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Summary: All you wanted was to escape the planet keeping you enslaved. You find your chance when a bounty hunter tears apart the fortress where you're kept, but when you sneak onto his ship as a stowaway and accidentally see his face, your freedom and life are at risk once again.
Warnings: explicit language, reader is a slave (it's mentioned a few times sex is part of that but there's nothing graphic or explicit described, just woeful resignation), some canon typical violence, slow burn
The chains around your ankles and wrists jangle as you shuffle behind one of the stewards. As usual, he's unforgiving; tugging on the chain when you fall behind, causing you to stumble, and then scolds you sharply when you fall, reminding you bruises and cuts are unacceptable given your job.
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.
Summary: All you wanted was to escape the planet keeping you enslaved. You find your chance when a bounty hunter tears apart the fortress where you're kept, but when you sneak onto his ship as a stowaway and accidentally see his face, your freedom and life are at risk once again.
Warnings: explicit language, reader is a slave (it's mentioned a few times sex is part of that but there's nothing graphic or explicit described, just woeful resignation), some canon typical violence, slow burn
The chains around your ankles and wrists jangle as you shuffle behind one of the stewards. As usual, he's unforgiving; tugging on the chain when you fall behind, causing you to stumble, and then scolds you sharply when you fall, reminding you bruises and cuts are unacceptable given your job.
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.
I’ve probably reread ‘Force of Nature’ an unhealthy number of times now. Your writing style is so engaging, and the characters (and spicy scenes 👀) are compelling. I just wanted to say this fic is well worth the wait because each chapter you’ve dropped so far is perfect! ❤️😭
Stopppp you're so nice I'm sobbing 😭
Tysm! You have no idea what it means to me! Esp the spicy scene parts because I'm always scared it's cringey or bad 🤣
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Summary: You bring Joel as your date to a wedding where your past rears its ugly head.
Warnings: explicit language, reader has anxiety (there's some panic attacks in this one), reader has an abusive ex that is mentioned but no details, smut (piv sex, some oral), verrrryy slight dom/sub dynamic where reader is the dom 🤭 but seriously it's very tame, alcohol consumption, hurt/comfort, angst
other parts found here
We cordially invite you to celebrate the union of Carly and James...
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.
Hiiii!!! I love your force of nature series, I recently changed my username and forgot to tell ppl!! so I just wanted to ask if I could be tagged in the series again?
Summary: You bring Joel as your date to a wedding where your past rears its ugly head.
Warnings: explicit language, reader has anxiety (there's some panic attacks in this one), reader has an abusive ex that is mentioned but no details, smut (piv sex, some oral), verrrryy slight dom/sub dynamic where reader is the dom 🤭 but seriously it's very tame, alcohol consumption, hurt/comfort, angst
other parts found here
We cordially invite you to celebrate the union of Carly and James...
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.
And if I said I had an idea for a din djarin story where reader accidentally sees his face and he struggles with whether to kill her or not so he just keeps her captive on his ship while he tries to figure shit out and meanwhile he falls in love with her, would there be any interest in that...?
Approximately how long does it take for u to write a fic? im curious bc i wanna write too :)
I think it depends! If motivation and time are on my side, about a week? But if I have too much going on irl it takes longer for me to get back into that headspace again. I think you should write! It's a lot of fun, you won't regret it!
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After years apart, you're pulled back into your ex-husband’s life when an accident leaves him believing you're still married. Forced to play along for his recovery, you quickly realize some things, like love, lies, and the past, don’t stay buried as easily as they should.
tags: 18+ MDNI, amnesia, slow burn, divorce, arguing, infidelity, eventual smut, a slap, angst, medical terminology, but i'm not a professional so pls be kind.
words: 9.0K
notes: happy friday all! this is my first series, so i appreciate your thoughts and comments! i hope you enjoy - mack 🂱
New York City, 2026
You’re halfway through reheating leftovers when your phone starts buzzing on the counter.
You almost ignore it.
It’s late. Your feet ache in that familiar, dull way that means you’ve been standing too long, smiling too hard, being competent for too many people who don’t know you. New York hums outside your apartment window—sirens, voices, the low rumble of the city that never quite lets you rest.
The phone buzzes again.
You glance at the screen.
Unknown Caller.Texas area code.
Your stomach tightens, sharp and instinctive, like your body remembers something your mind has worked way too hard to forget.
You answer anyway.
“Hello?”
There’s a pause. Papers rustling. A breath that doesn’t belong to anyone you know.
“Hi, is this… is this Mrs.Miller?”
You hesitate a moment. Mrs.Miller. You haven’t been Mrs. in almost 5 years, but maybe it was a mistake.
“Yes,” you respond, slightly breathless.
“This is St. Luke’s Medical Center in Austin. I’m calling regarding Joel—”
You stop breathing. Those words sucking all the oxygen from the room, straight from your lungs. Just for a second. Just long enough for the room to tilt.
“We’re calling because you’re listed as his emergency contact.”
You laugh before you can stop yourself. It comes out wrong, thin, disbelieving.
“That-that can’t be right,” you say. “I’m his ex-wife.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“I see,” the woman says gently. “Well, he was brought in earlier today after an accident at work. He’s stable. But he’s experiencing some memory loss, and-”
Your hand curls into the edge of the counter, gripping onto it a little harder than necessary, almost as if you’re hoping it’ll keep you grounded for what's to come next.
“What kind of memory loss?”
“We believe it’s retrograde amnesia. The doctors are still running tests, but from what we can tell… his most recent memories don’t extend past about five years ago.”
Five years.
The word echoes. Hollow. Loud.
“That would place his last clear memories at…” the woman hesitates, checking something, “…just before your divorce.”
The microwave beeps.
You don’t move to turn it off.
You picture Joel as he was then, scruffy, tired, still wearing his wedding ring even when you’d stopped wearing yours. You picture the way he used to lean in doorways, arms crossed, watching you like you were something he might lose if he blinked.
“Has he… has he asked for me?” you ask.
“Yes,” she says. “He woke up about an hour ago. He was confused. When we asked if there was someone he trusted, someone who would know him well, he said your name.”
Your chest aches in a way you thought you’d outgrown.
“He thinks you’re still married,” she adds quietly. “And we didn’t want to contradict him without support present… You see, the brain is a tricky thing, but the doctor can explain everything once you get here.”
Support.
You look around your apartment, your clean lines, your carefully chosen furniture, the life you built brick by brick to get as far away from Texas as possible, to start fresh.
“I live in New York,” you supply.
“That’s okay,” the woman replies. “We just needed to notify you. But… he keeps asking when you’re coming.”
You close your eyes, and your left hand comes up to rub at your eyelids, probably more harshly than you should. It brings black dots swimming over your vision, and all of a sudden, you have a thumping headache sitting right in your temples.
Five years ago, you left with a suitcase and a certainty that you would never go back. Now, the past is calling, and it frustrates you to no end that you even picked up the phone.
“When do you need me there?” you ask.
And that's how you found yourself on the first redeye to Texas. Your seat was stiff, close to the back of the plane, and the crick in your neck would not go away, no matter what you did. You asked yourself over and over why you were even doing this, why you were putting in the effort, why you even cared… but it hit you square in the chest. It was Joel; you were always going to care, no matter what happened five years ago.
The entire flight, you just stared ahead, thoughts racing through your mind. Maybe when you landed, there would be voicemails saying he remembered, that the amnesia was gone, and you could just go home.
But luck was never really on your side.
You powered your phone back on when you landed, and nothing. No messages, no voicemails, just emails relating to work. Thankfully, your boss hadn’t hesitated. Family emergency, you’d said, and she told you to go, no questions, no guilt. You were a hard worker, after all, and even though you insisted you could work remotely on the cases you were actively handling, she still told you to take the time you needed. They could find someone to fill your shoes for the time being.
You hadn’t corrected yourself about it being a family emergency. It was just easier than explaining everything that had happened, and the history was better left buried.
Because Joel wasn’t family anymore.
At least not on paper.
Not since your shaky hand signed those goddamn divorce papers. Not since you last looked Joel in the eyes as you left your lawyer’s office, searching for any ounce of sorrow… but his gaze wouldn’t meet yours.
Good, you had thought then. He doesn’t get the satisfaction.
But your body didn’t seem to know that Joel wasn’t family anymore.
Your heart had been thrumming since the phone call, and those old butterfly feelings were back. Whether it was nervousness or anger, you didn’t know, but you fucking hated it. How could you even let that brooding man have such an effect on you after what he did? How could you still feel anything other than strict hatred after he cheated on you?
And with your best friend at that.
It was honestly one of the worst moments of your life.
You and Joel had already been on the rocks at the time. You were going to couples counseling to try to fix things, but it just wasn’t working. Joel was always mad about how focused and busy you were with work, and you were always picking fights with him over his nightly bar visits. Or maybe it was something small—him tracking dirt through the house with his boots, or you forgetting to clean your hair out of the sink.
It just wasn’t working.
At first, you thought it was just normal bickering, but then it got mean. And one night, things were said that couldn’t be taken back. That pushed Joel to leave with a slam of the door, and left you sitting on the couch crying.
How productive.
Really, you hadn’t meant for it to come to that. It had just been a long day at work, your boss yelling at you for what felt like the eightieth time that week, not getting the case you wanted, and that promotion to partner at the law firm seeming further and further out of reach.
So coming home to an absolute mess of a kitchen, and Joel’s attitude, was what finally sent everything over the edge.
You slipped out of your heels as you closed the door, glancing toward the living room where Joel sat in front of the TV watching the pregame announcers talking about the Cowboys game. It was late, and you had gotten home much later than you’d originally planned. Even from where you were standing, you could tell Joel was pissed. He’d expected you home two hours ago, and the dinner he’d made was sitting on the kitchen counter, cold.
You took a deep breath and made your way over to the couch, plopping down beside him.
“I’m sorry that I’m la—”
“Don’t.”
He cut you off. You bit down on your lower lip, trying to compose yourself before responding.
“Baby, I really am sorry.”
“Really, darlin’? How many times can you be sorry before I actually see a change? What’s the excuse tonight? Some bullshit about your boss again?”
He snapped with a scoff as he rose from the couch, grabbing his plate and carrying it into the kitchen.
“For all I know, you’re probably fucking the guy with how bad you want this promotion,” he added over his shoulder.
You scoffed and followed him.
“Really, Joel? Fuckin’ really?” you threw back, standing on the opposite side of the island as he had his back to you, taking deep breaths.
“You think I’m fucking Larry?” you start, voice already rising, heat already finding its way to your cheeks as you felt the anger creep in. “He’s fuckin’ in his 70s for christs sake, and about to retire. I’m working my ass off to be the one who gets to step up and fill his position. Lord knows we could use the money-”
“Use the money on what? You’re never here to use the money on anything anyway!” he shouted back in his deep southern drawl as he spun around to look at you, letting out a sharp, dry laugh. It came out venomous, like he was ready to attack if you pressed the right buttons, and damn did you want to.
“You’re always workin’, I don’t even see you anymore. I wake up, go to work, come home, and you’re not here. Most nights I go to bed alone, because you would rather be in that fucking office, slaving away for a guy who just wants to get into your fuckin’ pants,” he added on, placing his hands on his hips as his angry eyes found yours.
“Oh, you’re disgusting, Joel. How can you be this insecure to think that I would sleep with someone in their fuckin elder years? Huh?” You crossed your arms, feeling your nails dig into your biceps slightly as you tried to hold on to the little reserve you had left.
“Me? Insecure? You’re fuckin’ delusional,” he scoffed, walking from the kitchen to the bedroom, where you followed closely behind.
“Delusional? Yeah, maybe, but at least I know I actually have a career worth something, rather than trying to start a fuckin’ company with my deadbeat brother who needs to be bailed out of jail every other night.”
Joel turned around so fast that you almost ran straight into his chest, “That's rich coming from a girl who would do anything to get her Daddy’s attention, and, again, practically fucked her way to the top-”
Crack.
The sound echoed through the bedroom, sharp and violent in the quiet house. Your palm stung instantly, heat blooming across your skin as your hand lingered in the air between you, fingers slightly curled like your body hadn’t quite caught up to what you’d just done.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Joel’s head had turned slightly with the impact, his jaw tightening as a red mark began to bloom across his cheek. Slowly, almost carefully, he turned his face back toward you. Not angry. Not shocked. Just… tired.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand across his jaw as if testing whether it actually hurt.
Your chest rose and fell too fast as the adrenaline rushed through you. Your fingers trembled slightly as you lowered your hand to your side.
“You don’t get to say that to me,” you said, though most of the bite had drained from your voice. “You don’t get to talk about me like that.”
Joel stared at you for a long moment, his eyes dark and unreadable, something heavy shifting behind them.
“You wanna know the truth?” he said quietly.
You should have walked away then. You knew you should have. But your feet stayed planted where they were, like the floor had nailed you in place.
“The truth is,” he continued, his voice low and steady, “I haven’t had a wife for a long damn time. You stopped being here years ago. You just didn’t notice.”
The words hit harder than the slap.
Your throat tightened instantly. “That’s not fair.”
“Fair?” Joel let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head as he dragged a hand through his hair. “Fair would’ve been my wife giving a shit about this marriage.”
“I do give a shit!” you snapped, the words rushing out before you could stop them. You felt crazy, screaming at the man you once loved more than anything in the world, the same man who now only seemed capable of filling you with shaking rage.
“Do you?” he shot back immediately. “Because from where I’m standing, you gave more of a damn about becoming partner than you ever did about being my wife.”
The accusation landed square in your chest like a physical blow. The anger surged back, hot and familiar.
“You think I work this hard for fun?” you said, your voice trembling with the effort to hold yourself together, tears threatening to spill. “I’m doing it for us, Joel. For our future.”
Joel’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
“What future?”
The question hung in the air between you like a crack running through glass.
He exhaled sharply and ran both hands through his hair before pacing across the room, the worn wood floors creaking under his dirt-caked boots.
“You’re never here,” he continued, his voice quieter now but heavier. “We don’t talk anymore. We don’t eat together. Hell, half the time we don’t even sleep in the same bed.”
Your stomach twisted.
“That’s not because of me,” you said, though the words felt weak the moment they left your mouth.
Joel stopped pacing and slowly turned back toward you, his eyes locking onto yours.
“No?” he said. “Then whose fault is it?”
You swallowed, your throat dry, but the anger pushed forward again. If he could hurt you, you could hurt him too.
“At least I’m trying to build something,” you shot back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “What are you doing, Joel? Drinking every night with your brother and pretending that stupid company of yours is ever going to take off?”
His expression hardened instantly, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
“You know what?” he said quietly. “At least when I’m at the bar, someone actually wants to talk to me.”
The words landed deep.
“That’s pathetic,” you said, though your voice lacked the confidence you wanted it to have.
Joel shrugged slightly, his shoulders lifting before falling again. “Maybe,” he said. “But at least they look at me like I matter.”
Silence fell between you, heavy, ugly, the kind that made the room feel smaller.
Joel rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor before lifting again.
“I don’t think you’ve loved me for a long time.”
The words knocked the air out of your lungs.
“You’re wrong,” you whispered, your eyes burning.
Joel shook his head slowly, the movement tired and resigned. “No,” he said quietly. “I think I just admitted it before you did.”
He grabbed his coat from the closet and shrugged it on quickly before heading for the door. The slam echoed through the house as he left.
Three hours later, you were still sitting there, the silence of the house pressing in on you. The silence nearly suffocating. The fridges hum, the clock ticking on the wall, the lull of commentary from the Cowboys game that Joel was watching… Waiting had started to feel pathetic.
So, fuck it.
If Joel wasn’t coming home, you knew exactly where he’d be.
The Bison.
You didn’t bother changing. You just slipped on a pair of dirty sneakers, grabbed your keys, and headed out. The drive was quiet, the kind that let your thoughts get too loud. You rehearsed what you were going to say in your head, even muttering pieces of it out loud to make sure it didn’t come out wrong. The last thing you wanted was to sound like an idiot, or worse, a complete dick.
The time alone had helped you calm down. The anger had burned itself out somewhere between pacing the living room and staring at the clock for the better part of three hours. Now you could actually think.
Maybe you had overreacted a little.
You were tired. That was the truth of it. Tired of the stress, tired of the long days, tired of feeling like everything in your life was constantly hanging by a thread. And if you were being honest with yourself, you missed Joel. You missed what things used to feel like between the two of you.
Things didn’t have to stay like this.
Cutting back on your hours would help. You could step away from the office more, actually be home for dinner again, and spend time together like you used to. Hell, maybe you could even start talking seriously about the family you’d both been dancing around for the last year.
It hadn’t always been like this.
Just a year ago, the two of you had been good. Happy, even. But the pressure of money started creeping in, and the hours at work kept piling up. One late night turned into two, then three, then suddenly you were barely home at all. Somewhere along the way, you’d turned into someone you didn’t even recognize anymore.
Getting the promotion at the firm would be nice.
But saving your marriage was better.
And why it took you this long to realize that, you didn’t know. But better now than never.
The Bison’s parking lot was already packed when you pulled in. Of course it was. The fucking Cowboys were playing.
When you stepped out of the car, you could already hear the roar of the crowd spilling out through the bar’s front doors. Cheers, shouting, the muffled echo of the game blasting from the televisions inside.
You made your way toward the entrance.
The second you opened the door, the noise hit you.
The Bison smelled like cheap beer, fried food, and too many sweaty bodies packed into one place. Every TV in the bar was tuned to the game, the crowd erupting in cheers as the Cowboys pushed down the field. Glasses clinked, someone whooped near the bar, and the bartender shouted something you couldn’t make out over the noise.
You hesitated just inside the doorway, letting your eyes adjust to the dim lighting as you scanned the room.
Joel had to be here; he was always here on game nights.
You pushed your way through the crowd, squeezing past groups of guys in jerseys and women perched on barstools. Someone bumped into your shoulder, sloshing beer onto the floor.
