fvispunk

[fvispunk]

Giiiiiiiirl!!!!! You slayed this

Quiero que sepas que sentí cosas reales …

"I get wet at the thought of you"

No outbreak! Joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: an ordinary task made you see Joel differently and you just want him for you.

w.c: 6k

warnings: smut, bad smut don't get your hopes high.

A/N: I cringed a lot, but enjoy this attempt of me trying to write smut. I'm deprived of sleep.

You had lost the count of the days and hours of your life you had spent next to Joel. Ever since you met him thirteen years ago. Yes, when he had crashed your car as he was in a rush with his newly born baby to the hospital because she had the flu and you had felt an inexplicable pull toward him.

That day had been chaos for you, tires screeching, your coffee spilling across your dashboard, and Joel’s panicked eyes looking with your angry your as he tried to apologize while glancing at the baby seat in the back.

And somehow that anger became concerning. Instead of anger, you felt worry, yes. Something you couldn’t quite explain at that moment settled in your chest at the picture. You softened at the sight of him. Instead of lashing out at him, you felt a knot of worry tighten in your chest, a strange, insistent feeling you couldn’t name. The sight of him desperately touching his hair, then his fingers trembling slightly as he tried to fix the baby seat, stirred something inside you, protectiveness, though you weren’t ready to admit it even to yourself.

You studied his face, noticing the way his jaw tensed, the lines of exhaustion under his eyes, the hurried movements matching desperation written on his eyes. And in that instant, amidst the chaos, your heart had betrayed you: it had thumped for him, erratically, almost painfully, fleeting curiosity or sympathy.

You wanted to reach out, to anchor him, to tell him it would be okay, even though you barely knew him. It was an urge to be near him, to make sure he, and the baby, were safe. That moment, brief as it was, marked the beginning of something that would anchor your life for years to come a pull toward Joel that neither of you could have anticipated, but neither would ever forget.

Yes, you had become best friends. How cliché.

Along the years, you had developed a tension that neither of you fully acknowledged. Yes, you were best friends, confidants, partners in crime, thick as thieves. The ones who knew each other’s habits, moods, and silent thoughts and secrets, but underneath that comfortable familiarity simmered a subtle, undeniable current of something beyond that relationship you shared.

It felt almost sinful to think about, or even to put a name on it.

Yes, you had both dated other people, flitted in and out of relationships, most of them childish, temporary distractions from the truth, moments that never lasted. But Joel, there was something about Joel that defied logic, that made the triviality of those other relationships feel hollow. The way his eyes lingered just a second too long, the way his hand would brush against yours in a way that left your skin tingling, the way he seemed to know exactly what you needed before you even said it.

The way he acted like a decent man, yes, how ridiculous to feel it.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic, it was quiet, persistent, simmering beneath the surface of laughter, shared secrets, and stolen glances. It was in the brush of his shoulder as he passed, the slight pause before he spoke to you in serious moments, the rare softness in his voice when he thought no one was listening.

And you knew it wasn’t just you. You had caught the way his gaze would follow you across a room, you liked it. How hesitant he became when he talked about you to other people, the little protectiveness over you. Neither of you ever named it aloud, perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of habit, but the tension had always been there, like a string pulled taut between your two hearts.

You were at Joel’s house this evening, sitting at the table, the aroma of lasagna and herbs filling the room. Sarah, now thirteen, was excitingly recounting her day at school, her voice high and bright with that teenage enthusiasm. You smiled, listening to her attentively, noticing the subtle ways Joel’s eyes softened whenever she laughed, the protective curve of his shoulder as he reached over to steady her when she teetered in the chair.

After dinner, Sarah said goodnight and left to her room, humming a tune she had been practicing on guitar at school. The house fell quiet, the only sounds the clinking of cutlery and Joel’s low hum as he began to clear the table.

You moved to help him, picking up the plates. “Here, let me help,” you offered.

Joel shook his head, giving you that stubborn, half-smile you knew so well. “Nah, it’s fine. I got it. You just relax.” He winked at you.

You raised an eyebrow, at the gesture, pretending it didn’t do it anything to you, but there was a softness in your chest as you watched him move around the kitchen. “Are you sure? I don’t mind. It’ll be quick with two people.”

He glanced at you, then shook his head again. “I said I got it. You’ve been working all day, haven’t you? Sit. Drink that wine, enjoy it. I’ll handle it.”

You let out a small, leaned back in your chair, trying to play it cool, but your gaze followed him like a moth to a flame. There was something about the way he moved—so capable, so steady—that made your chest tighten.

And that was how it started, you stood up following Joel to the kitchen, and lean on the counter.

Joel was at the sink, sleeves rolled, water running over his forearms as he scrubbing the dishes. You should’ve looked away at that moment.

The way his jaw flexed. The low rumble of him muttering when the sponge slipped. The roll of muscle under a worn blue t-shirt.

It hit you like a sucker punch.

God, had he always been this hot?

You blinked, heat crawling up your neck, but your eyes stayed fixed on him like you didn’t have a choice. Joel Miller, your Joel, washing dishes, and somehow it was doing more for you than any date you’d had in months.

He glanced over his shoulder and caught you. “Why are you staring at me?”

You startled, scoffing “I’m not.”

Joel huffed, smirking. “Darling, I can feel your eyes burning a hole in my back.”

You crossed your arms, scrambling for composure, “Doing the dishes look good on you. All that responsible”

That earned a laugh from him, low and warm, and damn if it didn’t make your stomach flip.

“Responsible, huh?” He rinsed a plate, shaking his head. “If I’d known doing dishes was all it took to impress you, I’d have saved myself a lotta trouble over the years.”

He turned back to the sink, but you saw the curve of his smile, the faint pink at the tips of his ears. And suddenly the air between you felt different, like a bottle spilling secrets all over the ground.

Joel Miller, your best friend, was hot.

Joel rinsed the pan and set it aside, water dripping down his arms. “How’s that guy you were seein’? What was his name?” he asked, pretending he wasn’t paying attention to your mood shift.

“Eric,” you said, with a dismissive wave. “Oh, it’s so over. He was a child. Mentally, I mean.”

Joel snorted. “I figured.”

That made you laugh. “You figured it?”

“I could tell by the way he talked. That man couldn’t hold a conversation without sounding like a jackass.” He gave you a sideways look, smug.

“You were paying attention that hard?”

“Hard not to notice,” Joel said, rinsing off the sponge. “I guess you finally realized you need a man. Someone who knows how to take care of things properly”

The words landed heavier than he probably meant them to. You blinked, warmth crawling up your neck. A man. Your eyes lingered on him again, on his broad back, the way his shirt clung to him, the practiced efficiency in every movement.

He was an incredible father, a hard-working guy, responsible, educated and he was a man, he was what you were looking for in a man.

“I mean…” You tried for lightness, but your voice dipped softer. “I think I should definitely settle with a man, I guess.”

That made him pause. He dried his hands on the towel, turned, and set them on his hips in that easy, just him, standing there.

You stared at him, heat pooling low in your stomach, and cursed yourself silently.

 Oh my god. What’s wrong with you tonight?

Joel raised a brow, smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Settle with a man, huh?” he says slowly, voice low, carrying rough edge that made your stomach flip.

“Yeah,” you say, shrugging, trying to sound casual, though your pulse is anything but. “Someone stable. Someone who… knows what he’s doing. Feels like I’ve been wasting time on boys.”

Joel’s smirk softened, but the intensity in his eyes didn’t waver. “And you think you’ve been looking for that in other people… and not finding it?” He shifted slightly closer, the faintest brush of his shoulder against yours making your pulse spike.

“Exactly,” you admitted, though your words sounded fragile even to yourself. “I guess I… didn’t know what I was looking for until now.”

A low, almost imperceptible chuckle escaped him. “Until now…” he echoed, his gaze flicking to your lips for just a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Funny how sometimes what you’ve been standing next to all this time is exactly what you’ve been needing.”

Your breath hitched, feeling the heat pooling low settled on your stomach. You wanted to look away, wanted to control yourself, but you couldn’t. Something about the way he said it, the meaning behind the words, made your pulse quicken and your chest ache with need you tried to ignore for years.

Joel tilted his head slightly, watching your reaction, and the smirk returned, softer now, playful yet serious “I guess being a responsible guy has its perks, huh?” he murmured, letting the words linger.

You bit your lip, gaze dropping for a moment, then forcefully meeting his again. “Yeah… yeah, it does,” you whispered, voice strained.

Joel leaned against the counter, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, yet just so out of reach. The kitchen was silent except for the faint hum of the fridge, the scent of dinner, and the suffocating energy vibrating between the two of you.

You shifted in your place, trying not to fidget with your fingers, but your eyes kept stealing glances to him, the broad line of his shoulders, the subtle flex of his arms as he rested his hands on the counter, the way his chest rose and fell rhythmically. Every little detail of him, made you weak.

“You know,” Joel said slowly, “I’ve been thinking…” He trailed off, letting the words hang, asking you lean forward slightly.

“Thinking about what?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

“That maybe… you shouldn’t just settle for boy who treats you well when he wants something from you.” he said, letting the emphasis linger, his eyes scanning yours, dark and intent. “Maybe… you should settle for someone who knows how to make you feel wanted in every situation.”

Heat rushed through you, all of sudden. Your stomach twisted, your breath stuck in your throat “Wanted?” you asked, softly.

Joel stepped just a little closer, enough that your knees brushed his as you shifted in your position. His hand hovered near yours on the counter, almost daring, testing the waters. “Yes,” he murmured, his gaze locked with yours. “You know, responsible guys, the ones who can take care of things.”

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears; your chest tightened. Every instinct in you screamed to lean closer, to kiss him and letting him know exactly how much those words affected you. But you held back, letting the tension stretch longer.

“You make it sound very tempting,” you admitted, voice trembling just slightly, daring him to read it.

Joel’s smirk widened. “That’s the point,” he said, letting his eyes roam over you, letting the silence thicken.

Joel’s hand brushed yours enough to make your pulse spike. You froze for a heartbeat, letting the sensation linger, and he let his gaze linger on yours.

“Careful,” you whispered, voice low, almost shaky, though your body betrayed you, leaning subtly closer without meaning to.

He leaned just a fraction, and suddenly the space between you was too small. “Careful?” he repeated, low with the faintest smirk curved his lips. “With you I’m not sure if that’s possible.”

Your chest tightened, heat pooling low as your hand twitched, wanting contact, daring to reach, but you didn’t.

Joel’s eyes darkened further, taking in your expression, your posture, the subtle way you were leaning forward as if pulled by an invisible string. “You know,” he murmured, voice husky now, “you make it really hard to just ignore this feeling.”

Your breath hitched, and your gaze flicked to his lips for the briefest moment, heart hammering. “Ignore what?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper with tremor in your tone.

He leaned closer, close enough that the warmth of him brushed your cheek, his presence enveloping you. “This,” he murmured, “this… tension. This… wanting. You know it’s been here for years, don’t you?”

You swallowed, breath catching. “I—maybe,” you admitted, voice trembling slightly, daring him to push further.

Joel’s smirk softened, just slightly, but his eyes didn’t lose that spark. “Yeah.” he said quietly, leaning just a whisper closer. “

Your breath hitched as Joel leaned just a fraction closer, eyes dark, smirk teasing, but something inside you snapped. Years of holding back. You pushed back just enough to rise, walking around the counter.

Joel’s eyebrows lifted as he followed your movements, holding curiosity on his gaze “What are you doing?” he murmured, but his voice had lost the tone of teasing.

You stopped just inches from him, your fingers brushing lightly against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath your palms. “I’m taking over,” you said softly, gracing a smile.

Joel’s smirk faltered, his eyes flicking to yours, dark and wide with surprise. “Oh yeah?” he whispered, amused.

You leaned in closer, letting your lips hover just near his, the scent of him intoxicating. “Yeah,” you breathed, your hands trailing deliberately over his shoulders, feeling the tension coil in his muscles as he leaned subtly into your touch. “You’ve had your fun teasing me, Joel Miller. Looking all that good.”

He froze, chest rising quickly, the air magnetic between you. “You—” he started, but you cut him off with the press of your hand to his chest, a teasing but firm hold. “Shh,” you whispered, your lips just grazing his jaw, letting the heat of your breath press against him. “Not a word yet.

Joel’s low groan vibrated, you could feel every inch of that controlled power he carried, but he was losing to you. The years of tension, the suppressed desire, the quiet longing, breaking.

You traced a path with your hands along his arms, over his chest, your lips lingering near his ear. “Some things can get you very far, you know? you murmured, voice thick, teasing, bold.

Joel’s eyes darkened, his breath hitching as your words sank in, the teasing heat in your voice igniting something brave on him, “Oh yeah?” he murmured.

You pressed a little closer, letting your body brush against his, the soft pressure made him stiffen beneath your touch. “Yes,” you whispered, letting your lips trail kissed along the curve of his jaw, down toward his neck, feeling the way his pulse throbbed beneath your fingertips. “A little initiative, a little confidence… can get you exactly what you want.”

Joel’s chest rose and fell quickly, hands hovering near yours, a bit unsure but completely captivated. “You…Since when you’re this dangerous to bear?” he breathed, voice tight, strained.

You smirked against his skin, enjoying the sound, the way his body responded, the subtle shiver that ran through him. “I prefer the word have,” you murmured, letting your hands slide higher along his shoulders, teasing the edge of restraint.

His low groan vibrated again, as a song to your ears. His hands twitched, the muscles in his arms flexing as if he wanted to reach for you, to pull you in, but you didn’t let him.

Instead, you tilted your head slightly, letting your lips hover over his, the heat of your breath ghosting over his skin. Joel’s chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes dark, fixed on yours, every inch of him under your spell.

“I hope you know,” you whispered, your voice low, sultry, teasing, “I don’t like to play around.” You let your hand press a little firmer to his chest, feeling the quickened beat of his heart beneath your palm. “When I want something… I take it and I treasure it.”

Joel’s lips parted slightly, a soft groan escaping him, and you leaned just a little closer, letting the tiniest brush of your lips trace the line of his jaw, again. “And right now… I want you, Joel” you murmured, letting your fingers trail over his shoulders, down his arms, letting him feel the heat of your touch.

He swallowed hard; the air electric and magnetic between you. “You… God-” he breathed, voice strained.

You smirked, leaning closer, so close that your lips barely hovered against his, teasing, testing the waters, then your mouth brushed his ear.

Joel’s hands twitched, wanting to hold you with them, to claim you and pull your closer to him, but you didn’t let him yet. You wanted a bit of control first, diesel was a desire, you know but yet you were playing with fire.

“Careful,” you teased softly, letting your lips graze the sensitive skin of his neck.

You leaned even closer, your lips now just a whisper away from his, feeling the heat of him on you, the subtle tremor in his chest beneath your hands. Joel’s breath hitched under your touch.

“Joel...” you whispered, letting your drop lower.

His eyes darkened, pupils wide, and he swallowed hard. The faintest shiver ran through him under your touch, and a low, ragged groan escaped his throat. “I… I don’t want to” he started, but you cut him off by pressing a finger gently to his lips.

“Shh,” you breathed, soft but still commanding.

Then, you closed the last fraction of space between your lips and his. The kiss was soft, teasing at first, a gentle claim, testing the waters of a breaking rule that set between two friends who and never crossed this line before, yet this felt right, it still felt electric, charged with years of a suppressed flame. Joel froze for a heartbeat, letting his hands hover near your waist, unsure whether to hold.

You tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss, letting your hands trail down his arms, pressing lightly to his chest, taking control of this moment. s

Joel’s low groans grew in sound, his body leaning subtly into yours, but you didn’t let him take over, your hands, your lips, your breath dictated the rhythm. Every inch of him burned with need.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, chest rising, pulse hammering. “See?” you whispered; voice sultry. “A little initiative, a little control it gets results.”

Joel’s lips parted; eyes dark. “Yeah… yeah, it sure does,” he breathed.

Before you could even tease him further, Joel’s hands gripped your waist and pulling you hastily against him. Your breath hitched at the strength in his hold, the heat radiating from his body, the low growl in his throat that made your pulse hammer.

Yes, completely weak.

“You’ve been in control long enough,” he murmured, voice rough, “Now it’s my turn.”

Before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly, placing you over the edge of the counter. The sudden shift made your stomach flutter with exhilaration. You felt the cool countertop against your thighs, the warmth of him pressed to your middle.

Joel’s hands didn’t linger idle, they traced the curve of your waist, fingers gripping just enough to ground you, to make you acutely aware of every inch of contact. His lips found yours again, slower this time, harder, with a feral edge that sent sparks shooting through you.

“Been waiting years for this,” he murmured against your lips, and the rasp in his voice made your breath catch. “Years of… wanting you like this.”

You arched into him slightly, letting the counter support you as you leaned into his touch, giving him the subtle invitation, he needed. The electricity between you was almost unbearable, the tension of years now exploding in every brush of his hands, every press of his lips, every whispered word.

Joel’s eyes met yours, dark and hungry. His hands tightened slightly on your waist, holding you steady against the countertop, while his lips pressed to yours with a rough, urgent hunger that made your knees weak and your legs numb. Your hands tangled in the back of his shirt, pulling him closer, feeling the heat of his body, the sharpness of his desire matching your own.

“God… you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, voice low and strained, teeth biting your bottom lip as he deepened the kiss.

You moaned softly, the sound vibrating between you, feeding the fire that had been building for years. You arched into him, letting your hips press just a little, testing the strength of his length, teasing him, letting him feel every pulse of need.

His fingertips mapped the curve of your hips, gripping you in a way that was both possessive and reverent. “I want you.” he groaned between kisses, each word breaking against your lips.

You leaned into him fully now, letting the counter support your weight, letting your lips roam, teasing his jaw, brushing his neck. “Joel… don’t stop,” you whispered, breathless, voice thick with desire. “I’ve… I’ve wanted this too.”

His lips curved into a feral smile, and he pressed himself fully to you, letting the friction and heat of your bodies collide.

You felt the tension coil tighter, a delicious, almost unbearable pull, the combination of control, desire, and intimacy making every second stretch and burn. Joel’s hands, his lips, his body.

Joel’s lips left yours for just a moment, trailing down the curve of your jaw, brushing along your neck, each kiss leaving a trail of fire. His hands gripped your waist firmly, holding you against the counter as if he couldn’t bear distance now.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, pulling him closer, drawing out a low, rough groan that reverberated through his chest, and through you.

“Dou feel that?” he murmured against your skin, voice rough and husky.

“Yes,” you gasped, pressing closer, hips pressing his body towards toy, letting the electricity pulse between you.

He froze briefly, taking a look of you, then he tilted his head, lips finding yours again, harder this time, more insistent, letting his hands roam the curve of your body while your hands anchored him, guiding, teasing, claiming.

Joel’s low groan vibrated through you, and you pressed a little firmer, letting the heat of your body press fully against his. “You feel that?” you whispered against his lips; voice sultry, thick with need.

His hands trailed slightly higher on your back, then paused, as if savoring the thrill of letting you lead, letting you claim this moment. “I… I can’t…” he murmured.

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, letting your lips roam over his, teasing, exploring, claiming, while your hands traced along his shoulders, down his arms, feeling every taut muscle flex beneath your touch. Your hands slide to the button of his jeans, fingers brushing against his cock beneath the fabric. His breath hitched sharply, eyes darkening, lips parting as a low, rough groan escaped him.

Without hesitation, you unbuckled his jeans, letting your fingers work with confidence, teasing, with careful movements.

Joel’s hands moved to your hips, tugging you closer, but you pressed back, no taking your hand away from him. The growl that escaped him was guttural, raw, resonating through the small kitchen, mixing with the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

You smirked, letting your fingers linger just enough to tease, to draw out the anticipation, your lips trailing along the line of his neck, brushing lightly against his pulse.

Joel’s low groan broke free “God… you’re killing me,” he murmured, voice strained, eyes dark, pupils dilated.

You smiled against his skin, moving slowly, letting your body press just enough against his to make him ache, your hands teasing and guiding, tracing the strong on his cock, “mmm” you murmured, lips brushing the shell of his ear, teasing, tempting.

His breath hitched, chest rising rapidly, the taut muscles beneath your hands flexing as his need for you became almost palpable. “You… don’t… stop,” he groaned, almost pleading, but you smirked, holding the tension, letting him feel every inch of your hand on it.

You pressed your kisses down his neck again, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin there. Joel’s low groan vibrated through him, chest rising and falling rapidly, hands clenching your hips as if he could pull you closer without your permission.

your fingers brushed over the waistband of his boxers, teasing the heat beneath. Joel’s sharp intake of breath, the groan that followed, the way his muscles tensed again.

“You feel that?” you whispered against his jaw, voice thick and sultry. “This… all of this… it’s mine to command.”

Joel groaned again, eyes dark, lips parting in a silent plea, every inch of him straining toward you. You smirked, letting your hands trace along his dick, pressing firm, claiming him, moving your fingers deliberately.

“You’ve wanted this for years, haven’t you?” you whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

Joel’s groan was low, guttural, desperate. “Yeah… God… yes,” he breathed, pressing fully against you, letting his hands explore as you guided, teased, claimed.

Before you could tease him further, Joel’s hands gripped your waist firmly, lifting you slightly so that your legs brushed against his sides. The sudden, heated movement made your breath hitch, your body pressing fully into his.

“You’ve been in charge long enough,” he growled, voice low, rough, and magnetic. “It’s my turn.”

He pressed you harder against him, his body flush with yours, and the heat between you was almost unbearable. His hands roamed your back and hips, firm, insistent, claiming every inch of you. The groan that escaped him was guttural, raw, and it sent shivers racing down your spine.

He spread your legs forcefully with his hands, making your dress rode up, exposing your bare thighs and the lace of your black lacy panties.

“Wider.” He commanded, voice rough and demanding.

You complied, breathing harder, in short, feeling the cool air on your skin, contrasting the heat where you wanted him the most.

Joel dropped to his knees, yanking your panties aside without a word, mouth covering your pussy hungrily, his tongue lashing out to lick you folds with intensity. 'Fuck, you taste good,' he muttered against you, the vibrations making you squirm.

Making you moan loudly, pressing a hand over your mouth, while you free one fisted on his hair as he sucked and licked, his tongue deepened into your wetness. The sensation was overwhelming, wet, sloppy, and urgent, as he devoured you like a man possessed by years of pulling back and forth from a woman he loved.

You arched your back, moans turning into desperate cries, muffling by your own hand over your mouth. “Joel, please, don’t stop,” you begged, voice breaking with pleasure.

Joel’s tongue flicked your clit, then plunged inside, fucking you with his tongue.

The room filled with the sounds of your own wetness and his greedy slurps, the scent of your arousal in the air. Your body trembled, waves building inside you. You gasped, thighs clamping around his head, but he didn’t let up, just growled against your pussy, the vibration ripping another desperate moan from your throat.

“Fuck, Joel” Your voice cracked as he sucked your clit hard, fingers joining his tongue, stretching you open.

His lips glistening as he pulled back just to watch you squirm. “That’s it,” he muttered, dragging his thumb over your clit while his fingers curled inside you. “Come for me, baby.”

You whimpered, hips jerking against his mouth, his grip on your thigh bruising as he held you down. “I need more.”

Joel smirked, licking his lips before grabbing you by the waist, your legs wrapping around his middle. Your hands went immediately to his shoulders, holding him close, letting him feel every pulse of need, every shiver of desire. “Joel… god… yes,” you whispered, voice thick, teasing, wanting. “Take me…”

He didn’t wait another second. Hi carried you through the living room and up the stairs, every inch of him pressed to you, every movement sending sparks of electricity through your body.

When he finally reached his room, he didn’t slow. He crossed the door, pressing you gently yet firmly against the door before turning to face you fully. His lips found yours again. You gasped into the kiss, letting your hands roam his chest, tug at his hair, pressing against him in response to his urgent touch. The tension, the heat, the years of suppressed desire, all of it coiled into a storm between you, every nerve on fire, consuming both of you.

Joel’s hands gripped your waist, guiding you with a firm but deliberate force, and before you could react, he pinned you gently but insistently to his bed. The sudden weight of him pressing against you made your breath hitch, your body responding instantly to the heat and tension.

His eyes darkened, smoldering with desire, as he hovered over you for a heartbeat, lips brushing in a demanding kiss.

He stripped off his shirt, revealing the skin beneath. You swallowed, heat pooling low in your stomach all over again, fingers trailing along the curve of his shoulders, chest, feeling the warmth of him under your touch. Joel’s hands returned to you, sliding over your sides, down to the hem of your dress. He lifted it over your head, letting it fall to the floor.

Your hands slid down to his waistband, tugging slightly, teasing, wanting, while his lips traced a path down your neck, shoulder, your breasts.

He paused for a moment, letting his gaze drink you in, dark eyes flicking over every curve of your breasts, every shiver, every reaction of yours. “Mine,” he whispered, low, rough, and the single word sent a shiver racing down your spine.

“I need more” you pleaded.

Joel smirked, licking his lips, gripping your hips tighter, tilting your body as he pressed fully against you. His cock dragged through your slick, teasing before he slammed inside in onethrust. His lips left yours only to trail down your neck, teasing, nipping lightly, leaving a trail of fire that made your knees tremble.

You arched into him, hands roaming his back, chest, shoulders, savoring the strength beneath your fingers. Joel’s low, guttural groan vibrated through both of you, his body taut, every movement deliberate, controlled, and yet desperate with need.

“God… you feel incredible,” he murmured against your skin, hips already pounding into you. You bit your lip, nails raking down his back.

“Fuuuck, yes, harder.” You whispered.

He laughed, hands gripping your waist as he fucked you raw, every snap of his hips stealing your breath away from you, the sounds you were making, made him crazy.

His hands slid under your ass, lifting you to meet each thrust. The slap of skin, your shared gasps between kisses, the way his cock stretched you, every sensation blurred into white-hot need.

This was everything you had ever wanted.

Joel bent low; his breath hot against your ear. “More, baby?” he asked, grinding his hips, making you whimper on his ear.

You dug your heels into his back, forcing him deeper. “Fucking prove you can do it.” You commanded, sinking your teeth on his shoulder as he pounded into you, his rhythm turning ragged.

"Watch me." The bed cracked against the wall, your moans loud, Joel pressed his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. His thumb found your clit again, rough circles matching his thrusts.

"Come now, baby.”

You broke down, tightening around him as pleasure tore you apart. Joel cursed, hips stuttering, then buried himself deep with a groan, his released hot inside you. Breathless, he collapsed half on top of you, lips brushing your throat.

“Enough?” he asked, weakly.

 You laughed, weak but smug, tangling your fingers in his sweat-damp hair.

"For now."

His grin was all teeth. "Bullshit."

He nipped at your jaw, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip as his cock twitched, still inside you, still hard.

“You’re… mine,” he whispered, low and strained, lips brushing your ear. “All of you… all of this… it’s mine now.”

You arched against him, relishing the stretch. "I got you all to myself now. No distractions." Your nails grazed his spine. “We can do this whenever I want.”

Joel exhaled sharply, rolling his hips in a slow, filthy grind. “Is that a threat?”

“More like a promise.” You said, dragging your heels down his calf. His gripped tightened around your middle.

“You’re so gonna regret that.” He said, flipping you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up. One hand fisted in your hair as he slid back in, his groan vibrating against your skin. “Starting right now.”

You choked on a moan as he his pace, each thrust stealing the air from your lungs. “Joel!”

He planted a kiss over your shoulder.

You stirred awake to the smell of coffee. Joel’s side of the bed was still warm, sheets rumpled where he’d been lying only a little while ago.

Padding out to the kitchen, you found him already dressed in a blue shirt and jeans, hair still mussed from sleep, sleeves shoved up his forearms. He was pouring coffee into two mugs, eyes flicking up the second he heard you.

“Morning, baby” he said, voice still laced with sleep.

You leaned against the counter, just watching him move “You made coffee.”

“Of course, I did.” He slid a mug toward you on the counter. “I can’t have you walking out of my house without something warm in your hands. Besides, figured you needed the rest. Thought I’d handle things.”

It was such a simple sentence, but it landed heavy in your chest.

 I’ll handle things.

You sipped the coffee, eyes narrowing over the rim. “Are you always this responsible in the mornings?

Joel gave you a shy smile, shaking his head. “Baby, I’m always this responsible. You just don’t usually stick around long enough to see it.” His said, hand brushing your hips, carefully.

Then, he leaned into you, his voice low and breath warm against your ear. “Sarah already left to school,” He brushed a soft kiss on your cheek, the scruff of his beard tickled your skin. “It means I have more time before leaving to work.”

You tilted your head toward him, smiling at the sound of his voice. “Oh yeah? And what exactly are you planning to do with that time, Joel miller?”

His arm slid around your waist, pressing you softly against his chest “I was thinking I might make us some breakfast,” he said, lips pressing lazily over your temple before kissing your cheek again. “Then maybe” he let the words linger a bit, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk as his hand skimmed down over your hip, “I will remind you how pretty you looked last night.”

You laughed softly, fingers tracing over his arm. “A responsible man? Dangerous.”

Joel chuckled, pressing another kiss to your cheek before nudging you with his forehead pressed on your neck, “Darling, I’m nothing more than man who knows his priorities. Breakfast, work… and my woman, always, my woman.”

Yes, right there, with his voice vibrating in your ear and his hand firm on your waist, you knew he was lethal. Responsible. And Good help you, it made you weak by the simple fact that Joel Miller was a man in every sense.

[fvispunk]

I will whole heartedly admit, yes. I read x reader fanfic because sometimes you wanna feel loved or something else. Let me enjoy my fictional husbands and wives please.

[fvispunk]

PEDRO PASCAL Materialists | dir. Celine Song

[fvispunk]

👁️👄👁️

dude what the fuck man i am literally crying from overstimulation

[fvispunk]

ESA CAMISA TODA TRASLÚCIDA TODO QUE VER UAAAAYYYYYYYY PRECIOSO

[fvispunk]

Yo cada que Mara aparecía:

DIOS MÍO JOEL YO TE AMO TANTO 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Esta parte

“I’d crawl to you if I had to,” he rasped. “Do you think a couple of broken bones were going to keep me from you right now?”

Nooooooo, fallecí 😭😭😭😭

PERO ESE FINAL

QUEDE HELADA HERMOSA

The days of you and I | part 4

Jackson!Joel Miller x fem! reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: you wake up after your fall, feeling broken and guilty about the things you have done and hidden. Joel came back home and you must face each other.

w.c: 12k.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of trauma, fluff. No proofreading, I'm stupid.

A/N: I'm excited about this chapter because it will have a bit of fluff amid all the angst. BUT don't get used to it. I took off a thing from this chapter, but it will be added to the other one. I hope you like it, and please let me know your thoughts!

AO3 account

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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The softest giggle you had ever heard wake up you up, delicate, soothing the skin of your face like the wind.

“Mommy… mommy, wake up!”

Tiny hands pressed against your shoulder, shaking you carefully. The world around you was golden for the first time in two decades.

The air covered in the scent of coffee.

You opened your eyes slowly to meet the most beautiful little girl you had ever seen. A tiny girl, around five, hair falling into soft waves of brown color. She was the exactly mixture of you and Joel. Soft dark brown eyes, his eyes, and a face that was like the fire gold glow of dawn, staring back at you with so much love inside her eyes.

“Daddy’s making breakfast,” she grinned, leaning closer so her face nearly brushed yours. “He’s gonna burn the waffles again if we don’t hurry.”

You sat up, your heart pounding in your chest, confused by the warmth of the room, by the way sunlight danced across old floorboards you didn’t recognize.

“Baby…” your voice cracked as you reached out, fingers trembling, needing, aching to feel the softness of her skin, to cup that perfect face you’d only met in your dreams.

But just as your fingertips brushed her cheek, the world began to tear apart.

The golden light fractured into shards. The giggle faded, turning into the faraway howl of the wind reeking like death.  

Your felt your head spinning and you came back to your home, a home that never existed.

Opening your eyes, your felt the world going back and forth from home to Jackson. To him, to her until you were surrounded by the four walls of the room in the hospital. Pain irradiating from the right side of your body.

You blinked three times, adjusting your gaze to the pale light of the room. You felt the blanket on your body, distant sound around, and the dull ache in your skull from where you’d hit the ground.

Yes, you remembered the fall.

“Oh” you heard a voiced exclaiming so glad to see you awake

“Thank god you’re awake”, Nick walked towards your bed, smiling with relief all over his face. “I thought you weren’t going to wake up this soon.”

“How long?” you rasped, your throat dry and raw, the words tasting like dust and grief.

Nick let out a shaky breath, crouching down beside your bed, relief bleeding into his voice.

“Two days,” he said quietly. “You hit your head pretty bad. Dislocated your shoulder too. Scared me a lot.”

You could see the exhaustion in his face, the strain in his young eyes that made him look older than he ought to. Dirt smudged his jawline and his hair stuck to his forehead like he hadn’t left your side during these two days.

“I—” you tried to say something else, but your voice cracked, and the ache in your chest made it too hard to push out the rest.

“Why did you do it?” He asked, “It felt like you wanted to get yourself killed on purpose.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him. And for a second you hated how well he could see through you at this very moment. Your lips parted, but you didn’t have to say it. The look in your eyes, the way your gaze faltered, was enough. A silent confirmation.

Nick’s expression crumpled, his shoulders sagging.

“Oh,” he breathed. He dropped his gaze, scrubbing a hand down his face, and for a moment there was nothing but the sound of your breathing, the distant clatter of someone dropping a tray down the hall.

But you didn’t allow him to interrogate you. “Joel?”

Nick met your eyes again “Tommy had to tell him about you. He was a mess.” He sighed, not knowing where to look at, “Tommy brought him to see you last night.”

Your breath hitched. “He was here?” you rasped, the words tasting strange and sharp on your tongue. Like hope you weren’t ready to feel.

Nick nodded slowly; his gaze wary but gentle. “Yes, he didn’t want to leave. Not until Mara made him. He wanted to make sure you weren’t cold.”

You turned your head away, staring at the ceiling, at the water stain in the corner that looked like a twisted halo. Your chest ached, from the fall, from the grief you had been bearing, from meeting your daughter in your dreams and having her taking away from you.

“Why did you let him stay?” you whispered.

Nick huffed a bitter little laugh. “Because I know you would want that.” He exhaled, voice softening. “Besides he was scared.”

You closed your eyes, a tear slipping free.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured.

Nick stepped closer, dropping his hand over yours where it lay limp on the blanket. “Just don’t make me dig you grave.”

You looked down at his hand over you and deep down you were thankful of his company.

You didn’t hear the door open just the soft creak of the hinges, and then the quiet thud of boots on the floorboards. When you turned your head, Tommy was standing there.

A small, tired smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when your eyes met his. “Well, look who finally decided to wake up,” he said softly, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.  

“Hey, Tommy,” you managed, your voice hoarse and thin.

He pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room, crouching by your bedside. His hand landed gently over yours, warm and solid. Just were nick’s were before.

“You scared us.” he murmured. “Ellie was a pain in the ass. Joel…” His voice faltered, his jaw tightening.

You swallowed, heart twisting. “Is he okay?”

Tommy let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “He is.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles absently. “You two sure know how to tear each other apart, huh?”

A fragile, bitter smile ghosted your lips. “It’s what we’re good at.”

Tommy shook his head, his expression softening. “He is going back home tomorrow.” A beat passed. “If you need to move out…Maria and I will open our house for you.”

You stared down at your hand in his. You thought about the way Joel used to brush his thumb over it without thinking, about the way your name sounded in his mouth when you found peace settling.

Your throat tightened. “I won’t.” You didn’t look up, but your voice was steady. “I’m not leaving the house.”

Tommy exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. His hand squeezed yours tighter, a rough kind of tenderness.

“Okay.” He nodded, his eyes glinting just a little.

