joel miller

angélica | 26 | she/her | 18+

[foli-vora]

run to you: chapter eleven

marcus pike x f!reader

A/N: SURPRISE! Happy almost-end of RTY. It's taken far too long, I know, but for those that have stuck around and still hold interest in these two and their trainwreck of a story - thank you.

Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and ‘You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.

Word count: 6.3k

Warnings: swearing, graphic violence, graphic thoughts of death and torture, reader is Stressed my guy, marcus "i dont have time for bullshit" pike, a kidnapped hostage stand off situation, use of guns and graphic descriptions of bullet wounds and blood, A N G S T (god i love it), i love grace van pelt, jacob wilson is golden retreiever, patrick fucking jane and his antics, some more angst, critically injured marcus, hospitals and talk of surgeries and more death

main masterlist | series masterlist

This story is 18+ only.

The vicious turning of your stomach increases with every second you spend in the car, wedged between two men, complete strangers. They say nothing. The male driver, also a stranger, says nothing. You say nothing. The silence that fills the small space creates a thick tension, curling around your shoulders and tightening around your chest, and you worry any sound or movement you make could shatter it all completely.

You dare not shift in your seat, remaining so still an ache starts to grow along your limbs and deep in your lower back. You don’t breathe too harshly, but the panic that stirs within your chest threatens to ruin that. You focus on each lungful, the inhales and the exhales.

In, and out.

Repeat.

In, out.

You count them.

One, two, three…

Eyes falling to your lap where your fingers anxiously pick at the other, you find you’d picked completely through the skin by the side of your thumbnail. Blood builds and smears along your nail fold where the skin had given in to the small assault, but you can’t stop. Your other thumb still picks at it, its blunt nail scratching through the sticky warmth and spreading the blood further. 

Breathe.

In, out.

It’ll be okay.

It’ll—

You grind your teeth as tears begin to sting behind your eyes. You don’t think you’ve ever felt this shaken, this terrified, in your entire life. Not when you’d been a part of this world all that time ago—you were on a different side back then. Not when you’d been arrested—you’d been scared, sure, but at least they were the so-called ‘good guys’.

They wouldn’t kill you just because you were an inconvenience to business.

You’re going to die.

It sinks into you, heavy and relentless. You wonder if what they say about a warm bright light is true, if you do get a few moments of reliving memories before falling into the inevitable abyss. Would it hurt? Be quick? The fear of death is nothing compared to the fear of not knowing all that could happen before the end. Maybe they’ll drag it out, make it a punishment for getting in their way before showing some mercy with a bullet. 

No. No crying, you tell yourself. 

This is it, and whatever happens… well, there’s no changing it.

A voice echoes in your ears—warm, familiar, stubborn. 

I won’t let anything happen to you.

You can’t be mad at him for breaking his promise. It was your own stupid self that got you into this position. If you had just waited at his apartment, endured the safe walls of his home and the waft of his cologne after he left… if you had just listened, you wouldn’t be here. 

It was heartache that had you all but running out of that door. You needed air, needed something to clear the sudden onslaught of memories and the way his voice swirled in your mind. It was always real to me.

It had been real.

The soft spoken words, the gentle touches, the way he had looked at you, the way he had made you feel, the way he said those three little words that had been your ultimate undoing…

It wasn’t all a lie.

At least if you die, when you die, you’ll know that. You’ll have that to reflect on. You’ll go knowing the love you had felt had been accepted, and returned. It still hurts, the scarring left from how everything had changed permanent and lasting deep in the very core of you, but at least, while it was happening back then, it had been real. 

The car rolls to a stop, and your heart briefly along with it. You don’t know where you are, where you’re being taken to next. You don’t move until they gesture you to. The hand that curls around your arm when you awkwardly make your way out of the backseat is tight, an unspoken promise that there was no easy way out of this.

There was no running.

In, out.

Maybe he’d find you in time. Maybe he was already close.

You comfort yourself with that as you’re moved into a new vehicle, the sound of liquid being thrown about and splashing behind you. You look back out the open door in time to watch one of the men throw a small lit match into the now vacant backseat, eyeing the flames that engulf the interior of the car you had been in, thankful they didn’t decide to just leave you in it.

For now, there was still a bit of time. 

—

His heart still beats thickly in his throat. Sweat had gathered on his palms as soon as he saw you exit the elevator, and had slowly built along the back of his neck with every moment in your presence. He's surprised he's been able to keep control over his voice so far, a barely there tremble threatening to break free in his words and cause him to stutter under your attention.

You were hard, and completely closed off. You listened throughout his little debriefing, and understandably been pissed when he told you just exactly what they were asking of you. It was hypocritical, even he had to admit.

Even with your evident and spoken anger and borderline disgust, a part of him still warms at the sight of you. He doubts that will ever fade. 

“Are we done here?”

He sees how you struggle to look at him, feels the hollow echo of what once was before getting hit with harsh reality.

“Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

He feels weak as you move to leave the room, you couldn’t move quick enough.

It all hits him like a punch to the stomach and he folds from it, bracing his hands on the cool top of the conference room table and letting his head hang low. He drags in a breath, catching the smell of your perfume as you pass. It’s new, so different from your old one.

A reminder of how everything had changed, of what he did to you.

He exhales quietly, eyes slipping shut and seeing the hatred that had swam in your eyes behind his lids. The door slams shut behind him.

—

He gets it over a call.

The car was found, torched and completely destroyed, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that any potential evidence has been destroyed, doesn’t care they weren’t quick enough to intercept before whoever took you fled again. He doesn’t care because he’s relieved at the following information provided to him.

No body was found within the vehicle.

The immediate thoughts that had assaulted him of seeing your body, twisted, unmoving and burnt beyond recognition, vacate to the depths of his mind, and he finds he can breathe a little easier. His tie sits a little more comfortably around his throat, and he’s able to focus a little better on the road as he drives to the office.

You’re okay. For now, you’re okay.

They still want you alive, and that’s good. That means he has time.

“There’s a security camera around the corner from the lot,” Wilson’s voice continues to fill the car.

Marcus didn’t comment on it at the time, too busy swimming in his own thoughts and the sheer relief flooding his system, but he had heard the edge in the young agent's tone when he had answered the call. He’s thankful Wilson wouldn’t be forever haunted by the sick images his mind had conjured. 

“It's old, but we’ve been able to get a rough image of the vehicle. Black SUV, tinted windows so we weren’t able to get a look at the occupants. Also got a slight partial plate, but it’s barely readable. I’ve sent it through to forensics to see if they can do anything with it.”

“Good. I’m sending a team your way, make your way back to the office once they arrive. I want you with me.”

If anyone on his team would understand the depth to this, it’s Wilson.

“Yes, sir.”

Marcus knows the agent has some experience at this kind of shit, having previously read over his history within his file before confirming his success at getting the position he was so eager for, but this time it was a little more personal.

You two had spent quite a bit of time together during the start of this case, would go as far as to call you two somewhat friends, and so the softer, less Special Agent Pike, more Marcus side of him feels the need to ask, to focus on something other than his own emotions.

“How’re you doing?”

The line falls silent, before the younger agent clears his throat quietly. “Can I speak freely, sir?”

“Always.”

It comes out in a quiet rush. “I’m so fucking relieved she’s not in that car.”

Marcus makes a low noise of agreement. “You and me both.”

—

“0800, on the dot. Not a second after, understood?”

The young agent before him nods, his enthusiasm evident. Marcus remembers that enthusiasm, the excitement at finally being where he wanted to be, where he worked so hard to get to.

This new guy… Marcus liked him. He knew watching over his interview that he’d be a good fit within his team. The kid was eager for an opportunity, had gall, and Marcus knew you’d be safe in his agent’s hands.

“Any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“I don’t expect trouble along the way, but I’ll note it now that her safety is paramount. She’s—” he stops, looking down at an older photograph of you sitting amongst the various bits of paper pulled from the file and feeling the familiar ache creep around his heart. 

She’s important to me.

The words had almost slipped free, danced so easily, so naturally, on the tip of his tongue it had taken his mind a moment to catch up and stop them from leaving his mouth. He clears his throat softly, tucking the image back into the manilla folder so he doesn’t have you smiling up at him.

He didn’t want to use your mugshot for the file made for Wilson. He didn’t want the agent to go into this with a preconceived idea of who and what he would assume you are. After everything, the least he could do was give you a chance to be known as you are, not what they made you to be.

“She’s integral to the case. Should anything arise, her safety is your highest priority.”

Agent Wilson straightens in his seat, a cool wash of determination settling into his features. Yeah, Marcus thinks to himself, he’s a good fit.

“Understood, sir. She’ll be in good hands.”

Marcus nods.

He thinks you’ll like him the most out of his team. His other agents are great, but you’ll be on your guard. The others will be quiet, and will keep to themselves more often than not. That wouldn’t help you. Wilson’s a talker, though. Sometimes, relentlessly so. It might help you find some comfort in this shitshow, might make things a little easier for you, a little less lonely. 

—

He studies your photo where it’s pinned on the board, only a little ways away from one of the murder victims' post mortem images. The images are a stark contrast from each other, one warm in hues, brightness swimming throughout the image and bursting from the wide spread of your smile. The other is cold, clinical. Void of life.

The more he looks, the more his mind twists and runs, swapping the features of the two women until it’s painted a version of your own post-mortem photograph. Skin sunken beneath your open eyes, pupils fixed, unseeing. A cold measuring tape held next to the gaping hole in your skull.

He blinks, and the images are as they were.

Jane is damn near adamant they want you alive, but without definitive proof that you’ll be okay, it does little to settle his mind.

Marcus turns away from the board with a new wash of nausea he swallows down, flicking through the notes provided to him by Lisbon’s team from the interrogation and marking the noted locations of addresses on the map spread out before him. 

He can hear the work beyond the conference room, a part of him comforted by the sheer amount of effort put in by both his own and Teresa's agents.

They’re close.

That familiar feeling swirls in the pit of his stomach, knowing that with every new bit of information that comes through by the hour, they’re closing that gap between them and you. It overrides the worry, pushes his anxiety to the side until all he feels is brute determination, the urge to get the job done and retrieve you swiftly and safely.

You’ll be okay.

He’ll make sure of it.

Marcus feels the presence of someone hovering just inside the door of the conference room, and fights the sigh of annoyance threatening to break free from his lungs. He doesn’t want to entertain niceties, doesn’t have time for idle chit chat and useless empty conversation, so he cuts straight to the chase with a sharp edge in his tone that says just that.

He’d feel ashamed by the bluntness of it if his mind wasn’t working so damn hard to absorb every possible bit of information given to him in an effort to get any closer to you.

“Can I help you with something, Agent Van Pelt?”

He sees her move in his peripheral as he shuffles through more notes, more paper, more satellite images of warehouses and shop fronts and galleries. She shifts slightly, almost unsure as her eyes glance back to the open door to the conference room before they roll back to settle on him.

“I just wanted to say that it’ll be okay,” she says finally. “We’ll find her.”

It’s spoken so surely, so warmly sincere, it completely cuts through the icyness that had settled in his chest and worked its way through his nervous system. He feels his shoulders slacken slightly when he eventually meets her eyes, the tightness of his features softening when she gives a small reassuring smile.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, giving his head a little shake to settle the mess of emotions swirling through him. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be—”

“It’s okay,” Grace’s smile widens . Her eyes fix on the board behind him in open interest, but it doesn’t hit him like it did with Jane and Lisbon. It doesn’t get his hackles up in defence with a need to shield you from potential judgement.

“Seems like she’s really something.”

He looks over his shoulder, gaze swiping one more time over your image. “She is.”

—

It’s a warehouse, empty save for the leftover pallets, a few odd pieces of old machinery from previous companies and the van you had been driven in.

You’d lost track of the route they had taken you, not wanting to risk anything by making it obvious you were trying to decipher your location by looking out of the windows. There was no point. You doubt you’d make it very far if you chose to run.

Playing along, doing what these people ask when they ask it, it’d hopefully buy you some time. Hopefully the time Marcus and his team needs if they were looking. No, you know he is. You can feel it.

Before all the recent developments, you probably would’ve resigned yourself to your uncertain fate, and accepted that you were just another pawn for the FBI. A nobody, just mere collateral damage in the wider grand scheme of things.

You lost track of how long you’d been standing in the one spot, almost scared to move. The small group of men had shown you out of the van and onto the main floor of the warehouse, and then moved to the sides. They stayed quiet, sometimes talking quietly amongst themselves, but otherwise leaving you alone.

A welcome relief.

“You’ve certainly been working away, haven’t you? Piece after piece. Surely you’re tired.”

The men take their cue and start their exit, leaving you alone with the newcomer. The one pulling the strings and keeping them in line, if their quick and quiet departure was anything to go by. They clearly deem you no threat whatsoever.

You turn to the voice, eyes sweeping over the familiar face of Edward Thomas. You recoil a little in surprise, almost expecting someone else to be with him because of how out of character something like this was for the older man, but he remains alone, and you are left standing corrected.

“Didn’t really have much of a choice,” you murmur.

You don’t think openly admitting you had readily agreed to helping the FBI wouldn’t work well in your favour.

“How’d you know it was my work?”

“I didn’t,” he admits quietly, “in the beginning. We actually thought you were still in prison.”

“We?”

Edward smiles, though it lacks any warmth or sincerity. He looks tired, older. “Asking for yourself, or your FBI boyfriend?”

You ignore the goad, glancing carefully around the vacant space with a barely concealed shiver down your spine. Now what?

“What am I doing here?”

He sighs, rubbing a tired hand across his weathered features.

“This whole thing, it’s—it’s turned ugly, and quite frankly I’m tired of it. I had no intention of being this involved. I needed something to offer in return for my… retirement, let’s call it. After all, after a few of your pieces had been discovered by myself, interest has grown in your particular… area of expertise. You have a few curious in what you can offer.”

A sick feeling turns your stomach, but you keep a hold of your expression.  “So you’re not auctioning off my pieces anymore, you’re just auctioning off me.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Throwing me to the highest bidder so you can, what, run away to a sunny beach somewhere? That’s not like you, Edward.”

“Yes well, as I said, it’s turned ugly.”

“By ugly, you mean the people that have been killed.”

“You’re quite naive if you didn’t think that was happening before your arrest. People died then, and people will die now. It’s simply a part of the world you so readily jumped into.”

“Can’t really blame the girl.”

A calm and collected voice takes you off guard, and you quickly school your stunned expression into something a little less obvious as the one and only Patrick fucking Jane all but waltzes into the room, looking completely at ease as he slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“She wasn’t exactly given a brochure on the workings of an underground art ring upon her application.”

If he’s here, then his team isn’t too far behind.

And if his team isn’t too far behind, surely that means Marcus would be with them, too? A slight twinge of hopes grows to life in your chest, your heart picking up with the possibility you’d be walking free from this.

Edward frowns at him in confusion, eyes darting to the direction of the van and where the three men that had bought you in had disappeared to.

“How the hell did you get in here?”

“The door,” Jane comments as if it were obvious, and you can’t help the eye roll, pinning him with such a look of disdain it makes his lips twitch.

“And what are you doing here?”

He has the nerve to look bored, eyes observing the empty warehouse in false interest. The sheer ease he remains in has Edward’s frown deepening with every step he takes further into the room.

“Checking out industrial real estate. What’s the going rate for one of these?” His hand leaves his pockets to gesture vaguely about the open room. 

“Mr Jane, I must admit I do tire of your little games.”

You startle, eyes widening as you glance between them.

“You two know each other?”

“We met at the museum,” Jane shrugs. “When I said I was following my own leads, I was. It just wasn’t you. I did have to get you out of the way, though. Sorry about that.”

He doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest. You stare at him, at a complete and utter loss, your mind struggling to piece together all of the events that had led you here. Did he intentionally upset you at the museum? To get you to leave?

It’s all a big fucking game to this man.

“You knew,” you realise slowly, your brows coming together, “you knew I’d leave the investigation.”

