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citrusrei · 1 month ago

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a lil' something sweet

Farmhand! Joel x Married! Reader

summary: After your husbands aunt passes away, he takes on the responsibility of caring after the beloved family farm. Coming from the city after living there your whole life to moving to a huge farm in the middle of nowhere is a shock to you. But what shocks you even more is the comfort you find from the live-in farmhand, Joel Miller.

word count: 25.5k

warnings/tags: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. no outbreak AU. non canon Joel. country side on a farm type shit. Joel is a lonely man. Kinda creepy but in a sexy way. heavy petting. thigh riding. Joel finishes in his pants. Infidelity (oops). joel's possessive but not in a toxic way (outloud). unprotected p-in-v sex. creampies. slight breeding kink if you squint right. age gap. reader is mid to late 20's and joel is pushin' 50. petnames (baby, baby doll, baby girl, darlin', ya know). readers husband is a real dick. slight fatshaming (we hate the husband). joel makes it better. lots of soft touches and kisses. fluffy, angsty, smutty. happy ending. (no y/n, reader is AFAB. minimal physical descriptions)

a/n: this was fun to write cause desperate, needy joel is my absolute favorite thing. also the word count makes me go brrr cause wdym it's so long?? and while we don't usuallyyy fuck with infidelity, it was warranted here. please pay attention to the warnings if you don't like any of what is mentioned, don't read it. thank u all tho and i hope u enjoy it ~

this was a long mf time coming

You were never a fan of the countryside. Being somewhere so far from civilization terrified you. What do you mean the nearest big grocery store was over an hour away… in each direction? So, when your husband told you his Aunt Karla had passed, and that he’d be taking care of the family farm, you began to panic. You were sympathetic of course and consoled him as best you could, but leaving the city? Hell, you'd even considered divorce; it was that serious. Not really, but almost.

The drive was long and tiring. You’d rented a moving truck and packed all your belongings from your hometown and drove the seven hours it took to reach his aunt's farm. Anxiety set in almost immediately as the tall buildings and fast-food restaurants on every other corner disappeared. Trees and fields and wildflowers surrounded your view as the long and narrow highway seemed to go on forever. Your husband, Luke, decided to make a few pit stops for gas or bathroom breaks, even a quick fuck in the front seat on the side of the road- which, you weren’t really all that into.

Seven grueling hours later, the farm came into view. It was a lot larger than what you thought it was going to be. The two-story farm home sat in the middle of the plot of land, surrounded by lots of trees. A big, peeling red barn sat to the left and to the right, at least two or three horses roamed in a fenced area. What was Luke thinking? You had never stepped foot on a farm in your life besides maybe an elementary school field trip 20 years ago. How did he think you’d be able to handle a barn full of animals?

Luke parked the moving van in front of the house which sat on a hill. Concrete stairs led up to the front door and you sighed, dreading the trips back and forth. Luke gave you a pointed look before sighing himself.

“Listen… we’re doing my family a favor by taking over the farm. And it's not going to be forever. Just a couple years and then when Nick gets back from the Marines, he said he’d take it and then we’ll head back to the city, okay?” Luke says in annoyance, mentioning his brother. You nod, grabbing your purse from the front seat and heading up the stairs to check the house out.

Stepping inside felt surreal, like you’d gone into a different decade as you gazed at all the antique furniture, hutches with fine China, and flowered wallpaper. You couldn’t help but let out a deep breath as you set your purse down, walking into the kitchen. It was nice and quaint, and honestly it made you feel some semblance of comfort as you took in the marble counter tops and Chicken themed decorations.

You loved to cook and bake, and as you saw the built-in pasta maker on the counter and the bread oven on the far wall, you had a thought that maybe you could do this. Maybe you could make this work.

After a moment, Luke steps inside as you wander around the house, noting the three bedrooms and the two and a half baths the home has to offer. He huffs out heavily, setting down three boxes stacked on one another. “Uh, honey? Are you going to help or what?” he asks, a bit of bite to his tone.

“Sorry, I was just checking everything out. The master bedroom is nice! But it’s kinda stuffy in here. Where do I turn the AC on?” You ask curiously only to be met with a scowl. Your eyebrows knit in confusion as you wait for him to answer.

“Jesus… This house was made in like, 1803. There’s no air conditioning, babe. If it’s stuffy, open the windows.” Luke says as he turns around, heading back to the truck.

You throw your head back in frustration. No grocery stores nearby, no air conditioning, all these damn animals, and of course Luke being an asshole about it all. You’d been quiet about this whole thing since Luke told you, not asked, but told you he’d taken over his aunt's farm. You didn’t want to complain or make it seem like an inconvenience when he was grieving. But it was. You weren’t cut out for this life and that was okay. Unfortunately, you loved your husband and told yourself to at least give it a shot. That was a decision you were beginning to regret.

“Come on! I’m doing all the work here!” Luke yells from the truck, bringing you from your thoughts. You close your eyes for a moment longer before heading down the steps to help him. Maybe he’ll be in a better mood once you’re done setting everything up. At least you could only hope.

A few hours pass and you have most of your belongings unpacked. You’d left a lot of stuff back at your apartment in the city since your sister was going to take over your lease while you were away. All that was left to be taken care of was the bedroom stuff.

Your eyes settle on the cuckoo clock as it chimes, 6pm already. You excuse yourself from unpacking as you head downstairs to start working on dinner. Luke groans about how he’s had to do all the work all day, but lets you go downstairs to cook. Nodding, you head down the steps into the kitchen, figuring out where to start.

After Karla passed, a lot of the stuff she had was packed and separated between family members, but they left the kitchen alone. You opened the fridge, deciding to start there. It was still full of stuff, and you began to make a mental note of what ingredients you saw. A couple fresh eggs, milk, butter, some different meats and veggies. After checking the rest of the kitchen, you came up with the idea of breakfast for dinner. Waffles, eggs, and bacon.

As you got to work, you didn’t notice the back porch door swing wide open. And you definitely didn’t notice the man that came in through it. He sets a basket of farm fresh eggs on the counter, bringing you from your thoughts as you whisk together the batter.

Your eyes widen as you jump with a yelp, clutching your chest as the man stares at you with a blank expression. He doesn’t offer his hand or anything, he just stares and says, “Joel.”

As your heart settles, you nod slowly. “Your name is Joel?

Joel nods too, his eyes leaving yours as he sees Luke enter the room.

“Honey, what’s the matter, why did you yell? Oh! You’ve met Joel.” Luke smiles, “Babe, this is Joel Miller. He’s the farm hand. He takes care of the animals and stuff, cleans the farm up, gathers… eggs. He’s worked for my aunt forever.” Luke continues as his eyes glance down at the basket Joel brought in.

“Nice to meet you, Joel. Sorry, I was really concentrated on making this waffle batter I didn’t even hear you come in.” You say softly, a small smile on your lips.

“’S okay. I can be kinda quiet sometimes. I’ll holler next time I drop the eggs off.” Joel speaks. His voice is gruff and low. Somehow nostalgic, or at least that’s what you thought as your chest fills with a familiar feeling. Your eyes traveled to his as you smiled, taking in the features of this stranger.

He was older. Maybe in his early 50’s or late 40’s. He had a broad nose with a scar on the bridge. His chocolate brown eyes seem tired, but kind; inviting. His hair was dark and graying and as your eyes traveled lower, you noticed how his arms seemed to bulge under the dirtied, navy-blue shirt he was in. ‘Handsome’ was the first word to pop into your mind. You cleared your throat and looked at Luke who seemed annoyed about something. What’s new?

“Well, see you folks later. It was nice meetin’ you, sweetheart.” Joel says as he makes his leave. You watch him go before turning back to the batter, trying to finish everything up. Once dinner time finally arrives, Luke ends up complaining the entirety of the meal about how waffles are breakfast food and having them for dinner is like a crime against humanity. You think it’s funny how he eats them anyways.

The first night here sucks. It’s incredibly hot as the thick quilt on his aunt's bed sticks to your skin. Sweat beads from your forehead as you toss and turn, dripping down your neck and back. Deciding you can’t do it anymore, you throw the comforter off you and stomp downstairs, irritated by every little thing from today. The long drive, the car sex, Luke’s attitude, the heat. You head through the kitchen to the back porch, and you finally get relief in the form of the cool night breeze. You feel your sweat dry against your skin, leaving you sticky but honestly, you couldn’t care less right now. The breeze has a nip to it, signaling summers soon-to-be end, and you couldn’t wait.

Your eyes close, savoring the fresh air against your cheeks. You don’t know how much time passes but you only open them when you hear the sound of a guitar in the wind. Looking around the backyard, you notice a small guest house down the hill. It had to be Joel’s. The porch light is on, the front door open, and before you can even think, you begin to walk towards it.

The tiny home isn’t far away from the main house, but a good enough distance that you realize you probably should have put shoes on. Gravel digs into your heels, but it doesn’t hurt. The guitar becomes louder as you approach, a melancholic tune strummed from the strings. As you reach the house, doubt fills your mind. You probably shouldn’t even be here just showing up like some creep. But you also figure you’ve come this far… Plus, it’d be nice to get to know him in some capacity considering he works here on the farm you’ll be living on. Or that’s what you tell yourself.

You step quietly onto the wood porch, savoring the cool night air and the sadness of his guitar. Now that you’re closer, you can hear Joel humming too. An unsure smile etches on to your face as you walk into the doorway, working up the courage before knocking on the wood.

“Hey… sorry to bother you.” You say softly, not wanting to alarm him.

Joel looks up to you in surprise, his fingers stop against the neck of his guitar. “Oh, well, hi there. What can I do for you?”

“Oh! Nothing. I was… I was just on the back porch trying to cool off and I heard a guitar. Figured this is where you stay, and I thought I’d come and say hi. Maybe listen to you play for a bit?” You say nervously. You almost feel embarrassed. You don’t even know this man.

Joel looks a bit confused at first before nodding to the couch next to his rocking chair he’s sitting in. You pad into the house with little steps before sitting down. Your body flushes with nerves as you look at him, like you’re waiting for something to happen.

Joel doesn’t say anything. He just begins to play again, a different song this time. You settle into the plaid couch as he strums, the cool air from the front door being open blows in and you shiver. Your eyes widen as you realize you’re in your ivory, silk nightie and embarrassment floods your cheeks for real this time. Joel probably thinks you’re insane, or maybe he thinks you’re wanting to seduce him. Which, no, of course you weren't; you’re married! Red flushes against your cheeks and you subconsciously pull your nightgown down, trying to cover your knees.

Joel plays for a while before speaking. He clears his throat, hesitating a moment, “So… you know who George Jones is?” He asks. You shake your head, a smile on your lips. “No, can’t say I do. Who is he?”

He smiles softly too, at least you think it’s a smile. “He was a country singer… Old country singer from way before you were even a twinkle in your mama’s eyes. Has a lot of sad songs, which I like to play, I guess. But uh… 'was just wondering if you knew his music. I'll play one of his songs for you.” You nod curiously, adjusting your body to give him your full attention.

The song starts off slow, his fingers moving expertly along the frets of the guitar, rough voice singing low.

“He said, ‘I’ll love you till I die’. She said, ‘You’ll forget in time’. As the years went slowly by, she still preyed upon his mind.”

Your eyes widen at the lyric's, realizing Joel was probably right. This was a sad song. You weren’t expecting him to sing either. But you didn’t mind it. It was really nice actually. It was so melodic and entrancing, you don't take notice of the dust of pink that kissed the apples of your cheeks.

You sit and listen to him perform through this song that breaks your heart and he finally gets to the chorus.

“He stopped loving her today. They placed a wreath upon his door. And soon they’ll carry him away. He stopped loving her today.”

You suck a breath quick breath, feeling your vision blur as he finishes the song. By the time it's over, your head rests in your palms against the arm of the couch, watching Joel intently as tears pool in your eyes. Joel stops, placing his hand against the strings as he looks at you, his own eyes widening at the shimmer in yours.

“Wait-what’s wrong, darli-”

“He died?” You exclaim emotionally, a tear slipping out. “That song is about a man who loves this woman even though they’re not together anymore but only stops ‘cause he dies? And she goes to his funeral?” Your eyes close as you sit up. Those welled up tears falling against your cheeks. “That’s so sad."

Joel chuckles softly, setting his guitar against the end table. “I did tell you I like to play them sad songs, did I not?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it was sad like that. Like, maybe it was about a man losing his horse. Or selling his tractor for a new one. Not about loving his soulmate and then dying!” You cry.

“’m sorry, darlin’. Didn’t mean to make you cry. Just thought you might like it.” He says apologetically, passing you his handkerchief from his pocket.

“No, no. I did like it. You’re talented, Joel, I just… damn… that was so… sad.” You sigh as you take the handkerchief and wipe your tears before letting your hands fall into your lap. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cry. I’ve just… had a day.”

Joel’s eyebrow quirks, “That Luke boy of yours being a brat?”

Your eyes snap to the older man and you nod slightly. “I mean, kinda. He’s just… been on one lately. I think it’s the stress of moving here so quickly. I mean, we uprooted our whole lives and moved here within a week of Karla passing. It’s been a lot for both of us.” You breathe out. You hadn’t mentioned your frustrations to anyone, but it felt good to say something. You’d been keeping it in too long for your liking.

Joel sighs knowingly, “Yeah, I can imagine. Packin’ up your life then moving to a place you’ve never been before. It’s gotta be hard.” He pauses for a moment, debating his next words, “Uh, Karla loved her nephew… But Luke would come here during the summer when he was little, and he was uh… quite the handful to say the least. Seems like he still is.” Joel reaches for his glass of what you assumed to be whiskey or bourbon based on the color, the ice in the cup long melted as the condensation trickles down the sides. You pause for a moment, watching him sip on the liquid, his Adams apple bobbing up and down. You suddenly felt parched too.

“I mean he’s stubborn, sure… but he has good moments. I wouldn’t have married him if he didn’t.” You say quietly, your voice trailing off.

Joel eyes you for a second and hums in acknowledgment. “I didn’t say he didn’t have his good moments, darlin’.”

You bite your lip after he says that. You didn’t need to justify anything to him. It was just… habit. You'd always stood up for him. Luke was a good guy. You thought so at least. Maybe others didn't.

He sets his glass down on the table next to him and looks up to the clock. It reads just past one in the morning. “Well, I don’t mean to be a bad host but it’s gettin’ late. Don’t want your husband thinkin’ you gone missing on him, huh?”

Your eyes widen as you realize the time and you stand up, adjusting your nightgown again. “No, you’re right. I lost track of time. And honestly Luke might throw a fit if he wakes up and I’m not there.” You hover around the couch for a moment longer before heading towards the door. Looking back at Joel, you notice him looking right back at you. “Thanks for playing me some music. It was a well needed peaceful moment after my day. Even if you made me cry.”

Joel let’s out an amused breath, “Yeah, well, don’t get used to no personal concerts. It was a special occasion tonight for your first night here. Alright?”

“Got it. Thanks again, Joel. I’m sure I’ll see you soon. Have a good night, okay?” You say as you wave and make your way back to the house, feeling slightly better than earlier. Joel nods at you, watching you make your way back inside before he shuts his own door, sighing to himself and shaking his head.

As you reach the house and shut the back door behind you, you realize you still had Joel’s green handkerchief, gripped in your palm. A sigh leaves your lips as you make a mental note to give it back to him tomorrow after washing it. You tuck it away in the laundry basket by the door and then head upstairs, making sure to be as quiet as possible as you slip back into bed. Luke turns in his sleep; throwing am arm over you. It’s comforting. Something he hasn’t done in a while. You smile as you begin to drift off, feeling safe in your husband's arms. As sleep beckons you, you don’t even realize how your thoughts drift back to your time with Joel. The way his fingers strummed against the guitar, and the way his low voice rasped the sad words of that George Jones song. Or the way he looked at you, his eyes locked on to yours as tears welled up, the softness his molasses-colored ones held.

About a month passes of the farm life and it’s really not so bad. Yeah, you kinda hate the smell that lingers from the barn, and you hate that damn rooster that crows every morning at 6 on the dot. But other than that, it hasn’t been too bad. You even learn there’s a local grocery store up the road a couple miles and although the prices are up charged a bit, you’re able to get your comfort bag of Hot Cheetos here and there.

Luke has been an asshole still, sadly. Especially now that he’s working remotely, and the internet out here sucks. And now that you’re not working, since you had to quit your job before moving here, there isn’t much for you to do to pass the time.

Your days consist of cleaning the house, doing laundry, napping on the green velvet couch Karla had as old soap operas play in the background. You like to walk around the property sometimes, finding that being around nature isn’t horrible. The sound of the leaves shaking with the wind and the crickets by the creek in the back have become relaxing to you. Who would have thought?

What really has been getting you by however, is baking. Karla had dozens of cookbooks from the 60’s and 70’s all filled with interesting, and sometimes disgusting recipes. In the last month you’d made maybe 10 loaves of bread, such as pumpkin, zucchini, banana, apple cinnamon, and even an olive and ham loaf… that one was a fat no. You’d made different small cakes and tarts and while they all never went to waste; Luke never tried them. Every time you’d knock on the door with a small plate of whatever you’d made, he’d scowl, turning his nose up and then look back at his computer. It was disheartening.

But today was going to be a good day. You’d pulled your latest creation out of the oven, filling the kitchen with a sweet, homey scent. You couldn’t wait to try it. Immediately, you stuck your fork into it and then into your mouth. Despite the molten filling singing your taste buds, your eyes shut in pleasure. It was fucking delicious. Beaming down at your treat, you decided to cut Luke a slice of your very first ever, homemade cherry pie. You were so proud of it. The crumb had the perfect texture, the cherry filling had the perfect amount of tart to sweet ratio, and even the lattice was perfect, a little heart placed in the middle. You knew he was probably not going to want it, but you were going to try anyways.

After climbing the steps to where he was, you tapped against the wood of the doorway, plate and pie in hand as you smiled warmly, “Hi, honey. I made this cherry pie and it’s literally the most amazing thing I’ve ever made-”

“I don’t want any.” Luke says, cutting your sentence off. You falter a moment, but you know if he tried it, he would love it. He loves cherries.

“I think you should just have a bite! I’m telling you; you’ll like it.” You offer, stepping closer to him.

Luke sighs and you know he’s about to give you an earful, “I said I don’t want any of your damn pie,” He seethes, “You offer me everything you make, and have I accepted it once?”

Your cheeks heat up as tears prick your eyes and you kind of regret even trying to ask. You want to respond and yell back but you also don’t want to argue. You don’t know where your sweet, loving husband went and it hurts. Luke turns in his computer chair and his eyes are glazed with venom as he stares you down, “So, stop asking me. I don’t want them. You shouldn’t even be eating that shit anyways, you’re getting fat.”

Luke turns back to his computer and begins to click at the keys, clearly done with the conversation. You grip the plate in your hand, biting back the tears that threaten to spill as you go to leave the room. As soon as you step out of it, Luke shuts the door behind you. Your heart clenches in your chest as the tears fall. When did he become so cold? What had you done to make him do a 180 like this? How can you fix it? Or is it even fixable?

Questions swirl through your mind as you pad down the stairs, feeling small and wanting to coil into yourself but as you enter the kitchen, you notice Joel has stepped in. He sets the basket of a dozen or so eggs on the counter as he does every Tuesday. His eyes glance at the pie and then up to you, concern etching into his features.

Joel doesn’t want to ask what’s wrong, just cause you two still don’t know each other that well, but it’s like he can’t help himself.

“What’s’a matter, darlin’? Everythin’ okay?” He asks, eyes set tightly on your face.

Your brows knit together as you swallow back the burn of more tears in your throat and you nod, “Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t worry.” You say as you set the pie on the counter. Joel eyes it and he can feel his stomach begin to rumble. You notice his gaze on the pie, and you can’t help but smile. Letting out a breathy laugh, you allow yourself to relax a bit in his presence. He radiates this genuine aura, and you can’t help how it attracts you to him like a moth to a flame.

“You like pie?” You ask curiously.

Joel nods, “Yes, ma’am. Cherry is my second favorite, next to pecan, of course.”

Without hesitation, you push the plate over to Joel on the other side of the counter, “Help yourself. Luke doesn’t want it.”

Joels eyes widen in confusion, “How can a man deny a woman a slice of her homemade cherry pie? He on a diet or something?” He asks as he takes the plate and fork, diving right in. You shrug at his words, not caring anymore. You watch Joel’s reaction as he takes his first bite and it’s… something.

He chews for a moment, his eyes closing as his free hand grips the counter, “Damn…” He breathes. He goes in for another bite, bigger this time. You can feel your heart jumping at his reaction. He must like it.

“It taste okay?” You ask nervously, picking at your fingernails. He looks at you dumbfounded, like you’d asked him the silliest question in the world.

“Darlin’… does it taste okay? Have you tried it yet? Jesus, girl… best damn pie I have ever had.” He says quietly, stuffing more pie into his mouth.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and smile wider, “Don’t lie to me now, Joel.”

Joel shakes his head quickly, finishing off the big slice, his fork clanging against the plate. “Naw, I wouldn’t lie about a good pie. A damn good pie at that. I’d tell ya if it tasted anything less than decent.”

You can’t help the dumb grin on your face as he hypes your sweet treat up. It’d been a while since you got any sort of praise from anyone, and it felt nice. Your cheeks tinge with a dusty rose as you lean over, cutting the rest of the pie into slices. You save yourself one and hand Joel the rest. His eyes widen at the offer, taking the pie pan in his dirty palms.

“It’s yours. I’m really glad you enjoyed it, Joel. I’ve been baking up a storm this past month I’ve been here, and I’ve been the only one eating them. I don’t need a whole pie to myself. So, it’s all yours.” Your gaze is soft on Joel’s face, and it causes his chest to stir with something he’s not so sure of.

He clears his throat, looking back down at the delicacy he’s holding. “You sure ‘bout that? I don’t wanna be no pie thief just ‘cause you know I think it tastes good.”

A genuine laugh escapes your throat, causing his to restrict, “No, I don’t think you’re a pie thief. You’re really doing me a favor by taking it off my hands. I’m glad it’s going to someone who will enjoy it.”

Joel nods, gripping the pie pan in his hands as he looks down at it. He looks anywhere besides where you stand. “Well, ‘preciate it. You’re about as sweet as this pie is, I reckon. Luke’s got a good girl on his hands.”

Your shoulders fall as he mentions Luke and you know they shouldn’t. Even the thought of him right now fills you with intense sadness, but you push it away, nodding at his words. Joel clears his throat again, before finally looking back up to you, “Well, thank you, darlin’. I will enjoy every bit of this pie and bring the pan back when I’m done.” He turns to leave, but looks back for a moment, “And if you decide to ever try and make a pecan pie… you know where my door is.” He smiles, walking out the back door.

You find yourself reeling from the interaction and you try and convince yourself it was only because he loved your pie. It wasn’t the way his eyes closed as he savored his first taste, or the way he practically moaned in delight after every bite he took. And it definitely wasn’t the way he gripped the counter, the pie leaving him speechless, or the way you’d thought maybe that’s what his hands would look like gripped around your waist or thighs as he… your eyes widen at your thought process, and you run up the steps to jump in the shower, hoping to wash away the impure thoughts about a man who isn’t your husband. Even as you make an excuse for every thought that pops into your head about Joel, you can’t ignore the beat that drums between your legs, no matter how hard you try. No matter how hard you scrub at your skin, it’s like those images have been imprinted in your mind. Fuck.

After a long shower, a full skincare session and getting dressed in your comfiest jammies, you head back down to the kitchen to eat your slice of pie, only to be met with Luke eating it instead. His eyes wide as you walk in, mouth full of cherry filling.

“Baby, this… you outdid yourself. This is fucking good.” Luke says, a soft smile on his face. Your stomach churns as he speaks, and usually you’d be happy he was finally giving you attention. But not this time. Instead, you were pissed he ate your only slice of pie.

“Did you eat the rest of it? I need another slice. I’d skip dinner for that.” He says as he nearly runs to the fridge, searching for the remainder of the pie.

“I gave it to Joel. He brought in the eggs and said it was one of his favorites. I didn’t think you’d want it since you know, you said you didn’t.”

Luke sighs, “You gave it to Joel? The whole pie? You know I love cherries, why the hell would you do that?”

Your eyes widen in disbelief, anger filling your body. “Luke, you said yourself you didn’t want any. I didn’t want it to go to waste and that slice you just ate was mine. You didn’t even ask!”

Luke rolls his eyes, slamming the door of the fridge, “I don’t need to ask you what I can and can’t eat. Make another pie.” He says as he walks past you, mumbling something about how he can’t believe you’d give another man something before him. He was unbelievable. You grab the plate he’d left on the counter and toss it into the sink, not caring if it breaks or not. You breathe out from your nose as you rest your palms against the cool marble counters, your jaw clenched tight as your foot taps against the tile. You don’t know how much longer you can take this attitude of his.

Deciding you need a distraction; you head down to Joel’s. His door is shut, but his porch light is on. That doesn’t deter you though. As you walk on to the creaky wooden porch and knock, you can feel your anger dissipate from your body. The distance from Luke was good.

Joel opens the door only a moment later, his eyes confused but his mouth upturned into a smile. “Hey, darlin’, what are you doin’ here?”

“Do you have any more pie?” You ask. Your question takes him off guard, but he nods, stepping aside to let you in.

“I got a few slices left. Gotta be honest with you; I had one or two more when I got back in an hour ago.” He says sheepishly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. You turn to face him, your eyes looking into his. Joel feels his chest fill with that same thing he felt earlier. Something he still couldn’t place.

“Luke ate mine. I… I really wanted a slice, but I gave you the rest. He’s mad at me ‘cause I gave it to you.” You say as your shoulders fall. Joel laughs, his eyes crinkling at the sight of your slight pout. He thought it was cute.

“Mad, huh? Over a pie? Can’t say I blame him though. It is pretty damn good.” Joel heads into another room for a moment, which you assume is the kitchen because he comes back to the living room with a big slice of your cherry pie in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. “Sit.” he says, nodding to his couch.

You sit in the same spot you sat in the last time you were here, resting back against the cushions as Joel places the food on a TV tray and sets it in front of you. The little action has your heart racing. Something as simple as getting served a slice of pie sends your heart into a tizzy and you sigh, digging into the dessert. It was damn good.

Joel sits in his rocking chair, just like last time, but doesn’t say anything. He lets you eat in silence and once you’re done, he takes care of it too.

You don’t want to leave yet, and as you pull your knees up to your chest, you hope he doesn’t ask you to. Joel returns a moment later, a glass of water for you and a glass of that same amber liquid for him. He smiles, handing you the glass, “You look comfy.”

Your cheeks tint a shade of pink, and you take the glass from him, “I am comfy. This couch is nice.”

“Hope so. I’ve had it for probably 15-20 years. It’s well-loved for sure.” Joel says, sitting back in his rocking chair and sighing. Your eyebrows quirk as you rest your cheek against your knees.

“Man, you’ve really been here for a long time then, huh?”

Joel nods, looking at you getting comfy on his couch. There goes that feeling he can’t place. “Yeah, ‘bout 25 years at this point. I was 25 at the time I started here actually. Karla didn’t even own the place yet, it was her daddy’s. Once he passed, she took over and I stayed. She tried to convince me to stay, but she didn’t have to do that. This was my home at that point too.” He pauses, sipping his drink. “She was a good friend. Wasn’t too much older than me.” You listen intently as Joel speaks, not knowing any of this.

You nod, “Wow, I had no clue. Karla seemed like a good woman.”

“She was. Had her issues as we all do. But I enjoyed her company. But… here I am 25 years later. No kids, no wife. Just all these damn cows and chickens and horses. Don’t tell Estrella I said that.” Joel says, mentioning one of the cows in the barn. You laugh, telling him a quick ‘of course not’.

A comfortable silence falls between you two for a while. It’s only then you notice that Joel’s record player is going, playing some soft country song in the background. You breathe out, your eyes growing heavy. Your mind drifts back to Joel’s words. No wife, no kids. He’s been alone the last 25 years?

“So… You said you don’t have a wife or any kids? Any particular reason?” As you ask this, regret fills your body. It’s probably a sensitive subject for Joel. God, you are such an idiot-

“Not really. Just… never found the time.” Oh.