“We need to fix the room downstairs for him to stay.” You spoke.

“I took care of it” Tommy said. “Now, when it comes to you…No more patrols, rest. Just rest.”

 You gave him the faintest ghost of a nod, your body too worn to argue, your heart too bruised to care and it wasn’t going anywhere for now. You knew that. But for now, you clung to the only thing you could.

Staying even when Joel didn’t allow it.

“Thank you, Tommy,” you managed, the words cutting your throat.

He gave a small, crooked smile, a flicker of warmth beneath the exhaustion. “Don’t thank me. You’re family. And you always will be.”

You didn’t realize a tear had slipped down your cheek until Tommy reached out, thumb brushing it away the same way Joel used to.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured, already walking outside the room.

You didn’t trust yourself to answer. You just watched him leave, the door closing quietly behind him. The room felt too big and too quiet with only Nick and you inside. You laid back down, clutching the blanket, the memory of your daughter’s voice still echoing in your head.

Daddy’s making breakfast.

You shut your eyes, wishing you could fall back into that dream.

The next morning, the first light crept through misty windows of the room Joel had been staying for the last three months. Daisies had begun to push their heads through the earth, though a lingering chill clung to the air, a reminder that winter wasn’t so far behind somehow.

Like somehow timed had stopped that cold winter day.

Inside the hospital, Mara knelt in front of Joel, fastening the last strap of the brace around his most wounded leg. His face was pale, lined, but the flick of hope on there was undeniable, a man who was about to see the face of the woman who had brought him back to life.

“Alright, big guy,” Mara said softly. “Let’s get you home.”

Joel grunted. His eyes drifted to the window where the world was alive with the promise of spring, of a new beginning, and it almost made him ache more.

Tommy stood at the ready, looking relieved and exhausted, while Ellie lingered near the doorway, arms crossed, a sour look twisting her mouth.

“You don’t need to fuss over him like he’s a baby” Ellie shot toward Mara; her voice sharp.

Mara looked up, a tightness in her jaw. “It’s my job, Ellie.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should’ve stick to be more professional around him,” Ellie muttered, loud enough to cut through the air like a knife. Her voice carried that raw, protective edge, and Tommy’s warning glance wasn’t enough to cool it.

Joel closed his eyes for a second, letting the sound of the wind outside bleed through the cracks in the room. “Ellie.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried warning, and it made the kid swallow her words, though her glare didn’t ease. He didn’t want more problems.

“It’s fine,” Mara said stiffly, moving behind the wheelchair. “Let’s just get him home.”

Meanwhile, back at the house, you were working.

The windows were cracked open, letting in scent of new blossoms. It felt wrong, how beautiful the world was, how soft the air felt against your skin while your chest ached like it was splitting open.

You’d dragged in one of the older armchairs from the upstairs bedroom, set his old flannel blanket across the back of it. A shelf with his favorite records. the ones Ellie didn’t steal.  You placed two frame pictures of him with his girls on the nightstand. One with Sarah, the other one with Ellie, but the ones where it was you and Joel were left behind.

Next to it, you placed a plate with waffles on it,

Didn’t burn the waffles.

You wrote but you didn’t sign.

Once you were done with it, ready to leave the house. You heard the wheels of the chair before outside the door. You heard Tommy mutter a curse as they struggled over the uneven boards at the front step. Heard Joel’s sharp breath.

Tommy muttering, “Careful, watch that step.”

Your hand froze on the counter.

Spring was here, and so was Joel.

You stayed frozen by the counter; fingers still curled loosely around the edge of the table. The smell of spring clung to Joel’s clothes as Tommy wheeled him through the door, and though the room was quiet, it felt deafening in your head.

When his eyes found you. You saw the flicker of it, the hitch in his chest, the lines between his eyebrows tightening when he took in the fading bruise along your cheekbone, the healing cut near your temple. But it wasn’t just that. It was you standing in front of him.

His gaze traveled over you like he was afraid you might disappear before his eyes if he blinked.

“Hi,” Joel rasped, his voice hoarse, lower than you remembered, but still his.

Your throat threatened to close, but somehow you managed it.

“Hey,” you whispered back, a small nod.

It hung there, brittle and fragile like a spring branch weighed down by frost.

“Alright, let’s get you settled, Joel,” Mara cut in briskly, stepping around Tommy and taking the handles of the chair like it was hers to steer. “We’ve got pain meds ready for you and some exercises to do.”

You flinched, something inside you bristling at her interruption.

Joel’s head tilted toward you, his brow pulling as if he meant to protest, to stop her, to say something, but the weight of it all kept him in that chair.

And before anyone else could speak, you cleared your throat.

“I’ll get out of the way,” you murmured, voice tight, passing by him to the door.

You heard Ellie mutter something sharp under her breath. Tommy let out a sigh like it hurt him to watch it all happen again, to watch you both walk the edges of a world neither of you knew how to fix anymore.

But fingers curled around your wrist. Not forceful, but gently.

You froze, your heart stuttering painfully against your ribs. His hand was rough, calloused like it always was, but his touch was hesitant now, like he wasn’t sure he had the right.

Your breath caught as you turned your head, eyes meeting his.

Joel’s gaze was raw and tired, his face hollowed by pain and everything the last time had carved out of him.

“Don’t,” he rasped, barely above a whisper, like it was costing him to say it.

You felt it in the way his thumb ghosted over your skin, in the quiet, aching grief sitting between you.

Mara shifted in the background, her voice a taut line. “Joel, we need to get you—”

Your voice was such a fragile thing when you finally spoke, your hand still caught in his.

"It's good to see you alright," you whispered, and then gently, carefully, you pulled your wrist free.

The words hung in the air between you like a ghost of something you both used to be. Joel’s mouth opened like he might say something back, but you didn’t give him the chance. You turned and walked out of the house, your steps quick, your chest tight, the familiar sting behind your eyes already there waiting slip free.

Ellie muttered something under her breath again, but it sounded more like heartbreak this time than anger. How the three of you had come from a family to this.

Joel kept looking after you, his throat working around words that wouldn’t come, his hand still half-raised like it could call you back.

Tommy cleared his throat gently. "Come on, brother. Let’s get you settled."

They wheeled him slowly toward the downstairs room, spring sunlight spilling through the windows, making everything look softer.

When Joel crossed the threshold of the room, he stopped, the ache in his chest catching. The bed was freshly made, soft blankets folded at the foot. The room smelled like cedar and clean linen.

“God.” Joel muttered, voice breaking just a little.

Ellie, standing awkwardly near the door, shoved her hands into her jeans’ pockets.

“Thanks, kid,” Joel managed, trying to gather himself.

Ellie’s brow furrowed. She shook her head. “This wasn’t me.”

Joel’s gaze snapped to her. She shrugged, looking at him like he was an idiot for not knowing.

And in his chest, something cracked painfully open, because of course it was you.

Of course, it was you.

You made your way to the stables, the air still holding that crisp spring scent wildflowers, and woodsmoke drifting from distant chimneys. The sun was shining, painting the mountains in strokes of soft gold and light blue.

Nick was there, brushing down one of the chestnut mares, his sleeves rolled up, hair a mess, a streak of dirt on his cheek. When he caught sight of you standing by the entrance, his face lit up at the sight of you.

“Hey,” he grinned, setting the brush down and giving the mare a pat. “Thought you were supposed to be resting.”

You tried to smile, but it came out crooked.

“I was,” you said softly, your hand trailing over the rough wooden doorway. “I just needed air.”

Nick wiped his hands on a rag and came over, his grin faltered as he really looked at you, the bruise still shadowing your cheek, the way exhaustion clung to your eyes. The months you hadn’t took a rest were taking a tool on you.

“He made it home okay?” Nick asked carefully.

You nodded. “Yeah. The room looks good. Tommy did a nice job.”

Nick raised a brow but didn’t call you out on it. He knew better.

“You did his room, didn’t you?” he asked with a small, knowing smirk.

You shrugged, lips twitching. “Didn’t do much.”

“Yeah, okay.” Nick leaned against the stall beside you, his voice gentler now. “Did you see him?”

You hesitated, staring past him to where the light caught on the manes of the horses, dust hanging in the air like glitter.

“I did.” you whispered.

Nick, just gave a nod, a crooked grin, and said, “So…”

“So what?”

“What it felt like?” he asked, meeting you glance as if you hadn’t quite idea of what to answer, how to gather your thoughts.

“I don’t know how to feel about him.” You began, “I’m so glad he is alive but looking at him hurts because I know I’m losing him.”

“You’re not losing him.” He reassured without thinking, as if he was sure of his words, “He could have gone anywhere in this town. He could have gone with Tommy, but he chose to come back to you. You’re his home.”

“The last time we spoke he told me he wasn’t sure if he loved me.” You confessed; the thought alone made you ashamed.

“He is a man.” He said, simply.”

You chuckled, “That’s an excuse?”  

Nick grinned faintly at your chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“Of course, it’s not an excuse,” he went on, brushing a hand through his hair. “But it means… sometimes we say shit we don’t even mean when we’re scared or when our ego is hurt. When we’re hurting. And Joel, well, I don’t think he is the exception.”

You swallowed, your throat tight, trying to make a sense of those words.

“It’s not just what he said, Nick. It’s how it felt. What I did.”

Nick leaned closer, resting his elbows on the fence rail between you, voice lower.”

“If it was over, you wouldn’t be in his head like you are. You wouldn’t be the reason he survived to that attack.” He nudged your shoulder. “You know I don’t talk pretty like other people do. But anyone with eyes can see it. You and him, you don’t find that two times in this life, specially no in this kind of life.

The ache in your chest loosened, just a little, and you looked down at your hands, fingers curling against each other. “I feel he won’t stop seeing me as—”

“As what?”

“As a monster.” You replied, avoiding Nick’s eyes.

“Why? Because you killed the people who were beaten him to death?”

You met his eyes.

“I don’t know what Joel did in the past, but no one deserved that.”

Your eyes stung, shoulders trembling. " I took them all down by myself. I didn't feel it. The punches, the pain. Nothing. I didn't feel human."

Nick’s face softened, he took a step closer, lowering his voice like he was speaking to a wounded person.

“You didn’t feel human because you weren’t meant to in that moment.” His gaze didn’t leave yours, steady as stone. “You felt what you needed to feel to keep him alive. That’s not being a monster. That’s being someone who loves someone enough to burn the whole world down for them.”

Your throat worked around a knot that wouldn’t budge, eyes stinging so badly you had to look away.

“You don’t come back from things like that, Nick.” Your voice broke, raw. “I don’t even know who I am after that night.”

Nick hesitated at first, then without asking, he pulled you into a one-armed hug, the solid kind of embrace. Familiar. Like the earth under your feet when the world’s gone to hell.

“You’re still you,” he murmured near your temple. “You’re still the girl who softened when she arrived at this place. And you’re also the woman who saved the man she loves.”

He let go, but his hand stayed on your shoulder.

“Stop waiting for him to call you a monster. He’s not gonna do it. No one who makes it in this world’s got clean hands. Not him. Not you. Not me.”

You wiped at your face, the ghost of a bitter smile tugging at your lips.

“You always make it sound so damn simple.”

“It is.” Nick shrugged. “This life is hard. Loving someone is simple.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice rough but steady.

Nick gave a lopsided grin, nudging your shoulder again. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m still making you clean out the stalls this week.”

A laugh escaped you, small, broken around the edges, but real. It felt foreign and familiar after all this time.

You ran a hand through your hair, glancing toward the stable doors where the sun was starting to dip lower, streaking the sky with soft pinks and oranges. You hadn’t noticed how much time you had spent with him. Spring was hanging in the air, bringing sweetness in the wind that promised things could bloom even after a long, brutal winter.

“I should head back,” you said quietly, your voice soft but lighter somehow. “See how… see how he’s settling in.”

Nick’s brow lifted. “Are you sure?”

You hesitated, heart thudding painfully against your ribs. “No. But I’ll never be sure if I don’t go. Besides that’s my home I have to go back somehow.”

He gave a small nod, as if he understood more than you were saying.

The warmth of the house hit you the moment you opened the door — soft light spilling from the living room, the faint scent of something cooking, the low sound of Joel’s laugh cutting through everything like a knife.

It was a sound you hadn’t heard in months.

And it wasn’t meant for you.

There he was, sitting in his chair, one leg stretched awkwardly out while Mara knelt beside him, guiding his foot along a little wooden slider board you’d left near the couch earlier. She said something you couldn’t quite hear, and Joel chuckled — a tired, worn sound, but it was real. It was his. And it wasn’t yours anymore.

Your stomach twisted, and before either of them could notice you standing there like some ghost in your own home, you turned on your heel and quietly stepped back outside.

The door shut with a soft click behind you.

You sat on the porch, elbows on your knees, eyes on the empty street where the last of the daylight clung to the edges of the earth. The ache in your chest pulsed, bone-deep and old as the world.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, fingers idly toying with a loose thread on your sleeve, breathing through the hurt because you were so damn used to it by now.

The door creaked open.

You didn’t have to look to know it was her. You felt it.

“Hey,” Mara greeted softly.

You glanced up, giving her a tight smile, you didn’t mean.

She shifted awkwardly on the porch step, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “I’m heading out. He’s tired anyway.”

“Good,” you murmured, standing as she reached the steps. You forced your mouth into a smirk you barely felt. “I hope you don’t get used to spending too much time at my house.”

Mara blinked, surprised. Then she laughed, like she thought you were joking, but she knew the meaning behind that statement.

“You know I refused to him coming back here. I actually thought he would be better at my place.” She confessed, no taking her eyes from you, “I think he is fragile and you aren’t good for his recovery.”

“Me? His wife?” you challenged, not out of claiming but because you ad Joel had walked through different kind of hells to let this woman try pushing you away from his life.

“Yes,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “His wife.” She let the word hang there between you, like a reminder, like a weight.

Your jaw clenched.

“Do you think all of this will scare me off? I was the one who brought him back from that place. The one who saved him.”

Mara’s expression softened, but not kindly, pity, perhaps jealousy. “By killing people? How brave of you?”

Tear welled up in your eyes, your voice cracked, raw and splintering against the weight of it all. “You weren’t there!” your voice, loose from somewhere deep in your chest. “You didn’t see what they did to him.”

Mara’s face shifted, but she didn’t stop to speak or understand you, but you saw the way her jaw tightened, how her fingers curled tighter around the strap of her bag.

“I didn’t hesitate,” you went on, your throat tight with the taste of tears and blood “I didn’t stop to think if it was correct or if it would make me a monster.” Your voice dropped, trembling. “I was ready to die for him. I still am.”

Mara didn’t flinch, “But you are holding to some version of him that doesn’t exist anymore. “She said, voice low, almost apologetic in the way a liar is when they want you to believe the worst about yourself. “You are not ready for this version of him. He’s hurt. And you don’t always know how to leave things alone when you should.”

You took a step forward, your voice steady, tight around the edges. “What does that mean?”

“You should try and let him go.” She said, no hesitation in her voice, she didn’t care if her words were cruel, mean. Your chest felt like it caved in, like her words were hands trying to rip pieces of your heart apart. But you didn’t step back. You didn’t drop your gaze.

“Let him go?” you repeated, voice low and sharp as cut glass. “After everything we’ve survived, after everything he’s fought to come back from?

Mara’s lips parted, but you didn’t give her the chance.

“I know he’s hurt,” you said, your heart beating, roaring in your ears. “I know he’s not the same man he was before and I don’t always leave things alone when I should, but that’s the reason why he is still breathing. That’s why he’s here.”

You stepped closer, not needing to raise your voice now, your words sinking like a knife between ribs. “And if you think I’m afraid of the pieces left of him, you don’t know a damn thing about me.”

You lifted your finger at her, “If you ever say something like this again, you’re not stepping inside this house again.”

She didn’t smile this time. Didn’t laugh like before. She just gave a slow, shallow nod, her gaze dropping for the first time. “Goodbye” she said, passing by you down the steps.

Leaving you with a heavy heart.

But you stepped back inside the house, the floorboards groaning softly under your steps. The air felt different now, like light had come back to this house, air was clearer somehow, like the kind of day after a storm when the earth still smells of rain and something in you aches to breathe it in.

You didn’t mean to, but your feet carried you down the hallway, past the room where you knew Joel was.

you reached his door and paused.

Joel was sitting there, half-lit by the dying light of evening filtering through the window. His shoulders hunched forward slightly, one hand resting on his leg, the other gripping the arm of the chair. But it was the look in his eyes that stopped you cold.

He was staring at the door, not at the window, he wasn’t lost in thought. He was looking at the doorway, like he’d been waiting for you.

Neither of you spoke. For a moment, it was just the sound of the wind outside, and the house settling around you.

Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. His lips parted, but no words came, like whatever he meant to say wasn’t enough for what lived in that space between you and his hand twitched on the arm of the chair, and for a second you thought he might stand up and reach for you. But he didn’t. He just sat there, looking at you as if you were the only person that exist.

You cleared your throat, your voice softer than you meant it to be. “Do you need anything?”

Joel blinked, like the question startled him. His voice was hoarse when it finally came. “Now, I don’t”

Now, I don’t as if no, I have everything I need right in front of me.

You lingered at the doorway a second longer, hand on the frame, and before you could stop yourself, your voice broke the quiet.

“Where’s Ellie?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but it came out rough around the edges.

Joel’s gaze didn’t leave yours as he answered. “She went to have dinner with Dina. Said she’d be back soon.”

His voice was low, scratchy from disuse or maybe from whatever emotion sat thick in the room between you.

You nodded, glancing down at the floor, your fingers tightening around the doorframe for a beat.

“Okay.” you murmured. “Are you hungry?”

Joel’s mouth twitched, just barely, not quite a smile, but the closest thing to one you’d seen in his face since that day.

He nodded, slow and tired. “Yeah… think I could eat something.”

You forced a breath past the knot in your throat and gave a small, lopsided smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’ll get you a plate.”

You turned, starting down the hallway toward the kitchen, but his voice stopped you. “Hey.”

You glanced back over your shoulder. Joel’s eyes met yours, something vulnerable in them.

“Thanks… for what you did with this room.” It hit deeper than you expected, that he knew, that he’d noticed every detail you’d made, every quiet attempt to make him feel safe again in a world that had taken so much from him.

You gave a small nod. “I couldn’t let you wake up staring at those ugly curtains.”

A faint huff of air left him, the ghost of a real laugh, and it felt like a drop of rain in a drought. And you couldn’t explain what it did to your heart, to hear him laugh at something you had said.

“I’ll come back in a second.” you murmured, offering him one more glance, the air between you wasn’t quite as heavy, like you both remembered how to breathe in the same room again.

Joel just nodded, watching you like maybe he didn’t quite trust you’d mean it, but hoping you did anyway.

You made your way to the kitchen, your hands shaking a little as you grabbed a plate, putting together what you could find. Vegetables someone had left from the market, some bread Tommy must’ve dropped off. Simple things, things Joel used to grumble about, calling them rabbit food but you figured it was better than nothing.

Your chest ached, remembering how many times you’d done this before. Bringing him food after long patrols, long nights. The quiet ways you looked after each other.

And now here you were again under different circumstances, but without knowing where you stood.

When the plate was ready, you grabbed a glass of water, steadying yourself before heading back down the hall. The house was still, late afternoon light slipping through the windows, casting soft golden patterns along the floor.

You stepped into the doorway of his room. He was still there, sitting up a little better now, eyes on the door like he’d been counting the seconds for your return.

You cleared your throat. “I didn’t take too long, did I?”

You’d been running for what it felt like hours, legs burning, breath ragged in your throat. The evening air reeked of smoke, decay and blood, to death. The distant screams of the infected chasing you through the woods terrified you. You’d lost your group to them, two hours ago, your rifle long out of bullets. The knife you clutched slick with blood and nearly useless against the mass of them.

This was where your life met the end.

One of them, a runner, faster than you could manage, had tackled you, knocking you into the dirty grass. Its snarling face inches from yours, the stink of death and rot smothering you. You fought it off with the knife, but your arms were weak, your body heavier than it had ever felt.

Bang.

The infected’s head snapped back, blood misting the air, and the weight of its corpse fell limp over you.

You gasped for air, chest heaving. The sound of your pulse in your ears so loud it was all you could hear.

And then a hand appeared in front of your face. Rough, calloused, reaching for you.

You looked up, blinking past sweat and grime, and saw a man,

“Come on,” a voice barked, low and annoyed. “Get up.”

You grabbed the hand without thinking, your palm slick with sweat, dirt and blood you didn’t know who belonged to. He helped you to your feet in one clean pull, stronger than you expected, and for a second you just stood there staring at him. This man, at all the details on his face, he was a bit older than you thought, hair already streaked with some gray, dark eyes sharp and assessing as they swept over you for injuries.

“Are you bitten?” he demanded; his voice wasn’t soft.

You shook your head, your throat raw, your voice barely a rasp. “No. No, I—”

“Then move,” he cut you off, already turning to scan the path behind him, his rifle raised. The horde wasn’t far off. You could hear them, the shrieks and howls carried on the wind.

“This way,” he said, jerking his head toward the woods.

You hesitated for half a second, you didn’t even know his name, but then you followed. What choice did you have?

You ran after him, your chest aching, your legs weak and burning. The world around you was crumbling, but you stayed close to him.

At one point, you stumbled, your knee giving out beneath you, exhaustion, fear, the cut on your thigh bleeding down into your boot. And before you hit the ground, his hand was on your arm, steadying you again.

“You’re not dying  today,”he muttered, pulling you forward.

Night had fallen heavy over Jackson, the town was quiet, only the sound of what brought filling the air. You lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the blankets tangled around your legs. Hours had passed. The clock on the wall ticked steady and slow, mocking you with every second you failed to fall asleep.

You turned on your side. Then your back again. The ache in your chest wouldn’t settle. Every time you closed your eyes, your body knew Joel was closer to you than he had ever been since he pushed you away.

You let out a shaky breath and finally, exhaustion dragged you under.

But it wasn’t rest that came for you. It wasn’t a sweet made-up life you could pretend you have far away from the cruel reality of death, of what this world was.

It was the cold gray light of the storm in the cruelest winter you had lived. It was the crimson read splattering on the snow; it was Joel’s ragged breathing.

It was them.

That woman, with her face twisted in fury and hate her hands tangled in your hair. She yanked you down to your knees, forcing your face forward

“Look at him,” she spat in your ear. “Look at what we’ve done.”

Your arms thrashed, heart shattered, your throat raw from screaming, but they held you down, bodies pinning yours to the frozen ground. You couldn’t reach him. You couldn’t move.

Joel lay there, his face bloodied, his chest still, eyes lifeless.

“No,” you choked out, your voice breaking as his eyes that used to meet yours with softness weren’t alive.

You screamed. You felt your voice tear out of your throat, but no one heard you.

“This is what happens,” the woman hissed, kicking you on the stomach “This is what you cause.”

And the worst part, some small, cruel corner of your mind believed it.

You bolted upright in bed with a cry, your body soaked in sweat, your heart hammering against your ribs. The room was dark, moonlight pooling faintly on the floorboards. You could hear your ragged breathing, the sound of it too loud in the quiet house.

You threw the blankets off, your skin clammy and cold, needing to move, to do something else before the darkness swallowed you whole.

Your hands still shook as you pushed yourself out of bed, bare feet hitting the cool floorboards. The house was silent, it felt suffocating.

You reached the bathroom, and you opened the drawer with trembling fingers, rifling past some bandages, a razor, a cracked comb, until your hand closed around the metal handles of a pair of scissors.

You stared at them for a long moment. Your reflection in the mirror looked like a ghost, pale, sweat-damp hair sticking to your face, eyes rimmed red from tears you didn’t remember shedding.

You felt her fingers on your hair, grabbing you forcefully.

You gripped a lock of your hair and without a second thought, you raised the scissors and cut.

Piece by piece, you sheared it off, watching dark strands fall into the sink. Some stuck to your skin, others clung to your lashes. It was uneven. But you kept going, until what was left barely brushed your shoulders.

Your breath came faster now, but the weight of her grip was gone.

You dropped the scissors into the sink, leaning both hands on the counter, staring at your reflection. The woman looking back wasn’t quite you.

 Softer in some ways. Harder in others.

But she was you.

You thought about Joel and moved down the stairs like a shadow, the uneven ends of your newly cut hair brushing your jaw. You didn’t bother with a light. The dark was safer, quieter, kinder to you at this time.

Joel’s bedroom door was cracked open, and you pushed it gently with your fingertips.

Inside, the faint glow of the moon poured through the window, falling in pale strips across the room. Joel was asleep, or as close to it as he managed these days, his broad frame turned slightly on his side, one hand resting on his stomach, his face drawn but still. The even rise and fall of his chest was enough to ease something in you, something that had been raw and bleeding since that day. As the day he woke up after three weeks.

You stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click.

The armchair you’d dragged inside sitting in the corner, a blanket still tossed over the back. You sank into it, pulling your legs up beneath you. For a long time, you didn’t take your eyes off him.

It was the only time you felt safe enough to let your guard down. Not when people were around, not when words could scrape old wounds raw. He was the living proof that you could let yourself be fragile.

His face looked different in sleep. Not younger, not softer, but it looks like he had free himself from something.

You leaned your head back against the chair. Your eyes stung, and before you even realized it, your eyes slipped closed.

The soft creak of the mattress shifting pulled you from the shallow edge of sleep. You didn’t startle, years of instinct keeping you poised between waking and rest.

“Hey,” a low, gravel-thick voice murmured, cutting through your sleepy haze.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the dim light. Joel was awake, his face half-shadowed by the moonlight spilling through the curtains. His brow was furrowed, eyes fixed on you, a mixture of confusion and something gentler you couldn’t quite name.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice rough with sleep, like it scraped against his throat just to speak.

You pushed up on your elbow, realizing you’d fallen asleep in the chair, a stiff ache creeping into your neck.

“Yeah,” you whispered, clearing your throat. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked to your hair, shorter, jagged, still messy from where you’d cut it, and then back to your face. His expression tightened, something dark and guilty in the way his mouth pressed into a line.

But he didn’t ask.

“Nightmare?” he asked, though you could tell he already knew the answer.

You shrugged, looking down at your hands in your lap. “I couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d… just sit for a while.”

Joel shifted, his hand moving to grip the edge of the blanket covering him, knuckles pale in the moonlight.

“Here?”

And that simple question made you angry because who was him to ask you that, knowing what you were, what you share, knowing that he was your safest place.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said quietly. “Sit up watching me like I’m about to disappear.”

The words hit harder than you expected, and your throat tightened.

“Sorry for still being afraid of losing you.”

He was speechless. He was aware that his demons and pain didn’t come alone. There was you, your fears, your trauma, your wounds.

“This was the reason why I wanted to free you from me.” He confessed, meeting your now shiny eyes, “I’m the reason—”

“That’s bullshit.” You interrupted.

"What you did," he began, "I would have done it for you in a heartbeat. No thinking. No hesitation. I would have done it worse."

You closed your eyes at his words. Tears threatened to spill.

"And I would have followed you..." He continued, "To death."

You snapped your eyes, meeting his now glassed eyes.

"Do you really think I could breathe without you?" He questioned.

"Stop it."

"Because—"

"Stop it, joel. Stop it!" You shouted you felt almost the whole town could have heard you. "Stop saying that when you already told me looking at me right into my eyes that you doubted your love for me." You turned around from him, the moonlight crept into the room, bathing you in a new kind of glow, giving you strength.

"I have dreams about them coming for me." You confessed, "but tonight was different, Joel," you turned back to face him, this time his cheeks were wet from tears, "And of course the first thing that came to my mind was you."

"I fucking love you, Joel. Perhaps even more than myself.”

He didn’t try to speak at first. His throat worked around a wordless sound, the kind of broken gasp a man makes when he realizes he’s spent too long running from the one thing he needed to face.

“You shouldn’t”Joel whispered hoarsely, his voice cracked and uneven.

“You always have the same fucking answer for everything.” You choked out, “Like what I did to bring you back wasn’t enough, like losing—” you sobbed when you realized what you were about to say.

“Lose what?” he asked, eyes widened.

Your chest heaved, the sob catching painfully in your throat. You tried to swallow it down, but it was too late, the words were already pushing their way out, trembling and jagged.

“Like losing myself in the process didn’t mean anything thing to you.” You lied.

Joel’s face crumpled, his expression breaking open in a way you’d never seen, not when he was hurt, not when he was bleeding, not even when he first came back from the brink of death.

He would never know about the baby.

“Don’t say that,” he rasped, shaking his head. “Don’t you dare say that, baby.”

“Why not?” you snapped, voice shaking. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? I gave up pieces of myself to keep you breathing, Joel. To bring you back. And you… you looked me in the eye and told me you doubted your love for me.”

You stared at him, your heart splitting down the center, because you’d never loved anyone the way you loved him, and you hated him for how badly it hurt.

“Coming down here was a mistake.”

“Don’t go, baby”

But you were already out the door and the space between you two had splinted open again.

You hadn’t quite slept after Joel’s words, after he had almost broke through you.  

But time didn’t forget, and the morning light came, slipping through the worn curtains of the house. Yes, because the sun still rose, indifferent to broken hearts and bruised souls.

You padded down the stairs barefoot, only your socks separated you from the cool wood creaking under your weight.

Ellie was at the table, hunched over a chipped mug, drinking the tea you had found for her, her face half-buried in her arm. She looked up when she heard you, her expression scrunching like she wasn’t entirely awake yet. Then, when her gaze landed on you properly, she froze.

“Holy shit,” Ellie blurted, straightening. “You—” she gestured wildly at your head. “You cut your hair.”

You blinked, self-conscious for a minute, your hand automatically coming up to brush the uneven ends at your shoulders.

“Yeah,” you murmured, grabbing a mug and pouring yourself some water on it. “Needed a change.”

Ellie’s brow furrowed, eyes narrowing like she could see something else written on your face — because she always could. She didn’t ask why do had done it, not directly. But she tilted her head.

“It looks… pretty good,” she said finally, softer. “It suits you, you know?”

A small, genuine huff of laughter escaped you. “Thanks, Ellie bellie.”

Ellie picked at the edge of the table. “Does Joel know?”

“Is he awake?” you asked, glancing at Ellie.

She nodded, fiddling with the string of her hoodie. “Yeah. Tommy was helping him with his dressing duties.” A hint of a grin tugged at her mouth when she said it, like it was some kind of inside joke.

You gave a small nod, your jaw tightening just a little. You didn’t let yourself dwell on it. “Good,” you murmured, cracking eggs into a pan.

The sizzle filled the silence, and Ellie watched you for a moment, like she wanted to say something but hadn’t quite figured out what.

“You don’t have to… you know,” she started awkwardly, her words clumsy in a way that was unmistakably Ellie. “Wait on him like this.”

You didn’t turn, just kept your eyes on the pan as you flipped the eggs. “I’m not.”

Ellie huffed a quiet breath. “Yes, you are.”

You glanced over your shoulder then, your expression soft but steady. “He is still my person, Ellie.” You shrugged, a ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. “I won’t ’stop caring about him.”

She stared at you for a long moment, then gave a tiny nod and turned back to her mug.

You plated the food, eggs, toast, a little bit of fruit from what you could spare, and grabbed a fork, the scent of warm bread and coffee filling the air.

“I’ll take this up to him,” you said quietly.

Ellie didn’t stop you. Just muttered, “Tell him he owes me a game of cards later.”

And for a moment, just a brief, flickering second, it felt like home again.

You balanced the plate carefully in your hands as you nudged Joel’s door open with your shoulder. The room smelled faintly of cedar and clean linen, sunlight slanting through the half-open curtains.

Tommy was there, crouched by Joel’s side as he finished adjusting a brace around his knee. He looked up at the sound of the door, his eyes landing on you, and then, very pointedly, on your hair.

“Well, shit,” Tommy muttered, standing up and giving a low whistle. He tried to play it light, a crooked grin tugging at his face.

You didn’t react much, just raised an eyebrow at him as you stepped further in, holding the plate in your hands.

“It just a haircut,” you said, your voice even.

Tommy nodded like he understood. Perhaps he did but he didn’t insist on getting on your neves.

“It looks good,” he added softly, glancing between you and Joel before giving Joel’s shoulder a pat. “I’m gonna head out, have a nice morning.”

Joel didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at Tommy. His eyes were on you, had been since the second you walked in. You felt the weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable, like it always got when there was too much between you both and not enough air in the room.

When Tommy left, the door clicking shut behind him, it was just the two of you.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him, the plate still warm in your hands. You held it out for him, but Joel didn’t move, didn’t reach for it. His gaze stayed fixed on you, not your hair exactly, but somewhere in the space where it used to fall.

When it became clear he wasn’t going to take the plate, you sighed softly and set it on the bedside table. The clink of the fork against the plate sounded too loud in the quiet room.

A long beat of silence passed between you, the kind thick enough to drown in.

Then, it came his voice, low, careful “Why did you really do it?”

You knew what he meant. It wasn’t about the hair. Not really.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. Stared at a spot on the floor before you spoke.

“I had a dream last night,” you admitted, voice a little hoarse. “One of them. We were back there again… except this time, they grabbed me by my hair. Made me watch.”

Joel’s face tightened; his jaw clenching so hard you saw the muscle jump in his cheek.

“I woke up feeling it,” you went on, your voice barely above a whisper now. “Like I could still feel her hands in it. I… I couldn’t leave it.” You gave a short, brittle laugh. “I thought if there was nothing for them to grab, I would sleep better.”

Joel’s hand lifted, slowly, like he was afraid you might flinch at his touch, His rough fingers brushed against the ends of your newly cut hair, catching a lock between them, feeling its uneven edge. Then his palm cupped your cheek, you closed your eyes at the feeling of his callused thumb skimming gently over the tender bruise where your face had hit the ground during the fall. His touch was so careful and gentle it made your heart ache.

You didn’t move, you just let him touch you like that, like you were made for him, as if your face fitted completely right under his palm.

His gaze stayed locked on yours, his hand still cradling your cheek, and when he spoke, it was barely a whisper, words dragged from someplace deep and buried.

“I got them too.”

Your stomach twisted. You almost felt selfish. You had never stopped thinking about the scars and wounds he was also carrying with all of this. You swallowed, feeling something hot and sharp press behind your eyes.

“Nightmares?” you asked, though you already knew.

Joel gave a small, grim nod. “But it’s you instead of me.” His voice cracked on the last word, like it physically hurt him to say it. “I see them grabbing you. I hear you calling my name, and I—” He cut himself off, his jaw working hard.

Your hand reached up, covering his where it rested against your cheek. His skin was rough, scarred in places, but it was warm and it felt right on yours.

“But you’re right here.” He finished, brushing over the corner of your mouth with his thumb, and for a moment neither of you spoke.

You closed your eyes, just for a second, there was so much tender on this gesture. His touch, his voice, the weight of everything you’d both been too scared to face. The warmth of his palm against your skin felt like the only thing saving you from the darkness, like if you opened your eyes, it might all disappear.

“Joel.”

The voice cut through the moment like a blade. Sharp. Your eyes snapped open, breaking the haze.

Mara stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, her gaze darting between the two of you. Her expression unreadable, something flickering between surprise and some disgust,

Joel’s hand dropped from your face like it had burned him.

He cleared his throat, straightened a little in the chair. “Yeah?” His voice was rough, lower than before.

Mara’s lips pressed into a thin line, and you knew before she even spoke that whatever she had to say didn’t matter. Not compared to this.

“I came for the exercises” she said, eyes narrowing briefly on you, then back to Joel. “You need them still.”

“I’ll go,” you murmured, forcing your voice steady as you pushed yourself up from the edge of the bed. “I’ll come back later, okay?”

You meant for it to be light, casual. But your voice cracked just slightly at the end. Not being able to get closer to Joel, it completely broke you.