“Watch it,” someone muttered.
You ignored it, craning your neck to see over the crowd.
Then a voice came from your left.
“Well damn,” a guy slurred from a high-top table. “Did someone get lost?”
His friends laughed.
You kept walking.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he called after you again, louder this time. “Cowboys are playin’, come sit on my lap and make me a cowboy!”
You didn’t even bother looking at him. Your eyes were still scanning the room, searching past the bar, past the dart boards, toward the booths lining the back wall.
Joel usually sat back there. At least you both used to on late nights after a date or just a hard day at work.
Your heart started beating faster the closer you got.
Maybe he’d cooled off. Maybe he’d be sitting there with a beer, sulking like he always did when the two of you fought. Maybe you’d slide into the booth across from him and say what you’d practiced in the car. Maybe the two of you would finally talk. Maybe things could still be fixed.
You slowed as you reached the back of the bar, your eyes drifting across the booths.
One booth held a group of college kids yelling at the TV.
Another had two older men arguing over a play.
Then the corner booth.
At first, you only noticed the boots. Joel’s boots.
You knew them instantly, scuffed leather, the same pair he wore nearly every day.
Relief rushed through you so fast it almost made you dizzy.
See? you thought. Of course, he’s here. You’re being dramatic.
You took a step closer, and that’s when you saw her.
She was half in his lap, her hand tangled in the back of his hair as she leaned across the booth. Joel’s hand was on her waist, pulling her in as their mouths pressed together like they had nothing else to do in the world.
For a second, your brain refused to process what you were looking at. The noise of the bar faded into a dull roar in your ears, then the girl shifted slightly, and her face came into full view.
Familiar, too familiar, your stomach dropped, because you knew her.
For a moment, your brain refused to place the face, as if it were trying to spare yourself the answer. But then the girl shifted slightly, brushing Joel’s cheek as she leaned back just enough to laugh at something he’d said.
And there it was.
Claire.
Your best friend. The girl who took you to the bars on nights when you were studying too hard. The girl who cried on your shoulder after her first real heartbreak. The girl you have known since middle school. The girl who was now holding the knife she just used to stab you in the back.
The noise of the bar faded into a dull roar in your ears. The televisions were still blaring, people still shouting at the game, glasses clinking somewhere behind you, but it all sounded distant, like you were hearing it from underwater.
Joel noticed you first.
His eyes flicked up over Claire’s shoulder, and the moment he saw you standing there, they widened. His body went rigid beneath her.
Claire didn’t notice right away. She was still half draped across him, one hand tangled loosely in the back of his hair, the other resting against his chest, lips still roaming along his jaw.
“Joel?” you said.
Your voice came out quieter than you expected, almost swallowed by the noise around you.
Claire turned, and the smile on her face disappeared the moment she saw you.
For a second, none of you moved.
Joel’s hand slipped quickly from her waist like he’d just realized it was there. His eyes were dark and heavy, like he’d almost been here before. Had this happened before? Had he fucked her already?
“Hey-” he started, already pushing himself up from the booth. “This isn’t-”
You let out a short laugh, not amused, not angry.
Just… disbelieving.
“Really?” you said flatly.
Joel ran a hand through his hair, panic flashing across his face as he stepped out of the booth. “She-she came onto me, I didn’t-”
You scoffed softly and shook your head.
“Right.”
Your eyes slid to Claire, lingering on her for a long moment. She didn’t say anything, just watched you with wide eyes like she was the one who’d been caught in the middle of something terrible. You gave a small, incredulous shake of your head.
“Really?”
You didn’t wait for an answer.
You turned and pushed your way out of the bar, the cold night air hitting your face as soon as the door swung open. Your hands were already shaking as you crossed the parking lot, digging your keys from your pocket and fumbling with them as you reached your car.
Behind you, the bar door burst open again.
“Hey, wait!”
Claire.
Of course.
You turned just as she hurried across the lot toward you, her heels clicking against the pavement. She slowed when she reached you, reaching out gently to grab your arm.
“Please just listen for a second,” she said softly.
You looked down at her hand on your arm before meeting her eyes. Your best friend. The girl who had cried on your couch over bad boyfriends. The girl who had stood beside you at your wedding, holding your bouquet while you fixed your veil.
“What?” you said, cold, wanting to get out of there, and also wanting to slap the taste out of her mouth. The rage from earlier was slowly creeping back in.
Claire’s grip loosened slightly. She glanced back toward the bar door, then back at you again. “I didn’t want you to find out like that,” she said with a coy smirk.
Your stomach twisted, “What are you talking about?”
Claire hesitated just long enough to make it look like the words were hard to say, then she sighed.
“Joel and I… this wasn’t the first time.”
The words landed slowly, like they needed a second to sink in.
“We’ve been fooling around for a while,” she continued, her voice overly smooth. “I kept telling him we needed to tell you, but he didn’t want to hurt you.”
She shook her head slightly, almost tauntingly as she sucked her teeth, “I guess he was never going to.”
Something inside your chest cracked. You didn’t yell. Didn’t cry. Didn’t even argue. You just nodded once, like everything suddenly made sense.
“Okay,” you said quietly.
Claire’s expression stayed hardened, like she expected you to fall apart. “I’m really sorry,” she added, a sly smirk making her way to her lips as she shrugged.
But you were already opening your car door.
You slid into the driver’s seat and slammed it shut before she could say anything else. Your hands were still shaking as you started the engine.
Behind you, the bar door burst open again.
Joel.
You saw him in the rearview mirror as he ran out into the parking lot, scanning the rows of cars until his eyes landed on yours.
He started toward you immediately.
“Wait!” he shouted.
Your foot hit the gas.
The tires crunched against gravel as you pulled out of the lot. In the rearview mirror, Joel slowed to a stop in the glow of the neon bar sign, one hand dragging through his hair as he shouted something you couldn’t hear.
He got smaller.
And smaller.
Until he disappeared completely.
Sometimes it still felt like you could see him in the rearview mirror like that, even now as you drove toward the hospital.
The ride had been silent. No radio, no podcasts, just you and the steady hum of the road beneath the tires while your thoughts circled endlessly.
You hadn’t seen Joel since the day you signed the papers and left for New York.
Would he look different now?
Would there be grey threaded through his dark hair? Would the Texas sun have left his skin tanner, rougher? Maybe he’d gotten leaner. Harder. Maybe time had carved new lines into his face the way it had yours.
And his voice…
Would it still sound the same? That southern drawl that had always been the perfect mix of rough and smooth, the one that used to make your stomach flip the first time he said your name.
Or would it be different now? Deeper somehow. Sharper. Filled with anger and years of things left unsaid.
You pulled into the hospital parking lot almost on autopilot, barely registering that you had arrived until the engine clicked softly as you turned it off. For a moment, you just sat there, picking at your nails while you worked up the courage to go inside.
Eventually, you opened the car door.
Heat pressed in immediately, heavy and familiar in a way that made your chest tighten. Texas didn’t ease into you the way New York did; it announced itself. The air smelled faintly of asphalt and something green, maybe fresh-cut grass, and for a second, you just stood there with your keys dangling loosely from your fingers, letting the reality of where you were sink in.
You shut the door and turned toward the building.
The hospital rose in front of you, all glass and pale stone, the early morning sun glaring off the windows so brightly you had to squint. It looked clean. Neutral. Like nothing bad could ever happen inside it.
Like it wasn’t holding someone who once knew you better than anyone else.
The automatic doors slid open with a soft hiss, and the blast of air-conditioning hit you hard enough to make you shiver.
The smell came first—sterile and sharp, tinged with something faintly metallic that clung to the back of your throat. Your shoes squeaked softly against the polished floor as you stepped into the lobby, the sound embarrassingly loud in the open space.
People moved around you with purpose. A nurse hurried past, her ponytail swinging behind her. A man in scrubs laughed quietly into his phone. A couple sat close together near the wall, their heads bowed toward each other.
Everyone looked like they belonged here.
You didn’t.
You paused just inside the entrance, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you glanced down at your phone out of habit, hoping that there would be a phone call or a text saying that this was all some cruel joke. Still nothing.
You shoved it back into your bag before you could check again.
Information Desk, a sign read, with an arrow pointing left.
You follow the sign, your legs carrying you forward before your mind has fully caught up. The lobby feels larger the farther you move into it, the ceiling high and echoing with the muted shuffle of footsteps and the low murmur of voices. When you reach the information desk, the woman behind the counter glances up from her computer. Her smile is the kind that feels practiced but sincere, the quiet professionalism of someone who spends her days guiding people through moments they’d rather not be having.
“Hi,” she says gently. “Can I help you?”
Your throat tightens before the words can reach it.
“Yes,” you manage after a moment. “I’m here to see someone. Joel Miller.”
His name feels strange leaving your mouth after all this time. Too personal. Too familiar. As if saying it out loud exposes something you’d meant to keep buried.
The woman’s fingers move across the keyboard, her nails tapping softly against the keys. The sound fills the brief silence between you, each second stretching longer than it should.
“Date of birth?”
You answer immediately. The numbers come easily, instinctively, something you’ve written down on forms and paperwork so many times they exist somewhere in muscle memory. Your voice remains steady despite the weight of it.
“And your relationship?”
The question lands heavier.
It’s simple. Routine. Something she probably asks a hundred times a day.
Still, your mouth opens and then stalls.
“I’m his-”
The sentence falters. The word ex presses against the back of your teeth, precise and painful in its accuracy. You swallow hard, forcing it down.
“…wife,” you say instead.
The lie sits between you.
She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t question it. Just nods once, as though it fits neatly into whatever quiet category she’s placed you in.
“He’s on the fourth floor,” she says, her voice warm but efficient. “Room 412. Visiting hours are open right now. The elevators are just past the gift shop.”
“Thank you,” you murmur.
You turn away before she can say anything else, afraid that if you linger, she might offer something sympathetic—something gentle enough to break whatever fragile composure you’ve managed to hold together.
The gift shop sits just off the corridor, spilling the faint scent of coffee and artificial lilies into the hallway. Shelves of stuffed animals, greeting cards, and overly cheerful balloons blur together as you pass, but you don’t slow down long enough to actually see any of it. The elevator doors glide open as you approach, and you step inside without company.
The ride upward unfolds in silence, broken only by the low mechanical hum of the elevator cables working somewhere above you. You watch the digital numbers illuminate one by one, each floor punctuating the climb with a soft chime.
Two.
Three.
Four.
The doors slide apart.
The hallway on the fourth floor feels quieter than the lobby below, the lighting softer and dimmer, casting everything in a muted yellow glow. The air here carries the same sterile sharpness, but heavier somehow, thick with the steady rhythm of machines beeping behind closed doors and the faint murmur of a television somewhere farther down the corridor.
You move slowly down the hall, your eyes tracing the numbers beside each door as you pass. Your footsteps fall carefully against the polished tile, measured and deliberate, like you’re trying not to disturb the quiet that hangs over the floor.
410
411
Your breath catches in your chest.
412
You stop in front of the door.
Your hand lifts, hovering just short of the doorframe. Your pulse pounds so loudly in your ears you’re half convinced it must be echoing down the corridor. Five years. This is the closest you’ve been to him in five years.
You draw in a slow breath, steadying yourself, then push the door open before you can talk yourself out of it.
The room is brighter than the hallway outside, sunlight filtering through a narrow window and spilling across the floor in pale, slanted bands. The quiet hum of hospital equipment fills the space, machines breathing softly beside the bed while a monitor ticks along in steady rhythm, as though keeping time for him. The air smells aggressively clean, that sharp antiseptic scent that seems determined to erase whatever happened here.
Joel is sitting upright in the bed.
At first, he doesn’t notice you.
His gaze is fixed on his hands resting in his lap, turning them slowly beneath the light as though he’s trying to decipher something written in the creases of his palms. A thick bandage wraps around his head, stark white against his dark hair, and a bruise spreads along his temple, yellowing at the edges where it’s beginning to fade. He looks thinner than you remember. Not fragile, exactly, just worn down, like something inside him has been rattled loose.
Then he lifts his head. His eyes land on you. And everything inside your chest collapses inward.
There’s no hesitation in his expression. No flicker of confusion. He doesn’t study your face the way a stranger might, searching for recognition.
It finds him instantly. Easily. Devastatingly.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says softly.
The words land somewhere deep in your chest, stirring memories you thought you’d buried years ago. It’s the same way he used to say it when you came home late from work, when you’d step through the front door, and he’d glance up from wherever he was sitting, looking at you like he’d been waiting without realizing it.
Your breath falters.
Sweetheart.
You hadn’t heard that word in years… Hadn’t been called it in years.
Across the room, Joel’s entire posture loosens. His shoulders sink as though some invisible tension has finally slipped from them, like the strings cut from a puppet, relief spreading openly across his face. It’s warm. Immediate. Unmistakable.
“You’re here,” he says.
The simple statement lands harder than you expect.
Without meaning to, you take a step farther into the room, your body moving before your thoughts can catch up with it.
“Yeah,” you manage after a moment. “I’m here.”
His gaze follows you carefully, tracking every small movement as if he’s afraid you might disappear if he looks away. There’s something disarmingly soft in his expression, a tenderness that makes your chest tighten, like he’s committing you to memory all over again.
“I knew you would,” he says with quiet certainty, as though your presence had never once been in doubt.
Your fingers curl slowly into your palm.
“They kept askin’ if there was anyone else they should call,” he continues, his voice still easy, still calm. “I told ’em no. Just you.”
You nod automatically, even as the truth presses painfully against your ribs.
His smile deepens, reassured by the gesture.
“Didn’t like the idea of wakin’ up without you.”
The words land square in your chest, knocking the air from your lungs. He doesn’t notice the way your shoulders stiffen or the careful effort it takes to keep your expression composed. Joel only looks relieved, anchored, somehow steadied by the simple fact that you’re standing there.
“Yeah…” you let out a soft chuckle, “Sorry, it was a long flight…”
Joel nods while he shifts slightly against the pillows, a faint wince crossing his face as he lifts a hand toward the bandage wrapped around his head before letting it fall back to the sheets.
“Tommy’s been here most of the night,” he says casually, like the detail barely matters. “Wouldn’t leave. Guess he finally stepped out to get coffee.” One corner of his mouth lifts in a tired half-smile. “Said the stuff here tastes like burnt dirt.”
That sounds exactly like Tommy.
“Oh,” you say quietly. “Okay.”
“He knows you were comin’, though,” Joel adds, glancing back at you. “Seemed real relieved when I told him.”
You nod again, though you aren’t entirely sure what you’re nodding to. The words settle heavily in your chest, another quiet weight you’re not prepared to carry.
“He okay?” you ask after a moment, choosing your words carefully. “Tommy, I mean.”
Joel lets out a soft huff of amusement. “Yeah. Just… hoverin’. Kept actin’ like I was gonna forget my own name.”
If only he knew.
Joel’s gaze drifts back to you then, more thoughtful this time. A faint crease forms between his brows as he studies your face, something quietly uncertain flickering behind his eyes.
“You said long flight,” he says slowly.
Your stomach tightens.
“Yeah.”
He frowns, not with suspicion, but with the mild confusion of someone trying to piece together something that doesn’t quite make sense.
“Why’d you fly?”
The question is gentle. It still lands like a bruise. Well fuck, how were you going to get out of this?
“What do you mean?” you ask slowly.
“Well…” His gaze drifts briefly toward the window, hand rubbing at his stubble, like the answer might be waiting somewhere outside. “You would’ve just driven. It’s only like thirty minutes.”
Your hands tighten together in your lap.
“I thought you were at the house,” he continues, his voice quieter now, softer in a way that makes your chest ache. “Figured you’d walk in complainin’ about traffic, ask if I ate yet.” A chuckle breaks free from his chest, his eyes squinting as he tries to solve the puzzle in his head.
The image forms instantly in your mind, so ordinary, so familiar it almost steals the air from your lungs.
“I didn’t realize you were that far, whe-” he murmurs, pausing himself as he looks around confused, “Where were you?” the thought still sounding like it arrived only halfway formed. “How long were you on the plane?”
“About four hours.”
Joel goes very still.
Four hours is too long to brush aside, too long to tuck neatly into the explanation he’s been building in his head.
“That… doesn’t make sense,” he says quietly, the words drifting out more to himself than to you. “You hate flyin’. Only do it if you absolutely have to.”
Of course he remembers that.
His gaze lifts again, settling on your face with a new kind of focus, not suspicious, not accusing, just searching, like he’s trying to assemble a picture with pieces that refuse to cooperate.
“Where were you comin’ from?” he pushes gently after you don’t answer right away.
Before you can muster up an answer, find some form of excuse to spill, the door swings open.
“Alright,” Tommy’s voice cuts through the room, gravelly and familiar. “I swear they make this shit by runnin’ it through a sock.”
He stops short when he sees you.
For a brief moment, the entire room seems to pause, the quiet hum of machines suddenly louder in the silence.
Then recognition settles over his face, followed by something softer, relief, maybe, though it carries a heavier weight behind it.
“Hey,” Tommy says, his voice dropping as you both exchange a look.
“Hey,” you answer.
Joel glances between the two of you, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Took you long enough,” he tells his brother. “She just got here.”
Tommy nods slowly as he steps farther into the room, the paper coffee cup still warm in his hand.
“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”
But his eyes never leave yours.
There’s something in them, steady, apologetic, burdened with a knowledge Joel no longer carries.
And standing there, caught between the man who looks at you like nothing in the world ever broke between you and the one who remembers exactly how it did, you realize something with a slow, sinking clarity.
Joel has no idea you ever left.
You aren’t the only one holding the truth anymore.
The door opens again, this time with a softer, more clinical presence. A man in a white coat steps inside, a clipboard tucked beneath his arm as his eyes move quickly around the room before settling on Joel.
“Mr. Miller?” he asks.