“I expected. Just like I expected Mr Thomas here to make a move as soon as he knew you weren’t being monitored anymore,” Jane explains easily, unbothered by the way your face twists with his little reveal.

You had been a pawn.

Just not the FBI’s pawn.

You were Patrick fucking Jane’s pawn.

“What I didn’t expect, was you running off, and.. you know, all that happened after,” he trails off with a slight wince. “That was inconvenient, I’ll admit.”

He, at the very least, has the grace to look apologetic at that. So he didn’t mean for it to work out like this. He knew Marcus would flip and put you into protective custody. He counted on Marcus getting you out of town and finding you somewhere safe to lay low while they worked out the rest of the case.

What he didn’t count on, however, was the mountain of emotional baggage he was undoing and letting loose during his little playtime pretending to be an FBI agent.

“Inconventient?” You grind out, anger simmering beneath your skin. “I got fucking kidnapped, Jane!”

“Like I said—inconvenient.”

“Enough.”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you. Marcus was right, you really are a fucking dick.”

“Things could’ve gone smoother, yes—”

You jump at the sudden firing of a gun, wide eyes immediately flying to Edward where he stands unimpressed, holding the weapon towards the ceiling. He then levels it between you, your undeniable anger at the consultant melting steadily into fear.

Jane takes a step towards you automatically, his arm outstretched as if he could reach you despite the distance between you, but he stills when the gun is aimed for him.

“I said enough.” 

—

“North entrance is covered,” Rigsby reports as Marcus arrives on scene mere moments after them. “South’s free—they’re not expecting company.”

“Good,” Marcus nods, eyes scouting the area around the warehouse and the flashy expensive car Thomas had left parked along the side. Might as well be a flashing neon sign in an area like this. “How many on the north?”

“Three,” Cho replies plainly, checking over his weapon.

“You certainly work quick. We’ll send a small team to cover both exits for now, when—”

“We need to wait for back up, we don’t know how many are inside yet.”

He fights the frown threatening to dig between his brows as he looks at Lisbon, her expectant gaze already fixed tightly on him. He knows that. He doesn’t need to be told that like he’s some freshly graduated baby agent, let alone by someone who’s not even on his team. He bites back the sarcastic words building on his tongue.

“When SWAT arrives,” Marcus continues as if she didn’t interrupt him, “we make the call to move in. How far out are they?”

“Four minutes,” Cho provides again, looking between the two superior agents with a look he couldn’t quite decipher, but otherwise keeping quiet.

Anything could happen in four minutes.

Marcus presses his lips together, eyes raking over the structure they suspect you’ve been taken to and its wider surroundings. His hands find his hips as he studies the high windows, wondering if Wilson would be able to find anything to climb up on to find a point to look in to until backup arrives.

“Uh, where’s Jane?”

Rigsby’s carefully posed question pulls Marcus's attention from the building, his teeth quickly mashing together as he attempts to reign in the hot flood of irritation that sweeps over him. Sure enough, the consultant is nowhere to be found when the team looks, and the irritation morphs into something a little stronger, something with a bit more of a kick.

He can’t help it.

Marcus smiles at Lisbon, stiff and sarcastic. “I see that tight leash is working well.”

She sighs, barely sparing him a glance. “Don’t.”

“If he does anything to—”

A single shot echoes from the warehouse and he jolts as if it had come straight for him and pierced right through his chest. Seconds of silence pass, and with each slowed tick of time in his mind, there you are. On the autopsy table, a bullet through the head. Cold. Lifeless.

Someone speaks, reporting to the incoming team that shots have been fired and he doesn’t care to look at who calls it in. His eyes dart over the building, waiting for movement, a yell, a scream, anything—

He doesn’t, he can’t, wait any longer. Logic, strategy, training—it all blends and settles at the sound of nothing. It’s instinct, it's pure adrenaline. Marcus takes off towards the building while reaching for his weapon, the thought of you bleeding out on the filthy floor, losing precious time with every moment he wastes standing around, pushing his legs harder as he comes up upon the back entrance.

“Marcus!” Teresa shouts after him, already following. “Cho, on me. Rigsby, Van Pelt, you’re on the north entrance. Wilson, wait for SWAT and direct on their arrival!”

—

Your ears ring from the gunshot. The piercing echo of it threatens to stop your heart then and there, the tremble in your hands obvious as you quickly and carefully raise your hands in an effort to show you’re of no threat. Jane mirrors you, studying the way the gun ever so slight shake in Edward’s hand as the barrel of it bounces between the both of you.

“FBI, put your weapon down.”

You almost choke on a sob at the familiar voice.

He’s here. 

You feel Marcus move step up and next to you, his own weapon held steady and pointed directly at Edward . You watch the recognition, the panic, the indecision, the urge to flee play out on the older man’s face, the shake in his hand increasing under the presence of Marcus. 

“You’re surrounded. Don’t go doing anything stupid. This is your one and only chance to walk out of here, so put it down, and we’ll talk. We can figure something out.”

“I just want this to be over,” Edward mutters with a distinct tone of irritation, flustered by the sudden presence of an actual FBI agent and having their weapon pointed at him, “it wasn’t meant to go this far… I didn’t want any part of this.”

“I know,” Marcus soothes carefully, his voice smooth and calm. “Put the gun down, and we’ll talk about it.”

“You know, it’s your fault,” Edward continues, completely absorbed in the stress of his thoughts, and the gun changes direction to land directly on you, “if you had just stayed aw—”

“Hey,” Marcus snaps immediately, “if you’re going to point that at anyone, you point it at me. She got dragged into this because of me. All of this? It’s on me, do you hear me?”

You jump in fright at the echo of two gunshots towards the front of the warehouse, and in a split second, you watch Edward jump in surprise too, and give way to the panic that overrides the logic of a negotiation.

It all happens so quickly. You feel a shove from the right, the direct force of a body moving and colliding with you just as more shots ring out throughout the warehouse and you stumble back and away from where you had just been standing.

Edward falls back from the shots Teresa and another agent direct at him, the pair suddenly appearing from behind you and quickly advancing towards him, while Jane jumps forward to kick the gun away from the hand that weakly reaches for it.

The body that had collided with you is sprawled on the ground and your heart drops to the pit of your stomach at the familiar hand swept dark hair of Marcus. He doesn't get up. He doesn't move.

Bile builds in your throat as you drop to your knees, uncaring as the rough floor scuffs the skin of your knees through the thin material of your dress. You tug desperately at his jacket, rolling him over and clawing at his body until he sprawls over your lap, heavy and unmoving.

“Marcus? Marcus, look at me,” you beg softly, a strangled sob falling from your throat when his eyes eventually flutter open languidly and focus tiredly on yours. “What did you do? God, what did you do?”

His lips part, words building on his tongue, but before they can fall from his mouth he jolts in your arms, heaving and coughing and sputtering. It sounds fucking horrible.

You watch the blood ooze from his lips, creating a stark trail of bright red that melts into his faded stubble and slides down along his jaw. You push at his jacket and feel your heart plummet to the floor at the deep maroon patches outwardly soaking the crisp white shift from the holes in his torso.

“It’s okay,” you soothe shakily, wiping the blood away from his lips with your thumb and feeling your stomach jolt with the wet sticky feel of it. “It’s okay. Keep looking at me, okay? I’m here. Somebody help me! Marcus, please—hold on, please—”

“Pike!”

Someone takes him from your arms, lays him on the ground and covers the bullet wounds with their hands. Teresa is yelling out orders, something about getting medics in and SWAT and soon more people swarm the warehouse. You sit on your knees, hands warm, and when you look numbly down at them, you see the glisten of his blood coating your skin.

There's so much blood.

“Marcus?” You whimper quietly, his name sticking to the inside of your throat.

“Hey, come on,” a female voice speaks from the side of you, her hands winding around your arms and pulling you from the ground. Your widened eyes find hers as you stumble to stand on two feet, her red hair previously pulled into a ponytail slightly ruffled and out of place as strands fall across her face.

“Let’s give them some space, let them help him. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” you reply hoarsely, eyes falling back to where Marcus lay on the ground as even more people surround him.

“Look at me,” the redhead speaks, a gentle smile pulling at her lips as you do as she says. “Good. Do you feel any pain?”

“Uh, I don’t… I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” she says softly, winding an arm around your back and gently leading you from the warehouse. “We have people out here that are going to help you—”

Why are you shaking so much? So damn hard?

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, and your hand moves to cover the length of it in confusion, hoping the press of your fingers would help the oxygen move more freely into your lungs.

Instead of helping you find your breath, you feel the smear of blood along your skin and the heady metallic ring of it sinks into your senses, the urge to vomit suddenly curdling your stomach.

The shaking increases as you jerk your hand away from your neck as if it had cut you. You make a noise, something small and choked, and your knees weaken from the spin of your head. 

“Hey, I need you to take a deep breath for me, can you do that? I’m here, I’ve got you.”

“I-I’m trying,” you choke out, suddenly aware of the hot tears spilling down your cheeks as the wind hits with a sharp bite as soon as you step out of the building. “Is—is he going to be okay?”

The redhead briefly glances back at the warehouse, and you think you find a small edge of uncertainty shine in her eyes, but it’s gone within a blink. She gives you another small, reassuring smile though it does little to steady the tremble sitting within your limbs.

“The medics are onsite, he’s in good hands.”

—

The plastic chair is uncomfortable beneath you, the thin scratchy blanket wrapped around your body doing very little to cushion the solid surface of it, yet you don’t move. You don’t think you could if you tried. You hate hospitals. You hate the sterile smell, the cold white walls, the rush of staff and the endless ring of alarms and codes.

This room isn’t too bad, though.

It’s a smaller waiting room, away from the hustle and bustle of the main hospital corridors, and away from the half dozen pairs of eyes that seemed focused on studying your every move. It’s nicer in here, both in style and temperature. The walls are a softer, more welcoming cream colour and a little wall mounted heater keeps the space filled with a nice warmth, but it does very little to calm you.

Your tea had long gone cold next to you, delivered by a startlingly quiet member of Lisbon’s team, Rigsby was it?, before he left you to your thoughts again. You didn’t reach for it once.

Instead, you stare blankly ahead, mind turning over with worry as Marcus is off somewhere in the hospital, somewhere bleeding and hurt and possibly dying. No one comes to talk to you. No one had come to comfort you since Grace had found this room and put you in here, and you think you prefer it that way.

You think she knows you would prefer it that way.

He’s hurt. Severely so.

He’s hurt because he pushed you out of the way, because he took the bullets that had been meant for you, whether they were accidental or not. He had moved with very little regard for himself, instinctively putting himself between you and potential death.

You should be the one in theatre. You should be the one broken and bleeding on an operating table. And yet, you’re not. Here you are, with nothing but bruised, scraped knees and a shot to shit nervous system on the brink of collapsing in on itself.

“Hey Picasso,” Jacob murmurs softly, his face appearing in your view as he crouches down before you, “I think we should get you home—”

Your head is already shaking before he can even finish. Leave? No. No, you can’t do that. What if something happens during surgery? What if he deteriorates and he has no one here to beg them to keep trying? What if—what if he dies on the table and you’re not here for it? 

His face creases in sympathy, his hand warm as it comes to rest over your knee. 

“Listen to me, alright? You with me?”

His head tilts, waiting until he’s sure you’re fully locked in and focused on him.

“He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s got a collapsed lung, and quite extensive internal bleeding. They said he’s gonna be in there for a while—hey, look at me.”

He ducks his head to help your eyes meet his, and you do your best to swallow down the lump quickly building thickly in the base of your throat.

“While he’s in there, getting the help he needs, I’d like to get you home so you can shower, and get into something more comfortable. Lisbon’s under strict instructions to call me if anything changes, and we’ll come right back once you’re done, alright? How does that sound?”

“Sounds like he could die,” you mutter, voice rough and hollow. “Is he going to die?”

His thumb softly swipes at the stray tear on your cheek.

“I have been assured they are doing everything in their power to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“It should’ve been me. It should be me.”

He gives a small, sad smile. “I may not have been a part of this team for very long and know him very well, but I think we both know that was never an option for him.”

“Is it my fault?”

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly, shaking his head, “and you know damn well he wouldn’t want you thinking like that. Now come on, the quicker we go and do this, the quicker we can get back.”

“You promise we’ll come straight back if… if he—”

“If I happen to get a call to say he…” he trails off, eyes dropping to where his hand rests on your knee before he gathers the strength to meet your eyes again. “If I get that call, we’ll come straight back, alright? Even if you’re all shampooed up and half naked. I swear.”

Your eyes dart between his, searching the soft forest green depths for any trace of a lie. You find nothing but sincerity. Your fingers wrap around his hand, briefly comforted by the steady warmth of it as he turns it in your hold and interlocks your fingers carefully.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He helps you stand, releasing your hand in an effort to keep the blanket wrapped around your frame. He tucks it back under your chin, giving you a little grin.

“Hell, you being here half naked would probably bring him back before any crash cart could—”

“Jacob,” you half sob in surprise, unsure whether to be horrified or angry. Your face must display it all openly.

He flinches, face creasing from shame. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I get weird with this kind of shit, let’s just go.”

—

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Healed Masterlist

"You saved his life. I'm asking you to help him keep it."

Joel Miller x Doctor Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: After Joel's suffering at the hands of Abby, he survives. You, a new resident of Jackson, are tasked with healing him, bringing him back to life in more ways than one. Warnings: alternating pov, injury, eventual smut, mutual pining, fluff, domesticity in the apocalypse, joel survives, medical jargon, blood, sponge baths Chapters will have individual warnings.

Masterlist

Chapter 1 - Convalescence Chapter 2 - Awake Chapter 3- Steps Chapter 4- Listen Chapter 5- Adjust Chapter 6- Ground Chapter 7- Care Chapter 8- Dance Chapter 9- Commitment Chapter 10- Hope Chapter 11- Home Chapter 12- Walls Chapter 13- Anew Chapter 14- Family Chapter 15- Fall Chapter 16- Cover Chapter 17- Gift Chapter 18- Ride Chapter 19- Anchor Chapter 20- Grateful Chapter 21- Merry Chapter 22- Reclaim Chapter 23- Comfort Chapter 24- Celebrate Chapter 25- Fragile Chapter 26- Avowal Chapter 27- Time Chapter 28- Bloom Chapter 29- Life Chapter 30- Tomorrow Chapter 31- Luck Chapter 32- Luxury

Joel & Jefferson by @valevntine Joel & Doc Get Married by @kenobiwanx Joel & Doc's Invitation by @mothandpidgeon

Healed, The Video Edit Healed Playlist

—- Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on updates to be alerted when a new chapter drops!

[punkshort]

'long way down' masterlist

Pairing: Harry Castillo x f!reader

Summary: Working as a personal assistant for the most eligible bachelor in New York City has its perks: above average pay, expensive goody bags from parties, traveling to exotic locations, dining at exclusive restaurants. It's a dream job that practically fell into your lap. The downside? You've been hopelessly in love with him for years and he has no clue. Even if he did, he isn't willing to give up his playboy lifestyle for a steady relationship. That is, until he meets Lucy, and everything changes.

Warnings: slow burn, power imbalance (boss/employee), language, food and alcohol consumption, some minor physical trauma, hurt/comfort, mention of SA (the part from the movie), eventual smut (18+ MDNI), angst, minor infidelity, so much fucking pining and yearning, more warnings to be stated each chapter

Status: complete

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Chapters:

please notice

there is a light that never goes out

thin line

there's no way

potential

bruises

-> yellow (extra scene)

head over feet

-> if you wish to be notified of chapter updates, please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications

[stylesispunk]

The days of you and I

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

series summary: After Abby's brutal attack, the aftermath leaves Joel, Ellie, and you forever changed. Joel wakes haunted by the man he used to be and the shadow he’s become. Wracked with guilt and convinced he no longer will be the same, he pushes you away, even as it breaks him to let you go.

warnings: Graphic violence, mentions of blood, emotional trauma, angst, self-loathing, guilt, depressive thoughts, isolation, mentions of death, nightmares, survivor's guilt, fluff. It contains spoilers from season 2 of The Last of Us.