Joel reached for your hand before you could step away, his calloused fingers curling around yours, holding tight, holding like it meant something. His thumb brushed over the back of your knuckles, and for a second it was just the two of you again, like she wasn’t even there.

His eyes met yours, speaking a secret language only the both of you knew how to speak.

You squeezed his hand back, your fingertips lingering against his palm until he finally let you go, slower than he should’ve.

You turned toward the door, giving Mara one last glance, and this time, you let your chin lift, meeting her narrowed eyes without flinching.

Then you left the room, leaving behind the warmth of his hand, the ache of what you weren’t sure either of you were brave enough to be again.

You found Nick out by the old shed near the edge of town, fixing a busted latch on the storage door, as usual, doing the jobs he could do. He was always working on something, always pretending like keeping his hands busy could fix what went wrong in people’s hearts.

He looked up when he heard your footsteps, his brow furrowing at first, then his gaze snagged on your hair.

“Well, shit,” Nick muttered, straightening up, wiping his hands on a rag.

You gave a weak, humorless smile. “Pretty much the same reaction as everyone.”

He studied you for a beat longer, then jerked his chin toward the stump by the fence. “Sit down. You look like hell.”

You did as he asked, and for a long moment neither of you spoke. Just the wind moving through the trees, the faint sound of the town waking up.

“I had a dream last night,” you said, staring down at your hands. “About thar group and Joel.”

Nick sighed softly, crouching down in front of you. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

And you did. You told him about the hands in your hair, about waking up with the phantom pain of it. About cutting it all off because you couldn’t stand the thought of being grabbed like that again.

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Joel told me he has them, too.” You said, “Everything I saw in him was a broken man, Nick.” And then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“I was pregnant.” Nick’s head shot up, eyes wide.

“And the day of the attack, when we brought Joel back,” you whispered. “I was bleeding. Knew something wasn’t right, but… I couldn’t stop it. By the time we got back, it was gone.”

Your voice broke at the end, and you hated how small you sounded, how raw.

“I never told him. Only Tommy, Maria and Ellie know.”

Nick’s face crumpled in a way you’d never seen before, like something deep inside him cracked too.

“Jesus,” he rasped, reaching for your hand. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

You shrugged, blinking fast. “He made it and after all… what was one more piece of me gone, right?”

Nick shook his head fiercely. “It mattered. It matters.”

You let out a jagged breath, leaning your head against his shoulder for a moment, and you let yourself cry. “It would break Joel, to know the truth. I can’t let him carry with this pain too.”

Nick’s arm came around your shoulders, steady and solid in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. His voice was rough, low near your ear.

“You been carrying it this whole time.”

You gave a small, broken nod against his shoulder.

“I know him,” Nick went on carefully. “Joel is the strongest man I’ve ever known, but you? You’re the one thing in this world that keeps him standing. And yes… it’ll wreck him to know. But it’d kill him worse if he found out from anyone else.”

You pulled back a little, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your blouse. “I don’t even know if he wants me around anymore, Nick. Some days it feels like I’m just… in the way.”

Nick gave a sharp exhale, gripping your hand tight. You looked down, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “I’m scared. Not for me. For him.”

“I know you are,” Nick murmured. “But you love that man. And whether you believe it or not right now, he loves you. Always has. It’s in the way he looks at you and he deserve to know what it cost you to save him.”

A long silence settled between you. The wind tugged at your hair, now short and uneven against your jaw.

“What If I break him?” you whispered.

Nick squeezed your hand one last time. “You won’t. Just be honest. Then, you both will heal properly.”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

The house was quieter than it had been all morning. Ellie sat in the corner, her legs pulled up to her chest, fiddling with the string of a worn bracelet on her wrist while Joel sat by the window, staring out at nothing. Mara was hovering too close, under the pretense of checking on his bandages, his exercises, his pulse, whatever excuse she could manage to stay nearby.

Joel didn’t say much. Hadn’t, since you left. But Ellie watched him like a hawk, noticed the way his eyes kept flicking to the door every couple of minutes.

“Joel,” Mara started, brushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear, “I think you should rest more. You’ll wear yourself out.”

“I’m fine,” Joel muttered.

She hesitated a beat too long. “I could grab those supplies you asked Tommy about. The ones upstairs.”

Joel gave a noncommittal grunt, then waved a hand. “Yeah. Top drawer in the bedroom. Just don’t touch nothing else.”

Mara offered a stiff smile, already halfway up the stairs before he finished speaking.

The second she stepped inside the bedroom, your bedroom; her polite mask cracked. Her eyes darted toward the dresser, but it wasn’t curiosity about supplies that drove her. It was the need to know, to pick apart the things you left behind, to find something raw and sharp to press her fingers against.

She opened the top drawer, found nothing but a box of ammo, a folded old photo of you and Joel, and a pocketknife. Supplies, sure. But she didn’t stop there.

She moved to the second drawer. Clothes. Then the small tin box half-buried beneath a shirt.

Mara’s fingers closed around it, lifting the lid. A flicker of something in her expression, triumph? satisfaction? It was hard to say. Inside were a handful of small, meaningless things: a button, a folded note, a cracked necklace chain.

And beneath them, there was a pregnancy test. It was positive.

Mara’s lips curled into a slow, cold smile as she turned the thing over in her hand. “Well, well,” she murmured to herself. “Looks like you’ve been keeping secrets, sweetheart.”

She put the test inside her pocket, grabbing some of the supplies and then she descended the stairs quietly, reached the bottom, walking to the room, just as Joel shifted in his chair, his face tired, his gaze still flicking every so often to the door like he expected you to walk back in at any moment.

Ellie was nowhere in sight now. Gone to grab food, or maybe to give Joel space, either way, the room was empty but for the two of them.

“Here,” Mara said, her voice softer than before as she set the supplies down on the small table beside him. She moved closer, standing just within reach. “Found what you needed.”

Joel grunted his thanks, not really looking at her, his focus distant.

Mara’s fingers ghosted over the edge of the table before she sat down across from him. A beat passed in silence. Then another.

“You know,” she started casually, tilting her head, “it’s strange. I went to grab the stuff you asked for, but I found something else.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, his jaw tensing. “Didn’t I tell you not to touch anything?”

Her lips twitched into a thin, humorless smile. “I couldn’t help it. And maybe you should know what kind of surprises your wife had been hiding from you.”

His gaze snapped to hers now, sharp and warning. “Mara—”

She reached into her jacket pocket and placed the pregnancy test on the table between them.

Joel stared at it. Everything in him went still. His body froze.

Mara leaned forward, resting her arms on the table, watching him with pity “It strange she is pregnant when she hadn’t been with you during these months.”

A long, loaded silence filled the room. Joel’s hand reached out, fingers brushing over the plastic, as if confirming it was real. His throat worked around a thick, heavy swallow.

“How long you think she’s been lying about this?” Mara pushed; voice soft but cold. “Weeks? She isn’t even showing.”

Joel’s jaw clenched so tight it ached. He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His mind was already spinning, rewinding through every conversation, every time you looked away, every time every single person had told him how much you lost.

And suddenly, all the pieces started falling into place. Joel looked up at her, eyes glassy, his whole chest feeling like it was about to split open.

“Out.” He said, Mara blinked, her smirk faltering for the first time.

“Joel—”

“I said out.” His hand curled into a fist against the table, his entire body coiled like a wire about to snap. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

A long, heavy silence settled between them. She stared at him a moment longer, searching for any softness left to twist, but there was none. The look in Joel’s eyes was carved from something broken.

Without another word, Mara stood. Her jaw set, shoulders stiff as she grabbed her jacket from the chair, shooting him a glance.

You stepped through the doorway just as Mara was leaving, her face with anger. She didn’t say a word as she brushed past you, not even sparing a glance, just slipped out the door like smoke curling from a dying fire.

But you felt it. There was something wrong. Your stomach twisted.

You turned toward the living room, walking towards the room, and found Joel there, the lines in his face deeper than they’d ever looked, his hand still curled into a fist against the table, his chest rising and falling like he’d just fought a war. His eyes lifted to meet yours, and the moment they did, your heart stuttered.

His gaze was glassy, broken.

“Joel?” you whispered, stepping closer.

He didn’t speak. He just swallowed hard like it hurt, and his voice finally came, low and cracked.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your breath hitched. You felt your knees weaken, your hand instinctively reaching for the back of a chair to steady yourself.

“Where did you find that?” you asked, shoulder shaking.

Joel’s jaw worked, his throat bobbing as he tried to get the words out. His gaze didn’t leave yours, it couldn’t. He looked like a man caught between fury and heartbreak, and it was tearing him apart.

“Mara found it,” he rasped, voice rough, thick with something like betrayal. “Upstairs. In your drawer.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. A cold, hollow ache opened in your chest. Of course, she did. Of course, she went through your things. And of course, she took the one thing you couldn’t bear to explain.

"She wasn't…she…. she wasn't supposed to tell you that! It was me!” you cried out, no bearing to look at Joel right into his eyes. “I—I—”

Your breath came into short breaths. Your whole world slipping under your feet.

“I had the right to know” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

His hand fell to his side, and you could see the war happening behind his eyes, grief.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice raw, wrecked. “I know you did.”

Your fingers trembled as you gripped the back of the chair, the pressure grounding you when your body wanted to collapse.

“I would have loved that baby—” his face broke, “I would have loved that baby because it would have been a piece of you. I would have got them a room, a crib, clothes. If you had told me I wouldn't have left that day.”

“Are you blaming me?” you asked, voice broken.

Joel’s face crumpled at that, like your words had pulled the last thread holding him together.

“I’m not blaming you,” he said again, hoarse, his voice frayed at the edges. “God, I could never.”

He ran a shaking hand over his face, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, raw. “If you hadn’t saved me—”

"They would have found you anyway." You said, “They would have found a way and you would had left the baby behind too.”

“But you wouldn’t be going through this,” he said, and the way his voice cracked on this made your chest ache like something physical.

You shook your head, tears spilling freely now. You turned away from him not to face him, “Joel, do you think I’d trade it? Do you think I wouldn’t do it again, a hundred times over, if it meant you were still here?”

His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw tightening “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it.”

"Mara implied that you had cheated.”

"Did you believe her?”

"Why would I believe some other women’s words before trusting my wife’s words?”

You closed your eyes, tightening them shut to prevent the tears from falling. You had faced so many wounds and battles to prevent him finding out this truth, from him not to put the blame on him.  You still couldn’t face him, fully shaking.

“I’ve done a lotta things wrong in my life,” he went on, his voice rough, “but the one thing I never doubted had been you.”

A sob clawed its way up your throat, and you pressed a trembling hand over your mouth.

“I thought I was sparing you,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “I thought if you didn’t know, you wouldn’t have to carry it as another scar.”

Your whole body was shaking, you couldn't pay attention to the details, to the sounds around you. Until an arm wrapped around your waist, making your eyes open.

“Joel, you can walk…” Your voice cracked around his name, disbelieving, your hand hovering over his chest, not believing this.

His other hand came up, cupping the back of your neck, drawing your forehead to his, and for a moment you could only feel his breath mingling with yours, warm and uneven. Faces wet.

“I’d crawl to you if I had to,” he rasped. “Do you think a couple of broken bones were going to keep me from you right now?”

A sob slipped free before you could stop it, your body buckling into his hold. He caught you, his arms pulling you tight against him, one around your waist, the other cradling your head. You clung to him like a lifeline.

You had missed having him this close. Missing the warmth, he only could provide, his heartbeat of his heart under your skin. You pressed your face into the hollow of his neck, breathing him in, that familiar scent denim, cedar, and Joel. Just Joel, the man who had saved you and given another chance to live.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, the words breaking loose in a hoarse whisper. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how. I was scared, Joel. Scared it would break you.”

His hand moved slowly against your back, grounding you. “It broke me anyway,” he murmured, voice rough, full of grief, and truth. “But not because of what happened but because you were carrying it alone.”

Your throat tightened, your fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt like you never wanted to let him go again from your touch. “I didn’t want to see that look in your eyes,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “The one you’re giving me now.” You sobbed, “You resent me because I saved you and now—”

“At that moment...” he began, “When I realized what was about to happen to me. I made my peace with it. I knew it I was going to die and I knew that I deserved it.” He closed his eyes, breathing you in, “But I was going to die with the memory of you….When you appeared there I felt terrified to let myself go. I didn’t want my last picture of you in my head to be you in danger.”

Your breath caught, your entire body trembling as his words sank into you, you pulled away to take a look of his face. Aching under the light.

“I was so mad at you when I saw you,” he whispered, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “I wasn’t strong enough to stop you. And I was so goddamn scared. Scared you’d die for me, and I’d have to watch it happen.”

His voice cracked then, his forehead pressing harder against yours like he needed the contact to keep from breaking.

“But you lived,” he rasped. “You saved me. And all this time you’ve been carrying this weight alone, and I hate myself for not seeing it. For not being there to take half of it from you.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling as you cupped his face between your trembling hands. “I never wanted you to hate yourself for it,” you whispered, voice frayed.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your forehead in a trembling, lingering kiss.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

You found Gail outside her house, sitting on the front steps with a cup of coffee that smelled burnt and strong. She didn’t say anything when you sat down beside her, just passed you the cup like she already knew you need it.

For a long while, you both just watched the empty road, the world as still as it ever got now.

Then she spoke, voice soft, a rasp like gravel and warmth all at once. “What are you afraid of now?”

Your fingers tightened around the mug. You didn’t look at her. “I don’t know if I killed them all.”

tags 💌: If you want to be removed or you're not interested in the story anymore, please tell me so I can remove you. :)

@heartpatch @jasminedragoon @picketniffler @grayandthyme @ccmoonshine

@theoraekenslover @stcrrjoon @stupidthoughtsinwriting @officialjellydoughnut @dshc99 @eleganthottubfun @mystickittytaco @fvispunk @daydreamzsworld @comicccc

@nosebeers @whirlwindrider29 @person-005 @bunnyofribbon

@ainhoetaaa @missladym1981 @keileighr @callofdiva @pinkcabinet

@tomie-it-girl @shadowpheonix @unknownomgg @22thumbs

@vanishintoyoubby @magss-07 @insertclevernamehereplease

@secretlettersfromyourlove @periwinkledust

[fvispunk]

In this house we celebrate 🙂‍↕️

(My very first Joel fic)

[fvispunk]

I love this so much you don’t understand 🙂‍↕️

"I need to know that you're safe. Because I care about you. I love you." Javier Peña

Angry Confessions ❤️‍😠

bio : this story is part of the Angry Confessions series (you can still be a part of it)

requested by : @picketniffler thank you!

warnings: shots, blood, surgery, Reader in hospital

“Fuck!”

His hands were covered in blood. Your blood. This wasn’t supposed to be like this. You shouldn’t have been here at all. He told you to stay in the office, but as usual you were outraged because you were an agent just like him. No, you wouldn’t stay just because Javier Peña told you to. But things got really fucked up. The exchange of fire with the gang you were supposed to arrest was really intense.

Javier almost lost his breath when he saw a familiar figure getting out of the car, but it was too late. He would have to handcuff you and lock you in the car so you wouldn’t go with everyone.

The guy who shot you was a kid. Peña saw it clearly. The shot came just as everything had calmed down and the agents thought the case was over. It hit you in the side and you immediately fell to the ground. Murphy moved towards you and for a moment Javier felt like his legs were giving out on him. A few seconds later, he pushed his friend away and pulled up your shirt. You were bleeding heavily.

“Stupid girl!” he hissed, pressing his hand to the site of the shot. “Call a fucking ambulance! Now!”

Everything happened quickly, but still too slowly for Javier. The hospital you were brought to reacted immediately. The operating room was ready, and the nurse, barely reaching Javier’s chest, told him to stay in the hallway without hesitation.

It wasn’t until the door closed behind her that Javier felt his emotions begin to completely consume him. He collapsed into a nearby chair, burying his face in his hands and fighting to catch his breath. Yes, that was what he feared the most.

When your paths crossed – first at work, then in your private lives – that was what he feared in his worst nightmares. Losing someone he cared about so much, someone who helped him keep his sanity. Jesus, why didn’t he tell you? Because he was afraid. With you, he wasn't an agent, he was just Javier who had feelings for a woman and was afraid he wasn't worthy of her.

That morning he woke up next to you. You were warm, so soft and gentle. You made love slowly, half-awake, in no hurry. His skin remembered your kisses and touch, and now...

He didn't even know when Murphy appeared next to him. He was saying something, Javier was responding, although his mind was still filled with your gaze from that morning, and then your blood on his hands.

He accepted the coffee, though, even though it was disgusting, but he still didn't move from under the door, like a faithful dog. Maybe an hour had passed, maybe more, when the same nurse who had told him to stay earlier left, and someone had moved the bed behind her. You were lying unconscious, but you seemed alive.

"What about her?" Peña asked the doctor who appeared right behind you.

The man took off his cap and looked at the receding bed, then at the agent standing next to him. "She'll survive, but she's lost a lot of blood. The girl is lucky. A few more inches and I wouldn't have done anything."

Shit.

He found your room without a problem. He quietly slipped inside, but the nurse didn't tell him to leave this time. The devices she had hooked up to you were buzzing quietly.

"You can stay with her, but she won't wake up for a while." She said, giving Javier a more polite look than before. "She'll be a little disoriented, but if she hurts, call me."

"Of course, ma'am." He nodded.

The chair he was sitting in was uncomfortable, but Javier didn't care. His thoughts were swirling in his head, and you were still lying there, unaware that he was right next to you. Even though he touched your hand, kissed the back of it, you were still asleep. He must have fallen asleep too, because it took some movement to make him open his eyes.

He lifted his head. "Hermosa..." he sighed as he saw you slowly open your eyes "Slowly, please..."

You blinked, slowly raising your hand to your face. "W-what happened?"

"That bastard shot you. You scared me pretty good" he replied leaning over you, brushing your hair out of your face, stroking your cheek "Why did you go there, crazy girl?"

"I couldn't let you go there without me..." your voice was weak but clear "You can be so irresponsible sometimes".

"Me?" Javier laughed "If that's what you think. Do you want a drink?"

You nodded, so Javier handed you the glass that was on the table with the plastic straw. You took a few small sips carefully, your mouth dry as paper.

"Did anyone else get hurt?" Javier shook his head "That's good. I'm sure you have a lot to do. You should go back to the office."

There was something strange in his gaze, but you were too dazed to care.

"They can do it without me." Javier replied. His long fingers found yours, gently playing with them.

"Nonsense." You mumbled "They need you. Messina..."

"My place is here."

You frowned, not understanding his words. "Why?"

Javier took a deep breath. He had to get it out eventually, he had to, since he was so close to losing you. "I need to know you're safe. Because I care about you. I love you."

Silence. Only the quiet hum of machinery filled the room as you looked at him in surprise, not understanding a word.

“I’m sorry to dump this on you like this, but I can’t pretend anymore.” Javier continued, the words barely leaving his lips. “Even though I know you may not feel the same way, that I’m not worthy of you… But I want you to know that. And if you want me to leave, I will and…”

“Javier…” you interrupted him quietly. “Stay. If you want.”

“Hermosa.” he pressed your hand to his lips, kissed it and sat down next to you. “I don’t want anything anymore.”

“I wish I could tell you something, but my brain is a bit…”

“The nurse told me you were given medication, it will take some time to feel better.” he frowned darkly. “Does anything hurt?”

You shook your head. “No. I’m fine. You’re here, so I’m safe.”

Javier smiled. You were right, he would do anything to keep you safe, even at the cost of his life. No matter what happened next, he was already sure of his feelings. It was the first time he felt so vulnerable with a woman, but he couldn't have been happier when he saw you alive, when he held your hand. Whatever happened next - Javier would endure it. For you.

[fvispunk]

Oh that’s no…

[fvispunk]

tuyo

[fvispunk]

LLAMEN A DIOS QUE ES ESTE DOLOR 😭

Por que me lastimarías asi?!

"The days of you and I" | part 3

Jackson!Joel Miller x fem!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: The passing of time leads you to remember how things used to be between you and Joel. Joel starts healing while you start losing yourself.

w.c: 10.1 k

warnings: angst, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of blood, suicidal thoughts, mentions of panic attacks. No proofreading. English is not my first language.

A/N: Hello. If you had felt like I've been lost for the last few days. You're right. I hope you like this chapter; it made me cry a bit as well. Happy reading, please share your thoughts with me.

AO3 account

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Jackson. One week before the attack.

Winter had dug its claws in early this year. The snow felt heavy almost every day of the week, the flakes clinging to the branches and over the ground. The cold was difficult, sharp, clinging into your bones even breathing stung on your chest.

Joel wasn’t very fond of this time of the year. Not for the snow or the cold that made his joints ache a little bit more nowadays, but because coffee became a scarce.

And you were aware of it.

So, when a passing trade group from the south came by, you’d given up half or your belongings and winter preserves for a single bag of those beans. Even the trader had looked at you as if you were mad. Perhaps you were a bit stupid for doing this, but everything would be worth it for the look on Joel’s face when he gets to try a cup of coffee.

You didn’t know at what stage of your pregnancy you were right now, but you knew that things were more emotional for you, and you would do everything to get to see Joel smiling at the little things.

You found thermos inside the cabinets at home, you cleaned it a bit and filled it with the dark brew liquid. The scent made your mouth water, but you were aware you couldn’t drink coffee now. Then, you tugged your coat tighter around you as you crossed through Jackson, boots crunching in the snow. The wind bit at your cheeks, turning them pink, but with your fingers wrapped around the thermos, warmth spread through your veins.

You found Joel at the house he’d been working on, hammering at a frame with the help of Tommy, a few others scattered around the site. The place was barely a house yet, wood stacked and windows not even set, but Joel was there, sleeves rolled up over his flannel.

You lingered for a second, just taking a look of him. Focusing on the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the little grunt he made when something didn’t line up right. You were so in love with him it made your chest hurt sometimes.

He was too focused he didn’t even notice you right away. Not until you called out.

“Hey, Miller.”

He looked up at the sound, and his face softened the moment he saw you. That small, personal smile he got just for you.

“What are you doing out here, sweetheart? You’ll freeze your ass off.”

You held up the thermos with a grin, “Oh, I just brought you a little gift for you.”

Joel’s brow arched in amusement as he set the hammer down and walked over to you. You uncapped the lid, letting the steam curl up between you, and his eyes went wide when the scent hit him.

“Did you bring me—"

“Real coffee, yes.” You replied, not getting a chance to hide a grin. “I traded something for it this morning. I know how much you missed a good cup of coffee.”

For a second, he stood there without saying anything. Just stared at you like he still couldn’t believe you were his girl. The woman he had devoted his life to for the last years.

Without a warning, his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss that tasted like snow, cold and the taste of coffee because when he pulled away, his forehead rested on your neck, planting a kiss over your it.

“You’re a miracle.”

You laughed softly. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. This shit’s expensive.”

He chuckled, taking a sip from the thermos, groaning in pleasure like it was the first good thing he’d tasted in his life.

“Goddamn it.”

You smiled, watching him like it was the only thing keeping your body warm.

“I thought you need it. Winter is only getting worse and colder.”

His eyes softened, a thumb brushing over your cold cheek. “As long as I got you, baby, I can get through any winter.”

You leaned on his palm, kissing the back of his hand, sealing a promise you both had made to each other.

I’m always going to be there,

I’m always going to have your back,

until the day death tears us apart.

Jackson, present day

You barely remembered the walk home. Your legs had stumbled more than three times and your tears didn’t stop falling.

The cold bit at your skin, the world blurring past you like it wasn’t really there. The ache in your chest wasn’t sadness settled there anymore but rage. A vicious, clawing thing that crawled up your throat and made your hands shake as you slammed the door behind you.

You made it to the bedroom before it burst out of you.

A lamp went first, shattering against the floor with a satisfying crack just as the sound of your heart. Then the chair by the window, the one Joel used to sit in when he couldn’t sleep. You grabbed the small wooden carving Joel had been working on the week before the attack, and it hit the wall so hard the pieces splintered across the floor like scattered bones.

Your hand bled where a sharp edge caught your palm, but you didn’t feel it.

You reached for the framed picture by the bed, the one taken in Jackson months ago. You standing beside him, his arm around your waist, both of you caught in a rare, unguarded moment of laughter.

The glass shattered beneath your grip. The frame clattered to the floor.

For a second, just a second, your hand hovered, and something in your chest begged you to stop.

But it was drowned out by the storm roaring in your blood.

And when it was done, when there was nothing left to throw or break, you slid down against the wall, knees pulled to your chest, hands trembling.

The pain on your chest increased with each breath. It felt like a bruising mark had settled there in the middle of your sternum, it even felt like some pair of hands tightening around your heart until every fiber of it was hurting your body, taking your life out, your breath and you will of living.

Some pairs of hands you never thought they would even hurt you.

Joel’s hands, Joel’s words, Joel’s second chance of living.

Everything you had done. Everything you had lost…Grieving the death of somebody who wasn’t dead. Someone who was alive but felt like breathing reeking air.

You could come to touch him but not to caress him anymore?

How big was the damage you had done to him to make him hate you this much to push you away as if your closeness had burnt his skin, his broken bones.

The tears couldn’t stop falling. You stood up, walking towards the closet where you kept the test and onesie hidden beneath your clothes.

You had never wanted to become a mother. In fact, you had never thought about it. This world was too cruel to bring little babies to it. To have their innocence stolen or tainted by creeps committing horrors.

Joel had also gotten older. Being a father again at his age wasn’t part of his plans and you knew it, but nature didn’t stop because the world has it. But for him, being a father again wouldn’t be a source of happiness when the girl he had taken as a daughter and committed more than thousand of mistakes to keep her alive, didn’t want to be close to him.

That had scared you that much you couldn’t utter the truth for weeks.

But the moment you had found the truth, the idea of holding a baby, your own baby, started to consume your thoughts. You had started dreaming of it, of the life growing inside you. About how that baby would look like.

And that was the exact moment you had become a mother. ´

You could remember one day patrolling with Joel, and as usual, he didn’t allow you to be paired with another person who wasn’t him. Not that you complained. In the way, the both of you found a store you decided to scavenged, expecting to find something that would serve to community.

Joel was busy roaming some old stuff that would help him to fix something at home, while your gaze had lingered over a little onesie hidden under some worn out papers.

The same one you were holding now, yellow with a duck in the middle of it.

You had become a mother and you hadn’t had the chance to taste it and you couldn’t help but ask yourself a constant why.

Why you?

Why him?

Why the baby?

What have you done to lose them both?

You came back to the room but it felt too quiet now, too strange. It was too cold for you now. You sat on the ground by the bed and you started crying, but not the silent one. The kind of crying that came with tears no one couldn’t hide.

 It was a sob that tore out of you in ragged, broken sobs, your chest heaving like it was being split open.

The tears weren’t just for Joel but for everything you had gain and lost in a flicker of time. For what you’d lost. For what you still had. And for the awful truth that loving Joel Miller would never be easy.

The last remnants of twilight slipped through the window, broken glass catching the last of the light like dying stars.

Perhaps they weren’t the only losing the spark.

After going to hell and clawing your way back. After sleepless nights at his side, after forcing breath inside his book, with blood-stained hands. After watching him fight for every inch of life he didn’t want, while you begged the universe not to take him from you.

And in the middle of all that, you lost that tiny baby.

A tiny life that you hadn’t even let yourself imagine until it was gone. And no one knew. No one but Tommy and Maria. And you’d buried it so deep, let the grief fester beneath your skin, because there was no room for grief when Joel was dying.

But now, sitting there on the floor of your now ruined bedroom, surrounded by the wreckage of the quiet life you had built with him, the weight of it hit you like heavy force.

There was gnawing fear that maybe Joel Miller wasn’t coming back.

At least, not to you.

The house was dark, save for the weak, flickering light glowing from the window.

Ellie hesitated at the front door, her stomach twisting in that way it did when something wasn’t right. She wasn’t even sure what had brought her here, maybe the quiet stillness, maybe the aching pull in her gut that told her to check. She hadn’t been here much since she moved into the garage behind. Since everything had changed.

The door creaked open under her hand.

“Hello?” she called out your name, softly, but no one answered.

The stairs groaned beneath her weight as she climbed, the flicker of light guiding her like a warning. And then she reached the bedroom.

Glass crunched under her boots. The room was wrecked, drawers pulled out, shattered picture frames. And in the middle of it all, you sat on the floor, your back against the bed, face buried in your hands, shoulders trembling with the kind of grief Ellie hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Shit,” Ellie whispered, rushing forward and dropping to her knees beside you.

“Hey—hey, it’s me,” she said, voice rough as she reached for your wrists, trying to pry your hands away so she could see your face. “Talk to me. Please. Hey, please.”

But you just shook your head, a sob left your throat, while tears streaked your cheeks.

“I can’t…” you choked out.

And for the first time since she had met you, Ellie felt something crack open in her chest. She’d spent all these weeks worrying about Joel, she hadn’t seen how bad it had gotten for you too. How lost you seemed, how your eyes were nothing but a reflection of sadness.

Without another word, Ellie pulled you into her arms, holding you like Joel used to hold her when the world outside was throwing pebbles at her.

“I got you,” she whispered against your hair as if her words could soothe you into a lullaby, in a way a daughter must console her mother the first time you saw her breaking in front of you the realization that her isn’t an indestructible hero.

You didn’t even hear or flinch when Tommy and Maria came inside the room. You didn’t say a word when they gently coaxed you to your feet. Ellie stood back by the door, arms crossed tight around herself, her face pale as she took in the mess you had made.

And you, there with your hands bloodied, a yellow onesie crumpled in your fist like a scrap of hope you didn’t know you were still holding onto.

Maria stood beside you, her face etched with concern, one hand reaching for your wrist. She sucked in a breath.

“You cut yourself pretty bad,” she murmured, brushing gently at the drying blood.

You just looked past her, no crying, no speaking. There was something eerie about it, about the dead quiet in your expression. Like the light behind your eyes had gone out, and no one knew how to bring it back.

Tommy exchanged a look with Maria, something heavy without words between them. Ellie saw it, felt it settle in the pit of her stomach like a stone.

“You’re coming home with us,” Tommy said softly, like he was telling a wounded animal it was okay to come out of hiding. “We’ll clean up the-”

“The mess I made,” you finished, voice flat, detached, and it made Ellie’s stomach twist.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her eyes fell to the scrap of fabric clenched in your hand. The tiny onesie. It was old, worn soft from time, a faded duck stitched onto the chest.

Ellie’s throat tightened. She hadn’t known, but now she understood.

She stepped closer; her voice quiet, thick. “Hey… can I… can I hold that for you?”

But you didn’t even look at her. Just kept staring out the window as if something far beyond it was pulling you away.

Tommy gently pried the fabric from your fingers, and Ellie took it, holding it to her chest like it was the most fragile thing in the world. She felt her own eyes sting.

Maria helped you to your feet, one arm around your shoulders. “We’ll get you cleaned up,” she murmured.

And as they led you out of the ruined room, downstairs to the kitchen. Ellie stayed behind a moment longer, holding the onesie tight in her hands, the weight of what you’d lost settling over her like a second skin.

The warm sting of water hit your hands as Maria guided them under the tap. The blood had dried, leaving dark stains in the creases of your skin, around your fingernails. You didn’t flinch when the water touched the cuts.

You said nothing. Just stared at the wall behind her like it held some answer you couldn’t quite see.

Maria’s hands were soft, careful as she dabbed at the cut with a clean cloth.

“You should let me stich this one,” she murmured, like speaking any louder might shatter what little you had left.

Out in the hallway, Ellie stood with Tommy, the dim light from the kitchen bleeding across the floor between them. She clutched the tiny onesie in both hands, her fingers fisting in the soft fabric.

“Is she…?” Ellie’s voice cracked, and she didn’t finish the question.

Tommy let out a long, tired breath, leaning one shoulder against the wall. He scrubbed a hand down his face before shaking his head, his voice low and rough.

“She lost it that night.”

Ellie’s stomach twisted. “What night?”

Ellie’s throat closed up, her chest aching sharp and tight. “And nobody told me?”

Tommy’s eyes flickered toward the bathroom where Maria worked in silence. He swallowed hard.

“The night we brought Joel back. Yes, she was pregnant. None of us knew. She lost the baby when she got here.”

Tommy looked at her then, his gaze softening. “It wasn’t about you, kid. It was hers to carry.”

Ellie looked down at the onesie in her hands, stained by the blood of your hands, her eyes stinging at the thought of the storm you’d been drowning in. The hollow in your chest. The way you hadn’t been able to let Joel go, because you’d already lost too much.

That maybe the blood in it was the closest thing you have had to caress the baby that should be wearing that in a few more months.

Her thumb ran over the soft, faded stitching of the onesie clutched in her hands. She could still hear the distant sound of water, the quiet murmur of Maria’s voice, trying to coax you back from wherever you’d gone.

She swallowed hard. “Does Joel know?”

Tommy’s jaw worked, his eyes dark and lined with exhaustion. He shook his head, a weight behind the gesture. “No,” he said quietly. “And he won’t. Not yet.”

Ellie’s throat tightened. “But he should—”

“I said no.” Tommy’s voice was firmer now, though it wasn’t mad. He was just tired. “He is not in any place to carry that. Not with the way things are between then, and not while he’s looking for reasons to push her away.”

Ellie bit her lip, blinking fast. “Maybe this it’s the reason he shouldn’t.”

Tommy’s gaze softened a little. “Maybe. But people like us… sometimes we don’t get to heal things in the right order.”

Ellie glanced down at the onesie again, her grip tightening. The house felt too still, too quiet, a space heavy with things unsaid.

Boston QZ. 6 years ago

The apartment was too quiet when Joel got back. The thrum of soldiers passing by, talking’s, FEDRA looming over, it was all swallowed up by a stillness that made his skin crawl.

Tess was sitting by the door, with her arms crossed tight over her chest, and there was something in her eyes that snapped every nerve in Joel’s body to attention.

“Where is she?” he asked, already moving past her before the words even left his mouth.

Tess caught his arm. “I gave her something to sleep,” she said carefully, her voice softer than he was used to hearing it. “You don’t want to-”

But he was already inside the bedroom. And there you were, curled under blanket on that old bed, a faint swell of bruises marking your cheek, your lip split. The dim light made your face look paler than it should’ve been, but you were breathing. You were here, that was the most important thing for him.

Joel’s knees hit the floor by your side. He reached out with calloused fingers, brushing your hair back from your face, his touch so gentle it barely stirred the strands.

“Jesus, baby…” he rasped, swallowing hard. “Who did this to you?”

Your eyelids fluttered open at his voice, hazy and slow from whatever Tess had slipped you. And when your gaze found him, even though the busted lip, you smiled, faintly.

“Joel,” you whispered.

“Hi, baby.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m here. I got you.”

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the filth outside these walls, not the people who’d done this to you, not the bloody trail Joel would leave in his wake come morning. Only this. Only you.

“The thing went wrong” you murmured, emphasizing the “thing.” When it came to you, he was always protective. He didn’t like you were doing his business by yourself, not because he didn’t trust you or thought you weren’t good by yourself, but because he couldn’t prevent.  

“I can see.” he told you, brushing your cheek with his fingertips. “Rest, baby. I got you.” He kept caressing the skin there until your eyes closed again.

“I’m always going to be next to you, baby.”

Jackson, hospital, present time.

The transition between winter and spring was going slow, the grey of the days bleed through the blinds in thin, reluctant slants. Joel woke up to the sharp, familiar ache on his chest, the one that made his breath difficult to leave his lungs. His heart felt heavy.

His hand instinctively moved to his side, expecting the familiar warmth, the weight of your head resting there the way it had every morning since he came back from the death.

But there was nothing but just the cold stretch of empty mattress, and the quiet silence of your absence.

For the first time, you weren’t there.