Joel straightens immediately, shoulders tightening. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“I’m Dr. Anders,” the man says, voice calm and measured. “I understand you sustained a concussion at work today. First, I want to reassure you, you’re stable. There’s no internal bleeding and no life-threatening injuries.” He gestures briefly toward the bed. “The head trauma caused a concussion, and you’ve got a mild fracture in your left tibia. We’ve already set it and placed a cast. Orthopedics will take another look before you’re discharged and set up a physical therapy schedule for you.”
Joel glances down, like he’s just now remembering his body belongs to him. The blanket shifts slightly, revealing the thick gray cast extending from just below his knee to his ankle.
“Huh,” he mutters, flexing his fingers against the sheets. “That explains why it feels like someone took a golf club to it.”
Dr.Anders nods once, keeping his attention on Joel. “Because of the concussion, you’re also experiencing retrograde amnesia. That means your memory of the time leading up to the accident, and possibly a longer period before that, may be temporarily lost.” The doctors voice is calm, almost like he’s approaching a startled horse, not wanting to spook it further.
Joel’s brow furrows, his hand twitching toward the bandage wrapped around his head, moving downwards to rub at his eyes, like he’s trying to put a puzzle together that only he can see. “How long? How much did I… lose?”
“That’s difficult to predict,” Dr. Anders says carefully. “Memories may return gradually, all at once, or, in some cases, not fully. What’s most important right now is that you don’t try to force them. Straining to remember can actually make the condition worse.”
Joel shifts slightly, then winces as his casted leg moves beneath the blanket.
“I… I want to know,” he says. “I need to know what I missed. Everything. Did anything happen? Did anyone… anyone important… pass? Ma? Pa?”
“No, no,” Tommy assures gently, “Ma and Pa are still good, just maybe a lil’ older than you remember,” he lets out with a forced chuckle as he rubs at the scruff on his face.
Joel shifts slightly in the bed, adjusting his weight without thinking. The movement is small, but the second his injured leg moves beneath the blanket, his face tightens.
“Jesus-”
He exhales sharply through his teeth and glances down, like he’s just remembered something is wrong with his body. The blanket has slipped just enough to reveal the thick gray cast running from below his knee to his ankle. Joel stares at it for a moment.
Tommy snorts quietly from where he’s leaning against the wall. “You fell off a scaffold, man. You should feel hella lucky right now.”
Joel glances between the two of you, still trying to piece together the edges of his reality. His hand moves carefully toward the cast, fingers brushing along the hard plaster like he’s checking to see if it’s real.
“Scaffold,” he repeats slowly.
Dr. Anders nods, “About ten to twelve feet, from what your coworkers told us. You were unconscious for a short period of time, which is likely what caused the concussion.”
Joel leans back against the pillows again, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as he processes everything.
“Head’s foggy,” Joel admits, rubbing absently at the edge of the bandage on the side of his temple again.
“That’s normal,” Dr. Anders replies evenly. “You’ll likely experience headaches, fatigue, and confusion for a few days. The most important thing right now is rest.”
Joel nods, though his attention has already drifted elsewhere. His gaze finds you again, lingering in a way that makes your chest tighten.
There’s something unsettling about it to you, the way he looks at you like you’re the only stable thing left in a world that suddenly stopped making sense.
Dr. Anders notices it too.
His eyes flick briefly between the two of you before he clears his throat and straightens slightly.
“Joel, I want you to focus on resting for the next few days, alright?” he says gently. “I’m going to step out into the hallway with your family for a moment and go over the details of your recovery plan with them. We’ll make sure everything is set up so you have the help you need while you’re healing.”
Joel glances between you and Tommy, then gives a small, tired nod.
“Alright.”
Dr. Anders opens the door and gestures politely toward the hall.
“If you two wouldn’t mind.”
You push yourself out of the chair, Tommy following a step behind as the three of you slip into the quiet corridor. The door closes softly behind you, the muffled hum of Joel’s monitors fading as the fluorescent lights overhead take their place.
Dr. Anders exhales quietly, leaning back against the wall for a moment as if organizing his thoughts.
“We need to be mindful that Joel is dealing with both a concussion and retrograde amnesia,” he begins carefully. “His brain is essentially trying to rebuild connections. If we push too hard—or introduce emotionally distressing information too quickly, it can interfere with that process. In some cases, it can delay the return of memories for months, maybe years.”
He pauses, choosing his next words with care before looking directly at you.
“For example… his relationship with you.”
Your stomach twists.
“Joel currently believes you’re still married,” Dr. Anders continues. “For the time being, it would be best not to challenge that assumption. Speak to him as his wife. Treat things as normally as possible.”
Your stomach drops.
“Wait,” you say slowly. “You’re telling me to lie to him? Pretend we’re married?”
“Yes,” Dr. Anders replies, calm but unwavering. “For the time being. Joel trusts you, and right now that trust is incredibly important. It gives him a sense of stability. If he’s suddenly confronted with information that contradicts what he believes, especially something emotionally significant, it could create stress that interferes with his recovery.”
Your jaw tightens.
“So it’s all on me,” you murmur, staring down at the polished hospital floor. “I’m the one keeping him stable… by pretending to still be his wife.”
Dr. Anders doesn’t argue.
“I understand how unfair that sounds,” he says gently. “But in the state he’s in, you are the most familiar and emotionally grounding presence he has. Right now, you’re his anchor, even if he doesn’t fully realize it.”
He glances briefly toward Joel’s room before continuing.
“There’s also the matter of his leg. The fracture means he’ll be on crutches for several weeks, possibly longer, depending on how the bone heals. Combined with the concussion, he shouldn’t be living alone or moving around without help for a while. Someone will need to assist him at home, getting around, monitoring symptoms, making sure he doesn’t push himself too quickly.”
Tommy exhales slowly beside you.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “And that someone sure as hell ain’t me.”
Dr. Anders turns toward him.
Tommy rubs the back of his neck, already looking apologetic. “My wife’s eight months pregnant. She’d kill me if I disappeared for a few weeks to babysit my stubborn older brother.”
Your chest tightens.
“So that leaves…” Tommy gestures vaguely between the two of you.
You.
A bitter breath escapes before you can stop it.
“Unbelievable,” you mutter.
Five years. Five years spent building something separate from Joel. A different city, a different routine, a different life entirely. You had finally learned how to exist without him in it. And now you’re supposed to step right back into the role you fought so hard to leave behind. As if none of those years ever happened. As if you never signed the papers and walked away.
Just… step back in and pretend. Just for him.
Tommy gives you a small, sympathetic nod, but it does nothing to quiet the storm inside your chest.
You’re not fine. You shouldn’t have to be fine.
But if you walk away… he could get worse.
And somehow, after everything, you still care enough not to let that happen.
You straighten slowly, shoulders squaring as you force your hands to unclench.
“Fine,” you say at last, your voice low and tight with restraint. “I’ll do it. But don’t pretend that makes this okay.”
Dr. Anders nods once, solemn.
“I don’t expect it to feel fair,” he says. “But you’re doing the best thing for Joel right now. The most important thing is patience. Let his memories return naturally. Don’t push him to remember, and don’t overwhelm him with information. His brain needs time.”
Tommy shifts beside you, his voice softer now.
“We’ll get through this,” he says quietly. “Just… take it one day at a time.”
He pauses, then adds with a small, almost apologetic shrug, “It’s good to have you back. Even if the circumstances are pretty damn terrible.”
You give him a stiff nod, then turn back toward Joel’s room.
Your chest feels heavy as you walk down the hallway, every step pulling you closer to a life you thought you’d buried years ago.
A lie. That’s what this is now. A carefully maintained illusion for the man who once shattered everything you had together. And the worst part, the part you don’t dare say out loud, is that beneath the anger, beneath the resentment, beneath the years of distance…
A small, stubborn part of you still wants to be there for him.
Even if pretending doesn’t just break your heart. Even if it slowly kills you to do it.
You push the door open, the soft click of the latch announcing your return. Joel’s head lifts, dark eyes tracking you immediately, alert but not tense.
“Hey,” you murmur, stepping closer.
Joel props himself up slightly, a small wince escaping his mouth, a forced crooked grin tugging at his lips. “There she is. What’d he say?”
“I… talked to the doctor,” you say carefully, “He wants you to rest, but… I’m gonna go home and grab some things for you. Stuff you might need when you’re ready to leave.”
Joel quirks an eyebrow, still grinning. “Stuff, huh? You packing my royal necessities?” His tone is teasing, light, like he’s trying to make the hospital feel a little less serious.
“Yes,” you say softly, a gentle chuckle and smile forcing its way out. “The essentials for surviving with Joel Miller…”
“Right,” he mutters, shaking his head, amused. Then he leans back slightly, eyes narrowing playfully. “But before you go… can I get a kiss?”
You freeze. Your chest tightens, stomach coiling. A kiss. Here. Now. With him like this.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say. It’s a lame excuse, but god, you’re hoping it works. Twenty-four hours ago, you wouldn’t have imagined being in the same state as Joel, and now, here you were, trying to get out of kissing him.
“Hurt me? C’mon, I hit my head, didn’t break my neck.”
And damn, if that wasn’t a good argument.
Joel watches you patiently, that familiar spark in his eyes making it impossible to resist. After a long beat, you lean in and give him a tiny, careful peck.
He blinks, a mischievous glint in his eye, and quips, “That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna give me?” He asks, going to grab your wrist to pull you back in.
You bite back a nervous laugh as you evade his grip, “That’s… enough,” you murmur, cheeks warming, lips still tingling from where the other man’s were moments ago.
Joel shakes his head, grinning wider now, clearly enjoying himself. “Damn. You’ve gone stingy on me,” he teases. “I know you’re more generous than that. Is it the bandage? Is it a turnoff?”
You can’t help the laugh that escapes, despite the tension in your chest. Even pretending, he still has that way of drawing you in.
“No, it’s not the bandage… Just get some rest, I’ll be back before you know it.”
Joel settles back against the pillows, surrendering to the fight, hands behind his head, eyes following you. “Okay, go then. But don’t take too long. You know I get bored when I’m stuck somewhere with nothing to do.” He winks, light and playful, like he’s still your Joel, the same man you remember.
“I’ll miss you,” he added, and just like that, the air from your lungs was gone.
You nod, turning towards the door slowly, gripping your purse strap. One last glance at him, grinning softly in that rugged, familiar way, and you step out of the room, heart tight, chest heavy, but knowing this little spark of playfulness makes the lie a little easier to bear… for now.
The door closes softly behind you.
Inside the room, Joel watches the door for a long moment after you leave, and the smile fades slowly from his face.
force of nature might just be my favourite fic ever, love a fic where the reader has some sort of self esteem issue, as strange as that sounds😂 its relatable and its raw, love love love! keep it up honey!! <3
No I get it because I love it too! We all have some self esteem issue in some way, right? I feel like most people can relate to it! And having a sexy contractor to help you along the way...? I mean 🫠
it’s 1:15am I just discovered and read every chapter of Force of Nature holy shit you write Joel so perfectly I was screaming silently like 90% of the time I was reading it you’re amazing pls never stop this series that shit was so hot !!!!!!!!!!
Please oh my god this put the biggest smile on my face! Thank you a million times! So happy you like it this much, I'll def be writing more for them, it's been a lot of fun!
Summary: You meet Tommy after you pick up him and Joel from a bar. The night ends with you finally being honest and letting Joel in... a little.
Warnings: language, cigarette use, alcohol use, Joel loves bossy women, fluff, smut (18+), piv sex, fingering, handjob, reader has major self esteem/anxiety issues, very very mild hint at an abusive past relationship, Tommy and Joel acting like children and being little shits
other parts here
One forty two in the morning.
That's when your phone disturbs your blissfully deep sleep.
Nobody ever calls you in the middle of the night. Hell, no one even texts you in the middle of the night. It's why your volume remains on every day. The most action you'll get is a ping from your work email, and you've silenced that feature during the overnight hours long ago.
You may work like a dog, but you draw the line at anyone fucking with your sleep.
So when your phone wakes you with your ringtone—not your email or text sound, but your ringtone—you assume someone died. Has to be, right?
You're still groggy as you frantically reach for the phone, heart in your throat and eyes half open while you try to mentally figure out what time it is in London—would your sister call you and forget to check the time zone? Was she hurt or in trouble?
"Hello?" you answer without even looking at the caller ID. Your voice is thick and you sound like a frog. You clear your throat and try again. "Hello?"
There's shouting on the other end but it doesn't sound like an emergency. Not exactly happy shouting, either. Just... loud as all hell. And a whole bunch of voices, too. You blink and rub your eyes.
"Oh, h-hey! Hey, honey, can you hear me?"
You wince and pull the phone from your ear before angling the receiver towards your mouth. "Joel?"
"Did I wake you?"
More shouting that's now sounding like the drunken sort. People laughing and swearing are walking by, you can tell because their voices decrescendo as they presumably walk down the sidewalk.
"What—are you—" You shake your head. Words are hard to formulate.
"Y'there?" Joel sounds drunk, you can hear it now. Anger begins to simmer in your veins.
"Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?" you snap.
"Huh?"
"Why are you—"
"Gimme the phone!"
"Fuck outta here—"
"Joel, I wanna—"
There's rustling then. You can hear their shoes scraping on the sidewalk and you roll your eyes as you wait. The rustling finally stops and the second male voice curses out Joel before you hear the telltale flick of a lighter and then you hear his voice again, just a little breathless now.
"Sorry 'bout that," Joel murmurs. You can hear his footsteps on the sidewalk, he must be walking away.
"What do you want, Joel?"
"Got a favor to ask," he says, "any chance you can p—" Joel hiccups and you scowl. "Sorry. Any chance y'can pick us up?"
"Why?"
"'Cause we're drunk as shit and this goddamn bouncer's got a hard on f'Tommy here and won't let 'im leave without talkin' to someone that ain't me, so we can't call a cab, 'n I ain't callin' our ma or—"
"Oh, Jesus Christ, fine!" you yell, flinging the covers off your bed. "Where are you?"
He tells you while you shove on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt.
"The hell's the matter with you two? Your brother's home for two days and you're already getting into fights?" You snatch your purse off the hook by the door and slip on some sneakers.
"No, no, didn't get into any fights," he says defensively. "Tommy just flirted with the wrong girl, is all. Perfectly—" hiccup "—harmless."
"Yeah, right," you grumble, locking the door behind you. Goosebumps erupt across your skin at the first touch of night air. "It's freezing, Joel, I can't believe you're dragging me out of bed for this bullshit."
"How's 'bout I drag you back into bed later and make it up to you?" he teases. You roll your eyes and collapse into the driver's seat of your car.
"I'm not interested in having drunk, sloppy sex with you. That's the opposite of making it up to me."
"Easy, darlin'. Save some of that sass for when y'get here. Know how much I love it."
"You're such a pain in the ass." You let the grin stretch across your face only because Joel can't see you because goddamn him, even when he interrupts your sleep, he manages to make you smile.
You hear the humor in his voice when he answers. "Yeah, you like this pain in the ass, though."
"Do not." You're still grinning as you back out of your driveway.
"Uh huh. You got a big ol' crush on me."
"Do you want me to just go back home? 'Cause I'll do it," you warn.
"Nope. No I do not," he replies. "Miss you. Wanna see you."
You flick on your turn signal. "You're drunk and horny."
"Both things can be true at the same time."
"Funny," you say dryly.
"C'mon now, you're sayin' you don't miss me? Not even a little?" he asks, attempting to sound seductive but it's coming across more like he's confused.
"We saw each other on Sunday," you remind him.
"Feels like a month ago," he grumbles.
You crack your window just a smidge to let in some fresh air while simultaneously running the heat on low.
"Who's the one with a crush now?" you say smugly into your speakerphone.
"Never denied havin' a crush on you," Joel answers, "and I still ain't."
Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you bite your lip. "You're a real sweet talker, you know that?"
"Mm. Maybe that's why we work so good. I got the sweetness and you got the spice."
"Spice?" At this point you're just keeping him on the phone so you know he and Tommy haven't wandered off somewhere, but it also serves as great entertainment as you drive the mostly deserted roads to a bar on the other side of town.
"Yeah. Spice. Like heat or pepper or somethin'."
"Sugar and pepper do not sound good together."
"Ah, don't knock it til you try it, otherwise, how're you gonna know if it's any good?"
You have to give him credit. Even though he's hammered, he still manages to not-so-subtly find ways to tell you what a great couple you'd make. It's been a fun few weeks, but you're still holding firm on keeping things casual, and Joel seems to have figured out just how far he can push you without tipping over that edge.
"Y'there?" he asks, and you nod although he can't see you.
"Yeah. Ten minutes out."
Joel sighs on the other end as the background noise starts to increase, indicating he's pacing back towards the bar.
"Got a goddamn headache. Loud as shit here." Hiccup.
"You sure it's the music and not the shots?"
"How'd you know we did shots?"
"I didn't. Crazy guess."
Joel laughs. "Wanna know somethin'?"
You smile to yourself as you roll up to a stop light. "What?"
Just then, Tommy's voice fills the speaker.
"—wasn't doin' nothin' and this motherfucker over here says—"
"Keep your goddamn voice down."
"Who's on the phone?"
"I told'ya already, we're gettin' picked up—"
"Ohhh! She's comin' to get us? Hey! Lemme talk—"
"Y'can talk to 'er when she gets here, back up!"
"Joel? I'm a block away," you say loudly into the speaker, but the brothers are too busy bickering.
"Stop bein' all weird and gimme the phone!"
"I ain't bein' weird! You're the one—"
"H-hey! Hey, sweetheart!" Tommy yells. You wince at the volume just as the lights from the bar come into view. "He's been talkin' 'bout you all night! He tell y'that? Wouldn't shut—"
Despite yourself, your heart lurches in your chest at Tommy's revelation. There's the sound of plastic clattering onto concrete and the scuffle of shoes mixed with some grunts and you pull into the parking lot.