You nod again as he speaks, waiting for him to continue. “I wanted to at one point. It’s kinda hard to date when the only people around you are a lesbian or… furry. Don’t get me wrong… I’d find myself up at Jimmy’s old bar and maybe meet a girl, take her home for the night… but it never went further. You kinda lose track of time after a while. Then 25 years pass and you’re pushin’ 50 and it’s like… damn. Where’d the time go?”

Your heart breaks as you hear his words, but you can also understand. Time does move quickly and if you don’t pay attention, you lose it.

“Hmm… well, don’t give up hope. You never know what could happen.” You say with a soft smile. Joel laughs again and you can’t say that you hate it. It’s nice.

“What?” You laugh along with him, “You don’t know what could happen! You could always try a dating site. They have that farmers only website which might be really good for you.”

This makes Joel laugh louder, “Sweetheart… a dating website? I don’t even have a smartphone, how do you think I’d manage that? And while it’s nice you got this sort of hope for me; I don’t mind being alone. Easier this way.” He trails off, both of your laughs dying down. You stare at Joel for a long time. Every fiber of your being screams to touch him or hug him… kiss him. There’s something about him that makes you just long for him. To take care of him. To show him what it’s like to be loved.

You try and pull yourself from your thoughts and as you go to say something, you hear your name being called from the house. Luke. Your eyes close as your stomach drops, not wanting to face reality. You sigh as you stand up and stretch, smiling anxiously at Joel who stands with you. He looks into your eyes, his sad, deep baby browns piercing at you and it takes your breath away. Not realizing it, you reach for him. You pull him against your body as you hug him. He freezes in your embrace, not sure if he should hug you back. But after a moment of contemplation, he throws caution to the wind and wraps his arms around you, holding you tight against him like he didn’t want you to go away. Like he wanted to keep you here with him. Safe in his arms.

The hug was too brief for your liking. Joel steps back first, holding you at arm's length in front of him. Luke calls your name again and you groan. You look up to Joel once more and smile. “Thank you for the nice conversation today… and the pie. I really did outdo myself, huh?”

Joel smiles back and nods, “Darlin, you put your whole damn foot into it. I can’t wait to eat another slice tomorrow. Or before bed. Who knows.”

You laugh before stepping towards the door, casting Joel a quick look and then heading back up to the house.

You feel so light and giddy from the conversation with Joel, you don’t even mind the scowl on Luke’s face as you reach the porch. “Why were you at Joel’s?” He asks, following you through the back door to the kitchen.

“I had a piece of pie. Since someone ate mine.” You reply, taking your shoes off.

Luke rolls his eyes, “Jesus, cry me a river. So glad you’re so close with that old man that he’d spare a piece of his precious cherry pie for you. I mean, fuck. He’s probably loving the attention he’s getting from you. Half his age and conventionally pretty. I’m sure he’s eating that up.”

This makes you snap.

“And so, what if he is?! God forbid someone feels good from getting some attention. We’re just talking either way, so I don’t know why this is such an issue for you. It’s not like you talk to me anymore anyways.” You seethe as tears begin to well. You sigh in frustration, hating how emotional you get when angered. Luke’s eyes soften and his shoulders fall.

“No, you’re right.” He says, causing your eyes to widen. “I’ve been neglecting you. I’ve been so stressed with work; I’ve lost sight of what’s important to me and that’s you, baby.” He continues. You feel something flutter in your chest, but you can’t tell if it’s hope or disgust.

Luke approaches you slowly, wrapping his arms around your frame as he lowers himself to your height. He peppers your face in kisses and while you don’t stop him, you don’t necessarily enjoy it. “Baby… I’m so sorry. You can forgive me, right? I swear I’ll change my ways. I’m gonna get out earlier, help make dinner and clean up then I can hold my sexy wife on the couch while we watch that trashy TV show you like. Just like we used to in the city. That sound okay?” He smiles, looking into your eyes.

You avoid his gaze for a moment before deciding to look. You can feel your heart begin to soften for him again, even if it’s slight. Which leads you to nod, causing him to break into a huge smile.

“Thank you, my love. I don’t deserve you.” He says, leaning in to kiss your lips. His kisses are rushed and urgent and his lips are chapped but too wet. You try to ignore it as his hands slide down your waist to your ass, squeezing the pajama covered flesh. You hum against his lips as your brows knit but Luke takes this as a sign to go further. You don’t have the heart to tell him no.

He leads you upstairs to your shared bed, taking your comfy pajamas off and placing you against the mattress. The next 20 minutes are filled with over-the-top grunting and touches that are too rough and once he finishes, not caring if you did or not, you roll over and force yourself to sleep. Your mind races with thoughts of Joel. His chocolate eyes, his pouty bottom lip and the way his fucking body felt against yours this evening. It was a hug. A hug! And that one instance had you nearly foaming at the mouth for more. You don’t try to push your thoughts away this time. In fact, you welcome them. And after a while, your body begins to relax enough to finally drift off.

The next few weeks are filled with much of the same. Luke’s promise to change falls through, of course. The only thing that does change is his desire for you. It’s like all he wants to do is touch you and it drives you insane. You thank God you’re on birth control, because if you were to get pregnant with his child right now… you don’t know what you’d do. Probably keel over and wait for death.

Joel is one of the only things getting you through the days. You bake a new treat almost every day, not even bothering to ask Luke if he wants to try them anymore. Instead, you take them straight to Joel. His reactions never fail to amaze you. Cinnamon bread topped with streusel? 10/10, no complaints. Jalapeno cheddar sourdough? Sent from God himself. Pumpkin cinnamon rolls with homemade cream cheese frosting? Crafted by the hands of the divines, infused with holy nectar. And he acted that way. He was visceral in the way his body reacted to the desserts and baked goods and the pride it filled you with was something else entirely. His groans of pleasure, the way he’d lean over just slightly. The way he’d look at you and you’d swear his pupils would dilate. It just… did something to you.

It was your routine. Wake up, make something delicious, go to Joel’s and eat and talk for a while, then head home before Luke gets done with work and pretend to be a happy wife. It was exhausting in that sense. You think you were happy in some way, but not because of your husband.

You don’t even know when the dynamic changed. Maybe it was when Luke’s busy season started. And busy he was. He’d even have to go into the office for a few days at a time and since it was so out of the way, he’d just get a hotel room in the city. You found yourself looking forward to his time away from the farm. Away from you. The days where you got to be you, and where you got to pretend you weren’t tied to this piece of shit husband. Where maybe you were single and enjoying the company of a man who seemed to be genuinely interested in you.

You found yourself doing other things for Joel besides giving him sweet treats here and there. Some days you’d get up when that rooster would crow and brew a pot of coffee, bringing it to him in a thermos as Fall came in full force. Or there were days where you’d pack him a lunch and bring it to the barn or stable and even eat with him while he tended to the horses, cows and chickens. You liked it. No, you loved it. You loved the simplicity of spending time with him. He was grateful for everything you said and did, and he showed that back.

Dryer crapped out on you? Joel can fix it. Pipe burst in the kitchen sink? No worries, Joel has it. The leg on your favorite dining chair is loose? Hell, Joel would probably build you a whole new set for the table.

You two were close. And when you say close, you meant it. You talked about everything under the sun. Your hopes and dreams, your fears, even the totally irrational ones. You remember laughing until you nearly peed your pants when you found out Joel was scared of mushrooms. He defended himself by saying how they grow from decay and that’s what freaked him out the most. Plus, they tasted bad. You couldn’t argue with that. You hated mushrooms too.

He never judged you and you never judged him. It was refreshing. Easy.

It was day two of three that Luke was supposed to be away for work, and you were living the high life. You slept like a rock in your shared bed, getting to actually sleep in the middle of the king-sized mattress and not tucked away into the corner, trying not to touch him. When you thought about it, it was pretty sad because when did you grow to not want your husband anymore? But you’d save those thoughts for another morning. Today was your day.

You got up at 6 am, right on the dot when that Rooster crowed, a smile on your face and spring in your step. It was peaceful getting up so early and you’d grown to love it. As you padded down the steps in the morning darkness, the sun still yet to rise, you couldn’t help but feel the excitement of getting to hand Joel his morning coffee you were about to brew him. The way his eyes would crinkle as his hand would brush against yours as you pass him the thermos. Or his low, country drawl as he’d say “Thank you, darlin’. Much obliged.”

You knew thoughts like this while married weren’t great and you did have some sort of guilt but with the way Luke had been acting over the last few months, you honestly didn’t care that much.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the kitchen as you filled the thermos to the brim. No cream, no sugar. Black. Extra strong. Just how Joel liked it. You closed the container, setting it on the counter before heading back upstairs to change for the cold morning and then you were on your way down the hill to Joel’s house.

His front porch light wasn’t on, which was out of the ordinary, but you knocked anyways. After waiting a few moments and no response, you decided to peek through the window only to be met with nothing. No lights turned on and the house was seemingly empty. Your shoulders slumped as you wondered where he could have been.

You walked around the property, checking the stables, the chicken coop, and there was no sign of him there. Last place to check was the barn which maybe you should have checked first, but oh well. Once you reached the weathered building, you pushed the doors open, noting a light on towards the far wall on the right. “Joel?” You called out.

You heard rustling as he stepped on the hay on the barn floor and shortly after, he appeared from the pen he was sitting in. His face lit up at the sight of you causing your breath to hitch and your stomach to flip. You matched his smile and walked towards him, meeting him halfway into the barn.

“Mornin’ darlin’. This for me?” Joel asks, pointing to the thermos.

“You know it is. Black coffee delivery for Joel.” You say with a playful smile, lifting the thermos up for him to grab. His grin widens, taking it from you. Your usual brush of the hands sends electric currents to every nerve ending in your body.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Much obliged. You always make my mornin’ coffee perfectly. Like my own lil’ star-biz or somethin’.” He says, opening the tin up and taking a big sip. You laugh at the mispronunciation but you don’t have the heart to correct him. That damn blush was clear as day. It seems to tint your cheeks permanently these days.

“God, I miss Star… biz... Overpriced. But you haven’t lived until you’ve had an iced peppermint tea and their pumpkin pepita loaf.” You say with a playful smile.

Joel rolls his eyes as he opens the thermos and sips it, “Pepita? They’re just making up words at this point.”

“Joel, a pepita is a pumpkin seed.” You grin. Joel feels that familiar bloom in his chest and he sighs as his cheeks grow hot. He mumbles something about how he knew that and how he was just trying to be funny, but you know better. Joel shuts the thermos and takes in your face for a moment. The way your eyelashes brush against your cheeks as you close your eyes to giggle and shake your head at him nearly makes him dizzy. He clears his throat, time moving normally again as he grabs your hand and pulls you to the back of the barn. “C’mere, wanna show you somethin’.”

Now, it’s your turn for your face to burn. Your heart races as his hand grips yours tightly and you’re not sure what to expect. But when he pulls you into the pen, and you see Estrella laying there, you settle down.

Joel drops your hand and squats down next to her, rubbing her back softly. The way he’s so incredibly gentle makes you smile. You squat next to him, following his hand and petting her too. “She’s so soft… been here on this farm for a few months now and this is the first time I’m really getting to pet her.”

Joel smiles too, his eyes watching your hand. “Better be soft with that damn $60 shampoo I use on her.” Joel pauses, moving back to the wood bench against the barn wall. “She’s about to give birth. Probably in a couple hours ‘er so.” He says, rubbing his tired eyes.

You look at Joel in surprise, “What? I didn’t even know she was expecting. Did you tell Luke?”

Joel nods, “Mhm. Told him when y’all got to the farm. Not surprising he didn’t say anything though. Not like he takes care of the animals. Or… anything around here.”

It’s true. Luke didn’t take care of anything around here like he told his family he would. And well, neither did you, but in some sort of way, you liked to think you took care of Joel. Luke took care of the bills though, for the most part. He paid… the electric bill, you think? The rest was pretty much paid for thanks to the house having been paid off decades ago. You sigh, deciding to sit next to Joel on the bench.

“Sorry… we’re bad farm owners, aren’t we?” You ask. Joel closes his eyes and smiles, breathing out a breathy laugh and you can’t help but smile too.

“Maybe a little. But that’s okay. ‘Least you’re pretty. Real nice to look at and such.” He slips, his brows shooting up into his hairline as he flushes.

You almost miss it. You almost miss him calling you pretty until it reregisters in your mind, and you swear you can hear your heart pounding in your ears. You don’t say anything for a good moment, not knowing what to say. Silence fills the barn, despite the sound of Estrella breathing heavily through her labor pains. Or maybe those were yours.

It’s like your body ignites, and you desperately want Joel to touch you. You don’t have the energy to fight the guilty thoughts of how you shouldn’t be thinking these things about another man that isn’t your husband. You don’t care anymore. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to act on it. You nod slowly, still not sure what to say, but you know if you don’t put some distance between the two of you; you’re gonna break.

You stand and wipe your sweaty palms on your leggings before turning at Joel and smiling softly. “I’m… I’m gonna head inside for a bit, get some laundry done. Let me know if you need any help with Estrella, okay?” You don’t wait for Joel to respond as you head towards the barn’s entrance. Desperate to get away, you pick your steps up, but Joel has other plans. You only get halfway across the barn before he grabs your hand once more and you don’t pull away.

You utter his name softly, and Joel can’t help the way it makes his heart race and his pants tighten. Your fingers feel smooth against his rough, calloused ones and he squeezes them slightly. His breath’s come in heaves and you find yours to be matching. You’re terrified to turn around, but his other hand touches your hip, urging you to face him. So, you do.

“Joel…” You say again and it’s like music to his ears. His big hand grips at your waist desperately, like he doesn’t want you to leave. Like you’ll disappear. His other hand drops your own and finds solace on the other side of your waist. His gaze is intense, but you don’t dare look away now.

“’M sorry.” He says, causing your brows to knit.

“Why?”

“For callin’ you pretty.” He speaks. You can tell he’s nervous. You can tell by the slight twitch in his hands as his fingers fight the urge to dig into your skin. Or the way his voice trembles. It makes you want him to take you right here and now.

“Why would you be sorry about that?” You ask, finding yourself slipping closer and closer into him.

“Shouldn’t be callin’ a married woman pretty. Shouldn’t be touchin’ her like this neither.” Joels hands squeeze again slightly, and you practically moan. Your lips part as that familiar ache continues to build between your legs and you don’t know how much more you can take.

“Well,” You begin, debating your next words carefully, “Maybe a married woman shouldn’t be letting a man that’s not her husband call her pretty or touch her like this… but here we are.”

Joel’s lips quirk up softly, pulling you closer to him. His firm chest presses against your breasts and the close vicinity begins to drive you crazy. You take a slow and steady breath, trying to calm your nerves but then one of Joel’s hands leaves your waist and runs up your neck to your cheek. Your eyes don’t drift from one another’s, but it doesn’t make you feel small. Not like how you’d feel under Luke’s gaze. You feel empowered. Like Joel actually wants you. Because he does.

Joel’s chest rises and falls as his hands caress your jaw, his thumb padding over the delicate skin of your cheek. You instinctively lean into it, pressing against his palm as your eyes close. Joel fights every urge to lean in and kiss you, but he won’t yet. You haven’t given him the okay.

Your hand comes up, gripping around his wrist as you hold his hand to you. You don’t want him to move it. He wasn’t going to anyway. Your eyes flutter open and see the desire written all over Joel’s face. A small puff of air escapes your mouth, and you pout.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, huh?” You ask, your voice tiny and worried.

Joel sighs too, blinking a couple of times. “No, probably not. Shouldn’t be touchin’ you like this, but, Jesus… don’t know if I can stop.” He pauses for a moment and when you don’t say anything and you don’t move, he speaks again. “Please… tell me to stop.”

Your heart lurches in your chest and you suddenly lose the ability to speak so you just shake your head instead. Your other hand rises to meet Joel’s neck, and you pull him in closer to you. You feel his breath on your lips and it smells like coffee. You catch yourself relaxing as your eyes trail down to Joel’s mouth. You’ve never wanted to kiss someone as bad as you do him.

“Please… baby girl… tell me to stop.” He asks again and you shake your head once more, this time words find you. Well, word.

“No.” Is all you say and Joel practically groans. His hand on your hip pulls your body flush against him, fully pressed against his frame. Your eyes widen as you feel his length press against your leg and your breath catches in your throat.

“Gonna tell me to stop, now?”

You gulp.

“… No.”

Joel nods as he realizes this is happening. He leans in closer, “Okay. Can I… kiss you?”

Your eyes widen only slightly as you think it over. You want him to kiss you more than anything but once you do, it’s over. The line will have been crossed. You’ll be a cheater. But the way he’s looking at you, and the way he’s asked so nicely… you couldn’t say no.

“Yes.” You breathe.

“Okay.” He mumbles, wasting no time to press his lips against yours.

Joel is an intense man, and his kisses are no different. His movements are desperate and hungry, like he’s a man starved. He probably is. It’s been so long since he’s felt the touch of a woman. But you don’t mind it. In fact, you welcome it. He kisses you with such need it takes away and oxygen in your lungs. Like he’s been thinking about doing this forever. Maybe he has, you don’t know.

Your arms wrap around his neck as his hand at your waist holds you still, the one on your jaw trails down to your hip. He guides you backwards, your back meeting the wall of the tattered barn. You’re trapped between the two, but you have no time to think about that. You think about how perfect his lips feel against your own and how smoothly they move with yours. How natural. You don’t realize the tiny whimpers that escape your lips until Joel pulls back, grunting softly.

“Baby girl… fuckin’ hell. Those sweet noises you’re makin’ are gonna drive me crazy.” He huffs against your lips, making sure he’s not away from them for too long.

Your tongues tangle and your mind goes blank. You taste the bitter black coffee on him and it becomes addicting. You don’t even like coffee. Your head spins and reels and you find yourself slipping which you don’t mind. Joel could fuck you on this dirty barn floor and you’d thank him as you picked the hay out of your hair later. But he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t like you slipping away from him. He parts your legs with his knee, his thigh resting between them so he can prop you up. So you can’t go anywhere.

His fingers glide under your sweater, seeking the warmth of your skin. He trails his cold digits up your tummy until they reach your bra. But he doesn’t go any higher than that. The chill of his hands leaves a wake of goose bumps, causing your nipples to harden and you’re practically moaning at this point. He’s barely even touched you.

“Please… Joel, please.” You beg. “Please, fucking touch me.”

Joel keels over slightly, pressing you against the wall even harder. “Fuck… want me to touch you, baby? Where? Tell me.”

“Anywhere.” You rasp, feeling more desperate than he is at this point.

Joel laughs softly, “Uh-uh… gotta be more specific.” His fingers trail further down, tracing random shapes around your navel.

You groan, feeling helpless. You want him everywhere. You want his fingers in your mouth, or his mouth on your breasts, or his cock stuffed inside you. Fucking anything.

Joel smirks again, raising his knee up higher until he hits your core. The small bump of his thigh against your clothed pussy pulls another whimper from you and it sparks something inside Joel. “Like that, darlin’? Like when your cunt rubs up against my thigh like that?”

Words fail you again and you nod, your hips instinctively bucking against it.

“That’s it… usin’ me like that. Makin’ yourself feel good for me. Let me see you move, pretty girl.”

Joel steadies you as you begin to rock your hips against his thigh. You ignore the way your panties stick to you and the way your leggings are just soaked at this point. You’re sure if you were to look down at Joel’s jeans, you’d see evidence of it all there too.

He moves his hands again, trailing one back up to your bra and slipping underneath it. He grabs at your breasts, his grip needy and clumsy. It brings you back to reality for a moment as you giggle. “Joel… calm down. I’m not going anywhere.”

Joel’s face reddens and he slows his movements, his thumb padding over your hard nipple. “Sorry, baby girl… It’s just…” He sighs, leaning down and kissing your lips again. It’s soft and sweet and all too quick. “It’s just I don’t know if I’ll ever get this opportunity again. Don’t know if I’ll ever get to touch you like this. Like I been wantin’.”

Your heart swells as you look up to Joel, a goofy smile plastered on to your face. “Like you’ve been wanting? And how long has that been?” You ask, pulling him back down to you to smooch his lips. He sighs, closing his eyes and savoring your affection.

“Since the night you showed up to mine in that silk nightgown of yours.” Joel mumbles against your mouth, pecking you slowly and languidly. It’s almost disorienting as he does it over and over again. Finally, after a moment he stops. “You looked so fuckin’ beautiful that night. Sweaty, nervous, lil’ irritated. I wanted to kiss your lips as soon as you sat on that couch of mine. But I needed to kiss you the moment I saw them big alligator tears wellin’ up in your eyes when I sang you that George Jones song. Never seen someone so pretty cryin’ like that.” He utters, nuzzling his nose against yours.

You can’t speak. You feel like all the air has whooshed out of your lungs as you look into Joel’s eyes. They’re dilated. His eyes are usually dark but they’re almost black at this point. Your arms stay firmly planted around Joel’s neck, fingers lacing through the soft curls at the bottom. He’s nervous again. You don’t want him to be.

“Joel… you telling me you want to do this again then?” You ask, pressing a tiny kiss to the tip of his nose. He closes his eyes and sighs.

“Baby… I want to do this and so much more with you. I want whatever you want to give to me.” Another peck to your lips. “As long as it’s with you, I want it.”

“Well, what do you want right now?”

“I want to make you come.”

Your eyes widen slightly at his words, mouth going dry. His hand on your hip urges you to start moving again. To start fucking yourself against his thigh. You listen.

Your hands trail from his neck to the front of his jacket, gathering the fabric in your fists as you hold him close. Your hips start to buck once Joel pushes his knee up to the perfect height, his thigh settled in between your folds. You begin to rock back and forth, the lack of distance between you two causing the most delicious friction. Your clit presses against the fabric, and you moan softly, whimpering his name and you swear it’s like he’s heard the voice of God himself.

“Fuckin’ music to my ears. Best song I’ve ever fuckin’ heard. Don’t stop. Keep goin’, my sweet girl.” Joel says, leaning down to tangle his tongue with yours again. You moan into his mouth, your hips bucking faster as you chase that high that’s embarrassingly close. But the way he’s talking to you, the way he’s touching you so intimately, and the way your clit is pressed perfectly up against his thigh, you never stood much of a chance to begin with.

“Joel…” You whisper, your voice shaking.

“I know, baby, I know. I got you. Fuck…” He hushes back. This is clearly affecting him too. You look down at where your bodies connect and sure enough, the leg of his jeans is soaked, but to the right, just where his groin sits, another wet patch is forming. It’s small, but it’s there. Your breath catches as your head falls back slightly, allowing Joel’s lips to attach themselves to your neck. He tongues the skin up and down your pulse point, not daring to leave a mark. Yet.

“Taste so good. Bet the rest of you tastes even better. Fuck, I’m gonna be addicted. Already am.” Joel’s words push you closer and closer, your hips rocking back and forth quicker. Pretty little whimpers fall from your tongue as your fists ball tighter against his jacket. Joel moans too, his grunts getting louder, more animalistic.

“Joel, ‘m gonna… gonna come.” You manage to get out. Joel’s hand on your hip reaches around to the small of your back, coaxing you to ride faster, harder. His other hand drops from your bra, pulling your head to his so he can kiss you through it.

“Go ahead, baby. Come for me. Fuck-” Joel mumbles against your lips, swallowing the little noises you make. He’s acting like he’s not too far behind as well. You’re not even touching him and he’s on the verge of coming. Just by making you come.

With your hips moving just a few more times, the coil in the pit of your stomach begins to snap, your eyes shutting tightly as you see white, hot lightning behind them.

“God. Oh, fuck. Joel…” You murmur, your head falling forward to bury your face in his chest. But he doesn’t allow that. Joel grabs your hair from the back and tugs it softly, wanting to see your face as you come.

“That’s it. My pretty girl, holy fuck. Ah, shit…” He grunts, his breath stuttering as his own head leans into your neck. His grip on your hair and waist becomes a vice, holding you to him as you think he finishes in his pants.

You breathe heavily, coming down from your high as you pull back, Joel’s grip on you lessening. His face is beat red, and he can’t meet your gaze.

“Joel, did you- did you…?” You ask cautiously, eyes shining with amazement.

Joel grunts again, one of his hands coming up to wipe his brow. “Shit, yeah. I did.” His gaze finally meets yours and you break into a grin, letting out a breathy laugh. He smiles with you, “Got me feelin’ like a damn teenage boy over here. Can’t believe I did that.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “Don’t go feeling embarrassed on me, Joel. That was… the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Your words are quiet, but you mean them. Eyes trailing down to where the small wet spot on his crotch used to be, now a bigger patch. You can’t help but run your fingers over it. Joel groans softly, leaning slightly into you from how sensitive he still is.

“Baby girl… watch it.” He stumbles, his breath picking back up.

You smile, “Waste it was in your pants… should have been inside my mouth. Or my pussy.” You don’t know where your confidence comes from. Maybe it’s because you made a grown man come in his pants just by watching you come on his thigh. But, nonetheless, you’re feeling good.

Your fingers continue to tease the wet spot on his groin, and you find yourself wanting to taste him. No, needing to taste him. Joel catches on to your thought process and even though he feels like he might pass out with how badly he needs you; he pushes through.

“Wanna taste, darlin’?” He hushes; lips pressed to your jaw. You nod.

“Please, Joel?” You ask in a small voice, the desire in it setting him alight.

It causes Joel to almost whimper, and he pulls back. His thigh drops from between your legs and the wet spot that’s accumulated on your leggings goes cold. You shiver slightly, missing his heat against you. Joel watches you for a moment before sighing. He wants to continue. He wants to fuck you in this barn and make you his, filling your sweet pussy up with his seed. Maybe knock you up so you can never leave him. Joel knows that’s not an option, but fuck, does he wish. He knows needs to cool it down a bit.

“You should head inside, take a shower er somethin’.” He speaks. Your brows knit together, shoulders falling slightly. You don’t want to leave his side. You don’t want this moment to end.

“I’ll be in in a bit. Don’t wanna be away from you for too long.” Your heart races at his words as he steps closer, placing his hands on either side of your cheeks. He leans down, kissing you deeply. It takes your breath away. It’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before, and it scares you. You can absolutely see yourself becoming addicted to this. You probably already are.

“Go to mine. Shower there. I’m gonna check on Estrella and then I’ll be in, okay? Won’t be away too long.” He says, backing up. You nod, muttering a quiet okay.

As you walk out of the barn, casting one last glance in his direction, he smiles. Your throat restricts and you march on forth to his little house on the property. All thoughts of Luke and your marriage are gone. As far as you were concerned, you were Joel’s. If he wanted you, that is. But you had an inkling there was a very good chance that was the case.

You reached Joel’s home and let yourself inside. It was funny to you he said to shower here when your house was only up the hill. But you weren’t going to deny him that. Plus, this was a good chance to look around the place. You’d only seen the living room which is crazy cause you were here often. You walked through the entrance, taking in the familiar plaid covered couch and the record player towards on the opposite side of it. Many mornings were spent here with Joel just chatting and laughing, listening to his collection of different records. Most of them were older county artists but you knew Joel was partial to 90’s alternative like Pearl Jam and Foo Fighters. Which surprised you, but it also made complete sense.

Stepping forward, the door off to the left of the entrance was slightly open. Curiosity piqued so you glanced in. His bedroom. Your eyes widened slightly, opening the door a bit more as you gazed around the neat room. His bed was the only thing unkempt. No clothes littered the ground, his self-care items which consisted of a jar of lotion, deodorant and probably a 15-year-old bottle of cologne were aligned neatly on the dresser. You smiled to yourself, shutting the door as you continued your trek to the bathroom. The hallway only had two doors and one opening which led to the kitchen. You assumed the one at the end of the hallway was a closet and upon opening it, you were right. So, the room next to it was the bathroom. You grabbed a towel and on you went.

Pale teal tile floor with weathered white walls. The tub was a weird shade of green which seemed to be a common theme among the property. Must have been Karla’s favorite color. It was small and cozy, like the rest of the house, and it filled you with comfort you hadn’t felt in months. You were in Joel’s space and it all just felt so him. You really could get used to it all.

Pulling back the translucent white shower curtain, you noted Joel had actual shampoo and conditioner and not a 3-In-1 like Luke used. Fuck, he even had body wash. You smile again and turn the hot water on before pulling the drain to let the shower run. It felt so good to strip out of your wet leggings and the rest of your clothes and it felt even better stepping into the steaming shower. Near scalding water cascaded down your back and you hummed in delight, letting it soak your skin. This was nice.

As you reached for the shampoo, deciding it was best to get the barn smell off you, you hadn’t noticed someone stepping into the bathroom with you. As you hummed to yourself, lathering the tea tree scented shampoo, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. Your eyes widened as you jumped with a yelp, turning slightly. Of course it was Joel.

“Joel! Jesus, you scared me.” You breathed.

Joel smiles, “Sorry darlin’. You were too busy hummin’ and using up all my shampoo to notice. This uh, this okay?” He says, nodding between the two of you. You nod back.

“Yeah, yeah… ‘course it is.” Realization sets in that you’re naked in the shower with Joel right now. Yeah, he’d made you come on his thigh in the barn, but this was a whole new level. Joel notices your nerves and he kisses your shoulder.

“Don’t gotta do nothin’, sweetheart. Just wanna be by you.” He speaks.

Your heart melts and you nod, relaxing into his touch. You turn in his arms and breathe out a laugh, “Want me to wash your hair?”

Joel’s eyes widen slightly, and he pauses before nodding. “Okay, go ahead.”

His arms fall from around your waist, but he doesn’t stop touching you. His hands linger around your hips and tummy, fingertips grazing the soft skin like he’s addicted. He is.

You reach for the shampoo, squirting a little in your hands and lathering them until they’re sudsy. Joel dips his head under the water, wetting his hair and you reach up, rubbing it through. It’s intimate in the way his eyes close, his hand planting against you, holding himself still. You can’t help but look down and see he’s hard, but he doesn’t make it a big deal. You wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t looked.

“Okay, let’s rinse you.” You hum softly.

He leans forward, the water flowing on to him as the shampoo falls into the drain. You wash it until the water runs clear and then wipe his face so when he opens his eyes, he doesn’t get anything in them. Your heart pounds at how personal this is; how close he is.

You take in every detail on his face, like his little sun freckles and his deep-set lines in the corners of his eyes. He has long eyelashes that droplets kiss and you feel like you’re in a daze. He has a scar on his nose and the most kissable bottom lip and the most wonderful facial hair-

“Darlin’?” Joel says, eyes locked on to yours, “You okay?”

Your eyes widen and you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips before blowing a raspberry, “Oops, you caught me. You’re so pretty I got caught up.”

Joel laughs and trails his hand up your waist, right under the swell of your breast, “Pretty? First time I’ve heard that one, I think. Not nearly pretty as you are, though.” He grins.

Your eyes roll, “So cheesy.”

“Yeah, I know you like it. Can’t deny it by the cute lil’ blush of yours. You always look so damn happy to see me.” Joel says, his other hand cupping your jaw as he looks into your eyes.

You swallow harshly, unable to look away. “That’s because I am always happy to see you. I like you.”

“I like you too,” He breathes, causing your heartbeat to stop in your chest and start somewhere else, “A whole lot.”

Silence fills the bathroom despite the sound of the water that’s now going cold. Joel’s thumb caresses your bottom lip for a moment, and you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Let’s finish up. Water’s growin’ cold on us. I wanna get you all warm and snuggled up.”

“In your bed?” You ask, eyes wide.

“Yes. In my bed.”

“Okay.”

You heart reignites as the beat in your pussy quickens. Joel’s hands roam your body, lathering both of you in the sea salt scented body wash before rinsing you off and stepping out of the shower. He wraps you in the plush gray towel after drying your hair a bit. You don’t have to do anything. It’s… surreal. You’ve never had this kind of care and attention.

You follow behind Joel shyly, almost intimidated by the intimacy of it all. Both of you are towel wrapped and damp as you step into Joel’s room. He switches the bed side lamp on and you hug the towel closer to you as you watch Joel move to rummage through his drawers. He grabs you a big shirt and a pair of his boxers, slipping on some himself. All this is done in silence, and it scares you how comfortable it is. How natural.

You walk over to the bed, getting dressed in Joel’s clothes as you sit on the edge, waiting for him to do anything. To say anything. He doesn’t for a while.

Finally, Joel turns to face you, a small smile on his face. “What ya so quiet for?”

You shrug, biting back the grin that fights through. “I dunno… I’m a little nervous I guess.”

Joel’s eyebrow quirks, nodding slowly. He makes his way next to you and sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips and you look over to his face. He’s just so fucking handsome.

“Well… what do you think you’re nervous about? Luke finding out?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You shrug again, “Maybe. But that wasn’t my first thought.”

Joel’s eyebrows knit together, “Then what was?”

A long sigh escapes your mouth, and you look away for a moment before looking back, “Why does this all feel so natural with you?”

“What do you mean?”

You sigh again, “I mean… we just showered together, and you were hard the entire time, but you didn’t even kiss me. You dried my hair and my arms and legs when we got out and then wrapped me in a towel. You gave me your clothes to wear to get comfy in bed with you and neither one of us batted an eye at how smoothly it flowed. It’s… weird”

“It’s weird?” He asks, reiterating your words.

“Well, not weird. But also, it kinda is. I’ve… I guess I’ve just never had that, so I don’t know how to react.” You say nervously. You decide to keep your eyes away from Joel as everything begins to feel too much.

He nods, humming softly, “So, you’ve never took a shower with Luke before?”

“I have, of course. But it’s always involved sex. It’s never washing each other's bodies and not even kissing. You touched my ass only to wipe the soap off it.” You say humorously.

Joel laughs, “What, did you want me to leave it there?”

Your eyes roll and you shake your head. “That’s not the point. Why is it so easy with you?”

Joel’s eyes soften and he shakes his head himself. He looks at you in your body, clad with his white fruit-of-the-loom t-shirt and faded red boxers and he shrugs. “Don’t know, darlin’. I really don’t.” He leans in as he sees your shoulders fall and he brushes some of your damp hair behind your ear. “Not everything needs to make sense. Or needs to be made sense of. Sometimes it’s just how it is.”

He leans in and presses a chaste kiss under your ear and two more along your jaw. Your eyes close as you breathe out, savoring his touch. His lips trail down to your chin and along your neck before pecking their way back up. Before his lips can meet yours, you speak. “Are we bad people?”

“No.” he says, no hesitation in his voice as he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“But Joel-”

“But nothin’,” Joel says pulling back slightly, “You are not a bad person for not being in love with your husband. He’s… He doesn’t treat you well, baby girl. There’s been so many nights I’ve heard him hollerin’ about things to you from all the way down the hill. He’s distant, he doesn’t give you the attention you deserve, and he’s a fuckin’ child in a man's body. You hear me?” He huffs, sitting back up and running a hand through his hair. He looks back down to you, your gaze still anywhere but him.

It’s silent for a while, this time less comfortable. Joel breathes in, his chest tightening with nerves. “Leave him.” He speaks. Your eyes widen and you stare at him for a long time, mouth open in shock. Leave him? What?

“Joel, you don’t know what you’re asking.” You say, he scoffs.

“Yes, I do. Leave Luke.” He rebuts.

“And what? Be with you?”

“Yes. Would that be so bad?”

Your eyes widen again, and tears brim your lash line, “No. It wouldn’t be.”

Joel’s lips form a thin line, “Then leave him.”

You sigh, your eyes closing. You can’t leave Luke. Where would you go? You have nothing without him. You don’t have a job, you don’t have a car, you’re in the middle of nowhere. Luke wouldn’t sign the divorce papers too, you’re sure of it. He’d throw a fit and then convince you to stay and you’d give in, living out the rest of your days unhappy with a man you can’t stand.

You stand up, a single tear rolling down your cheek. Joel panics and grabs your hand, holding you from going anywhere. His chest tightens and his eyes widen. You can’t go. Not yet anyways. He just got you.

“Baby, please… Please. Stay with me. Just for now.” The desperation in his voice is palpable and you falter immediately.

“I wasn’t going to leave, I just… I needed to do something. I’m anxious.” You say, your body twisting to face him.

Joel stares at you, his grip on your hand unrelenting. The way your eyebrows are tense in the middle has him anxious too. He pulls you to him with this gentleness that makes your body cave. You find yourself on his lap, hands on his chest as he holds you to him. Your eyes linger on your hands and then the expanse of his torso. He doesn’t have a shirt on, and you hate how distracting it is. How wonderful the hair that litters his skin feels against your palms. The swell of his pecks and how soft yet firm they are. His heartbeat in his chest that’s going two hundred miles per hour and how you find yours to be matching.

Joel brings one of his hands up to your head, moving the hair from your face.

“Look at me,” He breathes. His tone is light and almost like a whisper, “Please, my pretty girl.”

“Your pretty girl?” You ask, gaze meeting his. The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly as he grins.

“Yes. I don’t care what you say, darlin’. I don’t care if you leave Luke or stay with him. You’re mine and I… I reckon you’ve been mine for a long time now.”

Your eyes close and you nod, leaning your head on Joel’s shoulder. He’s right. It’s been a few months of you and Joel getting to know each other better but every day you find yourself slipping more. It was only a matter of time before this happened. Before both of you fell completely.

It was crazy to you. Yeah, you felt guilty for it in the beginning. Guilty for the way you’d go to bed and dream of how you’d get to see Joel the next morning. Guilty for the way you’d wake up early and make coffee for another man while your husband slept peacefully, oblivious to your feelings. Only kind of guilty for the times Joel would be busy, and you couldn’t bother him. So, you’d slip into your bedroom and touch yourself to the memories of his voice and laugh and the way he looked at you; the way he’d hug you before heading out to do his duties. But never guilty for how intoxicating you found him to be. How addicted you found yourself to be.

“Yeah… I think so too. Guess you’ve been mine for a while too?” You ask, your nose prodding his collarbone softly. He smiles, his hand on your waist trailing to your ass and squeezing it slightly, pulling you closer.

“Been yours longer than you been mine, that’s for sure. I wanted you that first night you guys got here. Looked so fuckin’ pretty.” He mumbles, turning his head into your hair. He could live here like this forever and be happy. He’d never asked for anything, never want for nothing. Just being with you here on this farm. He was convinced that’s what heaven looked like.

“Joel…” You whimper at his words, one of your hands trails up to his neck as your lips find it too. You press them against his skin, eliciting a hiss from him. His hand grips your ass harder, spreading your cheeks slightly.

“Yeah, baby girl? Feelin’ needy?” He asks, burying his face into the side of your head. You open your mouth, tongue snaking out to taste him. You want to mark him, have him wear your sigil around the farm. Not like anyone would see. Luke probably wouldn’t even notice.

Your lips plant themselves around his skin, sucking slightly and nipping at it. Joel’s breath catches in his throat, and he stutters, “Jesus fuck- darlin'. What do you think you’re doin’?” he asks, eyes shut as he leans his head back, granting you better access.

You hum, continuing your assault against his neck. Below you, Joel’s cock grows, poking against your thigh. You place open-mouthed kisses, and little love bites up to his jaw before pulling back to look at your work. You grin, eyeing all the small red marks beginning to darken. Joel shakes his head smiling, dilated eyes locked on yours. “Better hope your no-good husband don’t see these.”

You smile back, “He won’t. He’s too fucking oblivious. He doesn’t even know his wife is in their bed touchin’ herself to another man every night.”

This knocks the wind out of Joel’s lungs completely, his eyes widen, and you think he might actually black out for a second. You steady him with a small grin, shaking his head a little. “You okay?”

It takes Joel another couple seconds to respond, blinking back his glazed over eyes, “Oblivious to what, darlin’? To his wife doin’… what?”

You laugh, leaning down to peck the tip of Joel’s nose, “You heard me, Miller.”

“I don’t think I did, pretty girl. Think you should say it again so I can make sure I heard correctly.” He says, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you flush against his erection. Your walls part, feeling the hardened length against your core through his boxers.

You can’t think straight as the sensation of Joel gently rocking his hips upward sends you feral. Your grip on him tightens, “I-I said… Luke is too fucking oblivious to the fact that I’m touching myself to the thought of you every night. I make myself come every night to the thought of you and what it would be like for you to fuck me. How it would be to have your cock stuffed inside me. That clear enough for you?”

Joel huffs, his cock twitching against your heat, “Clear as crystal, baby girl.” His lips connect to yours and it takes your breath away. You’ve said it before, but Joel is just so intense. His kiss is powerful and full of force and it’s utterly intoxicating. You don’t want it to end, but Joel pulls back.

“Wanna know somethin’?” He asks. You nod. “You know how many times I’ve touched myself in the last few months to you?”

Your eyes widen as you bite back a smirk, deciding to relax more into his touch. You place your weight on his lap, his cock bumping your folds in a way that makes him groan. “Yeah? You been touching yourself to me too, Joel?”

“Yeah. Touched myself that first night you came here. When I say you looked so fuckin’ pretty cryin’ like that… I meant it. You went back up the hill and I sat right there in my chair. Couldn’t get out of my jeans fuckin’ fast enough. You got no idea the effect you have on me, do you?” Joel says, nuzzling his nose against yours pecking your lips in sequence a couple times.

You feel drunk. That’s the best way you could put it. You felt drunk on Joel’s needy hands and sinful words, and you’d be damned if you didn’t keep on drinking.

You gulp, “Why don’t… why don’t you show me just how much I affect you then.”

Joel looks into your eyes, looking for any reservations but he sees none. He feels a lump in his throat form, and he really doesn’t want this to end. A part of him wishes Luke would just not come back. That’d he stay far away and leave this farm and you to him. He takes care of both better than anyone else could, especially that poor excuse of a man. Joel wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he wouldn’t mind if Luke just up and died. That way he could never interfere again. As far as Joel was concerned the farm was his, and so were you. It made sense to him. Just as the sun comes up in the morning and sets at night. You were Joel’s and he was yours.

“Show you? Want me to show you how much I want you? How much I fuckin’ need you, sweet girl?” He asks, voice dripping with lust. You nod, words failing you. Seemed to be a common theme around him.

Joel smiles, “Okay, my baby. My pretty girl. You’re mine, aren’t you, darlin’?”

You shudder out a breath, his possessive words going straight to your core, “Joel, yes. I’m yours.”

Joels grip tightens and has you grind down against his cock that’s so painfully hard, “Only mine? No one else?”

You moan, a real moan and it has Joel reeling. “Only fucking yours. Please, Joel… I need you.”

“That’s all you had to say.” He says as he stands up, pushing you off his lap. You shiver from the lack of heat, but he turns to you and nods to the bed, “up against the headboard.”

You listen immediately, nearly stumbling to get on to the bed. Joel follows you, settling in next to you. He covers your bodies with the comforter, and your eyebrows knit together. You watch him fluff up his pillow and then lay against it, sighing as he closes his eyes. What?

“Uh, Joel? What… Are you doing?” You ask.

“Hm? Takin’ a nap. I’ve been up since four in the morning, darlin’. Ol’ Joel’s tired.” He says, eyes closing again.

You laugh, “What? But what about-”

“In a couple hours, we’ll get up. I'll check on Estrella, come back here, and I’ll make you dinner. Then after it’s all said and done, I’ll fuck you. Real good too.”

Your breath catches and you nod, “Okay.”

Joel extends his arm to you, and you lean into him. You place your head on his chest, his arm wrapping around you and holding you to him tightly. He didn’t want you to go anywhere. You weren’t going to.

It was crazy to you how quickly you fell asleep. As soon as Joel started to rub the skin on your forearm and his breathing began to even out, you were knocked. It was a quick nap, probably only an hour instead of the couple he promised. But you didn’t mind. Just meant you were closer to him fucking you.

Joel wakes up first, breathing out heavily as he moves from under you, trying so very carefully not to wake you up. But as soon as you felt the lack of body heat, you were wide awake.

“Where are you going?” You mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Joel smiles, slipping on his jeans and a shirt.

“Goin’ to check on Estrella. She should be havin’ that calf any moment at this point.” He leans down and kisses your temple and then your cheek and then your lips. You exhale, loving the affection. You kiss him back, humming against him.

“Let me go with you.” Your words are quiet as you feel yourself fighting sleep, your body slumping into Joel’s bed. You couldn’t help it. You were surrounded by his scent and the lingering warmth from his side of the bed. It was all so nice. So Joel.

He chuckles, “Nah, baby girl. Get some more rest. I’ll be back in a bit, okay? My pretty girl needs her beauty sleep.”

You feel your lips quirk up softly, yawning a quick ‘okay’ before nodding back off.

It’s another few hours before your body decides it’s time to get up. As you sit up in Joel’s bed, noticing the sun going down, you hear pots and pans clanging around in the kitchen. You decide to try and gather your bearings and go check it out. The walk down his hallway is short, but you can hear him mumbling something to himself and it has you smiling. Joel is placing a pan onto the stove when he sees you from the corner of his eye. He smiles, “Mornin’, darlin. Bout time you woke up.”

You yawn, stretching slightly, “I know. I’ve been sleeping all day. I have no clue why I’m so exhausted.” You make your way over to Joel who’s lighting the burner on the stove. You wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into him, still feeling the lingering effects of your long nap. Joel chuckles, kissing the top of your head.

“Still sleepy, baby? I guess that’s what good orgasms do to ya, huh?” He teases you. You can feel your face flush as your mind travels back to your time with Joel in the barn and you smirk.

“Guess so. Wouldn’t know. Never had one until then.” You say as Joel moves from you to the fridge, inspecting it for ingredients.

“That so? Well… Looks like I’m gonna have to keep ‘em coming.” He smirks. His eyes scan the content of the fridge and there really isn’t much. He clears his throat. “So, I know I promised you dinner. But I haven’t been able to head up to the market for a bit. I could probably throw together some omelets. Cheese and… bacon? Everythin’ else is in the freezer. It’d take too long to dethaw at this point.” Joel speaks, picking up a paper sack of what he thinks is the bacon.

You watch him raid his fridge and then you clear your throat as the lightbulb in your head goes off. “That doesn’t sound too bad. But think I have a better idea.”

Joel looks over to you, shutting the fridge before crossing his arms, “Oh yeah? What do ya got in mind?”

“I went up to Leo’s market the other day. They were having a special. Buy two get one free. So, I got a pack of almonds cause they’re my favorite. I got a pack of macadamia nuts for cookies and a pack of pecans for your pie. The one you requested forever ago.”

Joel’s eyes widen and his face breaks out into a grin, “Dessert for dinner, huh?”

You shrug, “I think it’s a good time to make it. You can help me. Ever made a pie before?”

He shakes his head, “Can’t say I have, sugar. But I think I have the perfect person to teach me.”

You roll your eyes playfully, before heading towards the front door and slipping your boots on. Joel follows you.

“I’ll be right back. Just gonna go up to the house and grab the stuff.”

He nods, offering help but you tell him you’ll be fine. You head up the hill and in through the back door of the main house before scouring the kitchen for all the ingredients. It’s smells like Luke in here and it makes you queasy. You pause to take a breath. You’d really forgotten about your husband just like that. Like he was so easy to forget despite being married to him for a couple years now. You rest your palms against the counter and clear your throat as your mind just as easily drifts back to thoughts of Joel. How he’s waiting for you just down the hill. How he looks at you and how you feel around him. How he makes you feel. Happy. Safe. Satisfied. Loved. And once again, Luke is gone from your mind.

You step back from the counter and move around the kitchen, grabbing a plastic bag and packing it with flour, sugar, corn syrup, cream, butter, and vanilla.

Soon enough, you’re back in the kitchen with Joel, laying out all the ingredients and getting to work. You start on the crust, combining the flour and butter into a crumbly dough and then let it rest for a bit in the fridge while you start on the filling. Joel helps you measure out the sugar, cream, and corn syrup while you crack the eggs into the bowl. You work together seamlessly, and he follows your instructions to a T. You bite your lip in concentration as you mix the pecans into the filling, folding them in delicately.

Joel watches in admiration, his eyes grazing over your face and then your body which is covered with his clothing. His. It makes his chest swell with affection and he can’t help himself from leaning over and kissing you.

The kiss takes you by surprise, but you return it immediately. You hum against his lips and place your hand on his cheek. His lips move with yours for a moment and he pulls away first, leaving you in a daze. “So fuckin’ pretty.” He hushes; his eyes still closed. You lean in and press another kiss to his bottom lip and he smiles.

“Okay, let’s finish this damn pie.” You speak. Your body feels light and fluttery almost. It’s like you don’t know how to handle all of this. All of this affection. It’s like it’s too much. But also not enough.

Joel nods, getting up to get the pie dough from the fridge. He watches you roll the crust out, cutting it to fit the pie tin, and then pour the filling into it. He watches you make a little heart made out of pecans on the top before popping it into the oven and it’s all so wonderful to him.

Joel’s never really minded being alone. He stayed busy. He had so much to do on the farm every day he really didn’t have time to think that maybe life would be better spending it with someone else. He had the animals, and at one point he had Karla. Sure, he still had those nights from time to time where he craved the heat from another body in his bed. Or maybe when his fist just wasn’t enough and he needed that slick, wet heat his hand couldn’t offer him.

But now, as he watches you move around his kitchen, baking him his favorite pie, doing the dishes, he can’t imagine it any other way. He knows he’s in too deep. You’re a married woman and he knows that, it’s just he’s fought his feelings for a long time and now? He doesn’t give a damn. He wants you. He’s convinced he needs you. If you were to leave him to go back to that piece of shit husband, he doesn’t know what it’d do to him.

Joel stands from the small dining table in the kitchen and makes his way to you. You’re stood at his sink, scrubbing at the dishes you used for the pie. He comes up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. Your heart races at the action and you breathe out a small, “Hi.”

“Hi.” He says back simply, his eyes closing.

You peek at him from the corner of your eye and smile, “Feeling sleepy?”

He nods, “‘Lil bit. Was stressin’ over Estrella but she finally got that calf out. Both of ‘em are resting now.” Joel presses tiny kisses against your neck, and you sigh, savoring them.

“That’s good they’re both okay. I want to see the baby.” You say, turning off the water and turning in his arms to face him.

“You can. We can go see ‘em tomorrow morning. That sound okay to you?”

You shake your head yes, looking into Joel’s eyes, “Sounds fine to me.”

The smell of fresh baked pecan pie wafts through the kitchen and your eyes light up. “I think the pies done. Shall we take a look?” You ask.

“We shall.” Joel counters with his country twang and you giggle.

He opens the oven and you slip on the mitt before pulling the pie out and setting it on top of the stove. “Now we have to let it cool.”

Joel sighs impatiently, “Let it cool? We can’t cut into it now?”

“No, I mean, unless you want hot pecan sugar soup. It has to firm up!” You say, turning the oven off.

Joel groans playfully and you shake your head, “You can wait twenty more minutes, okay?”

He rolls his eyes but nods, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ve been waitin’ months anyways so what’s another twenty minutes?”

“Exactly.”

Joel moves to the sink to finish up washing the dishes while you poke and prod at the pie making sure it firms up okay. And after cleaning the kitchen, putting away the ingredients into Joel’s cabinets, and a little make out session, twenty minutes have already passed.

You pull back from Joel, his lips following yours as he isn’t quite ready to stop yet. You hush against his mouth, “Joel… you know what time it is?”

“Hmm, time for me to keep kissin’ you?” He asks, pressing his lips to yours again.

You hum, pushing him back, “Pie time.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise, “‘Fuckin’ finally.”

The two of you gather around the stove as you stick your knife into the pie and cut it into 8 big, individual slices. You take Joel’s plate and serve him first then dish up yours as well. Once back at the table you wait for him to take a bite, anticipating his reaction as nerves settle in your tummy. It’s his favorite pie so this is a big deal.

Joel sticks his fork into his slice and then into his mouth. You watch him closely as he chews a few times, anxiety creeping from your tummy to your neck. But then, his eyes close and you swear you hear him moan.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He utters, his mouth still full of the pie.

Your eyes light up and you smile, “Is it good?”

Joel looks at you from the corner of his eyes and then back down to his plate, immediately shoving another bite into his mouth. He doesn’t say anything. Even when his first slice is gone and even when he finishes another one. He goes for a third and you stop him, grabbing his wrist gently.

“Joel, baby… calm down. Your pie isn’t going anywhere.” You laugh.

Joel clears his throat, a hint of red on his cheeks, “I know, darlin’. But you think that cherry pie’a yours was good? This could win contests.”

Your eyes roll and you shake your head, “You’re just saying that. You always hype my food up. It can’t all be good!

Joel looks at you incredulously, “It can’t all be good? Are you kiddin’ me? You haven’t made a bad thing yet. But this? I might need one a week. Maybe two.”

You laugh, finally taking a bite of your own slice. You were too entranced by his display of gluttony to even try it yet. But fuck, once you had a taste, you knew he was right. Your eyes fluttered shut as you savored the nuttiness from the pecans and the caramelized sugar, “Okay, you’re right. This is better than the cherry pie.”

“Pecan is always better than cherry. But you know what would taste even better?” He asks.

Your eyebrows knit together as you take another bite of pie and look at Joel, “Hmm?”

“You.”

You choke on your bite of food and look up at him, smiling as a blush creeps onto your cheeks. Joel smirks, pushing his plate aside and leaning over the table to look at you. You lock eyes for a moment, unspoken longing simmering between the both of you and without words, you both stand up. Joel grabs your hand again and pulls you back down the hallway to his room. That nervous feeling settles in the pit of your stomach again, but you push it away. Images of Luke flash in your mind from before; when he loved you. When you loved him. It was almost annoying at this point. Why did you keep thinking of him? It’d been weeks if not months you had any sort of romantic feeling for him and while you supposed some guilt still did linger, you absolutely didn’t mind the way your body thrummed with desire for Joel.

Joel doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. It’s not like anyone’s gonna hear anything or walk in on you, which at this point, you didn’t really care if they did. After this day of touches and kisses and teasing, you needed all of him.

Your body shook with nerves and adrenaline as you stepped in to Joel’s room with him. It was really going to happen. You were going to fuck this man you’d be pining for for months. Joel on the other hand, was calm and collected. He walked over to his bed, peeling back the covers before stripping himself of his shirt and unbuttoning his jeans. As he pulled the zipper down, he looked up to you, a soft smile on his lips.

“Gonna get in bed?” He asks, nonchalantly as all hell.

You twiddle your fingers as you sway from one foot to another, “I dunno. Do you want me to?”

Joel looks at you and rolls his eyes, “Darlin’…” he begins, but you cut him off.

“You gonna fuck me?”

Joel’s smile drops ever so slightly, thinking of what to say next. But it comes back as quickly as it disappears. “Gonna be disappointed if I don’t?”

You bite your lip and shrug slightly. Joel laughs, “I’ll take that as a yes then. Come ‘ere. It’s been too long since I’ve touched you.”

“You were holding my hand like maybe 2 minutes ago.” You grin softly, climbing into bed with him. His arms wrap around you, pulling you on top of him. He grunts in satisfaction as your body weight settles on his lower tummy, hands planted firmly at your hips. His thumbs rub tiny circles into your skin as he pushes your shirt over your head, exposing your bare breasts to the cold air in the room. Your nipples harden instantly and your lips part, a short puff of air escaping them. Joel’s eyes dilate as he rakes them over your skin, his hands inching up your torso until they meet the swell of your breasts.

“So fuckin’ pretty… can’t believe you want me.” He mumbles.

You scoff, a smile on your face, “What do you mean by that?”

Joels thumbs pad over your hardened nipple, causing your cunt to throb. Your hands plant themselves against Joel’s chest, your fingertips weaving between the hair that litters it.

“What I mean is… I’m old enough to be your daddy, but maybe you’re into that. Maybe you like the idea of being with an old fucker like me.”

Your eyes roll, “Yeah, that must be it. I have an old man fetish.” You shake your head and laugh, a smile on his lips as well, “But no, Joel. I think it’s actually the fact that I think you’re amazing. You are so sweet, and kind and I don’t think you realize that. I think you have this idea of yourself that you’re this rough around the edges, loner type but you aren’t. I’ve never had someone be so gentle with me. It makes perfect sense as to why I’ve fallen so hard for you.”

Joel’s fingers stop as he stares at you for a long while. Suddenly, he sits up, holding your body close to him. His arms wrap around your frame, pulling you flush against his chest as his eyes don’t leave yours. “Please… be with me.” He speaks, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly.

Your heart stills, “I am, Joel. I’m with you right now.”

“No, you know what I mean.” And you do. You absolutely know what he means. He wants you to leave Luke and be his. You want to. So desperately.

“Joel-”

“No, don’t give me that. You don’t love Luke. He doesn’t treat you well. Don’t you think being with me would be better?” He asks, his voice quiet, like he’s nervous.

“It would. It would be so much better, Joel-”

“Then leave him and be with me-” He interrupts.

“Please don’t interrupt me. I deal with enough of that from my husband.” You say in frustration, trying to pull back from him but he doesn’t let you go.

“Don’t pull away from me. You don’t have to be defensive with me. I’m sorry I interrupted you. I won’t do it again, I just… I want you, in every capacity. I want to wake up next to you, have you make me coffee every mornin’ just like you do now. I want to listen to my records with you and have you show me that Gilman Girls show you talk about all the time.” He says and you laugh softly.

“Gilmore Girls, Joel.”

“Yeah, that one. I want to have dinner with you and do the dishes together, then climb into bed so I can hold you, kiss you… so I can make love to you, and we don’t have to worry about anythin’ else. Just us.”

Your heart races and you feel tears spring to your eyes, the longing he feels for you blooming in your chest tenfold. Joel is infinitely better than Luke. In every way. He’s attentive and thoughtful and so kind it makes you lightheaded. Life here on the farm with Joel might not be so bad. You actually might enjoy it. You know you would. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind. But would you be willing to give up everything for him? You sigh, and without another beat; you speak.

“Okay.” You say, wiping a tear from your cheek. “Okay. I’ll leave Luke.”

Joel’s eyes widen and his shoulders rise and fall with the deep breaths he forces himself to take, “My sweet girl… you will?”

You nod, “Yes. I want all of that with you. I want to wake up at 5am and help you with the chickens and tend to Estrella and her calf. I want to make you treats and fatten you up with them,” Joel smiles and you do too, “I want to lay in bed with you and talk about nonsense and touch you and love you and be with you. I want to be yours, Joel. Not Luke’s. Yours.”

Joel can hear the blood rushing in his ears and he feels like he might actually combust on the spot. His heart races and he closes in on you. “Then that’s what’s gonna happen, darlin’. Just us. Just you. Just me.” Joel hushes, his lips pressing against yours.

You move with him and somehow end up with your back pressed against his plush mattress. Joel begins to remove the boxers he’d given you to wear earlier as you reach for the his jeans, pushing them down his hips fully.

“I want you.” You mumble against his lips.

“You have me, my girl.” He whispers back.

Once out of his jeans, Joel shimmies out of his boxers, leaving you both lying there naked. It’s scary how real it is. Joel is going to fuck you. You’re married and you don’t care. In your mind, your relationship with Luke has been dead for a long time. You don’t have an ounce of emotion in your body for him anymore and with ease, you forget about him once again.

Your attention switches back to Joel so naturally; so fluidly. His cock presses its head against your thigh. He’s so painfully hard you have no idea how he’s restraining himself.

“Need to be inside you, baby… but fuck, I wanna take my time with you.” He utters, his tone dripping with lust. His lips trail from yours to your jaw to your neck, not caring if he leaves marks or not. You’re leaving Luke. You’re his and he’s going to let the world know.

He moves further down, his tongue snaking in between the valley of your breasts and lower to your navel. He sucks at the skin on your tummy, marking you there as well. Another annoying blip of Luke flashes through your mind and how if he saw these marks on your body, it’d be over. It’s over anyways. Those thoughts go as quickly as they came when you realize Joel has buried his nose in the small tufts of hair that litters your skin down there. He’s like a mad man at work, huffing his way down to your folds and breathing in.

“Good God, sweet girl. Need’a taste so bad. Smell so fuckin’ divine I could lose it right now.” He speaks as his nose prods against your opening, his rough fingers meeting your walls to spread them open. His tongue dips in, licking against the swollen bud and it has you seeing stars. Your fingers lace into his hair as you keen into his ministrations, angling your hips up to his mouth.

His name litters the air as it stumbles out of your mouth over and over, like a mantra. Your whimpers of pleasure urges Joel to get more into it, sucking and flicking his tongue against your clit. His finger trails down, slipping into your soaked cunt as he begins to pump two of them in and out slowly.

“So fuckin’ wet, baby… taste like heaven.” He mumbles, his lips wrapping right back around your bud. Your brows tense as Joel curls his finger, hitting the soft spot in your pussy. Your fingers pull his hair tighter, your mouth opening as you moan silently, your orgasm embarrassingly close. He was so fucking good at this.

“Joel… fuck-Joel.”

“I know, baby, I know. I can feel you clenching around my fingers baby girl, go on and let go for me.” He hushes out, his warm breath only adding fuel to the fire. Joel’s expert tongue swirls and presses like he’s dotting his I’s and crossing his T’s and after a few more strokes of his fingers, you can’t hold back anymore.

“Fuck, I’m coming, Jo- Fuck!” You hiss through your teeth as your hands release the grip on his head and find solace on his bed sheets. Wave after wave hits you and you feel like you can’t even breathe. You try and it’s like it’s stuck in your chest. Joel doesn’t back down either, his tongue, lips and fingers all working away like he’s possessed. He’s addicted to your taste, and he’ll never give it up.

Your body begins to recoil away with overstimulation and once you whimper his name, he comes to. His head peeks up from between your legs and he smiles, his beard damp and cheeks glistening with your slick. It makes your heart skip a beat. He leans his head to your thigh and kisses it, breathing heavily himself.

Joel makes his way up your body, letting his weight down on top of you and it feels like bliss. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck as you pull him to you. Your lips meet his as he lets your taste yourself on him, his tongue tangling with yours like it was with your clit only moments ago. He’s still hard, probably even more so as you feel it press into your still-sensitive core. His tip begins to slide between your folds, and you spread your legs wider. Joel smiles into the kiss before pulling back.

“Ready for me, baby?” He asks with such softness you can’t believe how lucky you are to be here with him right now. You nod, your eyes opening to meet his. You want to watch him as he enters you.

His gaze is tender and full of what you think could be love. You didn’t want to jump the gun and say that it was, but… if he said it to you, you might just say it back. His hand caresses your cheek as he watches you intently, like he’s dazed. You turn your head into his palm, kissing the rough skin. No words are said, and none need to be. Joel lets out a deep breath as his hand tucks some of your hair behind your ear before trailing it down to your leg and guiding it to wrap around his. His cock slips into you ever so slightly and your breath hitches.

“Please, Joel… I need you… need more.” You speak; your voice hoarse. Joel smiles, leaning down and pecking your lips once more. He nods, words failing to find him now. He looks back into your eyes and pushes his hips forward. His cock sinks into you so deliciously it has you stunned. The way the girth stretches you out feels like you were made to take it. You were made for Joel; you were sure of it.

Joel, on the other hand, was a mess. When this whole thing started, he was so calm, like he’d planned this forever. Maybe he had. He didn’t dare close his eyes, not wanting to miss a second of this as he pushed in further. Soft grunts escape him as he bottoms out and then holds it there, letting the both of you adjust.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice shaky.

You nod, “I’m perfect.”

He nods back, pulling his hips back all the way before pushing them back in. He begins to find a steady rhythm, rocking against your body and that’s when you allow your eyes to close. One of his hands meets the pillow next to your head and he moves quicker. Grunts and moans slip from him which surprise you; you didn’t expect him to be so vocal. You’re right behind him though, his name being moaned into the ether as yours drips from his mouth. He’s already close, you can tell. But he’s trying to hold on as long as he can. He wants to savor this. He’s scared he won’t get this opportunity again.

Joel pulls his cock out of you, his chest rising and falling as he steadies himself. You look up to him, confused as to why he’s stopped. Maybe he’s regretting it. Maybe he feels guilty for it all. You sit up on your elbows, eyebrows knit tight.

“Joel, everything okay?”

He wipes his face and nods, “Yeah, baby… on your knees for me.”

Your eyes widen and you immediately turn around, gathering yourself on to your hands and knees to which Joel groans. He grabs your hips, pulling you against him and you feel his hard cock rut into your behind slightly. Joel brings a hand down to your ass, the smack echoing in the dimly lit room as you hum in delight.

“Gonna fuck you good, sweet girl. ‘Member I promised that?” He says, guiding his cock back into your slick. You breathe out, arms faltering slightly as you try and hold yourself up for him.

Joel smacks your ass again, “I said, remember? Use your words, pretty girl.”

“Yes, I remember.” You hiss, your pussy gripping around his length like a vice.

“Fuck- r-remember what? What did I tell you I was gonna do?” Another smack, your cheeks branded with his handprint.

“Ah, Joel-fuck! You-you said you were going to fuck me good. Please… do it. Fuck me.” You beg, your tone dripping with desperation. Joel smiles and kneads the skin he’d been rough with as he begins to pump in and out again.

“Good girl.”

He grabs your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he moves. He pumps into you over and over and you can’t think straight. Your arms give out not even two minutes into it and your head buries itself in his pillows. Joel doesn’t care; he just grips you tighter to make sure you don’t get too far away.

“That’s it, you’re takin’ it so fuckin’ good, baby. So good. So… mine. All mine, right?” He moans, his voice rough.

You don’t respond, too busy focusing on his cock that stretches your pussy out. Focused on the way he seems to hit that one spot in your cunt over and over. He takes his hand to your ass again, this time smacking it but grabbing a fist full afterwards.

“I said, right?”

“Yes, Joel, all yours! Only fucking yours.”

It’s like music to Joel’s ears as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulling your back against his torso. His hips never stop, even as you both adjust to the new position, his left hand reaching up to your breast to squeeze and his right flying down to your clit, rubbing quick circles. He wants you to come with him and he’s ridiculously close, but so were you.

“Shit, baby,” He heaves, “‘M gonna cum, gonna fill you up. That okay?” He asks through his rough grunting.

You nod immediately, not minding any implications, “Fuck, yes, Joel. Please. Please fuckin’ finish inside me.” Your orgasm teeters the edge as his fingers and cock assault your core, seconds from overflowing.

Hearing you beg Joel to finish inside you is all he needed to let go. Both of you cry out in pleasure as you feel Joel’s hot seed coat your walls. He fucks it further into you, no sign of him pulling out, but you didn’t want him to. Your body ignites as your own orgasm hits, your pussy clenching around Joel’s cock, milking him dry. You’ve never felt this sort of electric current spread through your veins, this liquid fire working its way to every point of your body and it’s just too much.

Finally, after a few more moments of Joel thrusting; his hand on your clit seizes its movements and he pulls out. Your head falls back on to his shoulder as you try to catch your breath, body completely spent. You feel his touch graze over you skin as he trails them up to your breasts and back down your tummy, like he’s trying to map every inch of your body to his memory. He’s so scared he’s going to lose you, and you can tell. His lips ghost over your neck and shoulders and back, while his hands palm at your skin.

“Joel, settle down.” You giggle; your eyes still closed in euphoria.

He sighs, “Sorry, Darlin’. I’m just… I’m just feelin’ you is all.”

“I know you are and that’s okay. But we’re going to do this again, you know? Again, and again, and again.” You say with a smile as you turn to face him again. You can feel his seed begin to leak out of you and you clench, wanting to keep it inside.

“You sure?” Joel asks, his body hovering yours as you lay on your back.

You nod; eyes heavy with exhaustion even if you’d napped most of the day. Joel relaxes slightly, easing his body down to lay on yours and it has you reeling.

“I love this feeling. You on me. Us. All of it.” Your words come out in a mumble and Joel smiles, kissing your chin and then your cheeks.

“I know. Me too.” He hums, his lips lingering over your skin as he ghosts more kisses across your face. He pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath. “So, how are we…? How are you… ya know, gonna tell Luke?”

You pause for a long time. Each second that passes has Joel’s heart racing quicker and harder. What if you’d changed your mind?

Another pause and a breath; you speak. “I… don’t know.”

Joel doesn’t move. He just lays there on top of you and lets you think a while. “How do I tell my husband I want a divorce?”

“You go up to him and say ‘Luke. I want a divorce.’” Joel says plainly and you let out a breathy laugh.

“Is it really that simple?” You ask, your eyes meeting his.

He pauses this time, his eyes dilating as he gazes upon your face. “No. It isn’t.”

You nod, eyelids closing. “I know.”

“But we’ll figure it out. Okay? No way in hell am I ever lettin’ you go now. I’ll fight Luke for you.” He speaks. You laugh again but you know he’s serious. He would fight Luke. He’d win too.

“That won’t be necessary… but I’d fight him too.” This time Joel laughs and leans down, nuzzling his head into your neck and wrapping his arms around your frame. You’ve never felt so safe. So loved.

You don’t know when you fall asleep, but it happens. Your body melds into Joel’s and the both of you lull into a deep sleep. You don’t wake up until late morning the next day. Joel’s already out of bed, probably somewhere on the farm doing his duties. You sit up, the blankets pooling around your waist when you look over to the clock on Joel’s bedside table. It’s a quarter passed 10 already. You decide to get up, getting dressed in Joel’s shirt from yesterday and a pair of his sweats. You see an old sweater in his drawers too and you figured you’d help yourself. It is getting chilly outside after all. Plus, you had the inkling Joel was the type to like you in his clothes anyways.

After slipping on your shoes, you decided to head to the barn. He was more than likely there, considering Estrella was in active labor yesterday. The cold air nipped your nose as you hugged yourself, crossing the yard to the barn. It was open, the overhead light flipped on. You could hear humming from Joel in the distance and you smiled.

It was warmer in the barn. Joel turned the space heater on for the calf and for the mama.

“Joel?” You called out, waiting for his response.

He peeks his head around the corner, his eyes wide as he smiles to you. He steps from behind the wall, wiping his hands on a rag that he slings over his shoulder. Heat pools in your tummy as he approaches you, the simple gesture turning you on.

“Hi, darlin’. Everything okay?” He asks. You nod. “Sleep okay?”

You nod again. “Best sleep I think I’ve ever had. I was so warm and cozy.”

Joel smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist, “Yeah? Me too. And to think… we’re gonna be sleepin’ like that from here on out, huh?”

You feel your stomach coil in a way that makes you nervous. It’s excitement, but it’s nerve-wracking. You’re really going to have to tell Luke it’s over. Your mind swims with different ideas of ways to break it to him. Maybe you could tell him you’re actually not interested in men anymore. Yeah, that could work. The good ol’ lesbian switcheroo. Or maybe you could tell him you’re dying. You could fake your death and just never have to confront what’s really going on. You could never tell him you’re in love with another man. With someone he’s known since he was a child. You sigh as you realize you just need to tell him you’re unhappy. That you don’t want this anymore… that you don’t want him. Maybe you could even leave Joel out of it. Just tell him you’re done, that you want to go back to the city. Luke would. He wouldn’t stay here. That way you could sneak back and live with Joel. But that was a longshot.

Joel notices your silence and he nudges you slightly, “Baby? Everythin’ okay in that pretty lil’ head of yours?”

Your eyes snap up to Joels, slightly widened but you nod.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m okay. Just thinking of what I should tell Luke.”

Joel nods, opening his mouth to say something when the devil himself appears.

“Tell Luke what?” Luke speaks, smiling at you and Joel as he steps into the barn. He must have seen you come inside it.

Your heart stills and you feel it drop to your ass as you whip around, eyes meeting his. Joel’s hands drop from your waist, and you can’t even think straight. Your heart pounds so hard you feel like you’re rocking on a boat during a thunderstorm, the waves threatening to consume you.

Luke begins to notice that Joel’s hands were on you, once gripped tightly around the sides of your body, now limp at his sides. Twitching. Like they’re aching to hold you again. He notices the clothes you adorn. They’re not yours and they’re definitely not his. Luke’s stomach drops and his smile falls, his own heart racing. Luke might be oblivious to some things, but he’s not an idiot, and he quickly pieces together what’s happening. And then he sees the marks on Joel’s neck. And then on yours.

“What. The. Fuck?” He hisses. His face begins to burn red and he sees it too.

“Luke, please. Let me explain-” You begin, your voice panicked and desperate.

“Oh, no. You don’t need to explain. I know exactly what is going on here… and you know what? I just knew this was going to happen. I knew it. I had this feeling and look! I’m right!”

Your brows knit together and you cross your arms. “Luke, what?”

Luke scoffs, “Babe… you don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting up at five… six in the morning to make Joel coffee? Or the way you’d bounce over to the guest house, the brightest smile on your face like you were going to see the love of your life? You’ve never smiled like that with me! If you don’t think I’ve noticed that then you must be dumber than I thought you were. So fucking dumb.”

Your heart breaks at his words. You know he’s just trying to hurt you, but man does it fucking suck. You loved him wholeheartedly at one point and now you just don’t know him. You haven’t for months. Probably even before you got to the farm. Tears well up in your eyes as you go to say something but get cut off.

“Listen here, you little shit. You will not talk to her like that any longer. Do you hear me?” Joel seethes, but Luke isn’t going to back down.

He laughs, “Upset ‘cause I called her dumb? She just threw everything away for you! You, Joel. 50 years old and what to show for yourself? Living on a dead woman’s farm? No family, no kids. You just had to steal someone else’s wife, huh? You know what? You can have her. She’s a fucking whore anyways!”

“Luke, stop.” You say, your voice wavering as you try and find it, your heart shattering at his words.

“You little fucker. You can say all the shit you want to, Luke,” Joel begins, “But in the end, it was me who fucked your wife, wasn’t it? She had to turn to me ‘cause it was you who couldn’t take care of her.”

You look at Joel with wide eyes at his crude words and you scoff, looking back and forth as the two of them begin to argue. They raise their voices, stepping closer to one another and it just becomes too much. You break.

“Stop! The both of you! Fucking stop!” You yell, your eyes filling with tears. They spill wildly and you don’t even try and wipe them away. Luke looks at you in annoyance and as soon as Joel’s eyes meet yours, he’s nervous. He’s realized what he’s said in anger and he hates to see you cry. He hates that he’s part of the reason you are. Joel tries to reach out to you, uttering a ‘baby’ and you push him back.

“No. Just… stop.” You sob. Your voice is small and nervous, but you knew whatever the outcome of this was, it’d end in disaster. It’d end in heartbreak.

“Luke,” You begin, “I was so in love with you, I mean, fuck. I married you. I moved seven hours out of the city to live in the fucking countryside with you! And not once, did you take my feelings into consideration. The more I think about it; I don’t think you ever did. It was all about you. You’ve been horrible to me the last however long we’ve been here-”

“I haven’t been horrible to you-”

“Let me speak!” You yell back, your fists tightening into little balls. Luke rolls his eyes but shuts up. Joel’s eyes flicker down to your fists, and he physically holds himself back from reaching for them. From reaching for you. He so desperately wants you in his arms, telling you it’ll be okay, that’s he’s sorry, but he knows he can’t. You wouldn’t let him.

“You have been horrible. Not speaking to me or berating me when you do. Pushing me for sex when I didn’t want it. Calling me names and meaning them. ‘Whore’? Really, Luke? The venom you have in your voice when you talk to me… you can’t deny any of that.”

Luke stays silent because he knows you’re right. He can’t look at you anymore and turns his head, his eyes closing as his shoulders slump.

“And you,” You speak, turning to Joel, “What the fuck was that? Boasting like I’m some… trophy? Like I’m-”

“I cheated on you too.” Luke says. Your eyes widen and both you and Joel turn to him. “I am cheating on you. With uh, Caroline.” He says, mentioning his coworker. She was a couple years younger than you and Luke. Newer to the company. You’re pretty sure Luke mentioned he was training her when she was hired about a year ago.

You can’t say you’re shocked. You can’t really say anything as there isn’t much for you to say.

“So, we’re both not innocent then, huh?” You speak. Your voice is serious and final, “Let’s get divorced. We should end this.”

Luke scoffs, crossing his arms. His face begins to falter. He knows you’re right. This should end. He wants to be bitter and petty and hurt you more, but he knows he’s hurt you enough. At one point, he cared about you too. You were the light of his life and then things changed. Work got stressful, Karla died, and his family pressured him to take the farm. He didn’t want to. He has no clue how to take care of a farm, clearly. He had no clue how to take care of you. And to him, it seemed like Joel did.

“Let’s talk about this inside.” He sighs.

A couple hours later you find yourself walking out the back door of the farmhouse and down the hill to Joel’s guest house. Your cheeks are tear stained, and nose is tinged red from crying. No shoes on. The familiar ache of the cold gravel against the heels of your feet almost comforting you.

Once on the rickety porch you’d stepped on to hundreds of times before, you approached the door, rapping on it lightly. Joel only took a few moments to answer it.

“Hi.” You said as you watched him. He looked nervous, cheeks pink with anxiety. Or maybe he’d been crying too. You didn’t know.

“Can I come in?” You asked. He nodded immediately, stepping aside. He didn’t speak though. Maybe he was too nervous to. Too scared. He was terrified this was it.

You made your way to the plaid couch you’d grown to love so much, settling against the soft cushions and breathing out. Joel lingered, standing by the door. He was unsure of what he should do next. Should he sit down? Should he reach out to you? Comfort you? Should he just get the fuck off this farm and never look back? No, he wouldn’t do that. He needed you too badly.

Your reddened, watery eyes looked up to Joel causing his breath to stutter. The anxiety bubbled up from his chest to his throat and he clears it, watching for your next move. You sniffle, rubbing your eyes before holding your arms out to Joel. You needed to be held. He moved to you in lightning speed, scooping you up into his arms and cradling you delicately. Joel settles on to the couch with you in his grasp. He presses small kisses against your temples, scalp and forehead, his heart racing a mile a minute.

“I’m here, baby. Not goin’ nowhere. Not ever. You have me.” He speaks. His words are desperate and needy, like he needs to ingrain it into your mind that he’s yours. Because he is.

Joel holds you for a long time. He’s not sure how long, but it had to be at least an hour or so. His hands rub up and down your back, tracing the curve of your waist and spine. He wants to comfort you, just like you being here comforts him.

It’s a little longer before you speak. You sniffle and pull back slightly, looking up to him. “I’m sorry, Joel.”

His heart races again, “Sorry? What’re you sorry for, darlin’?”

“For everything.” You squeek, your voice cracking. “For getting you into this mess.”

He sighs, “Baby… that’s not somethin’ you need to be sorry for. I wanted you just as bad as you wanted me. Even more so.”

You look away and blink, shrugging. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t know what else to say.”

“That’s alright. You don’t gotta know what to say. Just let me hold you, okay? Whatever happens, we’ll get through it. You and I.” He says, burying his head against the top of yours, breathing in the lingering tea tree scent from his shampoo. His eyes close, heart hammering in his chest which you can hear. The corners of your lips turn upwards, tears springing to your eyes.

“Are you nervous, Joel?”

He pauses a moment before nodding. “Lil’ bit. Just scared you’re gonna go away or somethin’.”

You pause this time, your mind drifting back to your conversation with Luke inside.

“So, sleeping with Joel, huh?” Luke says. You roll your eyes as you sit on the velvet green couch in the living room. He sits on the opposite side of it.

“Sleeping with Caroline, huh?” You retort and he blows a raspberry. There’s a long silence before anyone decides to speak. Tears prick your eyes, and you feel yourself just wanting to run to Joel. He’d make everything feel okay again. You wipe your eyes and Luke sighs.

“I don’t know why you’re crying. This has been coming for a long time. You’re so fucking sensitive.” He says, his tone quiet. He’s annoyed.

“I know. It still hurts though. Sorry for being sensitive, I guess.”

Another long silence, either of you not knowing what to say. He decides to finally look at you, his eyes gazing over your features, appreciating the way your eyelashes curl and then way your eyes glisten, still so full of life and love despite what’s going on. The last time he’s going to do that.

Luke sighs. His next words almost shock you.

“I’m sorry. You know that right?” He speaks. Your eyebrows knit and you look at him, more tears falling.

“Are you?”

He pauses again. “Yes. I didn’t mean to turn into such an asshole. I didn’t mean to make you run into the arms of someone who could treat you better. I just… stopped caring. It’s not okay. I’m sorry.” Luke taking accountability? This was new.

You shrug, wiping your tears away. You were so tired of crying.

“Well, I appreciate that, Luke. It sucks it turned out like this. That we… Turned out like this.”

“So, what should we do? What… do you want to do?” Luke asks. He’s calm. Sad, but he’s calm. No more venom. He’s ready for this to be over, and frankly, so you were you.

“I think a divorce would be best. There’s no love here. Not how it used to be anyways.” Which was true. You’d always have a love for Luke even if you weren’t in love with him.

He nods, wiping his nose. He wasn’t a crier, but this was hard for him too. You didn’t think it would be, but he was always surprising you.

“Okay. What about… the farm? I’m not staying here anymore, my family will have to decide what happen-”

“Joel should have it.” You say, interrupting him. “He’s been here 25 years. He can take care of it better than anyone in your family would. Hell, Karla couldn’t even take care of it. That’s why she hired him.”

He scoffs, “Oh, so you want Joel to get the farm so you can stay and live out your weird farm fantasy with him?” Luke spits, that venom seeping back into his words. He was always going to be like that.

You sigh, closing your eyes. “No. That’s not it at all. I don’t even know what’s happening with Joel and I, Luke. I don’t know where I’m going after this. But let’s face it… Karla would want him to have it.”

Luke huffs and stands up, pacing the room as he thinks. It’s another few moments before he says anything. He turns towards you, his eyes sad but he gives you a curt nod. His shoulders fall in defeat. He didn’t want to fight anymore. “You’re right. Joel should have it. Even if you decide to stay here with him. Which is insane to me… you didn’t even want to come here in the first place.”

You nod softly, remembering those months ago when Luke told you you’d be moving here. How much you hated it. How you’d stay up at night and have panic attacks at the idea of leaving the city. Now look at you. You couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

“I’ll tell my family. No one else really wanted it anyways. Not even Nick. So, it’s Joel’s… and… yours?” He asks cautiously.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Luke. I already told you that. We’ll… see.”

He nods again, his shoulders slumping further as he exhales a breath he wasn’t aware that he was even holding. You stand, knees a little wobbly from the adrenaline finally settling in your body.

“So, this is it then?” Luke says, biting down on his bottom lip. You nod.

“Yeah. It is.”

He looks away from you, looking anywhere besides where you stood. He knows he screwed up and he feels bad, yet a part of him feels free. He decides to step forward, awkwardly opening his arms to you and you hesitate, but you take it. The both of you have a final embrace. It’s empty. He just feels like another body against yours. There’s no emotion, but somehow, it’s the closure you needed.

“So, I’ll see ya?” Luke says, inhaling the scent of you one last time. He nearly scowls. Tea tree. He hated tea tree.

“Yeah, maybe not.” You laughed, tears spilling from your eyes. You wipe them away and he smiles, laughing too.

“Are you nervous, Joel?”

He pauses a moment before nodding. “Lil’ bit. Just scared you’re going to go away or somethin’.”

You pause, slightly unsure of what to say. It makes him more nervous.

“Do you want me to?” You finally ask Joel. He pushes you back, looking into your eyes.

“Do I want you to leave?” He asks. He looks like you’ve asked the silliest question in the world, but you nod anyways. He doesn’t speak for a moment, trying to find the right words to say.

“If you decide to leave, there’s nothing I can do about that… but I think it’d just down right kill me.”

His words make your heart leap, and you close your eyes, not wanting anymore tears to spill. You lean forward, burying your face in Joel’s chest. His fingers lace through your hair, his whole being trying to convey the fact that he wants you to stay right here with him.

“Then I’ll stay.” You mumble into the fabric of his sweater, but he doesn’t quite hear you.

“Hmm?”

You peer up to him, your lashes damp as your glossy eyes look into his dark, anxious ones. It takes his breath away.

“I said I will stay. Here with you.”

Joel’s heart stops as he finally hears you and all he can do is close his eyes and pull you back into him. He holds you there against him, not daring to move, not daring to let go. And you stay. You don’t wiggle, you don’t move, you sit there breathing him in deeply. The comfort this man gave you was insane. You could live here in his arms, on this farm, hours from a real town or city and you would be happy. You’d have him and he’d have you.

Images of your life on the farm with Joel flash through your mind and it has you reeling. Winter on the farm and being bundled up with him in bed, trying to stay warm with the space heater since the main house has a mean draft. Maybe you could convince him to get matching pajamas with you. Christmas ones with trees and stars on it.

You imagine helping Joel with Estrella and her baby in the spring. He could teach you how to tend to the chickens and horses so you could help fetch the eggs without getting pecked and even brush the horse's manes, giving them a braid or two. Joel’s been talking about starting a garden. It’d be the perfect time to get cucumbers planted, and tomatoes even.

Maybe in the summertime, you and Joel could lay a blanket on the hill in the backyard and watch the clouds pass by and as the day turned to night, you could count the stars in the sky with him. Maybe he’d lean over and kiss you, his hand trailing from your jaw to your neck to your waist. He’d take you on that blanket, under the moon, making love to the only woman he’d ever wanted in his life to stay with him for good.

And maybe that fall, you’d run into the stables, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gripped the little stick in your hand. Joel would look at you with concern, his brows knitted together tightly before looking down to what was gripped in your palm. He’d rush over to you, asking what it said, and you’d smile, nodding your head.

“Thank you.” He speaks. It’d been God knows how long since someone had said something, but you didn’t mind. The silence was comfortable with him. You look up to him again, the side of your cheek smooshed against his peck, and he smiles.

“Thank you? For what?” You ask. Joel’s hands caress the side of your cheek that’s not pressed against his chest, and he hums.

“For stayin’. Lord nows why you’d stay, but I’m glad. Real glad, my sweet girl.”

“Yeah, well… this place has grown on me. Who would have thought?” You say, smiling softly. Joel smiles too.

“Yeah, just the charm of the farm, huh, sugar? Nothing else?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Hmm… nope. I just really like Estrella. And her new baby is really cute too.”

Joel’s eyes roll but then he leans down and pecks your lips in a sequence. He presses his lips against yours over and over and you think to yourself there’s no way you could ever get sick of this.

He pulls back and wipes the hair out of your face, “Just so God damn pretty, baby girl. Can’t believe I’ll get to look at you every day. Get to touch you and kiss you.” Joel speaks and he’s really just talking to himself. He’s trying to convince himself this is really happening. You sit up, placing your legs on either side of Joel as you straddle him. His eyes flash with desire and it goes straight to his groin. You can feel it as his length pokes against your core but he doesn’t try anything. He just looks at you.

“Sorry, darlin’. Don’t gotta do nothin’ about it, just happens when I’m around you.”

You shake your head, corners of your mouth flitting upwards. “It’s okay, Joel. I don’t mind it. I kinda love that I can turn you on so easily.”

Joel smirks, “’Kinda’ love it? What do you think cause I’m damn near geriatric I shouldn’t be able to get it up anymore?”

“Oh my god. That’s not what I’m saying.” You say as your face burns, and you roll your eyes.

He laughs, “I know, baby. I just like givin’ you a hard time.”

“Hmm… well, I know something else that's hard you can give to me.” You smirk. You’re kidding and he knows it but it still turns him on even further. His grip on your waist tightens before trailing it down to your ass and pulling you against him. You feel that familiar ache in between your legs as his tip teases you through your pants. You shake your head.

“Joel…” You say warningly.

“I know, I know. It’s not really a sexy time right now, is it?”

You nod, “Not really… maybe later though? Luke’s packing right now. He said he’ll be gone by tomorrow morning. Could I sleep here with you tonight?”

Joel’s heart skips a beat, “I wouldn’t think you’d be anywhere else.”

Silence falls between the two of you as Joel takes your hands into his. His fingers pad over your delicate skin, tracing up the length of them and over the chipped polish on your nails. He laces his with yours and looks into your eyes. Joel feels his heart thump against his chest, an overwhelming sensation bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He’s going to say it. He’s never said it in his entire life to anyone. But he knows he feels it with you. It might be too soon, but in this moment he doesn’t care. He doesn’t know if you feel it too, but he thinks so. Joel’s nervous, and when he opens his mouth to speak, you stop him.

“I know.” You breathe, gripping on to his fingers tightly. Your voice waivers. “You don’t have to say it. I… I know.” And you do. You know exactly what he’s going to say and yes, of course you want to hear it. You feel it too. But you’re not ready. Not yet.

“I feel the same way.” You hush, bringing his knuckles up to your lips and pressing small kisses against them.

Joel’s eyes get blurry, and he nods, huffing slightly. He leans in and kisses you and you kiss him back. It’s simple, but passionate. You can feel the emotion he radiates for you and you hope he can feel it right back.

“I want to say it though, baby girl. You mean so much to me. Greatest fuckin’ thing to ever happen to me if I'm quite honest. Despite some trouble here and there.” He hums, lips pressing to your cheek and jaw. Your eyes close as you savor his touches, and you hum back.

“Me too. Maybe that’s crazy to say but I’ve never had anyone care for me the way you do, Joel. So, trust me. I feel the exact same way about you. Let’s just wait a little longer to say it. I mean I just found out I’m getting a divorce.”

Joel pulls back and looks into your eyes. They hold stars and galaxies and Joel is convinced that he could look into them forever. One look from you and he’d know everything would work out. You were his home, not this farm. And when he thought about it, it was well worth the wait for him to find you. He’d spend another 50 years alone if that meant he could spend eternity with you when it was all said and done.

The both of you knew there was still a lot to work out, but whatever happened, it’d be you two. That was all you really needed.

“I think… we should go into the kitchen and tear up the rest of that pecan pie. Whaddya think?” Joel smiles, pulling you with him as he gets up from the couch. His arms wrap around your waist as yours wrap around his neck and you smile, nodding to him.

“Sounds good to me. I could go for a lil’ something sweet right now.”

Thank you for reading this. As always, likes and reblogs are appreciated and if you enjoyed reading it, let me know! ♥️

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou #the last of us #oh boy this is a good one #word count is insane but oh well

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heartavenue · 22 days ago

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જ⁀➴ Things To Script: Politics Edition

Yes, this is an American aesthetic. Yes it is because I am American.

Elections are completely fair, not rigged, no scandals, fair.

There are no two of the "lesser evils" all candidates are genuinely good people and they want nothing but the best for the country.

All candidates represent the American people, if the American people find that the elected official is unfit they will be REMOVED (yes this is Trump shade.)

There is separation of church and state.

Americans are more open-minded about candidates from parties other than the Democratic and Republican party

(should I just say script out conservatism in general? I mean this is your reality you can if you want!)

We have no official language and ALL languages, cultures, backgrounds are represented and have the ability to be taught.

DEATH to the electoral college.

Fake news, propaganda, lies, non fact checked information cannot make it's way towards journalism.

News outlets have to report TRUE, unbiased information (I'm looking at you FOX)

No trade wars...

America does not involve itself in colonialism, imperialism, militarism, etc (mainly because those things do NOT exist.)

Supreme Court Justices do not rule for life.

There is an age limit to the presidency (this is subjective but personally I don't want an 80 year old president)

The minimum wage is increased from $7.25 (can you believe it's still that) to $20 (or whatever you prefer)

Free healthcare across ALL fifty states.

Planned Parenthood is in every state, providing safe abortions, sex ed, contraceptives, etc to everyone who is in need.

Abortions can NEVER be banned.

Free childcare across ALL fifty states.

Our politicians are civil, cordial, respectful, kind, intelligent (another dig on...let's just say a few people)

World peace

All oppressed/colonized people are FREE and live without any colonial influence.

Affordable prescription drugs.

Baby formula is affordable (this isn't really political but no formula should cost FIFTY BUCKS?)

Gay marriage is legal across all states and can NOT be revoked.

No fascism, Nazism, white supremacy, zionism, any bigoted idealogy in general does NOT exist.

Books are not banned/ can't be banned.

No fracking.

Free college.

No discrimination against ANYONE no matter their race, ethnicity, nationality, origin, sexuality, gender identity, etc.

Rape, sexual assault, pedophilia does not exist.

Crime in general doesn't exist.

Free therapy across the country.

The government actually WORKS to make this country better.

ICE does NOT exist.

Federal assistance programs can NOT be cut.

No wealth gap (no top 1% and the struggling 99%)

No homelessness.

No poverty.

Maternity leave is LONGER (isn't it like 2-6 weeks? come on now...)

Court rulings that have been passed can NOT be overturned (think roe v. wade)

No pink tax!

First time homeowners receive a grant from the government to help them with payments.

Credit scores isn't an issue, anyone regardless of their wealth can purchase a new car/home/rent an apartment.

Native Americans are seen as the true indigenous people of the Americas an they are incredibly respected, the land is returned back to them.

Follow up: Columbus Day does not exist.

The KKK doesn't exist...or MAGA or TRUMP!

No anti-vaxxers (get vaccinated, no they don't cause autism and no they aren't chipping you or whatever right wingers think)

They are laws put in place to protect our planet, nature reserves, recycling is MANDATORY, wildlife parks, etc.

History is NOT erased and is actively taught/encouraged in schools.

Guns...do I even need to explain at this point...

Immigrants are WELCOME and there is no stigma, discrimination or stereotypes about them either!

This country is extremely diplomatic we are on good terms with all countries, every meeting with them goes well and can only strengthen our allyship.

everyone is WOKE, I mean unprecedented woke, profoundly woke EVERYONE GET MORE WOKE NOW!!!

No wars.

Okay that's all I could come up with for now! Buh bye my loves!

#reality shifting #things to script #desired reality #shiftblr #shifting realities #shifting blog #shifting antis dni #shifters

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mandoalorian · 1 month ago

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sweet like plums [bucky barnes x reader]

Pairing: Civil War!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Synopsis: In the heart of Bucharest, a quiet fruit stall holds the key to Bucky Barnes’ fragile peace. Beneath the surface of his daily visits, a connection begins to form with the stall’s owner, someone who unknowingly becomes his anchor. But when danger strikes, Bucky’s protective instincts—and a hunger deeper than he realises—unleash.

Word Count: 4000

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content, p in v, f recieving oral, overstimulation, Bucky is rough and touch-starved, Bucky goes between speaking English and Russian (but everything is translated), canon-typical violence, set pre-Civil War.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Masterlist

The city always woke before you did.

Vendors lifted their tarps with cold-stiff fingers, breath curling in clouds as they arranged their wares — crates of oranges gleaming under dusted frost, tomatoes nestled in cloth, fish still slick from the morning catch. The scent of bread from the bakery down the street mixed with the tang of damp stone and cigarette smoke. Voices echoed off the crumbling concrete of apartment blocks, and the sound of passing trams rumbled like thunder in the distance. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was yours.

You arranged your fruit with care, lining up the apples and pears, brushing each plum until it gleamed like glass in the weak morning light. You were halfway through stacking crates when you felt him.

Same as always.

He never made a sound, but you knew the moment he arrived.

He kept to the edges. You didn’t know his name. Didn’t know anything about him, really—except that he came nearly every morning, sometimes twice, always quiet, always alone.

He wore the same outfits most days. Black cargos or muddy, worn-in jeans or sometimes grey sweatpants that looked just a bit too small on him. Today he was wearing a red henley under a gray coat, the sleeves pushed up just enough to expose the edges of a glove on his left hand. His hair was dark and long, tucked under a black cap, and his jaw was always dusted with stubble, like shaving wasn’t worth the trouble. He looked tired, but strong. Solid.

He always stood a few paces away from your stall at first, like he needed to ease into it.

Like he was afraid.

You offered him a smile, same as you did every day. Not too much—just enough to show you noticed him. That you didn’t mind.

“Morning,” you said softly.

He gave a single nod in return.

That was how it always started.

He never asked for anything. Just hovered near the plums until you held out a paper bag filled with the best ones. You always made sure to pick them just right—ripe but firm, slightly cool from the early air.

You held the bag out to him now. “First of the season. They’re a little tart still.”

He took the bag from your hand with surprising care, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment.

You felt it.

So did he.

“They help me remember things,” he said quietly, almost like it slipped out before he could catch it.

You looked up at him. That was the most he’d ever said to you.

“Plums do?” you asked gently.

He nodded, not meeting your eyes. “Sometimes.”

It was something about the sugar, the juice, the bite — they grounded him. Sometimes they sparked a memory. A flash of summer at Coney Island. His sister grinning with purple juice staining her chin. A paper bag splitting down the middle and the laughter that followed. He held onto moments like that the way a drowning man held onto rope.

You wanted to ask more, but something about the way he stood—shoulders tense, jaw clenched—made you hold your tongue. This wasn’t a man used to being asked questions. This was a man used to disappearing.

Still, you offered him a real smile. “Then I’ll make sure I keep the good ones aside for you.”

His gaze flicked up to yours, just for a second.

“Thank you,” he said, voice rough.

You watched as he turned away, crossing the square. He didn’t leave, though. Not completely. He stopped near the edge of a tall stone pillar, pretending to study the tram schedule posted beside it.

But you knew better.

He was watching you.

He always did that. Stuck around just long enough to make it obvious. Long enough to make your skin prickle and your heart beat a little faster.

And still—he never said more. Never lingered at your stall. Never asked your name.

Sometimes you wondered if he even knew how to.

It had been a quiet morning. You had greeted a few of your regulars and started making a shipment list to your supplier. The sun was golden and you basked in the warmth. You were open to spring-time heat, especially coming out of one of the coldest winters.

You were organising a box of apples when the shouting started.

A loud bang. The scrape of boots against pavement. Then a voice—sharp and angry.

“Hey! Open the drawer!”

You looked up just in time to see three men rush your stall. One of them slammed a hand against the side of the table, knocking over a box of fruit. Another pulled a gun.

People screamed. Someone ran. Your chest locked up.

One of them grabbed your wrist.

And then—

He was there.

The man in the red henley.

Moving so fast, he didn’t seem human.

The man’s fingers dug into your wrist, nails scraping over your glove as he yanked you forward, hard enough to send your hip crashing into the stall. Apples and plums spilled onto the pavement, rolling beneath boots. The crate hit the ground with a loud crack, and your breath hitched.

“Open the drawer,” he snapped, his accent thick. He shoved the barrel of the gun toward your ribs. “Now.”

Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs from the inside.

You barely even noticed the crowd disappearing. They always did. The moment a weapon came out, people vanished like smoke, like survival instinct was stronger than loyalty. You didn’t blame them.

But you didn’t expect him to stay.

He had been watching the whole time.

The moment the first shout pierced the air, his body reacted faster than his mind. Muscle memory. Instinct. Violence uncoiling in his blood like something old and familiar.

He saw the way the man gripped your arm.

Saw the flash of fear in your eyes.

That was enough.

The paper bag hit the ground, forgotten.

He moved without thinking. Quiet as a ghost.

The first robber never saw him coming.

His shoulder slammed into the thief from the side, knocking the gun clean from his hand. It skittered across the stone. Before the others could react, the man had already turned, grabbing the second one by the front of his coat and lifting him off his feet.

He didn’t punch him.

He threw him.

Straight into a fruit cart.

Wood splintered. Oranges scattered.

The last one came at him with a knife.

The man caught his wrist, twisted—something popped—and the thief screamed. The knife clattered to the ground.

“Run,” He growled.

The thief didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled away, limping, clutching his wrist. The others followed, leaving behind the wreckage of your stall and a trail of bruises.

You stood frozen.

The gun was still lying on the pavement, a few feet from your boot.

The man in the red henley stood there, chest heaving, shoulders squared like he was still in the middle of a fight. His eyes were wild—too blue, too sharp—and his gloved hand was clenched tight at his side.

For a moment, he didn’t look like the quiet man who bought plums.

He looked like something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

But then he looked at you—really looked—and his expression cracked.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice rough.

You blinked. It took a second for your body to catch up. Your heart was still racing.

“No,” you said quietly. “You—” Your voice caught. “You saved me.”

His gaze dropped to your arm, the one the man had grabbed. “He hurt you.”

“Just bruises,” you said. “I’m okay.”

He stepped back, jaw tight like he wasn’t sure what to do now. Like maybe he’d scared you.

“Wait,” you said, reaching out before you could stop yourself. Your fingers brushed his sleeve. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, silent.

Of course he wasn’t.

Of course nothing touched him.

He’d fought like a soldier. Like someone who’d done this before. A hundred times.

You glanced down at the mess—fruit everywhere, your crate broken, the drawer yanked open and empty.

“What’s your name?” You asked, stepping closer to the man, breaking the distance. The empty streets began to fill again, with people who had only just bolted away. The man looked away from you shyly. You offered him your name, and you saw the tension leave his body.

“My name is James, but people used to call me Bucky.” He said slowly, like he really had to think about it.

“Can I call you Bucky?” You asked softly, tilting your head to catch his gaze again. The man nodded ‘yes’. “Let me thank you,” you said, quieter now. “Come upstairs. I have something to drink. It’s the least I can do.”

He hesitated.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. You could see the war behind his eyes—this wasn’t something he was used to. Being invited. Being wanted.

But finally, he gave a slow, stiff nod.

“Okay.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

The hallway was narrow and cold, the steps creaking under your boots as you led him up to the second floor. The whole building smelled faintly of metal and cigarette smoke—old plumbing, older neighbors. You’d lived here long enough not to notice anymore.

Bucky followed you silently, his footsteps slow and heavy like he was waiting for something—like maybe this was a trap. Like at any moment, someone might step out from behind a door and drag him back into the shadows.

You unlocked your door and stepped inside first.

“It’s small,” you said over your shoulder. “But it’s safe.”

He paused on the threshold, his frame tense, wide shoulders filling the doorway. His eyes moved across the space—your tiny kitchenette, the sofa with the fraying throw blanket, the open window letting in cool air. His gaze lingered on the plum-scented candle flickering on the table.

He stepped in.

You closed the door behind him with a soft click.

“Sit,” you said gently, pointing to the couch. “Please.”

He didn’t sit right away. He stood near the window, head turning just slightly as if listening for footsteps in the street below. The war hadn’t left him, not really. You could see it in every twitch of his jaw.

You moved into the kitchen, filling two mismatched glasses—one with water, the other with a little vodka you kept stashed behind the tea tins. You handed the latter to him.

“Strong stuff,” you warned.

He took it from you without a word. His fingers brushed yours again—just barely—but it still made your breath catch.

Bucky sat down slowly, his massive frame sinking into the couch like he didn’t trust it to hold him. He kept the glass in both hands, staring at the clear liquid for a moment before finally taking a small sip.

“Not poisoned,” you joked softly.

A flicker of something—maybe a smile, maybe just relief—touched the corners of his mouth.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you said after a beat.

His head turned sharply. “What?”

“Back there. With the men.”

His brows pulled together, like he was expecting a reprimand. A punishment.

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall. “You could’ve been shot.”

“I’ve had worse,” he muttered, almost to himself.

You believed that. God, did you believe that.

“But still,” you said. “It means something. That you helped me.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared down into his glass again, his expression unreadable.

“Why did you help me?”

A long pause.

Finally, in a voice so quiet you almost missed it: “Because it felt like the right thing to do.”

“Oh, Bucky.”

He glanced up. There was something in his eyes now—wary, but soft. Open. Like hearing his name in your voice cracked something loose in his chest.

You moved slowly toward the couch, sitting beside him. Not too close.

Not yet.

“You always came for plums,” you said. “Every day. Sometimes twice.”

He nodded.

“They really help your memory?”

“Sometimes,” he said again. A quiet, familiar echo.

“But that’s not why you came.”

It wasn’t a question.

His breath caught—just a little.

“I saw you,” you said, voice low. “I saw how you looked at me. You don’t talk much, but... I’m not blind.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy and intimate.

His voice came out rough. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” you said.

His eyes searched yours. Deep blue, guarded, hungry.

“You don’t scare me, Bucky.”

He blinked like he didn’t quite believe you.

Your hand brushed his arm, deliberate this time. He didn’t pull away. His breath hitched. His grip on the glass tightened. You saw the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed hard.

You leaned in.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” you whispered.

He didn’t say anything.

But his eyes dropped to your mouth—and stayed there.

You didn’t kiss him first. You just leaned in, lips parting slightly, waiting—offering.

Bucky froze.

His breathing changed—deeper, more ragged. His eyes flicked from your mouth to your eyes, searching for hesitation. For regret.

There wasn’t any.

So he kissed you.

It wasn’t tentative.

It wasn’t careful.

His mouth crashed into yours like a dam breaking. Like something inside him had snapped free and couldn’t be held back anymore.

He kissed you like it hurt not to.

And God, he was hungry.

His hand came up to cup your jaw, fingers shaking just barely. You felt the cool press of his metal palm at your waist—gentle, hesitant—like he was afraid you might flinch. But you didn’t. You leaned into him, into the kiss, into the heat of him.

He groaned softly, like the sound escaped without permission. Like he didn’t know what to do with it.

You could taste the vodka on his tongue—sharp and clean—and something else. Something lonely.

When you pulled back to breathe, his eyes were wild. He looked stricken, almost.

“Bucky,” you whispered.

His jaw flexed. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

You tilted your head. “Then tell me.”

He kissed you again. Slower this time, but no less intense.

“I haven’t—” he started, voice breaking. He swallowed hard. “It’s been a long time.”

You cupped his face. His stubble scratched your palm. “Then let me take care of you.”

His eyes closed, lashes dark against his cheek. And then—barely audible—he whispered, “Ты моя.”

Your heart stuttered.

“What does that mean?”

He opened his eyes. “You’re mine.”

A beat.

Then—

“Скажи мне, что это не мечта.” (“Tell me this isn’t a dream.”)

You kissed him again instead of answering. You pressed closer, climbed onto his lap without thinking. He gasped when you straddled him, hands automatically finding your hips. His metal one clenched like he didn’t trust it—like it might break you.

“I’m real,” you said softly. “I’m here.”

He rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“Позволь мне.” he whispered. (“Let me.”)

Then his hands gripped you tight, dragging you against him. And there was nothing hesitant about it now.

He moved like a man starved.

Like someone who hadn’t touched softness in years, who didn’t know if he deserved it. And yet couldn’t stop taking it.

Your shirt was the first to go—lifted over your head and tossed somewhere to the floor. His mouth found your neck, trailing kisses like worship, like apology, like punishment.

You felt the bite of teeth. The graze of stubble. The hiss of air between his lips.

“Такая мягкая.” he groaned into your skin. (“So soft.”)

He tugged his red henley over his head with one sharp pull, revealing the scarred expanse of muscle and shadow. The sight of him—strong, beautiful, broken—took your breath away.

You ran your hands over his chest, pausing over the star near his shoulder. He flinched.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked.

His voice cracked. “No. Don’t stop. Please.”

That please—it ruined you.

You kissed down his chest, tracing the scars, the stories he couldn’t say aloud. And when you reached his belt buckle, he let out a sound so low and wrecked it barely sounded human.

Then he said your name like a prayer.

Like a warning.

Like he wouldn’t survive this and didn’t care.

Bucky stood up and let you pull down his jeans, kicking off his shoes haphazardly and letting his discarded clothes pool on the floor, along with yours. His mouth was on yours in the next heartbeat, and you barely remembered backing toward the bed. You felt the firm weight of him, the unrelenting heat of his body as he walked you down until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. His fingers curled under your thighs, and he lifted you—lifted you like you weighed nothing—settling you in the centre of the bed as if you were something precious.

He stood above you for a moment, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding back for years. His hair was a mess from your fingers, lips kiss-swollen and parted.

“Ждал этого…” he murmured. (“I’ve waited for this…”)

Then he dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed.

Your breath caught. “What are you doing—?”

He dragged your pants and underwear down in one motion, slow but hungry, eyes never leaving yours.

“Let me taste you,” he rasped. He wasn’t asking.

Your heart stuttered. And then—

His mouth was on you.

He moaned into it, like he’d found salvation between your thighs. His tongue was unrelenting—broad strokes, then precise flicks that made your back arch and your fists twist in the sheets.

“Fuck—Bucky!”

He groaned, like the sound of his name on your lips made him even hungrier. His metal hand pinned your hips in place, holding you exactly where he wanted you while his other hand slid up your stomach, across your ribs, between your breasts.

“Такая сладкая…” (“So sweet…”)

Your legs trembled, your thighs clenching around his head, and he loved it—let you grind against his face like it was the only purpose he’d ever had.

You came hard—stars bursting behind your eyes, your hands tangled in his hair, thighs shaking around him.

But he didn’t stop.

“Too much,” you whimpered.

He looked up, eyes dark, pupils blown wide. “No. Not yet.”

And then he climbed up your body, kissing every inch—your stomach, the underside of your breast, your neck, your jaw—until he reached your mouth again.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, and the filthy thrill of it made your head spin.

“Bucky,” you whispered like it was a plea. “I need you. Now.”

He tugged his boxers down, and your breath caught at the sight of him—thick, flushed, aching.

He paused, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving.

“It’s been so long,” he admitted, voice rough and raw. “I don’t know if I can—if I’ll be gentle.”

You reached down, stroking him softly. “Then don’t be.”

That snapped something in him.

He hooked your legs over his arms and buried himself inside you in one long, unrelenting thrust.

You gasped—he was so big, and the stretch was almost too much, but your body opened around him like it was made to.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, jaw clenched. “Squeeze me just right…”

He started to move—slow at first, then deeper, faster, harder.

Your bodies slapped together in a filthy rhythm, the bed creaking beneath you, the sounds of your moans filling the room.

“You feel so good,” you whimpered. “So fucking good—”

He growled low in your ear, his voice guttural.

“Я буду разрушать тебя каждую ночь…” (“I’ll ruin you every night…”)

You whimpered, clinging to him, your nails digging into his back.

“Please—don’t stop—”

“Никогда.” he groaned. (“Never.”)

He shifted your legs higher, hitting a new angle that made your vision go white.

You cried out, and he grunted, eyes wild. “That’s it. That’s the spot. Take it, Звезда моя…” (“My star…”)

You were both close—you could feel it, the way he trembled, the way your core clenched around him with every thrust.

“I want you to come with me,” he whispered, burying his face in your neck. “Come with me, baby. I need to feel you—please—”

You shattered.

Your whole body arched off the bed, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave. Bucky followed with a loud, broken moan, burying himself deep, shaking with the force of it.

He collapsed against you, both of you panting, sweat-slick and trembling, tangled in each other like there was nothing else in the world but this.

He didn’t move for a long time.

Just lay there, half on top of you, breath slowing, arms trembling as they wrapped around your waist. His cheek rested on your chest. You felt his heart pounding—still erratic. Like he couldn’t quite believe any of it was real.

You carded your fingers through his hair, slow and steady. He shivered under your touch.

Neither of you said anything.

Not at first.

Then, after several minutes, he finally spoke—voice low, muffled.

“Did I hurt you?”

You blinked down at him. “What? No. Bucky, you—”

He shifted just enough to look at you. His eyes were glassy. Open in a way you hadn’t seen before. Vulnerable. Frightened, even.

“I’ve never… done that. Not since—before.”

Before Hydra. Before the Winter Soldier. Before everything.

Your chest ached. You pulled him closer. “You didn’t hurt me. You were gentle. You were perfect.”

He breathed out slowly like you’d just released some tension he’d been holding onto for years.

Still, his eyes searched your face. “It was too much. I was too—”

“You were human,” you said firmly. “You needed it. I needed it too.”

He stared at you for a beat, then nodded—barely. His gaze dropped to your bare chest, his fingers brushing your side with careful reverence.

You pulled the blanket up and over both of you. He shifted to lie beside you, pulling you into his chest like it was instinct like he needed to. You felt the soft press of his lips to your forehead.

And then, softly—

“I didn’t come back for the plums.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

His lips twitched, barely a smile. “At the market. I kept saying I needed plums. That I liked them. But…”

“But?”

He hesitated, then whispered, “They help with memory. That part’s true. But I came back because of you.”

Your breath caught.

“I didn’t know how to talk to you. I didn’t think I should. But you were kind. And soft. And every time I saw you smile at me… I felt like I wasn’t a monster.”

You reached up, cupping his face. His metal arm tensed at your waist, then softened.

“You’re not,” you whispered. “You’re not, Bucky.”

He closed his eyes like he didn’t believe it, but wanted to.

You laid there for a long time, tangled together, the city quiet around you. His breathing slowed. So did yours. Eventually, he fell asleep—arm heavy around you, face pressed into your neck like he didn’t want to let go even in his dreams.

The morning came in again, soft and gold, light slipping through the sheer curtain beside your bed.

You were still tangled up in him—his leg hooked around yours, his arms holding you like a shield against the world. His hair was messy, his face unguarded in sleep.

You just stared.

Because somehow, this man—this ghost, this soldier, this stranger—had carved a space into your life overnight. And you weren’t sure you wanted him to leave.

He stirred a little when you shifted.

His voice came, low and rough. “Still here?”

You smiled. “Yeah. Still here.”

He blinked at you, barely awake, and for the first time, he looked peaceful.

“Good,” he said.

Then he kissed you—soft and slow this time, without hunger. Just need.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

Taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella

If you want to be tagged in all my future Bucky/Sebastian works, let me know. <3

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #civil war #thunderbolts #avengers #smut

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fratboycipher · 1 year ago

Text

Air Canada essentially argued that "the chatbot is a separate legal entity that is responsible for its own actions,"

the implications of this argument are staggering and also hilarious

This just in: Air Canada is absolutely fucking terrible, surprising no one.

#im picturing some guy trying to serve like #the server rack the thing is hosted on with a legal notice #this reminds me of civil forfeiture cases where its like. us gov v 15 tons of halibut #comment sans

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dilf-docs · 2 months ago

Text

I Can Fix Her (No Really I Can)

jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: jackson's loud mouthed spoiled princess has suddenly gone quiet. what or who could be behind such miracle?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (20s/50s), pwp, p. in v., oral (m. and f. receiving), brat taming, dacryphilia, pussy spanking, fingering, humiliation kink, dom!joel, sub!joel if u squint, soft!joel (look at that switch sandwhich fr), brat!reader (she's annoying and v mean, you've been warned), denial is a river so take this before the world mourns joel miller again

word count: 5,391 words

side note: new layout my citizens! will eventually update all of the blog but as for now, enjoy this one and the masterlist. quick thing, i just wanted to say that i had a very shitty week and for the life of me, can't find a way to make ttdik pt. 4 not oversaturated with angst bc i wish all men a very pleasant die or how to connect what i've written so far. note that this was kinda rushed; i feel confident of some parts and not the whole thing. just hoping it works for y'all! (based on this request)

Joel Miller isn't who he used to be before.

Life in Jackson has made him... soft. This version of him, tired of a life of killing and running, tainted with blood and regret. But he's now an uncle and a father. Well, used to be. Ever since Ellie had found out the truth and wanted nothing to do with him, he had somewhat become downright pathetic. Joel could be both Jackson's most useful man, even at his age, while also being their biggest wretch. Ah, yes: Joel Miller, the man who lived in the house down the street, alone and certainly worth the townsfolk's pity.

Maybe that's why you couldn't bother to be nice to him. In your eyes, a man like Joel just didn't deserve your time or respect.

But it wasn't personal, really. He happened to, unfortunately, be in charge of your patrol. That, in your eyes, made him your enemy: a person to be defied and picked apart. And the worst part is, in his current position, Joel just didn't have the energy to fight you back.

"You want me to cross that wearing this?" your protest comes in the form of a whiny pitch. "Ew, no. I'd rather be dead"

At least dead, you wouldn't be a bother. He rolls his eyes, rubbing his face tiredly. The rest of the group watches the interaction in silence, expressions pretty much the same.

"I promise 'cha, princess. Ya' wouldn't want that"

The nickname should irk you, but you let it pass. It is no news to anyone that you are indeed a princess: Jackson's resident little spoiled brat.

Sheltered from early starts of civilization's downfall, maybe your parents had done more bad than good trying to protect you and settling early on in Jackson. You had grown to be a pampered bitch who made Joel's patience wear thin. Of course, to keep him busy and distracted, Tommy had assigned you to Joel. And while he'd rather not spend his days on a house too big for a person, he too wasn't exactly excited about having to deal with you on your patrol shifts.

(If you could call them that. You did anything but patroling)

You cross your arms, petty. "I'm not moving unless you carry me"

Maybe your need to defy him also came, partly, because of this: the way he's looking at you right now, a quiet rage simmering in those big round brown eyes that remind you of a kicked puppy, but when they burn, they seem like a forest fire, old remnants of the hunter that had been tamed by domestic life and a broken relationship resurfacing.

It excites you.

All your life, people seemed to bend to your will-- a force of nature: to your cruel harsh icy wind. You kept Jackson down at their knees, but it wasn't kindness, rather your shoe up their throats what put them to your feet.

Yet, Joel... he could be a loser to you, but he was probably the only one you'd met to be insane enough to defy you. The only man who didn't succumb to your fluttering eyelashes, pink lips and princess manners. No, he ignored the way you looked at him and your constant begging for attention, leaving the job to those men who seemed to follow your every step, ready to be themselves a carpet for you to step in. He'd roll his eyes and walk past you like you were the most bland, boring and uninteresting thing in the world: not worth a second of his attention. Joel simply wouldn't entertain your spoiled attitude past replying to a few snarky comments.

And that revolted and aroused you in equal parts.

It's not like you could escape your obligation, but perhaps, the bigger reason you chose to not skip patrol like you used to before his arrival, is to see Joel Miller's sinking ships for eyes try to wash over your rebel flame.

"Be free to stay then" he replies, but you don't miss the way his grip on his rifle turns white. "I ain't carryin' no one"

"I can carry you" one of the guys from your group offers.

(You can't remember his name)

"Sure" you chuckle, victory smile dancing on your lips at the sight of him looking above his shoulder in a barely stolen glance, thinking you won't notice.

But you do.

Joel Miller fucking hates you.

After five decades alive, he simply can't stand the idea of breathing the same air as a spoiled little brat like you.

Joel's seen destruction, loss, hopelessness and blood up close, and the thought of you walking around like the world owes you a favor fills him with vitriol.

He's been alive for fifty-six years so he's simply just tired. Too tired to give a damn about your attitude, despite how you manage to press all his buttons every time you open your mouth.

He still remembers the first time he met you, how you laughed like people did before all civilization was destroyed. You walked with a confident strut, boots clicking against Jackson's streets, every step made with determination. Like you knew just where you were going.

He envied you, in a way. After Salt Lake City, he seemed to have lost his path, all in the name of love. Then, that warm feeling had turned cold and cruel like all things in this world ravaged by pain, and he felt even at more loss than the first time he experienced grief.

But you? You lived everyday with a dismissal so cold it seemed like nothing could hurt you.

He missed that part of him who just survived: hardened by the world around him.

But Jackson tamed him. Ellie made him soft.

And then you brought up that old dark part of him: the putrid black liquid that spewed through the cracks of his new character that made him loved by Jackson. The same one that made people fear one of Boston QZ's most brutal smugglers. It was that vicious anger, red on his vision like the ichor that would splatter on his clothes or cover his bruised knuckles.

He hated you for it.

But that was in the past, and Joel Miller simply didn't care.

Yet, you made him care. Outright forced him to.

In a way, it seemed like you enjoyed this: the banter of contained rage and practiced patience, dripping as a leak until it overflew. You'd shot your bratty remarks and petty complains until he'd turn around and see you. Then, you'd smile, like that's all you needed to feel better. Far superior. And he hated it. Knew your little game, and fed into it, even as he told himself he wouldn't. Like a drug: a destroying addiction.

Joel didn't understand why you took the time to enrage him, having even heard once when he was late for patrol (he overslept), how you talked bad about the, in your words, Lonely Pathetic Man From The House On The End Of The Road.

Joel Miller has been patient. God knows he has. But he isn't religious, and was never the type to let things pass by.

No. Joel Miller was born with impel, and no matter how many love he had to give, the world around him constantly reminded him of the power hidden behind the exertion over others, how alive he'd felt with the gift he'd been given by heaven.

He isn't patient. He isn't a fool. He isn't pathetic: and Joel Miller will take matters between his rugged hands.

Tommy had arched an eyebrow first, looking at just his and your name on the patrol schedule.

"What's going on?" he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his brother.

"Found a cabin deep on the forest" curt, "I'ont need lot'a people to scavenge the place"

In the end, he agreed. Who didn't? You, obviously, the reason so many before him had gotten rid of their obligation of you. To flirt with you at the Tipsy Bison? Hell yeah. To have you in their patrol team? God, no.

"Where is everyone else?" you cross your arms above your chest, bracing yourself because of the weather. "Also, isn't this climate not patrol appropiate?"

Joel's not dumb, of course he knows that-- he can feel his aching joints shiver and bones creak because of the temperature. But he also knows he's sick of your shit.

"Ain't you little Ms. Know it all" he mocks, brushing past you, shoulders clashing with the same harsh force the icy breeze does to your face.

"And you're an asshole" you're quick to counter, "bringing us out here in the cold. If you wanted to kill me, you could've made it easier for both of us and done it way back in Jackson"

He rolls his eyes at your incessant bickering.

"Watch y'er mouth" is all he says, the brat hanging dangerously close to the tip of his tongue.

"I'd rather watch my step, thank you very much" you purse your plush pink lips, annoyed. "Have you seen the size of this roots? I will trip and break myself"

He chuckles at your hyperboles and the way you jump in a rather exaggerated manner, more in amusement than irritation.

"Don't think ya' can handle all'at?" Joel taunts. "Gon' break like a doll?"

Doll. It hangs in the air, like the snowflakes that fall into your hair and his eyebrows, the white fusing with his own.

"I'm strong" but it comes out weak.

"Don't seem like it" he's laughing at you again, a sharp annoyed edge to it. "With all that complainin' ya' do"

You huff, your incredulity condescing in the air.

"What's wrong with that?"

"With bein' annoyin'?" Joel quips.

"With voicing out my concerns"

He's walking ahead of you, yet you see his shoulders slump, like he does when he disagrees.

"Those ain't concerns, jus' moanin' and bitchin'"

It's still inside the fun banter you're carrying, harmless, but for some reason, it strikes you in the face.

"If you can't stand me so much, why don't you quit on me, like the others?"

You may seem cold, but there's that cut that always bleeds. Or it may be the need for something that blurs the line between you and those survivors out there who've outlived the worst a man can endure.

Like Joel.

You just can't help wanting it all.

Joel stops on his tracks at your words, response barely above a whisper:

"'Cause I ain't a quitter"

As if that could bring any sense into what had started the moment he layed eyes on you.

You finally reach your destiny in silence, the old cabin hanging by a thread.

"This looks like shit" you comment out loud.

Joel lets out a laugh, a deep rumbling sound coming out of his chest. For a reason, red dust makes it's way into your warm cheeks.

"No, doll. In this world, this ain't shit. It's decent"

You don't miss the way your breath hitches and heart skips a beat at the petname. He doesn't miss the way his tongue burns and his jeans squeeze at the sight of you: powerless.

God, Joel could go to hell for this. (But he'd probably be fine)

"Decent? You're one to talk" it spills out, your fear attacking the only way you know how when you're nervous.

Bite.

You hate feeling weak. You hate how your own game has turned on you.

It seems, Joel Miller isn't just a pathetic man but one who knows how to play.

(You knew this. But now, it's real, not the image you touch yourself to during nighttime, and it's equally both exciting and scary)

The red desire for hunger is there on his eyes. "What's that s'pposed to mean?"

You tilt your head, tone feigning innocence. "I think you know what I mean"

He paces around the room, like your floral scent is too suffocating and the cold isn't enough to shake the fire that burns inside him.

"Spit it" he dares, stopping midtrack. You remain silent, so he walks over to you, face so close, some spit lands in your face. "I said, spit it"

"I think you're pathetic, Joel Miller" yet, for some reason, your heart wavers. What were you even doing? Never had you doubted yourself once, sometimes even finding pleasure in the wicked cutthroat words you'd spew, but today, as his face stands dangerously close to you, his breath ghosting over your lips as his eyes roam over them and you count his wrinkles, it feels wrong.

"'S that what 'cha think, doll?" he chuckles, leaning forward. His lips barely brush against yours by mistake, yet it's enough to send shivers all over your body. "Wanna know what I think? I think you're da' real pathetic burden here. Fucken annoyin' and unuseful. All you know how ta' do is complain' and be a bitch"

"A bitch?" your voice is loud as your roar back, probably because it's coming into your face with the force of a train. But that's how truth feels, and it hurts like hell. "Did you just call me a bitch?"

He laughs, bitterly so, equally irritated as fascinated by how easy it's to see you crumble.

Joel made you out to be this unbreakable force, but at the end of the day, you're human, just like him.

"And y'called me pathetic, s' I guess we're even"

You look crazy: hair disheveled by the wind, chest going up and down and that same craze look on your eyes.

"Fuck you, Joel Miller" you seethe.

It's a simple comeback. No witty retort, no elaborated plot. Just four words, yet it's the way you said it, venomous, with such hostility, like his presence alone made you sick. Your skin crawl. Like the thought alone of being equals couldn't pass through your thick skull, and you had to get rid of just the concept; an ofense.

You pull back, realizing how truly close you were. You then march to the bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

With Joel, there's always a first when it comes to you.

(The first man to catch your attention. The first man to show lack of interest or amusement to your well-known tactics that worked every time. The first man to make your skin crawl like seeing yourself in the mirror. Like you would stare until your image would imprint on your brain, and you'd pick apart every small detail you don't like about you. That was Joel fucking Miller, rolling like thunder, ready to strike over your walls, like he knows where to hit to make you crumble, as if the façade you've built is as much in vain as the hate you carry even with the easy life that's been given to you)

He may be the first man to make you cry.

"Come here!" he shouts, roaring voice reverberating against the walls of the cabin. He swings the door of the bedroom open, finding your satisfied expression as you sit over the old worn out mattress, wiping your tears quickly with a harsh tug of your sweater, coat lying on the dirty floor.

"What?" you ask, as if you hadn't started the fight five seconds ago.

"Ya' think y' can shout and then leave like that?" he spits, "you fucken brat!"

A weird wild spark settles in the pit of your stomach.

"I can do whatever I want"

(The fire. It burns)

He scoffs at your childish response. "Not when y'er under my watch. Like it or not, y'r ma' damn responsability, kid"

Now it's your turn to sneer. "Don't call me that. I'm not a kid"

Of course you fucking weren't: he's got eyes. But goddamn, didn't you act like one all the time?

"Good" his voice adquires a weird tone to it, dropping. "Then strip"

It's like the air's been knocked out of your lungs.

You scoff. "Excuse me?"

"I know you ain't deaf" tone stern, "nor stupid. Are you?"

"Did you just call me stupid?" you raise your voice. Was he going to pull out every single insult from the book? Fair, you think, after you had told him to fuck off in the way you did.

(You were aware your words shoot to kill when you were mad. You had a lot of regrets about that)

"I asked 'cha if ya' were. If there's no answer, I s'ppose that's it"

"I'm not stupid" you counter.

"What?" he's asking you to say it again, like he hasn't heard you.

"You aren't deaf" you repeat his earlier words, eliciting a chuckle out of him.

The windows of the cabin rattle, the cold winter slipping inside the cracks. You shiver yet stand still, not wanting him to misinterpret your body language.

As if you'd ever surrender to him. As if.

"I'm sick of your bullshit" he seethes, "thinkin' ya' can make a clown outta me infront of everyone else, and then look at me like I'm sum piece of meat. Now it's your turn"

"My turn to what?" but this time, your voice wavers. You walk closer, eyelids fluttering.

His uneven breath condensces in the air with a shaky gelid exhale.

"Y'e don't know what you're gettin' into" he warns.

You smile at his barely contained temper. "I think I do"

Joel's body is completely surrounding yours in the bedroom. Before you register, he pulls you by your jaw with his hand.

"Still thinkin' that?" he mocks, thumb pulling your bottom lip down, forcing your mouth open. "Answer me"

But he's pressing his finger on your tongue. You feel yourself starting to drool.

"Ya' really want 'tis, don't 'cha?" his eyes darken, "droolin' like a fucken cockstarved slut. Now strip" his grip tightens, "I won't ask again"

Your body shivers, but no longer because of the temperature drop. A treacherous jolt runs in between your legs at the very first instance of someone putting you in your place. It feels too good to backtrack, but the last remaining drops of sanity plead you to quit.

"Joel" you say his name like a prayer, and he thinks he'd like to see you beg. "I was fucking around-"

"Don't make me repeat myself"

You sit on the edge of the bed, getting rid of your clothes. It's like your mind has stopped working and your body belongs to someone else.

But you want this. Fuck, you had begged for this: sharpening your knife to make your words cut deeper with him until the bleeding was too big to ignore.

You wanted this. Craved it. Needed to satisfy whatever foreign feeling you'd now attribute to your rebellious and spoiled nature.

(You had never been denied anything, and even now, Joel knows this, but can't help and too give in)

"Not so loud now, are we?" he jests, "but 's worth the view, lettin' 'cha run your spoiled tongue off"

He hums with approval at the sight of your body, your pliant energy making his hard cock twitch in his pants.

"You like what you see, Joel?" you ask softly, despite your resistence.

He groans at that, calloused digits grazing the soft skin of your virgin collarbones.

"I do, princess" he answers, lifiting your chin up. "I'll show ya'"

He takes your hand into his bigger one, moving it right onto the spot between his legs.

"You've been bad, little spoiled brat" Joel's voice rasps as your thighs rub together. Y'er lucky I like that"

He pats your cheek. "Wanna make it up to me?" you eagerly nod, desperate for Joel's approval. You hate not having the upper hand, and a part of you thinks you'd get it back if you behave well. "Good girl. Now sit"

He sits next to you, patting his thick thighs. You salivate just at the thought, moving your body over his denim clad lap. "Right'ere"

"Look at 'cha" he parts your legs, a hoarse tks falling from his lips. Joel chuckles at the wet mess that's created. "So fucken wet and I ain't even touched yet"

You feel his rough digits ghost over your dripping cunt, just as his lips had done minutes ago. The teasing sets you on edge, thrill coarsing through your veins. Without warning, his big palm slaps against your cunt, and you feel yourself soaking your folds like you had never ever before.

"Fucken dirty whore. You ain't no princess, gettin' wet to 'tis" he mocks, "what would daddy say"

"Shut up" you sneer, but your body is full of hormones and treason.

"Not when I'm above 'cha, darlin'. Wouldn't wanna piss me off when I'm the one who decides if 'tis pretty pussy comes or not"

"What makes you think I'll take shit from you?" but it comes out as a whimper. Smack. A jolt runs straight from your pussy, stinging from the contact. "Didn't take it when we where in patrol, why should I do now?"

He laughs, darkly. It's haunting.

"'Cause you want 'tis. And I know you'll be a good girl for me to get it"

You feel yourself dizzy, head spinning as you land on the floor.

"Let's see if I get 'cha to shut up if that dirty bratty mouth of y'rs is stuffed full of ma' cock"

He pulls down his worn-out jeans, getting rid of his belt on a harsh pull. The clinking sound makes you rub your thighs together in a new found anticipation, instead of taking the time to run away from this, whatever the hell this is.

No. He's right.

You want this as much as he does.

(Isn't that the scariest part?)

"Ya' like what 'cha see, y/n?" he's smart to use your same words back, but it's the way he's said your name, like he was always meant to say it, or the angry throbb of his cock, what makes you drool at the red furious tip, dripping with rage and need.

"I think it's your dick who's more excited than me" you taunt, tracing the inner soft skin of his thick thighs. "Practically begging for me to lick it"

His adam's apple bobs.

"Tell me, Joel, when was the last time someone made this pretty big cock feel good?"

"Enough" his fingers grab your hair, pulling you harshly until he drags your mouth onto his cock. "I'm tired of y'er bullshit"

You aren't a stranger, he thinks, with the way you kiss his tip, tongue making a wet circle through the head of his cock. You take him into your mouth, pulling out in a second.

"W-what you do that for?" he asks, breathing rapidly. Strained voice.

You smirk.

"To watch you"

To watch how his eyes had closed as soon as your breath ghosted over his leaking cock, how he threw his head back and gripped the sheets viciously at just your shameless lazy circling. Joel Miller could be in charge, but God, wasn't he touch-starved?

(And for a reason, that was so fucking hot. And, in a way, adorable)

"J-just 'cause I'm-" he cuts himself off, probably out of need or out of embarrassment. "You're not in charge, so don't fuck around with your chances, slut. Imma show you y'r place real quick"

His grip tightens in your hair, forcing himself back into your mouth. Joel was punishing, with the way he's pushing your head down until it was at the base of his cock. You gagged for a moment, eyes closing at the weight of his thick girth on your tongue.

"Takin' it like a champ, princess. Usin' that mouth of y'rs for good" and then, with a softer tone he adds, "like ya're made for me"

You moan around him as he starts fucking into your mouth, pulling you off quickly, saliva slipping out of your mouth as you gasp for air.

"Joel" you whine his name, legs pressing together in order to get any friction.

"Now you beggin'? 'S gonna take more than jus' that, doll" he taunts, but there's a certain wicked softness to the way he traces your cheek as you scramble an attempt. "Try harder, princess"

"I'm sorry, Joel-"

He moves his head, clearly dissatisfied.

"Not Joel. Ya' call me sir when I fuck you"

A mewl escapes your lips.

"Sir" comes out like a faithless prayer, begging to be heard. "I'll do anything, sir, please, touch me"

"Al'ight, but still, it ain't 'nough"

Oh.

The hot tears in the corner of your eyes shouldn't arouse him this much, but the watery promise makes his cock twitch.

"I-I'll do anything, I swear" you beg, the salty tears stream down your cheeks in cascades. "It hurts, Jo-" you whine, "sir, please. Just fuck me goddamit!"

Your once poised voice, now reduced to a whimpering begging mess. Your red rimmed eyes, beginning to puff. It's the way a gloss seems to coat over them, making you look like a doe-eyed deer and not the brat who challenged his every decision and word.

Fuck, isn't he aroused.

"Lookin' so pretty when you cry" he smiles, but instead of wiping the tears, it's his tongue that licks them off your face. "You beggin' that bad to take my cock"

You nod, eagerly so.

"Please, Jo- Just, please. D-don't make me beg" your face feels hot and wet again, "I-I can't take it anymore. Just fucking give it to me!"

"Easy, baby. Can't understand a thing you sayin'" Joel teases. "Where your manners at, besides?"

"Please, sir" he gently pulls you up, humming in satisfaction.

"Goin' crazy over my cock, baby? Y'sure have a nerve to call one pathetic if you gon' act like this, you little brat"

But he is the one moaning when his lips cature your mouth with a fierce impulse, like he wants to devour you whole and swallow your vocals, as to never speak up again.

(But then, he wouldn't hear his name on your sweet albeit snotty voice, and that's a privilege he can't forbid himself from, no matter how annoying you can get sometimes)

"Please" you whisper one last time. He wipes a stray tear with his rough thumb. "I'm yours"

"See, baby? It ain't that hard to shut that mouth of y'rs"

He guides you to the old bed while renewing the kiss, tongues now engaged on a battle for dominance, like even without using your words you'd still need to assert your power over the other. You moan into his mouth when your body slams against the mattress and Joel lands on top, his weight sinking you in the old bed, that creaks.

"I just want to be a good girl for you" you whimper.

"You sure of that? Not gon' be a brat?" and despite his harsh tone that seems to humiliate you, his wandering fingers are gentle with each touch, like if he were to put any more force, you'd break. Joel thinks it's not necessary with you: just with you begging for his cock, he's broken you.

"No, sir" and then you whimper as his mouth dives to the collarbones you had taunted him with before. Joel takes his time, inhaling the musk and savoring the sweet of your skin. Needy whines leave your lips, and he's having the time of his life seeing you surrender so easily, like you had no idea what limits to push, where they'd take you and how you'd pay for that.

"C-Can I touch you?" you whisper, hands itching to tangle on his grey parted hair. He chuckles at the eagerness and tenderness you don't seem aware of.

"S' you can be sweet if ya' want to, huh?" he leaves a fluttering kiss to your chin. "Needy and desperate too. Do ya' want to touch, princess? Remember to use y'r words"

"Yes, sir. I-I want to touch you"

"Thought I disgusted you, hmm? I take you've learnt y'r lesson now?"

"Yes, I've learned. Please, sir, won't do it again" you plead.

"I'll allow ya' to touch, doll" he gives you a smirk, "but 'ts all you get for now"

He lets your hands cling to his coat, taking it off. Then, you proceed to his buttoned shirt, fingers flidding with buttons until you grown annoyed and desperate, pulling the fabric over his head with need.

"Look at 'cha" but there's only adoration, proven so when he starts to kiss the trail of soft skin that goes from your neck to your stomach, making you squirm. "Easy, baby. 'M gettin' down there"

He finally reaches your core, kissing the inner side of your thighs with wet and sloppy lips. His hot breath tingles over your clit, and a beat later, his mouth presses into your cunt, your back arching at the cold contact of his chapped lips against the humid hot of your folds.

You muffle a moan, embarrassed at the whole situation.

"Ain't need to worry 'bout nothin', doll. Nobody can hear us" he grins, tongue flicking your clit. "Wanna listen to your pretty whimpers as I make 'cha feel good"

You cry out of pleasure, the sound escaping past your lips. Joel has a laugh.

"Good girl"

Joel rewards you with another series of minstrations on your bud, licks made with determination only the expert man knows of. He then slides one finger into you, slowly moving it in and out of your soaked trembling heat.

"M-more" you beg, eager to get more fingers inside you. "Please, more, sir"

You buck your hips to try to get closer to him, meeting his thrusts.

Joel tuts, "What're you doin', spoiled brat? Did I tell ya' to move? You were doing such'a great job... guess I gotta punish you-"

"No!" you shout. "Do anything you want, but touch me, please- touch me!"

He introduces a second finger, raising his brow at the immediate way you clench around him. Joel curls them, robbing another moan out of you.

"Feels good?" you can't answer, as a hard thrust robs another moan from you. "But I'ont want 'cha to think we done, princess. Think I'd let you come, jus' like that? After all's happened?"

"Need you" you tug him closer with your arms holding onto his. "Joel, sir- please"

"Oh, princess" he smirks, "I think you don't know what you askin' for"

Joel grabs his hand around his length, coating the tip in your slicky juices, and then, he presses his length into you in one thrust.

"You're big-" you pant as he gives you time to adjust to his size. Joel then picks up an unrelenting pace that makes moans spill out of you like a fountain, the pace of his thrusts sending you closer and closer to the edge.

"N-need to-"

"Don't" he seethes. "Ya' won't 'till I tell ya' can"

All you could do is moan, helplessly pinned between his body and the bed. Your whole body shakes in an effort to contain as his hips loose their rhythm, his groans louder as he gets closer and closer to the edge.

"Al'ight. 'Cause you've been good" his cock drives through your walls with rhythmic melodies. "Cum, princess, but when ya' do, look at me"

You're seeing stars the moment your toes curl and his head falls to clash against your forehead.

(The beads of sweat roll down out of him like trails to follow, and his scarred rugged skin doesn't compare to your soft one, painted with the maroon of his bites and kissing at the skin of your collarbone. The dried up trails of tears. Your begging and desperate voice. His name on your lips)

It only takes a few more thrusts before he spills in you, cock twitching until every last drop of thick hot white cum is pumped into you.

Joel then pulls out gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead before flopping onto you, the mattress dipping even further. With his hand, he removes a stray strand of damp hair, putting it behind you ear with such tender kindness, your heart strings pull.

"In fact, I want ya' to look at me next time y'even think 'bout defying me. See if that mouth of y'ers can talk after 'tis"

A week later, you're back at patrolling.

"Anyone got anythin' to say?"

The group looks at you. You're about to open your mouth, but Joel cocks an eyebrow.

Just like that, and you're gone. Great job, y/n.

"Whatever" you sound meek as you push past him, yet he catches a glimpse of your warm cheeks. "Let's go"

The rest are too stunned to speak, the silence only cut off by Miller's laugh.

"Would 'cha look at that?" he whistles. "Ain't nobody tell ya' miracles don't happen anymore on this goddamn world!"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @chappellsroans

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torpublishinggroup · 1 year ago

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Celebrate Pride with Tor Publishing Group!

Rakesfall by @adamantine

They met as children in the middle of the Sri Lankan civil war. Later, in a demon-haunted wood, an act of violence linked them and propelled their souls on a journey through the ages. As they reincarnate ever deeper into the future, a truth emerges: Some stories take more than one lifetime to tell.

Running Close to the Wind by @ariaste

In this queer pirate fantasy, Avra Helvaçi has accidentally stolen the single most expensive secret in the world. To avoid capture, he flees to the open sea, where only his on-again, off-again ex aka pirate Captain Teveri az-Ḥaffār can help him survive, profit, and become a legend.

Cuckoo by Gretchen Felker-Martin

Something evil is buried deep in the desert. It wants your body and wears your skin. Welcome to Camp Resolution, a queer conversion center where everyone leaves a different person. In 1995, seven queer teens were abandoned here by their parents, but survived. Sixteen years later, they’re scarred and broken, but back to face an evil that threatens the world.

Kinning by Nisi Shawl

In this alternate history where barkcloth airships soar and former colonies claim freedom from imperialist tyrants, the identity of the island of Everfair still wavers. Victorious in the wake of the Great War, a new threat looms. Can Everfair continue to serve as a symbol of hope for anticolonial movements around the world, or will it fall to forces within and without?

Can’t Spell Treason Without Tea by @rebeccathornewrites

Can one of the Queen’s private guard and the most powerful mage in existence leave their lives behind to settle down in their new bookshop that serves tea? This cozy fantasy is steeped in sapphic romance and nestled on the edge of dragon country.

The Fragile Threads of Power by V. E. Schwab

Once there were four worlds, nestled like pages in a book, each pulsing with fantastical power and connected by a single city: London. After a desperate attempt to prevent corruption and ruin in the four Londons, there are only three. Now the worlds are going to collide anew—brought to a dangerous precipice by the discoveries of three remarkable magicians.

Now available in paperback!

The Archive Undying by @emcandon

This is a story about misplaced faith, complicated love, so much self-loathing, and yeah—giant robots. Plugged into his AI god when its apocalyptic corruption renders him unfortunately immortal, sad gay disaster Sunai takes a die-again-or-die-trying approach to things. Unending life’s tough when intimacy is somehow scarier even than either of the warring police states set on turning you into a weapon or the rogue undead mecha-fragment of your old god that wants to eat you.

Now available in paperback!

The Bell in the Fog by Lev AC Rosen

A dazzling historical mystery that dives into the shadowy, closeted world of the Navy, emerging in the gay bars of the city. It’s a whirlpool of missing people, violent strangers, and scandalous photos in 1952 San Francisco.

Now available in paperback!

Celebrate Pride with more titles from Tor Publishing Group here!

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dollfacefantasy · 5 months ago

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dark and mean Rick X whiny reader, s5 beard era??? (Ugh loveee😩) maybe reader annoyed him so he fucks her attitude away<3

NO BACK TALK ♡

pairing: rick grimes x bratty!fem!reader

cw: nsfw (18+), p in v, brat taming, age gap (20s, late 30s), daddy kink

a/n: brat tamer rick you know that's my shit 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 thank you for the request <33

"What was it? What were you saying back there?" Rick's raspy voice huffs against your ear.

A shiver goes down your spine as his hot breath lands on your skin. Sharp contrast to the cool night air all around. Your body is already shaky enough from his hips' brutal thrusts against your ass.

He has you pinned against the back wall of the church, split open on his cock. This spot is close enough to the safety of the group while providing the privacy he needs to have his way with you. Your cheek squishes against the wood, a small stream of drool trickling South on your chin.

"N-nothing," you whimper, "Was just trying to tell you- ah! Just wanted to tell you..."

Your voice trails off as the sentiment of your point becomes less important than the bliss Rick's length is battering into you. Soft moans drift from your lips as your mouth hangs open. He tuts and shakes his head, pressing more of his weight into you and rutting against your backside with more force.

"You're still tryin' to talk back?" he asks, "Still think you had a reason to give me all that attitude?"

"I said I was sorry," you whine, bottom lip jutting out on instinct.

This is the game you play with Rick. You're sure by now everyone else is sick of being unwilling bystanders to it, but you can never get enough. Ever since you met the older man, the two of you mixed together like a stray match in a keg of gunpowder.

He tries his hardest to lead this group. You know that's true. But life fucking sucks in the apocalypse. It's not your fault if you get a little fed up with things sometimes.

You take it out on him cause it's easy. You disagree with his plans without coming up with any of your own. You complain about assignments you're given. You whine about the lack of supplies and direction. You roll your eyes and sigh during minor disagreements while nearly throwing a fit for larger ones.

For the first six months he knew you, it drove him fucking crazy. He went to sleep at night dreading waking up because he knew he'd have to deal with you the next day. At one point, he was convinced that he'd die of high blood pressure before any walker got the chance to kill him.

But then he figured out the secret to dealing with you. It wasn't too long before the prison fell that he learned this little trick. The two of you were the only ones awake, and you had another huge fight about some inconsequential bullshit. He was supremely frustrated. You weren't showing any signs of conceding that you were being ridiculous either.

It's like a blur in his memory now, the way he pinned you against the hard brick wall. He tore open the tiny shorts you had on. And that was when he learned. Your pretty little pussy was like your control center. He just had to hit the right buttons to bring you back to normal.

Now when you act up, he gives you the chance to fix it. You'll say something in that pitchy tone of voice and pout at him, and he'll raise a brow. He'll ask you to repeat yourself. If you continue the challenge, he still tries to be civil and talk you down. But once you push too far, you end up with a firm hand wrapped around your wrist, dragging you away from the rest of the group.

That's what happened tonight.

He scoffs at your assertion that you'd apologized. "You said sorry when you realized you were in trouble," he grumbles.

His fingers dig into your waist, feeling the soft skin left exposed by your t-shirt that's riding up. Your toes curl inside your sneakers while your fingernails scrape against the chipping paint of the church's paneling.

"I still meant it," you insist.

"If you're so sorry, tell me why I have to teach you this same fuckin' lesson over and over again," he growls.

"I dunno... cause you didn't do it good enough the first time?" you offer.

He gives your hip a smack for that and shoves you harder against the wall with a forearm across your back. You can feel the cool silver of his watch on your shoulder blade. Your tits are just as smooshed as your cheek is now. You whine in response, your feet floundering against the dirt below, but he keeps fucking into you hard.

"Cute. Keep talking back like that and see where it gets you," he says.

"I was just joking, daddy," you respond with a little sniffle for maximum impact.

"Oh, I'm daddy now?" he mocks. Neither of your attempts at sympathy seem to have struck a chord. "I'm daddy when you want me to be nice to you, but not any other time. Do I have that right?"

"Nuh uh..."

"Yeah. You won't listen to me. Won't do anything I ask without givin' me hell. But the second you get tired of taking it like a big girl, I'm your daddy," he taunts.

You squeak as he yanks your hips against his pelvis particularly hard. His tip rams right into that sweet, spongy spot inside you. It knocks the breath from your lungs. Your knees start to buckle beneath you.

He watches as you really begin to slip. With a sigh, he pulls his cock out of your dripping hole. You whine about that too, of course, but you don't have time to complain before he flips you around and hooks his hands behind your knees. He folds you in half against the wall and slides right back into the slick heat of your cunt. His hips rock against you like they never stopped.

"Look at you. You think you have any right to question me when you can't even stand up on your own? When y'need daddy to do everything for you," he mutters.

You mewl and arch your back, but he keeps you exactly where he wants you. His shaft slams into you over and over, chasing the feeling of your walls clamping down on it. You can't fight back against what he's saying cause any semblance of cohesive argument has been fucked right out of you.

"Did-didn't mean it," you choke out.

"Then say sorry like you mean it," he breathes.

He pumps into you harder and deeper, making it difficult for you to answer. But you try your best because you're getting close, and after you cum, it'll be damn near impossible.

"I- I'm sorry, daddy. Didn't mean to make you mad. I'll try to be good and listen," you say before a whine cracks your voice and causes your head to drop forward.

He nudges your face up with his nose before rewarding you with a kiss. "That's my girl," he mumbles, "Gonna listen for me. Accept that you don't know what's best, hm? That you need me to take care of you and make the decisions?"

You nod with your quivering lip and glossy eyes.

That gets a little smirk on his lips, and he kisses your pout once more. His hand snakes around to thumb at your clit. The rapid fire swipes are all you need to topple over the edge and let go. You tense up and cover your own mouth, muffling your cries with your palm.

"There you go. Let it out," he grunts.

He grits his teeth, holding on long enough to fuck you through your high. As soon as you start to come down though, he pulls out and spills his seed onto the dirt beneath you.

His body shudders against yours, another set of harsh breaths blowing against your neck. You lean your head against his. The sweat that dampens his scalp smears on your cheek.

The both of you hold the position for a few moments longer before beginning to untangle. He sets you back on the ground, keeping his hands on your waist until he's sure you're stable. You pull your discarded shorts back on and adjust your shirt while he zips himself up.

When you're put together again, he grabs your wrist like he'd done earlier but with a more gentle touch. He pulls you flush against his body and encircles you with his arms, keeping you pressed to his chest. His hand rubs up and down your back in soothing strokes.

"My baby. All tuckered out and settled down for me now, yeah?" he whispers.

You nod, your eyes already feeling droopy with the calm that comes after release. His embrace is so warm it lulls you further into this docile, dreamy state.

Rick rolls his eyes again, but there's not as much irritation this time. A good fuck mellows him out just like it does you. Plus, in moments like these, he can admit to himself that he has a small soft spot for his little brat.

He sways back and forth with you for a few moments, planting occasional kisses on the top of your head.

"You gonna behave when we go back inside?" he murmurs.

"Yeah," you answer softly.

"That's my girl," he says, patting your ass before turning you loose. He lets you walk back around to the entrance first. While he has a great time putting you back in line, these trysts aren't really something he wants the whole group being hyper aware of. It's after a few minutes have gone by that he heads in himself, ready to mix back in with everyone else as if nothing had happened.

#rick grimes x reader #rick grimes smut #rick grimes imagine #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #twd x reader #twd x you #twd imagine #twd smut #the walking dead smut #ch: rick grimes 💌

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purplethespian · 3 months ago

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The Rights of Disabled Americans Are Under Attack

We need to take action as soon as we can! Texas v. Becerra is an attack on disabled people and needs to be stopped.

What's happening? In the court case Texas v. Becerra, 17 states are suing the US government and because they are unhappy with additions made to Section 504 under the Biden Administration. They are asking the Justice Department to rule Section 504 unconstitutional!

What is Section 504? Section 504 is an extremely important law passed in the 1970s that protects disabled Americans from discrimination. If an entity, such as a school or hospital, receives money from the US government, it cannot discriminate against disabled people without losing that money.

Why are they asking for it to be ruled unconstitutional? In May of 2024, the Deparment of Health and Human Services issued updated guidelines for Section 504 to be more comprehensive and more specific about types of prohibited discriminatory actions against disabled people. Among these updated guidelines is an introduction that says (among many other things) that depending on the context, gender dysphoria could be a disability protected by Section 504. Naturally, because Republicans love to attack trans people, the Attorneys General of the 17 states, led by Ken Paxton of Texas, have launched a lawsuit about it.

Which states are part of the lawsuit? The 17 states are Alaska, Alabama, Arkansas, Florida, Georgia, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Louisiana, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, South Carolina, South Dakota, Texas, Utah, and West Virginia.

What can I do to help? The most important thing to do is to spread awareness about this. Very few people outside of the disabled community are talking about this case, which is terrifying because without Section 504, disabled people will lose part of what protects us from discrimination. If you are not disabled, please talk about this!

Another thing that you can do to help is to contact the Attorney General of your state and ask them to take action! If you live in one of the states involved with the lawsuit, you can call the office of your Attorney General and ask them to withdraw from the lawsuit. If you live in a state not involved, you can contact your state's AG and ask them to file papers with the court in support of Section 504.

You might also want to contact your representatives in Congress to tell them about the court case and ask them to take action to protect their disabled constituents. Your Senators and Representatives may be able to contact the AG of your state or take other action in support of Section 504. Here is a sample phone script to get you started:

"Hi, my name is [Name] and I am one of your constituents living in [City/Town Name]. My address is [address] (this ensures that your message/phone call will be counted). I am calling today to ask you to take action to support Section 504 and protect the rights of disabled residents of [State]. The court case Texas v. Becerra is trying to make Section 504 unconstitutional, which would leave millions of Americans, including those in our state, vulnerable to discrimination. Please contact [Attorney General] and ask [him/her] to [withdraw from this case/file papers for this case in support of Section 504]. [You may want to talk about how Section 504 is relevant to your life either as a disabled person or as someone who cares about disabled people and/or civil rights generally.] Thank you for your attention."

I will also be contacting my representatives for my state's government and asking them to commit to protecting the rights of disabled people in my state, regardless of the outcome of Texas v. Becerra. Here is the script I will be using:

"Hi, my name is [Name] and I am one of your constituents living in [City/Town Name]. My address is [address] (this ensures that your message/phone call will be counted). As you may be aware, 17 states (including our own) have filed a lawsuit against the federal government in a case called Texas v. Becerra, which if successful would make Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act unconstitutional. This would make millions of Americans, including those in our great state, vulnerable to discrimination. I am calling today to ask you to commit to protecting the rights of disabled [state residents], regardless of the outcome of this court case. I hope that you will support or introduce state legislation that protects disabled [state residents] from discrimination and other forms of harm. [You may want to talk about your experience as a disabled person or someone who cares about disabled people.] Thank you for your attention and for your work as a legislator."

Where can I find more information about this case and about actions I can take? DREDF, the Disability Rights Education & Defense Fund, has a page on their website talking all about this case and what you can do to help. They have sample scripts for contacting your state's Attorney General, as well as contact information for the AGs in all 50 states. They also held a community briefing recently where they talked about the changes to Section 504 that were introduced by the Biden Administration, what is happening with the court case, and what community members can do. The webinar recording is about 45 minutes long and can be found here.

Additionally, this website has information about the percentage of each state's population that is disabled, as well as other info. You may want to include that information when calling your various representatives.

The court will begin considering all information about the case on Tuesday, February 25th, 2025. This means that we need to act fast!

If we all come together to protect Section 504, I firmly believe that we can be successful. Let's do this!

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animusrox · 3 months ago

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MY LETTERBOXD

TOP 10

1. Dune: Part Two 2. The Substance 3. Hundreds of Beavers 4. Anora 5. Dìdi 6. Nosferatu 7. Nickel Boys 8. The First Omen 9. Sing Sing 10. Civil War

GRADE A

11. No Other Land 12. Robot Dreams 13. The Peasants 14. Conclave 15. Smile 2 16. Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes 17. We Grown Now 18. Memoir of a Snail 19. The Last Stop in Yuma County 20. A Real Pain 21. It’s What’s Inside 22. Red Rooms 23. Sometimes I Think About Dying 24. A Different Man 25. Better Man 26. The Brutalist 27. Heretic 28. His Three Daughters 29. Hard Truths 30. Evil Does Not Exist 31. Late Night with the Devil 32. Alien: Romulus 33. MadS 34. Rebel Ridge 35. Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person 36. Challengers 37. Strange Darling 38. Flow 39. All We Imagine as Light 40. Longlegs 41. Saturday Night 42. The Apprentice 43. Terrifier 3 44. The Seed of the Sacred Fig 45. A Complete Unknown 46. A Quiet Place: Day One 47. Juror #2 48. Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl 49. Oddity 50. Kneecap 51. Touch 52. Mayhem! 53. The Order 54. In a Violent Nature 55. Small Things Like These 56. Twisters 57. Hit Man 58. Woman of the Hour 59. Stopmotion 60. The Wild Robot 61. Deadpool & Wolverine

[Tap 'Keep Reading' For My Full Graded List]

GRADE B

62. The Devil’s Bath 63. The Bikeriders 64. Sasquatch Sunset 65. The Lord of the Rings: The War of the Rohirrim 66. Monkey Man 67. Last Straw 68. Abigail 69. Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga 70. Tiger Stripes 71. The Book of Clarence 72. The Instigators 73. I’m Still Here 74. The Coffee Table 75. The Return 76. Problemista 77. Trap 78. MaXXXine 79. Love Lies Bleeding 80. You’ll Never Find Me 81. Between the Temples 82. Marmalade 83. Blitz 84. Speak No Evil 85. Asphalt City 86. Piece By Piece 87. Wicked Little Letters 88. We Live in Time 89. Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story 90. V/H/S/Beyond 91. The Dead Don’t Hurt 92. Suncoast 93. Maria 94. My Old Ass 95. Immaculate 96. The Truth vs. Alex Jones 97. Cuckoo 98. Daddio 99. We Were Dangerous 100. The Outrun 101. Infested 102. Monolith 103. Azrael 104. The Last Showgirl 105. Babes 106. The Fire Inside 107. Lisa Frankenstein 108. Here 109. Thelma 110. Queer 111. Out of Darkness 112. Y2K 113. Handling the Undead 114. Bad Boys: Ride or Die 115. I Saw the TV Glow 116. Arcadian 117. Transformers One 118. Never Let Go 119. The Piano Lesson 120. Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F 121. Wicked 122. Gladiator II 123. Carry-On 124. Blink Twice 125. Self Reliance 126. Fly Me to the Moon 127. Boy Kills World 128. Kinds of Kindness 129. Nutcrackers 130. Skincare 131. Ezra 132. The Front Room 133. Mothers’ Instinct 134. Inside Out 2 135. Omni Loop 136. Girls State 137. Beetlejuice Beetlejuice 138. Your Monster 139. Babygirl 140. Mufasa: The Lion King 141. The Greatest Hits 142. Horizon: An American Saga - Chapter 1 143. Magpie

GRADE C

144. The People’s Joker 145. Nightbitch 146. Road House 147. Young Woman and the Sea 148. Am I OK? 149. Music by John Williams 150. The Killer’s Game 151. Oh, Canada 152. Wolfs 153. Sting 154. The Idea of You 155. Don’t Move 156. 1992 157. Werewolves 158. The Killer 159. The Shadow Strays 160. Rez Ball 161. MoviePass, MovieCrash 162. The Fall Guy 163. Lee 164. The End 165. Godzilla × Kong: The New Empire 166. The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare 167. Madame Web 168. Caddo Lake 169. Watchmen: Chapter II 170. Watchmen: Chapter I 171. Salem’s Lot 172. The Exorcism 173. The Watchers 174. Kill 175. Jackpot! 176. Rumours 177. Damsel 178. My Spy: The Eternal City 179. Drive-Away Dolls 180. IF 181. Spaceman 182. Joy 183. Joker: Folie à Deux 184. Megalopolis 185. Monster Summer 186. Lovely, Dark, and Deep 187. Bob Marley: One Love 188. Kraven the Hunter 189. Moana 2 190. I Used to Be Funny 191. Goodrich 192. September 5 193. Hold Your Breath 194. Apartment 7A

GRADE F

195. The Platform 2 196. Arthur the King 197. Shirley 198. Back to Black 199. Land of Bad 200. Poolman 201. Emilia Pérez 202. The Room Next Door 203. I.S.S. 204. Brothers 205. Knox Goes Away 206. Mean Girls 207. Krazy House 208. Slingshot 209. Mr. Crocket 210. Argylle 211. Sonic the Hedgehog 3 212. Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey 2 213. Afraid 214. Tuesday 215. Spellbound 216. Justice League: Crisis on Infinite Earths Part Three 217. Justice League: Crisis on Infinite Earths Part Two 218. Justice League: Crisis on Infinite Earths Part One 219. The American Society of Magical Negroes 220. Subservience 221. Time Cut 222. Night Swim 223. Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire 224. Red One 225. This Is Me…Now 226. Despicable Me 4 227. The Union 228. Ricky Stanicky 229. The Beekeeper 230. Honeymoonish 231. Hot Frosty 232. The Deliverance 233. The Garfield Movie 234. Lift 235. Atlas 236. Trigger Warning 237. House of Spoils 238. Borderlands 239. Tarot 240. Venom: The Last Dance

Bottom 10

241. Imaginary 242. Unfrosted 243. It Ends With Us 244. Dear Santa 245. The Crow 246. The Strangers: Chapter 1 247. Harold and the Purple Crayon 248. Rebel Moon - Part Two: The Scargiver 249. Dirty Angels 250. Miller’s Girl

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gollancz · 1 year ago

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The synopsis says: “It’s the hottest summer on record and London is dying. Prices are high, pay is low, and stressed commuters are packed on to London Underground trains again like the pandemic never happened. To add to the misery, the temperatures underground just keep climbing and climbing, the heat trapped in the clay with nowhere to go.

“Five travellers on an unlucky tube carriage find themselves bound together one morning as witnesses to a single horrific event – an event they can’t quite seem to remember. They make an unlikely team: weary tube driver, a disillusioned civil servant, an ambitious city trader, an overwhelmed hotel worker and an unhoused young man just trying to get by – but now they must come together to confront what they have seen and stop it in its tracks. Because there’s something lurking in the stifling darkness and labyrinthine tunnels that run below London… something old, something vicious, and something very, very hungry.”

I couldn't be more excited to be working with @jonnywaistcoat on his next two novels! This is just more of what he does best - pulling apart the very seams of society and giving me very specific new sleep paralysis demons, and somehow getting me to say thank you afterwards.

And if you're near London next month, why not pop along to Gollanczfest to hear him chat all things horror with Joe Hill and V. V. James? Tickets are still available:

#Jonathan Sims #Burnout #Book announcement #Monsters on the Underground #horror fiction #Horror authors

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therogueflame · 22 days ago

Text

Raised to Obey

omg hi guys!!

happy easter! this piece is based off this request from my dear friend, @uncoveredsun. she's an aemond girly through and through so ofc i had to make this one extra nasty. love you bye.

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Summary: You return to the court that shaped you, only to find the boy you once commanded grown into something dangerous. He follows you still, but not like he used to.

WC: 7.9k

Warnings: 18+, targcest, power imbalance, dubcon, (light) violcence, degradation, smut, oral (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, a little bit of brat!Aemond

Aemond Targaryen x OlderSister!Reader

MDNI!!!

They say nothing in the letter, but you know what it means.

The seal is plain. The wording neutral. Your presence is requested at the Red Keep, and your escort will arrive within the fortnight. There is no mention of the annulment. No word of House Tyrell or Ser Lyonel’s failure to bed his bride after seven long, silent years of marriage. No accusations. No apologies. Only a summons. Clean and simple and final.

The carriage ride feels longer than the voyage that first took you to Highgarden, but this time there is no veil, no lavender perfume, no bridal nerves tucked into your gloves. You wear your riding leathers beneath a heavy velvet cloak, the color too rich for a woman with no husband and no name. Your hands are bare. Your hair unadorned. Your mouth still set in that same quiet line, the one you learned to hold when the Reach looked at you like a storm they couldn’t contain.

The Red Keep has not changed since you left it. It rises above the city like a red god, towering and unyielding, its shadow spreading from the spiked towers to the streets below. The stones still glisten like blood when the sun hits them, casting an amber glow before dusk. The air still smells of oil and fire, a familiar tang of smoke and iron and promises burnt to ash. The guards still stiffen when you pass, their eyes bright with curiosity, unsure whether they should bow or look away and pretend they’ve not seen you. You catch your reflection in a shield as you walk through the gate, beneath the portcullis where you last saw the glint of sunlight on Aemond’s hair. You look like someone they thought was gone. A hush spreads in your wake, rippling through the corridors, a sweet echo of scandal that follows you like a shadow. Maids pause with linens half-folded. Courtiers shift and whisper as you pass, their conversations frozen. Your mother’s ladies offer faint, artificial smiles, the tilt of their heads betraying their impatience to be the first to tell her. You can hear the murmur before it reaches your ears. She’s back. She’s failed. She’s still childless. She was too proud, they say. Too cold. They say it in whispers, in glances, in silence that is more damning than words. They say the same things in King’s Landing that they said in Highgarden. Like a song passed from one musician to the next, they keep playing the same refrain. You recognize it all.

They know the match was political, a symbol more than a promise, a show of good faith as useless as a gilded parchment. That your wedding was a masterpiece of civility and nothing more. That Ser Lyonel Tyrell—gentle, golden, delicate—never once reached for you in the dark. That the garden never bloomed. That the Tyrells petitioned for annulment with grace and urgency, their letters riddled with concern for your soul. No heir. No bedding. No shame, only regret, tendered with the precision of an accountant’s ledger or a merchant’s bill of sale. And underneath it all, the unspoken truth: you were never meant to be someone’s wife. You were meant to be their burden. Their lesson. Their problem to solve.

When you left King’s Landing, you were Alicent’s daughter. Now you are something less and something more. The one who failed. The one who came back. The one who belongs nowhere except where others don’t want her.

You enter the throne room alone. No handmaid, no brother at your side, no welcoming line of lords eager to claim your favor. You walk with your spine straight, your chin lifted, each step purposeful. You expect to be ignored. Perhaps tolerated. Perhaps pitied.

You are not prepared for Aemond. Not for the way he commands the room like a lord, like a dragon, like something both regal and dangerous. The years have sculpted him into a stranger, one who stands just below the dais and a little apart from the others, his body angled toward the Iron Throne as if it belongs to him. His eye catches yours the moment you appear. You feel it—a burning and intrusive stare, hot and direct and deeply unfamiliar, as if he’s picking you apart, inspecting each piece polished or flawed. He is taller, much taller, than you remember. His shoulders broader, his stance lethal and still. The sapphire gleams cold and pitiless where his eye once was, a bright gem that seems to see everything, to miss nothing. His jaw is sharp now. His mouth cruel and knowing.

He wears the black of the court like armor, as if the velvet and silk could shield him from insurgents and assassins, and the longsword at his hip is heavy, solid, not for show. He watches you like a man appraising a threat, ready to draw blood, and when his lips curl, it is not in welcome.

You pause at the edge of the hall, and the years pause with you. Your gloves remain on. Your expression does not falter. But something inside you stills, freezes, like a river in winter.

Aemond doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t acknowledge you before others can see. He lets the others gather near, shields himself with their presence. Lord Beesbury greets you with a thin, perfunctory smile, obscured by his drooping white mustache. Ser Harrold offers a nod, polite and stiff as his back. The queen smiles and, with effort, makes it convincing. No one mentions the annulment. Not yet. Not in front of Aemond, who watches it all with quiet, simmering amusement.

Then, slowly, with intention and certainty, Aemond steps forward.

He does not bow. He does not smile. “Lady Maidenflower,” he says, just soft enough that only you hear it, enough that it stings.

You turn your head just slightly, exactly enough to make him feel the weight of your reply. “Still clever, I see.”

His eye sweeps over you like a blade. He is not hiding the weight of it, the roughness of the cut. “You returned untouched, then. I’d wondered.”

“Lyonel Tyrell was a poet,” you reply, because you have sharpened your own edges. “Not a fool.”

“Poets rarely have the stomach for conquest.”

You meet his gaze without blinking, without flinching, though your heart still remembers how to race. “And you’ve always had too much of it.”

“I was twelve when you left.”

You tilt your head, and the movement is easy, graceful, scornful. “You still are, most days.”

That earns you a smirk, slow and deliberate, a lord’s smirk. A dragon’s. “Not anymore.”

He takes a single step closer. You don’t move. You let him come.

The pause between you stretches, heavy and hot and alive with unspoken challenges and renegotiated terms. His eye dips to your mouth, and it is not quickly, not politely, not as a brother should. When it rises again, it lingers.

You turn before he can speak again, before he can make you doubt or remember. You offer him no parting glance, no farewell. But you feel it as you walk away—his stare on your back, weighty and hungry. Not a boy’s gaze. Not a brother’s.

Let him look. Let them all.

You did not come back for their sympathy or to stand around, shrinking, while they trample your pride. The thought of wilted and drooping pity is almost amusing, withered and limp like Highgarden’s banner when the wind dies, and you refuse to let it gather at your feet like a folder of discarded marriage contracts. You returned because the summons meant something. Because they wanted you here. Because the annulment meant nothing. Because they are beginning to remember who you are and what you are worth. The realm has no place for a woman like you—a woman with no husband and no duty and no shame to parade—except when it needs one. You are still a dragon’s daughter, flames running molten where other women leave room for fear, and it seems they’re starting to recall the heat of their own blood. They thought a marriage would change you. That the Reach would wear you smooth and pliable. That seven years of silence would make you weak, complacent, eager to return with their leash around your neck. They were fools. You have not softened. You have stripped away everything unnecessary. You have become what you always should have been: scaled, certain, and dangerous. Aemond would be a fool, too, if he still believes he knows the girl who left. If he thinks the same breathless, reckless fool of a girl stands before him, he is welcome to try and find her, to search and search and find nothing at all. He will not.

It’s a few days before you see him again. Long enough that the ache dulls, the whispers shift, the court forgets to look twice. You don’t. You feel him in every corridor. His stare in the back of your skull. The words he didn’t say sitting heavier than the ones he did. You don’t seek him out. Not really. But when the sound of clashing steel drifts through the windows one morning, sharp and furious, your feet carry you there before you can stop them.

The yard is already thick with the sound of clashing steel and barked commands by the time you arrive, drawn not by curiosity but by the unmistakable pitch of Aemond’s voice, rising above the rest. You round the corner and find him standing over a boy barely older than twelve, sword in hand, patience worn thin. The boy is sweating and panting, bleeding lightly from the lip. Aemond says something low enough you can’t catch, but the tone carries and your stomach knots.

"Enough."

Aemond doesn't turn right away. The boy does, blinking at you like he's been thrown a lifeline, desperate and unsure. You step down into the yard without pausing, hands still gloved, shoulders squared, a defiance in each step. You know Aemond sees you, but he remains fixed over the boy, as if your presence is a small interruption. As if you are the one who should wait. As if waiting for the exact moment when his controlled apathy strikes deepest. He finally shifts, looking over his shoulder with slow, deliberate disinterest.

"You are not his commander," you say, your voice sharp and unyielding.

"I am his prince."

You take another step. "And you're still picking fights with boys too small to fight back."

That gets his attention. His eye catches yours and holds. The cut is deep, unrelenting, meant to wound. A quiet breath passes through the onlookers. No one moves. The boy backs away quickly, too smart to stay where the lightning is about to strike. Aemond sheathes his sword, but only halfway. His smirk is faint but not amused, a taunt that is both familiar and new.

"Would you like to teach him, then?"

You tilt your head. "I'd rather teach you."

His smile sharpens. "Then show me."

The court knows you well enough not to question it when you shrug off your cloak and take the spare sword from the rack. Your tunic is laced tight, boots steady, sleeves rolled. You are ready before they realize it, before you realize it yourself. You know the forms, the weight of the steel, the cadence of Aemond's skill. But you don't know the way the court watches now, not with surprise but with certainty, as if expecting exactly this. As if you haven't been gone seven years. Aemond stretches his neck as you step to the center. He doesn't offer the usual salutation. You don't bow.

When you strike, it's without warning. It feels right. Quick. Merciless. He parries fast, steel hissing, and the first clash draws a ripple from the men watching. You dance around him, light on your feet, quicker than he expects. It is a dance you thought you'd forgotten. The rhythm is familiar but off. He's faster now. Stronger. You are sharper. Angry. His blade grazes your shoulder. Yours slices along his side. He doesn't flinch. You don't, either. The heat builds quickly, sweat blooming beneath your collar. He presses harder, with more force, more insistence, more precision than the boy you thought you remembered. You give ground only to take it again. You used to beat him with speed, with patience, with quick, calculated precision. Now he meets you at every turn, matching blow for blow, circling like a predator who knows exactly where to bite.

How much he’s changed. How much he hasn’t.

How much you have.

When he finally gets you on your back, it's not clean. You stumble on loose gravel. He takes advantage, a fierce flicker of triumph in his eye. Your sword hits the dirt. Everything that’s happened since you left King’s Landing—the whispers, the annulment, the letters filled with false concern, the look on his face when you returned—everything that should have made this easy pinches sharp inside your lungs, more painful than his grip. His boot lands between your legs, arm braced against your throat. Not choking. Just holding.

Too close. An echo you can’t outrun.

You expect him to move. He doesn't.

His breathing is rough. So is yours. You can feel the sweat on his wrist, the heat of his body over yours. You look up. His hair is wild. His eye is burning.

"Still think I'm just a boy?"

You don't answer. His grip tightens just slightly. His fingers brush your jaw. He leans in, slow and sure, gaze locked to your mouth like it means something.

You shove him. Hard. He stumbles back, laughter spilling from his chest, not loud but knowing, as if you just gave him the answer he wanted. You roll to your feet before anyone can help you. Your chest is heaving, cheeks flushed, skin hot. You don't look at anyone else as you retrieve your sword and your pride.

"Lesson over?" he calls.

The pause stretches between you. You don’t let it hold. You shrug on your cloak with deliberate ease, the same ease you’ve cultivated since you returned. The hush follows you back into the keep. You feel his eyes like fingers pressing into your skin, a touch that lingers and burns and doesn’t fade when you reach the corridor.

It’s still there at supper. Fresh, insistent. No one else notices the bread you don’t eat, the soup that cools in your bowl, the wine you drink without tasting. You’re the only one who hears the hollow ring of his boot against your sword, echoing through the hall with every half-heard whisper. It doesn’t soften when your mother asks if you’re well, when the maids bring the third course, when the candles burn low. When your mother tells you it was wise to come home, you nod, polite and unconvincing. You take your leave, and the walls feel closer, the halls longer, the air colder.

You don’t think of him. You don’t think of the weight of his body, the feel of his fingers on your jaw. You’re only thinking of the cold when you tighten your laces, only thinking of the chill when you pace the length of your room. The scratch of the quill in the chamber next to yours is louder than you’d like, and the letters on your desk are too frantic and familiar to answer. You are not restless. You are thoughtful.

You think so hard you don’t realize you’ve left your chambers until you find yourself walking without thinking, past the solar, up the stairs, down the hall to the wing where he sleeps. You don't plan it. You don't knock.

You push the door open without a plan, breath quick and shallow from the unguarded walk. He’s there, not surprised, not even questioning your intrusion. Shirtless, lounging in a chair by the hearth, legs spread, as comfortable and confident as if he owned the place. He might as well. The heat of the fire licks the dampness from his hair. A goblet of wine sits comfortably in his hand; his sword rests close by, in easy reach. He looks up at you with an expression that feels both new and old, the same practiced disregard you once swore would never cut you again. Like he expected this. Like he’s been waiting.

"Come to finish what we started?"

Your throat tightens. Something in your chest does, too. The echo of it ricochets in your bones, and you shut the door with more force than you mean to. The sound is too loud, too final, but not enough to break the smile on his face.

"You embarrassed me in the yard," you say. There's a catch in your voice you hope he doesn't hear. You step closer. He hums, not quite a laugh. Almost.

"You embarrassed yourself."

You bite back a retort. He watches you try, waiting for the hollow bite of it, waiting for something deeper.

"You put your hand on me." The words taste more bitter than you expect, and he hears it. You know he does. He shrugs, the carelessness deliberate, and finishes the rest of the wine in a single, slow swallow.

"You didn't tell me to stop."

Anger and something else lances through you, sharp and unmistakable. A flower blooming violent beneath your skin. "You're not a child anymore," you say. "Fine. But you are still beneath me." There's satisfaction in that. A small thrill. He sets the goblet down with a thin click, the faint trace of red staining the rim. His smile returns, slow and sharp, more a weapon than a jest.

"Not where it counts."

You don't think, just move, a breathless reckless fool, too sure and too hurt to stop yourself. Your palm cracks across his face and his head turns with the force of it. The wine sloshes in his goblet when you strike him, but he does not drop it. He sets it down on the table carefully, eyes glittering with something you don’t recognize. He looks back at you with a hunger you've never seen before. A hunger that burns like dragon’s blood, searing and inscrutable. Not in him. Not from anyone.

"Again," he says.

Your breath catches. There's no air in this room, this keep, this entire place. You stare at him. His smile flickers wider when you don't answer. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows. You step closer, and he rises from the chair as you do, caught on the same pull. The distance vanishes faster than you mean it to. Faster than you can stop. Fury frays and threads you together. The space between you disappears quick and final and damning.

"You think you've won something?"

He shrugs, every inch of his body unwound and lithe. "You came here."

"To remind you of your place."

"Remind me, then."

He moves too quickly. Or maybe you move too slow. His hands catch your waist and your spine hits the door hard enough to steal your breath. The night explodes in stars behind your eyes. He doesn't press. Doesn't hurt. Just holds you there with his body, chest against yours, breath hot on your cheek, the heat of him impossible to escape. You grab his wrist, digging in, nails biting soft skin. He holds the wince behind his teeth, gaze fixed on you like he'd die before looking away.

"Let go of me."

The words are hard.

"Lyonel never touched you, did he?"

Your hand tightens on his wrist, so hard it shakes. You slap him again, harder this time, and the crack of it splits in the air between you, a current setting stone to fracture.

He laughs.

"Again," he says.

You don't. But gods, you want to. You want to and you hate it and you hate him and you turn and leave before you remember how to breathe.

You leave him there with the taste of your own fury still on your tongue. Your hand aches. So does your chest. You don’t look back. You don’t sleep. Not really. You lie awake and stare at the ceiling, the canopy of your bed a cage you can’t escape, can’t untangle. His voice plays over and over in your mind. Lyonel never touched you, did he. The worst part is how softly he said it. Like a secret. Like a truth. Like he knew exactly where to cut, exactly where to let the worst of it bleed.

The candles burn low in your chambers. The chill nips at your windowpanes. You don’t feel it. You feel the ghost of Aemond’s fingers on your hips, his breath on your cheek, the tremor beneath his skin. Everything you thought you buried comes rushing back, rushing through you, rushing until it cleaves the air from your lungs. Why did you return? Why did you think you could stay away? You are not restless. You are not impatient. You are thoughtful, but that thought is wrapped around him like a noose. Like a bruise. Like a bright, sharp hope.

You came to win. You’ve already lost.

By morning, the bruises are already forming beneath the surface of your skin. The memory of Aemond's touch blooms purple and dark, echoes of his fingertips wrought in flesh. You wish the sensation of him would fade as fast. It doesn't. The court is louder now. You feel it in every corridor, every room, every shift in posture when you enter. It clings to you, an invisible murmur that grows teeth. No one says your name, but they don’t need to. You returned without a husband. Without a child. Without a claim worth anything except shame. You were sent to the Reach to secure the realm and came back with nothing but silence. So now they whisper.

She must have refused him.

She must have failed.

She must have been too difficult to want.

The echoes are just as loud as the words. Each clever jab works its way beneath your skin, seeds of doubt taking root and sprouting vines you can't cut through. Even your mother looks at you differently. Her voice is soft, but her eyes are measuring. The warmth she once kept for you has cooled into caution, as if your return might stain her skirts if you stand too close. Her questions come dressed as concern, but you know the shape of judgment. And the ladies at court, the ones who used to play cyvasse and braid your hair, now look through you like you’re made of smoke. They weave tales you can’t quite hear, tales that bleed from one mouth to another, tales whose edges are sharp and cutting.

They don’t ask, but their silence does. What did she do wrong? Was he kind? Did she cry? Did he ever touch her at all? Or did she come back just as she left, proud and unspoiled and completely alone?

You do not answer them. You do not give them the truth they seek, the truth that tugs too close to the center of you. You walk through the halls like nothing has changed, like you are still the same creature you were before. You are not. Aemond says nothing to you in court. He does not look your way unless others are watching, and even then, it is brief. Quick enough to pass as something else. But you can feel it. He lets the rumors curl around you like smoke, never once bothering to stop them. He could silence it. One word from him and the court would fall quiet. But he doesn't. He listens. He watches. He waits.

You find him in the yard again, a few days after the incident in his chambers. He's alone this time. No one dares train with him lately, not since the last sparring match left a knight concussed. He moves with that same quiet precision, that same lethal grace. The sun catches the sweat at his temple, his shirt already discarded and thrown to the side. Your skin prickles at the sight, at the memory of him even more unguarded, even more certain. You should leave. You don't.

You don’t know what you mean to say when you see him there, when you watch him move and remember the way he looked at you, the way he still looks at you. You don’t know what you mean to do when you feel the full weight of his indifference, of the stories he lets the court tell. But you are moving before you can talk yourself out of it. Before the bruises fade, before this second return becomes as hollow as the first. You are moving and it feels like a mistake, but you’ve already made that mistake before, already seen what comes of it. There's no going back. This time, you mean to win.

He sees you before you speak. Of course he does. He always does.

“You following me now?” he says without looking up.

“I could say the same.”

His blade drops slightly. “You never used to lurk.”

“You never used to be worth watching.”

He turns at that, slow and smooth. “Didn’t stop you before.”

You ignore the heat crawling up your neck. “I gave the orders. You followed them.”

“You think that’s still true?”

“You think it’s not?”

“You dragged me through the mud. Screamed at me in front of knights twice my size.”

“And you listened.”

He steps in close. “Try it now. See if I still do.”

Your breath catches. His voice drops, soft and deliberate.

“They say no man ever wanted you. That Tyrell barely looked at you. That you came back untouched because no one could stand the thought.”

You don’t answer. You don’t move.

He tilts his head, close enough to touch. “Is that why you hate me looking?”

“Because you’re not supposed to.”

He smiles, slow and awful. “I can’t stop.”

He steps closer, closing the gap with a slow, sure determination. You don’t move. You don’t even flinch. His face is inches from yours now, and everything about him pulls you in and splits you apart. You can smell the leather of his gloves, the salt on his skin, the faint scent of iron and heat. His hand lifts slowly. You feel the brush of his fingers at your jaw, soft, testing, like he’s taking measure of the space between breath and need and wanting. You could slap him again. You could turn and walk away. You don’t. Your breath is shallow. He watches your mouth.

You step back. You leave. You don’t speak. You don’t run. You walk away with your back straight and your heart hammering in your ribs like it’s trying to claw out.

That night, you dream of him. Of course you do. You dream of his mouth, the cut of his lips, the press of his body hot and unrelenting against yours. You dream of his hands, the rough drag of his fingers on your cheek, your skin, your throat. The way his voice dropped low, soft and deliberate. The way his voice dragged low when he said your name. You wake tangled in your sheets, flushed and furious and aching, and you cannot tell whether you want to kill him or keep him.

It starts with silence. It starts with rooms you pretend not to linger in, corridors you just happen to walk through, doors you pass more slowly than you should. It starts with you lying to yourself—small, careful lies you don’t quite believe. You don’t mean to look for him. That’s what you tell yourself. You don’t mean to, not at first. Not at first, but you find him anyway.

He’s in the yard. He’s in the hall. He’s at the table, two seats down, eating grapes one by one like they mean something. Every time you look up, he’s already watching.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. That you are only keeping an eye on him. That someone has to. That it might as well be you. But the lie doesn’t last. Not when the heat flares again behind your ribs every time he speaks. Not when you walk past the training yard and stop to watch. Not when your name comes from his mouth and you have to swallow hard before answering.

You avoid him. Until you don’t.

You find him at the edge of the godswood, on a day when the sun beats down like a curse and the wind is too warm, your thoughts too loud and insistent. He’s leaning against the old heart tree like it belongs to him, as if it's only there to hold him, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His head is tilted up to the canopy, eyes closed, jaw sharp. He hears you long before you mean to speak. Even from a distance, you feel the weight of his awareness. As you move closer, he turns slowly, the light catching on the scar beneath his eye, the gleam of the sapphire where it settles. He watches you like he’s been waiting.

"You’ve been restless," he says. "I can tell."

"You don’t know anything about me."

He pushes off the tree and takes a step forward. "I know you come looking for me and pretend you don’t."

You set your jaw. "You think too highly of yourself."

"No," he says, a crooked grin on his lips, closer now. "I think exactly enough."

You take a step back. He follows.

"What do you want?" he asks, voice low.

You hate the question. You hate that he asks it like he knows you don’t have the answer.

"Nothing from you."

He circles you now, slow and deliberate. "You used to look at me like I was a boy. Now you look at me like I might bite."

"Maybe I think you should be put down."

He laughs, a soft huff that barely leaves his throat.

"Do you know what it did to me?" he says. "You left. Married some wilted flower. Let him look at you like a prize he’d never unwrap."

You flinch. He sees it.

"He didn’t even try, did he?"

You snap before you can stop yourself. "No. He didn’t. He was afraid. They all are."

The words hang between you like smoke, pulled from the center of you, unplanned and brutal. You breathe them in and try not to choke. Aemond steps closer. His voice goes quiet.

"I’m not."

You shake your head. You want to run. You don’t. He lifts his hand, not touching you yet, just hovering near your cheek.

"Say the word," he says, "and I’ll make you forget every man who ever disappointed you."

You slap him. His head snaps to the side, but he doesn’t recoil. He lets out a sound that freezes you in place. A moan. A real one. Low and ragged like it was dragged from his chest. When he turns back to you, there’s a flush high on his cheekbone. His lips are parted. His eye burns.

"I knew you liked it rough," he murmurs. "I remember how you used to throw me down."

You stare at him, breath caught halfway between a curse and a gasp. He leans in closer, slow, measured. You don’t move.

"You used to knock the wind out of me. You’d say I was too soft. That I’d never survive the yard unless I learned to take a hit."

"You never did learn."

"That’s not true," he says. "I learned to like it."

You shake your head again, but your fists stay at your sides. Your feet don’t move.

"You think this is a game."

"No," he says. "I think this is exactly what we’ve both been waiting for."

Your pulse roars in your ears. The godswood is quiet, but everything feels too loud. Too close. His breath brushes your cheek.

"Tell me to stop."

You leave him standing in the godswood, breath shallow, palms hot, the trees watching like they know what you almost said. You don’t speak. You don’t run. But you can’t quite breathe either. You walk back through the Keep like you’re sleepwalking, like you might burn through the floor if you stay still.

Night sinks in around you. The walls feel tighter. The fire in your chamber roars too hot. You pace. You pour wine you don’t drink. You open the window and shut it again. You think about sleeping. You think about forgetting. You think about how he looked at you when he said I’m not.

You tell yourself not to go. And then you do.

The hall outside his door is empty. The candlelight flickers low. The door isn’t fully shut. As if he left it waiting.

You don’t knock. You don’t speak. You step inside, and he’s already there. Shirtless, again. Hair damp. Leaning against the table like he hadn’t moved since the godswood. His eye finds yours and doesn’t flinch. You close the door behind you. You don’t lock it. He watches you cross the room without saying a word. He doesn’t ask why you’re here. He knows.

“I didn’t come for this,” you say.

He nods, slow. “Then say no.”

You don’t. He pushes off the table and walks toward you like he already knows how this ends. Like he’s dreamed it a hundred times and every version ends the same. He doesn’t reach for you. Not yet. He waits.

You’re the one who moves. Your hand fists in the collar of his shirt and drags him closer. Your mouth hovers near his, your breath unsteady, your body already too warm. You don’t kiss him. Not yet.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

“I know.”

And then you break. You kiss him like you’re furious. Like he’s the only thing that’s ever made you feel anything and you’d rather drown in it than say it out loud. His hands are everywhere. Yours are worse. There’s nothing careful about it. Nothing sweet. You don’t want sweet. You want to be ruined.

You want to ruin him back. The table knocks over. His back hits the wall. Your boots scatter across the floor. You don’t stop. You don’t think. You don’t ask. When he lifts you up and carries you to the bed, you let him. When he lays you down and looks at you like you’re the first real thing he’s ever wanted, you don’t speak.

He peels back your clothes with a precision that makes you ache, each layer a secret he's uncovering. Your shift falls away, and he stares at you like you're sacred. Like you're something he shouldn't touch but will anyway. His hands are rough, calloused from years of swordplay, but they move across your skin with a reverence that makes your breath catch. You don't want reverence. You want him to hurt. You want to hurt him back.

You flip him beneath you, straddling his hips, hands pinning his wrists above his head. His eye widens, pupils blown, a smile curling at the edge of his mouth. You lean down, hair falling around your face like a curtain, and bite his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The taste of copper fills your mouth. He moans, hips bucking up against yours.

"Is this what you wanted?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper. "To ruin me?"

His fingers dig into your hips, bruising and possessive. "I wanted to be the one who touched you first."

You laugh, bitter and sharp. "Not everything is yours to claim."

"No," he says, flipping you beneath him with a strength that makes your breath catch. His weight settles between your thighs, delicious and heavy. "But you are."

You should fight. You should push him away. But your body arches into his touch, craving the heat of him, the burn of his skin against yours. His mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping over your pulse, and you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt. He hisses against your skin, the sound vibrating through your bones.

"Tell me to stop," he says again, but this time it's different. It's not a challenge. It's a plea. You can hear the need beneath it, raw and desperate. It would be so easy to tell him no. To walk away. To leave him as broken as you've been. Instead, you pull him closer.

"Don't stop," you whisper against his mouth. "Don't you dare stop."

He trails kisses of fire down your body, spreading your thighs open and bringing his face close to your core. His breath is hot, his mouth everything you expected and nothing like you imagined. You choke on a sound that might be a sob, that might be his name, that might be something you’ve never said to anyone. There is a feeling of novelty between your legs. You don’t know what to do with it, what to call it. You don’t know how to stop it. His tongue traces a path that makes you gasp, your body shuddering beneath him, and every scrape of his teeth sends a shock to places you forgot you had. He pins your hips with his hands. Holds you there until you think you might scream, might call him something you’ll regret. You writhe, helpless and hungry, his mouth pushing you toward something you can't recognize but can't resist. It's new and wild and terrifying. It's more than you were ready for. You feel it building beyond your control, burning through you, breaking you down, and he's relentless. You’ve never been this close to shattering. You’ve never wanted to.

When it crests, it's like wildfire—unstoppable, consuming, spreading through your limbs until you're arching off the bed, his name torn from your throat. He holds you through it, mouth still working, drinking in every tremor until you push him away, too sensitive to bear it.

He moves up your body like he's been waiting his entire life for this moment. He's like a predator, but one who is starving, respectful, already intoxicated by your essence. His mouth is slick, his eyes are wild, and his hair is tousled from your touch. When he kisses you, you taste yourself on his lips, and it sends a wave of heat through you. It makes you want to hide. It makes you want to be consumed.

He pulls back just enough to truly see you, and something raw and broken flickers across his face. You watch it shatter within him. You feel it cracking beneath your ribs.

His hands tremble as they explore your body. They're not hurried now, not greedy. Just desperately seeking. He wants to discover what makes you gasp, what makes you tremble, what makes you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your nails into his shoulders, calling his name like a curse.

Both of you are frantic, lost in something that has been building since the moment you returned. Since before that. Since before you left. Since forever.

When he finally sinks into you, the sound that tears from your throat is something between a sob and a moan. It hurts. Of course it hurts. But it's the kind of pain that feels like salvation, like something breaking open inside you that's been locked too long. He watches your face as he moves, drinking in every reaction, every gasp, every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His pace is relentless, punishing, exactly what you need and nothing like you imagined.

"Look at me," he growls, and you do. You meet his gaze and don't look away, even when it feels too intimate, too raw. His eye burns into yours, the sapphire gleaming in the firelight like a second witness to your surrender. "Say my name."

You bite your lip, refusing at first. His hand slides between your bodies, finding the place where you're most sensitive, and your resolve crumbles.

"Aemond," you gasp, the syllables breaking on your tongue like a prayer. "Aemond," you breathe again, and again, like a confession you can't keep hidden anymore.

His rhythm stutters at the sound of it, his name on your lips like a spell he never thought you’d cast. It tears through him, wild and fierce and reckless, like it can’t be contained. His pulse surges with the rush of possession, with a pride that borders on madness. The moment is electric, charged, impossibly taut. He crushes his mouth to yours, swallowing every moan, every gasp, as if your voice alone could undo him, as if all your protests only fuel him further. The pace is dizzying, the edge razor-sharp, and you’re close, so close to something you've never let yourself feel before. Not like this. Not this blinding. Your body arches into him, desperate and unguarded, and you cry out, nails scoring down his back, leaving trails that scream of violence, of passion, of the pain you both need and the pleasure you can’t tell apart. He hisses at the sting, but the sound is nothing like surrender.

"You're mine," he growls, branding you with his words, his teeth grazing your throat, the promise lethal and soft and everything you’ve ever wanted to deny. "Say it."

You choke out the word, shaking your head as you do, still defiant even as your body says otherwise. Even as it betrays you, traitorous and unrelenting, your resistance splintering like ash before a torch. "No." It's barely a whisper, a last stand against the fire, but even you don’t believe it. You clench around him, pulling him deeper, binding him to you with every shuddering breath. He tightens his grip in your hair, and the pull arches your back, exposing your neck, your pulse, the truth you're trying to hide.

"Lie to me again," he says, his voice fractured with desire, the edges rough, unsteady. "And see what happens."

His eye is locked on yours, shining full of hunger and something else. Something that makes you want to give in just to see what it would do to him. You meet his gaze with a challenge, despite the tremor in your voice, despite the pleasure that is slowly unraveling you. "I am not yours."

His lips curl into a smile that is nothing but teeth and intent. He slows his movements with devastating precision, pulling out so slowly it feels like a loss, thrusting back in to make you pay for every lie, for every second you didn’t admit you were his. The impact shatters your defenses, touching something deep inside that makes you want to come apart. Makes you want to break just so he can put you back together.

"Liar," he breathes, but the word is tangled with awe, with worship, with disbelief that he ever let you go. His hands are brands on your skin, holding you in place as he moves, marking you with fingers as determined as his heart, as his claim, as his promise.

You’re losing. You’re lost. Your resolve crumbles, rushing out of you so quickly you feel dizzy with it. The pleasure winds tight, impossibly tight, spreading through your body faster than you can stop it, faster than you can pretend you don’t want it. You’re on the brink, teetering at the edge, and you can’t pull back. Can’t stop it. Can’t stop any of it.

"Say it," he demands, pushing you to the point of no return, his rhythm pushed to the breaking point as his control slips. As he starts to fall apart with you. "Tell me who you belong to."

You want to fight him. You want him to bleed the way you did. You want to be empty of him. You want him to lose the same way you did. You want to give him nothing. You want to watch him break. You want him to hurt the way you did. You want to give him everything. You want him to know it. You want to ruin him as he's ruined you. And suddenly, you are. The word leaves your throat like it’s tearing you apart, like it’s putting you back together. The admission is pain and salvation. The confession is agony and release. "You." The silence shatters. Your resolve shatters. Something wild and desperate between you shatters. You come undone with it, unable to hold anything back. Your voice, your control, the last of your resistance. "You," you whisper, the sound already gone. "You, Aemond."

It breaks something in both of you. He kisses you then, deep and consuming, and you fall apart beneath him, waves of pleasure wracking through you, your release a storm breaking against the shore. He follows you over the edge, his own release a fierce, primal claim, his body tensing above you, inside you, around you. The sound he makes is raw, unguarded, nothing like the prince who holds his emotions in check. His forehead presses against yours as he shudders, as he spills himself inside you, marking you in the most primitive way. You think he might have forgotten how to breathe, how to hold back, how to be a dragon and not a man. You think you might have forgotten the same.

It leaves you both unmoored, wild and vulnerable, unable to hold anything back. Every moment is a fracture, a split-second proof of his soul laid bare. Every tremor a piece of you given in ways you never thought you could. Never thought you would. The heat of him, the weight of him, it should feel like too much. It should feel like surrender. You should feel conquered, defeated. But for the first time, it feels like exactly what you’ve been wanting. Exactly what you’ve been waiting for.

It takes an eternity for the storm to pass, for the world to settle around you, but you hold fast through it, to him, to each other. You feel it long after the shakes subside, after your bodies run out of breath and fury and will. The truth of it so potent you can’t suppress it. Can’t deny it. Not even to save yourself. For a moment, neither of you move. His breath mingles with yours, ragged and spent. His weight is heavy, but you don't push him away. You can't. Your fingers trace the scars on his back, mapping the history of a boy who became a man you didn't recognize. Who became a man you couldn't resist.

When he finally rolls to the side, you feel the chill of the room rush back, reminding you of where you are. Who you are. What you've done. You lie there, staring at the ceiling, your body humming with remnants of pleasure and something heavier. You should leave. You should get up, gather your clothes, and slip away before the castle wakes. Before reality returns. Before the weight of this settles fully on your shoulders. Instead, you stay.

His fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, following the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, like he's memorizing the map of you. Neither of you speak. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but it's heavy with things unsaid. With questions neither of you are ready to answer.

"They’ll know," you whisper, voice ragged from crying out his name.

He doesn’t flinch. Just looks at you��calm, unreadable—as if the words mean nothing at all.

"And?"

You swallow. "You don’t understand what they’ll say."

"I do." His voice is flat, unbothered. "They’ll say what they always do. It changes nothing."

You push his hand away, sitting up fast. "I’m not yours to claim."

His eye flicks to you, sharp and steady. "I never said you were."

That catches you off guard—but before you can speak, he adds, quieter this time:

"You chose this. Just like I did."

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