His throat tightened as his gaze flicked to the chair beside the bed. The blanket you always used was draped neatly over the back of it. No cup of cold herbal tea on the nightstand, no faint scent of your shampoo clinging to the air. The room felt wrong without you in int. Heavy in a way he hadn’t noticed until it was stripped of him.

Joel rubbed a hand over his face, the weight in his chest something different now. Something he couldn’t blame on busted ribs or torn muscles.

He told himself it was what he wanted, what you needed. But the hollow in the room, in him, said otherwise.

The door creaked open and Mara stepped inside with her usual clipboard and soft expression. But the moment she saw the look on his face, her steps slowed.

“She’s not coming today,” she said quietly, as if testing the weight of the words before speaking to them.

Joel’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Mara crossed to the other side of the room, busying herself with the medication tray, giving him the space to be what he was. But Joel didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He sat there in the quiet, and for the first time in weeks, the nightmare that haunted him wasn’t some bloodied memories, that fist beaten his face, or the disappointment on Ellie’s eyes.

It was your face, your tears falling down your cheeks.

It was the fear of you leaving him forever.

Mara lifted her gaze, looking at Joel’s brown eyes and there was hurt written all over them.  “I haven’t seen her, but if she isn’t here must be because she doesn’t want to.”

Joel’s voice was rough, catching on the words before he could fully get them out.

“Is she… is she okay?”

Joel’s gaze broke, but he tried hard to hide the pain.

“I’m coming back later to do the exercises, okay?” Mara said, changing the subject.

“Okay.”

Mara lingered a moment longer than she should’ve, her lips pressed into a tight line, as though she wanted to take the words back, but she didn’t. She just gave a small nod, then turned and left, the soft click of the door closing behind her sounding louder than it should have in the quiet room.

Joel let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his hand coming up to rub his face, the coarse scrape of his beard rough against his palm. The ache in his chest wasn’t from his injuries, it was deeper, old and new grief twisting together.

He looked over to the empty chair by the bed again.

You weren’t there and his stomach turned, the air too heavy in his lungs.

Some minutes had passed, heavily quiet, that thick, oppressive quiet that Joel had come to dread in the last few weeks. He sat in that bed, staring out the window as the light bled from the sky, the colors outside turning from grey to light blue in mere second. Every now and then, his fingers twitched, aching to hold something, to fix something. But there was nothing left in the room except the steady silence torturing him.

When the door creaked open again, Joel’s heart stuttered.

Tommy stepped inside, his posture tense, the lines of exhaustion deeper on his face. He looked like a man who was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Joel knew he was responsible for most of it.

Joel cleared his throat. “How is she?” It came out rougher than he meant, but the need in it was sharp.

Tommy didn’t answer right away. He just crossed the room, setting down a bundle of clean clothes on the dresser before finally turning to face Joel.

His silence stretched, thick and weighted.

Joel’s stomach twisted. “Tommy,” he rasped. “Just— tell me.”

Tommy let out a breath, running a hand over his face.

“Well, she’s finally sleeping,” he said quietly. “First time since…you know.”

Joel closed his eyes, the ache in his chest like a fist tightening around his ribs. “Is she… eating? Is she talking?”

Another hesitation.

“She’s quiet,” Tommy admitted. “She didn’t react very well to whatever thing you told her.”

Joel swallowed hard, his eyes burning. “Did she… ask about me?”

Tommy hesitated, and that alone was answer enough. “You don’t get to do that, brother.”

Joel’s throat worked around a knot of grief. “I deserve that,” he muttered.

Tommy didn’t argue. He just stepped closer, his voice lowering.

“Listen… whatever happened between you two, whatever you think you were doing by pushing her away…you’re killing her, Joel. How could you do that to her after she…?”

Joel’s gaze stayed on the floor; his jaw clenched tight.

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Joel whispered. “I was trying to…” He trailed off, not even sure what excuse he was reaching for anymore.

“You wanted her to stop loving you,” Tommy finished for him, bitterness in his tone. “But it doesn’t work like that. You don’t get to decide when someone gives up on you.”

Joel flinched, the words cutting deep because he knew they were true.

Tommy stared at him for a long moment, then finally spoke, softer this time. “She already lost—” He stopped himself before he could spill your truth.

“What?” Joel pressed. But he was met by Tommy’s silence

“What did she lose?” Joel pressed further.

“You should rest, brother. Because one way or another you’re going to have to face her soon.” He said, changing the subject. As much as Tommy loved his brother, he also loved what you were, to him, to this community, to his family and he owned your loyalty and secrecy.

“I’ll come back later, okay?” He said before leaving Joel alone with his guilt and the quiet.

You woke to a dull, deep ache in your muscles, your head pounding like you’d been dragged through hell and back, and maybe you had. The dim light in the room felt too sharp against your eyes, and a low groan escaped your throat as you shifted, your body stiff and sore like you’d been fighting ghosts in your sleep.

It took a second before you realized you weren’t in your bedroom and another before you noticed the figure sitting quietly beside the bed.

Ellie was there.

She was perched on the edge of a worn armchair, legs pulled up to her chest, eyes shadowed but sharp as they fixed on you. There was a guarded kind of worry in her face, the kind she usually tried to bury under jokes and sarcasm.

You blinked at her, throat dry, words slow to form.

“Ellie,” you rasped.

You tried to sit up, but a fresh bolt of pain shot through your whole body and your hand, you winced, hissing out a curse.

Ellie let out a breath you hadn’t noticed she’d been holding, her shoulders sagging a little.

“You scared me last night,” she muttered, but there was no bite in it, just something soft, frayed at the edges.

Ellie moved fast, steadying you with gentle hands on your shoulders.

“Easy, easy. You’re got your hand pretty banged up,” she said quietly.

Your gaze drifted around the room, not yours, you realized now. Tommy and Maria’s guest room. A glass of water on the nightstand. A blanket draped across your legs you didn’t remember pulling up.

And then you noticed the little bundle in Ellie’s lap. The onesie.

Your breath caught. Ellie followed your gaze and swallowed hard.

“I, uh… I thought you might… I didn’t want to leave it there,” she said, voice small.

Your chest twisted, a sharp, awful thing. The grief pressed so tight against your ribs you felt like you might break open again.

“I’m sorry,” Ellie blurted, her words rushing out now. “I… I didn’t know. I— when I saw you like that, I thought… fuck, I don’t know what I thought. But I should’ve been there. Before. I should’ve noticed.”

You closed your eyes, a tear slipping free despite yourself.

“It’s not your fault, Ellie,” you murmured hoarsely.

“It’s not yours either,” Ellie shot back, voice firm, a little desperate.

A long, thick silence settled between you, broken only by the sound of the clock ticking somewhere in the room.

Finally, Ellie spoke again, quieter now. “Tommy told me not to tell Joel.”

You opened your eyes, looking at her. “Why?”

She shrugged, a bitter edge to her voice.

“Because you don’t need to see him right now. Not like this. Not when you’re barely holding it together.” She hesitated.

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest.

Ellie let out a sigh, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on between you two,” she said. “But whatever it is… it’s eating you alive.”

“He told me to leave and that he wasn’t sure if he even loved me.” You replied.

Ellie’s head snapped up at that, like you’d struck her with a thunder.

For a second, she just stared at you, her expression caught somewhere between shock and fury.

“He what?” she spat, her voice sharp.

Your throat tightened again, fresh tears burning at the edges of your vision, but you forced yourself to swallow them down. You were so tired of crying.

You let out a humorless, broken little laugh, wiping at your face with trembling fingers.

“Yeah,” you rasped. “He said he wouldn’t have done for me what I did for him, what he did for you in Salt Lake. Told me to go. Like I was a burden to him.”

Ellie was silent for a long, thick moment, her jaw clenched so tight you could see it ticking.

“That’s bullshit,” she finally ground out, voice low and shaking with anger. “That’s not true. I don’t care what the hell came out of his mouth — it’s not true.”

You didn’t answer. Because maybe part of you knew that. Knew Joel Miller didn’t have it in him to stop loving you, not after everything. But pain makes people cruel. And grief? It turns them into something else.

“He’s scared,” Ellie said, like she was trying to convince herself as much as you. “He’s scared and stupid and he’s pushing you away because he doesn’t know how to deal with any of this shit.” She gestured toward the onesie still clutched tight in her lap.

You closed your eyes, breathing through the ache.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered.

Ellie’s face crumpled, her eyes stinging. Ellie’s throat worked as she swallowed hard, her voice rough when she finally spoke.

“How… how far were you?” she asked, so quietly it was almost a breath.

You opened your eyes but didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. The ceiling above you blurred, swimming in a fresh sheen of unshed tears.

Your voice cracked when you answered. “Six weeks.”

Just two words, but they felt like a scream.

Ellie let out a shaky breath, her hand tightening around the fabric of the onesie in her lap.

“Jesus…” Ellie murmured, like the air had been punched from her lungs. She didn’t know what to say. What the hell could she say?

You gave a dry, humorless laugh, shaking your head.

“It wasn’t planned. Wasn’t… anything. I didn’t even tell him.”

That made Ellie flinch. She wiped at her face, trying to keep herself steady for you, but her eyes were glassy.

“I wish you’d told me,” she said softly.

“I couldn’t,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to make it feel real.”

And for a while, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the clock on the wall ticking too loud in the quiet.

“I pictured her,” you cut the silence, voice raw, like it hurt to drag the words out. “I pictured her as baby girl, how she would look like, with dark hair, brown eyes just like Joel’s. Maybe his crooked smile. I used to—” your breath hitched, but you pushed on, eyes still fixed on the ceiling, “I used to imagine him holding her in the mornings, making him coffee while she slept on his chest.”

Ellie swallowed thickly, blinking fast as her heart splintered.

“I’d think about how he’d grumble about diapers at his age, or how he’d fall asleep on the couch with her on his chest.”

You let out a shaky breath, a ghost of a laugh, so heartbreakingly sad it barely sounded human.

“And now I keep wondering if it would’ve hurt less if I’d never let myself imagine any of it.” You sobbed, “If I wouldn’t have gone there I would have her growing inside me, but I would have lost Joel.”

“And now anything of that matters because he doesn’t even love me.” Ellie was crying now, though she tried like hell to pretend she wasn’t. She reached out, hesitating, then carefully slid her hand over yours.

It was cold. Your skin rough and cut, but she didn’t let go.

“You’re not alone, you know,” Ellie whispered. “Even if he’s too fucking broken to remember how to hold you right now. You’ve still got us.”

Your jaw trembled; your free hand still clutched tight around that onesie.

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“I know.” Ellie’s voice cracked. “But I’m not going anywhere from you.”

You stared at her for a moment before hearing the steps outside the bedroom, Tommy stepped inside, worry evident on his eyes.

Worried about you, about Joel.

He was the perfect image of a helplessness man watching two people he loved tearing themselves apart.

“Hey,” he greeted softly.

You didn’t answer right away. Ellie’s hand still gripped yours, her thumb brushing against your skin in small, grounding circles.

“How’re you feeling?” Tommy asked, voice rough.

You shrugged; the onesie still balled up in your fist. “I’ve been better.”

A sad huff of air left Tommy’s chest, and he rubbed a hand down his face before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Of course, you have.” Then, he cleared his throat “I… uh, I told Joel you weren’t feeling really well. That you were resting.”

Your stomach twisted at his name. “And him?” you asked, your voice barely there.

Tommy hesitated, then finally spoke.

“He asked about you. First thing when I saw him.” He glanced at you; his gaze gentle but heavy. “He didn’t say much. He just asked if you were okay.”

Your throat tightened.

“Is he mad?”

Tommy shook his head. “No. Not mad. He is scared and lost as hell without you, if you ask me. I know that face of him. I know him” He let out a breath, leaning forward on his knees. “I think he doesn’t know how to deal with all of this.”

A sharp ache flared in your chest. The silence stretched, thick with everything no one could fix.

“I don’t know if it matters anymore,” you whispered, voice catching.

“It does,” Tommy said firmly. “You matter to him. He is broken to say it right now. And I know it don’t make up for what you’ve been through. But you aren’t alone, alright? Me, Maria, Ellie, we all got you.”

Ellie squeezed your hand, her eyes shimmering again but her jaw set.

And though it didn’t fix the hollow in your chest, for a moment the thought of having a family warmed your heart.

The room went quiet again.

“I’ll check on him later,” Tommy said, rising to his feet. “You just rest, okay?”

You nodded, your grip loosening around the onesie at last.

As he stood up, you could hear his thoughts roaming inside his head, “I think you should keep seeing Gail.”

You let out a tired, humorless breath through your nose. “I don’t need a shrink, Tommy.”

Your voice wasn’t sharp, it was flat, worn down like something eroded by the tide over too long a time.

Tommy hesitated by the doorway, one hand on the frame. “Just keep talking to her.”

You looked away, your eyes tracing the ceiling. Ellie still held your hand like she was afraid to let go.

“I’m not good at talking about that.”

“No one is,” Tommy murmured. “That’s why it eats people up when they don’t.”

The quiet stretched again, thick with everything you didn’t have the strength to argue.

Finally, Tommy gave a small, weary nod. “Sleep more, you need it.”

“Okay, at the count of three?”

“Okay.”

Joel held Mara’s hand tightly. His breath coming ragged, muscles in his arms trembling as he forced himself upright.

Mara stood beside him, steadying his elbow with one hand, the other curling tight around his rough, calloused palm.

“Come on, Joel” she teased gently. “You’re not dying on my watch.”

Joel huffed out a dry, breathless laugh as he finally managed to stand, his weight swaying just a little before he found his balance.

“Fuck” he rasped, “I didn’t think I’d miss feeling my own legs.”

They both laughed then, the kind of laugh born from something new blossoming.

Mara smiled up at him, her hand still around his. For a second, it felt like the heaviness that clung to his chest loosened, just a fraction. Like maybe, in this one brief moment, he wasn’t carrying quite so much grief inside his heart.

He laughed so much he didn’t even notice Ellie standing on the door, watching all this interaction happening with her hand on the frame, watching them.

The way Mara’s head tipped back when she laughed. The way Joel smiled, really smiled, for the first time in what felt like weeks. And something sharp twisted in Ellie’s gut.

I felt almost like a betrayal because while you lay at home, alone in a bed, clutching that onesie to your chest, Joel was here with someone else. Smiling as if he hadn’t broken the love of his life heart.

Like he could learn how to laugh without you by his side.

“Am I interrupting?”

Joel’s head snapped up, that smile on his face faltering from his face as he saw her standing in the doorway. Mara’s hand dropped from his arm, her expression shuttering into something serious.

“Hey kid.” Joel rasped, like he hadn’t expected to see her there at all.

“I came here to check on you.” Ellie said, her tone carefully neutral but her eyes didn’t hide the bitterness. She flicked a glance at Mara, then back to Joel. “Didn’t realize you were getting so close with your doctor.”

Joel opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, to stop her maybe, but the look Ellie gave him made him hesitate.

Mara took a careful step back, brushing her hands together as though dusting them off.

“I was just helping him with his exercises,” she said quickly, trying to defuse whatever tension was thickening the air. “I will go.”

Mara gave a brief nod to them both and slipped out, the door clicking softly behind her.

The room felt heavier after she left.

Joel let out a slow breath, sitting back against the bed with a wince. “What’re you really here for, kid?” he asked quietly.

Joel’s gaze dropped to his hands, the scars those palms emotionally held, the way they trembled just a little.

Ellie’s arms crossed tightly over her chest, laughing bitterly at the tone on his voice.

“I told you I came to check on you” she muttered. “Perhaps, you could ask about her, you know?”

“I asked Tommy.” It sounded weak, even to him.

Ellie wanted to shout angrily at him, to tell him the truth you hide beneath your heart but even in her anger she understood better, she was aware it wasn’t her place to tell the truth.

“Yeah? Well, maybe you should’ve asked her, Joel,” Ellie shot back, voice breaking.

“Before you lost your fucking chance.”

“Did you really stop loving her?”

Joel’s gaze met Ellie’s, his eyes teary, shaking his head. His voice came out ragged, raw.

“No.” A beat. His voice cracked. “God, no.”

Ellie’s throat tightened, the ache in her chest spreading throughout her body. She looked away, trying to steady her breathing, to hold back the sting in her eyes.

“Then why did you say it?” she whispered.

Joel scrubbed a trembling hand over his face, like he could wipe away the memory of those words. Of the way your face had crumbled. “Because it hurts not being the man she needs now, I didn’t know what to do but push her away. I thought that if I was cruel enough, she’d stop loving me too.”

Ellie let out a shaky breath, her stomach twisting. “You’re so fucking selfish, Joel. You broke her.”

Joel’s face crumpled as the tears finally spilled, his head bowing under the weight of it. 

“I’ve always admired the type of love the both of you share. How you’d always been there, are there for each other. How well she knew you were in danger that day that she dragged me with her in middle of a fucking snowstorm just to save you…”

Joel’s chest heaved, his shoulders shaking with the force of the guilt he could barely contain. The image of you that day, blood on your hands, refusing to let him die, it gutted him. It had changed him as a person.

Ellie’s voice cracked, the memory of that day hitting harder than she expected. She swallowed hard, fighting the lump in her throat. “I’ve never seen anyone love someone like that, Joel.”

Her hands balled into fists trying to contain the anger she felt. “And you…you threw it away because you were too fucking scared to hurt.”

“Ellie…” he whispered, voice breaking.

“She held your hand the whole time. She didn’t sleep for weeks, sitting at your side, praying to God or whatever was out there for you to wake up. And when you started coming back, even just a little, she smiled again because the world made sense to her again.” Ellie’s throat wobbled a sob. “And then you broke her.”

Joel looked away, not being strong enough to face Ellie.

She took a step closer, her voice softer now. “She was waiting for you.”

Jackson, the day of the attack, dawn.

The snow had stop falling by the time you arrive to Jackson. Dawn was breaking into the horizon, and your body felt like it had been dragged back and fort through war. Your entire body hurt, your heart was breaking at the sight of Joel on that stretcher, as Jesse and some others were helping him.

You saw Tommy first and run, holding onto him, your hold body shaking now that the adrenaline had begun to fade. You could finally breath for a second, you had made it back to Jackson.

But then Tommy pulled back, looking at you, at his brother, and his brow furrowed as he looked down.

There was blood on your thighs, dark, smearing on the fabric of your jeans.

The air left his lungs in shock.

“Hey, what—?” Tommy started; his voice soft, terrified to ask what he already suspected.

But you shook your head, eyes lost beneath tears, throat too tight to utter words.

“It’s fine. It’s—” you croaked, your voice breaking as your arms clutched around yourself.

“We need to get you inside,” Tommy said, waving over Maria, his hand on your arm. “Come on—"

“No. Him first,” you rasped, pointing at Joel, who was unconscious now, as they began to wheel him toward the hospital “He is first priority.”

Tommy’s throat worked as he nodded, but he didn’t miss the way you swayed on your feet, or the blood trailing down your legs.

He caught you on time when your knees buckled, holding you up as you clung to him like you might disappear if you let go.

“We’ll take care of both of you, alright?” Tommy promised, his heart breaking as he realized what it meant.

+++++++

You stood beside Joel’s bed. The room was too quiet you could hear the thoughts running around your head. Tormenting you, torturing you. How much you had done to have Joel laying on this bed with a tiny chance of surviving.  His face was barely recognizable beneath all the swelling and bruises, blood still crusted along the edges of his hairline, lips split. The sedatives had him still, too still.

your hand wrapped around his, though you weren’t sure if you were holding him or holding onto yourself. The tears wouldn’t stop. They ran hot down your frozen cheeks, leaving tracks that burned.

Tommy stood in the doorway, watching you with a knot in his throat. He’d never seen you like this, so small, so crumpled. He had always known the strong version of you but amidst the storm this is what you were now.

“Hey,” Tommy murmured, approaching slowly, crouching beside you. “You should rest, you both need—”

“The baby is gone.” You spoke, your voice was barely a whisper, cracked and raw.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. Your gaze stayed fixed on Joel’s face, your thumb brushing along his knuckles, as if trying to memorize every ridge of bone and scar before it was ripped out of you too.

Jackson, present day

“How do you feel?”

You let a chuckle, as if that question was a joke. But Gail’s eyes kept looking at you with stern on her gaze, perhaps there was a bit

“I feel I lost the baby because I murdered those guys” you confessed, “And I thought it wouldn’t hurt because Joel was going to survive, which he did but you now see how it turned out.” You paused for a moment, gathering your thoughts. “And I don’t know if he despises me for bringing him to life or for what I did.”

You lifted your gaze to meet Gail’s.

“The day he finds out about the baby, I don’t know what is going to happen to me.”

“Do you feel betrayed by him?” she asked, trying to make you talk, to ease the pain. The truth was that Gail wasn’t very fond of you due to your relationship with Joel but she felt pain when looking at you now.

After all she knew you were a woman in love who would have burnt the whole world to bring to save Joel.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I do.” Your voice cracked at the truth, but you force yourself to keep going “I feel like I died out there, too. That day, I saved a man that is not Joel anymore. Not the man I—" You stopped yourself, but it was already out there between you.

Gail’s gaze softened. She wasn’t good at this, at being soft by someone else, but what she saw in front of her was just another woman bleed in a different way.

Both of you had lost the love of your lives in different ways.

“I know you love him,” Gail said quietly. “I never doubted that.”

You met her eyes again, not making the effort to mask the ache that had settled in your bones “I love him so much it scared me. you admitted, voice trembling. “And I still do. Even if he can’t look at me. Even if he resents me. I’d still do the same thing over and over again.”

A long silence stretched between you. Gail took a breath. “You didn’t lose the baby because of what you did.” She said it firm, leaving no room for doubt.

But you didn’t believe it. Not fully. Not yet.

“When he finds out,” you whispered, the dread sinking, “I don’t know if it’ll break him or if he’ll break me.”

“He has no right to ask anything from you right now.” She said, trying to make you understand.

“What do I do now?” you asked, changing the topic, “What do I do with all the love I was holding for that baby?”

Gail was left speechless. Ever since she met you, she had known the strong force of a woman you were, but what she got in front of her now, was a glimpse of her.

You were losing the spark, your willing to live and she didn’t know how to help you.

You wiped your tears, streaming down your face, feeling the exhaustion of the past weeks taking a tool on you, pression down on your heart with a force. Heavy. “And I don’t know how to live in a world where he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Gail said quietly. “He hates himself. That’s a different kind of grief.”

Jackson, two week later

Joel had lost the count of how much time he had spent inside the four walls of this room at the hospital. Every time he opened his eyes it was the same view, blue walls, white covers, a small window, an empty chair where the only person he wanted truly see was you.

Joel was struggling more than anyone wanted to admit. His body was healing slowly, but his mind wasn’t at all and that was a different story.

Mara was trying so hard to get him through his physical therapy, guiding him through some stretch and light exercises to help him to recover the strength he had lost. His face pinched tight in pain and frustration.

Ellie was looking at him, sitting in the corner of the room, with arms crossed, jaw tight, with worry and simmering resentment she hadn’t managed to let go of yet.

Because she was glad, he had made it. She was glad they would have time to fix their bond, but she still couldn’t stop looking at him as the man who had stole her choice from him.

Tommy was also there, standing by the doorway, he felt helpless watching his brother falling apart. How easy it was for him to walk to steps and then not being able to truly improve anymore.

It felt like time stopped. Joel’s breath hitched; his hands started trembling violently as Mara tried to coax him through a simple movement. His chest heaved, eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal. The walls closed in on him all at once, the smell he was sick of, the blinding light from the window, the ache in his bones, the emptiness inside his chest.

His voice cracked, “I—I can’t—I… I need her. Where is she?”

Mara heart went heavy, she tried to calm him, assuring she was here by placing a hand on his shoulder, but he recoiled like the touch burned.

“Not you, my girl. I need her.”he choked out, panic lacing his voice, his breathing ragged and uneven. “Nothing works without her. I can’t—I can’t fucking breathe without her.”

Ellie’s stomach twisted. She stood abruptly, “I’ll get her.”

But until what point this was fair to you? 

“Please, Ellie,” Joel rasped, eyes glossy with tears, “tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I… tell her I didn’t stop loving her. I don’t know how to do this without her.”

Ellie found you by the stables, hands buried in the hay, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing. She called your name four times until you finally looked up, there was so much exhaustion in your face it made her chest ache the same way it ached for Joel.

“Joel is asking for you”she said, voice hoarse by looking for you everywhere.

You didn’t answer. Not at first. The weight of it sat between you both like something heavy and jagged. Finally, you shook your head, eyes stinging.

“No.”you whispered.

“What do you mean no?”

“I can’t face him.”

Ellie’s jaw clenched, the sharp burn of frustration rising in her throat. It wasn’t anger, but she was really grieving the love you and Joel share. She didn’t know how to carry the pain you both have.

“He had a panic attack today. He couldn’t breathe. He only asked for you.” She said, stepping closer.

You closed your eyes, a tremor running through you. Her words dug into your chest.  

“I can’t face him, Ellie.” Your voice cracked. “I can’t see him and not tell him. Not tell him what I lost. I don’t know if I can carry it in front of him because he will resent me even more.”

Ellie swallowed hard, her hands trembling at her sides. She wanted to grab you, to shake you, to hold you, she didn’t know what, “Then tell him. Or don’t. But he’s drowning without you, and you are too.”

You didn’t answer. The only sound was the quiet shuffle of the horses behind you, the sun faintly making the pain on your face glow.

Ellie’s voice softened. “I don’t want to lose you both, please.

Jackson Hospital, at night.

The hospital was silent at night, the kind of silence that felt almost sacred in the dead hours while everyone slept. Most of people in Jackson was asleep, including the nurses in the front room, curled in their chairs, a single lamp flickering.

You moved slowly through the hallways, the ache in your chest making every step feel more difficult than the last. It had been two weeks since the last time you had seen Joel and your heart somehow knew you were about to see his face again.

And when you reached his room, you lingered at the door.

Joel lay there, still, chest softly rising. His face had recovered color. It wasn’t pale and bruised. Now it was almost the same man you had loved for so long.

You stepped inside the room without doubt and sat down beside him, at the edge of the bed. For a long moment, you just watched him. You draw traces of his face inside your mind. Then, your hand reached for his, trembling a bit as you took it into both of yours. His skin felt you achingly familiar still it made your heart burst. You brought his knuckles to your lips and kissed them, the salt of your own tears catching in the corner of your mouth.

“Please, don’t hate me” you whispered against his skin. “I can’t live with that.”

Your voice cracked, the words breaking free from the cage you got them under.  I don’t know how to live in a world without you in it, Joel.” You squeezed his hand tighter. Your forehead dropped to the back of his hand, your tears hot against his skin.

And you felt the faintest, instinctive squeeze of his fingers around yours.

A soft shuffle at the door made you lift your head, eyes blurry with tears as you blinked toward the sound.

Mara stood there with her arms crossed, the faintest edge of tension in her jaw. Her hair was loose, eyes tired, expression unreadable.

“You can’t stay here,” she said quietly, stepping inside the room.

You stared at her, your hand still cradling Joel’s as if letting go might broke you.

“But he asked for me,” you whispered, voice rough.

Mara sighed, a flash of something like sympathy darting across her face before it hardened again.

“I know. But you’ll confuse him,” she said, softer this time, glancing toward the still form of Joel in the bed. “He doesn’t know what’s real right now, what day itis, where he is. You being here…”she hesitated, “I just… it isn’t good for his recovery.”

You felt like your heart was unraveling thread by thread. “You think I’m hurting him.” you said quietly, a bitter ache rising in your throat.

“I think you’re both hurting each other,” Mara admitted, not unkindly. “And I think right now, what he needs is stability. Familiar routine. No surprises.”

She approached, kneeling slightly so you were level. “I’m just staying tonight.”

You looked at Joel again, at his face again.

“No.” she said, this time sternly.

Your body ran cold, but you nodded, brushing Joel’s knuckles with your lips one last time before slowly setting his hand back down.

“If he asks for me again…” you started.

“He won’t” she said, looking at you as if you were poising threatening to hurt Joel.

Outside Jackson, the next day.

Spring was making it presence noticeable. Landscapes were greener and flowers were blossoming everywhere on the route. You and Nick were riding in silence, the breeze caressing your skin with a delicate ease.Nick gave you a wary glance as he rode his horse beside you. He was younger that you, a few years maybe, with a heart too big for this world. You’d always appreciated that about him. Sometimes he felt like the little brother you never had.

“Are you sure you are okay about this?” he asked, frowning.

You forced a tight smile. “Yeah. Better than sitting around.”

He didn’t press it, just gave a short nod, and the two of you keep riding in silence, looking around your surroundings.

The route was quiet for a while, too quiet. You barely spoke, and when you did, it was small things. Nick trying to make you laugh, you giving him some fake smiles.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t last. You should have known it wouldn't last. Three clicks came quickly, emerging from behind a fallen tree just as you turned onto a trail. Nick yelled, grabbing his rifle. You dismounted, but something inside you, you didn't move the way it should. You didn't reach for your weapon. You just stood there.

You could hear them, the horrible, wet smacking, their bodies jerking with hunger. And a sick, empty part of you felt calm for the first time in weeks.

You could let them take you.

You barely registered Nick's voice, distant and panicked.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” he screamed, shooting one clean in the head as it lunged.

The others came closer, too close to you and you still didn’t move. Still mounted on your horse watching as them came to take you.

Nick fired again, blood spraying the ground, then stabbed another with his knife as it crashed against him. The last one came for you and you didn’t even flinch.

Nick got it first, turning to face you with fury on his face.

“What the fuck was that?! Are you out of your fucking mind?

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

And then you felt dizzy, the world lurched, wobbled, before slipping beneath you. You fell off your horse, hitting your head on the ground. A sharp pain, and then nothing but darkness.

The last thing you heard was Nick’s voice breaking, desperate.

“Follow me, it’s clear,” Joel murmured, pulling you through a gap in the fence.

The both of you had ended up in the middle of the woods, laying in the grass staring up at a sky you rarely got to stop to see.

Joel stood up, disappearing into the brush for a moment. When he came back, he was holding a little white wildflower and he knelt beside you, grinning at you.

“I can’t get you a diamond, darling, but I can make you this.”

You laughed, sitting up to look up at him better, “Joel, what are you doing?”

“Marrying you,” he said like it was the most obvious act.

Your breath caught when he looped the flower turning into a ring, a small, crooked one, from the flower’s stem, around your ring finger. His hand lingered in yours, warm.

“There,” he murmured, a bit shy now.

I’m always going to be there, I’m always going to have your back,

Where you go, I go, always.

until the day death tears us apart.

tags 💌: If you want to be removed or you're not interested in the story anymore, please tell me so I can remove you. :)

@heartpatch @jasminedragoon @picketniffler @grayandthyme @ccmoonshine

@theoraekenslover @stcrrjoon @stupidthoughtsinwriting @officialjellydoughnut @dshc99 @eleganthottubfun @mystickittytaco @fvispunk @daydreamzsworld @comicccc

@nosebeers @whirlwindrider29 @person-005 @bunnyofribbon

@ainhoetaaa @missladym1981 @keileighr @callofdiva @pinkcabinet

@tomie-it-girl @shadowpheonix @unknownomgg @22thumbs

@vanishintoyoubby @magss-07 @insertclevernamehereplease

[fvispunk]

Dios mío que es este dolor 😭😭😭😭😭

"The days of you and I" - part 2

Jackson! Joel Miller x fem!reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: Joel’s growing pain and survivor's guilt create a widening rift between you, as harsh words leave wounds deeper than any physical injury.

w.c: 7,9k

warnings: angst, mentions of murder and revenge, emotional trauma, grief trauma, survivor's guilt, discussion of death and loss. mentions of miscarriage. It contains spoilers from season 2 of the last of us. No proofreading because, you know. No proofreading because I'm a lazy sloth.

Note: Remember this story is a sequel of this one shot "What remains of us" or you can ignore it and keep reading this one haha.

A/N: Thank you so much for all your love on this fic. As I said, this fic will touch on some heavy topics related to the aftermath of events we are already familiar with. This one is not the best, I know. But it is building the tension I talked about before. I hope you like it, and I really expect to see your reactions and comments on it. Remember I created an AO3 account where these pieces of reading are being published too. Sending hugs and love.

One, two, three, four, five. Breathe.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe.

He’s okay. He’s okay.

He is fine. He is fine.

You saved him.

Every time you closed your eyes, you still saw it. You still heart it. You still feel it.

You could sense the inevitable outcome of a nightmare with no end. Perceive the crackling of your heart, shattering, being ripped out from you.   

There was Joel lying, blood slicked across his face, his chest barely rising, his name caught somewhere between your throat and the crushing weight in your chest. The field of dreams built after these years of a quiet life, tearing apart.

Because inside, right at the back of your mind, there was still a reality from which Joel wouldn't make it out alive. That reality was still your trembling knees, touching the floor and caressing a face whose eyes couldn't meet yours.

But in those dreams, you also saw the bodies of Fireflies scattered around him, the smell of gunpowder and copper heavy in the air. His eyes flickering open, then closing again, and you knew, you knew you were too late.

You jolted awake with a gasp, your hand gripping his tighter than you’d realized, your head heavy against the sheets at the edge of his hospital bed. The room was dim, Joel’s chest rising and falling in slow. You turned your head, your cheek brushing against the rough calluses of his hand still in yours. It was warm. Real. Alive.

A broken sound slipped from your throat before you could stop it. Your lips pressed to his knuckles, over and over again, relieved washing all your body.

“You’re okay,” you whispered, voice shaking, salt from your tears mixing with the warmth of his skin. “You’re okay.”

But it wasn’t enough to calm the storm inside you. The room felt too small. The grief, the relief, the terror, too loud, crowding your lungs.

You carefully set his hand down, brushing your fingers through his hair one last time before quietly standing, the floor creaked under your boots. You slipped out the door just as Tommy was coming down the hallway.

He nearly bumped into you; his brow furrowed the moment he saw your face. “Hey—hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice low, cautious, like one wrong word might send you shattering.

You tried to speak, but your throat closed. The only thing you managed was a rough, strangled, “I—I Tommy.”

And then your hands were fisting in his jacket and you were burying your face against his chest before you could stop yourself.

“I’m so scared,” you choked out, the words spilling like blood from a wound. “I’m still so scared.”

Tommy’s arms came around you, strong and steady. He let you shake; let you break against him for a minute. “Hey now,” he murmured, “I know, I know. But listen to me — Joel’s fine. He made it. He’s in there, he is breathing thanks to you. You don’t have to keep carrying this like you been.”

You pulled back enough to look at him, your face crumpled. “I can’t,” you rasped, shaking your head. “I can’t, Tommy. If I close my eyes, I lose him. Every time. I’m terrified that I’m gonna wake up and he is going to be dead.” You looked at  him, “I cannot get back from it.”

He gave a weary, sad sort of smile. “Yeah… you can. And you need to.” He let out a breath, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “You haven’t slept, not really, in near a month. You been sitting in that chair every night like a ghost. I see you. Maria sees you. Ellie does. You need to come up for air, darling. You need to grieve what you lost, too.”

You stiffened, your stomach twisting. “I can’t… we agreed,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “We weren’t gonna—”

“I know what we agreed,” Tommy said quietly, eyes steady. “But just because you made me and Maria swear not to tell anyone, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Don’t mean it doesn’t hurt. You lost something, too.”

And for a moment you hated him for saying it out loud, for naming the grief you’d tried to bury beneath blood and terror and a flicker of hope.

But mostly you felt yourself breaking, splintering apart, because you’d been holding it together with spit and wire and now there was nowhere left to hide.

“I’m not ready to talk about it.” You replied, “My only priority is Joel’s well-being.”

Tommy nodded, a quiet, sad understanding in his eyes. He didn’t push or didn’t offer some empty platitude or tell you it was okay, because you both knew it wasn’t.