When you park, you immediately spot them wrestling and get out of the car with your purse slung over your shoulder. As you approach, you notice the brothers attracted a few curious onlookers, but once it became clear it wasn't a real flight, they moved on. The bouncers, however, stood with their backs against the brick wall and their arms crossed over their chests, looking amused as they watched two drunk idiots try and fail to get one another in a headlock.
"Joel!" you shout, and finally they pull apart, breathless with their hair and clothes askew. You're about ten feet away but Joel, being drunk as he is, stumbles to pick up his phone and presses it to his ear.
"Y'still there?" he pants into the receiver.
"No, I'm here, dumbass," you say sharply. Joel's head snaps up at the same time as Tommy's and he gives you the dopiest grin before pocketing his phone.
"There she is," he slurs, opening his arms wide. His dark T-shirt is splotched with wet marks, probably spilled beer, and his wallet looks like it's about to fall out of his back pocket. His hair is sticking up every which way and his eyes look glassy but he still looks absolutely thrilled to see you.
"This is what you woke me up for? Some discount version of the WWE?" You reach to push his wallet deeper into his pocket and he envelopes you in a bear hug, pulling your face abruptly against his chest. He reeks of alcohol and cigarettes and you cringe before pushing him away.
"You stink."
"You smell fuckin' great," he says, still smiling like a fool.
Tommy says your name in a sing-songy voice, pulling your attention to the younger brother. He looks like Joel. All dark features, eyes that sparkle and a killer smile. His hair is cut short and he's clean shaven, very military-esque, but he's just as much a mess as Joel. His open button down shirt is hanging off one shoulder, revealing a white tank top underneath. His cheeks are pink and he looks a little sweaty. He's most definitely very drunk. Still, he remembers his manners and straightens his spine before offering you his hand and name.
"Yeah, I gathered, hi," you say, shaking his hand.
"Happy I get to put a face to the name," Tommy grins, still holding onto your hand. His eyes dart between you and Joel. "She's pretty," he tells his brother, and you speak before Joel can answer.
"She says thank you." You pull your hand away and glance around the front of the bar. Country music blares from somewhere inside—a live band, you think. Cigarette smoke clings to both their clothes and hovers in the air from nearby patrons taking a break against the wall. Laughter and shouting echo just inside the open door, which is framed by the two large bouncers watching the three of you warily.
"You with them?" One of the bouncers juts his chin stiffly in Tommy and Joel's direction. You sigh and nod before stepping away from them.
"Unfortunately. What'd they do?"
"That one—" The second bouncer scowls at Tommy. "Told my girlfriend he wanted to use her g-string as floss."
"Christ," you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose.
"It was a compliment," Tommy chimes in behind you.
"For the record, this is not a great first impression of you, Tom," you say through clenched teeth.
"Then he climbed onto the stage when the band was on break and nearly broke the strings on the guy's twelve hundred dollar Fender."
"That rendition of Highway to Hell almost cleared out the whole bar," the first bouncer says, shaking his head. "Stumbled into some tables and broke a shit-ton of glasses. Got four customers soaked in gin. He's costin' us money."
"I am so sorry," you plead, "I'll take them home right now."
"They're lucky we didn't call the cops."
"Only reason we didn't is 'cause that one said he's military."
"I know, and I'm sure once they sober up, they will be able to appreciate that act of kindness," you say, turning to watch the two brothers grow bored and start bickering once again, but now it sounds like it's over who is going to get to sit shotgun. They start swatting at each other, which inevitably evolves to pushing and yelling, as the three of you continue to watch.
"The hangover'll be punishment enough," one of the bouncers mutters. You nod in agreement before turning back to the two men.
"So why does it feel like I'm being punished when I didn't even do anything?"
They chuckle and turn to slip back inside the bar. "At least your boyfriend wasn't the one startin' trouble."
"He's not my boyfriend," you grumble to yourself before looking back at the two brothers, poised to get into yet another wrestling match. "Hey! Knock it off and follow me to the car!"
"Yes, ma'am," Joel says instantly after giving Tommy one more hard shove. He falls into step next to you and slings an arm heavily around your shoulders while Tommy lights up a cigarette a few paces behind.
"What exactly was the plan here?" you ask, digging your keys out of your purse. "Who was gonna drive? You're both shitfaced."
Joel shrugs. "Cab. But th'bouncer was bein' a dick and didn't—"
"That bouncer did you guys a favor."
"Sure as hell did 'cause now you're here," Joel smirks.
You roll your eyes with a grin and unlock your car doors. "Get in," you say, shrugging off his arm.
"Shotgun," Tommy says, flicking his cigarette onto the sidewalk.
"No fuckin' way—"
"I called it!"
"I don't give a shit!"
"You have five seconds to figure it out before I leave you both here," you warn, slipping back into the driver's seat. Joel shoves Tommy and races around the front of your car, jumping in next to you and locking the door before his brother has a chance to catch up.
"Your mother must be a saint," you tell them flatly when Tommy begrudgingly slides into the backseat.
"Our Ma woulda let us get hauled to jail just to teach us a lesson," Tommy laughs.
"And we woulda thanked her for it the next day," Joel adds, slumping into your passenger seat with a heavy sigh. You fiddle with the heat before cracking your window again, then you check your mirrors and start to back out of your spot.
"Why d'you got the heat on if the window's open?" Joel asks.
"I like the fresh air but I'm cold."
"Can we stop 'n get some food?" asks Tommy, leaning forward to stick his head between your seats.
"Fine," you mumble, squinting your eyes to see through the dark lot.
"Wings?"
"Hell yeah, wings," Joel confirms.
"Where?" you ask tiredly. Between the two of them, you think you cobble together some coherent directions and you begin your journey to your first stop.
It's blissfully quiet for the drive. Both men seem to have tired themselves out a bit and they're quietly staring out the windows. It gives you a much needed break. By the time you approach the restaurant, you're feeling alot more relaxed than an hour ago.
"I'll run in and give 'em the order to-go," Tommy says, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Probably be like twenty minutes or so."
"No way you're going in there alone, drunk off your ass," you scold, turning off the car. "We're all going in. C'mon."
Joel groans in protest but unbuckles his own seatbelt and follows you both inside. You usher them forward to the empty counter and make sure they don't order the entire menu before finding a booth to sit and wait. When Joel squeezes in next to you, casually tossing his arm over the back of the booth and scooting close enough so your legs touch under the table, Tommy grins and the inevitable interrogation begins.
"So," he says slowly, gaze darting back and forth, "how long's this been goin' on?"
"Little more than a month," Joel answers right away. It gives you pause until you realize he's right—it has been. In fact, it's closer to two months now since you first slept together. When the hell did that happen?
"How'd you meet?"
"He had a job working on my next door neighbor's house," you say, planning on leaving it at just that, but of course, Joel interjects.
"Kept comin' over to complain 'bout the noise. Took me a few days to realize she was flirtin' with me."
"I was not!" You smack his thigh under the table and he laughs.
"See? She's doin' it again. Yellin's her love language."
"What the hell's a love language?" Tommy asks, nose scrunched with confusion, but you both ignore him.
"Then what is your love language?" Joel asks, turning his body to face you in the booth. His arm rests on the table and he's smiling at you like you're the only two people in the room.
"Giving or receiving?"
"Now we're talkin'," Joel laughs, "both."
Tommy shakes his head. "Hey—what are love languages?"
"Giving is acts of service, receiving is words of affirmation," you answer without hesitation. You hold his gaze with an amused expression while he works out this new bit of information.
"So you do got a crush on me," he finally teases. Across from you, Tommy watches the exchange on a tape delay.
"How did you get that out of what I just said?" you argue.
Joel shrugs like it's obvious. "You picked us up when I called you in the middle of the night, didn't you? Sounds like an act of service t'me."
You blink slowly, then scoff. "I just didn't want you to get thrown in jail or die driving home."
"Nah, you like me," Joel smirks.
"Wait, wait—" Tommy says, waving his hands in the air. You each turn to him as thinks, which takes much longer than necessary. "Ain't you... together? Like, datin'? Why'd—what're you—"
"No," you reply, cutting him off. "We're just... hanging out."
"Hangin'... out?" Tommy echos, stretching out each word slowly. You nod but Joel remains quiet next to you. Tommy scratches his head as he thinks some more and you take a deep breath, willing their food to finish cooking faster. "So you ain't his girlfriend but... y'still came to pick us up tonight?"
You roll your eyes. Jesus, they're drunk.
"Yes."
Tommy and Joel are silent except for the rhythmic, impatient tapping of Joel's fingers on top of the booth behind you. Finally, a slow smile stretches across Tommy's face as he points accusingly at you across the table.
"You like him."
"What?" you frown.
"Told you," says Joel smugly.
"You got a big ol' crush on him."
You bury your face in your hands to hide the heat that has crept up to flood your neck and cheeks. "Shut up," you groan.
"Oh, Mama's gonna love her," Tommy says to Joel. Your head snaps up, eyes wide.
"She's a spitfire," Joel replies, like you're not even there.
"Exactly why she'll love her."
Your mouth opens to protest—to say anything to stop this terrifying conversation in its tracks—but mercifully, their order number gets called and both men stand to go pick up their bags, forgetting all about your current mortification.
"Shit, this smells good," Tommy murmurs, opening his bag. Joel reaches in and steals a fry, popping one in his mouth before snatching his own food from the counter. You still don't have your bearings when he tells you they're ready to go, both of them completely absorbed with their food and oblivious to the way embarrassment is still coursing through your veins.
The drive back to Joel's house is quiet. Usually, you'd tell them not to eat in your car, especially something as messy as chicken wings, but you need the silence so you can process your own thoughts, so you let it go this time.
You've been pushing it out of your head for a while now, but it's becoming hard to ignore. They're right, obviously. You do like Joel. Problem is, you like him... a lot. And you're entirely unsure how to navigate these feelings because everything with him was so unexpected that you never allowed yourself enough time to confidently heal before falling into this... thing with him. So you've been pushing him away. Keeping him at an arms length. And Joel's been okay with it. What keeps surprising you is his persistence. Most men would jump at the chance to carry on a casual sex relationship—all the benefits and none of the baggage of a committed relationship. And yet, Joel keeps suggesting more. The question is... can you offer more?
"Right here," Joel says, pointing with a sticky finger towards a sleepy little house on the right side of a cul-de-sac.
"You ain't ever been here before?" Tommy asks.
"Uh, no," you reply as you pull into Joel's driveway and shift your car into park. "Joel usually picks me up when we have plans."
"I'm a gentleman," he tells Tommy, shooting him a look in the mirror. "Could learn a thing or two."
"Shut up," Tommy snaps, then they both collect the rest of the food and shimmy out of your car. As you follow them to the front door, you cringe to think about the smell of hot wings currently embedding itself into the fibers of your seats.
The brothers stumble into Joel's modest house, bickering about god knows what as they make their way to the kitchen, leaving you to quietly shut the front door and look around.
His home is... warm. It's well lived in and cozy, and it instantly makes you feel comfortable. Not that you weren't before, it's just... you never know what you're going to get when you walk into a bachelor's house.
There's a few steps that lead up into an already dimly lit living room. The couch is pushed up against the front wall, angled towards the television that houses countless DVDs stacked on shelves next to it. There's some rather decent wall art that impresses you, and a fake plant or two, but what really takes you by surprise is the guitar resting against the wall.
You slip your sneakers off before stepping onto the plush carpet, feet softly crossing the room and stopping right before the instrument. You drag one finger gently over the neck, then test the feel of the strings under the pad of your thumb. You try to imagine Joel playing it, maybe even singing. The thought has you smiling to yourself before eventually dropping your hand and turning back around to map the rest of the house.
Across from you is a staircase leading to a hallway—bedrooms and bathroom, you assume. Right before the stairs is the opening to the kitchen, where bright lights flood the carpeted floor and cast shadows against the wall of the brothers moving somewhere around the corner from where you stand.
It's cute. You like it. It's definitely his space. There's a certain feel to it that just reminds you of Joel. Maybe it's the smell or the leather couch or the ambient lighting that puts you at ease, the same way his voice and touch manage to do.
"Hey—"
Joel's head appears around the corner, pulling you out of your analysis with a smile.
"Sorry," you tell him, feet instantly moving to join them in the kitchen.
"Don't be," he says softly in your ear right as you walk by. His fingers brush your arm briefly, grounding you without even realizing it. "You hungry? I saved you some." Joel grabs his bag from the counter and sets it on his small kitchen table, where you're currently standing. Tommy is deeper into the kitchen, leaning against the stove, eating a wing with one hand and holding a glass bottle of beer in the other. He looks perfectly content, like he's home, and you get the feeling that maybe Joel's house acts like a second home to his family because that's just how Joel is. He's... open. Kind. Hospitable. Easy going. Sweet.
Shit.
"No, I'm okay," you say, clearing your throat. He saved you some of his food. "You eat it. I'll have heartburn for days if I eat that right now."
"I got other stuff, too," Joel says immediately while reaching for his fridge. But you quickly wave him off.
"No, really, I'm good. Just tired."
Joel opens the fridge anyway and grabs a few bottles of water. He tosses one to Tommy who narrowly manages to catch it after dropping a bone into his bag.
"Drink it," Joel says firmly, although the slight drunken wobble in his knees takes some of the edge away from his threat.
"I will."
"And don't leave the door unlocked like last night," Joel adds. He hands you a water and slips his hand over yours, leading you to the staircase. Before your foot hits the first step, you pause.
"Oh, I was..."
Joel stops and looks at you over his shoulder, patiently waiting for you to continue. He looks so endearing, all drunk and sleepy, and there's something extra appealing about watching him maneuver in his home. It's like exploring a side of him you haven't seen before. So what are you going to do? Are you really going to tell him you're going home instead of staying the night? It's so late as it is.
You think it over for about half a second.
"Nevermind," you smile, and his fingers squeeze yours before he turns to climb the stairs, leading you into his bedroom and shutting the door.
Joel drops your hand and moves into the room, flicking on the lights next to his bed and readjusting the grey sheets and comforter while you stand at the door with your water, taking everything in. This is Joel's most private space. He had no clue you'd be seeing it tonight. There's no way he could have prepared or hidden anything weird... what you're seeing is the real deal. The raw, honest version of his life. And... you like it. You like it.
His room is a bit messy, but that's fine. It's normal to have random articles of clothing draped over a hardly used treadmill in the corner. It's normal to have the top of a dresser filled with odds and ends he likely emptied from his pockets after too many long days. It's normal to have a hamper with dirty clothes hanging over the sides. There's nothing scary or strange here. There's nothing to "find".
Your gaze slowly slides over his king sized bed, where he just finished fixing the bedding. On one end table is a dead plant, an open magazine, and a television remote. The other has a coaster and his phone charger. But what really draws your eye is the artwork hung above his cherry spindle bed frame.
On the right is a vintage music festival poster for Club Deville. The center lists all of the musical acts in a warped font, the top advertises tacos and beer, and as if you couldn't already guess, Austin, TX is listed as the location on the bottom. There's an equally old looking poster for another festival on the left side of the wall, but this one has half of an acoustic guitar taking up a big chunk of the ad, along with the names of some acts you don't recognize. And right in the middle, taking up residence directly front and center, is a peaceful painting of a mountainous region with one single solitary deer in the foreground. You wonder if he chose it because something about the deer being all alone spoke to him, or if it was just a coinscidence.
"It ain't much," Joel fidgets slightly and you realize your silence may have unintentionally made him a little nervous, "but it's mine. Great neighbors, good schools, safe area." He moves to his dresser and begins rummaging for pajamas.
"I like it, too," you say softly. He pauses before twisting to look at you, but your eyes are back on the posters. "I didn't realize music was such a big interest of yours."
He follows your gaze and nods. "Yeah, I like to check out concerts when I can."
"And you play guitar?" you ask. Joel shuts a dresser drawer and tosses clean clothes onto the bed.
"Wouldn't say that. Used to, when I had more time. But now—" Joel strips his shirt over his head and you immediately lock onto his broad chest, "—I don't really practice as much. Can't seem to bring myself to get rid of the thing, though."
You feel a little hypnotized for a second as he stands there shirtless because it takes you until a fresh shirt is almost over his head when you blink and stop him.
"Wait, you've gotta shower," you say, stepping forward, "you stink like whiskey and cigarettes."
Joel frowns and lifts one arm to sniff himself. "I don't smell it."
"Of course you don't, you're nose blind to it by now. Don't put fresh clothes on—" You stop him again when he lifts his shirt to shove it over his head and he eyeballs you with a look you can read a mile away.
"You're just tryin' to get me naked."
"Oh, shut up," you say, but the smile that tugs across your face takes the bite out of your words.
Joel dramatically sighs in defeat and drops the clean shirt back on his bed. "Fine," he grumbles, undoing his belt buckle as he walks to the bathroom attached to his room, "but you're comin' with me."
"What? Why?"
"I'm drunk," he says over his shoulder. Then his jeans slide down his legs, along with his boxers, and your mouth goes dry at the sight of his bare backside. "Might fall 'n hit my head. You'll never be able to live with yourself."
You want to say something snippy in response, but you don't. Instead, you leave your water by the bed and pad across the carpet to the bathroom. This room isn't decorated that much, save for a fancy sounding soap next to his sink that you find yourself reaching for.
"Wouldn't take you for a shea butter and eucalyptus kind of guy," you say, taking a sniff. Behind you, the water is already turned on, warming up as you investigate the room further. But then Joel's hands are on your hips, lifting up your sweatshirt so his palms can glide slowly across your stomach and you pause.
"Gotta keep my hands soft f'you, don't I?" he murmurs in your ear before his teeth gently graze your lobe. Your eyelids flutter and you feel the heat already building below your neckline. Your head tips back to rest on his shoulder and his lips keep moving, grazing lightly over your throat while he pushes your sweatshirt up further.
