#pedropascal

٠࣪⭑ the fights don’t just sting—they ache. bc dating an older man felt thrilling until you realized when he pulls away, it feels like the end of the world.

٠࣪⭑ joel goes cold after being sharp—crosses his arms, rubs his temples, mutters under his breath, “should’ve known better…” and it makes your chest cave in.

٠࣪⭑ you try not to cry in front of him, but tears slip anyway, and that’s when his anger usually breaks. he sees you trembling and it shatters him. but he doesn’t know how to apologize cleanly. he’ll sigh, tug his hand through his hair, and mutter, “didn’t mean that, baby. you know i didn’t.”

٠࣪⭑ he shows up in the kitchen later, leaning against the counter, voice soft and rough: “i don’t want nobody else. just you. i just get tired. that’s on me.”

٠࣪⭑ his make-up love language is touch: pulling you into his lap, resting his forehead against yours, thumb stroking your cheek. if you’re still raw, he’ll try humor—teasing you gently, voice warm, “clingy little thing, ain’t ya? can’t say I don’t like it.”

٠࣪⭑ joel’s sharp words haunt him. he hates himself for snapping, so when you crawl into his lap later, his first instinct is contrition. his apologies are mumbled into your skin—against your neck, your chest, your thighs. “’m sorry, baby… should never talk to you that way… my sweet little girl, always so good to me.”

٠࣪⭑ he gets slow and indulgent—stroking your hair back, kissing your jaw, murmuring: “pretty little thing, look at you… can’t stay mad when you look so fuckin’ sexy sittin’ on me.”

٠࣪⭑ joel loves when you ride him after a fight—it makes him feel like you’re choosing him again. he’ll grip your hips tight and groan, “that’s it, baby girl. let it out. ride me like you hate me.” and he praises every whimper—soft chuckles between apologies: “so needy… so good for me. my baby girl.”

٠࣪⭑ if it was a bad fight—the kind where you cried, maybe even stormed out—the make-up sex is feral. joel doesn’t wait for slow touches. he pins you, growls into your ear, “you drive me goddamn insane, y’know that? gonna fuck that attitude right outta you.”

٠࣪⭑ he’s mean with his hands—slapping your ass harder than usual, leaving red handprints, fingers digging in where he knows it’ll sting. he loves when you slap him back across the face during sex—sharp little sting that makes him groan. it’s his favorite foreplay, a secret thrill. “yeah, there’s my girl. hit me harder. you’re so fuckin’ hot when you fight me.”

٠࣪⭑ & yes, he loves choking: his palm on your throat, squeezing harder than he normally would. he loves seeing your eyes roll when he does it. grows, “you like when i’m rough, huh? don’t lie.” the release is messy, sweaty, teeth and nails—both of you panting like you can’t decide if you’re still angry or crazy in love again

٠࣪⭑ but even if it was rough, joel never skips the aftermath. he pulls you tight against him, whispers into your hair: “i love you. don’t wanna fight no more, baby girl. just want you.”

٠࣪⭑ he presses kisses to every red mark he left, soothing with murmured “sorry, sorry, i’m stupid, i want all of you, every little goddamn annoying, sexy thing about you, don’t ever wanna lose you.”

When you and Joel started your relationship, the subject of kids was a tough one to get through, given how it had ended with Sarah.

But when Benjamin was around - when you'd babysit, he grew to love you. Joel couldn't deny the effect that the sight had on him. Seeing you take care of his nephew and get along with the kid, it made his thoughts trail to places where he wasn't expecting.

How your body would change - how your stomach would adjust and change to make room for his child growing inside of you.

The child he put there...

It did something to him that he wasn’t going to admit out loud.

Today, the family was gathered for a meal with one another as a way to catch up with each other, and with what’s been going on around Jackson. Family dinners in Jackson were normally loud in a way you learned to love. They weren’t the kind of loud that came from chaos or fear - not anymore - but from a place of pure joy that the others were alive and together. From overlapping voices, the clinking of cutlery, and laughter bouncing off the walls, the house was livelier the more the family spent time together.

Joel sat beside you at the table, shoulder warm where it pressed against yours. He looked relaxed, at ease in a way that still sometimes surprised you to see. You had grown used to the gruff and serious look that was practically glued onto his face - that seeing him calm and not tense under the weight of keeping everything around safe… it was a pleasant change. The lines of his face were softened when he laughed at something his brother said, head tipping back slightly.

And then there was Benji. The little boy had made his way over to you, his small hand tugging at your sleeve, his eyes bright and smile wide, like you were the most interesting person in the room. And right now, you were.

“Can you read this with me?” He asks, holding up the picture book he has in his free hand.

You couldn’t help but smile at his adorable question. He could’ve gone to his mother, his father, or even his uncle. But he chose you, and how were you going to say no to him? “Of course, bud,” you say, making space for him on the couch, which he hopped on and made himself at home on your lap, and all you could do was laugh at his quiet insistence to sit on your lap before you began reading to him.

While you read to him, Joel was just admiring you. The way you weren’t tense around the boy, and how your lips moved as you pronounced each word from the pages of the book. Occasionally, your gaze would flick up to him, and you caught him in his staring trance. You saw the look of pure affection, and maybe a hint of something else. Longing? But not in like you were used to.

“You okay?” you asked softly, gently nudging his knee with your elbow.

He blinked slowly, like he was being pulled out of his wandering thoughts, before nodding, “‘m fine, darlin’.”

You could tell he wasn’t being fully truthful with you, but you didn’t push the subject much. Not with his brother, young nephew, and Maria in the room.

Once the book was finished, Benji was already falling asleep against you, and that’s when Maria and Tommy got up to take him back to their house for his bedtime.

“Goodnight,” he muttered to you as Tommy picked him up from your lap, his head resting against Tommy’s shoulder. “Night uncle Grumpy,” he says to Joel, and none of you could hold back the smile that made its way on your faces. And Joel just gave a playful eyeroll and a single nod, “Night kiddo.”

Maria and Tommy exchanged goodnights with the two of you before you closed the door behind them and turned to Joel, leaning against the doorframe, “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight. More than normal.”

“Just been thinkin’,” he mutters, looking down at his chipped coffee mug, giving a small shrug.

“About?” you pressed, tilting your head to the side as you watched how his shoulders tensed ever so slightly with the questions.

“You’re good with him,” he admits, bringing his gaze up to yours, and you can see the hint of uncertainty that settles in them. Like he was debating whether to bring it up or not. “I tried not thinkin’ ‘bout it, but it’s just gettin’ harder.”

“Thinking about what?” you asked softly, slowly making your way back to the couch before sitting down on the cushion beside him. “About kids?”

His breath slightly hitches as you hit the nail on the head. He reluctantly nodded, “Yeah.”

You studied him for a moment, really looking at him. The man you loved never let his vulnerability get the best of him. The subject of kids has been a touchy one. The two of you had briefly talked about it when your relationship was getting serious, and he never said he’d never want to have kids. You understood he was just hesitant about it all - understood that, though he’d deny it as much as he could - he was scared of losing another kid he loved.

You felt it too. The strange pull when you saw families together through the community. With how your body reacted when you thought of a mini replica of you and Joel running around.

“You wanna have a kid?” you asked, a small smile on your lips at the thought that he did, in fact, want to have a baby with you. “You’re sure about this, hon?”

He took your hands into his, giving them a soft squeeze, his gaze finally meeting yours, “‘m sure, darlin’. I wanna watch you grow our baby. I wanna start the rest of our life with you.” He brings a hand to your cheek, gently cupping it, “Do you want that?”

You placed your hand over his that was against your cheek before shifting onto his lap, your legs on either side of his, and your hands cup his cheeks, “I’d love to have your kids, Joel. I want all of your babies.”

Joel exhaled heavily, like he’d been holding his breath for years, as he leaned his head into your palms, his hands going to your hips. He then kissed you - gentle at first, like he was testing the waters. But as soon as you lightly pressed your chest against his, a hand gently gripping the hair at the bottom of his neck, his hesitance instantly melted away as he gently tugged your hip closer to his.

When he finally pulled back, he exhales heavily through his nose, his head dropping to your shoulder as he muttered, “Damn.”

“That bad?” you asked teasingly, lowering your head to place brief pecks against the side of his neck.

He quickly shakes his head, his lips moving to your collarbone to place a kiss before he grumbles, “That damn dangerous.”

You giggled at the grumble, and before you could protest, he shifted to the edge of the couch, wrapping his arms around your waist as he got up. You squealed softly at the sudden movement, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist and your arms going around his neck.

When you and Joel reached the bedroom, his lips were instantly back on yours, your breaths heavy as he gently lowered you onto your back on the bed. You undressed each other slowly, your hands running along each other’s bodies in a familiar pattern.

“Lay down, baby,” Joel whispered once he was down to his black boxers and you were bare. He placed a kiss against your forehead, temple and then your lips, “Wanna taste you.”

He gently guided you to lie back before he settled between your thighs - his broad shoulders pushing your legs wider. The rough calluses on his hands contrasted sharply with the gentle way he traced the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His beard scratched deliciously against your skin as he lowered his head, the sensation alone sending shivers through your body. And Joel caught on.

“I know, baby. You’re getting all worked up for me,” he muttered with a chuckle, lowering his head down between your legs and closer to your core. He pressed his lips against your folds, a soft closed-mouth kiss against your most sensitive skin, and your body immediately trembled.

Then his tongue swept out, a broad, flat stroke that parted you slowly. He took his time as his tongue traced your outer lips before dipping inside to taste your slick heat.

“Christ,” he murmured, voice muffled against your core. “Already so wet for me. So fuckin’ perfect.” You let out a soft moan as your hand instinctively went to run through the strands of his hair, not guiding, but as a form of stability. He pulls back just enough to look up at you, the evidence of your arousal glistening on his lips, “This all for me, darlin’?”

You couldn’t help but nod, your breath hitching, and he blew a cool stream of air against your heated center. “All for you,” You muttered, and Joel returned his mouth to your center. He let out a low groan at your taste, one of his hands leaves your hips to rest against your stomach – fingers spreading across your lower stomach, holding you to him as his mouth worked on your core.

His other hand slid from your thigh to between your legs, where Joel’s mouth was residing. He slowly slid two of his thick fingers inside you, curling them just right to make you cry out as his mouth began focusing on your clit. You feel the heat pooling even further in your lower stomach, and you know you couldn’t handle much more. The dual sensations had you arching your back and your fingers tangled in his hair as you ground your hips against his face, searching for more of that devilish tongue of his.

“Joel…” you panted, your voice barely recognizable. “‘m close.”

He responded with a soft groan, increasing the pressure of his suck on your clit, his tongue working relentlessly as his fingers pumped in and out of you. “C’mon sweetheart,” he grunts, pulling his head back just enough to look up at you from between your legs, “Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

His words were your undoing as your body tensed, waves of pleasure washing over you. Your thighs clamped around his head as you cried out his name, and Joel didn’t stop, working through your orgasm until you were slumped down on the mattress, panting and spent.

When he finally lifted his head, his mouth and chin were glistening with your arousal, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips, “I could die a happy man between those legs.”

You huffed out a laugh before taking his hand into yours, tugging him up to meet you before pressing a kiss against his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue, and you couldn’t help but moan. You slide your hands down Joel's body before reaching his boxers. The hard length of his cock straining against the fabric couldn’t be more obvious than it is right now. Reaching inside, you wrapped your hand around his length, giving it a few slow strokes before focusing your palm on the head. He groaned at the contact, attempting to keep his hips still, but failed as it shifted closer to your hand regardless.

He slides the boxers off and tosses them aside. He was long and thick, and his tip was an angry red, curving up toward his stomach. “Fuck me, baby,” you whispered out, “I need your cock inside me. Filling me up.”

“Damn it, woman,” he grunts out, shifting down your body before settling between your legs, this time with his cock between your folds, gathering the combination of your release with the mess his mouth made. “Got a fuckin’ dangerous mouth on you.”

“Please…” you whimpered, shifting your hips in an attempt to take him inside of you.

“Not yet,” he says gruffly, running a hand along your breasts, rubbing the sensitive nipples, drawing out a whine from you. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for so long. ‘bout makin’ you a momma, watchin’ you grow with my seed inside you.”

He positioned the tip of his cock against your entrance, applying a small amount of pressure before he breached your entrance. He lowers his head against the crook of your neck as he slides in deeper and slowly, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch was incredible, and both of you moaned at the sensation. The aching fullness was familiar. When he is buried to the hilt, his hips flush with yours, he rests his forehead against yours.

“Fuck…” he chokes out, his voice strained with an effort of remaining still to allow you to adjust. “Always feel so damn tight. Like you were made for my cock to stretch.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, inviting him deeper inside you once you adjusted, and Joel began moving - his strokes deep and measured. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, building slowly but steadily toward another orgasm. "You like that?" he growled, his pace quickening. "You like how I fuck this tight little pussy?"

"God, yes," you moaned, your nails digging into his back. "Harder, Joel. Fuck me harder."

He obliged, his thrusts becoming more forceful. His hips snapped against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room, followed by your moans, his heavy grunts, and the bed creaking under the exertion.

"Gonna fill you up," he panted, his voice strained. "Gonna make sure it sticks so you'll be all round 'n full with my baby. Tits fillin’ up to feed our lil’ one. God darlin’.”

Your body is humming, alive with sensation. Every nerve ending is on fire. Joel knew you were getting close; he could feel how you were tightening around his cock. And you could feel he was close just by how his cock was throbbing and twitching inside you, followed by the frantic pace he began taking

“I’m close,” you murmured, one of your hands running through his hair, and he buries his head against your neck.

“Let me feel it,” he pants against your neck, a grunt escaping his lips, “’m close too. Gonna come inside you. Gonna make you a momma.”

“Fill me up baby.”

He reaches between you, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing it in tight and quick circles. And that was all that it took to throw you over the edge. Your orgasm took over you, a tidal wave of pleasure that ripples through your entire body in powerful waves, leaving your body limp and shaky.

Joel follows just moments longer, letting out a long moan of your name, his body shuddering against yours as he finds his release. You could feel the warmth of him spilling inside you before he collapses against you, his weight steadied on his forearms, his face still deeply buried against your neck.

Both of you were a panting and boneless mess, but neither of you made the effort to move. For a long moment, you just lie there, tangled together with your bodies slick with sweat, and your breathing slowly returning to normal. After a minute, he shifts; he hadn’t pulled out just yet, keeping the two of you connected. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his touch impossibly gentle. “You alright?”

“More than alright,” you respond, a smile on your face that you were able to contain, and he huffs a soft laugh. “Couldn’t think of a better way to practice.”

He places a kiss on your lips, then your forehead, before he slowly pulls out of you, your body protesting the loss. He gets up from the bed, walking to the bathroom. You hear the tap running, and he returns with a rag in hand.

“Open for me,” he says, and you open your legs. He gently wipes the rag over your entrance and thighs, cleaning you before setting the rag aside and lying back down beside you, pulling you against his chest with the blanket wrapped around the two of you.

“We’ll be doin’ this ‘till it sticks, sweetheart,” Joel suddenly says, and you tilt your head up to him. “You better prepare your throat for a lot more moanin’.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his words, wrapping your arms around his neck as you settled against him. “Practice makes perfect.”

Taglist: @kokoluwie, @cozymochaa, @picketniffler, @christinamadsen, @harriedandharassed, @rosharanfiction, @xfanficluvrx, @isabellaboo2025, @kirsteng42, @missadangel, @bishtrouille, @death-in-a-tar0t-card, @mystickittytaco, @missladym1981,

Tags WIP Wednesday post: @aurorawritestoescape, @ess-evo, @time-for-my-weekly-spanking

You walked down the stairs, your head still groggy from sleep. Joel was by the counter, as always, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

"Mornin', babygirl," he snarled, his voice louder and more jarring than any alarm.

"C'mere," he made, tapping his fingers on the surface next to him a few times.

Like a pup, you followed his voice and approached him on your tiptoes, feet and legs naked as Joel's big, oversized shirt was the only thing you were wearing. These days, you always slept naked as your boyfriend usually ripped off any piece of clothing the night before. Frankly, he would prefer that you walk around the house naked, but the idea wasn't really feasible in this cold winter.

He enjoyed the mornings after, though, when you woke up with just the blanket hiding what was underneath. If he got lucky, the fabric was only loosely tangled around your legs and Joel could catch a glimpse of your inviting soft skin peeking out. Today, he unfortunately had only seen a messy head of hair next to him, but the scene unfolding in front of his eyes now was much to his pleasing.

"Gimme a kiss, angel," he muttered, his hand already grabbing your hair tightly to pull you toward him before you could choose to do it on your own.

"Slept well?" he asked, his left hand shamelessly roaming your back until it landed on your butt.

"Yes, Joel," you answered and blissfully smiled into the kiss. Mornings that started like this usually proceeded nicely. Your priority each day was to please Joel as much as possible, and it was convenient that a single squeeze of your ass could set his mood so well.

"You look pretty… Ready to be my 'lil pocket pussy for today?" he murmured lowly, almost inspecting you with the way his gaze lingered on your face and neck.

"Yes, Joel…," you replied equally quietly, hooking your fingers into the collar of his shirt.

"Then why aren't you dressed yet? Not that I ain't enjoyin' this sight… But you think I'm gonna let my coworkers fuck you with their eyes? They're already gonna do that just 'cause you're the prettiest thing they've seen in months, but hell, I ain't gonna encourage it by lettin' you walk around like a slut."

He spanked your ass harshly, making you jolt, but you were securely trapped between his muscular arms.

"I just wanted to make you happy, Joel… You said you liked seeing me in your t-shirts."

"I do, babygirl," he grinned and suddenly spun you around, his right arm draping firmly around your torso. "I like it a 'lil too much… You know why?"

"Why?"

He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, smelling your hair.

"'Cause when I see you looking like this, I feel like I only have two options: Staying home and fucking you all day 'til I got ya crying for me, or taking you with me like my perfect 'lil pet and doing the same thing at work. But since I've got my princess to take care of and buy her pretty things, I'm gonna have to choose the latter."

"I don't mind coming to work with you, Joel," you instantly claimed, leaning into his touch and stroking up his massive forearm.

"Oh yeah? You enjoy it?" His lips brushed over your ear, teeth dangerously close to biting down. "You enjoy bein' shown off? Me showin' my coworkers what I have and what they can't have? Bein' taken to the bathroom every hour to be fucked until you see stars? So that I basically gotta drag you out of there 'cause you can't stand on those pretty legs by yourself?"

His voice was sultry and low, his words sordid and obscene, making every last hair on your arms bristle. You knew that he wasn't supposed to talk like that. Not if he wanted to have a productive workday. Joel working himself up early in the morning always meant that he would be insatiable for the rest of the day. Which normally ended with you trembling uncontrollably by the end of it. Sometimes, you almost fell asleep while curled up in his lap just before he left.

"Yes… I want that."

Joel's dick pressed hard against your back, the rough fabric of his jeans doing nothing to hide the boner.

"I know you do… Maybe I'm gonna fuck your ass, baby. It just looks so… appealing today. Or your mouth. But don't ya worry, I'm never gonna neglect that pretty pussy. That I get to carry around like I own it."

He smacked your backside again, this time actually motioning you to start walking.

"Get dressed. An' wear somethin' modest. But you know… no panties. Wanna have easy access."

Twenty minutes later, Joel was wrapping a scarf around your neck, adoringly tucking it in to make sure you would be protected from the cold, cutting air. If there was one thing he hated, it was you getting sick in the winter. It would mean having to go without your tight, warm throat for at least a week, and he had tried that out before. To say it had been complicated was an understatement.

"Look at me," he demanded and tapped on your nose as you turned your head.

"What are you, huh?" he whispered as he grabbed his keys and bag, gently pushing you toward the door.

"I'm your toy, Joel. Your property."

"S'right, but it ain't what I wanted to hear."

Before you could reach for the door handle, he held you back by the bicep, turning you around once more.

"Tell me. Tell me what your purpose is."

"I'm your pocket pussy… I'm just here to serve you. And for you to let off steam." Your voice was sweet and obedient, just the way he liked it.

"Good girl. That's right. You're just gonna stay silent. You ain't gonna talk to anyone, best if you just keep that mouth shut. Unless, of course, I tell you to open it…" He stroked back a strand of your hair, tucking it beneath your hat. You truly looked adorable like this, all wrapped up in thick, warm clothes that made him think of you as his gift even more. All he had to do was peel off layer by layer until he had his little pocket pussy in front of him, ready to be used and wrecked.

"C'mon. Let's go."

He locked the door behind the two of you, leading the way down the street to Joel's workplace.

For months, he had made his living as a construction worker in Jackson, but figuring that he had a better purpose as a planner and instructor, Maria had asked him to work in the office. He had his own little room with a door that locked from the inside. There were also some very thick curtains that provided an excellent way to hide what was happening inside his office.

Sure, there was someone knocking on his door every now and then. And he also had to leave his space for lunch break, which he spent with his colleagues in a conference room. Aside from that, though, he had plenty of opportunities to spend time with you alone throughout the day.

Joel was now entering the building, keeping his hand firm on your lower back just like he always did when the two of you were in public. Not that there was a single person in Jackson who doubted who you belonged to. Anyone who stepped outside in the past few months with two functioning eyes realized that Joel was highly possessive of you and wouldn't let any man get closer than a few feet. The amount of distance that was needed for you to understand what the other person was saying. He just wanted his perfect pocket pussy all to himself. He didn't just need to know that you were his alone, no, he also needed everyone else to understand it.

"Joel. Mornin'," his colleague Felix babbled in that moment, head lowered over some paper sheet until he raised it to scoff at your sight.

"You're all bundled up. It's not like it's arctic temperatures outside."

By this time, it had become commonplace for you to accompany Joel to work. Even though no one really knew what you were doing sitting around your boyfriend's office all day, they accepted and respected it nonetheless. Sometimes, Joel believed that it was almost too easy to figure out, but at the same time, why would he care? Maybe it was even better. It would be good for all his male coworkers to know that Joel didn't even tolerate being away from you for eight hours a day. There was no room for interpretation. He owned you. Uncompromisingly and intransigently.

"Need to protect my girl from the cold, don't I?" Joel sneered and clenched his hand around your waist.

"Right... Of course... Is she gonna stick around today? I'll have to tell Gina to put out an extra chair for lunch."

"I thought by now, her bein' around is not anythin' special anymore, Felix."

Felix smirked wryly, running his eyes down your body for a brief moment. It hadn't gotten past Joel though. Joel, who was resting his hand on you with a casualty that openly gave away where his true intentions lied. He was an animal, lurking around its prey while simultaneously looking out for any possible threats to his ownership over you.

"I know. It's not gonna be a problem. I was just surprised by the fact that she doesn't get bored. My wife came to work with me once, but she left after lunch. Said it was even more boring than the town meetings. And that means something."

Joel chuckled, then turned toward you, giving you an encouraging nod.

"You don't think it's that boring, do ya, darlin'?"

You smiled shyly but shook your head, your chin tucked underneath the scarf. "No. I don't think it's boring."

"Well what's she supposed to say? Poor thing…," Felix laughed out loud, then shifted his attention back to the paper sheet as Joel applied light pressure on your back, gesturing you to move.

"Anyways, have a nice day. I'll see you at lunch."

Joel nodded, holding his chin high to show his dominance. "See you later."

Next stop was his office.

By now, the walk across the small building toward the last door in the hallway was a familiar one. You almost blindly reached for the light switch next to the door once Joel let you in.

"Take a seat, sweetheart," Joel said, his voice loud and commanding as usual.

"Joel?"

He put his bag on his desk, briefly glancing at you.

"Yeah?"

"Can I get a coffee, please?"

He let out a sound that was a cross between a chuckle and a growl.

"Always askin' so politely… Sure, darlin'. You just stay right 'ere, okay? Gonna get the both of us some coffee. Don't touch anything. And don't ya touch yourself… You know I can't wait to take off all of this once I'm back…"

He winked at you, allusively gazing at your front before squeezing your shoulder and straightening up.

"Stay as pretty as that. Don't move a fuckin' muscle."

With that, Joel rushed out of the room as if he didn't trust you to be alone for even a minute. Then again, maybe it was his anticipation about touching you in a few minutes. Oftentimes, you questioned how Joel managed to get any of his work done with you distracting him and provoking him to bend you over the desk he should use to plan the major construction projects of Jackson, but he had assured you many times that he had everything under control. And of course, you trusted him. Besides, Jackson was still standing, wasn't it? Everything was going smoothly, and as long as you weren't responsible for one of the buildings collapsing due to a lack of renovation, you wouldn't insist on keeping your distance from him during his long, draining workdays. Not that he left you a choice.

"There we go…," Joel was just muttering, putting a cup of coffee in front of you. A sprinkle of milk and one teaspoon of sugar. Just the way you loved it.

"Thank you, Joel. Can I take this off now? I'm really warm…"

You turned your neck, eyes following his broad frame heading to his desk again.

"You're not gonna do anything, babygirl. You're here to look pretty, spread your legs and let me use your worthless holes until I'm satisfied. And preferably stay silent. But if you ask nicely… I might take it off."

"Please," you immediately begged, folding your hands on your lap. You were well past a point of having any dignity inside you. Why would you care about self-respect, pride, or stubbornness when your boyfriend was there to make all the decisions in your life? Also, you really were boiling beneath your clothes, the heater in his office running and the air a little stuffy.

"Please take them off, Joel."

"C'mere," he demanded, moving his finger to beckon you to come closer. You took a step forward, the slight tremble in your knees visible and very telling.

If Joel was down bad for you, then you were even more. You were a mess before he touched you, you silently pleaded for him before he even got home and you were ready to do any inhuman and squalid things even before he had acknowledged you with a glimpse.

"Now sit down. On my lap."

Once your core made contact with his jeans, your movements still a little slow and timid, Joel started taking care of the many layers of fabrics that were serving their purpose of shielding you from the icy wind outside well. Only that in here, the cold was already taken care of. The heater was running, providing a warm environment, and mixed with Joel's strong body beneath you, you knew that you wouldn't freeze once your clothes were off.

"You know what I'm thinkin' about, princess?" Joel muttered the moment your shirt dropped down onto the floor.

"What?"

"I'm thinkin' about which hole o'yours I'm gonna use first…"

You jumped, feeling his leg press up against your core, which caused him to twist his lips sordidly.

"I'm thinkin' it's gonna be your pretty 'lil pussy. S'what I brought you here for, ain't it? To be my 'lil pocket pussy. To be able to use you any time I want. So I can carry you around and know that you're available any time. That I can just bend you over any desk or couch, press you up against a wall and your legs are gonna be open when I say so. Ain't that right, sweetheart?"

You nodded, your head spinning from the way he was still calling you his princess or sweetheart while reducing you to a mere toy to slake his sexual desires. It was probably the most arousing thing you had ever heard in your life, and you couldn't even explain why it turned you on so much.

Your bra was off now too, which made Joel click his tongue.

"Stand up. Gotta take off your pants."

You jumped to your feet as quickly as possible, but your legs gave way, so you grabbed the edge of the desk as a precaution. Buckling before he had even touched you wouldn't be very elegant.

"No underwear… Good girl. You learn well."

He brazenly regarded your bare legs and pussy that looked both so wrong and perfect in the middle of his office. He had taken you to work with him quite a few times before, yet he sometimes had to quietly chuckle remembering where he actually was right now.

"Lean over. Part your legs. And if you're not wet yet, you better touch yourself right now."

You quickly moved toward the desk, bending over in the position Joel had demanded. He was sure your natural fluids wouldn't be a problem since he usually only needed to glance at you, and you were soaked like an ocean.

"You know that I woke up with a boner today? I thought there was enough time to fuck you quickly and get rid of it, but no, you were busy in the bathroom. So I gotta take it out on you right now."

Joel's voice was sultry and husky, the clanking sound of his belt behind you making your toes curl in anticipation. He only permitted your socks to stay on your body. Even though his office had carpeted floors, he didn't want you to catch a cold from having your feet exposed to the air. Besides, you looked too cute getting fucked while wearing nothing but thick wool socks.

Joel didn't bother taking off his jeans entirely. He just let them dangle around his knees, then got into position behind you and pressed down on your spine.

"Arch that back for me, baby… Yes. You're my good 'lil toy, aren't you? You ready for what I'm about to give ya?"

Wriggling your hips in excitement, you hummed something inaudible, lids hooded and lips parted.

"Yes… Yes, Joel."

The first thought that crossed his mind as he entered you in one go was how damn lucky he was to have a pet as willing and good as you. To be able to fuck you whenever he felt like it and to have your pussy welcoming with so much keenness and welcoming wetness.

"Jesus Christ… You're so good, angel. Such a perfect, tight pussy. Look at 'er adjustin' to me…"

It was clear that he was talking to himself, since there was no way you would have been able to twist your neck and see what he was talking about. You could imagine it well, though. Your pussy lips parted, your opening stretched wide for his massive shaft that you hadn't been able to take so effortlessly in the beginning of your relationship.

"She likes it so much, right? She likes to know that she's just here to please me. To make me real happy. Drenchin' my fuckin' cock, holy shit."

Joel delivered a few brutal thrusts that each pushed you up the desk. Your head was dropped because it was easier to focus on one body part and keep it upright – your legs.

Meanwhile, your hands lay flat on the desk, your fingertips turning white from the force with which you gripped the wood. You felt as though you needed the contact to stay stable while bent over the desk, but Joel's grip on your hips and waist was just as secure. He pulled your back against him to meet his pounds and kept his grasp so firm that the possibility of slipping away from his hold was close to zero.

"J-Joel," you gasped, your face flushed and searing from exhaustion already, even though you didn't do any of the work.

"Shh baby," he hushed you instantly, bending your knee to force you to open wider for him. "Just keep quiet. You're just gonna take it like my pretty pocket pussy's supposed to. 'Cause that's your only fuckin' job. Openin' your legs for me and shuttin' up when I tell you to."

He forcefully turned your head, then cupped your face with one hand, squeezing your flesh to make you form a pout.

"There we go… Open your mouth."

Once you presented him your flat tongue, he let some spit dribble down, his features drawing with mischief as he watched his drool spread on your pink muscle. You made no attempt to swallow just yet, just like he had taught you it. He patiently waited for another few seconds, thinking how well he had trained you, before giving your cheek a light slap.

"Swallow."

You complied, keeping your gazes locked as your throat bobbed.

"Good girl… You're my good 'lil pet, ain't ya? You know just what I want ya to do an' how I want you every day when I take you with me."

He rutted his hips into yours for a few more minutes, alternating between quick, abrupt thrusts and deep, intense ones. Joel loved to see your face contort when he hit you deep, delivering pounds that served the mere purpose of watching your reactions. It was his dirtiest and most sadistic side taking over, and it made his heart flutter seeing your body spasm every time his tip nudged your cervix.

Five minutes later, Joel orgasmed, ropes of his cum painting you from inside. The fact that he filled you up was out of question. He had never been one to spill his cum over your face or tits, even though he loved to see your body marked by him. He could do that by spreading his spit all over you, though, or sucking on your neck until it was covered in little bruises.

No, his semen belonged inside you. Because that was the part of you that he was the only one to see, touch, or bruise. It was about claiming and owning you in a whole different way, crossing a line and demonstrating his ownership in the filthiest and most primal way.

He rolled his hips into yours a few times, riding his orgasm out while you trembled and mewled with eyes that sparkled with wetness.

Not making you cum had been a conscious decision. You had to deserve it, so if he would be pleased with you by the end of the day, he would reward you later at home.

Even though you had a good idea why you hadn't experienced pleasure yet, you still whined in despair as Joel pulled out and groaned deeply.

"Joel…," you made, reaching for his hand, but he just snatched your wrist away and pressed it down on your belly.

"Shhh… No. I gotta work now. You're gonna sit in the corner and be a good girl until I'm in the mood for the next round."

"But I – " you started but were cut off by your boyfriend yanking you off the table by your forearm.

"No. Quit it. You're gonna cum if I want you to cum. You think I want you all fucked out and tired just from one single fuck? Hell no. You're gonna cum at the end of the day. Maybe. If I feel generous."