“Alright,” he said softly. “I get it. Just… don’t forget you’re still here too, alright? You can’t bleed out until there’s nothing left of you to give.”

You swallowed hard; throat thick. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie. You both knew it. But Tommy let it be, because sometimes kindness was letting someone cling to the lie a little longer.

For the sake of it.

He gave your arm a squeeze and gestured back toward the room. “I’ll sit with him for a while. Go walk it off. Get some air. Go get to change clothes. You don’t have to be strong every second, you hear me?”

You didn’t answer, just gave a small, jerky nod before moving past him down the hall, your chest tight, legs unsteady. The grief was a storm inside you, still too raw, too sharp, but for the first time in weeks, you weren’t carrying it alone.

The door creaked softly as you stepped into the house, the familiar scent of old wood, leather, and that trace of Joel that clung to everything hitting you like a blow to the chest. It was like walking into a memory you weren’t ready for; one you hadn’t realized you’d been avoiding.

The one where things had remained still, and your quiet little life hadn’t been tainted by ghost of the past he wasn’t ready to face.

You left the door half-open behind you, the quiet hum of the wind outside the only sound filling the empty space. Your boots felt too loud against the floorboards as you made your way upstairs, each step heavier than the last.

In the bedroom, it was like time had stopped.

Joel’s glasses still rested on the nightstand; one arm crooked like he’d taken them off in a hurry. An empty glass of water sat abandoned on your side of the bed. The blankets were half-pulled down, the imprint of both your bodies faint in the mattress as if neither of you had truly left.

Almost a month had passed.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, staring at the bed like it was some kind of relic. Your chest ached at the sudden, vivid memory of that night.

Joel’s rough laugh echoed across the room when Ellie had made some comment on her willing to try and forgive him for what he had done. the way his eyes had shone just a little when he said, “Maybe she’ll come around more often again.”

How you’d nearly told him.

You remembered sitting on the edge of the bed, hand brushing his, your heart hammering as you tried to work up the nerve to say the words that had been eating you alive for days. You hadn’t gotten the chance. The attack came that morning. And everything after that was blood, screams, and a world you didn’t recognize anymore.

Your hand came up to your face, covering your mouth, as if you could press the grief back in.

Not now.

You turned away from the bed, your throat tight, and made your way into the bathroom. The light buzzed softly when you flicked it on. You gripped the edge of the sink, staring at your reflection. You looked wrecked. Hollow-eyed, pale, a shadow of the person you’d been a month ago.

A quiet, bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “Get it together,” you muttered to yourself.

But it wasn’t that easy. It never had been.

You splashed cold water on your face, trying to chase away the ghosts. The house felt too quiet without Joel in it. Too big. Too wrong.

You dried your face, took a steadying breath, and for the first time in weeks, allowed yourself to murmur the thing you’d almost said that night, so soft, even the walls couldn’t hear.

“I was pregnant.” You murmured; your voice broke on the process.

You made your way to the dresser with, every step heavier each time, like your bones knew what was coming before your heart did. The top drawer still held your clothes, neatly folded the way Joel always teased you about.

Your fingers brushed over a worn t-shirt before you pushed it aside, pulling out a clean pair of jeans, tugging them on with monotonous movements. Your hands shook as you reached for a simple tank top. It felt too thin, too unfamiliar against your skin.

Without even thinking, you crossed the room to Joel’s side of the closet, the side you hadn’t touched since that night.

His scent hit you again, sharp and familiar: cedar, soap, something distinctly him. Your chest tightened, throat burning as you reached out and pulled one of his old flannels from the hanger. The one he wore when it got cold around the house, sleeves rolled up, collar a little frayed.

You shrugged it on over your tank top, the fabric heavy and too big around your frame. The sleeves hung past your hands, the scent of him wrapping around you like a hug you weren’t sure you would even feel again.

Your fingers gripped the lapels of the shirt, holding it closed like armor.

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror then, wearing his clothes, eyes rimmed red, hair messy, face drawn.

You pressed a hand to your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart under your palm.

He’s alive.

He’s breathing.

And you’re still here.

A tear slipped down your cheek, but this time, you let it fall.

You grabbed your jacket from the hook by the door, not bothering to wipe your face. The cold evening air would take care of that. 

And then you walked out, because you couldn’t stay in that house one more goddamn minute.

You headed back to the hospital.

Because wherever Joel Miller was, that’s where you belonged.

You didn’t bother taking the main path. Your feet knew the way, cutting through the back alleys and between old buildings like muscle memory. Every step closer to that hospital felt like pulling yourself out of a grave, but you kept going.

Because he was still there and walking to the hospital felt relieving. Jackson was still recovering from the attack, but nothing mattered to you.

It was like if you had become selfish.

You reached his room and hesitated at the door, hand on the knob, heart pounding like it wanted to crawl out of your chest.

One, two, three, four, five. Breathe.

The memory of your nightmare flickered in the back of your mind. Joel, bloody. The Fireflies on the floor. The way your hands shook as you fired again and again, the sound of someone begging.

You swallowed hard and pushed the door open.

Tommy was sitting in the chair by the bed, elbow propped on his knee, head bowed like he’d been carrying a weight too heavy for one man alone. The soft light entering from the window, accentuated some of the lines in his face, made him look older than you remembered. He lifted his head when he heard the door, and his eyes softened when he saw you standing there, Joel’s flannel drowning your frame.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just gave you that sad, understanding look that made your throat tighten all over again.

“He’s been sleeping,” Tommy murmured, his voice rough, like gravel. “He woke up before, but it seems like he is tired.”

You nodded, your eyes sliding past him to Joel. His face had recovered the same color it had before, but the wounds and scars would settle past him. Your eyes settled on his lips parted as he breathed deep and even.

You crossed the room quietly, your hand brushing over the edge of the bed as you made your way to Joel’s side, needing to see him up close, to confirm with your own eyes what Tommy had said. His chest rose and fell, slow but steady. The faint furrow between his brow had eased in sleep.

It loosened something in your chest, if only a little.

“How’s the fixing going?” you asked softly, not taking your eyes off Joel. “With Jackson, I mean.”

Tommy let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s… going good. Roof repairs, patching the wall on the south side. Got a couple of new folks stepping up too. But it’s not the same without you both around.”

You finally looked at him, brow drawn.

“You know,” he went on, his voice gentler now, “your help would be useful. It might even help you, being out there. With your hands busy. With people. Jackson still needs you. And so does he.”

His eyes flickered to Joel, then back to you.

And you felt it, that ache in your bones, that pull between needing to be right here and knowing the world kept moving outside these four walls, that grief didn’t wait for anyone to be ready.

“I don’t know if I can yet,” you admitted, voice small. “I feel like… if I leave this room, even for a minute, something might happen. I can’t— I don’t wanna miss it.”

Tommy gave you a soft, sad smile. “I get it. I do. But you aren’t going to disappear into this room to prove you love him. You already did the hard thing. You kept him here.”

You swallowed, blinking fast. You hated how constantly you were reminded of what you had done to kept him here.

He stood up then, resting a hand on your shoulder as he passed. “When you’re ready,” he murmured. “We’ll be waiting, alright?”

And then he slipped out, leaving you alone in the soft light and steady rhythm of Joel’s breathing.

You let out a trembling breath, pulling Joel’s hand into yours, and leaned down, pressing your forehead to the back of his knuckles.

“I’ll come back to the world soon,” you whispered. “Just not without you.”

The days bled together after that. Sleep came in snatches, food tasted like nothing, and the house still smelled like Joel. You’d started to force yourself to step outside, help with repairs, take walks around the perimeter of Jackson. Tommy was right. It didn’t fix anything, but it dulled the sharp edges of grief for a little while.

And Ellie… Ellie had finally come around.

It wasn’t easy for her either, carrying her own ghosts and regrets, the heaviness between them too tangled and fraught to name. But she’d shown up, a little bruised, one arm hugged around her middle where cracked ribs still ached.

You came back to the hospital late that afternoon, sun just beginning to dip, the sky streaked with orange and pale pink. The moment you stepped through the door; you could hear voices. Joel’s still hoarse, Ellie’s quieter than you remembered, both of them cautious but trying.

You made your way there, pausing by the door before they noticed you.

“—still think you should read that stupid comic,” Joel rasped, a ghost of a smile in his voice. “It isn’t as half as bad as you make it out to be.”

“I don’t know man,” Ellie shot back. “You say that now, but last time you fell asleep halfway through.”

“I was resting my eyes.”

“Yeah, sure.”

You felt your throat tighten, an ache blooming in your chest. It was such a small, ordinary thing, a normal conversation in a world that had been anything but. And it hit you how long it’d been since you’d heard them like this.

Joel caught sight of you then, his gaze softening. “Hey,” he murmured, reaching his hand out weakly toward you like instinct.

Ellie twisted in her chair, a sheepish look on her face like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be. “Hey… sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” you shook your head quickly, offering them both a smile that barely held. “No, I’m glad you’re here.”

Ellie’s lips twitched, and she gave Joel a small nudge. “Told you she wouldn’t be mad.”

Joel’s fingers brushed yours when you reached for his hand. “We were talking abou that comic we found back in those old days of us on the road.” he murmured; his voice still rough but warmer than it’d been in weeks. “It’s good, her being here.”

“I know,” you said, voice soft, squeezing his hand.

Ellie stood then, stretching with a grimace. “I should… get back. I promised Dina I wouldn’t be out too long. She says I need to take it slow.”

Joel’s expression flickered, something close to reluctant, but he just nodded. “Will you come back again?”

“Yeah,” she said, looking between the two of you. “I will.”

And with a last glance, she ducked out the door, leaving you in the quiet again, but this time, it didn’t feel quite so heavy.

That’s what you wanted to believe.

You pulled Joel’s hand to your chest, resting it over your heart. “She loves you; you know?”

Joel’s eyes closed, a tear slipping from the corner. “I’m not sure how I deserve it.”

You kissed the back of his hand. “None of us deserve half the things we get, Joel Miller.”

His brow furrowed faintly at your words, his rough thumb instinctively brushing over your skin, like he could soothe whatever storm had just crossed your mind.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice soft, fragile in a way you didn’t often hear from him.

But your gaze had already drifted, landing somewhere past him, past the room, past yourself. You smiled then, small, sad, a little tired, the kind of smile that felt like old wounds and memories too sharp to hold for long.

“Nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head like it could scatter the ache away. You squeezed his hand, brought it to your lips one more time, and didn’t let him ask again. Because you knew if you said it out loud, if you told him what you lost, what you gave up, what you carried so he wouldn’t have to, you might break apart in a way you couldn’t put back together.

And right now, he needed you whole. Or at least, what was left of you.

So, you just kept his hand pressed to your heart and murmured, “You just rest, Joel. I get you.”

Three days later, the room smelled clean, and old wood, the soft hum of life returning to a place that had been far too quiet for too long. Joel sat propped up in a chair by the window, the pale light of morning painting his face in soft golds and silvers. He still looked worn, the bruises faded to ugly yellows and greens, but his eyes were clearer now.

The exercises had started that morning.

Mara, a woman in her middle thirties just as you, one who’d lost her sister in the attack, had volunteered to help with Joel’s physical therapy. It wasn’t easy for her, you could see it in the tightness of her jaw and the flicker of grief in her gaze when their hands met, but she did it. Carefully, gently, guiding Joel’s arm through its slow range of motion, mindful of the broken ribs, the healing bullet wound in his leg.

Joel winced but didn’t complain, his jaw set, sweat beading at his hairline. Ellie sat on the floor nearby, legs crossed, making sarcastic remarks when she thought he needed distraction and staying silent when she could tell he didn’t.

Tommy leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his face unreadable but his presence steady as ever. Watching, like he always did. Taking care of his big brother, switching places this time. 

And you, you’d given Gail another chance.

It hadn’t been easy, but you’d found her by the gates a couple days before, asking for a way to help. The bitterness between you hung in the air like smoke, but you let her through it. Because grief made ghosts out of people, and neither of you needed another enemy.

You were at her house. The air between you still felt heavy, like a storm waiting to break, but you’d come anyway. Because maybe you didn’t know how to tend some wounds you had on your soul.

Gail handed you a cup of coffee, her hands trembling just enough for you to notice. You took it in silence, standing by the window that looked out toward the mountains.

“How’s he doing?” she asked after a while, her voice rough, like it hurt to say the words.

You didn’t look at her, kept your eyes on the way the snow clung to the branches outside. “He is trying. Still hurts like hell. Can’t move much on his own yet. But he is fighting.” You took a slow sip of the bitter coffee. “Ellie had come. They talked. First real conversation since it happened.”

“And you?” She asked, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m glad he is fine.” You replied, no meeting her eyes.

Gail was quiet for a moment, the silence between you thick and aching. The wind outside rattled against the windowpane, a ghost of a sound in the quiet room.

“I don’t think he could,” she said softly, like she was testing the words, seeing if they sounded true spoken out loud. “A man doesn’t fight his way back from the death like that for someone he hates.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, your eyes still locked on the white-dusted branches swaying in the wind. “He didn’t. I was the one who…” you murmured. “What I did. What I… what I gave up.”

At that, you finally turned your head, your gaze meeting hers. There was no malice there now, just an old, worn kind of sadness you both carried like extra weight. She gave you a small, sad smile, and you felt something loosen in your chest — not forgiveness, not yet, but something close to it.

“I was afraid, you know,” you admitted quietly, voice trembling. “Still am. That when he looks at me, he’ll see what I cost him.”

“Maybe,” Gail said, taking a sip from her cup, her eyes never leaving yours. “Or maybe he’ll just see the woman who sat at his bedside every night. The one who wouldn’t let go.”

“Do you think he could come to resent me?” you asked her, meeting her gaze.

Gail let out a long breath, setting her cup down with a soft clink on the table. She rubbed her hands together like she was trying to find the right words, or maybe the courage to say them.

“I have no answer for that.” she admitted, honest in a way that stung. “People carry and react to things in different ways. Joel…He might be angry he doesn’t have the control on his hands. He might be hurt. He might not even know how to feel about it yet.”

You felt your stomach twist, a sick kind of dread curling low in your gut.

“But,” she continued, leaning forward a little, her voice softer, steadier, “I don’t think he’ll resent you for saving his life. For loving him enough to do whatever it took. I think… deep down, he’ll understand. You burn for them. You bleed for them. And I don’t think he is stranger to that kind of love.”

You bit your lip, your eyes stinging as you looked down at your cup. “I just… I don’t wanna be another scar on him.”

Gail gave a small, sad smile. “But you already are. But that’s no the same as a wound”

You sat there a moment, her words settling in your chest like a stone and a balm all at once.

“Do you still resent him for what he did to Eugene?”

“I will always despise him for it,” Gail said again, her voice steady, like she’d made peace with her anger. “But I’ll accept that you don’t deserve to lose him because of what I feel. I loved Eugene. You love Joel too. And that kind of love, well. Loving is tragic sometimes.”

Your throat felt tight. You swallowed hard, not trusting your voice right away.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you whispered.

Gail gave a sad little smile. “None of us did. We just get what’s left after the world takes what it wants.”

For a long moment, you both just sat there, two women bound by grief and blood and the ache of what couldn’t be undone.

“I had a miscarriage,” you confessed, like if you didn’t say it out loud it might not be entirely real. “The night we brought Joel back. Only Tommy and Maria know.”

Gail set her cup down with a shaking hand, leaning her elbows onto her knees, staring at the floor. “Jesus,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you—?”

“Because I couldn’t,” you breathed, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes. “I couldn’t deal with losing him and… and that baby. I didn’t even tell Joel. I just… shoved it down. Buried it under everything else. Because he needed me. Ellie needed me. There wasn’t room for me to fall apart.”

The room was silent, save for the ticking of the old clock on the wall. Then, softly, Gail spoke, voice rough as gravel. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged, wiping a tear off your cheek. “It’s just one more thing, right? One more grave I’ll carry around in my chest.”

“No,” she said, and this time there was steel under it. “It’s not just one more thing. It matters.”

You looked at her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was no anger in her gaze. Just a tired, broken woman who understood what it meant to lose pieces of yourself you’d never get back.

“Don’t tell this to anyone,” you said, standing up, your voice steady even though your chest felt like it might cave in.

Gail didn’t argue. Didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep. She just nodded, solemn, the lines around her eyes deepening as she looked up at you.

“I won’t,” she murmured. “It’s not my place.”

You gave a tight nod, setting the empty cup down on the table. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls too close, so you crossed to the door, your hand hovering on the knob for a second.

“You ever need to… you know where to find me,” Gail said, her voice softer now, almost gentle.

You didn’t answer. Just gave a faint, weary smile over your shoulder and left, stepping out into the cold evening air. The chill hit you like a wall, but it was easier to breathe out here. Easier to feel like the world was still turning.

When you made it back to the infirmary, the late afternoon light was slipping through the blinds in thin, tired lines. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paper, and there was the soft shuffle of movement, the faint sound of labored breathing.

Joel was gripping Mara’s hand, his knuckles pale as she helped him ease through another stretch, working his upper body with a focus that made your throat tighten. His face was drawn tight with effort, sweat beading along his temple, but his jaw was set, and his eyes, those goddamn eyes, burned with stubborn, quiet determination.

“You’re doing good,” Mara was murmuring, steady and calm. “One more. You got it, Joel.”

He let out a ragged breath, brow furrowed, and pushed through it. And you felt something twist in your chest. Because even after everything, even when his body betrayed him, Joel Miller still didn’t know how to quit.

You stepped inside quietly, but his gaze found you anyway. Those storm-grey eyes flickered to you, and for a moment, his hand almost faltered.

You forced a smile, crossing the room and settling on the other side of the bed. You reached out, your fingers brushing over the back of his wrist where his pulse thudded wildly.

“Look at you,” you said softly, voice thick. “You’re doing good.”

And it hit you like a blow to the ribs, not the pain of a wound, but something heavier, deeper. The kind of ache that settled behind your sternum and made your hands feel too empty, your throat too tight.

Because in that flicker of a look, no warmth, no smile, no spark of that easy, familiar ache you knew so well, you saw it. The doubt. The distance. The quiet, gnawing thing you’d been terrified of since the night you dragged him back, half-dead, bleeding out in the snow.

And maybe it wasn’t resentment. Maybe it wasn’t hate. But it was something. Something colder.

You forced your smile to stay, even though it felt brittle as glass. Let your thumb drag along his wrist, feeling his pulse there like a frantic little drum, as if it mattered. As if you could hold him to this world by sheer will alone.

“You’re almost through it,” you whispered, and your voice cracked on the last word. “I told you I wasn’t gonna let you go.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you a moment longer, something unreadable passing through those tired, storm-dark eyes before he dropped his gaze back to his lap, letting Mara guide his arm down carefully.

You swallowed hard and stood, backing toward the door.

“I’ll… I’ll come back later,” you managed, already hating yourself for the way your voice shook.

And before either of them could say anything else, you slipped out into the hallway. Pressed your back to the cold wall and closed your eyes, because you didn’t want to cry here. Not where someone might see.

But Tommy noticed.

Ellie too.

Perhaps this was the beginning of the aftermath you didn’t want to face.

Tommy’s footsteps were quiet but deliberate as he came to stand beside you. Without a word, he leaned his shoulder against the wall, close enough that you could feel the steady weight of his presence.

“He is…It has been a difficult day for him” he said.

You nodded slowly; your breath still uneven. “I see it in his eyes. Like he’s somewhere far away, and maybe… maybe resenting being here.”

Tommy’s gaze was steady, his voice low and rough. “He’s scared. Not just about his body. About what’s left of him, who he is now. It’s a hell of a thing, knowing you survived but feel like a ghost.”

“You had tried to keep it hidden, the blood seeping through your shirt from a wound you got during a scuffle with some smugglers. You thought you were careful, but Joel had that sixth sense, the one that made it impossible to hide anything from him.

That evening, you’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to clean the cut with water, heart pounding from the pain and the fear of being discovered. You heard footsteps before you saw him.

Joel crouched down beside you, eyes narrowing as he took in the dark stain spreading across your shirt. “Are you trying to hide that from me?” His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of concern and frustration all at once.

You shook your head, forcing a weak smile. “Didn’t want to worry you.”

He grabbed your hand gently, pulling you up. “You don’t have to do that.”

You looked away, feeling the sting of tears, not just from the wound, but from the raw truth in his words. That night, he stayed with you, helping patch up the wound, silently promising to watch over you no matter what.

That was the moment you knew Joel was never going to let you face the world alone.

That was the moment you realized you loved him.”

The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the hospital room blinds, casting pale stripes across the worn floor. You stirred awake, your body aching from hours spent curled up in the hard chair beside Joel’s bed. Your eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, everything felt still, until you caught his gaze.

Joel was watching you, eyes sharp and clear, a faint crease of both worry and irritation etched across his brow.

“You should stop sleeping on that chair,” he said, voice low but edged with annoyance. “I’m alive. Just like you wanted.”

There was a pause, a soft breath between you. His words were blunt, but beneath them, you heard something softer, relief, and maybe even a hint of gratitude.

You managed a tired smile, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “I just want to make sure you’re still here.”

Joel’s eyes softened for a fleeting second, the weight of his pain briefly giving way to something gentler. He squeezed your hand back, his grip still weak but steady.

“You worry too much,” he muttered, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You shifted in the chair, trying to find a more comfortable position but mostly just staring at him. “I can’t help it,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m afraid I’ll wake up and you won’t be here.”

He looked away, jaw tightening. “I’m stubborn. You should’ve known that by now.”

You were about to say something when Mara appeared quietly in the doorway, clipboard in hand and a reassuring smile on her face.

“Good morning, Joel. Ready to get started?” she asked gently.

Joel glanced at you, then back at Mara, a mix of relief and determination flickering in his eyes. You squeezed his hand once more before standing up.

“I’ll be just outside if you need me,” you said softly, stepping back to give them space.

Joel nodded, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer.

“You can stay.”

“I... okay,” you said quietly, moving to pull up a chair beside the bed.

Joel shifted slightly, the effort causing a faint wince, but his eyes held steady on you.

“Don’t make it a habit,” he warned, voice rough but teasing.

You smiled softly, squeezing his hand.

The days blurred together after that. Snowfall, dim afternoons, the creak of old wood floors, the sharp scent of antiseptic in every room. Joel was healing, slowly, stubbornly, as everyone expected he would.

He was soft with Ellie. She came by every other day now, bringing comics or talking about new skills she was learning with Dina. Joel would ruffle her hair, tease her about how much taller she’d gotten. There was a warmth in his voice when he spoke to her, something aching and tender you remembered so clearly from before.

He was patient with Tommy too, with his brother’s worry, with the way Tommy hovered and cracked bad jokes to fill the silence. And with Mara, the doctor helping on his rehab, Joel offered polite thank-yous and that old, quiet grit of his, never complaining even when the pain was plain in his face.

But with you… now it was different.

It was in the way his eyes slid past yours when you walked into the room. The way his voice turned clipped and careful when you spoke. The way his hands, once so instinctively reaching for you in sleep or conversation, now stayed neatly folded in his lap.

He wasn’t cruel. Joel Miller never was. But there was a distance. A wall he had lifted. And it hurt worse than anything you could’ve braced for.

It was in the little things too, like when Ellie asked about that old guitar Joel kept at your house, and he just said, "I’ll get it sometime," like it wasn’t something that had once lived between your lives like a promise.

Or when Tommy cracked a joke about you two being thick as thieves again once Joel was back on his feet, and Joel’s answering smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You kept showing up. Because you had to. Because you loved him.

But every day it got harder. And it felt like you were both pretending not to feel it.

It started with Joel’s nightmares and how he neglected the comfort you offered.

The first time, you woke to the sound of his ragged breathing, a low, broken sound like a wounded animal caught in its last fight. His hand clutched the blanket, face contorted in some terrible, unseen memory.

You reached for him without thinking, murmuring his name, fingers brushing his damp hair from his brow.

But he jerked away. With force enough to freeze your hand mid-air, enough to make the ache bloom in your chest like something sour.

“I’m fine,” he’d muttered, eyes still glassy, staring anywhere but at you. And when you tried again, when you offered a whispered "Hey, it’s just me," Joel had turned his face to the wall.

Night after night it was the same.

You’d stay when Tommy or Ellie left. You’d sit in that chair by his bed, or sometimes at the window, and when his sleep turned restless, you’d rise and cross the room.

And every time — every goddamn time — he brushed you off.

"Go home."

 "Don’t need you watching me."

A warning flicker in those tired eyes that begged you not to push.

But you did. Because you couldn’t not.

And that was when it started to fray, that quiet war between wanting to be what he needed and realizing he wouldn’t let you anymore.

Ellie could hold his hand. Tommy could steady him through the worst of the spasms when the pain gripped his leg. Even Mara could coax a ragged laugh from him when he managed to hold something strongly.

But you…You were the one thing he refused.

And it broke something in you. Little by little, day after day.

Because you knew the ache in his eyes wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t even disappointment.

It was grief and resentment.

And every time you looked at him, you were a reminder of all the ways he’d nearly slipped away.

Of all the things unsaid.

And that maybe… just maybe… you saving him had cost you both more than you realized.

You were kneeling beside him, one hand steadying his wrist while the other guided the small rubber ball he was supposed to squeeze, a simple exercise, but every movement made his jaw clench, sweat prick at his hairline.

The ball slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud and rolling toward the edge of the room.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice low, tight with frustration.

“I got it,” you said quickly, already moving, reaching for it before it could roll too far.

But something in the way you said it, too fast, too practiced, like you’d spent weeks catching the things he dropped, making it easier for him to avoid asking, made him still.

When you straightened, ball in hand, you caught the flicker in his eyes. There was irritation.

“You don’t have to… you know,” Joel rasped, his voice rough around the edges, “keep picking up after me like I’m… like I can’t do it.”

Your breath caught.

“I’m not,” you said, even though you both knew you were.

He let out a slow breath, his hand flexing open and closed like the weight of it was more than just his busted bones. “Stop pitying me.”

Your hand tightened around the ball, heart stumbling in your chest at the edge in his voice.

“I’m not pitying you, Joel,” you said quietly, the words rough like gravel. “I’m here because I love you. Because you matter to me, not because I feel sorry for you.”

His jaw worked, a muscle ticking there. He looked away, and for a second you thought maybe it would stop there, like all the other half-finished conversations the two of you had let die in the quiet. But it didn’t.

“Bullshit,” Joel muttered, shaking his head, his fingers flexing uselessly. “You don’t understand what it’s like.”

“Then help me understand,” you bit back, voice trembling. “Stop shutting me out.”

His eyes snapped up to yours, and there was something raw in them, grief, anger, shame, it bled out in every word.

“I can’t even… I can’t manage to make love to you anymore,” he ground out, like it physically hurt to admit it. “I can’t touch you without feeling like a goddamn shell of who I was. And you sitting there, looking at me like I’m still him… it’s killing me.”

The words knocked the air out of your lungs. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The room felt too small, too bright, too heavy with things that’d been left unsaid for too long.

“I never asked you to be who you were,” you managed, your voice breaking. “I just wanted you. All of you.”

Joel’s face crumpled, his hands gripping the edge of the chair like he might tear the damn thing apart.

“You deserve better than this,” he whispered.

“I don’t want better,” you shot back, voice sharp, trembling. “I want you.”

For a long second, all you could hear was the ragged rise and fall of his breathing, the distance between you still there, but cracked now, fissured with something desperate and bleeding and real.

“I should have died.” He said, “And you brought me back because you’re selfish.”

The words hit like a fist to the chest.

Your breath stuttered, eyes burning as they locked on his. There was no venom in his voice,  just raw, bone-deep hurt, the kind of grief that twisted a man up from the inside out.

And still, it felt like a knife.

“I brought you back because I love you,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Because losing you would’ve killed me too. And I didn’t—I couldn’t let that happen.”

Joel shook his head, his jaw tight, eyes glassy but refusing to fall. “You should’ve. You should’ve let me go.”

“No,” you said, the word sharp and final, your throat tight and aching. “I will never be sorry for saving you. Never. You can hate me for it, Joel, you can push me away, but I’ll carry that. Because I still wake up every day and thank whoever’s out there that you’re still breathing.”

His face twisted, pain and anger and love and loss all tangled in a single shattered look. “You don’t know what it feels like,” he rasped. “To be stuck in this… this broken thing that ain’t even a man anymore. To see you looking for a man who is not here.”

Your heart felt like it was splintering clean in half. You crossed the room slowly, not touching him yet, not forcing it, but close enough that he couldn’t avoid your voice.

“I’m not looking for the man you used to be, Joel,” you said, quietly, steadily. “I’m in love with the man right in front of me.”

For a moment, he looked like he might come apart entirely, like those words knocked something loose inside him he didn’t know how to hold anymore.

“I’m so goddamn tired,” he whispered, a crack in his voice you hadn’t heard since the outbreak years. “What you did to keep me here… you shouldn’t have done it.”

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t look away. Couldn’t. “You would have done the same for me, Joel,” you said, steady, though your voice wavered on the edges. “As you did for Ellie. At Salt Lake. When you lost it because you thought we were losing her.”

You watched something shutter behind his eyes. A flicker of the man you knew, of the truth that hung thick and sharp between you , and then he killed it. Buried it like he’d buried so many other parts of himself.

“No,” Joel said, low and cold and cruel in a way that wasn’t real, in a way he needed to be. “I wouldn’t have done that for you.”

It was a lie. A brutal, deliberate lie.

And you felt it, the way it landed like a blow to the gut, the way it cracked something open in your chest.

But you also saw it. The flicker of guilt in his eyes, the strain in his jaw, the way his hand trembled against the sheets.

You knew him like the palm of your hand.

He was trying to hurt you. Trying to drive you away.

Because Joel Miller knew one way to survive grief, and it was to cut the people you loved out before you lost them.

He didn’t say it, but you knew. He’d seen how tired you looked every day. How you barely slept, barely ate, how the light in your eyes had started to dim.

He saw you breaking under the weight of loving a man who wouldn’t let himself be loved.

So, he tried to kill it. Tried to make you hate him enough to leave. Because maybe if you hated him, you wouldn’t hurt so goddamn much when the world took him from you for good.

You swallowed, throat raw, the ache in your chest a steady, dull throb. But you didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Instead, you leaned in just enough for him to hear you, your voice rough, scraped clean down to the bone.

“Don’t lie to me, Joel.”

He looked away then, eyes shining with something he’d never let fall. His jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break, then his voice came, low, rough, without looking at you.

“I don’t even know if I still love you.”

It landed like a punch. Like a knife between the ribs.

Your breath caught, the room tilting for a second under the weight of it. Your fingers clenched around your own skin, nails biting into the flesh as the words echoed through you.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

And then Tommy’s voice broke the quiet, stepping into the doorway behind you.

“Hey— What’s going on in here?”

You didn’t turn around. But Joel did. And when his eyes lifted, he saw it.

The tears. Silent and steady, tracing down your cheeks like they’d been waiting for an excuse.

For a final cut.

And for the first time in days, something cracked in him. Something he couldn’t lie to anymore.

But it was too late.

You didn’t give Tommy an answer. Didn’t spare Joel another word.

You just turned, walked out, your shoulders squared, your face wet, leaving both of them in that heavy, suffocating room.

Joel’s eyes stayed locked on the empty space you’d just left; regret was written all over his face.

Tommy watched him for a long moment, then spoke quietly, “You can’t let it end like this.” He pleaded his brother.

But Joel only shook his head, the weight of his own bitterness crushing him. “It’s already broken.”

Outside, the night pressed against the windows like a warning, and somewhere beyond, a threat was waiting, ready to drag them all deeper into the darkness.

tags 💌: If you want to be removed or you're not interested in the story anymore, please tell me so I can remove you. :)

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[fvispunk]

[fvispunk]

Esta parte:

“And the truth was, neither of you was really hungry for anything but the one thing you both kept pretending you didn’t still want. Each other.”

Santo Cristo 😭😭😭

Los amo mucho 😭🫶🏼

"Whatever you'd like us to be" - part 4

harry castillo (materialists) x fem!sunshine!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: the one where you fall and get your confessions of love.

w.c: 7,5k

warnings: age gap (harry is 45 and reader 29-30), angst, fluff. no proofreading because you know me.

A/N: I'm not sure if this chapter will meet your expectations, but it's pretty much what I wanted to do with it. I'm convinced this series is a lot about how you can transform into something complicated when someone who makes you feel at ease comes into your life. But whatever. This was the winner update of the day, but I'm updating all the series this week. Happy reading, and please let me know what you think about it.

Remember, I now have an AO3 account, where I'm also posting the chapters.

When next day came, the vibrant excitement you had been feeling lately was gone. The sky seemed gray, soft raining was falling over New York and you stayed in bed the whole day, barely sleeping, tossing and turning, replaying every word, every look from the night before like a film reel you couldn’t switch off.

You waited for a call, a message, a knock at your door. Everything that could remind you that you were valuable to Harry as more as a simple piece of his game.

But when Monday rolled around, still no sign of Harry, you dragged yourself out of bed, threw on a sweater that still faintly smelled like coffee, and opened your café with a weight in your chest you couldn’t erase.

A foreign kind of feeling, a foreign kind of pain, that was numbing your heart. Because within the jealousy, hurt, and humiliation, there was love growing its roots in the cracks of your heart.

The place was alive as always, the soft clinking of mugs, the gentle chatting of costumer conversations, even Mia’s laughter carrying from behind the counter. But you felt like a ghost in your own space because Harry had made a home inside your house and now it felt hollow without the certainty of that presence. After all, he had carved his place into your heart in such a short time.

Every time the bell over the door chimed, your head would lift, your pulse skipping in your throat. A couple of old regulars. A mother with a stroller. A pair of college students ordering iced lattes. But not him.

“Boss,” Evan murmured, sidling up to you while you wiped down a spotless table for the third time in an hour. “Are you good?”

You forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine.”

But even Evan didn’t buy it. He gave you a knowing look and said nothing else, as if he knew better.

By lunchtime, you were officially annoyed at yourself. The knot in your stomach wouldn’t loosen, and you hated that you kept checking the clock like some lovesick idiot waiting for his prince to come and get her from her solitude. That you half-expected to look up and see him leaning against the doorway with that infuriating grin, like nothing had happened.

But still, that would have shown he cared. That you were more than just a simple piece on his game.

By mid-afternoon, the steady hum of the café had lulled into a calm, that late-in-the-day quiet when regulars trickled in for their second wind and students claimed tables with textbooks and cold drinks in order to study. You were behind the counter, pretending to busy yourself with organizing the pastry case, though in truth, you were miles away inside your head.

And then the bell over the door chimed, you looked up out of habit, and your stomach dropped at the sight of Lucy at the door.

She stepped in with her perfect hair waving, soft smile playing on her lips. Her eyes swept the café before landing on you. And for a split second, both of you just stared each other. Recognition flashed in her expression, a glimmer of surprise widening her gaze, but then something else took its place. Not malice, not smugness like your overworked brain had feared, just kindness inside those blue orbits.

“Hi,” she said, approaching the counter.

You swallowed thickly, forcing your face into something resembling neutral. “Hi! Welcome in.”

She glanced at the chalkboard menu, though it felt more like a polite formality. “Could I get two vanilla lattes to go, please?”

Your heart did this traitorous little lurch in your chest at the sound of two.

Two vanilla lattes.

And immediately, the spiral started.

Was the other one for Harry? Had he gone back to her?

You hated how easily the thought slid into place, how sharp it cut. How it affected your heart in a way jealousy was everything you could feel now.

You punched the order into the register, managing a tight smile. “Coming right up.”

She took out some dollar out her wallet, glancing at you again, a small curve to her lips. “I’m sorry if this is weird, are you…? Harry’s…” she hesitated like searching for the right word, “friend?”

You gripped the edge of the counter. “I think so.”

“You think?”

