound of his quick breaths filtering through his helmet while he decides your fate. You swallow and shift forward a little on your knees, sensing that he's considering your plea.

"J-Just take me wherever you're going," you say softly while your hands slowly rise to his belt. "Take me there and—I'll go. I'll go and... I'll forget this ever happened. Please..."

Shaky fingers work on undoing his pants because, truthfully? You don't have much more to offer. But this? This, you're good at. This is something that might prove to him you meant what you said, that he could do anything.

"Stop."

The edge is gone from his voice. You've heard men like this before. They say stop, but what they really want is to walk away knowing they tried to do the right thing.

"I want to show you," you say, "what I can offer. If it's not good, then shoot me."

Right as you're about to reach inside his pants, his free hand grabs your wrist and you're in the same situation as you were two hours ago.

There's a tense few minutes where he just stares at you on the floor, fingers like steel around your arm and blaster still aimed directly between your eyes. You swallow thickly and don't move a muscle. You just stare right back with tear soaked cheeks and a quivering lip.

"It's not that simple," he finally says. "I can't just... let you go."

"Why?"

There's a pause. Then—"I swore an oath."

You blink up at him, slowly.

"...What?"

Something on his forearm starts to make some noise, and when you look down, you notice a red light blinking. His chin drops to look at it too and he curses before dropping both hands to his side. A shaky sigh of relief slips past your lips when the steel is no longer pressed against your skin, but it's short lived because a moment later, he has a pair of binders in his hand.

Your heart sinks.

"You don't need to—I won't do—"

"It's either this or the carbonite."

He points to the giant slabs of frozen metal and you audibly gulp.

"O-Okay, fine."

You present your wrists and flinch only a little bit when they tighten around your skin, an unfortunately very familiar feeling.

"We need to get off this planet," the Mandalorian tells you while leading you to another part of the hull. You sigh inwardly when you realize he's buckling your shackles to the wall, preventing you entirely from wandering around the ship.

One gloved hand grasps the ladder and then he stops, thinking about something for a second before stepping back and pulling something dark from a closed cabinet near the fresher.

"Here."

He tosses you a blanket and you could cry with relief because the cold metal floors you're currently kneeling on with your very thin and ratty dress is already causing your bones to ache.

He's about halfway up the ladder when you boldly ask a question.

"Does this mean you're not going to kill me?"

He comes to an abrupt halt. The shiny helmet on his shoulders turns to the right and you hold your breath, waiting. But then after a beat he begins to climb again, closing the door firmly behind him, leaving your question unanswered.

Taglist:

The thick, expensive cardstock stuck to your cork board next to your desk stares you down on this particular day. The date in big, cursive letters in the center of the invitation are screaming at you. Honestly, they have been getting louder and louder with each passing week because the closer you get to the date of their wedding, the more you're reminded you already rsvp'd months ago. With a plus one.

A plus one you didn't want to include. But you had no choice. It was either include him, or skip the wedding entirely. And you know deep down he would have preferred you skip it entirely because that would have destroyed yet another friendship—one that had the potential to save you from the misery of your relationship with him.

So now you're stuck going to this wedding and sitting next to an empty chair with his fucking name in front of the plate while everyone gives you pitying looks all night, or...

Your fingers dial his number before you have time to doubt yourself.

"What's up, honey?"

Joel's deep drawl answers in the middle of the second ring. The familiar way he speaks to you stretches a smile across your face, but then you hear the power tools in the background and your smile falls.

"Oh, shit, you're on a site."

"Yeah, but—"

"I'll call you later—"

"I'm here now," he insists.

"But you're bu—"

Then Joel says your name in the way that makes your eyelids flutter and you stop talking.

"I wouldn't've answered if I couldn't talk."

You inhale slowly and nod, even though he can't see you.

"Right," you breathe, "sorry."

There's a pause on the other end, like Joel is trying to understand your tone through what little you've said so far. It's hard to read, but he picks up pretty quickly that something is troubling you simply because you're not playfully tossing witty remarks at him like you usually would.

"Everythin' okay?" he finally asks. The worry in his voice makes you feel bad.

"Yeah, no, everything's fine," you say quickly, "I just wanted to see if you're free next weekend?"

"For you? 'Course I am."

"Okay," you exhale, "but, like... would you be cool with coming to a wedding with me? As my date?"

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for an awkward pause while he thinks of a lame excuse, but then—

"Yeah, I'd love to."

Your eyes open.

"Really?"

"You thought I'd say no?"

"Well, no, not really. But we're just, you know... and I didn't..."

Okay, now you're making an idiot of yourself even more. You sound completely stupid. Warmth burns your cheeks as you stammer over your words, but finally Joel chuckles through the phone and you pinch your lips shut.

"I know you don't wanna label this," he says, "and that's fine. Y'know it doesn't bother me. I'll wear you down one day."

You giggle and the nerves that have been twisting around in your stomach begin to settle.

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm ridiculous? You thought I wouldn't want you on my arm at a wedding and I'm ridiculous?"

You lean back in your chair and tilt your head, grinning up at the ceiling. "Alright, I gotta go."

"Wait!"

"What?" you sigh, still smiling.

"What are you wearin'?"

"Good bye!"

"I meant to the wedding!" Joel laughs.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure," you answer dryly.

You can hear the smile in his voice over the heavy machinery in the background. "C'mon. Gimme a hint."

"Something... I don't know. I might need to go shopping."

There's a pause, then Joel replies. "And what 'bout now?"

You roll your eyes. You knew it. "Something slutty."

"Really?"

"No, I'm wearing a shirt with a coffee stain on it and old jean shorts. Do you really think I'm working from home in lingerie?"

"Well, would it kill you to do it just once?"

You think about it for a second. "It might, yeah."

"My birthday's in September," he says, and you can hear the crunch of gravel under his boots as he walks back to his crew, "now you know what you can get me."

"For your birthday you want me to work from home in something slutty? That's it?"

"No, never said that's it," he corrects. "Wouldn't mind a few pictures throughout the day and an unlocked front door at five on the dot so I can let myself in. Wanna play CEO and overworked secretary—"

"Good bye! For real this time!" you laugh.

"Yeah, okay, okay," he smiles, "can I call you tonight?"

"Sure," you say, ignoring the flutter in your belly.

"Don't work too hard, honey," Joel says before hanging up.

"I'll try," you reply, then a moment later, the phone goes dead.

You set it down on your desk and take a deep breath. When your gaze settles on the wedding invitation, you feel a little better. It'll be fun with Joel. He knows how to charm a room.

You just hope you can avoid the topic of your ex for the night.

***

You're in your bathroom, hair still damp, robe cinched tightly around your waist, and a whole mess of makeup spread out in front of you when you hear the knock on your front door.

"It's open!"

Joel's heavy footsteps echo from down the hallway when he enters, then your door clicks shut and you hear a rustling of his pants where he's presumably slipping off his shoes before meandering down to your bedroom, a familiar path for him at this point.

"Hey—"

His greeting gets cut short when he sees you very much not ready in your bathroom.

"Ain't we leavin' in an hour?" he asks.

"Yeah," you reply without glancing up from your makeup bag.

"Well, as much as I love your robe, think you might be a little underdressed."

You sigh and turn your head only to find that Joel isn't ready either—not unless he plans on wearing a beat up shirt and jeans to the wedding.

"You should talk," you say. Then he smirks and pulls his wardrobe bag into view, where it had been held just outside your doorframe.

"Knew you wouldn't be ready and I didn't want the damn suit gettin' wrinkled."

"Oh, ha ha," you answer dryly before turning back to your mirror. You're more nervous than you anticipated and your indecisiveness proves it. Why are you agonizing over which eyeshadow to use?

You decide to work on your hair instead, combing it out and readying your curling iron and various products on the sink. At this rate, there's hardly a glimpse of your countertop to be seen, but there's a method to your madness.