You tilt your chin to the side so your mouth is right next to his ear. "But I like them a little rough," you whisper, then smile when you hear him groan.
"Yeah, I know you do, honey," he says gruffly against your neck. Goosebumps erupt over your skin from the scratch of his beard. His fingers splay wide across your hips and squeeze. "Goddamn, you're so pretty. Missed you so much."
"It's only been five days," you tease, squirming out of his hold. He pouts and your gaze drops to find him fully naked and half hard.
"Five very long days," he says, reaching for you again. You giggle and swat his hands away.
"Clean up first," you tell him. He rolls his head back and makes a frustrated noise before doing as he's told and turning his attention back to the shower.
"Not fair. Teasin' me like this," he says after he steps behind the glass door. You perch on the edge of his sink, swinging your legs playfully over the side as you strip your sweatshirt off. The steam from the shower and the heat of Joel's touch is too much, so you leave it in a pile with his clothes, not really caring if it smells like his night out when you pick it up tomorrow.
Of course, his gaze tracks the movement through the glass and he gives you an appreciative look when you're left in just a tight camisole and your sleep shorts.
"What'd I just say?"
You laugh. "It's hot in here!"
He rolls his eyes and grumbles something under his breath before reaching for his soap. You watch with your lower lip snagged between your teeth as he lathers up: white, foamy bubbles slide effortlessly down his strong arms, his broad chest, his thick cock. You swallow.
Joel glances at you every so often as you shamelessly watch those big hands glide over his dark hair, threading shampoo through the messy locks and then scrub mindlessly at his short beard. Your face must give you away, you think, because it's hard to hide the arousal building in your core the longer you stare. It's also impossible not to notice that he's now fully erect between his legs. The sight of his cock bobbing every time he turns around makes your thighs press together tightly, desperately trying to quell the ache.
Fuck it, you think, and slide off the counter.
"What're you doin'?" Joel asks when you crack open the glass door.
"Missed a spot," you say, reaching in to snag his washcloth. "Turn around."
He smirks and does as you say so you can pretend to wash a spot on his back when in reality, all you want to do is feel the heat and strength of his body under your fingertips.
"Get it?" he asks.
"Yep," you lie, and what happens next is so fast you hardly have time to register it.
Joel takes the washcloth with one hand and your wrist with the other, tugging you inside the shower and pressing you against the cool tile wall in a heartbeat. You squeal when the hot water from the shower head pelts your still very much clothed body, but Joel doesn't care. He presses his wet body against yours and kisses you so deeply that it steals your breath, and any sense that was left in your brain is gone.
Soaked clothes be damned. Your arms circle around his neck and your lips part, inviting his tongue to sweep inside your mouth, past your teeth, pulling a soft moan from your throat. Your hair sticks to your skin, along with your clothes. It's uncomfortable and messy but you don't care. You don't care. For the first time in forever, disorder doesn't bother you. The desire to live in the moment is overriding that voice in your head that is typically deafening, and it feels... exhilarating.
"Did I thank you for pickin' us up tonight?" Joel murmurs against your lips. Before you can answer, his fingers peel open your shorts and sneak past your panties. You gasp into his mouth and he smirks.
"No—no," you stammer when his finger finds your slit. He strokes you there a few times, refusing to touch your clit or press so much as a fingertip inside you.
"No?" he echos.
"Maybe. May—be you d-did..." You trail off because your muscles are going rigid with anticipation and it's pulling all your focus. "Can—can't remember."
Joel tuts under his breath. "Then lemme thank you in a way I'll know you remember."
Your head knocks back against the wall when one thick finger slips inside your pussy. The loud moan that leaves your mouth surely would have gotten Tommy's attention had Joel not muffled it with his lips. He kisses you with so much heat that your knees buckle, or maybe it's the way he crooks his finger just right inside you, it's hard to tell. Joel's free arm wraps around your waist for support when he feels you weaken, pinning you against the wall as the water falls in sheets around you both.
His name harshly rips from your throat when he adds a second finger. The stretch is sharp, your body is too tense, but it quickly melts into pleasure after a few snaps of his wrist.
"Goddamn," Joel breathes, "you're so wet for me."
You shudder when his thumb brushes a tight circle over your clit.
"It's—the water," you gasp unconvincingly.
Joel chuckles and dips his chin down to suck on your neck.
"Bullshit," he mumbles, "I saw the way you were droolin' over this cock, watchin' me. 'N if I could stand the feelin' of a wet condom, I'd be fuckin' you senseless right now."
A shiver rolls straight down your spine.
"I need these off," you pant, shifting your hips. "Take these off—please—"
The fingers inside you stall but remain right where they are while his free hand slips from your waist to tug down your sopping wet bottoms. They fall at your feet with a loud splat and you sigh with relief now that Joel has better access to your body, then he picks up right where he left off.
You whimper and squirm under his touch, body tightening around his fingers when he spreads them apart inside you, reminding you how much you can take and how easy it would be to slip his cock inside you right now.
An insane part of you, the one lost to the haze of pleasure he's currently pulling from your body, reaches down. Your fingers wrap around his cock and you almost angle it so you can sink down on it but the broken moan that falls from Joel's lips echos and skitters over the cool tile walls and stops you.
"Are—are you...?"
"More," he begs, then presses down firmly over your clit. Stars streak across your vision and you obey, sliding your fist up and down, feeling the way he twitches in your palm, reveling in the way he can't seem to remember his own name but he's still managing to fuck you deep and fast with two of his fingers.
"Fuck, that's it," he groans, "keep goin', j-just like that..."
White hot heat fills your body, spreads through your limbs and knocks the air from your lungs. His hips begin to rock steadily into your fist, chasing your touch. Your muscles pull tighter every time he presses his fingers against that devastatingly sensitive spot inside you, and it feels selfish to want more when he's making you feel so good, and yet—
"I want you to fuck me," you whine, "Joel, p-please, I wanna fee—"
His mouth sears over yours, probably shutting you up so he wouldn't be tempted to do something stupid. His tongue pushes into your mouth in rhythm with his fingers. It sets your skin on fire and makes you want to tear off your tank top so you can feel every inch of his warm, wet skin against yours.
When your thumb glides over the tip of his cock and your fist twists down with just the right amount of pressure, his palm slaps loudly against the wall next to your head and he comes, pouring his sticky release all over your fingers and groaning brokenly into your mouth.
"M'sorry," he gasps, hips still flexing, "oh, fu-uck, m'sor—"
"Don't stop," you rasp, clean hand coming up to clutch feverishly at his shoulder. His wrist snaps steadily, the heel of his hand slapping against your swollen clit, driving you higher and higher—literally. At some point you've risen to your tiptoes like your body is elevating but eventually there's no where else to go except to give in.
You bury your face into the crook of his neck when you come, body convulsing in waves as his fingers fuck you through it. Your hand is still wrapped around his cock, only loosening when your body goes limp and sags against his chest.
"Good girl," he whispers hoarsely. Your eyes flutter shut against his shoulder and you're so tired that you don't even wince when he removes his fingers, but you do crack an eye open when he raises his hand to his mouth without hesitation. You watch in a daze as he slides both fingers against his tongue, hollows his cheeks, and softly hums at the taste. Joel catches you staring and you think he's going to make some type of filthy joke, but to your surprise, his expression remains serious. He makes a show of taking his time, licking his fingers clean while you watch with your wet hair and cheek stuck to his shoulder. If it weren't for the water loudly falling around you, you're certain he would be able to hear your heart beating frantically in your chest.
"I know you don't like it," Joel begins after he slowly removes his clean fingers, "but you taste so fuckin' good, honey."
His words ricochet in your brain on a loop: you taste so fuckin' good, you taste so fuckin' good. Joel steps back and makes sure you can stand before helping clean your hand under the shower stream, then lifts the hem of your shirt over your head. It peels off like a second skin and joins the rest of your clothes in the tub. Next, he twists the shower knob to turn off the water and you watch him reach for a fresh towel. He wraps you up first, rubbing your arms to make sure you're warm, and you still haven't said a word. You taste so fuckin' good. Then he grabs one for himself and you watch dumbly as he dries his hair, then his upper body before tying the towel loosely around his waist.
You taste so fuckin' good.
"C'mon," he says softly, offering you his hand. You swallow tightly and shakily take it, allowing him to lead you out of the shower and back into his room. When the air conditioning hits your skin, you shiver, but Joel is quickly offering you a pair of his boxers and a well worn black tshirt. Your eyelids feel heavy as you watch him fall to his knees to help you step into the boxers, one leg at a time. The tips of his fingers trail lightly up the back of your leg with a look on his face like he's admiring a piece of art, then he gently removes the towel, letting it fall to the floor, leaving you topless. His eyes darken when they lock onto your breasts, your nipples hardening under his heavy gaze, but he doesn't try anything. He motions for you to lift your arms so you do, then the soft shirt that smells just like him is gliding over your skin and you swear you could fall asleep standing up, you're that comfortable. You taste so fuckin' good.
"Let's get some sleep, sweetheart," he murmurs after cupping your face and brushing his lips tenderly over your own.
It's not until the lights are off and his bare body is curved around yours that you feel brave enough to speak.
"It's not that I don't like it."
The arm that is draped over your waist stiffens slightly. It's the only indication he's heard you. You let the words settle in the air for a moment, not quite sure what to say next. Then Joel finally speaks.
"Wanna tell me 'bout it, or no?"
You swallow and stare into the darkness. Even though you couldn't see him anyway, you're glad he's behind you. It feels safer this way. Easier.
"I dated someone once," you say timidly, "who wasn't very... nice about it."
Joel stays quiet and lets you talk. He lets you say what you're comfortable saying and he doesn't push or grow impatient with how long it takes you to get the words out. His thumb just rubs soothingly over your hip, a reminder that he's listening.
"I can't... can't relax enough to really enjoy it anymore," you finally manage to admit. "I'm too in my head now. Being the only one wh—who gets anything from it... it's too much pressure or—something."
Joel's lips press against your shoulder blade but still remains silent. He can feel your muscles, every single one tense and practically trembling along the curve of his body.
"Can you please say something?" you whisper.
"If you don't want me to, I won't," he says softly, "but if you trust me enough one day to let me try, I promise you ain't gonna be the only one who enjoys it."
Your heart cartwheels in your chest. You want to believe him, but it's hard. It's so, so hard. You want to trust Joel, you really do, but you're just not ready yet. The walls you've built up took several years to build, and it's going to take some time to knock them down. But you feel a little lighter after sharing this small piece with him, so you figure that's a good sign.
"Can I ask you one thing?" Joel's voice is soft and deep against your back, and his body warming you under his covers is quickly putting you to sleep, but still you give him a sleepy mhmm.
"Where is he now?"
"Prison," you whisper before you can even consider lying. Maybe you didn't want to lie.
There's a pause, then when Joel speaks, the softness in his voice is gone.
"Did—did he... hurt you?"
You hear him, but you don't answer. You don't need to. He already knows.
***
You wake up the next morning to Joel's big hands sliding over the curves of your body, slowly, like he's trying not to wake you. And he's successful, for the most part, because you're aware of him but your head is still heavy with sleep and your muscles are so relaxed and loose in his comfortable bed, so you don't open your eyes. You let his hands wander under your—his—shirt, and bask in the warmth from the morning sun streaming through the window. Or, wait—that warmth might be coming from his body pressing firmly against your back. Either way, it's heavenly, so you let yourself drift.
"I like wakin' up with you in my bed," he mumbles before sucking on a spot behind your ear. Your skin flashes with goosebumps from the delicate graze of his beard and you smile—one thing about Joel is he will never let a vulnerable moment make you feel uncomfortable. Ending the night on a sensitive topic would normally leave anyone waking up feeling raw and exposed, but he knows well enough by now to understand you'll share more when you're ready.
"Shouldn't you be hungover?" you ask sleepily. His arms tighten around your torso.
"Nah. Got the cure right here," he says while simultaneously pushing his hips against your ass. You feel the hard outline of his cock and your pulse skips.
"Joel, your brother—"
"He can sleep through a hurricane," he says, cutting you off. Then his fingers drift up and brush gently over one of your nipples and your spine straightens. You don't fully believe him, but you're willing to test that theory because Joel is just too irresistible at the moment and hell, he's still completely naked. You feel it now when you reach back and circle your fist around his cock. A breath gets caught in your throat and his fingers gently squeeze your nipple with a grunt.
Your gaze sweeps over to the digital clock on his dresser and you convince yourself it's probably too early for Tommy to be awake yet anyway, so you release your hold on his erection and begin to push his boxers down your legs, but when you start to shimmy out of his hold to remove his shirt, he stops you.
"Leave it on," he mutters while squeezing your other breast, "I like it. Looks—looks good on you."
"Yeah?" you breathe with a smirk over your shoulder. Joel kisses you for the first time that morning with a soft mhmm, then pulls away to reach for his nightstand. Still laying on your side, you listen to the drawer open, then the telltale sound of foil crinkling before a beat of silence where you assume he's rolling on the condom. You make a move to roll over when he stops you, pressing his chest up against your back again.
"Wanna fuck you like this," he murmurs before hooking an arm under your knee and lifting it up. You gasp softly when your legs spread open so brazenly in the morning light, then shudder with anticipation because there's something you really like about being maneuvered in his bed like this, especially when you can't get a clear visual. When the tip of his cock bumps against your pussy, you nearly jump out of your skin. Luckily, Joel is still holding open your legs so he manages to keep you in position, but he still chuckles in your ear and whispers for you to stay still.
He notches at your entrance and hardly gives you a chance to breathe before pushing in. Your legs tense at the intrusion and your fingers grab at the pillow under your head for something to hold onto, but Joel's grip under your knee remains firm.
"Shit," he groans, "so fuckin' warm, Christ—"
He pushes in further, splitting you open inch by inch. One hand drops between your legs and your fingers spread around his girth so you can feel him enter you and—shit—he's so thick and it feels so good.
You whine his name through clenched teeth and squeeze your eyes shut, only remembering to exhale once his hips grow flush with your ass.
"You're so hard," you whimper. He shifts and drives himself even deeper, making your jaw drop.
"All 'cause of you, honey," he growls, teeth skimming your ear, then your throat. "Always 'cause of you. So fuckin'... soft 'n—pretty." He sounds pained behind you as he showers you with praise and you can't tell if it's because he's trying to stay quiet or if the deep rock of his hips sinking into your cunt is stealing his breath the same way it's stealing yours.
Your heavy gaze drops down between your legs, where you can just barely see him disappearing inside you over and over, but the angle is too severe to truly see it all. Instead, you have to imagine how your cunt looks stretched open on his cock, you feel how wet he is every time he withdraws his hips, you imagine how his knuckles have to be white with how hard he's gripping your knee.
"So good to me, lettin' me ha-have you like this," he pants in your ear, "what'd I do to—deserve you?"
You hum and arch your back, just a little. Just enough to allow him in deeper. Then your fingers drift up, away from where he's impaling you, and begin to draw slow circles over your neglected clit.
With a sigh, you start to roll your hips. You want to answer but you can't. Nothing comes to mind because... well. Frankly, it's still hard to comprehend he actually likes you as much as he says he does. But it's okay, because he's not really looking for you to reply. He's too fixated on the way your pussy flutters around his length and how your tits look bouncing softly inside his shirt with every deep thrust.
His trembling arm pinned under your side snakes up the front of your shirt and finds your right breast, palming and massaging it while he groans into the back of your neck. Heat burns through your limbs as you rub your clit faster, bringing yourself closer to the edge, but then Joel's hand releases your breast and drops to flick your fingers away. You almost cry out in protest but then the firm pad of his finger is there, pressing down and making you feel much better than you own hand.
"Gotta let me—take care of you sometimes," he says, "lemme give you what you need."
Your eyes roll back because Jesus Christ, easier said than fucking done. You've been taking care of yourself for so long, refusing to rely on anyone anymore after you've been burned, but here's this man—this strong, funny, sweet, sexy, man—who's begging you to let go a little and allow him to help you. And you want him to. You really want him to.
"Okay," you breathe. His hips jerk harder and he opens your hips wider.
"Good girl," he groans, and you have to turn to muffle the feral sounds that rip from your throat into your pillow. "Just wanna ta—take care of you, make you feel good."
"You do," you gasp, body jostling from the force of his thrusts. Your balance is fucked laying on your side but Joel has a good grip around you—you're not going anywhere. Your hand flies back to grab the back of his head, pulling his mouth down to your neck. His lips suction over your throat and then you turn your chin so he can kiss you, which he does. Without hesitation, his mouth seals over yours and his tongue parts your lips. Having him like this—pummeling you from behind, strong arm wrapped around your middle stroking your clit, soft lips moving perfectly against yours—it's an addicting feeling. The kiss only gets broken because the tip of his cock presses tightly against a spot that has you throwing your head back and gasping for air. Then his teeth are there, biting gently at your lower lip while hitting that same spot over and over and—
"Oh, fuck—" you moan, clawing at the back of his head while your muscles pull tight, "—fuck, Joel, I'm—"
The words get knocked out of you when he starts to fuck you faster. Hot puffs of air leave his mouth and cascade over your face and neck. He's struggling to hold on so you can come first and that just makes you even more turned on. Your cunt clenches around him in response and he gasps but doesn't stop. His fingers scrub at your clit and his hips collide roughly against your ass with so much determination that you're fairly certain if a bomb went off outside his window, he still wouldn't stop.
The heat builds bright hot in your belly and spreads to your thighs, which ache from being held open so long but you know the soreness will be worth it. In fact, you hope you are sore. You want to feel him whenever you move the rest of the day. You want to carry that secret reminder of how good he fucks you. The fantasy sends sparks behind your eyelids and you gasp his name, probably way too loudly, but you don't care anymore.
"That's it," he grunts, "let g-go, baby, c'mon. I ne—need it. Wanna wat—watch that pretty face when y-you come."