“What do you want me to say?” you sounded almost exasperated, “Yes, I’m his girlfriend.”

“You are also Claire’s best friend.” She said, still smiling “I also remember you because of that.”

You nodded, “You did a pretty good job introducing her to Chris.”

Lucy’s expression faltered for a moment just a flicker, so quick most people wouldn’t have caught it. But you did. That brief tightening around her eyes, the way her fingers tapped twice against the counter before she tucked them into the sleeves of her blazer.

“I did, didn’t I?” she murmured, her smile turning bittersweet. “I think that had been my best job yet.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that. You thought her job was a kind of scam, as in the digital form of love. Offering you a hollow and shallow momentum instead of the real experience. Forcing to people to meet each other with the list of qualities set on the table.

Lucy inhaled softly, then straightened, smoothing her expression. “Well,” she said with a little shrug, “I do really think you and Harry make a good couple.”

You raised a brow at that but bit your tongue, glancing down as the machine beeped, signaling the order was ready.

You slid the two vanilla lattes onto the counter. “Here you go.”

Lucy took them, wrapping her hands around the cups. “I’m sorry if I made this weird,” she added quietly. “Honestly, I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

You forced a small, polite smile. “Well, I own this place, so you would run into me anyway.”

Her eyes widened, “Oh, that’s—that’s amazing, really. Best coffee in this city.”

Best coffee in this city

That last line made your throat tighten. Best coffee in this city. The exact words Harry had murmured more than once, usually with that surprised grin after he had found of you owned this place, like it was a secret only the two of you shared. Hearing them from Lucy’s lips was kind of disarming and made your heart clench.

You gave a small, almost bashful laugh, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

Lucy hesitated, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression, then offered a sincere smile. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Really.”

You nodded. “You too.”

She gave a little wave with the two cups in hand and slipped out the door, the bell chiming softly in her wake.

You stood there for a moment longer, the scent of coffee and vanilla hanging in the air, heart pounding in a way you couldn’t quite explain. The whole interaction had been surprisingly kind. She wasn’t the woman you had pictured it to be. There was no tension, no accusations. Just two women on different ends of a story neither of them fully understood. Being pictured very differently by the very same man.

She gave you one last look, something almost like a sorry, and then she was out the door.

You stood there for a moment, the ghost of old conversations and half-formed assumptions rattling in your head, before Evan sidled up next to you with a smirk.

“Damn, boss,” he muttered under his breath, bumping your shoulder. “You, okay? You look very grumpy today.”

You groaned, leaning forward against the counter. “I need a drink.”

“Or to see your boyfriend, huh?”

You shot him a glare, but your traitorous heart still fluttered at the sound of his name. You hated how much you missed him and how much you wanted to see him.

An hour later, you were at your office working on some inventory stuff when knock at your door took off your guard, you lifted your gaze.

"Come in" you said.

You blinked, your stomach twisting, heart leaping in your chest before your brain could even catch up. The door eased open, behind it, a huge bouquet of vibrantly red roses, then a hand, and finally the face you had been craving to see for the last 48 hours.

His face was hard to read, those stormy brown eyes you knew too well now, a little softer, a little more hesitant than you’d seen since you had met him. He stepped in without a word, closing the door behind him with his foot.

You swallowed thickly, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed like you needed the armor to protect your heart from it. “What are you doing here, Harry?”

He set the flowers carefully on your desk, as if they might break under his touch. “I owed you a hundred apologies. And maybe a small bribe,” he added with a weak grin, motioning to the roses.

You didn’t return it.  You still feel the humiliation creeping up your cheeks.

“I told you to stay out,” you said quietly. A lied, a big lie, because everything you wanted was him to come to you and to hold your face with his hands.

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “And I meant to. I tried to. But you have no idea how fucking loud my life feels when you’re not in it.”

The room went still. You stared at him, no uttering a word.

Harry sighted, “I missed you, even if it was just a day.”

Your throat felt tight, your heart lurching at the rawness in his voice and at his words. You wanted to stay mad, but his words still had found it way to soften you a bit.

You dropped your gaze, studying the edge of your desk like it would provide the answers to the questions you were asking to. “You can’t keep doing this, Harry,” you murmured, the fight in your voice wavering. “Showing up with flowers and pretend I’m going to say yes to every demand you have,” You lifted you gaze to meet his, “You always came here when you need something from me. You confuse me. You say you want to be my friend, then you kiss me and say your ex-girlfriend’s name, who is fact is really kind.”

Your arms stayed crossed, but your posture softer. “Why did you mention her that night, Harry?”

His expression cracked a little, like you’d pressed your thumb against an old bruise. He stepped closer, leaning his palms against your desk. “Because I’m an idiot,” he said, voice low. “And because a part of me was scared it wasn’t just a kiss.”

You felt your throat tighten, your fingers curling against the edge of the desk. “So, you said her name to what? Ruin it? Push me away before I could hurt you?”

“I didn’t plan it,” he confessed, shaking his head, his gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t even know why it came out. I haven’t thought about Lucy that way since we went our separate ways, you know that. But you—" he let out a broken breath, “you terrify me.”

“All of this started because you wanted to get back at her” you replied, “And you also lied to me about that at the beginning.”

Harry’s jaw tensed, guilt flickering over his face like a shadow. “Yeah, that and also my parents want me to marry someone for good,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I am pissed off. I was hurt. I used you at first, telling myself you’d never mean anything because it wasn’t supposed to be about you.”

You flinched, the words hitting like a blow even though you’d known them deep down. He saw it, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

“But then it was you,” he went on, eyes glinting with something raw and unguarded. “It became you, so fast—“

“You’re a child” you interrupted, annoyed and hurt.

Harry blinked, the words striking sharper than anything you’d said before. His mouth opened like he might protest, but nothing came out. You saw the fight drain from his posture, his shoulders sagging under the weight of everything he had poured out.

“Yeah,” he exhaled, running a hand down his face, defeated. “Maybe I am.”

You shook your head, leaning back against your chair like you needed to distance yourself enough from him to properly breath again, “You don’t get to drag people into your tantrums because you’re pissed off at your parents or your past, Harry. I’m not a placeholder for your act of rebellion. I’m a person. And I deserve better than being some convenient way for you to feel in control for five minutes.”

He looked like you’d slapped him. And maybe, in a way, you had. You had broken his ego, but this time it wasn’t like anything before because now, there was love growing withing the cracks of his heart.

“I know,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I know you did. I keep… I keep breaking the things I care about before I realize how much they matter.”

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “And what? Now that you realize it, you think you can just what? Patch it up with these expensive flowers?”

“No,” he admitted, his gaze steady for the first time since he walked in. “I just—” he swallowed hard; jaw tight. “I needed you to hear it. That you matter to me.”

You sat there for a long moment, the silence between you loaded, heavy with the miscommunication that comes with playing a game like this.

“I hope you figure yourself out, Harry,” you said softly, your voice steady even though your chest ached.

His eyes glistened, but he didn’t argue. Didn’t beg. He knew his place now.

He just gave a small nod, turned, and left the flowers on your desk as he walked out the door.

You sat there long after the door had closed, the thud of the door felt like a final point to a story yet to be written and that made it hurt the most. The roses sat on your desk, too many and too red, a vibrancy you felt it left with harry through that door. The kind of gesture Harry always leaned on when words failed him.

Your throat burned. You hated how beautiful they were. How part of you, some pathetic, stubborn part, still wanted to believe it meant something. That maybe under all the mess and mistakes, there was a version of him that he had come to love you.

You reached out, fingertips brushing over one of the petals. It was soft. Perfect. And it felt like a lie.

The sting behind your eyes sharpened, and before you could stop yourself, you swiped the flowers off the desk. The vase hit the floor with a dull thud, water sloshing over the tile, roses scattering like discarded confessions.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, trying to swallow the ache in your throat, the tears prickling your lashes.

God, you were so tired. So tired of the way he made you feel like you were standing in a room with no walls, nowhere to lean, nowhere to run. Always hoping this time would be different. That someone would have choose you for the right reasons this time. That you would be the first choice in someone’s life.

But he didn’t. Not really.

And you couldn’t keep letting your heart be collateral damage.

You wiped at your eyes, took a steadying breath, and grabbed a rag from the counter. You’d clean up the mess. Because that’s what you did. Because life moved on, and so would you.

Another flame, another fire to ease.

A few days passed in a heavy, muted blur. You fell into a quiet rhythm, opening the café, managing orders, pretending you didn’t glance at the door every time it chimed. But it wasn’t Harry stepping through anymore.

It was his assistant.

You recognized her more now, always polite, always rushed, always ordering Harry’s usual without meeting your eyes for too long as if she knew, like he’d been sent in as a quiet, calculated replacement for the man who couldn’t come to face you.

Your heart felt heavier every time. The absence of Harry’s careless grin, his infuriating comments, the way he’d come into your life like the world only existed where you stood, it all left an ache you couldn’t name.

You told yourself this was how peace was supposed to feel, but the thing about this type of quiet was that it left too much room for your thoughts.

It was late afternoon when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out with a sigh, expecting a supplier, but Claire’s name flashed across the screen.

You hadn’t heard from her in a few days, and you hesitated before answering.

“Hey, you” you said, trying to sound lighter than you felt.

“Hey, you.” Claire’s voice was soft as always, unaware of the conflict you were walking through right now “I was wondering… are you free tonight?”

You glanced around the café, where Evan was wiping down tables and the soft hum of the espresso machine filled the air. “Yeah. Why?”

“I want you to come over for dinner,” Claire said, then hesitated. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach dropped. You’d known her too long not to catch the note in her voice. There was some kind of excitement and nervous on her voice.

“Claire,” you said slowly, your pulse picking up. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course, it is. Can you come by eight?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, then forced a steady breath. “Okay,” you murmured. “I’ll be there.”

“I love you, bye” she said.

“I love you too.”

At the same time somewhere, a few streets away. Harry’s assistant, was pushing open the office door with one hand while balancing a takeaway tray in the other.

“Here’s your coffee, boss,” she said, setting the cup down on his desk.

Harry glanced up from the pile of papers he hadn’t actually been reading, his fingers running through his hair. A faint, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks,” he murmured, reaching for the cup. He hesitated before asking, the question burning behind his teeth, though he knew he shouldn’t. “How is she?”

Kate blinked, then sighed softly, sitting on the edge of a nearby chair like she’d been expecting it.

“She looks okay.” She replied carefully.

That made something in Harry’s chest tighten, a dull, familiar ache. He looked away, his gaze falling to the corner of his desk, where a small photo frame sat half-hidden behind a stack of folders.

A picture of you from Claire’s and Chris wedding.

You were sitting on the grass, a glass of champagne in hand, laughing at something someone off-camera had said. Light caught in your hair; your face flushed.

Chris had given it to him as a joke after the wedding when you had made it ��official”

“For your desk, you sap,” he had teased.

Harry had played it off, acted like it was just one of those silly things people kept around. But it stayed. Day after day. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, staring at that photo like it might speak to him.

You’d probably think I was a creep for keeping this, he thought bitterly.

But the truth was, he’d never been capable of loving someone, never let anyone carve their way inside his heart the way you had.

And he wasn’t sure what terrified him more: that he’d already lost you, or that part of him still believed you were it for him.

Some people only get one person. And he had the sinking, gut-deep feeling you were his.

…………

The taxi pulled up in front of Claire and Chris’s townhouse, the familiar white shutters and climbing ivy on the brick walls making something in your chest ache. This place had always felt like a second home ever since they moved in together. You’d laughed in this kitchen, cried on that couch, drank too much wine on the back patio under string lights.

And now, your stomach was twisted up like you were walking into something you couldn’t name.

You raised a hand and knocked.

The door swung open almost instantly, and there was Claire, in a pair of mismatched socks, hair in loose waves, wearing a simple loosen linen dress and that bright, unmistakable grin she always saved just for you.

“There you are,” she beamed, pulling you into a tight hug. You sank into it, letting your cheek press against her shoulder, breathing in the scent of citrus and vanilla she always wore.

“You look stunning as always,” she said, pulling back to give you a once-over with a teasing little smile. “Seriously, what is it like to be everyone’s favorite person in the room?”

You huffed a small laugh, grateful for the easy warmth between you. “I almost didn’t come,” you admitted quietly.

“I know,” she said, brushing a hand down your arm. Then, she glanced past you, out toward the street, as if expecting someone to be lingering behind. “I thought you were coming with Harry.”

Your stomach dipped and your brows furrowed. “Harry’s coming too?” you asked, voice careful, guarded.

Claire’s expression faltered for half a second, like she was realizing too late that she’d said something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Yeah… um… Chris invited him,” she said, quickly smoothing it over. “Did something happen between you two?

You forced a tight, brittle smile and shook your head, though your throat burned with the effort. “No,” you lied, voice too light. “Nothing happened.”

Claire gave you a look, the kind only someone who’s known you since you were eight can give. The kind that says bullshit without having to saying the exact word.

“Come on,” she murmured, pulling you gently inside and closing the door behind you. The familiar scent of rosemary and roasted garlic drifted in from the kitchen, and it made something twist painfully in your chest because everything about this felt so normal, and you were anything but fine.

Claire set a hand on your shoulder, stopping you just before the living room. Her expression was softer now, her voice careful. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she said. “But Chris said Harry has been kind of grumpy for the past few days. And you, you look like someone who is holding her shit together.”

You swallowed hard, your gaze darting away.

Claire sighed and gave you a half-smile. “Whatever it is, you can count of me, you know that, right?”

You let out a weak laugh at that and nodded. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I know that.”

Chris appeared from the hallway, grinning when he spotted you. “Hey, there she is!” he said warmly, wrapping his arms around you. You sank into it, grateful for the steady, familiar presence. Chris had become a safe place, the brother you’d never had but somehow ended up having.

“You doing, okay?” he murmured against your hair, keeping his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You gave a small shrug. “Getting there.”

Chris squeezed your shoulder gently, then pulled back with a crooked smile. “Good. You know we’ve got your back.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but then a knock at the door interrupted the conversation.

The sound made your chest seize up, your pulse stuttering like a skipped beat. You saw Claire glance at you, her face unreadable, and for a second it was just the two of you, a silent conversation passing between your eyes.

The door creaked open. And then, his voice.

“Hey, man.”

Low, rough, a little hesitant in a way you weren’t used to hearing from Harry.

You couldn’t see him from where you stood, but the sound of him hit you like a slow, searing burn you’d been trying to forget for days. That voice laced with its usual confidence now dulled by something none one could pick out in a crowded room, even if you tried not to.

Claire squeezed your hand once. “You want me to kick him out?” she whispered, only half-joking.

You gave a brittle little laugh, your throat tight. “No,” you murmured. “I’ll be fine.”

The truth was a more complicated, tangled thing, but you were done running your feelings.

Chris stepped aside to let Harry in, and you caught the edge of his tall frame, the dark sweep of his hair, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets like a man walking into a storm of his own making. His eyes landed on you almost immediately, like he couldn’t help it, and you felt the weight of them burning you.

He looked tired. The kind of tired that wasn’t from sleepless nights but a soul-deep weariness, the tiredness that came from a broken heart. And he held it together in front of the others, a practiced smirk flickering to life when Chris clapped him on the back.

But then his gaze found yours again, and the mask cracked, just for a second.

Claire glanced between you two, then cleared her throat. “Well,” she said brightly, like she was trying to cut through the unbearable tension, “who’s hungry?”

No one answered. Because now Harry was standing there like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to take another step. And you were standing there like your heart might break clean open if he did.

And the truth was, neither of you was really hungry for anything but the one thing you both kept pretending you didn’t still want. Each other.

Dinner was a strange, fragile thing.

The four of you sat around the table, a beautiful spread laid out like Claire always did, roasted vegetables, a bottle of wine already open, soft music playing low in the background. It should’ve felt normal. Familiar. But the air was thick with things unsaid, heavy with the weight of you and Harry sitting side by side.

You’d tried to angle for a seat across the table, but Claire, ever the meddler in the name of love, had pulled out the chair next to her, leaving only the one beside you open when Harry entered the room.

He slid into it without a word. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, his elbow brushing yours every time he reached for something. And each accidental graze felt deliberate, like a silent apology you refused to accept.

Chris was doing his best to fill the silence, launching into a story about some disaster at work Harry didn’t know that had happened, and Claire kept nudging you to eat, to drink, to smile. You managed a few polite laughs, but you could feel Harry’s eyes on you, stealing glances when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

At one point, when Chris went to refill the wine glasses and Claire disappeared to the kitchen for dessert, it was just you and him, the low hum of the music and the faint clink of silverware the only sounds.

Harry cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you were coming,” he said quietly, his voice rough.

You didn’t look at him. “Same.”

A beat of silence. Then, softer “You look beautiful.”

The words landed like a punch and a balm all at once.

You finally turned your head to meet his gaze. His face was open in a way you hadn’t seen in days. No smug grin, no cocky spark. Just the man you’d somehow let yourself fall for. Bare stripped open or you.

But before you could answer, Claire swept back in carrying a tray of chocolate cake, her voice loud and cheerful as she set it down, singing a tune you recognize.

“Okay,” she grinned, slicing into it, “I have an announcement.”

You blinked, forcing your eyes away from Harry, grateful for the distraction.

Chris’s face lit up. “Are you telling them now?”

Claire beamed and nodded. “We’re having a baby.”

The room burst into congratulatory shouts and laughter from you and Harry. Chris leaning over to kiss her, you getting up to hug her tight, pretending the burn behind your eyes was just happiness for them.

Claire clung to you for a moment longer than usual, like she sensed the ache beneath your smile but chose not to name it. When you finally pulled back, you wiped at your cheek with a laugh, blaming it on the wine and the news.

“That’s amazing, Claire,” you said, your voice thick but steady. “You’re going to be the best mother a baby could ask for.”

Claire’s grin softened into something gentler. “And you’ll be around, right? I mean… I’ll need you.”

“Always,” you promised, meaning it.

You settled back into your seat; your heart still heavy but warmed at the edges by her happiness. Harry’s eyes met yours across the table, something unreadable in them, and for a brief second, it felt like the room disappeared, like it was just the two of you again, in that frustrating, electric limbo you couldn’t quite seem to leave behind.

He smiled, small and almost sad, and you hated how your heart skipped for it.

“Congratulations, Claire,” Harry said, raising his glass, and his voice was softer than you expected. “You and Chris. You’re going to be incredible parents.”

Chris grinned, sliding an arm around Claire’s shoulders. “Thanks, man. Means a lot. I hope a raise now, Boss.”

The table broke into light laughter, Claire playfully swatting Chris’s arm.

“Oh my God, Chris,” she groaned, though she was smiling.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted his glass again. “You’ll have to fight the board for that one, but maybe I’ll put in a good word.”

Chris grinned like a kid who’d gotten away with something, and Claire leaned in to kiss his cheek.

The conversation moved on after that, baby names, nursery colors, Claire’s bizarre cravings already setting in, and you let yourself drift through it, contributing where you could, laughing when it was expected, but mostly trying to ignore the constant nuance of Harry’s presence beside you.

You became silent after that. You pushed your chair back quietly, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor a little louder than you intended.

Three pairs of eyes turned to you, but you kept your expression easy, giving them a soft smile.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice gentle, threading through the cozy warmth of the room. “I’m kind of wiped… it’s been a long week. I think I’m gonna head out now.”

Claire’s face immediately pinched in concern. “You sure? You can stay, crash in the guest room if you want—”

You shook your head, offering a small, reassuring smile. “No, it’s okay. I just… need a quiet night.”

Chris stood up to hug you. “Thanks for coming, really. Means a lot to us.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” you murmured, squeezing him back.

Claire wrapped you in a tight, lingering hug. “Text me when you get home, okay?” she whispered against your hair.

You nodded, your throat burning again. “I will.”

And then, you knew it would happen, and you tried not to look, but your gaze snagged on Harry as you stepped toward the door. He was already on his feet, watching you with that same quiet, wrecked expression he’d had all night.

You hesitated, then gave a polite, distant nod. “Good night, Harry.”

His jaw flexed. “Good night.”

You pushed your chair back quietly, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor a little louder than you intended.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the room felt heavier for a moment, like the air itself shifted. Claire stared after you, her smile gone, replaced with sharp, narrowed eyes. She turned toward Harry; her voice low but fierce, aching.

“What the hell did you do to her?”

Chris glanced between them, frowning. “Claire—”

“No,” she cut him off, not taking her eyes off Harry. “She came in here holding herself together with string, Harry. She barely spoke, barely smiled, and she left like she was running from something. And now I know it’s you.”

Harry’s expression didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked like someone already carrying the punishment she was trying to give. He set his glass down with a soft clink, the echo filling the space between them.

“I hurt her,” he said quietly.

“Then what are you doing here still?” she demanded, her voice gentler now, but no less cutting.

Harry looked at her, eyes rimmed with something real and so raw.

Claire softened just a fraction, giving a small, tired smile. “If I’m not wrong, she hasn’t left. She’s sitting on the stairs. I bet on that.”

Harry’s head jerked slightly at that, something sparking behind his eyes.

“Please, Harry,” Claire said, quieter this time. “Fix it.”

For a long moment, he just stood there, fingers flexing at his sides, battling whatever storm was churning in his gut. And then he moved, wordlessly, pushing back his chair and heading for the door.

Claire exhaled, leaning into Chris’s side as he watched Harry go.

“I swear to God,” she murmured, “I will make him go broke if he doesn’t fix this.”

Harry stepped out into the cool evening air, his pulse hammering in his ears. He moved toward the front steps, and sure enough, there you were.

Sitting there, arms wrapped around your knees, your head tilted back against the railing like you’d been holding back tears and now you were too tired to bother.

His chest cracked open at the sight.

“Hey,” he said, his voice breaking slightly around the word.

You didn’t look at him right away, just kept your eyes on the dark sky above, the cool air kissing your skin. The ache in your throat was sharp and stubborn, but you spoke anyway.

“You don’t have anyone else to bother?” you asked, your voice quieter than you meant it to be, but steady enough.

Harry let out a rough breath, shoving his hands into his pockets like a man who had no idea what the hell to do with them. He took a cautious step closer.

“No,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “I don’t.”

You finally turned your head, meeting his gaze. And God, the way he was looking at you.

Harry gave a small, rueful smile, stepping closer. “Can I sit next to you?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He eased down onto the steps beside you, close enough to feel the warmth of his presence but not so close that it made your heart race out of control.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched between you, comfortable and heavy all at once, but this was the normal.

The air was cold, and your bare arms tingled from the chill. Without a word, Harry slipped off his jacket and draped it gently over your shoulders. The fabric was warm, smelling like him and the unexpected gesture sent a small shiver down your spine. You glanced at him, surprised, but all he did was offer a quiet, timid, smile before turning his gaze back ahead.

“I feel so happy for Claire. I really do,” you murmured, your voice thin and uneven, eyes fixed on some distant point ahead, as if the darkness could offer answers, you hadn’t found yet. “She’s getting everything she ever wanted. The baby, the family, the life, and someone who loves her like that.”

Harry stayed quiet, not interrupting, just listening. It made it easier, somehow, like the words had been caged in your chest for too long and now, and now they could finally come out.

“And I’ll be there,” you went on, a humorless, soft laugh catching in your throat. “I’ll watch it happen. Watch them build a life, a family. And I’ll be happy for them because I am. God, I am. But it’ll still feel like losing her. Like, like I’m standing still, and everyone else keeps moving forward.”

You swallowed, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever have that,” you admitted, voice cracking around the words. “The baby. The house. The person who loves you like it’s a fact of the universe. Someone who chooses you every single day. I don’t know what’s wrong with me that I can’t get there. That I let people in, and they leave. And maybe it’s just… maybe it’s me.”

The ache in your throat burned and you pressed your hands together tightly in your lap to keep them from shaking. You could feel his gaze on you now, heavy, like it was stitching you together and unraveling you at the same time.

You turned your head to look at him, and for a moment the world shrank to just the two of you “And the moment I thought I met the perfect man…it turned out he wanted me to make his ex-girlfriend jealous.”

Harry flinched it, you saw it. The way his jaw tensed, the flicker of something sharp in his eyes, like your words had struck somewhere he wasn’t ready for.

He didn’t look away though. He stayed right there, his gaze locked on yours, the weight of it a little heavier now.

“I deserved that,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than before. “Every word of it.”

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. You hadn’t meant to spill it out like that, but once it started, you couldn’t stop.

“I kept telling myself I was fine with it,” you admitted, the words trembling out of you. “That it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t real after all. That I wasn’t… falling. But I was, Harry, I am, because you…you’re …because you’re the one I want,” you whispered, the words breaking at the edges like glass under pressure. “And I hate myself for it. For letting it happen. For hoping for something that was never mine to have.”

Harry’s eyes closed for a second, like the weight of your confession physically hit him. When he opened them again, they were shining with something raw, unguarded, and it stole the air right out of your lungs because he looked so vulnerable under your broken stare.

His shoulders sagged a little, like hearing that eased something in him. “I never came here just to get something from you. Yeah, I made a mess of it. I crossed lines. I confused you. But I kept coming because this place, you. You’re the only part of my life that feels like mine. Not my family’s, not some move, not something someone else expects from me. Just mine.”

The words settled between you like a secret too sacred for everyone else to hear. Your chest ached, your heart thrumming so loud you were sure he could hear it. You looked at him, really looked, the stubble on his jaw, the way his mouth trembled around the truth he was finally speaking.

“I don’t know how to be good at this,” he went on, his voice rough, cracking in places. “At… loving someone the right way. I don’t know how to love someone.”

You closed your eyes at that, standing up before he could break your heart.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, gentle but firm, halting you in place. The warmth of his touch seared through your skin like a brand, and your breath caught in your throat.

“Please don’t go,” Harry murmured, his voice so soft it was barely a sound. You didn’t dare turn around; afraid your resolve would crack the moment you saw his face.

“I can’t do this, Harry,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I can’t be the almost once again.”

Harry’s grip tightened just a little, not to keep you there, but like he needed to hold onto something real. His breath hitched, and for a moment he didn’t speak, like the words were too heavy in his chest, too tangled up in everything he’d never had the courage to say.

Then, finally, in a voice raw and aching, he said, “You’ve never been temporary to me. Not for a second. You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real, even when I tried to convince myself otherwise.”

Your heart clenched, and you felt your defenses crack, a splinter running right through you.

He stood up “The moment I laid my eyes on you at the wedding I could feel my heart stopping for a second because I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen,” Harry went on, standing there in front of you like a man unraveling at the seams. His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion, and his eyes never left yours. “And then you smiled and it was over for me” He ran a shaky hand through his hair, laughing softly, like he couldn’t believe he was finally saying it.

Harry took a breath like it hurt to hold it in any longer, his eyes shining in the dim light. “You came into my life so easily,” he said, his voice rough and low, as though the words had been waiting, buried in his chest for far too long. “Like you already belonged there. Like you’d always been meant to find me, even when I didn’t know I was lost.”

He shook his head, a fragile, almost disbelieving smile touching his lips. “You tugged on this string inside me, one I didn’t even know existed. Nobody’s ever found it before, no one’s ever known how. And it terrified me because I’ve spent so long building walls, convincing myself I didn’t need anyone. That love was nothing but a contract you could buy with money.”

His hand came up, hovering near your cheek, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to touch you yet, but God, he wanted to. “I don’t know how to love someone,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I’ve never been shown the kind that stays. The kind that’s safe. But with you, it doesn’t feel like something I need to run from. It feels like something I get to learn. Something worth learning.”

His throat worked as he swallowed hard, searching your face. “You make me want to be better. Not for anyone else, just for you. Because every time you laugh, every time you look at me like I matter, it makes me think maybe I’m not as lost as I thought I was.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Harry’s thumb brushed it away with the softest touch, his fingers trembling against your skin.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words carrying the weight of every unspoken feeling he’d buried for too long. “I love you in a way I didn’t think I was capable of. And I don’t want to spend another second pretending it’s anything less.”

A soft rain began to fall, delicate, almost hesitant drops that speckled the stone steps around you and clung to the edges of his hair. The air smelled clean, like earth and something new beginning, and for a moment neither of you moved, standing there in the quiet hush of it.

It felt like the perfect beginning of a story of love.

You felt your lips curve into a small, fragile smile. Not because the tiny pain wasn’t there anymore, it was, but Harry also was there and you couldn’t ignore that.

Your gaze met his, and the storm behind his eyes softened the moment you smiled. He let out a breath, one he’d clearly been holding for far too long.

“You have a terrible sense of time,” you murmured, a gentle tease in your voice, though your heart ached with how much you meant it.

Harry laughed, a soft, broken sound, his shoulders shaking. He loved that sound, “It honestly feels like the right moment.”

The rain came a little steadier now, but neither of you moved to leave. Instead, you stepped closer, closing the final inches between you. His jacket slipped from your shoulders, but before the chill could find you, his hands were there, one at your waist, the other brushing damp hair from your cheek.

“I want us to try something real. To get to know each other.” His thumb brushed your cheek, a tender, reverent touch, and you felt yourself lean into it before you even realized.

“I want to kiss you every single time I feel like it,” he went on, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes stayed serious. “Not just when it’s convenient for us, not when no one’s looking, but whenever it hits me how lucky, I am you even exist and that you chose me.”

You felt your breath catch, your heart stammer against your ribs.

“I want to spoil you rotten,” he added softly. “Take you out, bring you flowers for no reason, hold your hand at the movies, listen to you rant about work, kiss you stupid when you’re in a bad mood. I want to be the one you call when you’re excited, when you’re scared, when you just need someone. I want to be yours; you still want me.”

The rain drummed gently around you, the world shrinking to the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands and the aching swell of your heart out of the happiness you were feeling.

You smiled, a real one this time, wide and aching and a little disbelieving, and let your hand slide to the back of his neck, pulling him down just enough to close the last space between you.

“Then kiss me, Harry,” you whispered, your lips brushing his. “And don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

tags:

@jasminedragoon @stcrrjoon @sptbear @picketniffler @greenwitchfromthewoods @fallout-girl219 @suzysface @aomi-recs @capuccinodoll @fvispunk @orcasoul @joeldarling @mystickittytaco @onlythehobi @darkheartgatita @isabella-rose-trastamara @spencercmlover @brittmb115 @correapunk @aomi-nabi @annulmaelae @32-flavors @berriesarepunk @joelmillerpascal

@lotusbxtch @dean-and-baby343 @pedrofan @hisuccubus @daryltwdixon @sourrollercoaster @holholliday @loveisacowboyyy

@hhallefuckinglujahh @primadonnasdream @chewie-bars @starstriker027 @glitterspark @casualbananapatrol @06nasyrah13

@unicornsandpugs @orcasoul @grayandthyme @sincerelywithheartt @starstriker027 @poor-unfortunate-soul9927

@ro-nahime-things @kimi01985 @pastelpinkflowerlife @isabella-rose-trastamara @majuia

[fvispunk]

*plays foolish one”

I love this so much

"whatever you'd like us to be" | part 3

harry castillo (materialists) x fem!reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: the one where you and harry have your first fight.

w.c: 5,7k >

warnings: age gap (harry is 45, reader is 29-30), fake dating, fluff, angst, miscommunication. a lot of kissing for two people who are just pretending to date. me, and that's the biggest warning.

A/N: Hi! I wanted to share a brief update with you. This one was fun to write, but at the same time, it feels like coming back to my angsty roots. The game between them is getting too real now. I was thinking about that specific Pedro's fit, that green shirt and bye. Your reblogs and comments mean a great deal to me, so please don't hesitate to share your thoughts, as I truly enjoy reading them. Thank you so much, and happy reading!

Remember, I now have an AO3 account, where I'm also posting the chapters.

The moment Harry’s lips brushed yours again, softer and more insistent this time, something in you just cracked.

You started laughing out of nowhere.

It bubbled out of your chest before you could stop it, and you felt him freeze for a second, pulling back just enough to frown playfully down at you.

“Are you—are you laughing right now?” he asked, one brow arched, trying so hard to look offended, but the corners of his mouth were already twitching.

You pressed a hand to your face, shaking your head as you kept giggling. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why. I think I’m just—” you gasped between laughs, “I’m tired and this whole ridiculous night and… you… and your face when you kissed me like we’re in the middle of a movie...”

“Wow,” Harry muttered, crossing his arms, pretending to be wounded. “My face?”

You doubled over in laughter then, the sheer absurdity of everything hitting you at once. And when you glanced up again, he was laughing too, shaking his head, his hand on his chest like he was genuinely offended but absolutely not.

“I swear to God,” he grinned, pointing at you, “you are magical.”

“I know,” you managed between breathless laughs. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

He moved closer, eyes soft, and without thinking twice, he kissed the tip of your nose.

And you laughed again.

And so did he.

Something broke. Perhaps the wall used as limit between the both of you, perhaps the fear. You had no clue. But all of this…You had no idea how to stop a feeling that had came in a natural way.

You were addictive to Harry in a way he could had never imagined.

And Harry? Harry was the kind of love you had always dreamed of.

After the both of you had stopped laughing. He glanced at you, longer than it was needed.

“Can I use your bathroom?” he asked, brushing up the warmth that tinted his cheeks in red color.

You gave a soft laugh as you stepped aside to let him in. “Yeah, it’s down the hall, first door on the left.”

Harry grinned, brushing past you just close enough to make your heart stutter in your chest again. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, trying and failing to fight back the smile tugging at your lips as he disappeared down the hall. The door clicked shut, and you exhaled a long, shaky breath, leaning your back against the wall for a second.

What the hell are you doing?

This was supposed to be fake. Safe. A harmless deal to get people off your backs, not stolen glances and soft kisses and him making your heart trip over itself like some idiot in a bad rom-com.

And now he was in your apartment. Using your bathroom. Like he belonged there. In the space of your life.

You pushed off the wall and wandered into the tiny living room, absently tidying the already tidy throw pillows, too aware of your own reflection in the dark window, the faintest hint of a blush still on your cheeks.

A moment later, the bathroom door creaked and Harry’s voice floated out.

You didn’t even realize how heavy your eyelids had gotten until you felt yourself sway a little on your feet. The adrenaline, the tension of the night, it all hit you at once like a wave you couldn’t fight anymore.

Without thinking, you made your way to your bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to take off your heels or fix the way your dress twisted awkwardly around you. One of your heels dangled off your foot while the other was half-planted on the floor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The soft, familiar comfort of your mattress felt like heaven after this night.

Somewhere in the haze between awake and sleep, you heard footsteps. A familiar scent, something like clean cedar and warmth, surrounded you as Harry appeared in the doorway.

You barely cracked one eye open, your voice a lazy, mumbled whisper.

“How many hours were you there?”

He huffed a soft laugh, moving closer. “I was in there like for five minutes.”

You let out a weak, sleepy little laugh, eyes falling shut again as you murmured, “Felt like hours.”

Harry crouched down beside the bed, his hand gently brushing your arm, careful, tender. “Hey, do you want to change out of this dress? Or are you committing to this look for the night?”

You smiled; eyes still closed. “Committing.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a stray piece of hair off your face, and you felt the mattress dip slightly as he sat on the edge.

“You have those tiny soaps in your bathroom.”

You laughed. “Hey, those came in a gift basket! And they smell amazing, don’t lie.”

Harry huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as his arms slid beneath you, one around your back and the other under your knees, effortlessly lifting you a few inches off the bed.

“Let’s change you into your pajamas,” he murmured, a teasing edge in his voice. “Okay?”

Your eyes fluttered open just enough to smirk at him. “I sleep naked,” you joked, your words slow and slurred with exhaustion but your grin entirely smug.

He groaned, his head dropping for a second against your shoulder as he let out a laugh. “Oh, shut up,” he muttered, the warmth of his breath brushing against your neck, making your skin tingle.

“Not my fault you’re the one insisting on taking care of me” you teased softly, letting your head fall against his shoulder as he sat you up.