Meanwhile, Joel is making himself comfortable in your bedroom. The television is on and you hear the mattress shift under his weight, leaving you to your devices for a while, which you appreciate. It isn't until your hair is done just the way you want it and pinned back away from your face so you can work on your makeup does Joel appear in your doorway again.

He's quiet for a bit but you can feel him there, leaning against the frame, watching you blend in your foundation and blush. It's when you lean forward on your tiptoes to apply your mascara, lips slightly parted and robe hanging loosely from your breasts do you hear the telltale sound of a camera shutter. You blink and turn your head in his direction and sure enough, Joel is leaning casually against your wall, ankles crossed and hands holding up his phone, snapping pictures.

"What are you doing?" you ask, knowing you must look crazy with one eye done and the other still bare. Joel grins and takes another picture.

"Don't got any pictures of you," he murmurs, slowly dropping his phone to his side. "And you just look so... beautiful. Like this."

"Oh, please," you exhale sarcastically, but your heart flips in your chest and heat instantly rises to your face, betraying the annoyance in your tone.

"I mean it," he chuckles, then he pockets his phone into his black pants and it's at that point you realize he's changed and he looks... really fucking hot. Your brain stutters when you take in the perfect fit of his pants, the crisp lines in his bright white button down, and the beautifully laid champagne satin tie around his neck.

Your gaze must linger too long on the way his waist looks in those pants because he has to say your name to get your attention back up to his face.

"I know that look," he teases with a wag of his finger, "gotta take me out on a date first 'fore I put out, little lady."

"History has proven that's a big, fat lie," you scoff, dragging your eyes back to the mirror. You can't stop the smirk when you hear Joel's laughter—it's always so genuine and deep. You really like that about him—he's not fake. He's just... him.

Eventually, his laughter dies down to a comfortable silence as he watches you work on your right eye, then line your lips before tapping on some lipstick and gloss. When you lightly blot and press them together to properly distribute the coverage, he groans loudly from the door, tearing your eyes away from the mirror once again.

"What?"

"Should've kissed you before you did all that."

You grin and shrug as you pack your makeup back into your bag. "Oh, well. Now you'll have to wait til later."

When you move to slide past him, his arm whips out to wrap tightly around your waist, tugging you into his side.

"Or... you'll just have to do it all again."

"Joel—don't you fucking—"

But then his mouth is pressed firmly against yours with a pleased moan, stopping your threat right in its tracks. He doesn't try to deepen the kiss, he just massages his lips against yours, savoring the small bit of intimacy before having to be reserved in public the rest of the night.

"I can't believe you," you whisper when he pulls away. Your lipgloss is smeared all over his mouth and it makes you smile before you gently work to wipe it away with your thumb.

"Sorry," he mumbles, nipping playfully at the pad of your finger.

"No you're not."

Joel chuckles. "You're right. I'm not."

It's fine. You were going to touch up your lips before getting to the event anyway. So you leave it be for now and go into your room to get your dress, which is the easiest move of your whole process. It takes literally minutes for you to slip it on and once you get a look at yourself in the mirror you think you look pretty damn good.

The dress you chose is a nude color with thin straps and square neckline. There's subtle rhinestones sewn into the sheer outer layer. They catch the light just right when you turn to look at yourself in the mirror, but the best and most fatal feature is the long slit up your left leg. It ends at a reasonable spot on your upper thigh but you make a mental note to be careful the more you drink throughout the night.

Is it a risky dress to wear to someone else's wedding? Maybe. But the look on Joel's face when he returns from fixing his hair in your bathroom makes it totally worth it.

"You like it?" you ask innocently, turning around to flash him a little leg with your hands propped on your hips.

"Jesus fuckin'—" The words fall out of his mouth as his gaze burns your skin. He isn't even close to touching you but you feel him, the tension behind his stare, as he takes in every single inch of you. Then his hand dramatically grabs onto your doorframe right before his knees buckle and you giggle.

"You—you can't—"

"What?" you grin as you begin to pack your clutch with essentials for the night.

"You can't wear that," he spits out, "I'm gonna get arrested. You're gonna get me thrown in jail."

You roll your eyes but can't stop smiling. God, he's so cute and always knows the right things to say. It's almost infuriating.

"You'll live," you assure him, tapping his cheek gently before slipping out of your room. "C'mon, we're gonna be late."

"Honey, Jesus, I-I can't—"

You laugh lightly over your shoulder. "Joel! I appreciate what you're trying to do but I'm serious! We have to get on the road."

"I'm not fuckin' around," he insists, trailing after you, eyes still big as saucers. "You tryin' to kill me?"

"Just think about how good it'll feel to take this off me at the end of the night," you tease while slipping on your heels. Joel swallows tight and it's just now that you notice his neck is flushed bright red. Shit, maybe he isn't exaggerating.

"You think I'm gonna make it the whole night, then you don't know me at all," he mutters before forcing himself to take a few deep breaths to clear his head. You laugh again at the theatrics and grab your keys.

"Guess we'll find out."

***

The venue is beautiful, at least.

It's a winery you've heard of but never been to called Wimberley Valley. It's just outside of Austin, located in the admittedly beautiful hill country. Miles of open land surround the estate, allowing you a spectacular view. It's a nice change of pace, even if it's just for one night.

"Jesus," Joel murmurs once he parks your car and looks around at the sprawling venue. The area's natural beauty blends perfectly with the upscale resort and surrounding vineyards. "This place is fancy. How you know them, again?"

"I know Carly from college," you say, unbuckling your seatbelt.

Joel whistled low before slipping out of the car and rounding the back to open your door. He's fiddling with his suit coat before he comes to his senses and offers you his hand.

"Hope I didn't wrinkle anything," you say under your breath. You're adjusting your dress while Joel shuts the car door, but when he is about to lead you towards the building, you stop him.

"Wait—my bag—"

He frowns when he spots you holding your clutch. "Wha—"

Then you open your backseat, revealing a duffel bag, and he looks even more confused until you explain.

"I got a room," you tell him, suddenly feeling a little shy. Why didn't you ask him first? "I—I packed some clothes for you. The shirt I took and, um, sweats you left behind that, uh... that one time. It's so we can both drink and, you know, not worry about driving, or... whatever."

A slow smirk stretches across his face, giving you a glimpse of those dimples under his trimmed beard. "Or whatever, huh?"

You roll your eyes. "Joel..." you begin to say in a threatening tone, but it's too late.

"Don't think you'd make it the drive home without jumpin' my bones, I get it, it's okay."

"That is not—"

"I ain't judgin' you, it's responsible, actually," he continues, offering you the crook of his arm with a cocky smile. You loop your hand through with an exasperated sigh and allow him to lead you through the parking lot, towards the venue. "Can't blame you, either. This suit fits me like a goddamn glove."

"Yeah, yeah," you mutter as your short lived embarrassment disappears.

It's warm today, but not sweltering. You attribute that to the hilly terrain and wide open grounds that allow for cool, gentle breezes to keep all the guests comfortable. It will be the perfect day for an outdoor wedding. But even if it does get too hot, it will be easy to just slip inside the refreshingly crisp air conditioned lobby for a break since the courtyard is attached just beyond. You can see it through the floor to ceiling windows when you step up to the front desk.

"Welcome," a bubbly young girl behind the counter greets with a practiced smile. "Are you here for the ceremony, or checking in?"

"Both," you reply, then offer her your name so she can look up your reservation. As she taps away on her keyboard, Joel leans in so he can whisper in your ear.

"How much did this place cost?"

"Don't worry about it."

There's a gentle press of his hand against your lower back and you find yourself shifting your weight towards him.

"Can I pay you back?"

"You already are," you say quietly, "you're my date, remember?"

"So you want me to pay you with my body, that it?"

You playfully jab him in the shoulder as your cheeks flush with heat, mentally praying the receptionist didn't just hear his dumb joke. It doesn't appear like she did, but you never know.

"Shut up or you're walking home," you grin, and he chuckles before giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. He turns from the desk, hand slipping from your back to hold your duffle while his gaze slowly roams over the ornate chandeliers, twinkling string lights, gorgeous floral arrangements, and expensive looking velvet couches scattered throughout the lobby, leaving you with the stupid looking smile on your face that he left after kissing your cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Here you are, fifth floor," the receptionist chirps brightly after you've signed the appropriate paperwork. You take the keycards with a grateful smile while she offers you directions to your room.

"I'll go up and drop off the bag," Joel says once you hand him his key, "meet you down here in a minute."

"Are you sure?"

"'Course. Grab us good seats," he tells you while jutting his chin towards the courtyard lined with pristine white chairs.

Once he disappears into an elevator, you wander towards the crystal clear glass doors that lead outside. You can see people already mingling with programs clutched in their hands, sharing smiles and pleasantries amongst the other guests. You quickly scan the crowds searching for any familiar faces as you find a table with programs adorned with pictures of the happy couple. There are a few photos with friends and family and you smile wistfully at the frozen moments in time. Life seemed so much simpler back then.

After picking up a program just for something to hold, you turn back to the beautifully decorated courtyard. A mix of roses, peonies, baby's breath and hydrangeas in differing shades of white and dusty pink adorn the aisle and arch. It's classy. Elegant. Very Carly. It makes you smile a little to yourself while you pick a row near the back, seats on the aisle so you can still get a good view. You set your clutch down on the chair next to you to save Joel's seat, cross your legs, and begin to peruse the program in your lap.

When you eyes land on the list of bridesmaids, your heart stops.

You forgot. How could you forget she was part of the wedding party?

Suddenly, the air feels stifling. Your face burns as the panic swells in your chest. Squeezing your eyes shut, you take a deep breath and count backwards from ten.

It's a big wedding. There's probably almost two hundred people.

You probably won't even run into her.

She'll be sitting at the front with Carly most of the night.

Maybe you can convince Joel to go back to the room early, pretend to have a headache or something.

Fuck. Fuck. Your usual calming techniques aren't working. Your hands are shaking, you can hear the program crinkling in your grip. Your mind is spiraling as you envision every single worst case scenario until—

"Hey."

His voice alone brings fresh air into your lungs. You open your eyes to find Joel sliding into his seat, holding your clutch on his lap and looking at you curiously. "You alright?"

You swallow and nod but he sees through it.

"Yeah. No. I mean—"

You must look as frantic as you feel because Joel glances around quickly before shifting in his seat to block the courtyard's view of you in your chair.

"You need to go to the restroom or the car?" he offers gently. A reassuring hand squeezes your shoulder and you take another deep breath, already feeling your pulse begin to slow.

"No, I'm good. I'm okay," you breathe. Your face feels warm but no longer hot. Your hands are still. It's passing.

"Okay," Joel says slowly, scanning your face with concern. It pulls at your chest the way his brows knit together with worry. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

You swallow again and drop your gaze. Your instinct is to dodge the question, but something about the way he's looking at you makes you speak the words before you have a chance to choke them back down.

"My ex's twin sister is a bridesmaid. I—I forgot."

Joel looks surprised you're so forthright but he has the decency to keep the moment from feeling too vulnerable.

"Is it a problem? Are you... will she bother you?"

You shake your head and shrug. You feel normal again. The blood has drained from your face and you skin doesn't feel as hot as before.

"Maybe. I don't know. Probably not. But... you remember the girl with the pool table?"

Joel frowns for a second before he remembers the story, the one about you and a friend who got kicked out of a bar in a prior life one too many times. One who you used to trust with your entire life. One who turned on you the moment the truth came out about her brother.

"Yeah."

"It's her. We were—we used to be... super close."

Joel nods. "Lemme guess," he says, "her brother's the same ex that was gonna come with you today?"

"Yeah," you sigh.

Joel thinks about it for a few minutes, watching as the rows begin to fill with guests. Laughter and mindless chatter surrounds you, ignoring your crisis in favor of small talk about the weather and sports. Then his arm drapes around the top of your chair and he sits back with a loud sigh. He fixes his tie with his other hand and you notice with a little smile he still has your clutch in his lap.

"You stick with me, honey," Joel finally says, "you'll be okay. Anyone starts bringin' up the past and I'll whisk you away for a dance or somethin'. Don't worry. Just have fun, alright?"

It's so fucking sweet. He probably has so many questions but he's not prying. His only concern is making sure you're comfortable and honestly it's... hard to get used to. But dammit if you don't really like it.

"Yeah," you say softly. Joel glances your direction and smiles. "Thank you."

He doesn't say anything back. Just settles in and watches the pianist warm up, entirely unbothered and relaxed. So you sit back and try to do the same.

***

The ceremony was flawless. Exactly the type of wedding you'd expect from Carly, who always was the preppy one. The one who got her first small designer handbag way too young. The one who grew up going to country clubs and literally summered in the Hamptons at least twice that you knew of. But she was always kind, she never allowed her family's wealth change her. She never thought she was better than anyone and was always welcoming. Carly is the girl who proved you shouldn't judge a book by its cover because when you first met her and saw her perfect bleach blonde hair, brand new Ralph Lauren polo, and denim miniskirt with a chic Louis Vuitton purse, you definitely judged. But it only took a few days for you to realize you were wrong, then you ended up being close friends with her and a handful of other girls for the remainder of your college career.

During the wedding, you avoided looking in her direction. You kept your gaze locked on Carly's stunning smile. When the bridal party exited after the vows, you chickened out and ducked your head so she wouldn't see you.

If Joel noticed, he didn't say anything.

The glass of wine you have during the cocktail hour before the reception helped ease those nerves a bit. You notice a few familiar faces amongst the crowd of guests mingling around fancy hors d'oeuvres but you keep to yourselves, tucked away on the edge of the courtyard pressed against a tall table meant for two.

Joel follows your lead. He doesn't pressure you. He talks about the ceremony and makes jokes about the impossible to pronounce appetizers. He smoothes down his satin tie and nods politely when he makes eye contact with a guest or worker. He offers to get you food so you don't put yourself at risk of bumping into anyone you're not ready to speak to yet.

Everything's going well until the ballroom opens to allow guests to find their tables. When you wander up to search for your name card, you feel sick when you find his name along with yours.

You know it wasn't done to hurt you. The RSVP was sent back months ago. Carly's wedding planner likely sent all the names to the printer long before everything came to light, but still... seeing his name with yours causes your body to lock up. You take note of the table number and crumple the card in your fist until it's unrecognizable, but Joel already saw. He caught a glimpse of the name paired with yours and his lips press together tightly before planting a comforting hand on your back to lead you away.

"What table?" he asks softly.

"Ten."

Your voice sounds tight and foreign. His palm rubs over your lower back, a gentle reminder to stay present, to not let the fear and panic win, that it's going to be okay. So you take a deep breath and let him lead you to your table, where you choose your seats and refuse to put your name card in front of your plates.

"I hope steak is okay," you say weakly. It's the only hint of acknowledgment you want to give around the fact that these decisions were made long before Joel.

"Better than okay," he grins, then squeezes your knee under the table. The tightness in your chest loosens, your body picking up on Joel's relaxed energy and trying to match it. It's going to take a long time for your body to stop reacting to every minor situation with fight or flight mode, but Joel is making it easier.

You settle once your table fills. Some names you recognize, others you don't, but after introductions you realize everyone at table ten are all friends of Carly. Three you remember from school, the rest are a mix of her coworkers or friends growing up. It's perfect, actually. No one knows you well enough to remember your past but not distantly enough where it's awkward for you to exchange comfortable conversation. You manage to loosen up and enjoy yourself for a while, even after the bridal party does their entrance, you manage to keep the anxiety in check. It's after dinner when you're a couple drinks in and your walls have come down that you're met with the next challenge of the night.

The tone of the evening has shifted from swanky classical music to more bass heavy dance music and some ballads. The sun is almost set, the lighting is dim, the conversations around the room have gotten louder and more jovial, no doubt fueled by the open bar. With drinks in hand from the bar—you with some type of sparkling wine that sounded good, Joel with a neat glass of whiskey—you eye up the courtyard through the windows. The ballroom is growing a little stuffy so you decide to wander outside together, get some fresh air, and enjoy the last of the sun's rays.

"This place must've set them back," Joel says once you've found a quiet bench overlooking an impressive garden. Nearby is a large fire pit area with several seating options, but there's already a small crowd and you feel like taking a break from people.

"Her family is loaded," you explain, "I think her dad did something with investments? Or he was a stock broker? I can't remember."

Joel hums, stretches his arm across the back of the bench, and takes a sip from his glass. "Glad we finally found a quiet spot for ourselves."

"Me, too." You relax into the bench, angling your body in Joel's direction just a bit. His dark gaze flickers down at your dress. "Thanks for coming with me. I couldn't have done it alone."

Joel just smiles. "Yeah, you could've. But I'm more than happy to be here."

Some laughter spilling out from the ballroom draws your attention when the French doors swing open. Heels clicking against stone and giggling melt with the sounds from those at the fire pit, but you don't pay it much mind because Joel is suddenly in your ear.

"You look beautiful, y'know that?" he whispers. You grin and tilt your head back in his direction. His deep brown eyes sparkle with warmth under the string lights, filling you with delight because despite there being very beautiful women in every direction, his focus is entirely on you.

"You don't look too bad yourself," you tease, tugging gently on his tie. He smirks and leans forward a bit more, closing the space between you by a few more inches.

"Nothin' compared to you. Anyone ever tell you not to show up the bride on her own wedding day?" You laugh and he tuts under his breath. "Just ain't right is what that is. Oughta take you somewhere and mess up that hair 'n makeup a bit. Maybe wrinkle the dress."

His whiskey is set on the bench next to him, freeing his hand to wander slowly from your bare knee up your thigh where the slit in your dress has exposed your leg. Already there's a pang of arousal that simmers low in your belly and it's probably the alcohol that's made you forget the setting because instead of stopping him, you lean in.

"You lasted longer than I thought," you murmur so only he can hear. He smirks.

"Tryin' to be good f'you," he says quietly, lips only an inch or two away from brushing against yours, "but you make it so goddamn hard."

"Oh, I know," you joke, stepping into the double entendre with both feet. He groans a laugh and is half a second from kissing you when you hear your name and your heart plummets to your stomach.

You know that voice. Your muscles go rigid and before Joel can even read your face, he knows. He feels you tense under his palm but regardless, he doesn't guiltily jump away. He eases back slowly, keeps his eyes locked on you, then eventually lets his wandering hand fall to his lap with a heavy sigh before following your gaze to the young woman and her partner standing just a few feet away.

"Leah," you say, voice sounding like it's being dragged over gravel. You stand and awkwardly tug at the skirt of your dress. "H-Hey, it's uh. It's nice to, um, see you."

You sound pathetic. Before you can curl in on yourself and die, Joel stands. He buttons his coat and plants himself firmly at your side. Leah's gaze flits from you to him and you can see the gears in her head turn.

"Yeah. Hey." She sounds confused. Or amused, maybe? It's hard to tell. But then you spot the lipstick stained highball glass in her hand and figure she's on a tape delay, same as you. Her eyes find you again after she took a little too long analyzing Joel and she cocks her head. "I didn't know if you would be able to make it," she says. You swallow.

"I mean, how could I miss it?" you shrug, hoping to come off unbothered. You don't. Joel's hand rests gently on the middle of your back, steadying you. It helps.

Too much time lapses between your last words. You both know she didn't expect you to come without her brother, but Carly's your friend. Of course you'd come. Still, it makes you feel small, like coming without your original date is somehow considered poor taste or something.

Your gaze flickers to Leah's husband and you offer him a small smile, ignoring the way your heart sits like a stone in your chest when you remember you stood up in their own wedding just two years ago. These people, who you've known for so long, now feel like strangers, and you hate it.

Then, like you're hit over the head with the manners hammer, you snap out of it and remember Joel silently standing guard by your side.

"I'm s-sorry, uh, this is Joel—"

You look up at him next to you and feel a moment of relief. His left hand remains on your back and his right extends to politely shake both their hands while murmuring a good to meet you in his deep, southern drawl.

"Uh, yeah..." Leah says slowly, her eyes sticking on Joel too long once again. You can read her face like a book. She's trying to recall if she's ever met him before, or perhaps heard his name, wondering where on earth he came from. When she can't place it, impatience gets the best of her and she laughs awkwardly before piercing you with an incredulous look.

"I'm sorry, is this—is he your boyfriend?"

Jesus, like it can't get any worse, now you're being confronted with this? What do you call Joel? A friend? A fuck buddy? How did you not have the foresight to anticipate having to explain your relationship all evening?

Then like magic, Joel swoops in and saves you.

"Nah, she just hired me for the evenin'."

He says the joke so smoothly that both you and Leah's husband chuckle. Leah herself manages a tight smile but you can sense she's not done.

"Right..." she says, then studies you once again. She can clock your discomfort and it's making her smug. "You moved on pretty fast," she adds casually before sipping from her glass. Your cheeks burn and your chest starts to tighten again, but Joel's steady hand on your back grounds you enough to remain in control.

"She's allowed to move on, hun," Leah's husband murmurs good-naturedly.

"No, yeah, of course!" Leah chirps with a fake smile. You force one of your own and take a long sip from your wine glass just for something to do. "It's just, you know... weird. Seeing you with someone else. I mean, you were with Liam for so long, it's hard to, like, wrap my head around it, I guess."

Hearing his name spoken out loud makes your throat close up. You cough a little into your hand and murmur your apologies while her husband subtly tries to rein her in with a stern look and a hand on her elbow.

"Yeah, well, it was—it was unexpected, r-really," you stammer, "we kind of just m-met and, you know... hit it off."

"Sure, isn't that how it always goes?" Leah says, tone overly sweet. Then there's a lull where you both awkwardly sip on your drinks and the men glance around the courtyard until the tension grows too thick for Leah to stand and she speaks up again.

"I'm sorry, I just gotta say something here," she begins with a smile. "Not for nothin', I'm happy you're doing good, but do you even give a shit about Liam?"

Your vision narrows.

"Hun—"

"No, I mean it," Leah continues, brushing off her husband's attempts at calming her. The smile falls. "Do you even care how he's doing? You remember he's in prison, right? You remember you're the one who put him there, right?"

"Alright, that's enough—" Joel suddenly says, voice harder than you've ever heard it. It stuns the group of you momentarily. "This is a happy occasion. Let's not start anythin' here, yeah? We're here to celebrate the happy couple, so why don't we just—"

"I agree with Joel," Leah's husband says while proverbial smoke pours from her ears. "We don't gotta do all this tonight."

"He's up for parole in three months, did you know that?" she sneers, ignoring both men. The fear that grips you now is impossible to ignore. It's hard to breathe, your chest is heaving and you can feel your knees starting to buckle. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

"The whole family will be at his hearing," she continues, "we even asked your mom and dad, too. Would be nice if you showed up, maybe tried to undo some of the damage you caused—"

"Hey, would you listen to that," Joel says, "my favorite song. Darlin', let's go back in and dance."

Without waiting for an answer, Joel takes both your shoulders and turns you towards the ballroom, leaving his glass on the bench where Leah stands, fuming.

"Oh, Christ," you gasp as you force yourself to walk. Tears are beginning to blur your vision but you quickly blink them away. You do not cry. Especially over that man.

"It's alright. You're okay," he murmurs gently, leading you through the crowd. Fortunately, no one seems to notice or care about your state since you don't feel the heavy gaze of judgement as you walk. "Stay with me, honey. Don't let it get to you. Just focus on me."

"He-He's gonna get out, Joel," you whisper frantically. And although he has no clue what Liam did, he still blindly supports you.

"And you'll be fine. I promise. Ain't nothin' bad gonna happen."

"You d-don't understand—"

"Hey, look at me." Joel stops and turns you around so you're forced to face him. You must look crazy: watery eyes, panicked breaths, windswept hair, shaking like a leaf. But he sees past all of it. He takes your wine, sets it down on a table, pulls you close, and puts one of your arms around his ribs. You instinctively curl your hand up, cupping his shoulder, and you take a deep breath. His own falls to your waist and he starts to slowly sway to the music while plucking your other trembling hand from your side and resting it over his chest.

"Feel that?" he asks as he slowly and gently leads you around the dance floor. Your feet shuffle on autopilot and you nod when you feel the strong thump thump of his heart under your palm. "Focus on that. Feel how slow it is? Feel how I'm breathin'? Do what I do. Breathe when I breathe."

You lock eyes and inhale slowly, together. The ringing in your ears gets a little softer with each shared breath. The numbness in your fingers subsides the longer you stare into his eyes. Even though you know deep down Joel has no way of keeping the type of promises he made—that Liam can't hurt you, that everything will be okay—you believe him anyway. At least for tonight.

"Better?" he asks when the song ends. You nod but still keep your hand planted over his heart. He holds your hand there as long as you want, even after you drop your head forward to rest on his shoulder. He protectively tucks his chin downwards, stubbled cheek brushing carefully over the top of your head, and you close your eyes, giving in to the gentle way he holds you close, comforting you.

By the third song, you feel mostly like yourself again. You swallow thickly and lift your heavy head to look up at him. He smiles down at you when he sees the light has returned to your eyes. "There she is," he says quietly.

"Sorry I'm a little more complicated than you probably thought," you laugh dryly, but Joel just shakes his head.

"Ain't nothin' I can't handle."

You quirk an eyebrow at him suspiciously. "Don't start lying, now," you tease. Joel just chuckles and tilts his head up to scan the crowd.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

And just because you want to, you dance with him for one more song. He's so calming and strong, it makes you wonder how he grew to be this way. Is it just his nature, or was it something else that forced him to be the anchor in a storm?

"Joel?" you finally ask when the ballad ends. The lights are dimming lower and a fast song begins to pump from the speakers. Around you, guests are cheering and laughing, throwing their hands in the air and twirling around the dance floor, but you and Joel remain locked together, moving slow.

"Hm?" he hums. His thumb rubs soothingly over the back of your hand.

"Can we go back to the room?"

Joel grins. "Havin' too much fun down here, that it?" he jokes. And despite the heaviness of the evening, you manage a genuine laugh.

"Yeah, I guess so."

His hand slips from your waist and you step apart.

"Alright by me," he says. You scan the room, spotting table ten near the hallway that leads to the restrooms.

"I'm gonna use the bathroom first. Can you grab my purse from the table?"

Joel nods and you walk, hand in hand, towards the side of the room, only letting go when you absolutely had to. When you disappear down the corridor leading to the bathrooms, Joel finds his abandoned seat from earlier and sits down with a loud sigh. Your clutch is right where you left it, on the table next to your napkin. Joel stares at it, lost in thought now that he has a moment to himself.

What happened to you? What did this Liam do?

Obviously whatever it was must have been serious if he ended up in prison. For a moment, his eyelids flutter closed, and dark memories of his own flicker unwillingly through his mind.

"Hey, man."

Joel's eyes open when he hears Leah's husband's voice.

"Hey," Joel answers wearily, "sorry. I didn't catch your name."

"Zach," he says, "mind if I sit?"

Joel nods and watches Zach sink into a chair two seats over. He sighs and unbuttons his suit coat.

"Sorry about all that," he begins, "they got a history."

"Yeah, I figured," Joel replies, "she'll be alright."

There's a comfortable silence for a moment where both men watch the guests and the newlyweds dance away to some song Joel vaguely recognizes. There's a lot left unspoken. It hangs heavy in the air, neither one really sure how to tactfully approach the sensitive topic consuming the space until Zach finally clears his throat and props his elbows on the table, drawing Joel's attention.

"For the record," he says, "I can see it from both sides. Leah's loyal to her family so I gotta give her grace for it, but what Liam did was... it was messed up. And I think they all have a hard time believin' he could be like that, you know?"

Joel didn't know, but he nods anyway.

"They all practically grew up together," Zach continues, staring down blankly at the white linen tablecloth, "I'm the outsider. Always been. So maybe it's easier for me to see it, but I told Leah... there were signs. I—I want you to know, I tried. I really did. But—"

Then Leah's voice cut through the air, stopping the small crumbs of information Joel was gathering from her husband.

"I thought you said we weren't gonna talk about this for the rest of the night?" she snaps, walking up behind them. Both turn to look, easily reading the clear anger and annoyance across her face.

"I was just havin' a calm conversat—"

"I heard you. You're over here talking shit about my brother. My blood. To some—some guy that won't last the rest of the month!"

Leah's hands are waving wildly in the air as she rants while Joel does his best to stay out of it. He glances in the direction of the corridor but there's still no sign of you.

"I'm just tryin' to explain what's going on, lower your voice," Zach hisses under his breath as he stands to reach for his wife. She angrily swats his hand away.

"Well did you explain she's a fucking liar, then?" Leah argues. Her eyes are filled with blind rage. Her cheeks are pink and her bejeweled fingers are clutched tightly at her sides. "Because if you're telling him what happened, then you should start there." Leah suddenly turns her attention all on Joel, startling him. She points one perfectly manicured finger in his direction and his jaw clenches. "Your girlfriend ruined my brother's life, and if you're not careful, she'll do the same to you. She is a manipulator. She blows things way out of proportion and twists things around. All for attention!" Leah half laughs, half scoffs while Zach tries and fails to direct her away from the table. "She painted my brother out to be some kind of abusive, controlling psychopath all because she lost her job and frien—"

"That's enough," Joel says sharply while rising to his feet. His height makes Leah stumble backwards in surprise but she shakes it off.

"My brother did the same thing as you. He defended her—"

"Lemme tell you somethin'," Joel snaps, making her fall silent. The anger painted across his face and fire held behind his eyes makes them both pause. It's so distracting that none of them notice you quietly turning the corner from the bathroom, then stumbling to an abrupt halt when you see the scene playing out before you.

Gone is the smiley, relaxed, aloof jokester you're used to. The energy radiating off Joel now is cold and dark. You can't even blink, let alone move. This is a side of him you've never seen before and it has you paralyzed.

Joel shifts forward a few inches, planting his weight firmly on the floor. "I've seen the look in her eyes before and it's clear you ain't ever had the misfortune of bein' close with someone who's suffered from the hands of a monster, but I have. I know what it looks like." Your eyes widen with shock. Even from where you stand, you can feel the heat of his anger. "I know what it looks like," he repeats, softer now, "I've had to watch a woman rebuild her life while always lookin' over her shoulder. I've seen the fear, the terror, more times than I can count." Joel takes a deep breath and even though his voice isn't any louder than normal, the tone has the three of you hanging on his every word. "I promise you, whatever your brother did was real. 'Cause ain't no way a woman can fake the type'a pain 'n dread she lives with. And so help me, if I ever see you or that motherfucker cause her that kinda grief, I ain't gonna stand by and do nothin' this time. I—"

"Joel!"

He spins around when he hears the sharp crack in your voice. Instantly, his face melts from anger back to the softness you're used to.

"Hey," he whispers. Then he swallows tightly, blinks a few times, and seems to collect his emotions. You can practically see him gathering up every shred of anger and resentment and packing it away into a little box, locking it up, and shoving it back into a corner. "S-sorry, honey. I didn't—"

"Let's go."

Your tone is flat and indecipherable. It has Joel hanging his head, deflated, before reaching for your purse and handing it to you. You take it and walk between both parties without a word, weaving through the drunken crowd and skipping your well wishes for Carly and Jim in favor of fleeing to the hotel lobby.

The click of your heels echo loudly across the empty vestibule as you charge towards the elevators. You have tunnel vision, the only target in sight is the escape to your room where you can get some desperately needed privacy.

Joel joins you just after you jab the call button. You feel him by your side, strong and steady, but he doesn't say a word and neither do you. The air is stifling until the doors finally slide open and you step in.

He thinks there may be a moment to explain himself once you're inside the safety of the elevator, but then you hear a stranger's voice ring out, asking for you to hold it, so you do. It's an older couple who step inside looking like they just had dinner or drinks at the restaurant attached to the hotel. They murmur their thanks and tap floor seven, leaving the four of you to stand in silence as the car crawls painstakingly slow past each floor.

Every passing moment feels like an eternity. Joel's hands fidget anxiously at his sides and his mind races as he tries to come up with something to say that will explain how and why he overstepped so badly, but he's not sure what you want to hear. Should he tell you how sick it makes him feel? How fucked up it has him to think and wonder about what you went through? That some part of him wants to protect you the way he couldn't before, back when the victim was different but the fear was the same?

He wants to, but you're so guarded that he's afraid it'll push you away. But what if he already did? What if his outburst frightened you and he'll never hear from you again after tonight? The thought makes his heart drop.

When the doors open, he barely gets a glance at your face before you hurry out into the air conditioned hallway. He thinks the older couple bids them goodnight, but he can't be sure because he's rushing to keep in step with you.

"Listen—"

A housekeeper exits a room with her cleaning cart, stopping the excuse right in its tracks. You're giving him nothing to work with, absolutely no inkling as to how pissed or upset you might be, and it's beginning to freak him out.

After what feels like miles, you finally approach your room. Joel watches as you fish around for the key, tap it against the lock, and push the door open. You're moving as if someone's chasing you and it has his mind reeling with regret.

The light flicks on. Your purse gets tossed haphazardly to the floor. Joel is woefully slipping off his shoes, entirely unaware until his back hits the door from the force of your shove. He blinks in shock and hardly has the time to register the look on your face before your mouth is pressed firmly over his with a moan.

Stunned, Joel forgets to respond. His hands are still raised halfway up, hovering in the air as you claw and tug at his shirt, untucking it from his slacks before you remember his jacket. Trembling with adrenaline, you shove the coat past his shoulders. He handles the rest when his brain finally catches up and he shakes his arms loose. It collapses softly to the floor and then his fingers curl around your shoulders. He manages to break the spell and gently pull you back so he can search your face.

Your ragged, shallow breaths fill the space as you stare at one another, just inches apart. Your heavy gaze wildly darts back and forth, still panting for air, before you whisper his name like a question.

"You ain't mad?" he finally asks.

"Mad?" you repeat with a confused frown.

"Yeah. What I said down there, I thought—"

"No," you breathe, gently clutching the sides of his face with both hands, "no, not mad. I'm... grateful."

But Joel shakes his head. "I lost my cool. Wasn't my place to—to say what I said. It just sorta... I don't know. Couldn't stop myself, I guess." He carefully tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear as you stare up at him, all wide eyed. "Brought some of my own shit into it, too. Got the best of me, it wasn't right."

"I don't care." You stretch up on your tiptoes so you can plant small kisses along his prickly jaw. "You said all the things I couldn't. You stood up for me without even knowing what happened." Your mouth meets his and you hover there a moment, exchanging shared breaths in the quiet of the hotel room. "You have no idea... no idea what—"

Joel hears your voice get tight and he releases his grip on your shoulders. He pulls you in by the waist and presses his mouth firmly over yours.

You don't need to say it. He knows.

Your nails drag down softly over his cheeks as he walks you backwards into the room. Then your hands drop. The way you pull at his clothes is messy and frantic, like you're desperate to feel his skin against yours, like you need it. You nearly trip over your own heels trying to hurry to the bed, but before you can fall back, Joel stops you.

"Nuh-uh," he tells you, tightening one strong arm around your waist, "you said I could take this off you." His other hand fists the delicate fabric of your dress, reminding you of your earlier promise, and who are you to deny him when his eyes look so bright and eager?

You spread your arms out at your sides. "I'm all yours," you grin, then giggle when he pretends to stumble backwards and faint.

"Gonna kill me, talkin' like that," he warns after moving closer again. Gentle fingers slip both thin straps down your shoulders and you wiggle out of them. One hand sneaks around to the back of your dress and finds your zipper. He starts to pull it down slowly, all with a devilish grin because with every inch your dress loosens, the more cleavage gets exposed, and he seems to really enjoy taking his time with it.

You circle your arms around his neck, steadily holding his gaze. "I've been known to say much worse than that."

Joel groans, eyes flickering down to your chest briefly when the zipper along your back opens all the way, leaving the front of the dress just barely covering your breasts. "Don't I know it, dirty fuckin' girl," he growls, then suddenly tugs harshly on the back of your dress. You gasp when your chest is exposed to the icy air conditioned room, but before you have a chance to even blink, Joel is bending down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. The warmth of his tongue over your chilled skin makes you shiver in his hold. Your head tips back and eyes slide shut as he mouths at your breast, laving his tongue across your nipple until it's a tight peak, then he moves to the other one. Your hands get lost in his hair while he works, encouraging him to keep going with gentle scrapes of your nails against his scalp.

To your dismay, he releases your breast with a satisfied hum, leaving your aching nipples hard and stiff as he lowers himself to his knees in front of you. Slowly, he begins to peel down your dress, watching with bated breath as more and more of your body gets revealed to him. Only when your dress is left in a pathetic little pile around your feet do you squirm from the heaviness of his gaze.

"Jesus," he whispers to himself. His fingers skim your ankle, right above where the strap of your heel is still buckled. He slowly drags his fingertips up the back of your leg, his gaze following at the same pace. Goosebumps flash across your skin from anticipation but you manage to stay still until he reaches the band of your panties.

They match the color of your dress. The material is smooth and barely there. It was a practical choice so they couldn't be seen through your dress, but now that you're standing here in just your underwear and heels, they feel so much sexier than before.

The damp patch of arousal that's leaking through doesn't go unnoticed. Joel locks in on it and he inches closer, breathing heavier until his lips land on your hip with a moan. Thick fingers curl around the elastic and slowly tug the scrap of material down your legs until they uselessly sit on the pressed carpet, alongside your dress.

He hovers there a minute. Leaving you entirely exposed with him on his knees and his mouth inches away from your pussy, he lets you take a moment. There's no pressure but he's letting the opportunity hang in the air, giving you the chance to ask for it or nudge him between your legs. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest. You feel the heat of his breath, you feel the press of his fingers against the softness of your hips, and he waits. He leaves a few gentle kisses against your stomach while you wrestle with the unspoken—do you let him use his mouth? Do you lay back and just take without any shame?

You almost let him, simply because he looks so fucking gorgeous on his knees like this, satin tie loose around his neck, dress shirt messy and disheveled, just like his hair. But you just can't. You're not ready. Instead, you murmur something softly about needing to feel him and begging him to stand. He does without hesitation and kisses you deeply with both hands clutching your face.

You don't feel an ounce of guilt because you finally are starting to believe all the things he's said to you over the last few weeks—he wants you to be comfortable first.

"Take your clothes off," you murmur against his lips. Your hands are working on his belt but you're getting very little help here and your patience is growing thin.

"So fuckin'—bossy," he rasps before finally releasing your face so he can work on the buttons of his shirt. You yank the belt from his waist and throw it on the floor.

"You said you'd repay me with your body," you remind him, "I'm just looking to collect."

Joel's hands pause on his tie. "Is this some kinda roleplay thing? 'Cause for the record, I'm into it."

You roll your eyes and start to unbutton his pants. "This is the second time in a week you've mentioned roleplay, I got the hint."

"Oh, like you didn't get all hot over me with a tool belt." His pants fall to his feet right as he's shrugging off his shirt.

"That's your job, it's not roleplay." Then your gaze snags on the sight of his bare, stiff cock aching for attention and warmth spreads between your hips.

"Didn't stop you from lookin' at me like some bored, lonely housewife who hired a handyman to fix her bed before askin' him to rail her—"

"You've put a lot of thought into these fantasies," you say, dragging your eyes up and cutting him off. Joel lifts his undershirt over his head with a grin.

"What else'm I supposed to do all day at work? Listen to those knuckleheads talk 'bout their favorite shitty bands?"

You're in the middle of kicking off your heels when you pause and look up at him, blinking softly.

"You think about me... at work?"

Joel snorts and slides his palms around your waist. "'Course I do, honey. Fuckin'—look at you." The bashful smile on your face is undeniable as you melt into his touch. "Think 'bout you more than I probably should. Gonna lose a finger one'a these days."

"Mm, just make sure it's not these fingers," you reach behind you and grab the first two fingers and thumb on his right hand, "they're my favorite."

A slow, devious smile stretches across Joel's face.

"Oh, yeah?"

You bite your lip and nod, then gasp when one of those fingers glides slowly through your slit. Your thighs tense when he does it again, only this time the tip of his finger prods gently at your opening, causing your knees to wobble. Joel feels it and makes a soft noise under his breath.

"Need me, huh?" he murmurs. Your lips part and you tip your head up and down, fingers grabbing onto his biceps for support while he continues to pet agonizingly slow at your entrance. "Yeah, I can tell, honey. I'll give you what you need. In fact—"

Joel removes his hand from between your legs and you bite back a whine, but then he's stepping away from you entirely so he can fall backwards onto the bed with a low oof.

"C'mere," he says, curling two fingers forward with a sexy half smirk. Your heart flips a little and you quickly do as he says, dipping low to crawl on your hands and knees up the length of his long, naked body. You pause at his waist and glance down to admire his hard, thick cock resting heavy against his stomach. When it twitches under your gaze, you hum to yourself, then quickly lean down to lick a slow line up the underside of his erection. Joel's breath catches in his throat just when his fingers slide through your hair, curling tightly around the strands but not harsh enough to hurt you.

"Fuck," he grumbles when you wrap your lips around his leaking tip. Your tongue laps gently there, soaking up the salty taste with your eyes closed. When you hum a little, his body trembles and the fist in your hair tightens.

"Careful," he warns. Your eyes flutter open and you look up at him through your lashes, mouth still wrapped around his cock. You can see his throat bob and it gives you a burst of confidence. Slowly, you release him from your mouth, but you don't look away. You arch your back so your ass is up in the air and you tilt your head to the side.

"Or what?" you murmur with your lips hovering right where he wants you the most. His jaw clenches and he exhales slowly through his nose before responding.

"Or I'm gonna come all over that pretty face of yours."

A wide smile tugs at your cheeks.

"That's a very weak threat."

Joel groans and grabs you by the shoulders before you can lower yourself back down.

"This ain't about me," he reminds you after tugging your body up so your thighs are braced on either side of his hips. Your palms flatten against his chest for leverage and you giggle down at him.

"What if I want to make it about you?" you grin.

"'Nother time," he says without a trace of humor in his voice, "Want—" Joel takes a handful of your ass and gives it a firm shake before lightly smacking it, "—want you to take what you need. Fuckin'—use me, baby."

You open your mouth to protest but before you can speak, he's sliding you off to the side so he can stand. He hurries to fish out a condom from the same place he always keeps them in his wallet and you watch him roll it on while you think over what he said.

"Use you?" you repeat when he returns. He falls back onto the bed with a nod, then his hands find your hips again. You help him this time, tossing a leg over him and getting comfortable in his lap.

"Yeah. Just—do what you want. Wanna watch you just... lose yourself on me, okay?"

You gently roll your hips over his cock while you think.

"That sounds a little selfish," you start to say, then it dawns on you.

"Ain't selfish. I get to watch you bounce on it til you can't see straight, how's that selfish?" he says easily, but you've already figured it out. That's what he wants. He wants you to be selfish. Hell, maybe he also likes being told what to do. He's said as much before. But you know tonight he wants you to feel comfortable enough with him to let your walls down, he's just framing it in a different way.

And this... this you most certainly can do.

"Okay," you breathe, shifting your hips forward. Reaching down, you line him up at your entrance. The blunt, firm pressure there already sends a shiver down your spine. Then you begin to sink down, slow, savoring the stretch until your jaw drops and your eyelids slide shut.

You can feel the tension in his hands. He wants to yank you down, bury himself inside you as deep as he can, but he lets you take your time.

"Like this?" you whisper, still working yourself open on his cock.

"Yeah—yes," he grunts. Then he curses when you stop about halfway down and begin to lift your hips back up. Your head tips back and a weak moan slips out when you start to sit, only to stop halfway again.

"You like that?" Joel asks, voice sounding pained. You hum and nod but keep your eyes closed.

"Feels good," you mumble, "like how it feels at first. Like—like it hurts, but in a good way."

"What else?" he rasps. You lower yourself a little more and your brows pinch together at the temporary sting.

"Fuck—like h-how... how heavy you feel. Inside."

He groans in response and slides his hands up your sides. "You're so soft," he says quietly, "'n warm. So pretty, too. So, so pretty."

The praise makes you whimper as you rise back up, leaving just the tip before slowly taking him back inside, only this time, you don't stop. You take him all, every aching inch, until he's pressing up against a spot that makes fire run hot in your veins.

"I like that," you murmur. Then your eyes finally open, allowing Joel to see the heat of your gaze.

"Like what?" he asks. You roll your hips slowly, just barely lifting up so your clit can drag across the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. "Tell me, darlin'. I wanna know what you like."

"Like w-when you—when you... say I'm pretty."

"You are pretty."

"Like when yo-you say I'm good."

"Oh, sweetheart, you are good," he moans. It hurts a little to have your heart so open like this, to admit things that make you feel shame. What a conceited person you must be to chase praise like this, but it's only because you spent so many years hardly hearing anything nice at all. Is it really so bad if you like hearing a compliment every now and again? Is that such a crime?

No, of course not. So why bother feeling ashamed for it?

Suddenly, you understand. You see what he's been trying to do, and something just... clicks.

"I like how much you w-want me," you continue to babble. You move with a little more purpose now, cunt sliding slick and tight up and down his shaft with each roll of your hips. "Like how you—you don't hide it. You're—shit—just so... so..."

"So what?" Joel urges before holding his breath. Delirium has made you loose lipped, or maybe it's just a burst of bravery from being in charge right now, but either way, he loves it. Every time you offer a glimmer of insight into what's going on in that busy head of yours, he eagerly gobbles it up.

"—so good to me," you finish.

It's music to his ears.

Joel surges upwards, thumbs brushing delicately under your breasts. He nips at your collarbone with a smile, far too consumed with what you just said to remember the rules until your fingers wrap around his wrists and you pin him back into the mattress. He lands with a soft grunt and looks up at you with surprise.

"I thought I was in charge?" you smirk. His fingers flex in your grip, chasing the ghost of your soft skin, when a slow smile stretches across his face.

"You're right," he says breathlessly, "you're right. Keep—keep goin'. Doin' so good."

"Tell me wha—what you like," you pant with your fingers still pressing his arms into the mattress. You can feel him throb every time you thrust down and it takes all your power not to moan over his answer.

"Like when you let me be good to you," he responds instantly. "You deserve that, y'know. Someone w-who's good t'you."

You continue to rock back and forth, humming softly under your breath. The way your clit drags across his lower belly is stoking a fire between your legs with each pass. It can't be doing much for him but you wouldn't know it based on the sounds he's making underneath you.

"You can be honest," you tell him, "you don't have—have to—"

"I am," he groans. You huff and your fingers dig into his wrists a little harder when you start to drop down on his cock with short little strokes. "I—fuck... I am. I like wh-when you're like this. Like—fuckin'—holdin' me down like this." His fingers flex but he hasn't tried to pull out of your grasp yet. "Like when you're b-bossy, too. Like that smart fuckin'—ohhh..."

His eyes roll back when you start to bounce faster in his lap and you grin.

"You like being submissive?" you ask softly after leaning down to purr in his ear. He shudders under you, you can feel it in your thighs.

"Not always," he admits truthfully, "but today—y-yeah. Yes."

You curse before feverishly finding his mouth and pressing yours against it to muffle your moans. Fuck, you like that for some reason. It's not something you thought you'd be into but it's... it's really working for you right now.

"Do you know what else I like?" you whisper seductively against his lips. Little puffs of air fan across your face every time your hips drop. Joel's mouth remains open, eyes closed in bliss, and he just nods. "I like how hard you get for me—" you tell him, and his eyebrows furrow just the slightest bit, "—I like how you can't keep your hands to yourself."

"Can't help it," he gasps with his eyes still closed. His neck is growing flush now and you have the sudden urge to taste it, so you dip your chin down and trace your tongue along the prominent vein along the left side. Your cunt pulses around him as you pick up the pace, squeezing and gripping him perfectly every time you bounce. A strangled groan gets caught in his throat so you bear down on him even harder.

"F-Fuck, honey—" he stammers. Your nipples graze against his bare chest every time you move and for the first time, you feel him try to lift his arms. "Lem—lemme touch you. Please, l-lemme—"

Sweat collects behind your knees. Your thighs burn. Your brain buzzes with electrifying need. Joel's arms flinch again and you push them deeper into the mattress.

"Not yet," you gasp, and he whines behind clenched teeth. You ache for his touch but you like hearing him beg more.

You shift so his cock drags along a spot that makes you see stars. Soft noises from your throat and ragged breaths from his begin to mingle with the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin. It's such a power trip, being with him like this. It's liberating in a way you never thought possible and building an intense pressure deep between your legs.

"O-Oh, god, Joel—" Your voice breaks over your plea as heat slowly begins to lick up your spine. Your fingers tighten around his wrists as you glide effortlessly on his cock, chasing your own release while Joel struggles to keep a clear head.

"I can—can feel it," he groans, and when he finally opens his eyes, you can see the intensity he's been hiding. He looks crazed: hairline damp, neck red, jaw clenched tight, and a fire behind his eyes that reminds you how strong he is, that he could easily flip you over and fuck you senseless, but he's yielding to you. Not just because he wants you to have some control back after a shitty night, but because he gets off on it, too.

"I-I—" you stammer before licking your lips and trying again, "I think I'm gonna—shit, Joel, I'm gonna c-come—"

"Please," he rasps, "let go. Let—let go, baby, I fuckin'—need it—"

Desperate sounds get trapped in your throat, behind clenched teeth as you grind down on him. Short, disjointed breaths curled around words of encouragement come from Joel's mouth, pushing you higher and higher every time he says you're pretty or perfect or sweet or soft.

There's a moment where your hips stutter and your cunt clenches down when Joel has to bite down hard on his lip to control himself, and then some semblance of his name rips from your mouth and you come, gushing around him as your whole body convulses. His jaw tightens and his vision narrows, so fucking close to coming himself, but holding on by a thread. He watches as your back arches and your head tips backwards with relief, moaning a mixture of his name and curses until your hips eventually slow.

When your head rolls tiredly forward and your eyes crack open, you see the pained look on Joel's face.

"Did—did you—"

Your throat is raw. You feel like jelly yet somehow you're still holding onto his wrists.

"You d-didn't tell m-me to—" he whispers, then you feel his cock pulse inside you, begging for release.

Electricity shoots down your spine.

"Fuck," you murmur, then bring his hands up to cup your breasts. Instantly, his fingers curl and squeeze them, just like they've been aching to. His thumbs graze your soft skin before gliding over your sensitive nipples and you find your hips rocking in his lap once again. "Come for me," you finally say, "come for me, Joel, please, can you—"

He throws his head back into a pillow with a snarl and then he's coming, muscles going rigid as you gently ride him, all the while sliding your palms up and down his strong arms, wide chest, and broad shoulders. His thick cock continually spasms inside you, an endless release of pleasure that wrings him dry and depleted.

"Christ—" he gasps, his hands falling limply to your thighs. When his eyelids flutter shut, you bend to rest your upper body across his heaving chest until you catch your breath. His arms wrap around you and your chin tilts up to nuzzle against his sticky neck. His pulse flickers fast and steady in his throat, you can feel it against the tip of your nose.

You're a mess. You're covered in sweat, you're exhausted, you can hardly keep your eyes open, but you try your damndest because this feeling is too good—this feeling he's given you, this warmth and adoration and understanding, it's what you've always craved, and you don't want to sleep through it when it's the most heightened. You want to savor the feeling of his arms around you, of his chest lifting you up and down, of the soft strokes of his fingers down your spine.

"Did so good," he eventually whispers, lips brushing your forehead. "How'd that feel? Did you like that?"

You hum and burrow deeper into the crook of his neck. "Yeah," you murmur as your fingers drift mindlessly over his ribs.

"Enough to wanna do it again?"

One eye pops open. "...Now?"

He laughs, chest jolting under your cheek. "No. Jesus. I mean, another time."

"Uh—" It's hard to think. You're still in your post orgasm haze. Everything is still rosy and warm and a little sluggish. "—Yeah, but..."

The fingers dancing along your spine pause.

"What?"

You sigh and gently kiss his throat. "Not every time. Maybe just... sometimes."

"No, 'course not," he assures you, "wouldn't exactly work with my secretary and CEO fantasy."

You frown before tilting your chin up. "Women can be CEOs."

"Is this you agreein' to roleplay?" he asks with a lopsided grin.

"How'd I know this subject wasn't over?"

Joel barks a laugh and pulls his arms tighter around you. "Alright, alright. No pressure. Think on it."

His laughter subsides and his fingers brushing over your back resumes. You let the comfortable silence fill the space and your mind wanders until words that have been begging to be spoken press too heavy on your tongue.

"Joel?"

"Hm?"

You swallow tightly and start to draw circles over his skin with your fingertip. "How would... okay, so—I've been thinking, and..."

Joel waits patiently under you as you stare at your hand making patterns over his chest.

"This is so embarrassing," you grumble, "nevermind."

"No, c'mon," he grins, "say it."

You sigh heavily and roll your eyes at yourself.

"Would you be cool with me calling you my boyfriend?"

The words tumble out fast before you have a chance to make it worse, but your cheeks still burn anyway.

"Oh, shit," Joel chuckles, "am I gettin' a promotion?"

You close your eyes and giggle. "Yeah. You could call it that, sure."

"Then I accept," he says, lifting his arm so he can offer you his hand. You stare at it a moment before it clicks and you shake it.

"It doesn't come with a raise," you warn him, "title only."

"S'alright. Ain't in it for the money." He drops your hand so he can happily resume rubbing your back with a proud grin stretched across his face.

"What are you in it for?"

With a grunt, Joel suddenly rolls you onto your back. You blink up stupidly at him as you try to adjust to the sudden shift, but he just grins down at you before thrusting his hips forward. You gasp at the not so subtle reminder of his cock still buried deep between your legs.

"The perks, obviously."

You smack his shoulder. "Gross," you mumble before tugging him down by the back of the neck for a kiss. Before he has a chance to slip his tongue past your lips, you pull back, but only enough to press your forehead to his with a smile.

"Told you I'd wear you down," he says, noses nudging together gently.

"Yeah, yeah," you relent. You play with the hairs at the base of his neck for a minute while Joel softly leaves a trail of kisses down your jaw. "Sorry it took me a while," you say, "it's just... obviously, I don't have a good track record..."

"You been burned," Joel mumbles against your throat, "I get it."

"Yeah," you sigh, relaxing under him and closing your eyes. "And... I want to tell you about it. One day."

Joel freezes but doesn't lift his head. Just takes a second to process your words before he resumes leaving marks along the column of your throat.

"I'm ready whenever you are, honey."

You breathe deep and smile because for once, no panic is filling your chest and squeezing your throat. No intrusive thoughts are clouding your mind, because you're actually beginning to believe that maybe things really can be this simple. You were just looking in all the wrong places before.

***

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