He guided you to a chair in the corner of the room, which allowed you a good view of the back of his head but unfortunately not of his face. You didn't speak up again, though your pussy continued to greedily throb for the next hour.

That was how much time Joel spent focusing on his work, but to you, it felt like 10 hours. What you wanted most in the world – he – was right there in front of you. You wouldn't even ask for a lot, grinding on his shoe or his thigh would be enough, but at the same time, you didn't want to piss him off again.

When you heard his pen click, your eyes widened ever so subtly, your fingers curling.

"C'mere."

He didn't even turn around but there was no need to. Within seconds, you were standing next to him, your pussy painfully clenching around nothing and your nipples hard – clearly not from the temperature since his office was snug and warm.

"Knees."

Your heart dropped as the prize was snatched away right before your eyes. Of course being fucked by him didn't inevitably mean reaching your high, but your chances were obviously better with his dick in your pussy than in your mouth. Still, you obeyed at once, and Joel had to bite down on his lip once more, thinking how well you were listening to him.

"Mhm baby… You cold?"

His large hand grabbed your right breast, twisting your stiff nipples between his thumb and index.

"N-No," you stammered, arching your chest to get closer to his calloused skin.

"Good. So your nipples are stiff 'cause you like bein' my toy?"

"Yes."

His lips curved, though his eyes remained dark and imponderable.

"C'mon. Crawl beneath the desk."

You couldn't sit up straight under the table, but you had enough space to kneel in front of him, your head close to his inner knee. His belt was still undone, but he had closed the zip of his jeans.

"Open my jeans. And take me out. And while you do that, you can already think about what your job as my pocket pussy is. I feel like it's good remindin' you from time to time."

It took you quite some time to pull down the zipper, yank his jeans down enough, and take his half-hard length out, which gave you a lot of time to think about his question, even though you honestly struggled to concentrate on two things at once.

"Well?" Joel scoffed with lifted eyebrows, watching his tip dangle in front of your nose.

"I'm supposed to behave… Do as you tell me. And always be available when you want to use me."

He hummed out in satisfaction, stroking your cheek with his knuckles, which really did make you feel like his pet.

"Good… Yeah. But I think there's more, babygirl. Use that brain, sugar."

It was hard not to stare at his manhood, which made Joel chuckle, feeling like you had just seen it for the first time.

"You always take me with you. So that you can always fuck me."

"Yes, but you already said that," Joel muttered, bringing one of his hands under your chin and raising it firmly.

"Oh c'mon now, sweetheart… Don't get all dumb on me."

He was referring to your large, glossy eyes that were radiating helplessness.

"I'm not allowed to wear any underwear."

"Good girl…," Joel grunted, caressing your chin softly. "That's enough for now. Keep thinkin' about it though. Gonna ask you about it again afterwards."

He pulled at your bottom lip, watching it snap back, and then wrapped a hand around his shaft.

"Open. And don't ya do anythin'. I just want you to keep 'im warm and snug. No suckin', no swirlin' that pretty tongue, no movin' your lips. Just keep 'im still."

Your lips stretched as you unlocked your jaw, trying to take him down in one go. You didn't know how deep he wanted you to take him, so you stopped when he was about halfway inside.

"No, no, babygirl. More. Did I say I want half of my cock inside you?"

You swallowed briefly before closing your eyes and going deeper, feeling him stuffing your throat from your lips all the way down to the base of it.

"Gosh… Look at that. So pretty, baby."

What he meant by that was how well he had trained you. It wasn't like you had taken him so effortlessly the first time he had fucked your throat. Over time, though, with a lot of practice, you learned how to relax your muscles and allow his thick shaft to reach all the most delicate and sensitive spots. It had been strange at first, but you got used to it.

"No movement now. We're gonna wait until I'm hard again, and then you're gonna sit on my lap and let me fuck that tight cunt. Gonna fuck my cum right back into you and then fill you up again."

Before his own dirty talk would make him lose his mind and force him to bend you over again, filling you with whatever devices available at the moment, he took a deep breath and focused on his work again, even though what was happening between his legs was quite tempting to look at.

In a matter of minutes, his dick was fully erect again, stubbing hard against your teeth that you were careful to cover with your lips.

"Up," was all Joel barked.

He rolled his chair back far enough for you to stand in front of him. Then, you lowered yourself onto his right thigh at your own pace. Which wasn't quick enough for your boyfriend.

"Jesus Christ," he rumbled and dragged you closer, making you put your knees on either side of his hips on the chair.

"You may listen well today, but you act like you're a helpless doll. I always gotta do anythin', right? I spoil you too much."

You wanted to speak up, say that he certainly didn't spoil you too much because he hadn't made you cum yet, but you swallowed the words before you could get yourself into more trouble. You were always a little nervous about riding him since there were more things that could go wrong than when you were lying on your back with your legs spread. On the other hand, Joel wasn't in the mood to give up any control today, which is why your racing heart slowed down as you felt him guide your center to hover over his turmercent manhood.

"Relax. Get down 'ere."

You carefully sank down on him until Joel rolled his eyes and pushed you all the way down with one rough tug.

"Jesus fuckin'… Gotta teach you somethin' about speed next time, huh? Pleasin' me isn't all about lookin' pretty and takin' your clothes off when I tell you to. S'about doin' something when I tell you to. Doin' it at once."

He narrowed his eyes, a gesture that made the whole upper half of his face look stern, which consequently swamped your system with sadness. You hadn't meant to disappoint him. Your only goal today was to receive his praise and hear him tell you how proud he was at the end of the day.

"Oh baby… Don't give me that look now," he growled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "You ain't supposed to look like that while I got my cock inside you."

Yes, his cock… You had completely forgotten about it now that you were so drenched with your juices that the stretch had been essentially non-existent.

"It's okay," he cooed, moving his hips slightly below yours to remind you of the purpose of this encounter. "Don't ya get all whiny… You're here to please me, remember? You think I wanna see my little pocket pussy cry? I want ya to cry down there, and hell, you're already doin' that. But up 'ere, I wanna see how you feel gettin' split open on that dick."

You blinked a few times, keen to do a better job from now on, and nodded.

"Yes, Joel."

Those two words were his cue to tighten his grip on your waist and pull you onto his lap. You really felt like a rag doll, being used and thrown around at his whim while you barely knew what to do with your hands. In the end, you rested them on his shoulders, though you certainly didn't need support with Joel fucking you on his dick at his own preferred pace and in his favorite ways.

Sometimes he moved rapidly, panting in your ear and fanning his fervent breath over your cheek while he lifted you up and down on his shaft, and other times he moved almost sensually, catching you off guard for a moment. He was passionate today, insatiable and hungry for more, which usually provoked him to take his desire out on you.

"Clenchin' so hard 'round me, sugar… Tight as a fuckin' vice."

His hand on the small of your back applied pressure, pushing you closer so your bare chest was flush against his clothed torso.

"Joel…," you whimpered, seizing the opportunity to form fists around the fabric of his shirt.

"Don't ruin my shirt, babydoll," he laughed, though he didn't sound like he was genuinely concerned about it. "How m'I gonna explain it to my colleagues, mhm? I don't even know how I'm gonna explain your state… Cheeks red, hair messy and that goddamn shimmer in your eyes… You know that everyone can see it on your face when you've just been fucked well?"

You shuddered at his obscene words, clinging to him like you were drowning as Joel picked up his pace slightly.

"Look at me. And don't ya hide anythin' from me. Wanna see every 'lil thing… Oh gosh… Yeah, you're such a good toy. You were made to be my toy, baby. You were made to be fucked by this cock."

Based on the volume of his voice, he was getting closer to finish, which involuntarily made your expression shift with frustration. There was nothing in his touch hinting at the fact that he was going to let you cum this time – no hand that was silently slipping between your legs, no husky words whispered in your ear and telling you to bring yourself to your high.

Joel didn't care about any of that. He was certain about your role in this: being his cum dump. You were a pretty hole for him to fuck and take his seed. And he made sure you never forgot it.

"You're ready to take my cum again, doll? You think your pussy can take it, or is she gonna overrun? You know I don't want a single drop to go to waste. So you better squeeze that cunt and make sure it all stays inside…" Joel gave your butt a harsh spank while making sure the noise wouldn't leave the thin walls of his office. Then, he squeezed that very flesh in his large palm and soothingly rubbed the area.

"C'mon… Be my good 'lil plaything and clench that pussy real nice for me. C'mon… Be good for daddy."

Whenever he dropped the name "Daddy," you knew it was about to end badly for you, usually with you being literally imbued with his sticky, hot cum.

"Joel," you whispered breathlessly, on the verge of crying just from the stimulation being so concise, so toe-curling, and yet not enough to make you cum.

Your teeth ground, the frustration consuming you while Joel reached his second orgasm of today. You were cautious though not to show how much you craved something he wasn't willing to give you yet. First and foremost, your priority was to please him. Secondly, you knew that complaining would only decrease your chances of finding satisfaction by the end of the day.

"Fuckin' hell…. Holy shit, baby, you're so good for daddy. You're bein' my perfect 'lil pocket pussy. Always there to clear my mind when I feel like it. S'why I keep you around at work. 'Cause I always know what's waitin' right there…"

He pinched your mound, remaining inside you a minute longer than necessary just to savor the thought of ensuring his slick was deep inside you without giving it a chance to run down your thighs instead.

"Jesus. Look at me."

You raised your gaze, unaware of the light redness around your eyes.

"Mhmm… You're doin' so well, sweetheart. Just like my 'lil doll is supposed to. Next time, I'm gonna take you with me when I go to the bar with Tommy. You know why, huh?"

He brushed your hair behind you ears, then kissed the tip of your nose. You had a strong idea why but just chewed on your bottom lip.

"Why?"

"So I can take you to the bathroom any time I want. Sit you down on the sink and fuck your brains out. And then, we're gonna return to Tommy and we're all gonna act like it ain't obvious what I did to your poor pussy in there. Like he don't notice how you can't walk on those pretty legs."

He slapped your ass again while already reaching for his pencil.

"Hop off, baby. Daddy's gotta work now."

His words had an enchanting effect on you. His use of the word daddy, his authorial demeanor, hearing him talk about a possible bar visit with Tommy… the combination of all of these things made you a pliant, obedient mess for him, and caused you to walk back into the corner of his office with no hesitation whatsoever.

"You can play with that pretty pussy, baby. As long as you're silent and don't cum. I swear to fuckin' god, if you cum, I'm gonna know. I know this pussy better than anyone. And she's mine. She only gets to cum under my hands. So don't even think about it."

He had said this while being turned away from you, which forced you to vocally express your gratitude.

"Thank you, daddy."

"Oh don't thank me, little pet. We only got an hour until lunch. You don't wanna show up there all needy and desperate to be touched, do ya? 'Cause if you won't behave, I'm gonna leave you here in my office and bring you some food later."

"No," you immediately protested, apprehensively shifting on the chair which offered little friction to your throbbing clit.

"I thought so. You wanna stay with daddy, right?"

"Yes, daddy," you howled, desperately darting at his profile to meet his gaze, but he was already typing on his keyboard, looking all concentrated.

"Then behave. S'very easy, actually."

You had to wait an hour, sitting around impatiently with nothing to do but curl your toes and stare holes in Joel's head. You had briefly circled your bundle of nerves in the beginning but quickly had come to the conclusion that without a possible high, your actions were futile, maybe even hindering. So you had stopped and instead tried to distract yourself by counting the little hairs in the back of your boyfriend's neck.

"Time for lunch, angel!" Joel uttered when you had least expected it, making you jolt.

"C'mere. Lemme check that pussy real quick."

He patted his thigh, watching you approach on wobbly legs with a wry grin.

"Oh baby… Someone's really shaken up right now… Did daddy scare you? With all that talk about behavin'?"

Your lower lip trembled but you nodded, even though it was a shy gesture.

"No need for that… Daddy's right there beside you. You ate lunch with those guys a million times before. Nothing's different today. I just enjoy teasin' you, sugarplum."

He cupped your chin, brushing with his thumb over your plump bottom lip that slowly began to stop shivering.

"Good girl… My good 'lil pet. You just need your daddy and everything's fine, mhm? Ain't that right?"

While you searched for an intelligent reply, Joel stood up to pick up your clothes. You just nodded and muttered a quiet "Yes, Daddy" as he pulled your shirt over your head, adjusted it, and proceeded with your jeans and hoodie.

No underwear at all.

He usually let you wear a bra at least, especially when he was showing you off to other men.

"Gotta have easy access… What if I feel like I wanna fuck you during lunch? Gotta be quick, babygirl," he explained himself and kissed your forehead.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—he didn't feel that desire during lunch with his colleagues, even though his hand was firmly on your thigh the entire time.

He was possessive of you and would study the room whenever he felt someone was looking at you too long. He was like a predator protecting its prey from other dangers, which made you feel like a princess.

You liked nothing more than feeling like Joel Miller's favorite plaything, which he was eager to shield and claim, just as he was eager to show it off.

Joel fucked you one more time in his office that day, not right after lunch, even though he couldn't constrain himself for long once the two of you were back inside the warm room. He kept you sitting on his lap while typing on his computer until he mumbled a dark "Fuck it" through his teeth and suddenly flipped you over, so that you were bent over his desk, stomach first.

This one was quick, with his fingers gripping your hips tightly and his jaw clenched. He barely spoke to you while chasing his orgasm, not giving a single thought to your pleasure.

As expected, he filled you up once more, his spend joining the slick, warm pool that was sticking to your walls already. You were so overflown with Joel's seed, that you almost felt numb to it, merely doing your best to stay still while he slammed his hips into yours over and over until he was positive, his balls were fully emptied.

"My god…" he growled, sounding almost mesmerized by what terrible and soiled things you allowed him to do to you. "You really are my perfect pocket pussy, mhm? And you like it way too much… I bet if I told you to suck right now, you would. If I told you to stay like this until I'm hard again, you wouldn't move a muscle, mhm?"

He reached around you, pulling at one of your nipples, which caused you to squeal and jerk in his strong arms.

"Mhmm, maybe you wouldn’t stay still. But you just wanna be my good 'lil toy so bad. You wanna be my pet just as much as I enjoy makin' you my pocket pussy. You like me carryin' you around and usin' you like you're some worthless doll any time I want. Just gotta look at your pretty pout and I gotta have you pressed up against some wall or some desk… Jesus. Call me fuckin' greedy but I didn't get myself such a lovely girl for no reason, right? Need to take advantage of that tight cunt as often as I can."

He brushed over your shoulder blades, tracing after the bone while you purred like a satisfied cat. You hadn't cum, sure, and your body made all the effort in the world to not make you forget it, but right now, you were satisfied, nonetheless.

Hearing Joel's praise, as degrading and filthy as it was, made the blood rush in your cheeks and your heartrate double in pace.

Why would you care about the state of your poor, raw cunt that would probably bind you to bed tomorrow?

Why would you care about not getting anything out of Joel thrusting inside you?

Besides, he'd reward you at home if he thought you did a good job.

A smile spread automatically and sincerely across your face as your body relaxed while Joel continued to lovingly caress your back.

You took your lip between your teeth, the wooden surface beneath your chin feeling surprisingly comfortable at that moment.

Nevarro? The place that was nothing more but a meet-up for the Bounty Hunters' Guild? Now being anything other than that?

A home.

And if they told you that wouldn't be the only thing to change, well, what would you expect?

Certainly not the famed Mandalorian being that home for you.

Once rivals at work, then hasty allies due to unforeseen complications involving a certain little green alien. Among the stars and the quietness his stoic nature provided, you found a place within the beats of a heart that had just learn how to feel again. Where before stood nothing but darkness, a body on auto-pilot, now lay a man who you could read: in his pauses and stances, in the tilt of his helmet, in the slight cracks of his voice if an emotion was hard to hide under beskar and indifference.

The Mandalorian, living legend, was more than the beskar warrior that had defeated Moff Gideon and wielded the Darksaber: underneath, he was Din Djarin, your lover.

And you, the Guild's second best: who kept winning his jobs, who he once deemed annoying and reckless. Who almost put once his life to end if it wasn't for Grogu changing your heart. Now his cyar'ika.

The universe worked in mysterious ways: the way fate had intertwined your lives with duty and heart, a soul and warrior pride. A house, a baby to raise as one of your kind.

The very same one that's cooing right now as you play with his hands.

"We should definitely get him a bed"

Din's head turns around, stopping whatever task he had in his hands.

"He likes to sleep on the floor"

You gasp. "Why are you talking about him as if he was a Massiff? That's your son!"

He returns his attention to the gun he was cleaning, losing interest in the conversation. "Then Grogu can sleep on the bed with us"

You carry up Grogu before walking up to him, forcing him to turn by his shoulder.

"He'll eventually grow it out"

"It'll take years, probably centuries. Didn't you hear the Jedi?"

"I did, I'm not deaf. Maybe you are, or just empty brained"

To prove said point, you knock on his helmet. The beskar makes an echoing sound that bounces off the walls.

"Stop" Din warns, although his voice sounds remotely angry. Bothered, if anything.

No matter the love, some things don't change: him finding your antics annoying.

"Do you want your son to remember how stingy you were?" you balance him on your hip, "How daddy didn't spare a few credits for a decent crib?"

You raise Grogu to his face, aligning it with his visor. The child babbles, as if he truly understands the role he has to play.

"How can you say no to that cute face?" you taunt with a baby voice, moving Grogu. "To those cute big eyes and large ears?"

He stands up. "Put him down. You're going to drop it"

You narrow your eyes. Then, pretend to. Din instantly goes alert-mode, arms raised and ready to catch him.

"It's not funny"

"You're not fun"

He sighs, probably rolling his eyes under the helmet.

"You're such a child, cyar'ika"

You turn Grogu to look at you, his big eyes rooted in your face as he giggles.

"That makes us two, eh?"

Without telling you, Din proceeds to take him from your hold.

"Hey!"

"It's time he rests" It's all he says, walking towards the bed.

You cross your arms. "You just did that to take him away from me"

He gives his back to you, focused on Grogu and his fingers wrapped around his.

"Maybe"

You huff. "I'm going to cook something. For me"

Din doesn't grant you a reply this time.

"Suit yourself" you bite back.

The thing about being rivals for about two decades, is the petty banter never seemed to die out.

It's rarely serious, probably only when you chastise his suicidal tendencies when he's piloting, so of course it doesn't last.

Which is why he's right now coming from behind you, hand on your waist. Din wasn't much into physical contact as he was into proving his love through actions, so any small touch was highly appreciated by you.

"He fell asleep"

You stirr the pot, "In the floor or the bed?"

His reply is curt, "Floor"

You sometimes forget he's not much of a talker.

"You're bent on proving your point" you flicker his signet, "stubborn as a Mudhorn once they pick up a fight"

"Maybe..." his voice dwindles, not before going out with a rasp. You recognize the pattern of his breathing, the way it hitches, "...maybe I wanted the bed to be free"

You turn the stove off and take a better look at him, desperately wishing to see his face.

The last time you saw it, he did it for Grogu. You understood, but can't say it didn't sting even a bit.

Would his eyes be a darker shade, crowded with lust? Would he sport a grin or a smirk? Is he looking at you with desire, with need? And where those same lips still as kissable as they looked that day? Would they eat you, devour, like a starved man if he let you see? Leave marks; bites, to show everyone around what to him belonged?

"That's raw" he whispers, voice croaking.

Your voice breaks, too.

"Who cares? We're not eating anymore"

"Not that" he agrees.

Din gently pressed you against the soft sheets of the bed, your breath hitching as he placed himself on top.

His hands tremble slightly as he touches your skin, a contrast to the stoic, effective and unbreakable warrior he portrayed: this powerful, quiet man was trembling in your arms.

No matter the time that has passed since his confession back in Maldo Kreis, when he thought you'd find death at the hands, well, teeth, of giant spiders. He had, since then, been completely undone by you, and each time he touched you―such reverence on every tip of his finger that grazed your skin, he made sure to prove nothing had changed since then.

He's quick to get rid of his garments, not without a little help from you to quit most of his armor.

"Din" you breathe as soon as his body is free―everywhere but face, your fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders. You tug him closer, encouraging. "Don't stop"

He lets out a strangled sound that's half a groan, half a sigh of relief at your command.

"You have no idea," Din murmurs, voice thick with adoration, "how much I need you"

He pulls back, and even though you can't see his eyes, you feel the vulnerability ooze from them. The way his breath picks up a quick pace, as if the effort of letting you see him like this is almost as consuming as the sight of you, underneath, ready for him. For a moment, it's like he's seeing through you, trying to commit every detail to memory.

You extend your hands, letting him take them. You caress them until the trembling stops, guiding them to your hips. His hands grip the skin of your hips like you were his anchor.

Din was, if anything, willingly, desperately, surrendering to you.

"Don't be afraid" you softly coo, voice barely above a whisper, "it's not our first"

"Please" he whispers, pained. It was a plea, asking permission to let the mental armor off so he can fall apart in your arms.

"Let yourself go, Din. Let me help you" you whisper. "Now, tell me: what do you want?"

"You" he answers without missing a beat, trepidation laced in his breath, "just you"

He grabs your shirt, jacket long discarded on the floor without caring; it's a miracle you didn't throw it over Grogu's sleeping form.

"Can I?"

You nod, breathlessly. "Yes"

He pulls the fabric over your head, fingers fumbling with your pants.

"Why do you carry guns inside the house?" he protests, undoing your belt.

"When you take the knife out of your shoe, I will"

Suddenly you're only in your underwear, shivering because of the cold.

"Dank farrik. We should've bought that heater, the fireplace barely feels there"

"Don't worry" he crawls down, between your opening legs, "I'll make you warm"

He looks up at you.

"Can I..." he starts, cracking in the last word, "...can I taste you?" Din's fingers slide to the waistband of your underwear, "please"

"But, your face-"

"You're right" he backtracks, "I don't know why I-"

You cut him off, "I can cover my eyes"

Din lets out what seems like a sound of pure relief, probably at the solution around his creed or the fact he'll get to taste you. Maybe it's the lust speaking over his rationale, but he's saying:

"Why hadn't we thought about that before?"

"I think fighting Imps and trying to keep Grogu safe took all the time"

He sports a crooked grin under the helmet. "This is the way"

You click your tongue, "You wouldn't be too happy if I was the one saying that"

You don't waste more time.

Your hands reach out to his helmet, slowly pulling it off. He stops you before you get to see more than his chin.

"Close your eyes" he mutters with a quiet, vulnerable, raw voice. It is equally thick with desperation, more than before.

"I will"

The helmet comes off with a hiss. All you see is dark, hands holding to the beskar.

"I have an idea"

You hear Din's breath hitch, a small yelp dying on his lips. Lips you'd die to see.

The helmet feels heavy on your head, and you wonder if he feels so too or it's used to it at this point.

"Don't worry" you throw your head back, "eyes on the roof"

You sense his hesitation, "I'm not looking"

It takes some minutes for him to reply, "I know"

"Then" you extend your hand, "what's wrong?"

You feel him draw closer, search the warmth of your hand. And then, it happens.

Your body freezes, feeling him place his cheek on your palm, rubbing against it. You cup it on instinct, the rough of his stubble tickling. You giggle, fighting back tears.

"You haven't cut it"

"I know you like it"

You laugh with glossy eyes he can't see, your heart swelling with the intention.

"But I can't see it"

The bed cracks as he lowers himself. "I'm sorry. I just... I really wanted to taste you. I've thought... about it, for so long. What your lips would taste like, how you-" he cuts his rambling off, whispering his thoughts out loud. "I'm not an... expert. I have never done it before. But I know I can make you feel good. I'll be so good for you, I promise"

Heat runs straight to your core, making it clench around nothing.

"Yes" you breath, giving him permission.

Din's hands grip your thighs as he hooks his fingers into the sides of your underwear and slowly pulls them down.

"Cyar'ika..." he breathes, "you're so beautiful"

And then his mouth's on you.

It's a bit clumsy, slow enough to feel both deliberate and unsure. It may be just Din, maybe having him like this for the first time, anyone, but its devastating.

The way he explores you with his tongue, learning every fold, sensitive spot, taking his time, dragging the flame that's set in your belly, knot tightening as your toes curl. It's overwhelming: the intensity of his focus, the way he seems hellbent on putting your pleasure first―making you feel something.

"Din" you call shakily, hands falling to your sides into fists curled on the sheets as the pressure builds higher and higher, a tight coil ready to snap. It becomes almost unbearable, your knuckles turning white. "I-"

Without thinking, your hands fly to his hair, feeling the brown strands you once saw at Moff Gideon's ship, fingers curling as they pull on locks that have grown longer since then.

Din stops. You gasp at the loss, forcing yourself not to look at him.

"Wh- What happened? Did I hurt you?" you ask, voice laced with urgency and panic as you try to catch your breath.

His voice is rough, "Do it again"

You falter, unsure if you heard well. "What?"

"Please, do it again" he rasps, drunk in pleasure. "Pull my hair. I... I liked it"

Devoid of the helmet, his voice rings much clear, intentions even more obvious.

The confession sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. Hesitating, you reach for his hair again, consciously this time, feeling it in your fingers, playing with it until his breath rags softly and you feel the damp of his sweat pour through your tips. Finally, you tighten them again, pulling harder this time.

A low moan falls from his lips before he dives back in, mouth more demanding, hungrier.

In response, you grip and pull another tug that evokes a ragged, beautiful sound from his throat. His body trembles with intoxicating pleasure as his mouth dives into you yet again.

Every movement of his tongue, every suck of your cunt: he wasn't trying to just get you off, Din was, like everything he did, trying to prove his loyalty and love with actions; no words were easy, but showing you he was yours, his devotion, like this, he could do it.

You can feel his moans vibrating against you, little whimpers of pleasure that he can't hold back every time you tighten your grip.

"Din" you gasp.

Your hips start to move against his face, chasing friction as the pressure builds within.

"Are you close?" Din rasps, and it takes all of you to not look at him. All you can do is imagine the sight of his glistening lips, pupils blown wide. How undone he might look, just by testing you.

You can only nod, a half cry getting lost in the air.

His movements become more focused, determined. His lips seal around you, and it's the closest you'll get to a kiss.

Your vision begins to blur. You pull his hair again, harder this time, with a sharp yank that makes him cry against you.

The coil snaps, pleasure crashing into you as the vibration was the final push to fall into your orgasm, the waves of pleasure crashing over you, blinding you.

He laps softly as you ride your orgasm, like a starving dog until you're left limp and trembling, legs barely able to hold you up.

"Din"

Like hypnotized by your voice, he stops the kisses on your inner thighs and looks at you, feeling his gaze burn over your spent body.

"Yes?"

"Kiss me"

There's silence where you sense both his discomfort and insecurity.

Your chest aches. "I won't look. Kiss me, please"

You hear him sigh. "You won't look?"

"No" you gulp, throat dry, "but before you cover yourself again, let me know what it's like to kiss you"

"Cyar'ika..." he warns.

"I'll be a good girl, Din. But I- I need to do it. I haven't stopped thinking about it since I saw your face. I won't even look at it. Just let me... let me kiss you"

He stays, still.

"Okay" he whispers, voice hoarse. "I'll do it"

You only manage a breathless nod. "Okay... That's okay"

Any price to pay would be worth it if it meant getting to kiss him for the first time.

A fine tremor still runs through him as he removes the helmet. When he lifts it off your face, you hear him sigh in relief at the sight of your closed eyes.

"Good girl" he mumbles, reigniting the fire in your belly.

"Can I... Will you ay least let me touch you?"

He stops, and you know he still hasn't put his helmet on.

"If I can't see you..." you swallow. "I want to touch you, Din"

He doesn't refuse nor allow it.

"Don't deny me" you plead.

"Will it-" he stops, dragging out the words, "will it make you happy?"

You nod.

Then, his hand finds yours, interlocking his fingers with your own. They land on his face, eyes softly tracing through his skin, rough little hairs, and swollen lips, while his breath stutters with desperate hunger.

"Kiss me now"

He leans in, unsure at first, until he's all over your mouth. You feel him stop, heartbeat picking up.

"Do it again"

He locks your mouth onto his, messy, and hungry, like he had a taste of you and now it isn't enough. It will never be.

Like he wants to devour you, memorize the inside of your mouth for something that'll probably never happen, the violation of something so sacred―but your love might be the only religion he will bend his knees for tonight.

The kiss feels like a dying star: exploding, but a light that never goes out. It only fades, into a memory you'll fall yourself asleep too, hidden within desire and the echoes of your heart, chasing that feeling, that high, you'll never get back. Putting your fingers over your lips, to remember his kiss, to feel something. A pressure, to suffocate the one over your heart.

But for now, it's enough.

Because Din bending the rules of his creed for you is proof of his unyielding heart.

And it belongs to you. All of it, tonight.

"Please" he whispers against your lips, the word a needy sound. "I need to be inside you. Please, I need to feel you. Show you you're mine"

You call his name in a cry as he crawled up over you, body covering yours.

"Cyar'ika" he whispers with raw devotion.

The helmet locks. You look up.

"Din" you whisper, looking at the man you love.

He settles between your legs, hips pressing forward, hard length straining against his pants.

Din's breath comes in harsh, uneven pants.

"Do it" you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down, guiding him to your entrance. He slowly pushes inside, a broken whine coming out of his mouth, "make me yours"

He fills you completely in an aching stretch, but it burns so good.

He doesn't move, just stays there, buried deep inside you, breath in harsh, uneven puffs under his helmet. he was trembling, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants.

"Please, don't let me go" he whispers, voice muffled against the beskar. "I love you"

"I won't" you promise, "I love you"

Something breaks by the way he looks at you, even through his visor. You feel the intensity of his stare and his moves, slow at first, then with a little more confidence. His thrusts were deep and messy, not fast but laced with desperate want.

Every sound Din makes is a broken whimper, some sounding like your name. He was also clingy, hands never leaving your body, one in your hip, the other laced with your fingers. Even if you can't see his face, the intimacy of everything is overwhelming.

This isn't just sex, but a confession: Din, laying himself bare, every scathed piece under the unbreakable beskar. And you take them as they are, holding him close, meeting his thrusts, whispering words of encouragement against his helmet.

"Say it again" he pants, voice hoarse with emotion, "that you love me"

"I love you, Din" you whisper firmly. You bite back a scandalous moan, "as long as the galaxy stands"

The words seemed to fuel something raw in him, unraveling a desire that makes each thrust deliberate, with an edge: he's desperate to claim you, to mark you as his own.

"Mine" he croaks out, rhythm faltering as his own release starts to build, "all mine"

You come first, a soft cry falling from your lips. Your walls tighten around his length, and that's what makes him come. He looks at the roof, letting out a gasp while his body shudders under the force of his release, a broken call for your name spilling from his lips.

Before his body gives out, you feel it: the strain of holding back, of being the first time.

A single tear rolls from under the helmet and falls over your body.

"Din-"

Wordlessly, he collapses on top of you, body weight pressing you into the mattress. It feels lighter, somehow, than the nights cuddled in the cramped space of the old Razor Crest.

His body, scarred and soft, still trembling through the aftershocks, pale from not seeing the sun and flushed because of earlier events―it's yours for the night.

Din's face remains hidden, yet you can tell he looks at you with quiet, tender, loving eyes.

"Please stay"

You reach up, pulling him closer by his neck.

"I promised I would"

He makes a pause before speaking again.

"...Forever?"

"Well" you look next to you, where Grogu is fast asleep still. It seems nothing can wake him up, "you guys need me"

"That's not what I meant-"

"...as much as I need you too"

He chuckles softly, and you can picture a smirk drawn over those lips you touched moments ago. Kissed, for the first time.

"Din, look at me"

He turns towards you. "I am"

You find his hand, pulling it to kiss knuckles that have killed many men, that have pulled the trigger to end lives. The same ones that pull you closer as he lays next to you, bodies seeking each other's warmth.

"I'm here" you whisper, as faithful as a prayer. Your own creed, "and I'm not going anywhere"

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.

divider cred: @/dividers-are-us

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