He grabbed one oversized sleep shirt from the edge of your bed that he supposed it was your pajama. The soft fabric smelled a little like laundry detergent and you, your perfume. A scent he had found himself becoming addicted to. He held it up for you to see it.

“Will this do?”

You grinned; eyes half-lidded as you reached out for it. “That’s my pajama.”

Harry helped tug the dress’s zipper down, averting his eyes with dramatic over-the-top modesty as if was fighting looking at the bare skin in front of him, though the faint smirk on his face betrayed him.

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, pulling the sleep shirt over your head.

“If you say so,” he replied, tossing your dress onto the nearby chair before helping you lay back down properly, your head hitting the pillow with a sigh of relief.

He draped the blanket over you and lingered for a second, his fingers brushing your cheek.

“You, okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded, the words caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. All you managed was a quiet, honest, “Yeah.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, then crouched down beside the bed, his face so close to yours you could see the stars inside those brown eyes even in the dim light.

“Do you want me to take your makeup off?” he asked gently, his voice barely a murmur like he was afraid to break whatever strange, delicate thing had settled between you both tonight.

You huffed a quiet, amused breath, your lips curling up. “You offering spa services now, Harry?”

He grinned, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Full package, sweetheart. No extra charge.”

You laughed, something soft and weightless in your chest, and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

He stood and disappeared into your bathroom for a second, coming back with a makeup wipe he must’ve found in one of the drawers. He knelt beside you again and carefully started wiping away the makeup from your skin, slow, tender strokes that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t fully understand.

Neither of you spoke. The room was quiet except for your steady breaths and the soft drag of the wipe against your skin.

“You’ve got no idea how beautiful you look like this,” he murmured, almost to himself, like it wasn’t meant to slip out.

Your eyes fluttered open to look at him, and for a second, you didn’t have it in you to tease him.

“Harry…”

He met your gaze, his expression open and raw in a way you hadn’t seen before. Like the carefully crafted version of him that belonged to the world out there didn’t exist in here, in your tiny apartment.

“I’m sorry for tonight,” he said again, his hand brushing a thumb over your cheek. “For being a selfish prick.”

Your heart ached and melted in the same beat. You caught his hand in yours, holding it there.

“I’m still mad,” you whispered. “But you are everything but a selfish prick” you smiled at him.

Harry let out a soft, breathless laugh, the kind that sounded like it surprised even him. His shoulders dropped a little, like the weight he’d been carrying all evening loosened just enough to breathe.

“You’re dangerous to me, you know that?” he murmured, eyes flickering between yours and your mouth like he was fighting the urge to kiss you again. “I come here thinking I’m the one calling the shots and you… you wreck me that easily.”

You grinned, your thumb absently brushing over the back of his hand. “Good.”

He chuckled, leaning his forehead gently against yours, his free hand cradling the side of your face. The warmth of him so close, the soft, unguarded way he was looking at you, it made your heart stumble in your chest.

He placed a kiss on your cheek “Thank you for blessing my life with your light.”

You chuckled, “Goodnight, Harry.”

His smile softened, something almost reverent in his gaze as he whispered back, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, his hand still against your face, your fingers tangled with his. And then, like he didn’t quite want to let go, he gave your hand one final squeeze before slipping away, turning off the bedside lamp and letting the soft hush of the room wrap around you both.

Even in the dark, you could sense him looking your way one last time.

And just before sleep pulled you under, you heard his voice, low and rough and meant only for you.

“Sweet dreams, my treasure.”

During the Saturday midday, the lunch rush was starting to pick up, the warm hum of conversation blending with the whir of the espresso machine and the occasional clang of cups against saucers. You were halfway through rattling off instructions to Mia and Celine about restocking the pastries when the bell above the door chimed.

“Mia, make sure we’ve got enough croissants for the next hour, and double-check the almond ones, they’ve been flying out.”

She nodded, jotting it down on her little notepad. You turned to Evan, pointing toward the register.

“Ev, can you handle the front while I—”

And then you saw Harry.

Standing in the doorway of your coffee shop like something straight out that movie scene you would’ve rolled your eyes at any other day. Hair a little messy fresh out the shower, sunglasses perched on his head, that infuriatingly perfect green shirt with his collar, unbuttoned.

Your heart stuttered so hard you were half-convinced everyone might’ve heard it.

He spotted you instantly, his whole face changing the second his eyes landed on yours, softening, his mouth curving into that boyish, slightly crooked smile that did terribly inconvenient things to your stomach and set your belly on fire.

You swallowed, blinking like you were trying to ground yourself, still holding the half-empty tray of muffins in your hands.

“Uh…Ev, cover me for a second, yeah?”

You barely waited for Evan’s distracted “Yeah, boss, got it” before making your way toward the front.

Harry leaned against the counter, as casual as if he hadn’t nearly broken and mend your heart last night, as if he belonged in this little world of yours.

“Hey, trouble” he greeted softly, his voice a touch rough around the edges, maybe nerves, maybe lack of sleep, maybe… something else.

You crossed your arms, trying for composed and unimpressed, though your pulse was doing its own thing entirely.

“Didn’t expect to see you here at this hour,” you said, arching a brow.

“I didn’t come here for the coffee today,” he replied, that small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He glanced around the place like it was the first time he’d really seen it. Then his gaze settled back on you, they even darkened a little.

“Came for you.”

“Harry, I know I’m the boss here, but I’m working.”

Harry chuckled softly, leaning a little closer across the counter, his voice dropping to that familiar teasing murmur only meant for you.

“Yeah? Well, I’m on my break,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, biting down a smile you weren’t about to let him fully see. “You don’t work here, Harry.”

“Details.” He shrugged, shameless, that playful gleam in his eyes making your pulse skip again. “Can’t a man visit the woman who’s been haunting his thoughts since she kicked him out of her apartment last night?”

You sighed, shaking your head as you grabbed a clean rag and started wiping down the counter just to give your hands something to do.

“I didn’t kick you out,” you mumbled.

“You practically tucked me in and sent me home,” he shot back, grinning wider when your cheeks gave you away, warming with color. “Which was admittedly very adorable, by the way.”

“Harry…” you warned, though the edge in your voice was soft, barely there.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, but his expression sobered, that teasing edge melting into something gentler.

“I just wanted to see you,” he said, quieter now. “Make sure we’re… okay. And if it takes me ordering a dozen pastries to keep you standing here a few more minutes, I’ll do it.”

You glanced at him, his eyes open and sincere in a way that tugged at something deep inside you. The little hum of the shop around you faded for a second.

“I’m mad.” you muttered, not quite able to hide the softness behind it.

But harry completely ignored you, “Hey, Mia, right? May you take my order, please?” he asked, leaning casually on the counter.

Mia blinked, cheeks a little pink. “Uh—y-yeah, of course! What can I get for you?”

You crossed your arms, arching a brow. “Harry…” you warned.

He shot you a sidelong glance, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Since the boss is too busy to serve me,” he teased, “I’ll have whatever pastry she makes best. And a vanilla late. Extra hot.”

Mia gave you an uncertain look, like she wasn’t sure if she was about to get in trouble or win employee of the month. You sighed dramatically, shaking your head.

“It’s fine, Mia. I’ll get it.”

Mia gave a little relieved laugh and stepped aside.

Harry straightened up, that smug grin still in place. “See? Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“I fucking hate you,” you muttered under your breath, ducking behind the counter, grabbing a fresh pastry from the display like you weren’t internally melting under the weight of his gaze.

Harry chuckled, following your movement with a lazy, satisfied kind of grin. “You keep saying that, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning his elbows on the counter to watch you work. “But somehow, you keep feeding me.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, plating the pastry with a little too much force. “That’s called customer service, asshole.”

“Mmm, sure it is.” He grinned wider, tilting his head. “You always call your customers assholes?”

“Only the ones who deserve it.” You slid the plate toward him with a sharp little smirk.

Harry reached for it, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. His voice dropped low enough that only you could hear.

“At least, I’m your favorite?”

Your stomach flipped. Damn him. And you hated how easy it was for him to do this, to walk in here like he owned the place, like last night hadn’t left your heart in knots.

You sighed, shaking your head with a helpless, reluctant smile as you handed him his coffee. “Don’t push your luck.”

You watched him casually grab a seat near the window, his posture relaxed but somehow still commanding the whole space. From behind the counter, you caught glimpses of him making calls, occasionally typing on his phone, all while seeming completely at ease in your little shop.

Evan sidled up beside you, elbow resting on the counter with a knowing grin. “You know, boss, you’ve been staring at him for like ten minutes.”

You rolled your eyes, hoping your face wasn’t too obvious. “I’m not staring.”

“Sure, you’re not,” Evan teased, voice dropping as if sharing a secret. “Boss, you’re practically drooling.”

You shot him a warning glare and quickly turned back to the orders piling up, but you couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through your chest every time you caught Harry’s gaze, even if he didn’t know you were watching.

An hour slipped by. The midday rush had died down, and you were finally catching your breath when the bell above the door chimed.

You didn’t think much of it at first, just another customer, until you looked up, and your stomach did a full somersault.

Harry’s mom and his sister.

Walking into your coffee shop like as it they had picked your café as their weekly meeting place.

Your eyes widened so fast you were sure everyone in the place could hear your heart slamming against your ribs. You felt the unmistakable heat crawl up your neck and into your face, and Evan, ever the menace, leaned in with a smirk.

“Oh my God,” he whispered under his breath. “Boss, you’re so red.”

You sent daggers to him, and he immediately backed up.

Harry looked up from his phone, and the second he saw them, a grin spread across his face, but not before his gaze flickered toward you. Like he already knew this was going to fluster you, and maybe… enjoyed it just a little too much.

Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to take a deep breath, wipe your palms on your apron, and walk over to their table like you weren’t internally debating sprinting out the back door.

Harry was already smirking when you reached them, one arm slung casually over the back of his chair, the other nursing a cup of coffee he hadn’t even touched.

His mom spotted you first, and her whole face lit up like she’d just run into a long-lost friend.

“Darling!” she exclaimed, rising slightly from her seat as if to greet you properly. “How are you?”

And if that wasn’t bad enough, his sister, sitting across from her, grinned like she’d just been let in on the world’s juiciest secret.

You swallowed hard, your voice wobbling only slightly.

“I’m good, thank you. Um—how are you both?”

Harry’s mom reached out, catching your hand in hers with so much tenderness.

“Oh, so much better now that we finally get to see your place! It’s adorable, just like Harry said it was.”

You blinked, side-eyeing Harry, who had the audacity to wink at you.

You cleared your throat, trying to remember how words worked.

“Uh—thank you. Really. And it’s nice to see you again, Liz.”

Liz leaned her elbow on the table, chin propped in her hand as she grinned up at you.

“You’re even prettier in daylight. And honestly, we’ve been dying to try this coffee ever since someone wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

You felt your face burn again, and somewhere behind you; Evan coughed a laugh.

“I—uh—I’ll get you both something,” you stammered, retreating a little. “On the house.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to—”

“No, it’s fine. Really.” You flashed the politest, not-at-all-panicking smile you could manage before turning and practically speed-walking back behind the counter.

As soon as you were out of earshot, you slapped Evan on the arm. “Don’t. Say. A word.”

He just grinned. “I didn’t have to. Your face did all the talking.”

You didn’t even look back at the table as you practically dove into your tiny office behind the counter, shutting the door and leaning against it like it might protect you from the whirlwind Harry Castillo had just dragged into your coffee shop.

Your pulse was still racing, your stomach a tangled knot of nerves and frustration. God, you could kill him. Who just shows up in your work unannounced, plants himself there like he owns the place, and then drags his mom and sister in like it’s some casual brunch meet-and-greet?

You hated how easily he made himself at home in your world. Hated that your heart still fluttered like some reckless idiot at the sight of him.

A knock came at the office door a moment later before Evan let himself in, carrying a tray of two iced lattes and a pastry.

“Don’t stab me,” he said lightly, setting them down on your desk. “I come in peace. And with gossip.”

You gave him a look. “What now?”

Evan smirked. “Harry Castillo asked for you.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him you were in your office. Which is true.” He shrugged, then grinned. “He looked kinda bummed. Poor guy. Big bad finance guy being iced out by the boss lady.”

“Good,” you muttered, plopping down in your chair and scowling at the door. “He deserves to be bummed. Who the hell does this, Evan? Who brings his family without warning? I can’t—” you gestured vaguely to the air, “—do this. I didn’t sign up for… whatever the hell this is.”

Evan sat on the edge of your desk, one brow arched. “I thought you knew them already?

You glared at him. “I do. But it’s not that simple.”

“Mmm,” Evan hummed knowingly. “Sure seems like it should be. But hey — for what it’s worth? His mom and sister seem pretty crazy about you.”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the chair. “I’m going to throw him out the second I step out there.”

Evan patted your shoulder. “I’ll light a candle for him.”

And with that, he grabbed the empty tray and sauntered back out, leaving you alone in your storm of tangled feelings.

The worst part? A small, traitorous part of you didn’t want Harry to leave your side.

A few minutes later, another knock came at the door, but this one was softer. You huffed out a breath, assuming it was Evan again coming back to poke the bear.

“Evan, I swear to God—”

The door cracked open, and it wasn’t Evan.

Harry peeked in, his stupidly handsome face cautious and unapologetic. His hair a little mussed like he’d been running his hand through it, he was nervous. The moment your eyes met his, your heart betrayed you with a sharp, uninvited thud.

“Hey,” he said quietly, lingering in the doorway. “Can I…?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, giving him a pointed glare. “I’m working.”

“I know,” Harry murmured, stepping inside anyway and closing the door behind him. “Just… needed a minute.”

You didn’t say anything, just watched as he shifted his weight awkwardly, his confidence from earlier stripped down to something more vulnerable.

“I didn’t mean to blindside you,” he went on, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t thinking. My mom and Liz just… they were nearby and wanted to stop by, and it was a dumb call not to ask you first. I’m sorry.”

You wanted to stay mad. You really did. But his voice had that unguarded edge again, the same one from your apartment last night, and it made it so damn hard.

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “You’re breaking all the rules again.”

He smiled faintly, a shadow of the cocky grin you knew. “Yeah… I figured.”

You sighed, your walls crumbling just a little. “You can’t keep doing this, Harry. You can’t drop into my life whenever you feel like it and drag your whole world with you. I’m not some accessory you can introduce like a prop. I’m… me. This is my place. My job. My people. Whatever mess we have, that’s outside and just for pretending, so stop playing with me.”

Harry’s grin faltered, and for a second, you saw it, the flicker of guilt, of something raw and sincere beneath the charm he wore like armor.

“I’m not playing with you,” he said, voice low, steady in a way that made your pulse stutter. “I swear to God, I’m not. I… I get it, alright? I’ve been a selfish bastard about this, about us, if there even is an us, and I keep showing up without thinking how it affects you. That’s on me.”

You kept your arms crossed, every word digging under your skin because part of you wanted to believe him and another part didn’t know if you should.

“Harry, this was supposed to be fake. A plan. A harmless distraction to piss off an ex and get your ego stitched back together. I never signed up for this.”

“I know,” he breathed, his hand dragging through his hair like he was trying to pull himself together. “I swear it wasn’t planned. I wasn’t thinking. I just… fuck, I wanted to see you.”

Your throat tightened painfully, because damn it, this wasn’t supposed to hurt like this.

He took a careful step forward, closing the space between you. His voice softened, the way it did when it was just you and him, stripped of every audience, every performance.

“Let me be part of your life, as a friend at least.” he admitted. “

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I know.”

You sighed, the last of your walls giving way, exhausted from holding them up for so long.

“Fine,” you muttered.

The clocked marked eight p.m. The sun had set a long time ago and you had sent Evan, Celine and Mia home, promising you were going to be in charge of closing the shop tonight. You were wiping down the last table, the chairs already stacked, your playlist of soft acoustic covers playing low in the background.

The bell above the door jingled softly, and even without looking up, you knew it was Harry.

It was getting late, the street outside quieting down, the golden glow of your café’s hanging lights reflecting off the glass.

You sighed, a tired smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you straightened up and turned to the door.

There he was, in the same outfit as before, hair a little messy, two brown paper bags in his hands. His smile was small, almost sheepish this time.

“I brought peace offerings,” he announced softly, lifting the bags.

You crossed your arms, trying your best to look unimpressed, though the warmth blooming in your chest made it difficult.

“It’s late,” you said, glancing at the clock. “Kitchen’s closed. Staff’s gone. You should be, too.”

“I know,” he replied, stepping fully inside, letting the door fall shut behind him with a soft click. “But you weren’t answering my texts, and I figured you’d still be here. You always stay up late.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Harry shrugged with a crooked grin, setting the bags down on one of the tables you hadn’t cleared yet.

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched up. “What’s in the bags?”

“Pasta,” he grinned, opening one to reveal takeout containers from that hole-in-the-wall place you’d dragged him to once and swore by. The kind of place no one would guess a guy like him would even step foot in. “And wine but technically not, since you get a bit tipsy.”

You tried not to melt, but damn it, it was getting harder. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grinned, pulling out two forks and waving one at you. “

You sighed, dropping the rag on the counter and walking over, the exhaustion of the day settling heavy in your bones, but somehow, seeing him here, looking at you like you were the only thing in the room, made it all feel a little easier to carry.

“Thank you” you melted, sitting across from him as he started unpacking the food.

His smile softened, and this time it wasn’t cocky, wasn’t teasing.

“Do you have glasses?” he asked, looking around.

“No, but I have two mugs inside my office” you replied, walking towards there.

Then you came back with the two mismatched mugs from your office, one with a faded Central Perk logo, the other a plain white one you’d meant to replace for months. Harry grinned when he saw them.

“Classy,” he teased softly, but you caught the fondness in his eyes as he took them from your hands.

“Shut up. It’s all we have,” you smirked, leaning your hip against the counter as he unscrewed the cap of the bottle and poured the deep red liquid into each mug.

The café was so quiet now, just the soft hum of the fridge in the back, the faint music still playing, and your heartbeat hammering too loud in your ears as he stood so close. His shoulder brushed yours, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

Then, you felt him stiffen, his hand pausing mid-pour as if some invisible current passed between you. He turned his head, his gaze locking with yours.

And before you could even take a breath, his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t careful this time. It wasn’t the testing, uncertain kind of kiss you’d shared in the middle of that party, or the hesitant one in your apartment. This was desperate, unspoken words crashing into each other. You melted instantly, your hands fisting in the front of his shirt as he stepped into you, deepening the kiss like he’d been starving for it.

Your back hit the counter, and in one easy move, he lifted you up onto it, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to keep him close.

He broke the kiss for a fraction of a second, both of you breathless. His forehead pressed against yours, his hands gripping your thighs like he wasn’t sure if he should be apologizing or saying something else entirely.

“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he murmured.

Your lips curved into a smile, catching your breath. “Break the rules?” you asked.

“Oh, shut up for once,” Harry grinned against your mouth before kissing you again, slower this time, like he was savoring it, like you were the only thing in the world worth tasting.

His lips trailed down to your jaw, his hand cradling the back of your neck as he pressed gentle kisses there, then to the hollow just beneath your ear. You let out a soft breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he moved lower, the scrape of his stubble against your skin making your stomach flutter.

“God, you drive me fucking insane,” he murmured against your neck, his words a little slurred from the wine and whatever spell was holding the two of you there, alone in the dark café. “I swear… Lucy had no—”

And you froze. Like ice water down your spine.

Your whole body tensed; your hands stiff against his chest. You felt it, felt the air shift between you like a thread snapping.

“What?” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him.

Harry blinked, realizing what he’d let slip. His face paled, his mouth opening, closing like he couldn’t figure out which words to reach for.

“Wait... I didn’t—”

But it didn’t matter. The crack in the moment was already there, and you felt the ache blooming in your chest.

You slid off the counter, untangling yourself from his hold.

“Get out, Harry.”

“Hey—hey, no, listen to me—”

“I said, get out.” Your voice shook, but you kept your chin up, kept your heart from spilling out right there on the café floor. “Take your dinner, take your wine. And leave.”

He stepped closer; his face was pained. “It’s not what you think—”

“No, Harry,” you cut him off, voice steady now, sharp in a way you didn’t even feel anymore. “For once… don’t break the rules. Just go.”

And you turned your back on him. Because if you didn’t, you knew you wouldn’t be able to.

Harry stood frozen for a heartbeat, watching you turn away like you were slipping through his fingers. The sound of the mug tapping softly against the counter was like a breaking point.

“Please,” he whispered, voice raw.

“I said out!” you raised your voice, words came out sharper than intended, slicing through the heavy, aching silence of the empty café. Harry flinched like you’d actually struck him, his shoulders tensing, jaw clenching as he looked down at the floor.

“I get it,” he said quietly, his voice rough, almost hoarse. “I fucked up.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat was too tight, your hands shaking just enough that you had to brace them against the counter.

Harry lingered there for a beat longer, like he wanted to fight for the right to stay, but knew he didn’t have it.

Your stomach twisted, some awful bit of anger, hurt, shame and the sharpest pull of affection you weren’t ready to admit.

The door opened, a cool gust of night air rushing in as he stepped outside. He glanced back once, his gaze catching yours, and the look on his face damn near shattered you.

Then he was gone.

And God, you felt so foolish, still waiting for confessions of love that never would come.

You felt stupid to even think that a man like him could have fallen in love with you.  

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[fvispunk]

LLAMEN A DIOS

POR QUÉ ME LASTIMAN ASI? 😭

(me encanta)

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 9: Hurt

prev chapter series masterlist next chapter

Chapter Summary: Is love enough to overcome everything? -Yes. How? -No. Why? Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 9,8k, ANGST (sorry for that), love, feelings, fluffy, rom-com, lust, passion, dirty talk, love triangle, intrigue, mention about death. authors note: I used Spanish and Italian language in some parts, I'm sorry if I made mistake, I'm still a learner. Feel free to warn me guys :) Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

“Baby, just try to breathe.” 

That was the third time Harry had said it as you both stepped out of the car, holding hands while walking up to the mansion. But despite his reassurance, your nerves were still going wild. 

Excitement mixed with anxiety as the weight of the moment settled in; you were about to meet your boyfriend's mother. Your mind raced with questions, each one jostling for attention like cars on a racetrack.

No, don’t think about cars, you reminded yourself.

You didn’t want to make a strange first impression by mentioning things like what men typically like. The last thing you wanted was for your future mother-in-law to think you were odd.

Mother-in-law.

That thought made you grin a bit. 

Suddenly, you felt Harry’s lips on your temples, and you turned to him in surprise. “You looked like you needed that,” he said with a grin, wrapping his arm around your waist and leading you toward the door.

He was right; the kiss worked wonders. You gazed at the grand historical mansion in front of you, located in Brooklyn Heights, not too far from the bridge. It was surprisingly close to your and Zoe's apartment in Dumbo. Considering the Castillo family's wealth, you were taken aback to learn his mother lived here. On the way over, Harry had mentioned that his mother had faced a trauma that kept her from leaving the house for years. That made you feel a wave of empathy as you anticipated meeting her. Taking a deep breath, you tightened your grip on Harry's hand while clutching the bag of pastries and pie you had prepared all morning.

“Mr. Castillo, it’s great to see you again.” 

An older guy opened the door, greeted Harry, and welcomed both of you in with a warm gesture. Stepping inside, the spacious reception hall welcomed you with its grandeur. The staircase twisted in multiple directions, adorned with wrought iron balustrades and floral designs. While you admired the surroundings, Harry helped you remove your coat before doing the same for himself, handing them to the man. 

“This way,” he said, guiding you gently toward a large hall on the right with his hand resting on your back. 

“Master Harry!” A woman in her sixties approached you, arms wide open and wearing a big grin. Dressed casually, her accent clearly revealed her Latin roots. 

“How are you, Sofia?” Harry asked her. 

“I’m better now that I’ve seen you!” she replied, giving his arm an affectionate touch. 

Then, she turned her attention to you, her smile widening as she took in your appearance from head to toe. “Oh, Dios mío, qué mujer tan hermosa eres.” 

Nervously, you smiled. Your Spanish wasn’t great, but you grasped the compliment. “Muchas gracias,” you managed to reply. 

Her laughter rang out as she seamlessly switched back to rapid Spanish, leaving you a bit lost. You looked to Harry for help. “Sofia, could you please speak in English? I’m not sure she understands you,” he said to her.

“Oh, disculpa, señorita,” she said, looking at you, a bit embarrassed. “Mrs. Castillo is inside, waiting for you.” She took the bag from your hand and led the way. 

As you walked in, you whispered to Harry, “I really need to work on my Spanish.”

He chuckled lightly. “It’s not on you. Sofia’s English isn’t great, and she loves speaking her native tongue. Sometimes she talks so fast that even I can’t keep up.” 

“Oh yes, they’re here; I’ll call you later,” a voice came from the living room. When she hung up and turned around, you couldn’t help but admire her. She was a woman in her late sixties with short gray hair, stunning for her age. Honestly, she looked more like Harry's older sister than his mom. 

Her gaze focused on Harry, and a joyful tear sprang to her eye as a wide smile spread across her face. “Mi hijo!” They embraced tightly, and you felt a warm smile cross your lips as you watched them. She playfully punched Harry on the shoulder. “You’ve really been a bad son! Is your job more important than your old mama?” 

“Mother, must you embarrass me in front of my girlfriend?" he grunted.

Her gaze then shifted to you, prompting you to flash your most nervous smile. As her admiration deepened, you felt your cheeks heat up while she appraised you with a satisfied expression. “Oh, how beautiful you are!” she exclaimed, narrowing her eyes at Harry. “Now I see why you’ve been so busy.” 

Harry chuckled as he introduced you. 

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Castillo,” you said warmly, extending your hand. 

With a cheerful laugh, she shook your hand. “Oh, please, cariño, just call me Valeria.”

Sofia, the woman you met earlier, quietly stepped into the room and leaned in to whisper, her eyes sparkling with mischief as they both chuckled while looking at you. “Sofia says dinner’s ready; let’s head to the dining room,” Valeria announced, her gaze locking onto yours with intensity. Harry took your hand gently, and Valeria placed her hand reassuringly on your back. “Come on, sweetheart,” she invited with warmth.

Well, you hadn’t expected this kind of attention from Harry’s mom. She kept an eye on you until you were comfortably settled at the table. Harry pulled your chair out for you, sliding it in once you sat down, then took a seat right beside you. Valeria, at the head of the table, folded her hands and shot you a warm smile while Harry beamed with happiness as you two exchanged grins.

As dinner was served, Harry and Valeria chatted easily about work. When the conversation shifted your way, you answered every question honestly, sharing that your mom had passed away, your dad was living alone on your farm in Atlanta, and a bit more about your life. Valeria listened closely, her kind smile and supportive words making you feel at ease. When it was your turn to talk about your job—the part that made you the most anxious—Valeria surprised you. “Don’t feel ashamed, honey. This job is one of the toughest out there. People can be awful, but you’re amazing and hard-working, and you deserve more. Keep your head high; it’s the person who brings dignity to the job, not the job that brings dignity to the person.”

You recognized the quote. “Martin Luther King,” you said, smiling back in gratitude. "Thank you Valeria."

Harry then reached over the table to take your hand. “Actually, she’s done with that for now,” he said, looking deeply into your eyes. You smiled back. “Because I didn’t want her to wear out her beautiful, skillful hands,” he added, kissing your knuckles. A bit shy about the attention in front of his mom, you bit your lower lip and grinned nervously.

Valeria sipped her champagne, a playful smile lighting up her face. “Hmm, I sense a bit of ‘skillful’ in your tone, Harry.”

“She’s an incredibly talented bakery chef,” he proclaimed proudly.

"Um-" You were about to protest, but Harry continued, “You’ve got your certificate, love; it’s time to stop being modest. You’re officially a chef now,” he said with proud, prompting smiles between you.

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Valeria said excitedly.

“And this made by this lovely lady herself, Mrs. Castillo,” Sofia chimed in with a smile as she entered the room, serving the dessert you’d prepared and placing it in the center of the table.

“Ah, Sopapilla?” Valeria said, her eyes lighting up in delight.

“Harry mentioned it was your favorite, so I made it for you. I hope you like it,” you said, biting your lower lip.

Sofia drizzled honey over the cheesecake before serving Valeria, then Harry, and finally you. “My baby's been hustling in the kitchen all morning to make this,” Harry said, glancing your way as he took a bite of the cheesecake.

“Ah, this is absolutely delicious! The best sopapilla pie I’ve ever had. It’s fantastic!” Valeria exclaimed eagerly, savoring another forkful.

“Thanks, I’m so glad you like it,” you said happily, relieved.

“I loved it, honey,” Valeria added, giving Harry a knowing look and then turning back to you. “It was really sweet of you to make this for me.”

As the evening went on, Harry shared stories about his family and showed you old photos in another room. He talked about his sister, who had passed away young due to a congenital disease, and how their mom struggled after that. He also shared the history of their home, which was built in the 1800s for a ship dealer and beautifully restored with modern touches after Harry’s dad immigrated from Mexico to New York. The house’s stunning design, with its vintage charm, offered breathtaking views of the city from the terrace, while the backyard was a serene escape, filled with plants, flowers, and dwarf trees, created since his mom couldn’t go outside anymore. It was a beautiful house, especially seeing it was where Harry grew up.

When you asked for permission to use the bathroom, Harry went to his mom. In the kitchen, he and Sofia were chatting about you.

“She’s got a pretty good figure,” Valeria giggled.

"And young too," Sofia said.

“Even better. Young enough to give me lots of grandchildren one day—hopefully.”

"Fingers crossed. Oh, Jesus, please hear our little prayers.”

They both raised their hands above as if praying, then laughed together.

Harry, hands on his hips, huffed in mock disapproval. “What kind of conversation are you two having about my girlfriend?”

Valeria took Harry's face in her hands and smiled warmly. “Harry, this girl is incredible. I was so nervous since it’s the first time you’ve brought someone home. But you really hit the jackpot! Don’t let her slip away; propose to her and put a ring on it! If you don't marry this girl, I'll beat the shit out of you regardless of your age,” she said, teasing.

Sofia chimed in with a laugh, “Last time you said that, Harry was only 19.”

They both shot her a look, and Sofia quickly looked away, focusing on her work.

“Mom, don’t worry. Even if she ever decides to leave me, I wouldn’t let her go. Besides, I was coming to ask you for your wedding ring.”

Valeria gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “Oh my! Are you really going to propose? Did you hear that, Sofia?”

Sofia clapped her hands excitedly. “Gracias Jesus! Finally, the moment you’ve been waiting for, Mrs. Castillo! God bless you, Harry,” her voice a little shaky from all the happiness.

Harry chuckled and then warned her, "Ssh, she will hear you."

“I thought you might never want that ring; thought it would just gather dust in the drawer,” Valeria said with a happy sigh. “Hold on, I’ll go get it for you.”

After Valeria left the kitchen, cheerfully murmuring to herself, Sofia turned to Harry. “I haven’t seen her this happy in ages, and neither have you. She was so down when you went to France, but now…” Her voice trailed off as tears welled up in her eyes. “Thank goodness for this moment; it’s such a blessing to see you both so blissful.” 

Harry grinned back at her, totally oblivious to the fact that you were walking back from the bathroom and could hear him in the hallway. “Thank you, Sofia. I promise it won't happen again; she’s been through enough. Now that I’ve found the one, we will create our happiness together, and nothing will stand in our way. I won’t allow it.”

You smiled, hoping for the same.

The first day of the fair arrived just a few days after you received your certificate and master’s license. The logo design for the booth, brochures, banners, and everything else was set to go. After much consideration, you, Harry, and Mia -who insisted strongly- finally settled on the brand name “The Vanilla Vine.” Since it was the weekend, Zoe joined you at the booth. Harry was the first to test the desserts and sweets you made, followed by Maria, Mia, and John.

The fairgrounds brimmed with a tapestry of colorful booths, filled with throngs of eager visitors. As the hours slipped by, more and more people gravitated towards your booth, captivated by the tantalizing aromas wafting from your offerings. Each smile and compliment filled your heart with joy, a testament to all the hard work you had poured into this endeavor. However, as the sun began to set, the fatigue began to settle in, weighing on your limbs. Harry, receiving an urgent call, excused himself and hurried off, leaving just you and Zoe to manage the dregs of the day. Thankfully, it turned out to be a way better day than you expected—almost everything was sold out before closing time.

As John and Zoe were heading home together, you waved goodbye to them before getting into the car that Harry had sent for you. You were so ready to get home, take a shower, and collapse in bed—exhausted from the long day of cooking and standing around.

You were yawning when the elevator dinged as it reached Harry’s penthouse. You swiped the card against the door lock and stepped inside, finding the lights off. Hadn't he come home yet?

“Harry?” you called out, but there was no reply.

Only stillness answered, prompting you to pull out your phone. A quick call confirmed he would be home in a few hours. Sighing, you wandered into the laundry room, shedding your clothes before heading into the bathroom for a hot shower. You tossed your well-worn cooking apron and the remnants of your day’s attire into the washing machine. The steam enveloped you as you stood under the warm water, washing away the fatigue, and afterward, you slipped into bed wearing only Harry’s bathrobe, far too worn and loose for you, but comforting nonetheless.

You fell asleep pretty much right away.

When you woke without opening your eyes, you felt the bed dip as he slid next to you, followed by a gentle pressure on your cheek. His familiar, masculine scent of cologne wafted through the air, and you felt the tickle of his mustache as he kissed your cheek.

“You awake, baby?” he asked softly.

Not quite opening your eyes, you mumbled sleepily, “You came.”

He wrapped his arm around you, burying his nose in your damp hair. "Sorry I'm late. A few things came up."

His tone urged you to open your eyes. “Is everything okay?” you asked, not turning to face him.

"A few setbacks, but I’ll handle it tomorrow. Don’t worry about it. How did things go after I left? Everything run smoothly?"

You released a sigh of relief. “Yeah, it was fantastic—everything sold out.” 

“They were all incredible. I’m not surprised at all. I’m so proud of you.”

“I couldn’t have succeeded without your support. Thank you for everything,” you murmured, turning to him.

He smiled wider, leaned down, and kissed you, his hand sliding under the collar of your robe, brushing your skin. “No underwear?”

You smiled at the thrill in his voice.

"I was so worn out to wear any. I still am," you murmured, turning onto your side and closing your eyes again teasingly.

Mischievously, he gathered your damp hair and slowly slid the robe down to your shoulder. He started placing soft kisses along your skin, moving to your neck. “I wonder how tired are you? Can you rate it for me?”

"I would rate it a solid 10 out of 10," you murmured again, trying to hide your amusement while content to enjoy his warmth.

“Hmm, that much? Well, can I have permission to fuck you while you sleep then, because I want you so bad.”

You turned to him lazily, your eyelids heavy. "Baby, I'm wiped."

He smiled mischievously and whispered into your face as he ran his lips along the edge of yours. "Hush, it's all right, love. Just stay still. I'll take care of you."

It was the first bit of excitement you felt, even though you were really tired, and you started to wonder if he was thinking about where to begin.

Damn.

The idea of him running his tongue over your skin was enough to make you wet. Drifting into consciousness slowly, you were enjoying the feel of being wrapped by his strong, warm arms. You stretched a little, toes pointed toward the end of the bed, and snuggled tighter into him.

However, his intention was not solely for cuddling.

His arm curved around you, slid a hand under the robe to cup your breast, gently pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. The stimulation made you gasp, the sensation blossoming out and down. 