Baby. He doesn't call you that often, maybe only once or twice, but shit—hearing it today sets something off in your brain. His voice is so soft around the word, making it sound full of meaning rather than some throwaway term of endearment that gets picked in the heat of the moment.
Maybe he did that on purpose.
Maybe you really like it.
You open your mouth, ready to warn him, but your orgasm tears through you unexpectedly and instead your voice breaks over the words, splintering into the air as your vision blurs and your body gives in, jolting with pleasure in his hold.
You must have been too loud because when your senses start to return, you realize Joel's mouth is covering yours. But then a second later he's coming with a muffled groan of your name and you don't really care anymore because the hot throb of his cock between your legs is all you want to think about. At some point you pull his hand away from your clit, too overstimulated to take any more, but he's lost in his own hazy pleasure, still riding out his orgasm with weak, stunted rolls of his hips. You know it's over when a shudder rockets down his spine and his grip around your middle loosens, but you both still lay there, intertwined and breathless.
"Christ," he finally rasps, resting his sweaty forehead on your shoulder as he pants for air. You wince a bit when he drops your leg and immediately flex the joints to encourage circulation to return. Then his breath begins to level out and you feel the soft graze of his mouth over your skin before he sweeps the hair out of your eyes. "You okay, darlin'? Still with me?"
"Mhm," you reply, but your eyes are closed and your limbs are boneless, suggesting otherwise. "Think I need a nap," you mumble, then smile when you feel his fingers drift carefully over your face, like he's memorizing it. A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, you can feel it pressed against your back, jolting your body with his as he quietly laughs and kisses your cheek.
"You can stay here as long as you want," he says before shifting his hips back. His cock slips out of you and you make a soft noise but otherwise remain still. "Any time you want, for that matter."
"Asking me to move in already?" you giggle into the pillow.
"If it means I get to wake up to this every day, I'll start packin' your shit right now."
"You're crazy," you sigh before rolling onto your back. You're stiff as hell but you feel good. So, so good. Your eyes flutter open to find Joel leaning on his elbow, looking down at you with the dopey smile that shows off those goddamn dimples.
"Ain't my fault. You make me crazy."
"So it's my fault?"
"Yeah. Fuckin'—minx," he grins before cupping your cheek and kissing you so sweetly you almost forget he just fucked the life out of you like an animal. Almost.
You hum happily when he pecks a few small kisses against your lips, deciding to just let yourself enjoy the moment without worrying or overthinking or panicking or... any of the other bullshit you're prone to doing.
"I'm stealing this shirt," you whisper with your eyes closed, plucking feebly at the shirt he dressed you in the night before. His mouth twitches, you can feel the sharp bristles of his beard before he speaks.
"Anythin' you want, it's yours."
Your eyes pop open and give him a mischievous look. "Anything?"
He nods very seriously. "Anythin'."
You tap your chin for a moment before raising an eyebrow, which he returns as he waits for your request.
"How about breakfast?"
"What do you like?"
"Do you have eggs?"
"I do."
"And toast?"
"Got it."
"Extra butter?"
Joel laughs and pushes himself up. Your eyes trail over his stark naked body as he strolls casually to his bathroom.
"Comin' right up, honey."
He disappears into the room to dispose of the condom and clean himself up while you stretch out happily in his bed, like a cat in the sun. When he returns, he goes to his dresser for some clothes and you watch lazily as he gets himself ready.
"Alright, so," he says brightly, "eggs, toast with extra butter, and sausage. You stay right here—"
"I didn't say anything about sausage."
"Didn't have to. Know you already love it." Then he winks at you and you groan in disgust.
"You're gross."
"Ain't what you were sayin' twenty minutes ago."
You throw a pillow in his general direction and he ducks, missing the impact with a laugh. But when he reaches for the doorknob, you suddenly sit up in bed and clear your throat.
"Wait—"
He glances back at you and drops his arm to his side. He's still smiling and it makes you smile, too, because you put that smile on his face. You made him feel happy.
So, with only a slight tremor to your voice, you square your shoulders and swallow your nerves.
"I... have a crush on you."
His eyes slowly brighten and his smile widens. He takes a step forward, back in your direction, but then stops.
"You like me." It's not a question.
"I do."
"How much?"
Your mouth twists and you frown as if you're thinking, then hold up your thumb and forefinger, measuring about an inch of space between the two. "This much?"
"Bullshit," Joel laughs, and you can't help it. You laugh too, drop your hand in your lap, and tilt your head to the side.
"Yeah. You're right. That was bullshit."
And this time, he doesn't hold himself back. He crosses the room in three long strides and bends down, fists sinking into the mattress on either side of your hips, and he kisses you. It's firm and sweet and made all the better by your matching smiles. When he pulls away, your nose bumps gently against his when you speak.
"I like you a lot."
"I know," he whispers, taking away any chance of there being an awkward, vulnerable moment, then gives you one more quick kiss before straightening up.
"I'll be back," he tells you, turning towards the door once again. "Get some rest. I got a feelin' you'll like me even more after breakfast, you'll need your strength."
"Shut up," you giggle, falling into his sheets. The door opens then shuts and you lay there, content, surrounded by his scent and his things and his clothes. It's scary, you know that, but you can't stop yourself. It feels so good to be with him. And, hell, maybe he actually is different.
How else will you know unless you give it a try?
"Tommy! You left the goddamn door unlocked again!"
"Jesus, Joel, my fuckin' head—"
Then there's shuffling and grunting downstairs that sounds way too familiar and your eyes open to stare, unamused, at the ceiling.
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Summary: You meet Tommy after you pick up him and Joel from a bar. The night ends with you finally being honest and letting Joel in... a little.
Warnings: language, cigarette use, alcohol use, Joel loves bossy women, fluff, smut (18+), piv sex, fingering, handjob, reader has major self esteem/anxiety issues, very very mild hint at an abusive past relationship, Tommy and Joel acting like children and being little shits
other parts here
One forty two in the morning.
That's when your phone disturbs your blissfully deep sleep.
Nobody ever calls you in the middle of the night. Hell, no one even texts you in the middle of the night. It's why your volume remains on every day. The most action you'll get is a ping from your work email, and you've silenced that feature during the overnight hours long ago.
You may work like a dog, but you draw the line at anyone fucking with your sleep.
So when your phone wakes you with your ringtone—not your email or text sound, but your ringtone—you assume someone died. Has to be, right?
You're still groggy as you frantically reach for the phone, heart in your throat and eyes half open while you try to mentally figure out what time it is in London—would your sister call you and forget to check the time zone? Was she hurt or in trouble?
"Hello?" you answer without even looking at the caller ID. Your voice is thick and you sound like a frog. You clear your throat and try again. "Hello?"
There's shouting on the other end but it doesn't sound like an emergency. Not exactly happy shouting, either. Just... loud as all hell. And a whole bunch of voices, too. You blink and rub your eyes.
"Oh, h-hey! Hey, honey, can you hear me?"
You wince and pull the phone from your ear before angling the receiver towards your mouth. "Joel?"
"Did I wake you?"
More shouting that's now sounding like the drunken sort. People laughing and swearing are walking by, you can tell because their voices decrescendo as they presumably walk down the sidewalk.
"What—are you—" You shake your head. Words are hard to formulate.
"Y'there?" Joel sounds drunk, you can hear it now. Anger begins to simmer in your veins.
"Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?" you snap.
"Huh?"
"Why are you—"
"Gimme the phone!"
"Fuck outta here—"
"Joel, I wanna—"
There's rustling then. You can hear their shoes scraping on the sidewalk and you roll your eyes as you wait. The rustling finally stops and the second male voice curses out Joel before you hear the telltale flick of a lighter and then you hear his voice again, just a little breathless now.
"Sorry 'bout that," Joel murmurs. You can hear his footsteps on the sidewalk, he must be walking away.
"What do you want, Joel?"
"Got a favor to ask," he says, "any chance you can p—" Joel hiccups and you scowl. "Sorry. Any chance y'can pick us up?"
"Why?"
"'Cause we're drunk as shit and this goddamn bouncer's got a hard on f'Tommy here and won't let 'im leave without talkin' to someone that ain't me, so we can't call a cab, 'n I ain't callin' our ma or—"
"Oh, Jesus Christ, fine!" you yell, flinging the covers off your bed. "Where are you?"
He tells you while you shove on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt.
"The hell's the matter with you two? Your brother's home for two days and you're already getting into fights?" You snatch your purse off the hook by the door and slip on some sneakers.
"No, no, didn't get into any fights," he says defensively. "Tommy just flirted with the wrong girl, is all. Perfectly—" hiccup "—harmless."
"Yeah, right," you grumble, locking the door behind you. Goosebumps erupt across your skin at the first touch of night air. "It's freezing, Joel, I can't believe you're dragging me out of bed for this bullshit."
"How's 'bout I drag you back into bed later and make it up to you?" he teases. You roll your eyes and collapse into the driver's seat of your car.
"I'm not interested in having drunk, sloppy sex with you. That's the opposite of making it up to me."
"Easy, darlin'. Save some of that sass for when y'get here. Know how much I love it."
"You're such a pain in the ass." You let the grin stretch across your face only because Joel can't see you because goddamn him, even when he interrupts your sleep, he manages to make you smile.
You hear the humor in his voice when he answers. "Yeah, you like this pain in the ass, though."
"Do not." You're still grinning as you back out of your driveway.
"Uh huh. You got a big ol' crush on me."
"Do you want me to just go back home? 'Cause I'll do it," you warn.
"Nope. No I do not," he replies. "Miss you. Wanna see you."
You flick on your turn signal. "You're drunk and horny."
"Both things can be true at the same time."
"Funny," you say dryly.
"C'mon now, you're sayin' you don't miss me? Not even a little?" he asks, attempting to sound seductive but it's coming across more like he's confused.
"We saw each other on Sunday," you remind him.
"Feels like a month ago," he grumbles.
You crack your window just a smidge to let in some fresh air while simultaneously running the heat on low.
"Who's the one with a crush now?" you say smugly into your speakerphone.
"Never denied havin' a crush on you," Joel answers, "and I still ain't."
Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you bite your lip. "You're a real sweet talker, you know that?"
"Mm. Maybe that's why we work so good. I got the sweetness and you got the spice."
"Spice?" At this point you're just keeping him on the phone so you know he and Tommy haven't wandered off somewhere, but it also serves as great entertainment as you drive the mostly deserted roads to a bar on the other side of town.
"Yeah. Spice. Like heat or pepper or somethin'."
"Sugar and pepper do not sound good together."
"Ah, don't knock it til you try it, otherwise, how're you gonna know if it's any good?"
You have to give him credit. Even though he's hammered, he still manages to not-so-subtly find ways to tell you what a great couple you'd make. It's been a fun few weeks, but you're still holding firm on keeping things casual, and Joel seems to have figured out just how far he can push you without tipping over that edge.
"Y'there?" he asks, and you nod although he can't see you.
"Yeah. Ten minutes out."
Joel sighs on the other end as the background noise starts to increase, indicating he's pacing back towards the bar.
"Got a goddamn headache. Loud as shit here." Hiccup.
"You sure it's the music and not the shots?"
"How'd you know we did shots?"
"I didn't. Crazy guess."
Joel laughs. "Wanna know somethin'?"
You smile to yourself as you roll up to a stop light. "What?"
Just then, Tommy's voice fills the speaker.
"—wasn't doin' nothin' and this motherfucker over here says—"
"Keep your goddamn voice down."
"Who's on the phone?"
"I told'ya already, we're gettin' picked up—"
"Ohhh! She's comin' to get us? Hey! Lemme talk—"
"Y'can talk to 'er when she gets here, back up!"
"Joel? I'm a block away," you say loudly into the speaker, but the brothers are too busy bickering.
"Stop bein' all weird and gimme the phone!"
"I ain't bein' weird! You're the one—"
"H-hey! Hey, sweetheart!" Tommy yells. You wince at the volume just as the lights from the bar come into view. "He's been talkin' 'bout you all night! He tell y'that? Wouldn't shut—"
Despite yourself, your heart lurches in your chest at Tommy's revelation. There's the sound of plastic clattering onto concrete and the scuffle of shoes mixed with some grunts and you pull into the parking lot.
When you park, you immediately spot them wrestling and get out of the car with your purse slung over your shoulder. As you approach, you notice the brothers attracted a few curious onlookers, but once it became clear it wasn't a real flight, they moved on. The bouncers, however, stood with their backs against the brick wall and their arms crossed over their chests, looking amused as they watched two drunk idiots try and fail to get one another in a headlock.
"Joel!" you shout, and finally they pull apart, breathless with their hair and clothes askew. You're about ten feet away but Joel, being drunk as he is, stumbles to pick up his phone and presses it to his ear.
"Y'still there?" he pants into the receiver.
"No, I'm here, dumbass," you say sharply. Joel's head snaps up at the same time as Tommy's and he gives you the dopiest grin before pocketing his phone.
"There she is," he slurs, opening his arms wide. His dark T-shirt is splotched with wet marks, probably spilled beer, and his wallet looks like it's about to fall out of his back pocket. His hair is sticking up every which way and his eyes look glassy but he still looks absolutely thrilled to see you.
"This is what you woke me up for? Some discount version of the WWE?" You reach to push his wallet deeper into his pocket and he envelopes you in a bear hug, pulling your face abruptly against his chest. He reeks of alcohol and cigarettes and you cringe before pushing him away.
"You stink."
"You smell fuckin' great," he says, still smiling like a fool.
Tommy says your name in a sing-songy voice, pulling your attention to the younger brother. He looks like Joel. All dark features, eyes that sparkle and a killer smile. His hair is cut short and he's clean shaven, very military-esque, but he's just as much a mess as Joel. His open button down shirt is hanging off one shoulder, revealing a white tank top underneath. His cheeks are pink and he looks a little sweaty. He's most definitely very drunk. Still, he remembers his manners and straightens his spine before offering you his hand and name.
"Yeah, I gathered, hi," you say, shaking his hand.
"Happy I get to put a face to the name," Tommy grins, still holding onto your hand. His eyes dart between you and Joel. "She's pretty," he tells his brother, and you speak before Joel can answer.
"She says thank you." You pull your hand away and glance around the front of the bar. Country music blares from somewhere inside—a live band, you think. Cigarette smoke clings to both their clothes and hovers in the air from nearby patrons taking a break against the wall. Laughter and shouting echo just inside the open door, which is framed by the two large bouncers watching the three of you warily.
"You with them?" One of the bouncers juts his chin stiffly in Tommy and Joel's direction. You sigh and nod before stepping away from them.
"Unfortunately. What'd they do?"
"That one—" The second bouncer scowls at Tommy. "Told my girlfriend he wanted to use her g-string as floss."
"Christ," you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose.
"It was a compliment," Tommy chimes in behind you.
"For the record, this is not a great first impression of you, Tom," you say through clenched teeth.
"Then he climbed onto the stage when the band was on break and nearly broke the strings on the guy's twelve hundred dollar Fender."
"That rendition of Highway to Hell almost cleared out the whole bar," the first bouncer says, shaking his head. "Stumbled into some tables and broke a shit-ton of glasses. Got four customers soaked in gin. He's costin' us money."
"I am so sorry," you plead, "I'll take them home right now."
"They're lucky we didn't call the cops."
"Only reason we didn't is 'cause that one said he's military."
"I know, and I'm sure once they sober up, they will be able to appreciate that act of kindness," you say, turning to watch the two brothers grow bored and start bickering once again, but now it sounds like it's over who is going to get to sit shotgun. They start swatting at each other, which inevitably evolves to pushing and yelling, as the three of you continue to watch.
"The hangover'll be punishment enough," one of the bouncers mutters. You nod in agreement before turning back to the two men.
"So why does it feel like I'm being punished when I didn't even do anything?"
They chuckle and turn to slip back inside the bar. "At least your boyfriend wasn't the one startin' trouble."
"He's not my boyfriend," you grumble to yourself before looking back at the two brothers, poised to get into yet another wrestling match. "Hey! Knock it off and follow me to the car!"
"Yes, ma'am," Joel says instantly after giving Tommy one more hard shove. He falls into step next to you and slings an arm heavily around your shoulders while Tommy lights up a cigarette a few paces behind.
"What exactly was the plan here?" you ask, digging your keys out of your purse. "Who was gonna drive? You're both shitfaced."
Joel shrugs. "Cab. But th'bouncer was bein' a dick and didn't—"
"That bouncer did you guys a favor."
"Sure as hell did 'cause now you're here," Joel smirks.
You roll your eyes with a grin and unlock your car doors. "Get in," you say, shrugging off his arm.
"Shotgun," Tommy says, flicking his cigarette onto the sidewalk.
"No fuckin' way—"
"I called it!"
"I don't give a shit!"
"You have five seconds to figure it out before I leave you both here," you warn, slipping back into the driver's seat. Joel shoves Tommy and races around the front of your car, jumping in next to you and locking the door before his brother has a chance to catch up.
"Your mother must be a saint," you tell them flatly when Tommy begrudgingly slides into the backseat.
"Our Ma woulda let us get hauled to jail just to teach us a lesson," Tommy laughs.
"And we woulda thanked her for it the next day," Joel adds, slumping into your passenger seat with a heavy sigh. You fiddle with the heat before cracking your window again, then you check your mirrors and start to back out of your spot.
"Why d'you got the heat on if the window's open?" Joel asks.
"I like the fresh air but I'm cold."
"Can we stop 'n get some food?" asks Tommy, leaning forward to stick his head between your seats.
"Fine," you mumble, squinting your eyes to see through the dark lot.
"Wings?"
"Hell yeah, wings," Joel confirms.
"Where?" you ask tiredly. Between the two of them, you think you cobble together some coherent directions and you begin your journey to your first stop.
It's blissfully quiet for the drive. Both men seem to have tired themselves out a bit and they're quietly staring out the windows. It gives you a much needed break. By the time you approach the restaurant, you're feeling alot more relaxed than an hour ago.
"I'll run in and give 'em the order to-go," Tommy says, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Probably be like twenty minutes or so."
"No way you're going in there alone, drunk off your ass," you scold, turning off the car. "We're all going in. C'mon."
Joel groans in protest but unbuckles his own seatbelt and follows you both inside. You usher them forward to the empty counter and make sure they don't order the entire menu before finding a booth to sit and wait. When Joel squeezes in next to you, casually tossing his arm over the back of the booth and scooting close enough so your legs touch under the table, Tommy grins and the inevitable interrogation begins.
"So," he says slowly, gaze darting back and forth, "how long's this been goin' on?"
"Little more than a month," Joel answers right away. It gives you pause until you realize he's right—it has been. In fact, it's closer to two months now since you first slept together. When the hell did that happen?
"How'd you meet?"
"He had a job working on my next door neighbor's house," you say, planning on leaving it at just that, but of course, Joel interjects.
"Kept comin' over to complain 'bout the noise. Took me a few days to realize she was flirtin' with me."
"I was not!" You smack his thigh under the table and he laughs.
"See? She's doin' it again. Yellin's her love language."
"What the hell's a love language?" Tommy asks, nose scrunched with confusion, but you both ignore him.
"Then what is your love language?" Joel asks, turning his body to face you in the booth. His arm rests on the table and he's smiling at you like you're the only two people in the room.
"Giving or receiving?"
"Now we're talkin'," Joel laughs, "both."
Tommy shakes his head. "Hey—what are love languages?"
"Giving is acts of service, receiving is words of affirmation," you answer without hesitation. You hold his gaze with an amused expression while he works out this new bit of information.
"So you do got a crush on me," he finally teases. Across from you, Tommy watches the exchange on a tape delay.
"How did you get that out of what I just said?" you argue.
Joel shrugs like it's obvious. "You picked us up when I called you in the middle of the night, didn't you? Sounds like an act of service t'me."
You blink slowly, then scoff. "I just didn't want you to get thrown in jail or die driving home."
"Nah, you like me," Joel smirks.
"Wait, wait—" Tommy says, waving his hands in the air. You each turn to him as thinks, which takes much longer than necessary. "Ain't you... together? Like, datin'? Why'd—what're you—"
"No," you reply, cutting him off. "We're just... hanging out."
"Hangin'... out?" Tommy echos, stretching out each word slowly. You nod but Joel remains quiet next to you. Tommy scratches his head as he thinks some more and you take a deep breath, willing their food to finish cooking faster. "So you ain't his girlfriend but... y'still came to pick us up tonight?"
You roll your eyes. Jesus, they're drunk.
"Yes."
Tommy and Joel are silent except for the rhythmic, impatient tapping of Joel's fingers on top of the booth behind you. Finally, a slow smile stretches across Tommy's face as he points accusingly at you across the table.
"You like him."
"What?" you frown.
"Told you," says Joel smugly.
"You got a big ol' crush on him."
You bury your face in your hands to hide the heat that has crept up to flood your neck and cheeks. "Shut up," you groan.
"Oh, Mama's gonna love her," Tommy says to Joel. Your head snaps up, eyes wide.
"She's a spitfire," Joel replies, like you're not even there.
"Exactly why she'll love her."
Your mouth opens to protest—to say anything to stop this terrifying conversation in its tracks—but mercifully, their order number gets called and both men stand to go pick up their bags, forgetting all about your current mortification.
"Shit, this smells good," Tommy murmurs, opening his bag. Joel reaches in and steals a fry, popping one in his mouth before snatching his own food from the counter. You still don't have your bearings when he tells you they're ready to go, both of them completely absorbed with their food and oblivious to the way embarrassment is still coursing through your veins.
The drive back to Joel's house is quiet. Usually, you'd tell them not to eat in your car, especially something as messy as chicken wings, but you need the silence so you can process your own thoughts, so you let it go this time.
You've been pushing it out of your head for a while now, but it's becoming hard to ignore. They're right, obviously. You do like Joel. Problem is, you like him... a lot. And you're entirely unsure how to navigate these feelings because everything with him was so unexpected that you never allowed yourself enough time to confidently heal before falling into this... thing with him. So you've been pushing him away. Keeping him at an arms length. And Joel's been okay with it. What keeps surprising you is his persistence. Most men would jump at the chance to carry on a casual sex relationship—all the benefits and none of the baggage of a committed relationship. And yet, Joel keeps suggesting more. The question is... can you offer more?
"Right here," Joel says, pointing with a sticky finger towards a sleepy little house on the right side of a cul-de-sac.
"You ain't ever been here before?" Tommy asks.
"Uh, no," you reply as you pull into Joel's driveway and shift your car into park. "Joel usually picks me up when we have plans."
"I'm a gentleman," he tells Tommy, shooting him a look in the mirror. "Could learn a thing or two."
"Shut up," Tommy snaps, then they both collect the rest of the food and shimmy out of your car. As you follow them to the front door, you cringe to think about the smell of hot wings currently embedding itself into the fibers of your seats.
The brothers stumble into Joel's modest house, bickering about god knows what as they make their way to the kitchen, leaving you to quietly shut the front door and look around.
His home is... warm. It's well lived in and cozy, and it instantly makes you feel comfortable. Not that you weren't before, it's just... you never know what you're going to get when you walk into a bachelor's house.
There's a few steps that lead up into an already dimly lit living room. The couch is pushed up against the front wall, angled towards the television that houses countless DVDs stacked on shelves next to it. There's some rather decent wall art that impresses you, and a fake plant or two, but what really takes you by surprise is the guitar resting against the wall.
You slip your sneakers off before stepping onto the plush carpet, feet softly crossing the room and stopping right before the instrument. You drag one finger gently over the neck, then test the feel of the strings under the pad of your thumb. You try to imagine Joel playing it, maybe even singing. The thought has you smiling to yourself before eventually dropping your hand and turning back around to map the rest of the house.
Across from you is a staircase leading to a hallway—bedrooms and bathroom, you assume. Right before the stairs is the opening to the kitchen, where bright lights flood the carpeted floor and cast shadows against the wall of the brothers moving somewhere around the corner from where you stand.
It's cute. You like it. It's definitely his space. There's a certain feel to it that just reminds you of Joel. Maybe it's the smell or the leather couch or the ambient lighting that puts you at ease, the same way his voice and touch manage to do.
"Hey—"
Joel's head appears around the corner, pulling you out of your analysis with a smile.
"Sorry," you tell him, feet instantly moving to join them in the kitchen.
"Don't be," he says softly in your ear right as you walk by. His fingers brush your arm briefly, grounding you without even realizing it. "You hungry? I saved you some." Joel grabs his bag from the counter and sets it on his small kitchen table, where you're currently standing. Tommy is deeper into the kitchen, leaning against the stove, eating a wing with one hand and holding a glass bottle of beer in the other. He looks perfectly content, like he's home, and you get the feeling that maybe Joel's house acts like a second home to his family because that's just how Joel is. He's... open. Kind. Hospitable. Easy going. Sweet.
Shit.
"No, I'm okay," you say, clearing your throat. He saved you some of his food. "You eat it. I'll have heartburn for days if I eat that right now."
"I got other stuff, too," Joel says immediately while reaching for his fridge. But you quickly wave him off.
"No, really, I'm good. Just tired."
Joel opens the fridge anyway and grabs a few bottles of water. He tosses one to Tommy who narrowly manages to catch it after dropping a bone into his bag.
"Drink it," Joel says firmly, although the slight drunken wobble in his knees takes some of the edge away from his threat.
"I will."
"And don't leave the door unlocked like last night," Joel adds. He hands you a water and slips his hand over yours, leading you to the staircase. Before your foot hits the first step, you pause.
"Oh, I was..."
Joel stops and looks at you over his shoulder, patiently waiting for you to continue. He looks so endearing, all drunk and sleepy, and there's something extra appealing about watching him maneuver in his home. It's like exploring a side of him you haven't seen before. So what are you going to do? Are you really going to tell him you're going home instead of staying the night? It's so late as it is.
You think it over for about half a second.
"Nevermind," you smile, and his fingers squeeze yours before he turns to climb the stairs, leading you into his bedroom and shutting the door.
Joel drops your hand and moves into the room, flicking on the lights next to his bed and readjusting the grey sheets and comforter while you stand at the door with your water, taking everything in. This is Joel's most private space. He had no clue you'd be seeing it tonight. There's no way he could have prepared or hidden anything weird... what you're seeing is the real deal. The raw, honest version of his life. And... you like it. You like it.
His room is a bit messy, but that's fine. It's normal to have random articles of clothing draped over a hardly used treadmill in the corner. It's normal to have the top of a dresser filled with odds and ends he likely emptied from his pockets after too many long days. It's normal to have a hamper with dirty clothes hanging over the sides. There's nothing scary or strange here. There's nothing to "find".
Your gaze slowly slides over his king sized bed, where he just finished fixing the bedding. On one end table is a dead plant, an open magazine, and a television remote. The other has a coaster and his phone charger. But what really draws your eye is the artwork hung above his cherry spindle bed frame.
On the right is a vintage music festival poster for Club Deville. The center lists all of the musical acts in a warped font, the top advertises tacos and beer, and as if you couldn't already guess, Austin, TX is listed as the location on the bottom. There's an equally old looking poster for another festival on the left side of the wall, but this one has half of an acoustic guitar taking up a big chunk of the ad, along with the names of some acts you don't recognize. And right in the middle, taking up residence directly front and center, is a peaceful painting of a mountainous region with one single solitary deer in the foreground. You wonder if he chose it because something about the deer being all alone spoke to him, or if it was just a coinscidence.
"It ain't much," Joel fidgets slightly and you realize your silence may have unintentionally made him a little nervous, "but it's mine. Great neighbors, good schools, safe area." He moves to his dresser and begins rummaging for pajamas.
"I like it, too," you say softly. He pauses before twisting to look at you, but your eyes are back on the posters. "I didn't realize music was such a big interest of yours."
He follows your gaze and nods. "Yeah, I like to check out concerts when I can."
"And you play guitar?" you ask. Joel shuts a dresser drawer and tosses clean clothes onto the bed.
"Wouldn't say that. Used to, when I had more time. But now—" Joel strips his shirt over his head and you immediately lock onto his broad chest, "—I don't really practice as much. Can't seem to bring myself to get rid of the thing, though."
You feel a little hypnotized for a second as he stands there shirtless because it takes you until a fresh shirt is almost over his head when you blink and stop him.
"Wait, you've gotta shower," you say, stepping forward, "you stink like whiskey and cigarettes."
Joel frowns and lifts one arm to sniff himself. "I don't smell it."
"Of course you don't, you're nose blind to it by now. Don't put fresh clothes on—" You stop him again when he lifts his shirt to shove it over his head and he eyeballs you with a look you can read a mile away.
"You're just tryin' to get me naked."
"Oh, shut up," you say, but the smile that tugs across your face takes the bite out of your words.
Joel dramatically sighs in defeat and drops the clean shirt back on his bed. "Fine," he grumbles, undoing his belt buckle as he walks to the bathroom attached to his room, "but you're comin' with me."
"What? Why?"
"I'm drunk," he says over his shoulder. Then his jeans slide down his legs, along with his boxers, and your mouth goes dry at the sight of his bare backside. "Might fall 'n hit my head. You'll never be able to live with yourself."
You want to say something snippy in response, but you don't. Instead, you leave your water by the bed and pad across the carpet to the bathroom. This room isn't decorated that much, save for a fancy sounding soap next to his sink that you find yourself reaching for.
"Wouldn't take you for a shea butter and eucalyptus kind of guy," you say, taking a sniff. Behind you, the water is already turned on, warming up as you investigate the room further. But then Joel's hands are on your hips, lifting up your sweatshirt so his palms can glide slowly across your stomach and you pause.
"Gotta keep my hands soft f'you, don't I?" he murmurs in your ear before his teeth gently graze your lobe. Your eyelids flutter and you feel the heat already building below your neckline. Your head tips back to rest on his shoulder and his lips keep moving, grazing lightly over your throat while he pushes your sweatshirt up further.
You tilt your chin to the side so your mouth is right next to his ear. "But I like them a little rough," you whisper, then smile when you hear him groan.
"Yeah, I know you do, honey," he says gruffly against your neck. Goosebumps erupt over your skin from the scratch of his beard. His fingers splay wide across your hips and squeeze. "Goddamn, you're so pretty. Missed you so much."
"It's only been five days," you tease, squirming out of his hold. He pouts and your gaze drops to find him fully naked and half hard.
"Five very long days," he says, reaching for you again. You giggle and swat his hands away.
"Clean up first," you tell him. He rolls his head back and makes a frustrated noise before doing as he's told and turning his attention back to the shower.
"Not fair. Teasin' me like this," he says after he steps behind the glass door. You perch on the edge of his sink, swinging your legs playfully over the side as you strip your sweatshirt off. The steam from the shower and the heat of Joel's touch is too much, so you leave it in a pile with his clothes, not really caring if it smells like his night out when you pick it up tomorrow.
Of course, his gaze tracks the movement through the glass and he gives you an appreciative look when you're left in just a tight camisole and your sleep shorts.
"What'd I just say?"
You laugh. "It's hot in here!"
He rolls his eyes and grumbles something under his breath before reaching for his soap. You watch with your lower lip snagged between your teeth as he lathers up: white, foamy bubbles slide effortlessly down his strong arms, his broad chest, his thick cock. You swallow.
Joel glances at you every so often as you shamelessly watch those big hands glide over his dark hair, threading shampoo through the messy locks and then scrub mindlessly at his short beard. Your face must give you away, you think, because it's hard to hide the arousal building in your core the longer you stare. It's also impossible not to notice that he's now fully erect between his legs. The sight of his cock bobbing every time he turns around makes your thighs press together tightly, desperately trying to quell the ache.
Fuck it, you think, and slide off the counter.
"What're you doin'?" Joel asks when you crack open the glass door.
"Missed a spot," you say, reaching in to snag his washcloth. "Turn around."
He smirks and does as you say so you can pretend to wash a spot on his back when in reality, all you want to do is feel the heat and strength of his body under your fingertips.
"Get it?" he asks.
"Yep," you lie, and what happens next is so fast you hardly have time to register it.
Joel takes the washcloth with one hand and your wrist with the other, tugging you inside the shower and pressing you against the cool tile wall in a heartbeat. You squeal when the hot water from the shower head pelts your still very much clothed body, but Joel doesn't care. He presses his wet body against yours and kisses you so deeply that it steals your breath, and any sense that was left in your brain is gone.
Soaked clothes be damned. Your arms circle around his neck and your lips part, inviting his tongue to sweep inside your mouth, past your teeth, pulling a soft moan from your throat. Your hair sticks to your skin, along with your clothes. It's uncomfortable and messy but you don't care. You don't care. For the first time in forever, disorder doesn't bother you. The desire to live in the moment is overriding that voice in your head that is typically deafening, and it feels... exhilarating.
"Did I thank you for pickin' us up tonight?" Joel murmurs against your lips. Before you can answer, his fingers peel open your shorts and sneak past your panties. You gasp into his mouth and he smirks.
"No—no," you stammer when his finger finds your slit. He strokes you there a few times, refusing to touch your clit or press so much as a fingertip inside you.
"No?" he echos.
"Maybe. May—be you d-did..." You trail off because your muscles are going rigid with anticipation and it's pulling all your focus. "Can—can't remember."
Joel tuts under his breath. "Then lemme thank you in a way I'll know you remember."
Your head knocks back against the wall when one thick finger slips inside your pussy. The loud moan that leaves your mouth surely would have gotten Tommy's attention had Joel not muffled it with his lips. He kisses you with so much heat that your knees buckle, or maybe it's the way he crooks his finger just right inside you, it's hard to tell. Joel's free arm wraps around your waist for support when he feels you weaken, pinning you against the wall as the water falls in sheets around you both.
His name harshly rips from your throat when he adds a second finger. The stretch is sharp, your body is too tense, but it quickly melts into pleasure after a few snaps of his wrist.
"Goddamn," Joel breathes, "you're so wet for me."
You shudder when his thumb brushes a tight circle over your clit.
"It's—the water," you gasp unconvincingly.
Joel chuckles and dips his chin down to suck on your neck.
"Bullshit," he mumbles, "I saw the way you were droolin' over this cock, watchin' me. 'N if I could stand the feelin' of a wet condom, I'd be fuckin' you senseless right now."
A shiver rolls straight down your spine.
"I need these off," you pant, shifting your hips. "Take these off—please—"
The fingers inside you stall but remain right where they are while his free hand slips from your waist to tug down your sopping wet bottoms. They fall at your feet with a loud splat and you sigh with relief now that Joel has better access to your body, then he picks up right where he left off.
You whimper and squirm under his touch, body tightening around his fingers when he spreads them apart inside you, reminding you how much you can take and how easy it would be to slip his cock inside you right now.
An insane part of you, the one lost to the haze of pleasure he's currently pulling from your body, reaches down. Your fingers wrap around his cock and you almost angle it so you can sink down on it but the broken moan that falls from Joel's lips echos and skitters over the cool tile walls and stops you.
"Are—are you...?"
"More," he begs, then presses down firmly over your clit. Stars streak across your vision and you obey, sliding your fist up and down, feeling the way he twitches in your palm, reveling in the way he can't seem to remember his own name but he's still managing to fuck you deep and fast with two of his fingers.
"Fuck, that's it," he groans, "keep goin', j-just like that..."
White hot heat fills your body, spreads through your limbs and knocks the air from your lungs. His hips begin to rock steadily into your fist, chasing your touch. Your muscles pull tighter every time he presses his fingers against that devastatingly sensitive spot inside you, and it feels selfish to want more when he's making you feel so good, and yet—
"I want you to fuck me," you whine, "Joel, p-please, I wanna fee—"
His mouth sears over yours, probably shutting you up so he wouldn't be tempted to do something stupid. His tongue pushes into your mouth in rhythm with his fingers. It sets your skin on fire and makes you want to tear off your tank top so you can feel every inch of his warm, wet skin against yours.
When your thumb glides over the tip of his cock and your fist twists down with just the right amount of pressure, his palm slaps loudly against the wall next to your head and he comes, pouring his sticky release all over your fingers and groaning brokenly into your mouth.
"M'sorry," he gasps, hips still flexing, "oh, fu-uck, m'sor—"
"Don't stop," you rasp, clean hand coming up to clutch feverishly at his shoulder. His wrist snaps steadily, the heel of his hand slapping against your swollen clit, driving you higher and higher—literally. At some point you've risen to your tiptoes like your body is elevating but eventually there's no where else to go except to give in.
You bury your face into the crook of his neck when you come, body convulsing in waves as his fingers fuck you through it. Your hand is still wrapped around his cock, only loosening when your body goes limp and sags against his chest.
"Good girl," he whispers hoarsely. Your eyes flutter shut against his shoulder and you're so tired that you don't even wince when he removes his fingers, but you do crack an eye open when he raises his hand to his mouth without hesitation. You watch in a daze as he slides both fingers against his tongue, hollows his cheeks, and softly hums at the taste. Joel catches you staring and you think he's going to make some type of filthy joke, but to your surprise, his expression remains serious. He makes a show of taking his time, licking his fingers clean while you watch with your wet hair and cheek stuck to his shoulder. If it weren't for the water loudly falling around you, you're certain he would be able to hear your heart beating frantically in your chest.
"I know you don't like it," Joel begins after he slowly removes his clean fingers, "but you taste so fuckin' good, honey."
His words ricochet in your brain on a loop: you taste so fuckin' good, you taste so fuckin' good. Joel steps back and makes sure you can stand before helping clean your hand under the shower stream, then lifts the hem of your shirt over your head. It peels off like a second skin and joins the rest of your clothes in the tub. Next, he twists the shower knob to turn off the water and you watch him reach for a fresh towel. He wraps you up first, rubbing your arms to make sure you're warm, and you still haven't said a word. You taste so fuckin' good. Then he grabs one for himself and you watch dumbly as he dries his hair, then his upper body before tying the towel loosely around his waist.
You taste so fuckin' good.
"C'mon," he says softly, offering you his hand. You swallow tightly and shakily take it, allowing him to lead you out of the shower and back into his room. When the air conditioning hits your skin, you shiver, but Joel is quickly offering you a pair of his boxers and a well worn black tshirt. Your eyelids feel heavy as you watch him fall to his knees to help you step into the boxers, one leg at a time. The tips of his fingers trail lightly up the back of your leg with a look on his face like he's admiring a piece of art, then he gently removes the towel, letting it fall to the floor, leaving you topless. His eyes darken when they lock onto your breasts, your nipples hardening under his heavy gaze, but he doesn't try anything. He motions for you to lift your arms so you do, then the soft shirt that smells just like him is gliding over your skin and you swear you could fall asleep standing up, you're that comfortable. You taste so fuckin' good.
"Let's get some sleep, sweetheart," he murmurs after cupping your face and brushing his lips tenderly over your own.
It's not until the lights are off and his bare body is curved around yours that you feel brave enough to speak.
"It's not that I don't like it."
The arm that is draped over your waist stiffens slightly. It's the only indication he's heard you. You let the words settle in the air for a moment, not quite sure what to say next. Then Joel finally speaks.
"Wanna tell me 'bout it, or no?"
You swallow and stare into the darkness. Even though you couldn't see him anyway, you're glad he's behind you. It feels safer this way. Easier.
"I dated someone once," you say timidly, "who wasn't very... nice about it."
Joel stays quiet and lets you talk. He lets you say what you're comfortable saying and he doesn't push or grow impatient with how long it takes you to get the words out. His thumb just rubs soothingly over your hip, a reminder that he's listening.
"I can't... can't relax enough to really enjoy it anymore," you finally manage to admit. "I'm too in my head now. Being the only one wh—who gets anything from it... it's too much pressure or—something."
Joel's lips press against your shoulder blade but still remains silent. He can feel your muscles, every single one tense and practically trembling along the curve of his body.
"Can you please say something?" you whisper.
"If you don't want me to, I won't," he says softly, "but if you trust me enough one day to let me try, I promise you ain't gonna be the only one who enjoys it."
Your heart cartwheels in your chest. You want to believe him, but it's hard. It's so, so hard. You want to trust Joel, you really do, but you're just not ready yet. The walls you've built up took several years to build, and it's going to take some time to knock them down. But you feel a little lighter after sharing this small piece with him, so you figure that's a good sign.
"Can I ask you one thing?" Joel's voice is soft and deep against your back, and his body warming you under his covers is quickly putting you to sleep, but still you give him a sleepy mhmm.
"Where is he now?"
"Prison," you whisper before you can even consider lying. Maybe you didn't want to lie.
There's a pause, then when Joel speaks, the softness in his voice is gone.
"Did—did he... hurt you?"
You hear him, but you don't answer. You don't need to. He already knows.
***
You wake up the next morning to Joel's big hands sliding over the curves of your body, slowly, like he's trying not to wake you. And he's successful, for the most part, because you're aware of him but your head is still heavy with sleep and your muscles are so relaxed and loose in his comfortable bed, so you don't open your eyes. You let his hands wander under your—his—shirt, and bask in the warmth from the morning sun streaming through the window. Or, wait—that warmth might be coming from his body pressing firmly against your back. Either way, it's heavenly, so you let yourself drift.
"I like wakin' up with you in my bed," he mumbles before sucking on a spot behind your ear. Your skin flashes with goosebumps from the delicate graze of his beard and you smile—one thing about Joel is he will never let a vulnerable moment make you feel uncomfortable. Ending the night on a sensitive topic would normally leave anyone waking up feeling raw and exposed, but he knows well enough by now to understand you'll share more when you're ready.
"Shouldn't you be hungover?" you ask sleepily. His arms tighten around your torso.
"Nah. Got the cure right here," he says while simultaneously pushing his hips against your ass. You feel the hard outline of his cock and your pulse skips.
"Joel, your brother—"
"He can sleep through a hurricane," he says, cutting you off. Then his fingers drift up and brush gently over one of your nipples and your spine straightens. You don't fully believe him, but you're willing to test that theory because Joel is just too irresistible at the moment and hell, he's still completely naked. You feel it now when you reach back and circle your fist around his cock. A breath gets caught in your throat and his fingers gently squeeze your nipple with a grunt.
Your gaze sweeps over to the digital clock on his dresser and you convince yourself it's probably too early for Tommy to be awake yet anyway, so you release your hold on his erection and begin to push his boxers down your legs, but when you start to shimmy out of his hold to remove his shirt, he stops you.
"Leave it on," he mutters while squeezing your other breast, "I like it. Looks—looks good on you."
"Yeah?" you breathe with a smirk over your shoulder. Joel kisses you for the first time that morning with a soft mhmm, then pulls away to reach for his nightstand. Still laying on your side, you listen to the drawer open, then the telltale sound of foil crinkling before a beat of silence where you assume he's rolling on the condom. You make a move to roll over when he stops you, pressing his chest up against your back again.
"Wanna fuck you like this," he murmurs before hooking an arm under your knee and lifting it up. You gasp softly when your legs spread open so brazenly in the morning light, then shudder with anticipation because there's something you really like about being maneuvered in his bed like this, especially when you can't get a clear visual. When the tip of his cock bumps against your pussy, you nearly jump out of your skin. Luckily, Joel is still holding open your legs so he manages to keep you in position, but he still chuckles in your ear and whispers for you to stay still.
He notches at your entrance and hardly gives you a chance to breathe before pushing in. Your legs tense at the intrusion and your fingers grab at the pillow under your head for something to hold onto, but Joel's grip under your knee remains firm.
"Shit," he groans, "so fuckin' warm, Christ—"
He pushes in further, splitting you open inch by inch. One hand drops between your legs and your fingers spread around his girth so you can feel him enter you and—shit—he's so thick and it feels so good.
You whine his name through clenched teeth and squeeze your eyes shut, only remembering to exhale once his hips grow flush with your ass.
"You're so hard," you whimper. He shifts and drives himself even deeper, making your jaw drop.
"All 'cause of you, honey," he growls, teeth skimming your ear, then your throat. "Always 'cause of you. So fuckin'... soft 'n—pretty." He sounds pained behind you as he showers you with praise and you can't tell if it's because he's trying to stay quiet or if the deep rock of his hips sinking into your cunt is stealing his breath the same way it's stealing yours.
Your heavy gaze drops down between your legs, where you can just barely see him disappearing inside you over and over, but the angle is too severe to truly see it all. Instead, you have to imagine how your cunt looks stretched open on his cock, you feel how wet he is every time he withdraws his hips, you imagine how his knuckles have to be white with how hard he's gripping your knee.
"So good to me, lettin' me ha-have you like this," he pants in your ear, "what'd I do to—deserve you?"
You hum and arch your back, just a little. Just enough to allow him in deeper. Then your fingers drift up, away from where he's impaling you, and begin to draw slow circles over your neglected clit.
With a sigh, you start to roll your hips. You want to answer but you can't. Nothing comes to mind because... well. Frankly, it's still hard to comprehend he actually likes you as much as he says he does. But it's okay, because he's not really looking for you to reply. He's too fixated on the way your pussy flutters around his length and how your tits look bouncing softly inside his shirt with every deep thrust.
His trembling arm pinned under your side snakes up the front of your shirt and finds your right breast, palming and massaging it while he groans into the back of your neck. Heat burns through your limbs as you rub your clit faster, bringing yourself closer to the edge, but then Joel's hand releases your breast and drops to flick your fingers away. You almost cry out in protest but then the firm pad of his finger is there, pressing down and making you feel much better than you own hand.
"Gotta let me—take care of you sometimes," he says, "lemme give you what you need."
Your eyes roll back because Jesus Christ, easier said than fucking done. You've been taking care of yourself for so long, refusing to rely on anyone anymore after you've been burned, but here's this man—this strong, funny, sweet, sexy, man—who's begging you to let go a little and allow him to help you. And you want him to. You really want him to.
"Okay," you breathe. His hips jerk harder and he opens your hips wider.
"Good girl," he groans, and you have to turn to muffle the feral sounds that rip from your throat into your pillow. "Just wanna ta—take care of you, make you feel good."
"You do," you gasp, body jostling from the force of his thrusts. Your balance is fucked laying on your side but Joel has a good grip around you—you're not going anywhere. Your hand flies back to grab the back of his head, pulling his mouth down to your neck. His lips suction over your throat and then you turn your chin so he can kiss you, which he does. Without hesitation, his mouth seals over yours and his tongue parts your lips. Having him like this—pummeling you from behind, strong arm wrapped around your middle stroking your clit, soft lips moving perfectly against yours—it's an addicting feeling. The kiss only gets broken because the tip of his cock presses tightly against a spot that has you throwing your head back and gasping for air. Then his teeth are there, biting gently at your lower lip while hitting that same spot over and over and—
"Oh, fuck—" you moan, clawing at the back of his head while your muscles pull tight, "—fuck, Joel, I'm—"
The words get knocked out of you when he starts to fuck you faster. Hot puffs of air leave his mouth and cascade over your face and neck. He's struggling to hold on so you can come first and that just makes you even more turned on. Your cunt clenches around him in response and he gasps but doesn't stop. His fingers scrub at your clit and his hips collide roughly against your ass with so much determination that you're fairly certain if a bomb went off outside his window, he still wouldn't stop.
The heat builds bright hot in your belly and spreads to your thighs, which ache from being held open so long but you know the soreness will be worth it. In fact, you hope you are sore. You want to feel him whenever you move the rest of the day. You want to carry that secret reminder of how good he fucks you. The fantasy sends sparks behind your eyelids and you gasp his name, probably way too loudly, but you don't care anymore.
"That's it," he grunts, "let g-go, baby, c'mon. I ne—need it. Wanna wat—watch that pretty face when y-you come."
Baby. He doesn't call you that often, maybe only once or twice, but shit—hearing it today sets something off in your brain. His voice is so soft around the word, making it sound full of meaning rather than some throwaway term of endearment that gets picked in the heat of the moment.
Maybe he did that on purpose.
Maybe you really like it.
You open your mouth, ready to warn him, but your orgasm tears through you unexpectedly and instead your voice breaks over the words, splintering into the air as your vision blurs and your body gives in, jolting with pleasure in his hold.
You must have been too loud because when your senses start to return, you realize Joel's mouth is covering yours. But then a second later he's coming with a muffled groan of your name and you don't really care anymore because the hot throb of his cock between your legs is all you want to think about. At some point you pull his hand away from your clit, too overstimulated to take any more, but he's lost in his own hazy pleasure, still riding out his orgasm with weak, stunted rolls of his hips. You know it's over when a shudder rockets down his spine and his grip around your middle loosens, but you both still lay there, intertwined and breathless.
"Christ," he finally rasps, resting his sweaty forehead on your shoulder as he pants for air. You wince a bit when he drops your leg and immediately flex the joints to encourage circulation to return. Then his breath begins to level out and you feel the soft graze of his mouth over your skin before he sweeps the hair out of your eyes. "You okay, darlin'? Still with me?"
"Mhm," you reply, but your eyes are closed and your limbs are boneless, suggesting otherwise. "Think I need a nap," you mumble, then smile when you feel his fingers drift carefully over your face, like he's memorizing it. A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, you can feel it pressed against your back, jolting your body with his as he quietly laughs and kisses your cheek.
"You can stay here as long as you want," he says before shifting his hips back. His cock slips out of you and you make a soft noise but otherwise remain still. "Any time you want, for that matter."
"Asking me to move in already?" you giggle into the pillow.
"If it means I get to wake up to this every day, I'll start packin' your shit right now."
"You're crazy," you sigh before rolling onto your back. You're stiff as hell but you feel good. So, so good. Your eyes flutter open to find Joel leaning on his elbow, looking down at you with the dopey smile that shows off those goddamn dimples.
"Ain't my fault. You make me crazy."
"So it's my fault?"
"Yeah. Fuckin'—minx," he grins before cupping your cheek and kissing you so sweetly you almost forget he just fucked the life out of you like an animal. Almost.
You hum happily when he pecks a few small kisses against your lips, deciding to just let yourself enjoy the moment without worrying or overthinking or panicking or... any of the other bullshit you're prone to doing.
"I'm stealing this shirt," you whisper with your eyes closed, plucking feebly at the shirt he dressed you in the night before. His mouth twitches, you can feel the sharp bristles of his beard before he speaks.
"Anythin' you want, it's yours."
Your eyes pop open and give him a mischievous look. "Anything?"
He nods very seriously. "Anythin'."
You tap your chin for a moment before raising an eyebrow, which he returns as he waits for your request.
"How about breakfast?"
"What do you like?"
"Do you have eggs?"
"I do."
"And toast?"
"Got it."
"Extra butter?"
Joel laughs and pushes himself up. Your eyes trail over his stark naked body as he strolls casually to his bathroom.
"Comin' right up, honey."
He disappears into the room to dispose of the condom and clean himself up while you stretch out happily in his bed, like a cat in the sun. When he returns, he goes to his dresser for some clothes and you watch lazily as he gets himself ready.
"Alright, so," he says brightly, "eggs, toast with extra butter, and sausage. You stay right here—"
"I didn't say anything about sausage."
"Didn't have to. Know you already love it." Then he winks at you and you groan in disgust.
"You're gross."
"Ain't what you were sayin' twenty minutes ago."
You throw a pillow in his general direction and he ducks, missing the impact with a laugh. But when he reaches for the doorknob, you suddenly sit up in bed and clear your throat.
"Wait—"
He glances back at you and drops his arm to his side. He's still smiling and it makes you smile, too, because you put that smile on his face. You made him feel happy.
So, with only a slight tremor to your voice, you square your shoulders and swallow your nerves.
"I... have a crush on you."
His eyes slowly brighten and his smile widens. He takes a step forward, back in your direction, but then stops.
"You like me." It's not a question.
"I do."
"How much?"
Your mouth twists and you frown as if you're thinking, then hold up your thumb and forefinger, measuring about an inch of space between the two. "This much?"
"Bullshit," Joel laughs, and you can't help it. You laugh too, drop your hand in your lap, and tilt your head to the side.
"Yeah. You're right. That was bullshit."
And this time, he doesn't hold himself back. He crosses the room in three long strides and bends down, fists sinking into the mattress on either side of your hips, and he kisses you. It's firm and sweet and made all the better by your matching smiles. When he pulls away, your nose bumps gently against his when you speak.
"I like you a lot."
"I know," he whispers, taking away any chance of there being an awkward, vulnerable moment, then gives you one more quick kiss before straightening up.
"I'll be back," he tells you, turning towards the door once again. "Get some rest. I got a feelin' you'll like me even more after breakfast, you'll need your strength."
"Shut up," you giggle, falling into his sheets. The door opens then shuts and you lay there, content, surrounded by his scent and his things and his clothes. It's scary, you know that, but you can't stop yourself. It feels so good to be with him. And, hell, maybe he actually is different.
How else will you know unless you give it a try?
"Tommy! You left the goddamn door unlocked again!"
"Jesus, Joel, my fuckin' head—"
Then there's shuffling and grunting downstairs that sounds way too familiar and your eyes open to stare, unamused, at the ceiling.
Hi! I just wanted to say how much I love All Our Secrets and Force of Nature. Your writing is incredible, and I can’t wait to see what happens next in both stories. Thank you for writing and sharing your work with us 🩷 Please tag me in your upcoming posts. Keep up the amazing work!
Oh my god thank you 😭
Yesss of course I'll tag, I'm so happy you're interested, thank you!
I actually may have part four ready sooner than I thought, so 👀
amandla
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