Remember this series stands as a sequel to this one shot "what remains of us"

A/N: I don't know if this one is a proper fic about the sadness Joel Miller caused me. But I've been thinking about healing and the long process it takes to get back to what you were or how it is to embrace a new self, and in this one, I would like to imagine what the aftermath of the events that happened to him is. By the way, I'm also moving to AO3 soon :)

chapters:

chapter 1: The aftermath

chapter 2: The weight of what remains

chapter 3: What we used to be

chapter 4: the landslide

chapter 5: The ache of you

chapter 6: catching my death *

chapter 7: screams from the crypt*

chapter 8: Borrowed Time

chapter 9: if I ever were to lose you

chapter 10: twin flame*

chapter 11: bruises and olives

chapter 12: olive

chapter 13: days of you and me

epilogue

moodboard + playlist

drabbles:

[sweeetestcurse]

Brian Van Holt as Bo Sinclair in House of Wax (2005) 03/??

[dilfgifs]

PEDRO PASCAL The Puppy Interview

[lavenderursa]

Suited

An Alpha!Pero One-Shot

Alpha!Pero Tovar x Omega!F!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Upon returning to your childhood village, you barter with your riding companion and fellow sellsword Pero Tovar for a substantial favor. Pero must pose as your Alpha counterpart. 

Warnings: A/B/O AU, Alpha/Omega dynamics, Fake dating, Fake relationship, Gendered pronouns, Explicit smut, Angst, Yearning, Pining, Mild-Dubious Consent but it’s consent, Mentions of violence/death, Mentions of Sex Work

Wordcount: 7.9k

Notes: This has been sitting around in my WIP files for quite a while but I finally got a bit of inspiration and switched it up a bit. I’m pretty happy with it and I hope you enjoy a little more alpha!Pero!

*** When reblogging or talking about Omegaverse, please remember that ‘a/b/o’ without the slash punctuation marks (/) is considered a slur for the Aboriginal people in Australia.

Seguir leyendo

[lavenderursa]

I’d Give You My World - Masterlist

Alpha!Frankie Morales x Omega!Reader A/B/O AU

Summary: What if your alpha just doesn’t want you?

Warnings: Unrequited Love (??), Friends with benefits, A/B/O AU, Alcohol consumption, Referenced smut, Alpha/Omega dynamics, Angst/Heartbreak City, Jealousy, Explicit Smut, Happy Ending, Mild violence

Series Wordcount: 7.6K

Series

Part 1 - Warm Ways

Part 2 - Over My Head

Part 3 - Everything Turned Around

Part 4 - Say You Love Me

Part 5 - Love Shines 🔥

One Shots/Drabbles

Concessions

Keep Quiet 🔥

Masterlist

[capuccinodoll]

—TASTE BACK — PART ONE: "MR. AND MRS. MILLER" ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆‧₊˚ (ex!husband joel miller x f!reader) MDNI!!

my masterlist | read on ao3 | capuccinodollupdates

summary: Three years after a painful divorce, destiny forces you to cross paths with Joel in the paradise of Maui; and at a wedding, of all places. Though you try your hardest to keep your distance and maintain your sanity, old habits and buried desires don't take long to set everything ablaze. wc: 13k

A/N: So, a quick heads up: this one shot somehow evolved into a multi chapter work and it also ended up being way more emotional than I originally planned. Don't get me wrong, you all know how much I love the cheesy romance and the angst. But hey, it’s a fun ride too. Also, just as a gentle content warning, this story briefly alludes to some sensitive themes, specifically pregnancy loss and fertility struggles, though they are never addressed directly. If these topics are triggering for you, please read with care. <3

If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment and reblog! I really appreciate feedback<3

Room 401. You tossed the keycards onto the king sized bed in the center of the room and let your duffel bag slide off your shoulder, thudding onto the carpet by your shoes. You let out a sigh.

Jo and Cillian had truly outdone themselves.

The Ritz-Carlton was a masterpiece of teakwood and volcanic stone nestled along the Wailea coast, and the view was absolutely breathtaking. Massive sliding glass doors revealed everything, from the Pacific stretching out like a deep blue silk shroud in the distance, to an endless line of palm trees swaying in the breeze.

It was an enviable location for anyone wishing for a dream wedding, and if this was your room, you couldn't help but wonder what the newlyweds' suite looked like. High, plush beds with comforters as soft and white as cotton, blue and earth toned accent pillows resting against fluffy inviting pillows, and a delicious clean scent permeating every corner. Opposite the bed sat a delicate console topped with a large TV, and next to it, a small sofa just as pristine white as everything else.

You smiled to yourself and kicked off your shoes; a welcome relief after a ten hour flight. Your lower back ached slightly, the back of your neck was slick with sweat, and a faint headache was beginning to brew. But you were in Maui. Finally.

It was the first time you had left Austin in a very, very long time. God knew you needed it; after so many years cooped up within the same few miles, any escape offered to you was welcome. Besides, you could consider this a reward.

When Jo and Cillian first sent the invitation, you thought they were out of their minds. There was absolutely no way you had the time or the money to jet off for an entire weekend wedding. You were buried under work and had recently taken out a loan just to keep your workshop afloat, so you didn't RSVP right away. You figured the best you could do was send a lovely gift to their address. Perhaps one of those custom armchairs you crafted, the one Jo had loved so much. No, two of them. One for her, and one for him.

Fast forward a few months, and you already had the plane tickets in hand. Business had started doing much, much better, and you had finally gotten your head above water, so you could actually afford a weekend away. Plus, the room was already paid for; how could you possibly say no to that?

You walked toward the sliding glass doors, your bare feet relaxing into the floor as the scenery unveiled itself behind the glass. The wind seemed to be blowing hard, and when you slid the door open, the rush of warm humid air brushed against your neck and cheeks.

The scent of plumeria blossoms was intense, and the sound of the ocean crashing against the black rocks made you smile. You stepped out onto the balcony, feeling the sun warmed wood beneath your feet, and pulled out your phone. It only rang for a few seconds.

"Hey, Dean… Yeah, I just walked into the room," you said, leaning against the railing and closing your eyes to block out the sheer vastness of the paradise in front of you. “It’s unreal, honestly. Jo and Cillian picked the best place on earth… I miss you too. A lot.”

You sighed, catching your breath. Dean’s voice was a bit muffled on the other end.

"Sorry… I can’t hear you very well," you said, pacing from one side of the balcony to the other. Dean asked something. “I think the signal’s terrible out here. Can you hear me?”

You pressed your other hand over your free ear, as if that would actually help. Obviously, it didn't, so you clicked your tongue and frowned.

"I think I’ll call you back in a moment, yeah?" you said, raising your voice for some reason as if that would do the trick. It didn't. "I’ll text you now. I love you."

You pulled the phone away from your face and glanced at the screen. Shit. Okay, no big deal. You’d just send him a text.

Signal is bad here, I'll call you in a bit :) <3

"You gotta head down there, closer to the palm trees, off to the right. Stand right about there, and the boy'll hear you a whole lot better."

The voice came out of nowhere, drifting over from the nearest edge of the balcony. To your right, just on the other side of the dividing wooden partition, was a voice you knew better than your own.

Your heart gave a violent shudder, but you forced yourself not to jump. You turned your head by fractions; the movement felt absurdly careful. None of this was funny.

Joel.

Joel was standing right there, leaning against the railing and peering just slightly around the edge of the wall. He held a glass of water in one hand and his phone in the other.

He turned toward you, his mouth curving into a relaxed smile. He looked exactly the same, yet so, so different. The sun had etched fresh lines around his eyes, and his beard carried more gray than you remembered. His features seemed softened somehow, though they were still just as rugged.

"Joel," you said, your tone far too polite. "I… I had no idea you were staying next door."

“Guess that’s just bad luck,” he replied, a half smile brushing his lips without ever reaching his eyes. "How you been?"

You bit your tongue and your jaw tightened. “Really good. You?”

Really good. Great. Thriving. The best you had been in years. Your business was doing well, you looked good (maybe the best you had ever looked in your life) and every single night you went home to a man who respected you and loved you, but above all, a man who was actually there. Dean.

"Doin' alright myself," he answered, shifting his gaze out toward the horizon, watching the blue ocean and the palm fronds swaying back and forth.

The hair on his forehead drifted with the breeze, and he squinted slightly against the sun. A fine sheen of sweat coated his brow, and the tips of his ears were flushed pink.

Two years. Two whole years had passed since you last laid eyes on him. You had sworn to yourself that it would be the final time, and you had kept that promise. That morning, you slipped out of his bed while he was still fast asleep, leaving absolutely no trace behind. It was the hard stop to a cycle that had once seemed endless.

But that was just how you and Joel were; it was how you had always been. Ever since you crossed paths by pure chance at a bar fifteen years ago. Your eyes had locked with his, he was the one to approach you first, and you spent the entire night tangled up in each other, talking about everything and everyone until the sun came up and he had to head off to work without a single wink of sleep.

Two years of dating, ten years of marriage, and one year of seeing each other off and on post-divorce. Walking away from him had been agonizing; after signing the papers, you ended up in his bed more than once, and he was in yours far more often than you cared to admit. Until that one morning you finally walked out; you left a brief note on his kitchen counter telling him that enough was enough, that you needed to leave this behind, and then you blocked his number and left for good.

Two years had passed since that day. You hadn't seen him since.

You offered a faint smile and nodded, dropping your gaze to the planter beside the window.

"Alright. Uh, see you around," you said, not even waiting to see if he would answer. You immediately stepped back inside the room and slid the glass door shut.

Through the glass, you watched as his hand disappeared from the balcony railing.

Your feet sank into the sand and tiny grains scattered with every step you took.

You had to do something, and fast. Talk to Jo, beg her to swap your room with someone else or pay out of pocket for a completely different one if you had to. You needed to act.

Ever since you ran into Joel two hours ago, your heart had been pounding harder than usual. Tachycardia, maybe; as if he were a massive, undiluted cup of black coffee, far too strong, messing with your anxiety and sending your blood racing through your veins.

You hadn't even called Dean back. There was no earthly way you could speak to him without the emotions tearing through you right now bleeding into the tone of your voice. He would know instantly that something was up, that you were hiding something. And the second you told him it was about Joel, that he was right here, separated by nothing more than a single wall, you knew he would catch the very first flight out to Maui. Because Dean knew everything, or at least almost everything. He knew it had been a brutal divorce, not because you had fought constantly through it, but because it had been so damn painful, like ripping a fingernail straight from the skin. The wound still throbbed.

Right in front of you, the ocean spread out pure and beautiful. The waves crashed against the shore, melting at your feet and soaking you up to your ankles. The hem of your skirt fluttered in the breeze; delicate sheer crimson fabric that draped down to your calves. And the sun blazed with the exact same brightness as your top, a cropped form fitting canary yellow.

You knew it was possible he would be here. You knew Jo and Cillian might invite him. Jo had actually given you a heads up a few months before the invitations went out.

Joel might go, are you comfortable with that?

Of course, absolutely. It's your wedding, I'd hate for you to feel bad about inviting someone just on my account. Just do it, seriously, no drama.

And now he was here, though you had at least held onto the hope that you could avoid each other a bit more. To not run into him at the ceremony, or during the dinner; to stay far enough apart that this could pass without any aftermath. What kind of aftermath, exactly? You weren't worried about arguing with him, nor were you worried about the conversation turning awkward and filled with cruel jabs. That wasn't how you and he operated; it never had been. You were worried about other things, things that were far beyond what you could handle right now.

Suddenly, a woman's voice called your name from a distance.

"Hey, hey!"

You turned around instantly, recognizing it right away and letting the pure excitement wash away every single one of your anxious thoughts.

"Hey!" You started running toward her with your arms wide open, and in your head, cheesy music started playing, like the entire world slipped into a cinematic, frame by frame cadence like those funny montages of people reuniting after a lifetime apart.

Kathani was running toward you with that exact same energy; her hair billowed in soft brown waves, dancing across her shoulders just like her light blue dress. She looked like a fairy.

"Kat!"

Your arms wrapped around her in a breathless embrace. Long months had flown by since you last saw each other, maybe even a whole year.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you," she said against your shoulder, squeezing you even tighter. "You look so so beautiful, from a distance I honestly thought I spotted an angel!"

"Oh, stop!" You gave her a playful little shake, stepping back a bit to get a better look at her. "What are you talking about? You look absolutely gorgeous."

"We both look gorgeous."

You laughed. "I'll take that."

She offered a warm smile and rested her hands on your shoulders.

"Jesus, how are you? Last month I almost made it out to Austin, but work got in the way and I couldn't go. How is everything back home?" Suddenly, her eyebrows shot up. "Hey, Jo told me Joel might be coming—"

Your eyes went wide as saucers. "Kat, you gotta help me. His room is right next to mine."

"What?"

You nodded quickly. "I swear, please, you have to help me."

"But how? What happened? Like, right next door?"

"Yes. Right next door," you shrugged helplessly. "The second I arrived, I went out onto the balcony to call Dean, and there he was on the balcony right next to mine, which is basically attached. He must have heard the whole conversation!"

Kat smirked. "Oh my God, I bet he absolutely wanted to crawl into a hole and die!"

"Kathani!"

"What?" She shrugged. "You know it’s true. The only reason he even showed up is probably to see you. Since when does Joel take trips like this?"

"I don't know, it's been a while. Maybe he does now."

"Right, now," she rolled her eyes. She let out a breath and studied you for a quiet moment. "I'm sorry. How are you holding up? How do you feel about it?"

How did you feel about it? How did you feel about it… how did you feel about it.

Conflicted.

"I'm fine," you said, turning your gaze back toward the ocean. "I mean… I'll manage." You looked back at her, giving a firm nod. "I'm in Maui. Look at this view, it's gorgeous."

"It really is."

"I don't want Joel overshadowing this."

"Hey," Kat gently touched your arm to catch your eye. "Take a breath. I don't think he's going to try and cross any lines, not after how things ended. And if he does get in your space, I'll get rid of him for you."

You laughed. "Easy there. I just need to pay him no mind and that's it. We'll be spending most of our time out of our rooms anyway."

The sky was a striking blend of pinks and oranges when you made your way down to the beach for dinner. It was paradise; a long, long table was set up right in the center of the open air restaurant, draped in a crisp white tablecloth and adorned with centerpieces crafted from local flora. Servers drifted around, putting the final touches on everything for the rehearsal dinner.

You had headed down early to grab a drink.

Switching rooms was out of the question. Earlier, during the welcome cocktails, you had pulled Jo aside to ask if a swap was possible.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Why? Is there something wrong with yours?"

A bit flustered, you told her, "It’s right next door to Joel's."

Jo frowned and shook her head. "No way. I specifically told Nora to put you two far apart."

Nora, one of the planners.

Well, long story short: it was a total communication breakdown. Apparently, the phrases they can't be next to each other and they have to be next to each other sound way too similar, or maybe it was bad phone reception, or ambient noise, or who even knows. Nora had purposely booked you in adjoining rooms. And when you saw the look on her face when Jo brought it up (a look of pure wedding-induced panic and stress) you simply threw in the towel.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. I don't want to cause any trouble, it's your wedding."

And it was. You weren't about to demand a new hotel room just because your ex husband happened to be on the other side of the wall. Jo was already stressed enough without having to fix your mess, which, to be completely fair, wasn't even that catastrophic.

Fortunately, Joel had kept his distance during cocktails. He stayed on the periphery, had a drink or two, and then you watched him head out before the mixer even wrapped up.

Now, you were sipping your drink, settled at the bar while smooth music filled your ears and the distant sound of the tides eased your mind.

Bing. Your phone lit up.

[Kat]: emergency meet me in the lobby NOW

[Kat]: hurry before dinner starts I have to tell you something

You frowned and instantly slid off your barstool, taking care not to let your dress tangle around your legs. It was brand new, a light blue shade that perfectly matched the dinner dress code. You had been paying close attention to details like that. You even wore a white flower tucked into your hair right above your ear.

With your drink in hand, sipping from the straw, you walked over to the lobby, and the moment the automatic doors slid open, you spotted Kat standing near the reception desk. Her eyebrows shot up the second she caught sight of you, and she approached with long hurried strides.

She grabbed your arm and pulled you off to the side. You nearly spilled some of your drink but kept the straw securely between your lips.

You knit your brows and took a sip. "Mh—hey, what's goin' on?"

Kat let out a breath. "Have you seen Joel?"

"What? No, why?"

She pressed her lips together tightly and gave a firm nod. "He didn't come alone."

"What?"

"Joel. He didn't come by himself. I just saw him go up the elevator with a woman, and she kissed him."

Your heart did a strange jerky twist that. For some reason, it actually stung.

You swallowed hard, and your eyelids suddenly felt heavy.

"But he was completely by himself during the cocktails."

"I think she arrived later."

Caught completely off guard, you took a step back.

Okay.

What could you even say? Nothing. It wasn't as if you were supposed to feel bad about it anyway; you yourself had been in a wonderful new relationship for several months now. Did you even have a single right to feel even slightly slighted just because he had a girl—

Jesus.

You knit your brows. "Are you absolutely sure it was him?"

"Yeah," she said, crossing her arms. "He didn't spot me, but I definitely saw him. They got out of a car at the entrance and then headed straight for the elevator. She had a suitcase."

"But Jo would have told me. If Joel was bringing a plus one, Jo would have let me know."

"What if it slipped her mind? Or what if she deliberately avoided mentioning it for some reason?"

"Why… why would she do something like that?"

Kat raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips slightly, right on the verge of saying something.

Before she could get a single word out, you cut her off.

"It's fine. I have a plus one too, it's just that Dean couldn't make it," you shrugged. "Joel has every right to bring someone."

"Yeah, but he's staying in the room right next to yours."

Oh. Great. Thank you, Kat.

"You're not being very helpful," you said, crossing your arms.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, tilting her head back slightly. "Look, come sleep in my room tonight, okay?"

"Jesus, Kat," you said, shaking your head, "I think… I think you're blowing this way out of proportion. Joel and I… we're divorced, alright? I have a new life. I don't care if he's with someone else, or if he's right next to my room. I freaked out earlier but," you laughed, "it's no big deal, seriously. I can handle it."

Kat nodded, though you knew it was highly unlikely she believed a single word coming out of your mouth. She knew you entirely too well; she had been right there during that first year after the divorce, watching you go back to Joel again and again, returning and leaving, back and forth. And she had been there when you walked out for good, too; she had comforted you more times than you could count.

"It’s been two years," you made clear. "I’ve moved on, and clearly, so has he."

"Clearly?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "What’s with that tone?"

You scoffed. "Nothing. I know exactly what you’re thinking, okay? But it’s over. Joel is in the past. I have Dean now."

"Okay, I know. But just think about it," she said. "About my room tonigh. My door is always open."

Going for your third glass of wine in less than an hour was definitely not a good sign. But she was loud; her voice was too high pitched and bubbly, and she wouldn't stop chiming in with remarks about every single thing anyone else said. Tiny comments, kind comments, but incredibly grating comments because they simply hammered away at your brain.

She was the polar opposite of you, and for some reason, that left you with a twisted feeling in your chest.

She was twenty five years old. You had never envisioned Joel as the type of guy who would date someone so young, someone so different. You couldn't wrap your head around how that even functioned; had he suddenly changed, turning into someone who now enjoyed things he never used to? Had he transformed into one of those divorced guys in their forties who date girls in their twenties just to feel young and revitalized? He used to make fun of those type of men.

He didn't seem like the man you knew; now he was quiet, chuckling every now and then, bringing his glass to his lips every time she told him "not to be silly" while tapping his shoulder and tilting her head.

But then again, he wasn't the man you knew. Because you didn't know him anymore. People change a lot in two years, and he certainly wasn't your Joel anymore. He had stopped being that a very long time ago.

The only saving grace was that they were seated all the way at the opposite end of the table. You could easily get out of interacting with them, or even looking their way, and that was exactly what you did for the most part.

What was the point of wasting your time on that stuff when one of your closest friends was about to get married? None at all.

So you ate and drank and caught up with your friends, actually having a wonderful time despite your miserable luck. And as the alcohol began to make you feel more loose and upbeat, you couldn't stop laughing at every single story everyone shared. Anecdotes from when she was little, a teenager, and even after heading off to college or starting to date Cillian. Some of them you remembered vividly, because you had been right there.

And the entire time, every now and then, you could feel it. His gaze, locked right onto your profile, burning your skin in a shameless way. You did everything in your power not to look over, to give no hint that you knew exactly what he was doing, and you succeeded through the whole dinner—until Jo's sister launched into that anecdote about the time Jo got locked out of the house and they tried to scramble in through the bathroom window.

While trying to squeeze through, her shorts caught on the window frame, and Jo tumbled to the floor completely bare from the waist down. Her shorts and underwear were left dangling from the window.

Oh Jesus, you remembered it so vividly. It had been so fun. She had come down to open the front door with a towel wrapped around her hips and her eyes were streaming with tears from laughing so hard. And when you went upstairs and saw her poor, sad little torn panties hanging from the frame, you burst out laughing just like you were doing right now.

A wave of pure amusement swept through you, and you threw your head back, covering your mouth as a tiny snort escaped your throat. And then, completely on instinct, your eyes sought him out.

He was watching you, of course, but his lips held a still quiet smile. You suddenly remembered those old days when he would deliberately make you laugh until your stomach ached and you made those funny noises. You used to hate it, you always had, but he would tell you they were sweet and nice, and how much he loved hearing them. You had never understood it. Now, he just smiled in silence, eight seats away from you.

You smoothed over your tight flushed cheeks and dropped your gaze as you picked up your wine glass. You just had to wait a little longer for dinner to wrap up and for the small party to migrate to the other side of the room.

You were doing just fine, weren't you?

A few seconds later, you looked back at him. He wasn't watching you anymore; his eyes were fixed on his wine glass, which he held by the stem with his fingers, tracing the clear glass with his thumb. Then, he let out a long, heavy breath through his nose and brought the glass to his lips, emptying the entire contents in a single swallow.

"We’re getting married tomorrow!"

Jo’s shout was so full of pure joy and laughter as Cillian spun her around the dance floor that your heart truly felt like it expanded and a wave of warmth washed over you.

You watched them from the bar and lifted your phone to snap a photo. Several, actually. You had no idea how many shots you had taken by now.

At some point during the night, just a few minutes ago, Joel and his girlfriend (Jen, according to a whisper from Kat half an hour earlier) had headed out. And because of that, you felt so much lighter and more comfortable in the space.

It was for the best, this whole keeping your distance thing. And honestly, the fact that Joel had brought someone was probably for the best too, since it prevented the two of you from drifting toward each other in any way. Come to think of it, what a shame Dean hadn't come along. Everything would have been so much easier to handle with him here. I mean, you had invited him, and he asked if you were sure. And I mean, at first, you weren't so sure. I mean, what were you even saying? How many drinks had you even had by now?

Dean. Dean, you needed to call him.

Shit, your feet were killing you. So you kicked off your heels as you walked toward the steps leading down to the shore. Leaning against the railing for balance, you unbuckled the delicate straps from around your ankles, dangling the shoes from your fingers a few seconds later as you descended bare footed. You dropped them somewhere there.

Oh, good heavens. The sand felt incredible beneath your bare skin.

You tilted your head back, letting out a deeply relaxed sigh. In front of you, very very far away, the ocean shifted beneath the moonlight, looking exactly like a painting. The sky was completely clear, with a massive perfectly round moon hanging at the absolute peak of the heavens.

Your cheeks were warm and your neck was flushed, but the gentle breeze brushing against your skin cooled your arms, your legs, and your bare back as you strolled toward the water. It was refreshing. The further you wandered, the more the noise of the party faded away, giving your mind a little more room to breathe and your thoughts space to wander.

You really should take advantage of this and call Dean now. But it was probably late. He was bound to be asleep by now; it had to be the middle of the night back home. No, it definitely was. You had checked.

Shit. You left your purse up there.

You turned around to look back at the celebration in the distance and a smile tugged at your lips.

From afar, everything looked so beautiful. The sky was pitch black, but the place looked like a glowing jewelry box filled with tiny people moving in every direction; jumping and laughing, their voices reaching you as soft overlapping sounds, like tiny ant voices.

Jo and Cillian looked so blissfully happy. They were dancing right in the center of the floor, and though you could barely make them out through the crowd, you could still spot them instantly. He had his hands around her waist, holding her close as they moved together. They were so deeply in love, so radiant. You remembered that exact feeling vividly, as if it had been yesterday.

No, it had been thirteen years ago, at a lovely little venue back in Texas. It hadn't been anywhere near as fancy as this, but it had its own unique charm. You remembered the flowers everywhere, the tablecloths as bright as white light, the napkins monogrammed with your initials. You actually still had one tucked away in a small pale pink box. You still held onto so many of those trinkets; entirely too many of them, which you honestly should just throw out. Why keep holding onto them?

You were young when you married Joel. He was young, too. Just two twenty somethings full of goals and dreams.

You were barely twenty one when you first met him, and from that very first moment, you knew it was something special. Something forever, you thought. And two years later, he asked you to marry him. It was a bit of a chaotic mess that ended up turning into something incredibly sweet and beautiful.

It was a rainy night. Joel had taken you out to dinner and scored movie tickets. About Time had just hit theaters and he knew you were dying to see it because you had watched the trailer on Youtube. So you had dinner and then you headed to the cinema. Of course, he hadn't anticipated the ending leaving you so sad, and he had to comfort you in the dark of the theater while you tried to get your sobbing under control. And by the time you walked out, the downpour had gotten even worse.

Huge puddles flooded the streets, and as you walked to the car, you slipped and landed right on your ass. Your clothes were caked in mud, which splashed all over Joel, and a few seconds later when he tried to pull you up, he went down himself. It was so fun; the two of you couldn't stop laughing. Every time you tried to stand up, you just kept sliding around, your outfit ruined and his right along with it. And by the time you finally made it inside the car, you were both an absolute disaster.

You knew that hadn't been his original plan, or at least, you found out later. Joel had set up a beautiful arrangement on his apartment balcony, but the rain completely ruined his plans. And when you finally got back to his place, you looked at him; soaked, dirty, covered in mud, with his hair a mess and his clothes completely unraveled, and you just kissed him.

"We're a mess," you murmured against his teeth as he guided you inside the apartment.

He laughed, and that was when you noticed it; he was incredibly nervous. The way he looked at you was different, and for a second, he almost looked physically ill.

And then, he went for it. He slid his hand into his pocket, and before pulling it back out, he confessed his love to you all over again. He dropped down on one knee.

You had never been happier in your entire life than you were right there, in that tiny apartment, with just the two of you.

Three years later, Joel bought you another ring. According to him, the first one wasn't good enough. You disagreed; you absolutely adored your ring. He had worked so hard to afford it, and it meant the world to you. But he insisted on giving you a new one, something much larger. He was doing well at work by then. So he put together another dinner, one completely uninterrupted by rain, and presented it to you on a perfectly clear night.

But time moves fast, and many years later, those are nothing more than memories.

Maybe you should go for a walk to clear your head.

You let out a breath and turned around to head in the opposite direction—

A sharp gasp caught in your chest, and you froze in your tracks. Your hands immediately flew to your chest.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he said, holding up a hand. "Didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry."

You knit your brows, still feeling your heart hammering away.

Joel stood right in front of you, with a worried look on his face. His brows were slightly drawn, his eyes glistened, and his hair drifted in the sea breeze. He wore a white, long sleeved button-down with a few of the top buttons undone, revealing a hint of sun flushed skin at his chest. His cream colored dress pants billowed slightly in the wind.

"I thought you left," you said.

He shook his head. "No. Jen wasn't feelin' well. Just walked her back to the room."

You felt a faint throbbing behind your brows. "Is she alright?"

"Got a headache, is all."

"Oh."

It only took a split second for your eyes to lock onto his, freezing you both in place.

He swallowed hard.

"I didn't know our rooms were gonna be right next to each other," he said.

You paused for a beat.

"Neither did I."

He gave a slight, quiet nod, a heavy, downcast look lingering in his eyes.

"I can ask for a different room tomorrow morning, if you'd like."

You offered a faint smile, though your eyelids felt incredibly heavy.

"Yeah, okay," you said, taking two steps forward and brushing right past him. "Thank you."

As you moved away, Joel tracked you with his gaze. You turned as you passed him, keeping your path along the shoreline in an escape attempt that felt frustratingly drawn out. You could feel his eyes burning into the back of your neck.

"I'm sorry." His voice carried clearly through the moonlight behind you.

You stopped instantly, completely unable to help yourself, and pivoted on the sand to face him.

"I shouldn't have brought her here." He took a step forward.

You gave a single shake of your head. "Joel, it’s fine."

"No, it ain't."

"It really is."

"I can tell it ain't," his brow furrowed.

"Then why did you bring her?"

"I don't know. Seemed like a good idea right up until I got here and saw you."

You huffed a breath. "Is it my fault now?"

"No, no," he rushed to shake his head. "That ain't what I meant at all."

You closed your eyes and ran a hand down your neck. Frustration bathed you as you felt the heavy weight of the alcohol in your veins.

"Joel, just… don't. Please don't," you said, taking two steps back. "It’s fine, it is. You’re with someone else, and so am I. We don't need to be having this kind of conversation, not right now."

It looked as though he was right on the verge of saying something. He parted his lips for a moment, but snapped them shut a second later. He stayed perfectly still, holding you captive under his gaze, because you couldn't bring yourself to do anything but stand there and look right back at him.

"We haven't seen each other in two whole years," he said then, like a tired accusation.

"Joel…"

"You left me a damn post it note."

Your mouth fell open, your chest beginning to rise and fall more rapidly as your breathing turned sudden and shallow. He seemed more worked up now, too.

You couldn't do this.

On pure instinct, you spun around and practically fled. You walked as fast as your feet could push through the sand, breaking away from him.

Behind you, you heard his voice calling out your name, getting closer and closer with every passing second. You only made it a few yards.

He caught you by the arm, and your name spilled from his lips like a breathless sound.

You wrenched yourself free from his grip, spinning around.

"Please, don't do this," you pleaded in a whisper, locking eyes with him. "What'd you want me to do? Just stay there? Watch us keep running in the same damn circles?"

Joel stepped back, taken aback, but his gaze never wavered. His jaw tightened, the wind blowing a stray lock of hair across his forehead.

"Could've said goodbye," he said. "Face to face. We deserved more than a goddamn note left on the table after everythin’ we were"

Your heart squeezed tight.

"You and I could never just say goodbye, Joel. We tried a hundred times. You know exactly how it ended every single time."

Joel closed his eyes for a beat, and you knew the blow had landed right where it hurt.

The silence that followed was absolute. And when he looked back at you, the vulnerability in his glistening eyes made your chest ache.

"If it was that hard..." he started, "then why'd we have to say goodbye in the first place?"

Your lower lip trembled. "Joel... don't."

Your vision blurred completely as tears flooded your eyes, spilling over before you could do anything to stop them.

It was cruel of him to ask you that now. Not when you’d spent two whole years trying to convince yourself you’d made the right choice.

You’re with Dean, you reminded yourself urgently. Dean is at home. You’re happy with him. And you couldn’t forget that Joel had moved on too; his girlfriend was upstairs at the hotel.

Joel fell quiet. He shook his head again and again, like he was trying to rid himself of a thought he couldn’t outrun. His gaze dropped to the sand, fixing on some distant spot before he spoke.

"These past few months, I’ve been lookin’ for a house…" he admitted softly. "Lease on my apartment’s almost up, and I figured maybe it was time for a real home. And every place I walk into, I catch myself lookin’ for big windows, a wide backyard, and some corner with enough light to work without havin' to turn the lamps on in the afternoon."

Then, he looked up, locking those glistening eyes straight onto yours.

"I could buy it," he said quietly. "I make enough now to get a real nice house. But what the hell’s the point of all that money if you ain’t in it? Tell me somethin’… why is your voice still in my head every time I make a decision?"

It took you several seconds just to draw breath.

You swallowed hard, absorbing the bruising impact of his words. You had to forcefully suffocate your own thoughts, the ones screaming that you were completely consumed by him, too. That sometimes, when you were in your shop holding a piece of sandpaper, his voice would appear out of nowhere, reminding you to always go with the grain so you wouldn't ruin the finish. Or that every time your car engine made a strange noise, you’d remember his advice to check the hoses before panicking. His ghost was everywhere.

But you couldn't tell him that. So instead, you said;

"Your girlfriend is upstairs."

You spun around abruptly and took off at a brisk pace, nearly breaking into a run in a desperate attempt to get away. The ocean breeze whipped against your face, but it did nothing to cool your burning cheeks.

Glancing back, you saw him: Joel was gaining on you with long strides, his white shirt billowing in the wind. Tears escaped without control, blurring everything in sight.

You whipped around to face him the moment you felt him too close.

Joel stopped short. His face was twisted with ache, and he stood completely still and quiet for a few seconds. His eyes shone brighter now, welling up with a thin glaze of tears that grew thicker by the second.

"What are we doin'?" he asked then, cracking completely. He stepped a fraction closer, repeating with desperation, "What are we doin'? It was supposed to be us!"

You swallowed hard, feeling a physical pain right in the center of your chest, as if Joel’s words had cut straight through your skin.

You looked at him through the tears that refused to stop falling.

"A lot of things happened, Joel. Did you forget that already?"

He stared at you in silence.

"I needed you!" You confessed.

"You pushed me away, every damn time," he countered.

"I was grieving," you shot back. "I know it was hard sometimes, but I was grieving."

"I was grieving too," Joel snapped. He took a step toward you, desperate to make you hear him. "That was my baby too. And every time I tried to get close to you, you... you just pushed me back, pushed me away like you couldn't stand the sight of me. Like you didn't want me there."

"Of course I wanted you there! You were my husband," you cried out, letting out a shaky, nearly choked breath. You paused, looking at him with all the frustration you’d kept locked away for years. "But where were you? You spent more time out there than you ever did at home."

Joel ran a hand over his face, completely spent, and let out a trembling sigh.

"I was scared," he confessed. "There’d never been anythin’ we couldn’t fix together before. But this... this was bigger than us. Every time I walked through that front door, I felt like I'd failed you. Like I couldn't protect the one thing we wanted most. I was terrified of sayin' the wrong thing, terrified of makin' it worse. And it felt like makin' it worse was the only damn thing I knew how to do."

"So you left," you shot back, pointing at him. "You just kept leaving. You weren’t there." Your voice trembled harder with every word. "You thought no matter how many times you walked away, I’d still be there waiting for you, and that’s not how this works." Your eyes burned as fresh tears spilled over. "I was scared too."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he said, taking a step forward. "Not a day goes by where I don't think about what I could've done to stop it, to protect us—"

"How could you have stopped it? It wasn't your fault, and it wasn't mine," you whispered. "All those years..." You shook your head. "All those years I felt like a failure for not bein' able to—I tortured myself thinkin' it was only a matter of time before you got tired of me and walked away. And then when it finally..." You shook your head again, refusing to let the memory surface. "The only thing I needed was for you to be there."

"How could I ever get tired of you?" he asked with painful disbelief. He gave a quiet shake of his head. "I told you a hundred times. You were my family. Anything else, we could've gotten through it together. I married you 'cause I wanted you, just you. Kids or no kids, I wanted you."

You stared at him in absolute silence. His words cut right through you, leaving a burning ache in your chest, yet at the same time, they felt like a warm, long overdue embrace around your heart.

Why didn't he say all this back then? Why did he have to wait all this time to lay it all out, right in the dead of night, in the middle of all this?

You froze, the weight of the years crashing down on you, and gave a shake of your head.

Taking a step back into the cool sand, you whispered, "It doesn't matter now."

"It does t—"

"No, it doesn't," you cut him off, your voice hardening. "It's too late. I'm with someone else, and you are too."

"I don't love her."

"Joel."

"What, you wanna pretend we both just moved on?"

"We're divorced," you said, the word tasting like ash in your mouth.

"I never wanted to divorce you and you know it," Joel countered.

You shook your head and then you felt it; panic starting to crowd out the ache.

You had to get out of there. You needed to leave this beach right now, before you broke, before you did something you couldn't take back.

You lunged to the side, trying to bolt past him, but Joel reacted instantly, catching you by the hands. The heat of his touch burned.

In a blind reflex, you slammed your palms against his chest and shoved him back with everything you had, breaking his grip. And you ran.

You ran with your breath clawing at your lungs, fleeing toward the small party. You knew he wouldn't follow you there; Joel would never push his way through your friends to make a scene, or to keep telling you things that shouldn't matter anymore.

When you finally hit the steps leading up from the beach, you spotted your heels tossed in the sand right where you had left them. You didn't even pause to pick them up. You took the stairs barefoot, crossed the room where the music was still thumping, and with trembling hands, snatched your purse off one of the chairs. You headed straight for your room. All around you, everyone was far too drunk to even notice.

You had spent the entire day mastering the art of looking anywhere but at him.

During the morning, it was easy. Mainly because he was nowhere to be seen. You were confined with the other bridesmaids and Jo’s family. In her hotel room, time flew by in a blur of wedding prep. Everyone talked, laughed, and rallied around Jo to soothe her nerves. Good nerves, born from being on the verge of something beautiful and life-changing. Not the bad ones that make you want to bolt out the back door of a church.

During the ceremony, everything shifted. As a bridesmaid, you stood on one side of the altar, while Joel stood on the other as a groomsman. The distance was safe, but it wasn't enough; you felt his eyes on you the entire time.

Whenever you looked toward the newlyweds, Joel caught your peripheral vision, his dark eyes fixed squarely on your face. He didn't break eye contact, not even when the crowd burst into applause. It was constant; even if he turned to smile or speak with someone else, it was only a countdown until his eyes found yours again. And then, the realization hit: you were watching him, too.

Of course you were. If you caught him staring dozens of times, it meant your own eyes were wandering toward him just as often. A simple truth that struck you just as Jo and Cillian walked down the aisle between the rows of seats, everyone celebrating the union of their beautiful love.

You kept your chin up, gripping your bouquet so tightly your knuckles turned white and pretending the heat rushing to your cheeks was just the early afternoon sun. You decided then and there that enough was enough. You couldn't keep looking at him, or he would keep looking at you. Moving forward, the best option was to ignore him entirely.

So you stuck to Kat like glue. You hadn't told her what happened the night before; you hadn't told anyone. Apparently, neither had he (which was to be expected) though you couldn't help but notice how Jen's eyes locked onto you just as much as his did.

There she was, right in the middle of the wedding guests. She wore a faint smile that seemed perfectly natural on her face, but her gaze swept up and down your body, over and over.

As a rational person, you knew exactly why she was doing it. You were her boyfriend’s ex-wife. During dinner the previous night, the two of you hadn't interacted at all. And when you felt her trying to approach you before heading to her room, you had turned on your heel and fled, pretending you hadn't seen her. She probably just wanted to introduce herself; Joel had likely told her the bare minimum. You, however, had zero interest in meeting her.

As a woman, though, you feared a deeper reason. Some energies are impossible to ignore, like the raw tension between her boyfriend and you, standing on opposite sides of that altar like a sick joke. If Jen suspected something, or if she noticed how Joel couldn't keep his eyes off you (and she only needed a functional pair of eyes to see it), you didn't blame her.

You just had to ignore them both. It was easy enough during the ceremony.

But the real trial began at the reception.

By seven in the evening, the Maui sky had transformed into a stunning canvas of coral and purple hues, fading out over the Pacific. On the open air terrace by the beach, the reception was already in full swing, with some guests already on their second drinks. Strings of warm fairy lights flickered between the palm trees, fighting against the encroaching twilight that swallowed the coastline, while the warm breeze carried the tides mixed with the sweet music from the live band.

All around you, everything was pure luxury and charm. The venue was breathtaking, and every detail was exquisite; from the decor near the beach exit to the main dancefloor, the ornaments hanging from the ceiling with tiny crystal stars and delicate ribbons, and the tables arranged with flawless glassware and matching chairs.

You stood near the outdoor bar, laughing out loud as Kat made an exaggerated toast with her champagne flute, while Gemma, Jo’s sister, swept you both into a hilarious anecdote about the morning's chaos. You laughed along despite having been there yourself, then pulled out your phone to show Eric, Gemma’s husband, a video of the whole thing.

Between the tropical cocktails, the catchy music, and the girls banter, you finally felt your shoulders drop; for a wonderful stretch of time, you managed to immerse yourself entirely in the party, genuinely enjoying the moment. And you were incredibly grateful for it.

It was only when the girls drifted toward the dance floor that you found yourself alone, waiting for your next drink. You leaned your weight against the wooden bar and, almost unconsciously, let your eyes sweep across the crowd illuminated by the hanging lights. It was a quick instinctive scan; a final defense mechanism to ensure the perimeter was clear, confirming that neither he nor his girlfriend was nearby before you could fully let your guard down.

You exhaled a quiet sigh, watching your hands against the wooden bar.

"This place ain't got nothin' on our little wedding, right?"

The voice echoed from right behind you. You whipped around.

Joel was there, leaning lazily against the counter, giving you a sidelong glance. He looked effortless cocky, completely relaxed. He looked devastatingly handsome in his suit, though his collar was already unbuttoned and his tie hung loose.

Not again.

"Joel," you warned.

He picked up on the warning right away. His stance softened slightly as he stood up straighter, throwing his hand up in peace.

"Sorry. Just jokin'. Ain't tryin' to stir up trouble again," he said, stepping a bit closer and shaking his head. "Just wanted to say I'm sorry. For last night. I crossed a line. Too many of 'em, to be honest, sayin' what I said. It wasn't right of me."

He cast his gaze downward, looking genuinely remorseful for a brief beat. Right then, under the amber lights, you finally caught the dark tired shadows bruising the skin under his eyes. He looked exhausted.

You didn't say a word, but you nodded slightly, accepting the olive branch.

He looked back up, pinning you with his gaze. "Don't you worry about me, okay? I won't be botherin' you again."

"How sure are you about that?"

Joel offered a smile that didn't make it to his eyes.

"In the last two years, did I ever bother you?"

"I blocked you."

He huffed an incredulous breath through his nose. "No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

Joel clicked his tongue, taking a sip of his drink. "Nah."

Your brow furrowed as a prickle of stubborn pride hit your chest. Grabbing your purse from the bar, you reached inside for your phone. Your thumb flicked across the screen as you glared up at him.

"I'm telling you, I blocked you."

He raised the glass to his lips again, and just before taking a sip, his eyes locked onto yours over the rim. "What you wanna bet?"

Anoyed and determined to shut him up, you went into your contact settings and pulled up your blocked list. Your eyes darted across the screen. There were a couple of unknown numbers, some old spam contacts you didn't even remember blocking, but you searched and searched... and the list was far too short. None of them were Joel.

You froze right there in the middle of the party. You knew it with absolute certainty because, despite two years of radio silence, you still remembered every single digit of his number by heart. None of those numbers matched his.

Had you seriously never blocked him?

You sighed, setting your phone face down on the bar.

"Alright." You glanced over in the opposite direction.

Across the room, Kat was staring at you with her eyebrows raised. She threw up a hand as if to say What the hell are you doing?. You answered her with a tight flat pout.

You turned back to Joel; he was watching Kat with a faint half amused frown.

Without moving much, his eyes dropped back down to you.

"Anyway, I'm sorry," he said, nodding gently. "For all of it. I really am."

You just nodded back.

The tension in his brow softened, and his gaze traced your face; eyes, mouth, eyes, eyes, mouth, eyes.

And then, he asked;

"Is he a good man?"

A beat.

"Yeah," you said softly.

"Does he treat you right?"

You swallowed. "Yeah. He does."

He pressed his lips together and nodded. "Good. I'm real happy for you."

The second those words left his mouth, you caught it: the tiniest twitch in his right eye, almost imperceptible. A minute tremor he couldn't hide.

Joel held your gaze for one last second, and then he gave you a small wink, just like he used to. With a faint smile, he pulled himself away from the bar and walked off, disappearing into the crowd.

Dinner passed in a rush of laughter and scattered conversations across the tables. There were emotional speeches; the best man brought Cillian to tears with a childhood story, and when it was your turn alongside the bridesmaids, you managed to keep your voice steady and bring a smile to everyone's faces.

After what had happened the night before, you didn't want to drink too much alcohol; you’d only had a couple of glasses with your meal, keeping your feet firmly on the ground.

By the time dinner wrapped up and the dance floor opened, the vibe grew much more relaxed. The semi-formal atmosphere completely dissolved under the colored lights now washing over the place. You were actually having fun; you danced for a long stretch with Kat and the girls, and later, Jo’s dad pulled you out for a few clumsy but incredibly fun spins that had you laughing out loud. In the middle of one of those upbeat songs, your eyes caught Joel in the center of the floor, dancing perfectly like a gentleman with Cillian’s mom. Your gazes locked for a split second, barely a heartbeat, before you both quickly looked away.

You kept enjoying yourself. Songs flew by, along with casual toasts and group photos. But later on, as you walked near the edge of the room, your eyes drifted toward the back.

Joel and Jen were sitting at a secluded table, away from the main lighting. You allowed yourself to watch them for a moment, hidden behind the crowd. Their faces were dead serious; her brow was furrowed and her arms were crossed, while Joel spoke in a low voice, gesturing faintly with one hand. They looked like they were arguing. Having a quiet argument, at the very least. But before either of them could look up and catch you staring, you broke eye contact and moved to another part of the room.

But the damage was already done.

Suddenly, a wave of absolute desolation hit you like a bucket of ice water. The air around you began to feel heavy, suffocating, and a sharp ache settled right beneath your ribs.

You needed to get out of your own head. Urgently, you pulled your phone from your purse and tried to call Dean. You needed to hear his voice, to remind yourself that you had a real life waiting for you back home, to cling to him like a lifeline. To remember you had something else.

The line rang.

And rang.

And rang. But Dean didn't pick up. You hung up, waited a few seconds, and tried again. Then a third time. Nothing. Just the sound of the voicemail.

You dropped your hand, slipping the phone back into your purse with a mix of frustration and anger, forcing yourself to swallow the lump in your throat.

"Hey, there you are!"

Jo’s cheerful voice snapped you right back to reality. Your friend approached you, her cheeks already flushed from the alcohol, holding her glass at a slight tilt. She was wearing a gorgeous white dress that hit just below her knees, loose and flowing perfectly against her body.

"I've been meanin' to talk to you all night but I've been so busy!" she laughed, running a hand through her hair. "Nobody warned me I’d spend my own wedding just listenin' to the guests!"

You smiled, forcing down the suffocating feeling from a second ago. "Everyone’s gonna want a piece of you today, Jo, it’s your night. But enjoy it; everything is beautiful, and you look even more stunning."

Jo offered a tender smile and threw her arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace that smelled of her expensive perfume. When she pulled back, she looked at you closely; her smile faltered slightly into a remorseful pout.

"Hey, I am so sorry... I had no idea he was bringin' someone. We gave a plus one to all our main guests and I just didn't think that—"

"Jo, it’s fine. Seriously."

Jo shook her head, frustrated. "No, it’s not fine. The nerve of him. You didn't even bring Dean. I really wish you had."

"I'm telling you, everything is completely fine," you insisted, forcing a bright smile. "I'm having fun, can't you tell?"

Jo tilted her head back a bit, narrowing her eyes to read you, but the pure bliss of her own wedding night made her give in.

"Well, yeah. I guess you are."

Right then, a collective shout erupted from the dance floor. A big group of people was forming a circle, clapping along to the beat and calling for the newlyweds.

You glanced over and gave her a gentle nudge. "I think you're needed over there."

Jo grinned mischievously. "Yeah... and you're coming with me!"

Before you could even protest, she grabbed your arm firmly and dragged you toward the center of the floor, pulling you both right into the middle of the circle. The DJ dropped an absolute classic: Abba’s Dancing Queen. And the energy of the room swept you up completely. It was one of your favorite songs.

Suddenly, there was no room left to dwell on phones that didn't ring or tables hidden in the back of the room. Jo started dancing dramatically in the center, making you genuinely laugh, and you joined right in; jumping, singing the lyrics at the top of your lungs with the rest of the guests, and clapping as others took turns showing off their best moves in the middle. For a few minutes, surrounded by your friends, the music numbed the ache in your chest. You let yourself lose control, floating in the pure fun of the night and the embrace of the people you loved most.

You couldn't tell how much time slipped by, but it had to be at least four or five songs. Standing in the middle of the circle, you ran your hands through your hair to push it away from your face. It was boiling hot inside, or maybe it was just your racing pulse making you feel like the air was running out.

Stepping away from the group, you backed up a few paces with a permanent smile straining your lips after minutes of non stop laughing.

You glanced to the side, right where the exit to the outdoor grounds opened up, and the pull of the fresh air was immediate and far too tempting to ignore. You walked in that direction, leaving the pounding thud of the music behind, and stepped out into the night, heading down the short flight of stairs to the lower level.

Resting your hand on the wooden railing, you walked down the ramp toward the right, keeping your eyes fixed on the dark infinity of the ocean, where the crests of the waves glowed faintly under the moonlight.

You stopped, letting out a long heavy sigh and running a hand over your neck to catch the cooling breeze.

Look at this place, you’d barely even enjoyed it. With all the wedding chaos and everything else, you hadn't found any free time to look around. But tomorrow you could; after brunch, the afternoon was open for everyone, and you assumed the evening would be too. Jo and Cillian would have their own activities as newlyweds, and some guests were leaving due to work; most of them, actually. But you were staying until Monday afternoon, and so was Kat. You’d be able to do all sorts of fun things. That thought actually made you excited.

You decided to turn around to watch the party from a distance, but the instant you shifted your body, the air caught in your throat.

You saw him. Joel was standing right there, less than two meters away. He was leaning his hip against the railing on the other side, staying completely still, almost camouflaged by the shadows and the branches of a large bush covered in tiny pink and white flowers. He was staring right at you.

A spike of panic shot through your body. You wanted to speak; you wanted to tell him you were sorry, that you had no idea he was down here. Because it was obvious you had crashed his alone time.

Your brain went on the defensive, screaming at you to turn around, head straight back up the ramp, and return to the party or at least find another corner of the hotel to breathe. But your feet wouldn't cooperate.

You couldn't say a word, and you couldn't move. You just stood there, locking eyes with him in absolute silence. You watched him, and he watched you. And in that second of paralysis, Jen's existence didn't even cross your mind; nothing existed outside of that suspended space in the dark.

Before you could gather enough air for another breath, the distance simply… vanished.

He was on top of you, and you were on top of him. You’d never know how it actually happened, who closed the final gap or who took the first step, but suddenly Joel’s arms were wrapping around you and his mouth was crashing onto yours.

It was a devastating kiss, charged with an intensity that shattered your whole body. His hands flew urgently to your face, cupping your cheeks with desperation, while his lips smashed against yours in a hungry claim. Your bodies pressed completely together, erasing any trace of air between you. Not that there was much left to begin with.

Without breaking the kiss, Joel spun you around in a fluid movement, pulling you right to where he’d been standing, and pressed you firmly against the railing. You felt the cold wood bite into your back, immediately followed by the overwhelming heat of his body crushing into yours. One of his hands dropped forcefully to your waist, anchoring you to him, reminding every single inch of your skin exactly who owned this memory.

Your heart was racing out of control, hammering so violently against your ribs that you could hear it in your ears, drowning out any coherent thought that dared to surface in your mind. There was no Dean, no past, no mistakes. In that dark corner beneath the flowers and facing the sea, you couldn't think about absolutely anything else but him.

Kiss him; kiss him deeply. Deeper, devouring any shred of doubt that might be left in you.

You felt a blind desperation flood your veins, a voracious hunger you didn't even know you had been harboring, suddenly demanding more, and more, and all of him; all, all at once, all began happening far too fast, as though time had accelerated with no way to force it back into its natural rhythm.

The heat of his skin and the firmness of his hands clouded your judgment entirely, pushing you right to the edge.

In a sudden move, you forced your lips to break away from his. You pulled back just a few inches, just enough to look into his eyes in the dim light, your breath ragged and your heart thumping in your ears and between your thighs.

You didn't even recognize your own voice when you said;

"Go to my room in ten minutes."

Before he could react or utter a single word, you planted your hands on his shoulders and, with a push that was sharp from urgency but soft with desire, you broke free from his grip.

You caught one last glimpse of his stunned expression and bolted back toward the stairs, fleeing at a frantic pace toward the light and noise of the party, with the taste of Joel still burning your lips and your tongue.

You reached the room with your heart beating a mile a minute, your racing pulse thumping in your ears as you walked barefoot across the soft carpet.

God, what were you doing?

This was terrible, complete madness. You’d walked in barely five minutes ago, and you’d spent the last three leaning over the sink, splashing cold water on your face and staring into the mirror, desperately searching for the strength to put on the brakes. But you found nothing. Your mind threw out a thousand reasons to stop, but not a single one could douse the fire in your belly or prevent what you were about to do.

And then, the sound came: knock, knock, knock.

A violent jolt shook your stomach, filling it with wild butterflies as if you were twenty one years old all over again, and you hated with all your soul that that was your very first thought.

You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands down the fabric of your dress, and stepped toward the entrance.

You opened the door just a crack, peeking through the narrow opening, and Joel was on the other side, staring dead at you through the small space. There was no doubt in his eyes; only a tired, exhausted, desperate, and silent hunger.

Without uttering a single word, unable to break eye contact, you threw the door wide open. Joel stepped inside immediately and kicked the wood shut behind him, closing it with a soft thud that sealed the deal. He lunged toward you with firm strides, crowding you back into the room; his right hand caught your waist and, with a yank, flushed your body right against his hard frame, while his other hand flew straight to the back of your neck, burying itself in your hair.

He kissed you, and you melted into his arms instantly.

Joel crushed you against him, devouring your mouth while his fingers raked over you in pure desperation. His hand at the back of your neck forced you deeper into the kiss, while his other palm slid firmly down your back, tracing your curves until it anchored at your thighs, squeezing the firm flesh. You put your hands all over him, starved for the physical contact you had missed for so long; your palms slid over his jacket, up his chest and broad shoulders, before wrapping around his neck to drag him even tighter against you. You let out a muffled moan against his lips.

Joel broke away for a split second just to catch his breath, panting, and his hands immediately dropped to your dress. Finding the hem near your hips, he bunched the fabric up in a frantic rush, gathering it past your navel before yanking it over your arms in a clumsy anxious motion, tossing it to the floor. You were left in just your panties and strapless bra.

You trapped his lips again in a hungry kiss while his fingers fumbled for the clasp of your bra; the lace gave way and dropped to your feet, leaving your breasts completely bare. Urgently, you brought your hands to Joel’s chest, tearing at the buttons of his shirt with fingers clumsy from the rush. In one continuous motion, you stripped the shirt and jacket off his shoulders together, leaving him bare chested, and he immediately reached down to undo his dress pants.

Everything grew overwhelmingly intense all at once; you could feel every part of your body screaming, starving and desperate for him. You crawled backward and laid down in the middle of the bed, feeling the cool air of the room hit your bare breasts and send a sudden shiver straight to your nipples. You settled onto the sheets, watching him with ragged breaths as he kicked off his pants and boxers in one quick motion.

Joel’s desperate erection, massive and rock hard, pointed straight at you, glistening faintly with pre cum under the dim glow of the lamp. He crowded over you, sliding between your thighs, while his large hands hooked into your panties and stripping them down your legs with a rough tug.

You parted your legs completely for him, exposing yourself, and Joel let out a shaky exhale, and leaned down to kiss you again. It felt like coming home.

His tongue clashed against yours in an incredibly wet, deep kiss while you instinctively arched your hips upward, feeling the heat of his shaft grazing your entrance. Joel ripped his mouth away, panting; he brought his hand to his lips, spitting a generous amount of saliva directly into his palm, and locked his eyes onto yours with animal intensity as he reached down and stroked himself a few times, lubricating his cock.

You moaned in protest at the delay, your hands raking over his tense shoulders as you shifted your pelvis desperately, begging for the contact. Joel dropped his hand and repositioned the hot, swollen head of his cock right against your soaking entrance.

He hovered over you, his arms rigid and the muscles of his back bulging from the sheer effort of holding back. Then, he began to sink into you inch by inch, the desperate restraint making him gasp out loud. He was too thick, too massive, but your pussy was so incredibly wet that it yielded, stretching to harbor him completely as he pushed deeper and deeper.

A sharp cry tore from your throat when he filled you to the brim, the delicious, scorching pressure of his hardness stretching your walls. Joel pressed his forehead against yours, cursing under his breath, completely overwhelmed by how fucking tight and wet you were.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you," he growled against your ear, losing the last shred of control he had left.

Any remaining restraint shattered into a dirty, animal need. Joel began to fuck you with wild desperation, thrusting hard and deep, burying himself completely inside you with heavy strokes that made the bed creak. Your body was burning with pleasure, and so was his; he was slick with sweat, the heat of his skin plastering against yours with every single hit.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, squeezing him tight to lock him inside you, forcing him to go even deeper. He was flush against you, his chest heaving against yours, his lips finding your neck to bite and suck the skin there while your brain remembered every single one of these familiar sensations. It was overwhelming.

The sound in the room turned completely obscene: the loud, wet friction of your bodies colliding, the echo of your unhinged moans, and Joel’s raspy grunts vibrating in the dim light. You were so fucking wet that every thrust made a slick, dirty squelch that only fueled the filthiness of it all and drove your heart rate higher. He was so fucking hard you could feel the pulse of his cock slamming against your deepest spot, tearing you apart with pleasure in an intense friction that made you lose your mind.

Joel grabbed your hands, interlocking his fingers tightly with yours against the pillows, using you as an anchor to drive the pace even faster. He was losing it right along with you, driving into you as if he were trying to brand you forever—no, he had already done that, so deeply that even now, fifteen years later, you were still a fool for him.

He squeezed your trapped hands while keeping up the frantic pace, the relentless impact of his hips against yours unyielding. He was completely surrendered to the desperation, searching for you at your very core. And you were already there, right at the bottom.

Then, Joel let go of one of your hands. That sudden freedom let you react; you whipped your arm up, tangling your fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck to drag him down. You sought his mouth, trapping his lips in a desperate kiss that he met instantly, and a muffled groan vibrated in your throat. And in that exact heartbeat, something in the air shifted.

Joel’s wild, frantic thrusts began to lose their frantic speed, but none of their intensity. His movements grew heavier, deeply concentrated and profound, stripping away the raw animal haste to make way for absolute surrender. The rhythm transformed into an overwhelmingly intimate friction; each time his body sank into yours, he did so with an agonizing drag, holding himself deep inside you for an eternal second before pulling back just enough to drive right back in.

He stared dead into your eyes through the dimness of the room, his heavy breath crashing against your cheeks, searching for your gaze. His free hand came up to your face, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb while he penetrated you with a gentleness that made you arch your back, completely defenseless against him. You felt every single inch of his cock sliding inside you, hot and massive, filling not just your body, but every empty corner you had kept guarded during these two years.

And his body was so close to yours that you could feel the frantic hammering of his heart melting right into your own. Your moans shifted, turning from unhinged cries into quiet, breathless sobs of pure pleasure and relief.

The tension began to build in your belly in an unbearable way, a burning tide tightening your muscles from the inside out. Joel noticed; he felt you start to spasm and contract around his cock, trapping him in a hot soaking fist.

"That's it, baby... let it go," he murmured, licking your neck.

You couldn't hold it back any longer. Your hips lifted in one final unconscious spasm and your orgasm hit you like a lightning strike, making you shudder from head to toe as your inner walls squeezed around his shaft in violent, delicious waves. Joel let out a low, animal grunt, completely broken by the tight pressure of your climax.

Stripping away any remaining gentleness, he buried himself inside you one last few times with brutal thrusts, sinking right to the root, and froze there. His body went completely rigid, the muscles in his arms and back locking up like stone as he tore a raspy groan right against your ear.

Instantly, you felt the thick scalding jets of his come blasting inside of you, filling you to the brim and overflowing from your soaking pussy as he came with a force that left him shuddering violently on top of you.

Joel collapsed over you, letting his weight settle onto your body without crushing you, his breath ragged and his face buried deep in the crook of your neck.

Neither of you moved; he stayed buried inside you, softening but still pulsing, as the silence of the room settled back in, broken only by your exhausted gasps and the distant echo of the ocean outside the window.

There was no going back now.

______________________________________________________

tag list: @vanishintoyoubby @mandolauren @themoviefangirl-blog @sesdeuxyeux @pascalgold @cuteanimalmama @menshipsandthesea @onlythehobi @billionairecowgirl @comicsandfanfics @kellybelly1978 @chewie-bars @matildagirl1 @sunnytuliptime @justafangirl-123 @maladptivedaydreaming @hotforpedro @tonksbru @cam2732 @taniamiller @staywildflowahchild @person-005 @jaymee-draws @cutiemermaidsalma @missmoonpie @lambe-rt @correapunk @pedritosgfreal @koshkaj-blog @rosharanfiction @ivoryandflame

@somedayheaven @sleekcaverntreaty @eviispunk @inept-the-magnificent @peachiestevie @hystericalanduseless9 @thepilatesprincess @sunshine-kittyy @kaolusha @tarcinblue @f1nnsh4rk @strawberrylipglossx @vickie5446 @bunnypearls4 @whofckingknows @heytherebabycakes @fvrwastaken @noisynightmarepoetry

[lavenderursa]

Herida

Pero Tovar x Reader - Soulmates AU

CDT Blogaversary Masterlist

Summary: In a world where one soulmates takes on the other’s physical pain, Pero Tovar is convinced his soulmate could never love him. He may be right.

Wordcount: 4.5K

Warnings: Angst, Descriptions of injuries and mild gore, Mentions of blood, Scaring, Mentions of mild self harm, Enemies to lovers (kinda), sexual themes

Notes: The final fic for this blogaversary business! It’s no secret that I love soulmate AUs and I love Pero Tovar (The Great Wall), so this felt perfect! This fic starts off a pretty heavy but then gets much more tropey, I think. Thank you for giving it (and me) a chance!

One-shot: Penitencia

Seguir leyendo

[lavendertales]

Sweet lies series**

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

summary: ten years. Ten years since you’ve last spoken or seen each other. But all feelings resurface when you’re back into the group’s lives, and when it all starts to escalate, Frankie has to make some difficult decisions about his future.

SERIES WARNINGS: former friends who were in love with each other, angst, mutual pining, tension, eventual smut & relationship, jealousy, infidelity, wrong choices, kind of arranged marriage too I guess.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

moodboard by me 

Chapter 1 

Chapter 2 

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 

Chapter 7**

Chapter 8** 

Chapter 9**

Chapter 10**

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

EPILOGUE

[joel-millerr]

If you cannot hold me in your arms, then hold my memory in high regard

[penvisions]

by the grit of sandpaper {masterlist}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: Joel Miller is a gruff as they come, the world having changed him for the worst. But settling in Jackson with his brother changed him for the better. He's known around town as someone to help, whether it be with home repairs, construction, and hand carved trinkets. An offhand comment from you inspires him to branch out and create helpful kitchen wares. And it seems everyone has been gifted one from him, except for you. It makes you rethink the casual friendship you had developed with the man that had just begun to expand beyond patrols.

Word Count: 57.8k - finished

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, pining, unrequited feelings, joel a little mean in this, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, mild injuries, confessions, lots of feelings, angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, arguing, heated interactions, smut, p in v, unprotected p in v, oral (f and m receiving), jealousy, more to be added as the story develops!

A/N: now finished! this fic means so much to me, it's allowed to bare a bit of my soul with y'all and it's been received so well. thank you, from the bottom of my heart for the continued interaction with this, i love y'all

ao3 link || main masterlist || ko-fi

fic teaser || fic teaser no.2 || olive's song || artwork of olive and joel

-> the conversations we have -pre-series one shots:

first impressions || sweetening the deal || how we pass the time || weather permitting

-> main series:

chapter 1 || chapter 2 || chapter 3 || chapter 4 || chapter 5 || chapter 6 || chapter 7

epilogue || honor me - a post series timestamp

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

*this absolutely stunning gif was made by the lovely @pedrorascal thank you so much bby!! 💗💗💗

— THE STRIPPER SAGA | COMPLETE

frustrated by your everyday life, you seek solace at a male strip club. It's your first time and you're instantly mesmerized by the one that calls himself "whiskey".

pairing: stripper!jack daniels x f!reader

genre: stripper AU, smut, minors dni, angst with happy ending

AO3

SEGMENTS (19K)

sequence one. i can feel your heartbeat

sequence two. don't let me drive home

sequence three. you hate it that you love me

INTERLUDES

✦ requests/asks etc for this series are currently open!

[mamachonnes]

100 Days of Ichabbie ↪ Day 69

[punkshort]

'roommates' masterlist

Pairing: pornstar!joel x f!reader

Series Summary: Your roommate, Maria, introduces you to her boyfriend's brother. You hit it off immediately, but when you find out the true nature of his profession, you both decide to remain just friends. But once the four of you eventually move in together, things get... complicated.

-or-

A lovers to friends to lovers fic

Series Warnings: no outbreak AU, language, smut (18+ MDNI), slow burn, cigarette use, some descriptions of porn (obviously), angst, mutual pining, jealousy, possessive behavior, infidelity (reader cheating on OC), alcohol use

Status: complete

A/N: this idea hit me when I was reading @shellshocklove's I Wanna Be Your Lover. If you haven't had the pleasure, I recommend you reading it. It is a great story and very well written.

Chapters:

1. you're joking, right?

2. sparks on the Fourth of July

3. fun in the sun

4. swipe right

5. roll the dice

6. pitching a tent

7. jack and jill

8. forever

9. hold onto each other

10. just us two

One-shots/Requests:

Roll Call 2: reader and Joel watch some of his porn together

Red Lace & Holiday Cheer: While visiting him at work, you decide to give Joel his Christmas present early.

Asks/BTS/Inspo/Extras:

Joel's Likes/Dislikes

Floor Plan

Moodboard by @almostfoxglove ❤️

Love Languages

lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Chapter 32: Luxury

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Chapter Summary: This is your honeymoon. It’s such an absurd concept in the existence you live in that it almost feels fictional. A week alone with your husband, Joel Miller, with no responsibilities, no patients. Just you and Joel in this perfect, hidden place. Chapter Warnings: only doc's pov, smut, joel jerkin' it, like i think this chapter is mostly just sex?, strip poker, uhhh more sex Words: 6,100

A/N: Hey. After this chapter, there are only three more left, feels insane to say seeing as this fic has been part of my life for over a year... but here we are. My thanks to @mothandpidgeon and @sin-djarin for their eyes and notes.

Healed Masterlist | Healed Playlist | Healed, The Video Edit | AO3

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

—-

The ride takes you a few hours away from Jackson, west and north. You’re in awe, out here, the silence surrounds you, reminding you how far you are from the hustle and bustle of your mountain town. There’s nothing but the sound of the wind breezing through aspens and the clip of the horse hooves on the sun-warmed ground. 

You’re plastered to Joel’s back, arms wrapped around the warm, worn fabric of his jacket that he wore just yesterday as he married you. Sometimes when the trail gets rougher and the horses jounce more, you’re jostled so close to him his shoulder blade digs into your cheek. Neither of you says a word, just enjoy the bright sunlight and the hush of the green world.

The trail forks and you take the overgrown part, the path rising before the trees part. That’s when you get the first glimpse of a cabin. But, cabin is not the word for this. It’s massive, a fever-dream lodge built by someone rich who wanted to live like a king of the woods. Thick, cured logs, the color of golden honey, are stacked two stories high. There are windows upon windows reflecting the sky and trees. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

“Oh my god,” is all you can offer.

“Our home for the week. We call it Patroller’s Secret Paradise,” Joel shifts in the saddle, turning to meet your eyes. “S’impressive, isn’t it?”

You melt at the thoughtfulness and the soft pride in Joel’s voice. “It is.”

Tommy and Jesse are already there, unloading the supplies from the packs. You swing off the horse first, reaching a hand out to help Joel down. When his feet hit the ground, you catch the wince across his face.

He still smiles, though. “Long ride,” he reasons, “but worth it.” Big, sun-warmed arms wrap around you as you marvel at the house. “They cleaned it all up for us,” he whispers. “Tommy and Jesse. Fixed it up ‘n stuff. Stocked it too.” His voice gets lower, catching almost. “Wanted it… to feel special for you… for us.”

It’s like a fantasy come true, and all you can do is stare and blink unbelievingly. “How did you...?”

“Tommy ‘n me found it years ago. Use it sometimes as a hideaway when we’re out scouting. Barely anybody knows about it.”

“It’s... I don’t even know what to say.” You shake your head, overwhelmed by the sight and the secret of it all.

“Got something else to show you too.” 

He leads you around the side of the house, down a stone path, broad shoulders block most of the view in front of you, but when he steps aside… you see it: a secluded cove, water lapping at the pebble-and-sand-lined shore. The sound of running water, from the stream feeding into the cove, might just be the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

“Joel... It’s perfect.”

“Follows all the way up to the lake,” he points. “Water’s crystal clear. We can swim.” His gold band flashes in the sun, and you follow it to the horizon, where tall trees flank all sides.

This is your honeymoon. It’s such an absurd concept in the existence you live in that it almost feels fictional. A week alone with your husband, Joel Miller, with no responsibilities, no patients. Just you and Joel in this perfect, hidden place.

“We’re gonna have a good week,” Joel says, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

A sharp whistle breaks the sweet moment. You both turn to see Tommy standing at the edge of the path, hands on his hips. “Got the horses unloaded, and we should probably head back before it gets too late.”

You walk back to the cabin, Joel’s arm around your waist. Tommy and Jesse are already mounting their horses, the pack animals relieved of their burdens. Tommy tosses something to Joel—a small black radio.

“Check in every morning, afternoon, evening, and night,” he instructs. “I’ll be here Wednesday to drop off more things.” He tilts his head, a wide brotherly grin spreading across his lips. “Other than that, y’all enjoy the week.”

Jesse nods respectfully and offers a smile and a “Congrats,” before yipping his horse into a trot.

You and Joel stand together, watching as they ride away. Tommy’s hand raised in a final wave before they disappear around the bend.

“Ready, baby?”

You nod, too overwhelmed for words. Joel leads you up the steps to the wide porch and pushes open the heavy front door. It creaks open and your jaw drops. 

You’ve never been anywhere like this. Everything here is decadent and huge, the foyer alone is massive. Golden wood is everywhere: the walls, the floors, the furniture. The floorboards almost look just polished in some places and ancient and sun-bleached in others. On your left, a wooden staircase curls, and you imagine the grand entrances that once happened here.

Joel holds your hand tight as you wander past the entryway. In the living room, the stone fireplace is the focal point, taking up most of one wall. There’s a ripped leather couch, sitting caddy corner, and a mattress lying on the floor already covered with a patchwork quilt and pillows.

And then, there’s the windows. You cross the room to them, the view outside is staggering. The cove, the mountains, and the expansive Wyoming sky. You feel like you’re on top of the world.

“I know it’s not much,” Joel says, his voice low with an almost uncertainty. “But I thought—“

You turn and catch him mid-sentence, and kiss him.

“It’s perfect,” you tell him. “Everything’s perfect.”

His smile is so slow and gentle, it makes you want to cry. “Happy honeymoon, Mrs. Miller.”

The tour continues, the kitchen almost feels like the owners just stepped out for groceries, frozen in time from almost thirty years ago. There’s a walk-in pantry, empty now, but you still like to imagine all of the shelves lined with cans and boxes. The counters are made of stone and still glossy, even under the smattering of dust.

You walk up the staircase together, hand in hand, and the steps hardly even creak. There’s a long hall, lined with doors. It’s almost as if you’re playing house, pretending at a life you never got to lead as you make your way through every room. 

The master bedroom sits at the end, windows taking up one whole wall with a king size four poster bed in the middle of the room. You run your hand along the mattress and grin. “This is the biggest bed I’ve ever seen.”

Joel stands in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his jeans, and lets you take it all in. “Figure we can sleep in here or downstairs, wherever you want. I just wanted to make sure you had a real bed.”

“Anywhere with you is good.”

He gifts you that shy smile of his, before his head tilts towards the bathroom. “Think you’ll like what’s in the bathroom.”

You do. It almost feels like you’ve been dropped in the middle of a museum exhibit titled “Wealth In 2003.” There’s a giant clawfoot tub set directly in front of a window. It gleams, all polished brass and bright white porcelain. 

“Do we have hot water?”

Joel nods. “S’also hooked up to the dam.”

It doesn’t take long for you and Joel to unpack your bags. The walk-in closet is palatial, and you place your simple and practical belongings in the drawers while Joel hangs his flannels and your dresses. It feels so strange, like you’re really on vacation, especially when Joel kisses you, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, big arms surrounding you.

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark as they roam over your face. “Wanna go for a swim?”

—-

You slip off your shoes, burying your toes in the cold mud and smooth river rocks. There’s a new sensation shooting through your body, an almost relief in this action, like one of those moments when a patient pulls through, or you remember you’re safe and loved.

Joel lays a towel down, covering his pistol, still mindful that though this is paradise, danger can still lurk right around the corner. 

The daylight radiates off the water, and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt so warm and complete, especially as you watch Joel unbutton his flannel and peel off his white undershirt. You can hardly pay enough attention to slip your shirt and pants off, struggling especially when you lower your jeans down your legs as Joel does the same.

“Take it off,” he says, reaching for the hem of his black boxers. “All of it.”

You’re so quick to shuck your underwear, to feel this rare type of naked independence with the man you love. Joel’s all precious metals lit by this light. Golden skin speckled with bronze freckles and silver scars. 

You both wade in, hissing through teeth as the water creeps higher up your thighs, then stomach, then chest, until you’re both wading. Joel’s groan echoes through the water as his buoyancy gives him relief, and you anchor yourself to him, arms wrapping around his neck, letting your legs entwine. He lifts you, hands gripping your ass under water and gives you the sweetest, happiest smile. You grin back, unable to stop the glee coursing through you.

“We’re really here,” you say, unable to keep the wonder from your voice. “On our honeymoon.”

He groans and stares down at you, eyes heavy-lidded. “Told you I had a surprise.”

His smile meets yours when he leans in for a kiss. Your hand slides down his chest and the plush of his stomach, he’s already hard, and you stroke him once, slow, pulling away to watch his head tip back and his mouth go slack.

He groans and you laugh, until he captures your lips again. You make out lazily, floating in the water, your legs wrapping around his hips. You grind against him, letting the water slosh before he lines himself up, eyes locked on yours, and then pushes in. The water buoys you, makes it easier. He braces both hands on your ass and starts to fuck up into you, his teeth bared with the effort of keeping it gentle, but you can see how badly he wants to let go.

“Harder,” you say, and he does. He lifts you higher, so that you can ride him, your breasts bouncing above the surface. Here, there are no infected, no patrols, no alarms or obligations; there is just you, and your husband, and the endless blue of the water and the sky.

He cums with a low groan, arms squeezing you so tight it’s almost painful, and you follow, burying your face in his neck as your body shudders and then goes limp. You cling to him, Joel’s heavy breaths against your ear, and you chuckle at how perfect this moment is.

When you both trust your legs enough to finally stagger out of the cove, Joel wraps you in a towel, hands rubbing up and down your arms until goosebumps fade. He snags your abandoned clothes and slings them rakishly over his shoulder as you both stumble up the path back to the house.

—-

Inside the cabin, you check in with Tommy as Joel builds a fire in the massive stone hearth. You curl up together on the mattress, bodies still damp from your swim. He pulls the patchwork quilt up and tucks you into his side. Your eyes move from Joel to the sunset and back, neither of you says a word to each other, just trade kisses and sighs of contentment.

It’s only when your stomach growls when you get up. “I guess we should eat.”

You share a dinner of leftover pizza from last night’s celebration, sitting at the eight-person dining table as the mounted deer heads and golden-framed landscape paintings look down upon you.

When it gets too dark to see, you light a few candles and lie together on the mattress in the living room, naked under the quilt. Joel’s soft bicep is your pillow, his other hand traces circles along your stomach so gently it almost feels absentminded were it not for the way he’s studying your face.

“Happy?” he asks.

You nod. “Incredibly.”

Joel tells you about the day he and Tommy found the cabin, how it was so untouched they almost wondered if it was a trap, how it was easy to convince the council to let you two leave for a week, and how patrollers haven’t seen anything worrying around these parts in over a year. You feel overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of how Joel made sure to gift you this beautiful “vacation.” You don’t know what to say to thank him, so you just lean in and kiss him.

The kiss is sweet at first, but it deepens with every traded grunt and moan. Joel pulls you closer, and his chest rumbles against yours when you nibble against his pillowy bottom lip. He cups your cheeks, thumb stroking the curve of your jaw. The shivers of need follow his hands as they drift lower, grazing your hip, then your thigh. He gently rolls you onto your side, kissing your shoulder, your neck, the soft spot behind your ear.

“Get on top ‘a me, baby, wanna see my pretty wife.”

You oblige, straddling his hips, giving him a slow rut and grind, sliding your pussy along the heft of him resting against his stomach. His hands grip your hips, big brown eyes and furrowed eyebrows staring up at you. You feel like a goddess, lit by the candles and fire, and the heated gaze of dark brown eyes. Joel’s hand flows down your hip to between your legs, pressing his thumb against your clit, kissing it with the sweet pressure of his thumbprint. You fold over, lips pressing against his, tongue licking into his mouth. He grips himself, runs his weeping head against your wet, and you moan, hands cording through the waves of his hair.

“Fuck me,” you plead, hips lifting, hovering right above his cock. Joel lines himself up and your bodies work in tandem together when you sink down with a gasp.

“Christ,” he groans, head falling back against the pillow, neck corded with the tension only you can give him. You pull away and sit up, the pink stone of your ring flickering against his chest when you brace yourself. You rise, thighs trembling, then sink back down, hips gyrating to take all of him and his stretch. 

You’re still amazed at your fortune. Joel is your husband, yours to ride, yours to take, yours to love.

He lets you move at your pace, and when you lean back even more, pounding and grinding against his cock, greedily riding him, he lets out an incredulous chuckle. “Look at you takin’ all of me.”

You watch his face, the reverence there. Joel’s always loved you with devotion, but you feel a new edge to it, an almost worship. Maybe it’s the honeymoon, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re forever, but he looks at you like he’s found God. He grits out your name, brow furrowed and jaw taut. That vein on the side of his neck pulses, matching the flutter of your own pulse.

His hand cups your cheek, and you give his wedding band an impulsive kiss, pressing your lips to the gold as your bodies move together. The gesture undoes him. His eyes flutter, and his body turns uncontrollable, hips bucking up into you. “Jesus—” he gasps, “baby, fuck—”

You keep kissing the ring, again and again, letting your teeth scrape the metal just enough to make him groan. He wraps his arms around you and sits up, chest to chest, and you clutch at his shoulders as he thrusts harder into you.

You grind and ride, using his cock to fuck yourself into oblivion, totally blissed out. Maybe it’s the luxury of having nothing to do, nowhere to be, or maybe it’s the candlelight or the fire or the fact he’s finally your husband now.

Joel’s hands dig into your hips, pulling you down with each snap of his pelvis. You feel the stretch in your calves, in your hips, every nerve below your waist.

You’re so close, your clit riding the thick root of his cock. You keep your eyes locked on his, begging him to see you, to keep you here in this impossible, perfect present. He can’t look away either. 

Candles burn low, the fire dying to embers, and yet you both glimmer in the dark as this perfect moment becomes a world of its own. The pleasure and love are bright and hot, and when Joel tenses beneath you, his face burrowing in your neck, your name almost sobbed into the sensitive skin there, you cum with him. He fills you, thick and pulsing as you clench around him and breathe his name out.

Joel collapses back onto the mattress, pulling you with him. His cock throbs inside you, and you’re so full of his bliss, you’re sure it’s running down the seam of your thighs, but you don’t dare move. You nuzzle your nose into the fuzz of his chest hair, breathing his skin and sweat. Beneath you, his ribs rise and fall, slowing down, your body synced to his.

“Mrs. Miller,” he groans, lips pressed to the top of your head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You never thought you’d see a day like this, never thought you’d have a husband, or a honeymoon. Joel makes the world feel like it never ended, like everything that matters is right here, with his arms around you and his heart hammering against your ear.

—-

This morning might just be the brightest you’ve ever woken up to. The birds chirp outside, and the golden sunlight slanting through the cabin’s windows gently rouses you from sleep. Joel sleeps heavily, mouth open, one arm draped possessively across your ribs.

You lie there for a long time, just memorizing all the small, beautiful things about the man you love. You trace the line of his jaw, the crease at his mouth, the dimple that’s soft in sleep. You’ve woken up so many mornings like this, marveling at how handsome a man Joel Miller is, even in slumber.

No clinic waiting for you, no blueprints for Joel. Just this cabin, this bed, and your husband for seven glorious days.

You carefully shift out of his arms, pull on his discarded flannel lying on the arm of the couch, and pad into the kitchen. The percolator is filled and set on the stove, some ginormous hub that easily set the original owner back six figures. All of it seems like a part of the world that’s been lost for so long… from the matching appliances, to the shiny stone countertops, and the huge windows that look out amongst nature undisturbed.

You unwrap Joel’s trusty chipped owl mug, which you packed just yesterday morning, and fill it with black, bitter coffee. Your husband’s favorite thing in the world.

You settle on the edge of the mattress, and Joel stirs, his eyes slowly fluttering open, fixing on the coffee cup before they drag up to you. He smiles and stretches. “You’re an angel,” mutters, voice still half asleep. He rolls and rests on his side, a content smile lifting his lips, before his eyes turn dark. “Put the coffee down, it can wait. C’mere, Mrs. Miller.”

He makes love to you as the sun rises above the vast treeline and the perfect cove. It’s lazy and decadent the way Joel takes care of you, grinning up at you as you ride him again, growling out all the filth and adoration he knows you love—how you’re perfect, how you’re his everything, how you feel so fucking good, how you’re all he wants. When he cums, his big hands cup your ass, and he growls your name so loud it echoes off the walls of your vast, temporary palace.

You share the cup of coffee, tangled in each other and your perfect morning. 

—-

There’s a banditry of chickadees singing in the trees, and you look over at your husband, at his big bare feet, the lazy stretch of his thighs under the blue robe, the band of his wedding ring shining as he scratches his chest. He has never looked more satiated and peaceful than he does as he lets the sun dry him off. You’re spread across your towel, face and front heated by the afternoon.

The water was just as perfect today. You could get used to this.

“We should do this every day,” you say, the words floating up toward the clouds. “Just... this. Nothing else.”

You hear rather than see Joel’s smile. “We could,” he agrees. “Whole week’s ours.”

What a luxury to do nothing, to make your time stretch, to only tell time in kisses and smiles.

When you get too baked by the sun, you and Joel move to the mostly-covered part of the back patio. There are some holes and beams missing, but it shields the sun just fine.

You choose Joel’s lap as your seat, and his arms hold you tight against him. He picks up the book he’s been reading, yet another novel about cowboys in the wild west. “Read to me?” you ask.

He hmphs a sound and clears his throat. His voice rumbles that low level that makes every bad thing disappear. You relax in the crook of his arm, eyes shut, body humming with warmth and contentment. Old West violence and drama, gunmen and dusty trails unfold. He even does the voices. Low and tough for the outlaws, gruff for the aging sheriff, strong and powerful for the hero. You wonder if he knows how much it means to you, the way he tells you the story as he holds you. The slow cadence of his voice and the rise and fall against your head help you drift off.

You wake to the sound of him closing the book and the set of his arms around you. “You’re out,” he whispers against your forehead.

“Just resting my eyes.”

He chuckles. “Figured as much, baby.”

He burrows you closer to him, gently rocking you back and forth like the trees in the wind. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt so at peace before.

—-

There’s leftover wedding cake in the kitchen, and you’ve had it for lunch for the past two days. You’re atop the perfect marble countertop, legs dangling, Joel standing in between them.

He feeds you a bite. It tastes of chocolate and the memory of your perfect wedding. You hum an approval, and Joel watches you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world, even as there’s frosting on your upper lip.

“Good girl,” he grits.

You know exactly what he’s doing, and you let him, your legs sliding apart. He’s already sliding the edge of his thumb up inside your thigh.

“Ya’ know, you have frosting on your face,” he says, all smooth and deep. He leans in and licks it from the corner of your lip, then lingers at the seam, tongue pushing softly into your mouth. You taste chocolate and coffee and the wolvish smile he’s not even trying to hide. He grins when he pulls back, then grabs another forkful of cake, but he doesn’t bring it to your mouth… he taps it against your collarbone, splotching you with chocolate.

“Joel?!” You laugh, a surprised, breathy sound.

“Gotta get that too.”

He tongues the sweet off your neck, wide palms resting over your knees, prying them even farther apart. The fork clatters into the plate when he sets it aside, and then both his hands are under your thighs, hitching you forward. Your ass digs into the edge of the marble, and you yelp at the sudden movement, laughing and catching yourself on his broad shoulders.

Instinct overtakes you, because you already know where this is going, and you arch forward on the countertop, hands braced behind you. Joel’s lips are still sticky with frosting as he kisses you again, his body pressing against the cradle of your spread legs. He’s got you, strong arms caging you in, the heat of his chest pressing against you. But you can only focus on his fingers against the damp seam of your underwear, pulling them aside and dipping deep into your cunt.

You gasp into his mouth, startled but so ready for him. He grins against your lips, and you can feel him smile when you moan. He curls the pads of his fingers inside you, just how you like, so he can watch your eyes roll up for him. “Like that, pretty girl?”

You whine a yes as his thumb digs up to circle your clit. All the while, he feeds you cake. Another bite, this time smeared on his thumb that he slips into your mouth. You suck it clean, and Joel watches you greedily.

He stays close, kissing and biting under your jaw, salt and sugar on his tongue. Your ankles lock at his back, hips rutting against his hand, your wet coating his hand.

“Fuck, you’re so wet f’me.” 

You nod and arch for him, and he sets the cake plate aside. His thumb circles your clit, and you can’t even hold your own head up; you loll back on your elbows, blinking at the high beams of the ceiling, and wonder how it’s possible this man can know your cunt so well.

He keeps going, two, then three fingers, stretching you, and his eyes never leave your face. “There you go, baby. Squeeze my hand. Lemme feel you.”

Your cunt flutters and pulses, choking his fingers so hard he can barely move them. He growls a chuckle, pressing his mouth over yours, swallowing your moans and whines. You cum so hard you see gold behind your eyelids, the same gold of his wedding band that runs along your cunt. You sigh Joel’s name over and over, watching the way pride lights his face as you get off for him.

When you blink the light back into your vision, Joel’s already licking his fingers clean with a groan.

“Shall we get a bath, Mrs. Miller? Get the cake I missed washed off?” You nod and let him help you off the counter, shaky legs and all.

You and Joel spend the time it takes to fill the tub kissing. He gets in first, lowering the bulk of him slowly and settling against the porcelain before you get in, scooting back until your back meets his chest. The water laps and rises, sloshing over your bodies, and you’re caged in by Joel’s arms, bracketing the sides of the tub, his thighs sitting wide apart with you seated in between.

You hum as you feel the warmth of the sunbeams radiating through the windows. Outside is the cove, the pine trees dancing in the wind, and the invisible birds singing you and Joel songs as you relax. You inhale the steam, the luxury, the perfect moment you’re currently living in.

“Am I dreaming?” you ask, head lolling back onto Joel’s shoulder.

He laughs, kissing the crown of your head. “No, baby. S’all real.”

You’re not exactly subtle when you rub your ass across his crotch. It doesn’t take long for Joel to grow hard, cock pressed between your bodies. With a tilt and a tweak, you guide him between the slick of your folds. You arch up, then sink down, taking him this way… he fills you in such a different way, and you moan at the fullness. Joel lets out a groan, hips rocking up, pushing deeper until you’re flush.

His arms snake up under your arms, wrapping around your ribcage, fingers massaging and pinching your nipples, his mouth at your neck, tongue and teeth licking and scraping against your pulse. Water splatters against and out of the tub's walls when you rut against him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Joel breathes against your ear, his hand slinking lower down your body, thumb circling your clit as he fucks up into you.

The world outside of the tub begins to turn to a watercolor… green and blue, and sunlight swirling as you let Joel’s body bestow his luxury on you. He roars your name against your ear as he hammers himself into your cunt, flooding you with his cum. Your orgasm ripples through you, the waves of hot water and Joel’s cum getting fucked into you send you right over the cliff. The tub water ebbs and flows as you both shudder through your aftershocks, collapsed against each other.

When you finally trust yourself to move, you lift, turn in his arms, and kiss him until the water grows too cold, still unbelieving that this life is yours, and Joel Miller is your husband.

—-

Joel is hopeless at poker, hopeless at bluffing, and even more hopeless at hiding how much he wants you. There are cicadas revving in the trees, a wind brushing through the open windows, and the warm candlelight flickering gold. You’re at the dining table, clutching a crinkled hand of cards and biting back your smile. Joel sits across from you, hunched over his own hand, staring at the cards under furrowed brows. He’s barely even dressed now, wearing one sock and a pair of navy blue boxers.

You, on the other hand, are winning and still fully clothed. 

You did not expect playing strip poker with a grown man as competent as Joel Miller would reveal how abysmal he is at cards. You’ve beaten him every game, and you’re loving the trophies of more and more of his clothing being removed. 

Joel reveals his hand: two pair, not bad. But not enough.

Your straight flush is laid down on the table with an exaggerated little “boom.” Joel grunts and scrubs a hand over his face.

“Tough luck, baby,” you mock.

He pouts, scoots his chair back, bends down with a sigh, and takes off his sock. All that’s left is his boxers. The sock is tossed in your direction, and you avoid it with a duck and a chuckle and deal the cards.

A six, two nines, a Jack of clubs, and a King of diamonds. Nothing. You keep your expression neutral but Joel’s watching you like a hawk. No matter what you try to figure out, none of the cards work, and you finally lose to Joel’s full house.

“Well, well,” he growls, leaning forward, candles lighting all of his shadows. “Looks like it’s your turn to lose something.” His eyes flick up and down, possessiveness and desire inking them black.

You’re half drunk on whiskey, and the feeling of being in love, in a house no one else knows exists. You lean back and slip your shirt off. Joel’s eyes go wide and a greedy warmth spreads over his face. He doesn’t even try to hide it.

You stretch and roll your shoulders back and Joel’s nostrils flare. “This was a bad idea.”

Joel was right. It was a bad idea. His luck lasts for a single game, and your flush beats his three pair.

You squeal in delight, collecting the cards. “Deal’s a deal, Mr. Miller,” head tilting towards his crotch. “Take ‘em off.”

He stands slowly, hands planting at the waistband of his boxers. He inches the waistband down and all you can do is stare at his beautiful, wide, half-hard cock. The boxers fall to the floor, he steps out and lets you ogle. He’s all broad and powerful: the furrow of his belly, sprinkled with graying hair, the mass of his shoulders, the thickness of his thighs. The candlelight flickers over the lines of him, lighting the constellation of scars across his golden skin.

“Stroke him for each time you lost, Mr. Miller.”

He snorts, but he spits in his palm and wraps it around himself. It’s always a little overwhelming to see Joel like this, to luxuriate in watching the way his lips curl in a snarl as he thumbs the bead of precum from the head of his cock. He gifts you five long, slow strokes, and you’re pretty sure you don’t breathe through any of it.

“Keep going,” you say, your own thighs squeezed together, slick and desperate from nothing but the sight of Joel in front of you. He spreads his feet wide, starts stroking faster, eyes locked on you. He’s already huffing, chest heaving, the cords in his neck tight.

God, you want him in your mouth, want to taste the slick salt of the precum he’s leaking for you, but this is all part of the game. You want to watch Joel lose it again, naked in the golden light, putting on a show for you, his wife.

One hand grabs the edge of the table, while the other jerks himself, hissing between clenched teeth. He’s bent over the table, fucking his fist. “Baby,” he groans, all ragged and desperate.

“Yes, Mr. Miller?”

“Close,” whimpers out of your big, strong Joel.

“Then come here.”

He does, stepping to your fast, cock still in his fist. He looms over you, all big, broad, and hard. You’re so close now, you have a front row show. You marvel at all of him… the bead of precum on his slit, the way his balls draw tight, the flex and strain of his plush stomach.

So, you take your breasts in both hands and squeeze them together, showing him your intent. “Here?”

He doesn’t even answer, just grunts your name and shudders as the first thick rope of his pearlescent arcs up, landing on your collarbone, the second splattering across your tits and running down the valley between them. He keeps jerking, unable to stop, squeezing each pulse out, milking himself until he has nothing left, the last few drops clinging to his cock before he smears it across your nipple. “Fuck,” he growls.

Hands planted on the chair’s arms, he drops forward, gorgeous face right in yours. He grins with a low chuckle. “Fuck, baby. Feels like I won.”

—-

There’s a large boulder by the cove, the bright sun bakes it in the afternoon, making it the perfect place to rest your back against after enjoying the chilled water. You’re sitting against it, book in hand, while Joel sits next to you, fiddling with his guitar, strumming random songs and notes.

It’s odd, the lazy luxury of the past few days has almost made you forget all the strife and stress of the world, but there is still a reminder that you live amongst destruction. Joel’s gun goes with him everywhere, hidden in plain sight just in case, and you still turn your head whenever you hear a sound escape the heavy treeline. But the danger never comes.

There’s a sound of rustling to the left of you, and Joel instantly stops strumming, placing the guitar to his side and slowly reaching for the pistol… just in case.

But your fears are quickly tamped down by the sight of a herd of deer, approaching your secret cove. You watch them, both silent as they part their way through the tall grass, heads flicking to watch you and Joel, pausing for a moment, then ultimately deciding that you’re no threat.

Joel lowers the gun back to the ground, leans his head against your shoulder, and you watch the wild animals, safe in their peace and their own world.

Neither of you speaks until you watch the deer move back through the tall grass just as the sun begins to set. The sky is lit orange, with streaks of purple and pink all bleeding into each other and the horizon. It’s a sunset for the books.

"Never used to notice them much,” Joel muses, almost absentmindedly.

“Hm?” you ask.

"The sunsets."

"They were always there," you reply softly.

You feel his exhale before you hear it, his thumb rubs thoughtful circles over your knuckles. "Guess you just start seeing things differently when..." He trails off, leaving the thought unfinished.

When you almost die, perhaps. Or when someone saves you. Or when life gives you an unexpected second chance.

"Yeah," you agree, understanding what he doesn't say. "You do."

He takes your hand, finger brushing against your ring. “You changed m’life,” he whispers.

You look at him, his earnest eyes full of the rarest form of joy. Not the bright, guileless rejoicing of a life that’s never been wrecked. No, this life is the hard-won thing. “And you changed mine, Joel Miller.”