You suddenly noticed that Harry still hadn’t taken off his shirt. Your hands searched for the hem clumsily, he laughed at your efforts. With a swift movement, he yanked off his black T-shirt and tossed it to the floor. His arm slipped around you from behind as his other hand skillfully pulled the robe off you. The scent of fresh soap from your skin reached him, he couldn’t help but touch you again, trailing his lips softly over your skin. Your hands found the waistband of his pants with a bit more ease this time, and as you tried to unbuckle them in the low light, you noticed that the thrill of the moment was making you feel surprisingly more alert and less tipsy. As you loosened the belt, he delightedly caressed your neck and collarbone, then between your breasts, using wet touches of his tongue and smiling as he tasted lavender off your skin.

But now he was feeling impatient.

Dangerously so.

He sat on the bed to remove his pants and left them to the same fate as his T-shirt, returning to the bed to kiss you passionately. You both moaned from the vibrating waves of the touch as he insistently thrust his tongue into your mouth. You felt a shiver run through you as you realized that the taste of his tongue and saliva revealed he had just knocked back a strong whiskey.

Irish.

Neat.

He must’ve had about four or five shots.

He always went hard like that whenever he was feeling stressed.

It was kinda wild and almost beautiful to understand him just by tasting him.

It felt like reading a book without even looking at the pages.

He was too, and he relished tasting you just as much. He felt the vanilla frosting of the cupcake you had just popped in your mouth before you got in the shower - the only thing left from the fair - on his tongue and he sucked so hard that you couldn't help pushing yourself against him, almost sitting up in bed. You held onto his shoulders and his hand, which was everywhere at that moment, began to caress your legs sweetly. With a swift movement he got rid of his underwear and got back to business.

He ducked his head, kissing his way slowly up your belly, over your ribs, finally taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking gently. "Oh," you gasp, bucking your hips against him. Harry released the tender nub and blew gently. His breath was hot against your wet, cool skin, making you writhe.

You groaned and arched your back, then leaned in to kiss him. His kiss was now slow and thorough. He moved his mouth over yours, drinking more while he groaned. He nudged your thighs apart with his knee, lowering his hips to grind his hard cock against your pussy. You spread your legs wider, bringing your knees up and hooking your ankles behind his back. You felt him reach down and slide his fingers between your folds to rub against your clit. He dipped two fingers inside you, moaning as he slid easily into your hot, wet pussy. He grinded his hips in time with the stroke of his fingers inside you, his cock hard and rough against your clit.

“Oh god Harry,” you moaned, watching him.

He looked up at you, eyes glistening in the dim light. His mouth quirked up at the corners into a half smile. "Feels good, baby?"

You ran your fingers through his hair, which looked really dark, almost black, in the dim light. "Yes, keep going please," you craved.

As you moved your hand down his forehead, you gently touched his face, trailing your thumb over his eyebrows and giving his cheeks and jawline a soft caress.Then, your fingers wove through his hair again, with your thumbs circling around the contours of his ears this time, he smirked, clearly enjoying it. You sit up to kiss him again, rocking your hips against his palm as he continued pumping his fingers inside of you.

A groan escaped from your lips as you came.

He then captured your mouth in a fervent kiss to swallow your loud moans, pulling his fingers out slowly. “So fucking hot,” he hummed then dipped his head down to kiss your neck, hands pulling at your hips, flipping you onto your stomach.

You buried your face into the pillow, groaning when you feel his cock against your ass. He kneads your ass, pulling your cheeks apart. You could feel his knees on either sides of your thighs. He kissed your back, sliding the head of his cock down low between your legs to rest against your pussy.

He slid inside of you so slowly that every nerve sings. It glided against the taught, wet muscles, stretching and pulling. Harry's hips come to rest against your ass as he buried himself inside of you. He pulled back, movements measured and deliberate. "God, you're so tight, every damn time," he groaned.

Bringing your ass up, you pushed against him, silently begging for more. He grabbed you, long fingers wrapping around your hips. He pulled back but only to push himself forcefully forward into you with a grunt. "Fuck, you're driving me crazy. I want to fuck you so hard."

“Yes, please,” you beg, voice party muffled by the pillow.

“You want it hard baby?” he asked, voice ragged almost begging for your confirmation.

“Yes,” the muscles in your abdomen shuddered and tighten with expectation.

And that was it.

He rocked his hips back, his forward thrust slamming inside of you, repeating the motion again and again, bed rocking, springs creaking slightly with the rhythm.

Gripping the sheets desperately, "Harry," you moaned, mewled and gasped, your own movements limited by the position. He leaned over you, lips pressing to your shoulders and the back of your neck, licking sucking, nibbling.

Pressing your ass up, you pushed down against the bed, breathless. Harry shifted, pulling out. You felt his cock, wet and hard, smack against your thigh. You got up onto your knees, turning to your lover. He took your breasts in his hands, kneading them, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples.

“Baby,” he whispered, dipping his head to kiss you. His lips were soft and part readily. You reached down, taking his cock in your hand which was slick from your pussy. You tightened your fingers around his thick shaft, stroking slowly. He moaned and shifted back, sitting against the headboard. Your body moved with him, lips pressed to his, stroking his cock in your hand.

Stretching his legs out, he pulled you into his lap, fingers digging into your ass. Never breaking the kiss, you tilted his cock up towards you, slowly lowering your hips onto him.

Harry groaned.

You spread your knees to either side of his hips, taking as much of his cock as you can before rocking your hips back, grinding your clit down against him. He broke the kiss, running his tongue down along your neck, nipping gently at the base, just above your collar bone. You set the pace, increasing the speed as you find your rhythm and the pressure started to build in your core.

“Harry,” you gasped, gripping his broad shoulders for leverage. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him. He slid his left knee up the bed shifting onto his side enough to drive his hips up into you, head bent as he panted.

Kissing the top of his head, you wrapped your arms around his neck, grinding yourself down onto him faster, gasping. His cock was hitting you just right, sliding against your right spot. The pressure built quickly, your movements becoming frantic.

“Come baby, I want to feel you come,” he rasped.

With a loud moan, you collapsed into him, eyes squeezed shut and head falling back. The deep sensation of pleasure blast through you, setting off a chain reaction of bliss. Your pussy clenched around him, muscles milking him.

With an impatient growl, he pushed you down onto the bed, pushing your knees out wide. His hips pounded into you, rocking you back and down against the mattress. He gasped and grunted, head down, lost in the sensation.

You brought your hips up, snapping them upwards quickly in time with his thrusts. Digging your nails into his ass, you pulled him into you, moaning soft encouragements.

He shuddered, groaning, collapsing onto you as he came hard. He tightened his arms around you, sliding his cock in slowly once, twice, until only his chest moves against you in time with his quick, ragged breaths.

You slid your hands up his back, the outlines of his arms, biceps like faint messages under your fingertips. Harry kissed your chest, letting out a long, shaky breath against your skin. "God, I love you so much," he said, still catching his breath. 

"I love you too Harry. So so much."

He lifted his head, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he gazed deeply into your eyes. Then, leaning in, he pressed his lips against yours for a slow, tender kiss.

In the morning, when Harry dropped you off at the convention center before work, he couldn't tear his eyes away from his phone. He was deep in a serious convo, his face all furrowed. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, but he wasn't sharing any details. Whatever it was, it felt like a dark cloud hanging over you both, even as he leaned in for that quick goodbye kiss before you left the car.

The second day of the fair turned out to be even busier than the first. You felt grateful that Zoe had taken time off from her job, as managing the booth alone was quite challenging. As much as you wanted Harry by your side, with his busy schedule, it was unreasonable to expect him to be there all day. Still, you couldn’t fault him; he had a lot on his plate at the company right now.

As the hours flew by, visitors showed a growing interest in the products at your stand. They kept asking about the shop, inquiring when it would open and expressing eagerness to visit, Zoe included.

“Have you signed the lease for the shop yet?” she asked while you arranged cupcakes on the display.

You replied, “Harry's a bit swamped at the moment, but we're just waiting to hear back from the shopkeeper about the lease terms.”

“Oh, I really hope everything goes smoothly. I can’t wait to be a waitress at your shop – my current boss is driving me crazy. He’s acting like I faked my sprained ankle to just chill on the couch all week or something,” she complained.

“What a jerk,” you said, frowning before a smile broke through. “I hope so too, girl.” You often daydreamed about the day when Zoe would be working alongside you as a waitress, serving customers the desserts you made while you managed the cash register, chatting with them and baking treats in your shop. That day didn’t seem so far off; it felt incredibly close.

You were on the verge of realizing your dream and had a wonderful boyfriend in your life. Everything was falling into place, and your life was almost perfect.

As you shared stories about how your dinner at Harry's mother's house went, two familiar faces approached your booth.

“Danilo! Bruno!” you exclaimed with excitement.

"Ciao, cara mia!” Danilo greeted you with a warm hug.

“I've missed you so much! How have you been?” you laughed, reminiscing.

“You won't believe it but Jack sent Melanie to a religious camp for young adults, and it’s been blissfully quiet at the manor. We're all finally finding some peace."

You sighed, “Damn it, Jack. He will never change.”

“Great boss, terrible dad,” he chuckled.

“Hmm, molto delizioso! Good job, cara mia,” Bruno chimed in as he sampled one of your cupcakes.

“I learned from the best,” you replied with a playful wink.

“I taught you well,” he grinned with pride.

Danilo let out an awkward laugh. “How can you claim that after just a few months? I’ve taught her countless tricks during our three years together, right, honey? I'm a master chef after all.” he said, narrowing his eyes.

You were about to respond when Bruno cut in again, “You mean a master chef at being jealous, Danilo? What she learned from me equates to five years of experience, not just three. I sped up her internship.” he added with a smug grin.

In that moment, the two began bickering in their native language. Zoe leaned closer to you. “Are they always like this?”

“I've seen them argue over the phone, but I’m shocked they are worse in person,” you chuckled.

By evening, you felt thankful for Danilo and Bruno’s company; their presence made the long day feel more bearable. You checked your phone but found no messages from Harry. Unlike yesterday, when his busy schedule hadn’t stopped him from sending silly texts that brightened your day, today was different. You opened the messaging app to find your lunchtime selfie still unread with a note:

Sopapilla pie is a hit at our booth today. Thanks for the idea ol'man.

Maybe he was just too busy to answer, you thought. Lost in your thoughts, Zoe’s voice broke through, “You need to see this,” she said, her expression anxious as she handed you her phone.

Nervously, you took it, bracing yourself. The screen displayed a tabloid article that sent your heart racing.

Is Castillofunds.co going under? Shares of Harry Castillo’s company have taken a dramatic nosedive, a major player in NYC's Financial District!

The next piece of news hit even harder.

Tense moments at Castillofunds headquarters. After the company lost shares quickly, founding CEOs Harry Castillo and his childhood friend Gerardo Armada reportedly got into a heated argument.

“Oh no. Harry,” you murmured, heart racing. You immediately dialed his cell, but it went straight to voicemail. You tried calling Oliver next, but he didn’t pick up either.

Anxiety wrapped around your entire body. What could have happened? Yesterday, Harry hadn’t said much; there hadn’t been time for a proper talk. How could he keep something so serious under wraps? Or, if he wasn’t aware, how could he fail to see the company spiraling down? Questions raced through your mind, and for a moment, you just wanted to escape and get to him. Your anxiety was overwhelming, and a sick feeling settled in your stomach. With Zoe and Danilo by your side, you asked them if they could cover for you at the booth while you stepped away. Thankfully, they agreed without hesitation.

You needed to reach Harry; you were worried about him.

As you made your way to the subway, your phone buzzed with a text message. You opened it right away, and your heart sank—it was from Alan.

Your boyfriend's downfall has begun. Just so you know, honey, this is only the beginning.

You froze, feeling a mix of anger and shock hit you as you remembered your last conversation with him.

That bastard.

Of course, he was behind this.

But no matter what he did, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. You believed Harry's company would weather this storm.

Every company faces tough times, right?

When you arrived at the company building, you were taken aback. A furious crowd had gathered, waving banners and shouting slogans, while paparazzi filmed the chaos that was unfolding. Security was struggling to maintain control.

But things got even worse.

One of the paparazzi caught sight of you and pointed, drawing the attention of all the cameras. You felt frozen; you had never experienced anything like this before. Well, there was that one time with Melanie, but usually, the spotlight was on her, not you. 

But now, the roles had flipped. 

They all rushed toward you, and the questions began to come flooding in like bombs.

"Miss, is it true your boyfriend Mr Castillo's company is on the verge of bankruptcy?" 

"Will this financial mess affect your relationship?" 

"Did Mr. Castillo and Mr. Armada actually get into a fight?"

"Is it true that Mr. Armada is unable to pay his gambling debts and has been siphoning funds from the company?" 

"What’s your take on all this?"

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond.

Suddenly, Oliver’s voice broke through the crowd. He reached you, grabbing your arm, and together, you hurried into the building, security guards ushering you past the relentless paparazzi and shouting crowd.

Just as the security team managed to slam the doors shut, you turned to Oliver. “Where’s Harry?”

“He's upstairs. Come on,” he replied, guiding you to the elevator.

“Ollie, what’s going on? Where did all this come from?”

He let out a troubled sigh as he pressed the button for the office floor. It was clear he was feeling the weight of the situation. “Gerardo. In Harry's absence, he got involved in illegal betting and gambling, attempting to cover his debts using company resources. He tried to bail out the company with post-dated checks, hoping Harry wouldn’t find out when he returned to NYC. But it backfired horribly. We’ve been trying to figure out how the finance and accounting teams missed this, but it seems part of the larger scheme.”

“What do you mean?”

“Alan has been deliberately concealing his identity while orchestrating the issuance of post-dated checks. The finance team, the accounting department, even the last company we did business with—he’s got them all in his pocket. It looks like he’s been plotting against us for a while. Gerardo fell right into his trap. He’s messed everything up. I can’t imagine how we’ll pull through this; we’re backed into a corner.”

Your chest tightened, and dread washed over you as the elevator reached the floor with Harry’s office.

The reminder of Alan's text kept bothering you, making you feel pretty guilty.

How did you underestimate him like that?

It all made sense now why Maria was acting so strange that day. You wished you had talked about it with Harry.

As you approached the office, you spotted Harry inside, deep in conversation with his lawyers and PR team.

Your heart sank.

It wasn't only his sad condition that concerned you; there was a wound marring the edge of his eyebrow. The paparazzi’s reports were true—he had been in a fight. Oliver slipped into the office without you noticing, as your attention was fixed on Harry's face. He leaned in and whispered something in Harry’s ear, prompting him to turn and look at you. When your eyes met, you offered him a weak smile, but it faltered as he didn’t return it.

The meeting wrapped up, and everyone filed out, looking grim. Harry stepped toward you.

“What are you doing here?”

Your hand instinctively reached out to his face, gently examining the small band-aid over his eyebrow. “I was worried. Are you okay?”

He sighed, weariness evident in his voice. “I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine,” he replied, lacking conviction. Taking your hand, he brushed your hair back with a faint smile. “Let’s get out of here.”

Making your way to the car was a daunting task; the paparazzi and remaining crowd persisted with their incessant questions and shouts until you finally managed to slip inside. As the car pulled away, you noticed the writing on the protesters' banner.

WE ARE HERE, WHERE IS YOUR CONSCIENCE?

YOU TOOK OUR DREAMS, AT LEAST GIVE US OUR MONEY BACK.

GIVE BACK OUR KIDS' FUTURE.

WE DEMAND JUSTICE.

You couldn't bear to watch any longer; it was just too frustrating. The sadness etched on Harry's face filled you with sorrow. Who knows how deeply he must be feeling all this? He chatted on the phone the whole way, but it seemed like everything was spiraling out of control. You didn't want to overwhelm him with questions, so you kept quiet; he was already struggling enough. You had asked him to take you to the fair after leaving Zoe there alone. Although you didn’t invite him to stay since he was feeling down, you agreed to meet up at home afterward. As the fair wrapped up, you should have felt happy that everything you cooked at the booth was cleared out. The attention had been great, but your thoughts were consumed with Harry. Nothing else seemed important while he was struggling through such a difficult time.

When you came home and saw him sitting at the counter, sipping whisky, you had planned to talk about the shop, but those thoughts quickly faded. Instead, your attention shifted to the glass he held. “Harry, how much have you had?”

The bottle was nearly half-empty.

"Hmm..." Looking up at you, he pursed his lips and held up his fingers—first one, then two, and finally all five on his palm. You chuckled at his expression and sighed, taking the glass from his grasp. “That’s enough, ol'man, move your ass.” He reluctantly agreed, allowing you to guide him to the couch, where you both sank down side by side.

“Things aren’t getting any better, are they?” you asked softly.

He closed his eyes, tilting his head back as fatigue washed over him. “I’m doing everything I can, but it’s incredibly tough. We have to cancel all our investment deals. We’re left with just the company’s assets to pay the employees. Even if we manage to make it work, what about the victims?Thousands of families are suffering.”

“Can’t the lawyers file a countersuit? Surely there's a way out. We could argue that this is a setup, that the post-dated checks were signed without Gerardo's consent. If we prove Alan has a personal vendetta against you...”

Hearing his name made him open his eyes in irritation. “Lawyers? They’re all in on it. Don’t you get it? There’s no way out!” he shouted, his frustration palpable.

When he noticed the shocked expression on your face, his tone softened. He cupped your face in his hands. “I’m sorry, baby, I...”

You placed your hands over his. “It’s okay. I understand how you feel; you’re angry, tired, hurt. But I truly believe you’ll get through this, I’m sure of it.”

He withdrew his hands and let out a troubled sigh. “I really don’t know; this is way worse than I thought it would be. We’ve been through tough times before, but we always made it work together. I can’t believe he’s been hiding stuff from me. I trusted him completely, and he went behind my back. I just don’t get how he could do that.”

“Alan clearly orchestrated this. He must have lured him into a trap,” you said, deciding it was time to share what you had kept from him. “Harry, I saw Maria that day, talking to Alan.” You frowned, gathering your courage to continue. “She looked upset and asked me not to tell you I saw her. I’m so sorry for not telling you sooner.” You bowed your head, hoping he wouldn’t be too angry.

He lifted your chin gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Baby, that doesn’t matter now. What Gerardo did happened a long time ago. And Maria was probably trying to protect her assets. She must have been thinking about Mia. But I wish you both had been honest with me.”

“I thought it was something personal for her, nothing to do with you, so—”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s not your fault, love. You had nothing to do with this. I’m really sorry, but I’ll have to delay renting the shop for now. I promise that as soon as the economy improves, I’ll make sure to get the shop and hand it over to you.”

You gazed up at him. “Harry, I don’t care about opening the shop under these circumstances. We’ll figure things out, I’m sure of it. Everything will be fine.”

He smiled, resting his forehead against yours. “Thank you. I feel so fortunate to have you by my side. You’re my strength. I love you so much.” He leaned down to kiss you softly.

“Ow, you smell like a liquor store, baby.” you chuckled, standing up and tugging at his hand. “Come on, up you get! Let’s get you in the shower, and then we can hit the hay ol'man. You know what they say—a good night’s sleep can work wonders.”

Suddenly, he swooped you into his arms, effortlessly lifting you onto his lap. “You’re the only remedy I need, mi amor.” He continued kissing you as you made your way to the bathroom together.

The final day of the fair turned out to be far worse than expected. News that had started circulating online was now splashed across TV screens, and conversations about it filled the subway and the streets. Harry was in worse shape than ever, and seeing him like that tugged at your heartstrings, making you feel as if your heart were being squeezed. When his mother, Valeria, called and invited you over to her house, you agreed and left the fair early that day.

Upon arriving at her home, Valeria enveloped you in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her face. She spoke of her concern for Harry, saying she felt helpless about not being able to reach him. You tried to comfort her, assuring her that Harry was with you and would remain close. However, you refrained from sharing too many details, as it was clear she was deeply sensitive about her son’s plight. Before you left, she hugged you one last time at the door. “I’m so grateful you’re there for my son. I’ve felt terrible for being unable to leave this house, it’s never been this tough.”

“Valeria, please don’t blame yourself. As for Harry, there’s no need to worry; he’ll be okay. I’ll be by his side and do everything I can to help him through these hard days. We’ll get through this.”

Her eyes glimmered with a mix of gratitude and sorrow as she clasped your hand gently. “Thank you, dear. It eases my heart to know you’re there for him during these days when I can’t be.” You could feel the weight of her worry—like any mother, she was deeply concerned about her son.

Leaving her house and walking down the street, you were set on doing whatever it took to help Harry feel better. You thought about whipping up his favorite dessert or putting on that dress he loved, but first, there was something else you needed to do.

You had to meet Alan.

As you arrived in front of the hotel, you steeled yourself, gathering your courage. Perhaps you could persuade him to reconsider; you weren’t sure, but you knew it was worth a shot. If you could understand his motives, it might help you steer things in the right direction. In this battle, you had to make sure your man didn’t end up losing.

You were ready to do whatever it took to help him overcome all obstacles.

The doorman greeted you with a smile, recognizing you as you entered. Learning that Alan was in his room, you took the elevator to his floor. Nerves crept in as you headed to a hotel room, but you pushed them aside, determined to present a strong front.

As the owner of the hotel, Alan lived in the penthouse on the top floor.

The elevator opened directly into his room, and while you glanced around, feeling uncomfortable in his lavish space, you reminded yourself to stay focused.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

At the sound of his voice, you turned to see him lounging at the bar area, a drink in hand and a smug grin plastered across his face. Dressed in a satin robe, he glanced at his watch. “I expected you earlier; you’ve caught me by surprise,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, then he raised it. “Care for some?”

Asshole was acting as if nothing had happened.

Crossing your arms, you replied, “No, I don’t want anything. Look, whatever you’re doing, just stop it. I get that you want revenge—I lost my mother too—but this won’t bring her back. Besides, Harry is innocent in all this, he didn't deserve-.”

“How can Harry be innocent? That woman is his mother.”

“She’s already lost a daughter. What’s hurting her even going to do for you?”

He shrugged. “At least it gives me some relief. Watching them suffer makes me feel better, just like my mother suffered because of them.”

“Alan, listen—”

“Save your breath, sweetheart. What’s coming is inevitable. The Castillo family will pay for what they’ve done.” He finished his drink, setting the glass down on the counter. “The company was just the beginning. Tomorrow, Harry will lose his penthouse with the breathtaking view due to foreclosure and debts he can’t cover. And soon enough, his mother will lose her house too.”

You frowned. "That woman can't leave her house because of her illness. You can't do that. You can't be so cruel."

As he approached you, the look in his eyes made it clear he could, indeed, be that cruel. "Do you think I care? They deserve whatever’s coming to them. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do."

“It was a mistake to come here,” you said as you turned to leave, but he grabbed your arm to stop you. "But nothing is beyond repair. Maybe you can change this."

A flicker of hope ignited within you. "Me? How? What can I possibly do?"

He smiled, a chilling grin. “Don’t underestimate yourself, sweetheart; you have no idea how much you mean to me.” He reached out, intending to touch your face, but you angrily pushed his hand away.

"Stop it. Just tell me what you want. Oh, let me guess—you want me to break up with Harry?"

He chuckled. “Nah, I’ve changed my mind. I know you won’t leave him, no matter what happens.”

You tried to mask your surprise. “So, what do you want from me?”

“One night." He locked eyes with you. "I want you to spend just one night with me.”

The way he said those words sent a shiver down your spine. The mere idea made your stomach turn. “What kind of sick bastard are you?”

"I'm offering you a choice, and it comes with just one condition, sweetheart. If you don’t comply, you’ll have to watch your man falter and see the heartbreaking news about the Castillo family everywhere. Think it over. Harry's fate is in your hands."

"Do you think I'm an idiot? How can I trust you won't pull a fast one on me?"

He chuckled and leaned closer. "What other options do you have?"

You fell silent, realizing you had none.

"I'll draft a contract between us. I’ll ensure Harry gets everything he needs to stabilize the company’s stock, and I’ll drop the lawsuit. Would that satisfy you?"

Just like that?

That seemed too simple.

"What is this, a telenovela? Will you be satisfied when I sleep with you? Will you leave your revenge just like that?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Harry's been shaken up enough, and he's going to have a hard time putting the company back together, watching his misery that's enough to satisfy me. But of course as soon as you volunteered to satisfy my needs-"

You slapped him in the face. “You piece of shit!”

He put his hand where you hit him and smiled wickedly. “So you're not accepting my offer?”

Fuckin' asshole. 

You squinted at him, your whole body shaking with anger. "I would rather spend the night with Joffrey Baratheon. Yeah, I know he's a fictional character, but at least I could beat the bastard up and my night would be more interesting.” you said and turned around to leave. 

“Suit yourself,” he said behind you. "But remember, whatever happens to Harry next will be your fault. And about those telenovelas... They may be exaggerated and clichéd, but know that in the end they're always have a point.”

The next day, things took a turn for a lot worse. Just when you thought it couldn't get any shitty, everything spiraled out of control. The streets outside the company overflowed with an army of paparazzi, their cameras clicking like a relentless drumbeat, while protesters shouted, their voices rising in a tumultuous chorus of anger and despair. Even Forbes magazine, which had once celebrated Harry on its cover, was now reporting that his company was teetering on the brink of bankruptcy and that he had slipped off the list of the wealthiest people. When Maria and Mia came to visit you one evening, you watched them through the door as they talked about losing their home. They were filled with sadness and desperation. You couldn’t help but wonder what else could possibly go wrong, and then it did. The Feds and the SEC even IBRC got involved.

That’s when the last text from Alan arrived on your phone.

This is your last chance to save your man.

But it wasn't just the urgency in the text that spurred you to act; it was the sight of Harry himself. He looked so lost, so deeply unhappy that your heart ached for him. Maybe it was reckless, stupid, maybe he’d come to resent you for this decision—or maybe, just maybe, this was the only way to pull him back from the brink.

He would understand eventually, wouldn’t he?

That night, as you lovingly caressed his face while he slept beside you, your mind raced with turmoil. He had increasingly sought solace in alcohol, and fatigue clung to him like a shadow. He was your everything; you would do anything for him, anything.

The next morning, after preparing breakfast—he barely touched it—you sent Alan a text as Harry left for work.

Your fingers shook as you typed, tears in your eyes.

Tonight.

That evening, you slipped into the underwear and the dress you knew you would tear them off and throw them into the trash afterwards. You wrote a note to Harry, left it on the counter, and stepped out of the house.

But first, you had to see someone.

Jack.

You needed to prepare yourself for the big fish that wanted to swallow you whole, instead of being just another fish on the line.

It was around ten o'clock when you finally arrived at the hotel. Your heart raced with nervousness; you felt like a sacrificial lamb, and the thought of what could happen made you feel disgusted. How could you allow another man to touch you, especially someone you despised?

When you caught sight of the elevator, fear gripped you so tightly that you almost turned back.

But no, you had to summon your courage.

You were doing this for the man you loved. All Alan had to do was sign the contract you had arranged through Jack's lawyer.

You were ready to pay the price for that—a straightforward agreement. Seemingly simple, but a gnawing sense of dread gnawed at you from within.

You clutched the belt of your trench coat tightly as the elevator ascended, your nausea returning. Perhaps it was simply the tension building inside you. The elevator bell startled you, and your palms were slick with sweat. As you stepped inside, you felt timid at first, but upon seeing Alan and his unnecessary smug smile, you lifted your chin and approached him with purpose.

“There you are,” he said, his victory grin irritating you even more.

Taking a deep breath, you retrieved the documents from your bag and laid them on the counter. “Sign it now.”

He glanced at the papers. “What’s this? No kissing, no hugging—this is the kind of stuff escorts ask for, or somethin'?”

You shot him a withering glare.

"Well, I already had these documents prepared, sweetheart," he said, showing his briefcase.

“I don’t trust you, which is why I asked Jack to draft them. Sign them or I’ll go back,” you stated firmly, trying to keep your expression icy and unyielding.

He chuckled. “Hmm, clever. Fine, but I’d like to read them first.” He settled onto the barstool and began examining the pages. “There are some carefully crafted clauses in this contract that will benefit Harry's company and the entire Castillo family. But what about you? Don’t you demand anything?”

You understood his meaning but tried not to care. You had already made up your mind. “Are you going to sign it or not?”

He looked at you with a serious expression. “If I have to pay a price to get you out of those clothes, then so be it, honey,” he replied, starting to sign each page one by one.

A mixture of relief and anxiety washed over you. Your heart raced at the thought of what was to come, and you felt your courage slip away.

But there was no turning back now.

Once he finished signing, he slid the documents back across the counter towards you. As you reached for the folder, he seized your hand and pulled you closer. “I’ve done my part; now it’s your turn.”

A shiver ran down your spine, and you nearly burst into tears, but you steadied yourself. Putting the folder in your bag, you turned to him. “Just one thing: Harry can’t find out about this.”

He nodded, his impatience growing. “Okay, I swear.”

You untied the belt of your trench coat, took it off and put it on the chair. You were emotionless looking at him, or tried to be.

You felt like you were stuck in quicksand and you were sinking deeper and deeper as he approached you, staring at you like a hungry wolf.

You closed your eyes tightly when he reached out and touched your cheek. You tried to suppress the urge to sob as he slid his hand slowly from your cheek to your neck, your body shaking. Suddenly he wrapped an arm around you, pulled you to him and pressed his lips hard against yours. Instinctively you closed your lips tightly, it was so disgusting. You placed your hands on his chest and pushed him away while he kissed you more eagerly. 

But then suddenly he paused and pulled back. Only then did you realize that you were crying.

He looked at you licking his lips, grinning with disappointment. 

“Okay, that's it.”

You looked at him with your eyes wide open. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "Wh-what?"

He walked back to the bar, sat down and poured himself a drink. You had a lot of questions, but the first thing you thought was that he backed out of the deal because you didn't kiss him back. "You signed the papers, you can't back out now."

"I’m not backing out; that was the agreement between us. It's done."

"But you said-"

"I prefer a woman who is eager to sleep with me," he said, looking at you angrily. “I'm not a fucking rapist. Now go, leave me alone,” he said and sipped his drink.

Confused but relieved, you picked up your trench coat and put it on. He didn't even look back as you walked to the elevator. But that was good, you sighed deeply to yourself. You hadn't imagined getting out of here like this.

With a strange sense of relief.

But then you remembered that bastard kissed you. "Ugh, that's disgusting. I should wash my mouth out with soap until it hurts. Eww.” you muttered to yourself while frantically wiping your lips with a wet tissue.

It wasn’t yet past midnight when you stepped into the dim corridor leading to Harry’s apartment. The elevator ride felt surreal, each floor ticking by as hope bloomed in your chest. You were grateful to return intact, clutching the crucial documents that could save both him and the company. Everything would be fine from here on out. You just had to sweep tonight's events under the rug, even if their stench lingered.

As you pushed open the apartment door, a wave of confusion washed over you. There, shrouded in the shadows, sat Harry, motionless on the counter.

When had he returned?

Oliver had mentioned he would be out late, and the stark absence of lights only heightened the weird atmosphere. Hesitant steps carried you closer, but the heaviness of your night weighed heavily on your mind. You inhaled deeply, attempting to steady your nerves, and called out softly, “Harry?”

His gaze pierced through the dark, and it made you falter. You had expected to find him with a drink in his hand, yet he appeared unsettlingly sober. On the counter, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, your note rested beside an ornate ring box.

Something felt off.

“Baby, are you okay?” you ventured, your voice quavered as it broke the silence.

He absently glanced at his phone, muttering, “You’re back early.”

A lump lodged in your throat as you scrambled for your thoughts.

“‘I’ll be with Zoe. I might stay with her if it’s late,’” he recited, pointing at your note.

Clearing your throat, you forced out, “Well, yes. We finished up early and decided to head home.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, showing you his phone screen.

Your heart dropped like a stone.

There on the screen was a photo of you lingering in the hotel lobby, captured just hours ago.

Who the fuck... How?

You closed your eyes tightly, willing yourself to choose right words.

“Harry, let me explain,” you began, but he silenced you, lifting the ring box instead.

“This…” he opened the box slowly, revealing a stunning antique diamond ring that sparkled amidst the gloom, “was from my mother. I had intended to give this to you, to propose... later.”

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, awe mingling with pain.

“It is. It was. Everything was beautiful—until this night,” he spat.

“Wh-what do you mean by that?”

He stood up abruptly, his grip seizing your shoulders with a force that was both desperate and heartbreaking. “How could you go to him?”

“Harry, just listen. I... I did it for you,” you implored, your eyes wide with plea.

His eyebrows arched in disbelief as he tightened his grip. “For me?”

“Yes! Everything I did was for you.” You fished your bag and pulled out the papers, placing them before him. “I was going to give these to Oliver, but now that you know everything, they’re yours. Alan signed them all. You can save your company.”

“Fuck the company!” he bellowed, the sound echoing off the walls and making you jump. The fury in his eyes pierced right through you as he clutched your shoulders fiercely. “You were all I cared about! The company, everything else—it didn’t matter as long as you were with me. But you…” He shook you roughly, tears spilling over onto your cheeks. “How could you do this to me?”

“Harry, listen... You were so sad, and I thought—I thought I could help...” you swallowed, your voice breaking.

“What did you expect would happen? Did you really think I’d be fine with you sleeping with my enemy?”

“Please... I thought that was my only option. It was all I could think of to help you.”

He finally released you, his hands trembling as they fell away. Tears welled up in his eyes, catching the light like tiny gems. “Even if it meant losing me, everything we have?"

You sniffled, tears flowing freely now. “All I did was love you and think about you.”

“You were thinking of me? Yet you didn’t have me in mind when you went to him, did you? Maybe you were too eager,” he said, the sharpness of his words cutting deep into your heart.

In a moment of raw pain, you slapped him.

With the impact, he turned his head to the side, eyes squeezed shut, and sighed deeply.

How could he say something like that to you?

You waited for him to apologize.

But he didn't.

Did it truly not matter what you had done for him?

How could he be so cold?

With a shattered heart and a deep breath, you managed to get the words out.

“Goodbye, Harry.”

The simple farewell fell from your lips like a final breath as you turned and walked toward the elevator.

And just like that.

It was over.

He might have regain his company and his reputation, but in the end, he had lost you.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your comments, likes, and reblogs. I'd love to hear what you think about the chapter!

here's the taglist...

@balhoneysweetstuff @orcasoul @pedroslut4eva @lailathepedritofan @queenofodds @darkheartgatita @ccmoonshine @suzysface @javiismyhsbnd @aurorathegreekprincess @daejangandimja @longlivekingminnn @jisungandpedrolover @urlivingdeadgirl @laliceee @sincerelywithheartt @indiegirlunited @fancyyoouu @blackborndue @shinymusicpanda @her-fandom-sanctum @aegoniipascal @zanylightmilkshake @bonadeaamo @spencercmlover @heramj @pedroloverbilmemkac @churchofjoemiller @urlivingdeadgirl @thanyatargaryen @icanbringyouinhot @universallygentlemenharmony @bitchyfestnight @sukivenue @l1zzygr0nt @pedrofan @javiismyhsbnd @00honey @brittmb115 @picketniffler @javiismyhsbnd @00honey @kneelarmhstrung @zanylightmilkshake @melsunshine @inept-the-magnificent @catofash @secretlettersfromyourlove @pedge-page @speaktothehandpeasants @krystal---meth @pasc4lfuzz @brittmb115 @behomewhenthestreetlightscomeon @kneelarmhstrung @pedrofan @l1zzygr0nt @sukivenue @cherri-zaza @krystal---meth @joelmillerpascal @harrington-thedad @darkheartgatita @javiismyhsbnd @joelmillerpascal @spencercmlover @0-moonbeam-0

If you want me to add you to the tag list or remove you from it, just let me know! if I missed your name, I'm sorry, remind me, plz.

lots of love 💋💋❤️❤️

[fvispunk]

Since the Andor S2 finale looking at ao3: since May 13th, 43 fics have been either created or updated for bix/cassian; for rebelcaptain 62 in the same period of time (a non-canon ship from a movie released 9 years ago) so there you have it - literally the rebelcaptain shippers enacting this meme: