divine violence.

He does not need to press his ear to you. He hears your heart the way he hears the forest at night, the way he hears the shift of stone in the mansion walls. 

It is steady. Warm. Human.

It tells him the world is still in its proper order.

You sigh in your sleep and move closer. Your heartbeat quickens for just a moment before settling again.

“There you are,” he murmurs softly.

You do not wake.

The mansion breathes with you.

Light pours through the tall windows in the mornings, warming the rugs beneath your feet. Vlad has arranged the house around your habits, not his own. Curtains that open easily. Chairs are placed where you pause without thinking. A kitchen that smells of bread and herbs instead of stone and dust.

You move these days slowly, but neither of you mentions it.

When you tire, he notices. 

When your hand lingers on the bannister longer than it used to, he pretends not to see. When your laughter turns breathless, he tells himself it is nothing.

You are human. Humans grow tired.

At night, he holds you and listens.

Your heart is still there.

It is the silence that frightens him first.

Not absence. Just a pause.

You are asleep, breathing evenly, your face peaceful. Vlad lies still, listening as he always does, until he realises something is wrong.

Your heartbeat falters.

Just once.

It stumbles, recovers, then continues as if nothing happened.

His hand tightens at your back.

You do not wake.

He does not sleep at all that night.

The days that follow are filled with small mercies and quiet alarms.

You forget words you know well. You sit down more often. Your hands are colder in the evenings, and you complain of being tired even after resting.

“I am fine,” you insist when he brings it up gently. “Truly.”

He smiles for you. He always smiles for you.

That night, he listens harder than ever.

Your heart is softer now. Quieter.

As if retreating from him.

He begins counting.

Not minutes. Beats.

He traces patterns against your skin, pretending it is affection alone, but he is counting time, listening.

He does not tell you when he misses it.

He does not tell you when fear creeps into his voice as he whispers your name into the dark.

You sleep anyway.

You trust him to wake you if the world goes wrong.

He brings doctors to the mansion.

They come with leather bags and careful eyes, murmuring reassurances they do not believe. They press fingers to your wrist, listen to your chest, exchange looks, they try to soften before you notice.

Vlad stands perfectly still in the corner of the room.

He hears what they do not.

Your heart is there, but it is no longer steady. It flutters like something trapped, struggling against its own limits. Every moment feels like a knife drawn slowly across his nerves.

“She needs rest,” one of them finally says. “Warmth. Less exertion.”

Another clears his throat. “There are conditions we do not yet understand.”

They leave before nightfall, their fear trailing behind them like smoke.

You try to laugh once the door closes.

“Well, at least they did not prescribe leeches.”

Vlad kneels in front of you instead. He takes your hands, rubbing warmth back into your fingers with slow, deliberate movements.

“They know. They simply cannot name it.”

You watch his face, studying the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes never quite leave yours.

“How bad is it?” you ask.

He lies.

“It will pass.”

It does not.

Your strength disappears slowly. 

You wake exhausted. You stop walking in the gardens. Some days, you cannot manage the stairs without stopping halfway.

At night, Vlad holds you closer than before.

He listens constantly now.

Sometimes he hears your heart clearly, and relief floods him so hard it almost hurts. 

Other times, it fades until panic tightens his grip and he presses his ear to your chest, uncaring if he wakes you.

You stir one night, half asleep.

“Why are you shaking?” you whisper.

He stills instantly.

“I am not,” he says, too quickly.

You shift, resting your palm over his heartless chest.

“You are afraid,” you murmur.

He does not answer.

The truth comes one afternoon when you nearly collapse in the corridor, breathless and dizzy, the world narrowing to a ringing stillness. Vlad catches you before you fall, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

Your head lolls against his shoulder.

“I am tired. Just for a moment.”

“No,” he says, voice sharp with fear. “Stay with me.”

He carries you to the bed and sits beside you, one hand braced on the mattress, the other pressed flat to your chest.

Your heart stutters.

Once. Twice.

He looks at you then with terror.

“You know,” you say softly.

“Yes.”

That night, you speak it aloud.

He sits at the edge of the bed, hands clasped together as if in prayer. You are propped against pillows, your skin pale, your eyes bright with too much awareness.

“You can save me,” you say.

He flinches.

“You will not,” you continue, “unless I ask.”

Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating.

“I will not steal your choice,” he says at last, his voice breaking. “I will not damn you to spare myself grief.”

You reach for him, fingers trembling as you cup his face.

“I am not afraid of eternity, I am afraid of losing myself. Of waking up and no longer being me.”

He leans into your touch, eyes closing briefly.

“You would still be you,” he whispers.

“You do not know that. Promise me. If there is still time, you let me live this as I am.”

His hands come up to hold your wrists, desperate, reverent.

“Do not ask this of me,” he pleads.

“I am asking because I love you.”

The words wound him deeper than any blade.

Slowly, painfully, he nods.

“I promise.”

After that, he does not leave your side.

He carries you everywhere, feeds you himself, and reads to you when your eyes grow heavy. He stops pretending to sleep. He listens every moment, counting beats that no longer behave as they should.

Some nights, your heart is so quiet he thinks it has stopped.

He presses his ear to you, shaking, whispering your name until it answers again.

Each time, the sound is weaker.

Fading.

Retreating from him like a tide that knows it cannot be held back.

The night is quiet, unnervingly so.

You lie against him, body trembling in exhaustion, skin cold despite the blankets he has wrapped around you. Vlad presses his hand to your chest, listening, counting beats he knows should be steady but are barely there.

Once. Twice. Nothing.

Panic grips him, sharp and immediate. He shakes you gently. 

“Please, stay with me.” he whispers, voice breaking. 

You stir, lips parting, eyes dim with fatigue. 

“Vlad…” you croak, barely audible.

“I cannot hear you. Not properly. I cannot…” His words break. Rage, fear, grief, and desperation coil into something too strong for tears alone.

“You promised,” you whisper, barely lifting your hand to his face.

“I promised,” he says, shaking his head. “But I cannot…” His voice is swallowed by the dark. “I will not let you die.”

He presses his lips to your hair, over your temple, anywhere he can, murmuring apologies you cannot hear clearly. His hands are gentle, careful, but firm, as if holding you in place while he makes the only choice left.

“I will give you eternity, I will give you life, even if it is not the one you chose. Forgive me. Forgive me.”

And then he does it.

The first bite is soft. 

Your blood flows warm and sweet into him, and he shudders, eyes squeezed shut, as if the act itself wounds him as much as it heals. You cry out, weak but instinctive, your hand clutching his shoulder.

“I am here, I am here. You will not die. Not while I breathe.”

Pain washes over you, not cruel but overwhelming. Your vision swirls with shadow and light, warmth and cold, fear and something strange, intoxicating. You cling to him, hands entwined with his, mind scattering into fragments you cannot control.

When it is over, you are quiet. Exhausted. Trembling. But alive.

He presses you to his chest, rocking you slowly, murmuring words that are older than time itself. You feel the difference immediately. Heart still beating, but not yours. Stronger. Slower. Immortal.

You raise your head weakly, meeting his eyes. 

“Why?” you whisper. Not anger. Not fear. Just… disbelief.

“Because I cannot lose you,” he says simply. “Because love is not a promise I can keep by letting you die. Not yours. Not mine.”

You cry then, weakly, relief spilling into grief, and bury your face against him. 

He holds you, murmuring apologies, rocking gently, as if the world can never hurt you again.

Outside, the mansion is quiet. Safe. Eternal.

It is not perfect. You are not the same. He is not free of the cost. But you are together.

And for the first time in weeks, you sleep in his arms without fear.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 … coming soon

The Duel

With shaking hands, you fixated on smoothing out the pleats in the skirt of your wedding gown. The dress was heavy and not because there were yards upon yards of fabric tailored to you or because of the silver embroidery and precious stones, but because of what this dress meant—the loss of your freedom.

"Stop fidgeting, girl. It is unbecoming." Your mother's shrill voice came through the fog, clouding your thoughts. "Now, stand up straight, it's time."

"Mother, please, I would rather be sent off to war than this. Anything but this." You held her hand like a vice, begging her for some way out.

She only shook her head and snatched her hand away. "I thought I taught you better than this. Do as your father says, and do not embarrass this family in front of the Prince." She pinched your cheeks to give them color before turning to leave. "The choir will begin in one minute, you will enter then."

It was no use calling after her, and it was no use trying to run away; there were guards at every entrance to the church, making it impossible, especially in this dress that needed at least two maids to help you remove. So, down the aisle to your doomed fate it was.

As the choir began, your heart leaped, beating faster than you ever thought it could. The giant oak doors opened, and every guest rose to their feet, all looking your way, all except your husband to be. He stood, back facing you, dressed in an armor chest plate and a white doublet and breeches with a sword attached to his left hip. The air that surrounded him felt thick as you approached, your dress restricting your movements. The Princeonly turned to you once you reached the stairs; he offered his hand to you, and you took it hesitantly, letting him guide you.

You took the few spare moments before the Priest began to examine the man you were to wed. His hair swept around his face, almost blocking him from your view, but as his head turned and you saw him fully, your breath caught in your throat. The stories told and the rumors whispered had led you to believe that this man was a monster, beastly and garish to look at, but the man before you was anything but. The candlelight made him look almost angelic with his sharp angles and full lips. His skin was white as milk and freckled. What demon would ever look so sweet? But that was exactly it, wasn't it? The devil will always come in a form you may trust.

The ceremony went by in a blur. You followed instructions and repeated words, but only because your body was guiding you; your mind floated miles above, enraptured with the man who was beside you.

It wasn't until you were being ushered into a carriage that you came back to your senses. As the door slammed, you realized it was just you and your newlywed husband. The silence was so thick, you could have cut into it. What were you to say? You didn't know the man, only what was said about him, and you doubted that it was an appropriate conversation to be held.

The ride was bumpy as the carriage took you farther away from the home you knew and towards an unfamiliar place. It had only been an hour, and still, neither of you had broken the silence. That is, until a quite harsh jerk had you toppling across the coach and into the Prince. He caught you in his strong hands and set you up right again.

"I am sorry," you apologize.

He waives his hand, dismissing you. "It is quite all right."

You couldn't help the blush that formed on your cheeks, his voice… this was the first time you were hearing it clearly, the thoughts in your head not distracting you from the low tenor that vibrated soul. You wanted to hear it again.

"Is your home far?"

He looked at you, eyes scanning, deducing why now you were asking him questions. "A three-day ride if the horses are fast."

"Oh, then we will be lodging somewhere for the night, I suppose?"

"We will make camp in a few hours. There are no lodgings on this road."

Your eyes widened. You were to spend your wedding night in a tent in the woods?

The carriage stopped just before dusk, and the men worked quickly to build tents, gather wood for a fire, and cook. It was dark when your husband helped you to your tent. He stayed for only a moment to tell you dinner would be ready soon before leaving quickly.

Sighing, you went around opening your trunks, trying to find something more comfortable to wear other than this outrageous wedding dress, although you didn't know how you were to extract yourself from the copious amounts of pleats and lace when your ladies' maids were nowhere to be found. You refused to go looking for them as you were tired from travel and wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

It took almost fifteen minutes for you to even begin to loosen the tight bodice, but it only did so much when you had been tacked in at certain spots. Your hands ceased their flailing when you heard footsteps and the curtain over the entrance of your tent flung open. You turned slowly, face heating as you realized someone was watching you trying and failing to undress.

"My Lord," you startle when you see the Voivodestanding there.

He narrows his eyes at the awkward angle your arms are bent, "What are you doing?"

"Undressing," a huff, "well, trying to at least." You answered.

Taking a step forward, he lets the curtain fall behind him. "Would you like some help?"

You eyed him wearily. From the stories you had been told, he was a brute of a man, taking anything he wanted without asking, and yet here he was asking if you would like his help.

Reluctantly, you accept.

He strides toward you slowly, as if you were a terrified fawn ready to bolt at any moment. "If you could turn around, please."

His hands never left your shoulders as you turned.

A shiver ran down your spine at the electric touch of his thick fingers as he gently caressed the skin of your neck he moving your hair out of the way. Gradually, the lacing of your dress fell away, the cut the strings tacking you in with his knife. The moment was intimate, and you could feel your heart racing. His fingers brushed against the thin fabric of your shift, goosebumps rising in their wake.

"I shall leave you, dinner will be by forthwith." He gave you no time to respond before he left you, with a heart full of confusion, and clinging to the bodice of your unfastened dress to your chest.

Quickly, you untied your skirts and folded them neatly into a trunk before dressing yourself in a less restrictive dressing gown, as you weren't leaving your tent for the rest of the night.

Food was brought to you on a pewter plate. Bread and some kind of meat, it didn't look too appetizing, but you were starving.

And then, you waited. And waited. And waited.

Yet, your husband never came. The candles began to die as you laied on the makeshift bed and the only thoughts in your head were, Where is he? Shouldn't he be here? Wasn't this supposed to be our wedding night? Does he not find me attractive? You couldn't understand why they were swarming in your mind. You shouldn't be concerned whether or not a man you were forcefully wed to liked you.

You awoke the next morning to the rustling and murmuring of the men around the camp. The smell of porridge cooking had your stomach growling.

Elina and Alba, your ladies maids, found their way into your tent with breakfast, apologizing for not attending to you the night before.

"We thought to leave you and your husband be," they said, cheeks tinged pink at the implication.

"Your efforts were in vain, ladies, for he left quite abruptly after unfastening me from my wedding gown." You replied between bites of your porridge.

"How peculiar," Alba hummed. "Usually, men can't wait to get to the marriage bed; they always want an heir sooner rather than later."

You gasp at her forwardness before laughing softly; you had never known her to speak so forwardly.

"I believe I overheard a few of the men whispering around the fire earlier that the Prince had forgone supper and was acting out of sorts after leaving your tent. Are you sure nothing happened?" Elina asked.

"Yes, I'm sure. All he did was help me undress, and then he left, before anything could have happened."

You didn't catch the look the two women gave each other before starting to gather your garments for the day.

After having dressed, your tent was taken down, and you were again ushered into the carriage, only this time, your husband did not accompany you. Instead, he sat stoically atop a striking dapple grey steed.

He was so alluring, you couldn't bear to take your eyes off him even as the long journey began. The way he moved in rhythm with his horse became your entertainment in the boredom of the carriage box. You admired his hair as the sun shone upon it, bringing out the gold and copper tones, and imagined your fingers running through the tresses.

The curve of his lower back and the broadness of his shoulders completely captivated your attention. Your mind wandered to places it shouldn't have, explicit thoughts, unbecoming thoughts.

"What are you doing?" You shake your head, clearing the visions. "This man has murdered people, and here you are gawking at him like a Christmas roast."

Later on, the night progressed much the same as the night before, only your ladies' maids helped you undress.

Around midday on the third day of travel, your new home came into view.

Large and imposing with its spires slicing into the clear sky, and yet it was beautiful, magnificent. It was larger than any estate you had ever laid eyes upon. The stone itself seems to have been carved in the foot of the mountain behind it, leaving the western side a sheer cliff to the lake below.

Once the carriage stopped, the Prince opened the door, offering you his hand as you stepped down.

"Thank you, my lord."

He nodded curtly before speaking. "I am sure you are tired; allow me to walk you to your rooms."

You couldn't help the small smile that bloomed on your lips. "Yes, that would be wonderful, thank you."

Again, as you followed behind him upstairs and through twisting corridors, you became distracted by his straight posture and poised shoulders—enough so that you almost collided with him as he came to a stop.

He opened a heavy, creaking door and motioned for you to enter before him. The room beyond was beautiful. Red velvet curtains hung at every window, matching the duvet, a lovely contrast to the dark wood furniture and light stone walls.

You turned to him, still standing in the threshold. "This is wonderful.

"I'm glad it is to your tastes." A small smile crossed his lips. "I'll leave you then, let you rest."

As he turned to go, you called out to him. You hadn't been able to push from your mind the fact that he hadn't once tried to consummate the marriage or what Elina had said the day prior.

"I- my lord, am I not desirable to you?" You were surprised at your emboldened words.

He turned, an eyebrow raised in question. "What do you mean?"

"We have been married for two full days, and you have not once…" You couldn't bring yourself to say it out loud.

"Ah. Yes." He took two long strides and was standing before you, his heat penetrating your skin. "Contrary to the beliefs of many, I am no brute. I will not touch you unless you ask it of me."

His words left you dumbfounded, and your preconceived notions of him started to crumble.

Several days later, you were taking a stroll through the gardens alone when you heard heavy footsteps on the ground.

"Hello," you smiled at him, and he gave you one back. You had learned rather quickly that he was a man of few words, but all that needed to be said shone through his eyes, like a fathomless ocean.

"Would you like to help me pick flowers? I'm making a crown." You held up your half-finished flower crown to him.

He reached out and touched one of the delicate petals. "I would love to."

You tasked him with holding your pickings until you had enough to finish the crown you were working on and to make another. He sat with you on the cool grass as you wove the stems together

"What is your favorite flower?" His voice softly broke the silence.

You thought for a moment before speaking. "I'm fond of Snowdrops. I haven't seen any in the garden, but there's still time for them to bloom."

The Prince only hummed in response.

"Do you have a favorite?"

"I haven't thought about it," he answered.

"Well," you look at the two finished flower crowns in your lap, "tell me when you have."

Standing to your feet, you placed a crown gently upon each of your heads before returning to the castle.

The next morning, you awoke to a vase filled with snowdrops greeting you on your nightstand.

You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment you began to fall for your husband, but as you sat across the informal dining table from him, you felt a warm tug in your heart. It had taken a while before your dinners were spent here rather than the extravagant dining room, where you both sat awkwardly at either end of the long table, taking sneaking glances at the other.

Now you were in a private parlor, seated only an arm's length away, enjoying food you could only describe as heavenly. Roasted chicken cooked to perfection with a variety of vegetables, breads, and fruits—but there was one thing you did not recognize. The dish was white; you could tell there were layers to it, but what you did not know, and pomegranate seeds were sprinkled atop.

The man in front of you, perceptive as ever, noticed your eyes examining the dessert. "Try some. It is good."

"I'm not sure I want to." You reply, unsure. "I haven't a clue what this is; we have nothing like it where I am from, my lord."

He rolls his eyes and scoots the dish toward you. "Eat it."

"I don't think so, no, thank you." You try to push it back to him.

"Then close your eyes."

"What?"

"I said close your eyes. Trust me."

Eyeing him wearily, you shut your eyes. You hear a stenciled scrape against a serving dish.

"Please, open your mouth."

Reluctantly, you did as told, and when you did, you were met with an interesting flavor. Sweet and milky with the slightest hint of rose, followed by the crunchy texture of slightly ground pistachios.

Opening your eyes, your husband is staring right at you, his eyebrows lifted, waiting for a response.

"That's actually really good," you express, and you reach for your own spoon to take another bite. "What is this called?"

"Güllaç. It comes from the Ottomans, and is one of the only fond memories that come from my time spent in the empire." His eyes darkened at the mention of the ever-looming Ottoman Empire.

You knew from stories what might have happened, what he could be thinking about. So you reached over and touched his hand, running your thumb over the back. "If it brings you pain to think of, please, don't relive it on my behalf, my lord."

"You are most kind… I believe I will retire. Good night." He kissed the back of your hand in goodbye as he stood abruptly and exited the room, leaving you with your hand tingling where his lips touched and wondering if he was alright.

Two nights after, you found your husband in the library, book in hand, lounging by the fire. He looked so peaceful as his eyes scanned the pages. You wondered what he was reading.

His eyes flickered to where you stood barely in the room and then back to the book. You took that as your cue to make your way to him, sitting in the chair next to his. The fire cracked, fending off the night chill.

You watched him for a good five minutes before he spoke. "You are staring."

Heat crept up your neck as you blushed. "I'm sorry, my lord, I was just admiring."

Looking up at you, he snapped his book closed and placed it on the table between the two of you. "I do have a name, you know," he said seriously.

"Yes, I know that."

"Then, I would prefer if my wife used it from time to time."

You smirked at him. "Only if you do the same, Vlad."

And he did, he said your name. It made butterflies erupt in your stomach. How could your name, the one your mother shrieked when you were in trouble or your father said with greed as he signed your life away, make you react this way? The way it rolled off his tongue like a prayer had you swooning, thankful that you were seated and not standing on shaky knees.

When you went to sleep, you dreamt of all the other ways your name would sound coming off his lips.

The next morning, you woke early, the sun barely peaking into the valley. The quiet footsteps of the servants that sounded off the rock walls let you know that the castle was wide awake, preparing for the day.

Slowly, you clambered drowsily out of bed, shivering at the cool morning air. Faint glowing embers shone through the ash in the fireplace, the minuscule emittance of heat not enough to reach you from feet away.

With shaking hands, you grabbed your dressing down, wrapping it around you snuggly.

Your slippers made soft thwacks against the flagstones as you walked aimlessly through the castle, letting your heart guide you. Before you knew it, you were outside and were met with the sound of metal ringing. As you ventured closer to the source of the sound, you began to hear muffled grunts.

'What could be happening at this time of morning?' You thought.

Turning a corner, you were met with the source. Vlad stood before some contraption made of wood, his sword in hand, chest bare. Your eyes examined him, watched each precise movement he made. It was like watching a dancer perform, entrancing.

He wasn't big and corded with muscle, but you could tell he was strong with the way he held himself upright and the amount of power behind each slice and lunge.

You couldn't help the flutter in your stomach, and you couldn't stop it as it traveled further down.

The rising sun brought along better light to which you were able to see the sweat covering his pale and freckled skin.

Your heart began to beat faster, and your legs crossed. A frisson of excitement could be felt in the warming morning air.

Vlad continued his training, oblivious to your audience or how his ragged breaths made saliva pool in your mouth and sent a pang to your core.

You wanted to touch him, dig your nails into the soft skin of his back, and have him take you hard and animal-like. You had to have him now, and you would.

When he finally lets his sword rest, you stroll to him, swaying your hips just enough. When he spotted you, his eyes trailed your body in its state of undress, lingering on the swell of your hips in the fine fabric before locking on your own.

"Good morning," you spoke, voice soft.

"Good morning," he smiled back. "You're up early."

Wrapping your arms around yourself your you spoke, "I was cold."

"I can send for someone to relight your hearth."

Shaking your head, you placed a hand on his bicep. Your heart skipped a beat when it sent a tingle up your arm.

Looking at him through hooded eyes, you bit your lip anxiously, clearly nervous about what you were going to suggest. "There are other ways to warm up."

Vlad's grip on his sword tightened, his knuckles going white.

"Are you-"

"Yes." You were never more sure about anything in your life. You couldn't wait any longer.

Slowly, he stepped forward, and you took one back. He cocked an eyebrow at you, and you just grinned a wicked grin before turning on a dime and sprinting to the castle. "Catch me!" You called out, stooping briefly at the threshold to see if he was following. He was, and at top speed.

Screaming in excitement, you bolted down the hall, almost crashing into a group of servants as you rounded a corner. "Sorry!" you yelled after them, not stopping lest he apprehend you before reaching the bedroom.

While climbing the stairs two by two, you tripped over your nightgown, causing you to stumble slightly. You could hear Vlad bounding up behind you, gaining on you quickly. Swiftly, you regained your composure and raced for the door. You could just see him down the corridor, gaining on you.

You were almost to the door when he grabbed your wrist and pushed you against the wall. You shrieked in joy. His lips were parted, letting his heavy breaths escape, mingling with your own.

"Vlad…." Your chest heaved against his own.

His eyes were dark, void of that bright blue you were so used to seeing. They flickered from your gaze to your lips over and over, making you dizzy. Finally, before it was too much to take, he surged in and kissed you. His lips were warm and soft against your own. Hands roamed your body, scrunching in your night gown, groping for anything they could.

goosebumps appeared on your skin when his hand drifted up and lingered at your neck. You leaned into it, the feeling of him, wanting him, needing him to put pressure.

"My Prince-" a yelp severed your sentence. He was lifting you into your arms and carrying you through the door to your room, all without breaking the kiss.

You were only parted when your husband gently tossed you to the sheets. It was overwhelming, the lust you felt for him in this moment. It was almost paralyzing.

"I have waited for you to say those words to me for weeks. Have wanted you in silence; I could barely keep my hands to myself. You are a temptress, a succubus, and I will gladly fall to ruin for you."

He stepped into your open legs, pushing your dress up and over your head, tossing it to the side, exposing you.

You barely noticed your nakedness, all you knew was that you wanted him then and there, you disnt care how, as long as he touched you. "Please, please, I need to feel you." You pleaded, hips grinding into the air.

"Be patient, my Beloved, I will give you what you desire in time." He said as he fell to his knees, large hands caressing your skin, pulling you closer to him, and settling your legs over his shoulders. The air from his mouth cooled the wetness at your core.

Vlad let out an eager groan before licking his lips, like a lion about to devour its prey. In a single, fluid motion, he placed his mouth upon your center. The gasp that escaped you quickly turned into an uncontrollable moan when he began to softly suck. Your hands shot to his hair, gripping onto the strands for dear life. It had never felt like this, not when you had touched yourself.

His teeth nipped greedily at the sensitive nub until your hips bucked and strained against his hold. Your breath hitched and caught in your throat when a pang of arousal echoed through you.

Your legs snapped closed around his head, his low growl vibrating against you. His fingers gripped the tops of your thighs, but he did not loosen them; he only dove into you deeper, plunging his tongue into your opening.

"Oh- ahh." You threw your head back, closing your eyes tight. You could feel that spark, the growing electric feeling deep within your bones. He was bringing you to the very precipice of your being.

His tongue coaxed and teased until you finally gave way, body tensing in his grasp. Pulling your legs away from his head, he leaned up only slightly so that he could speak. "Look at me."

You shook your head in answer.

"Look at me. I want you to look at me." He punctuated his sentence with a sloppy kiss to the inside of your thigh.

Giving in, you propped yourself up, shakily, onto your elbows and gazed at him with lidded eyes.

Vlad kept contact with your stare as he sank back onto you like a man starved. The intensity of the moment, of being watched as you fell apart, had you coming undone in a matter of seconds.

He licked you through the shockwaves, pulling strained moans from your swollen lips.

Breathless, you stared at the canopy above your bed. "That was…" You didn't know where to start, how to describe what you had just been through.

Taking his time, Vlad crept back up your body, his hands began to move, sliding across your curves, fingers tracing over the flare of your ribs as you took a deep breath in. The warmth of his pals as he cupped your breasts had you sighing. His thumbs passed over your sensitive peaks, causing them to pebble in his wake.

"You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen," he breathed, voice filled with reverence. Leaning down, he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your breasts, tongue flicking over your hardened bud.

Pressing his body to yours, you could feel the evidence of his arousal straining against his trousers. Wanton need built up inside, emboldening you as your hand inched its way down to undo the ties of his pants. Before you could unlace them completely, Vlad stopped you.

"I told you, have patience. I don't want to hurt you." He muttered, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, nipping at your pulse point.

"But I need you so much, so I feel like I might die," you bemoan dramatically.

He only chuckles, "You'll have me soon enough."

With a fervent motion of his hand, Vlad pushed the waist of his trousers down his hips, exposing himself. Your eyes widened at the sight, and your breathing became ragged as he slipped himself past your folds into your aching center.

The stretch wasn't painful, only slightly uncomfortable. As he sank into you deeper and deeper, the pressure built. Your legs wrapped around him, urging him further into you.

"Yes, my love, my prince, yes- ahh," you keened, shuddering as he bottomed out.

Vlad's right hand cupped your thigh while the left tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you in to kiss him. "I want nothing more than to map your body in kisses, learn every secret, sensitive spot that brings a moan to your lips and causes your body to writhe."

His mouth barely left yours, locked together like you were his lifeline, tethering him to this plane of existence.

Your fingers clawed at the expanse of his back, no doubt leaving long, red marks as a testament to your ecstasy.

"Move," you whine, "I need you to move."

Vlad obliged, slowly beginning to rock his hips. Your own rolling to meet the shallow thrusts. Moans mingled in the air shared between you.

He sat up onto his knees and grabbed your waist. From this angle, the thrusts were more intense. You could feel him better this way, punching into you.

"Faster," you begged him, needing to find release from the throbbing ache building inside you.

"I don't want to hurt you." He rasped.

Shaking your head, you cry out, "You won't, my love, you won't hurt me."

He studied you for a moment before gripping your hips and pistoning in and out.

The room might have been cold when you awoke, but now it was stifling hot. Sweat was beading across both your foreheads and where skin touched skin.

A chorus of grunts, groans, and whimpers echoed through the room as he began to rut into you.

And then, it was like something snapped within you. Your cries became louder and your back arched off the bed. "I- I'm-" you stutter out, hand reaching for him.

He locks his finger's with your own. "I know." The rhythm of his thrusts begins to falter, "I am as well."

With one last drive, you came undone, body shuddering rapture. Vlad wasn't far behind, spilling himself into you.

Exhausted, you both lay there, catching your breath. As you came down from your high, the room began to feel cold once again. Vlad noticed you shivering and pulled you into him before covering you both with the duvet.

His fingers played with your hair, pulling you into a blissful sleep, but before falling into slumber, a voice kept you.

"You," Vlad says before kissing your lips.

"What?" You ask with confusion etched on your face.

"You," he says once more, his fingers caressing your face. "In the garden, you asked me what my favorite flower was… It's you."

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preoutbreak!joel

Being young and in love, you both move fast, date nights and road trips quickly become sleepovers and late night talks about the future together, your relationship quickly turns into something serious.

With Joel it’s easy, a true southern gentleman, he takes care of you. Cherishing the ground you walk on, he’s intense and loving with you.

He’s not just a man dating for fun anymore, he’s intentional, being a devoted father to a baby girl. As her sole guardian, he gives her his all, if he’s not working, he’s spending time with her.

The three of you create a new life together, routines become easy, watching him be a dad makes you love him even more.

Joel is always happy to get time alone with you, whether it’s quickies in the morning before the alarm goes off, or showering together, you two make it work.

Navigating between your busy schedules is hard but you make it work, so when Joel surprises you with a weekend home alone, you make the most of it.

After an expensive dinner and too much wine, you stumble into the dark house, giggling as your hand runs against the wall, unable to find the light switch. Joel’s right behind you, pushing his hips into you from behind, feeling his growing erection.

He runs sloppy kisses down your exposed back, as his hand fumbles with the zipper on your dress, eager to feel you.

“Shhh, you whisper, turning around to face him with a finger over your lips.

Moonlight catches against his features, as he takes your hand from your mouth as he brings it up to his own, pressing kisses from your fingertips to your wrist.

“We can be as loud as we want, baby, got this whole place to ourselves.” Joel, asserts as he kisses your lips.

Standing there as the kiss deepens, Joel’s hands linger down to grip your ass cheeks, he pulls back, peeling the dress off of your frame, leaving you standing there, in a pair of lace panties.

“All this for me huh?” He tuts, raking his eyes up and down your frame, groping your exposed breasts.

Your nipples harden against his touch, as he reaches down to grip your ass in his hand.

Suddenly, you push him backwards as he falls onto the couch, straddling his thighs as you kiss his neck, your lips run down his chest as you unbutton his shirt. Joel helps, pulling his arms through the rest of the fabric, you begin to sink down to the floor, unbuttoning his belt.

“We’ve got all weekend honey, need to be inside you.” Joel confesses, grabbing your hands to help you stand up.

Joel twirls you around, pushing your front into the soft cushion of the couch as he massages the globes of your ass. You welcome it, pushing into the couch, you arch against his hand allowing him more access as he slides the lace off your cunt.

He runs his fingers down your slit, collecting your slick as he pushes two fingers inside, stretching you out.

Groaning, you push back onto his hand, as he begins to scissor his fingers in and out of you.

“Joel, need your cock,” you mewl, turning your head back towards him as he removes his hand, sucking the juices off his fingers.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he growls, as he tastes you on his tongue.

Joel unbuttons his pants, allowing his cock to spring forward as he spits, pumping the slick down his cock with his hand. You look back at him again, as he jerks off to your spread pussy.

Lining up at your entrance, he runs the tip against your clit, circling the nub you whine, pushing your ass toward him.

“Patience baby,” he drawls, as he grips your hip, inserting himself into your folds.

Without warning, Joel doesn’t allow you to get used to his size, setting a brutal pace against the inside of you. The tip grazes your cervix with each trust, causing you to fall farther onto the couch, trying to wiggle out of his grip.

“Where do you think your goin’ baby?” He questions, leaning over your body, his hand pulls your back upwards into his chest, “you wanted to get fucked so bad, so take it.”

Tears prick your eyes as you feel him destroy you, the pain turning into pleasure as you throw your hips back to meet his thrusts.

It’s not too often for Joel to be behind you like this, hips slamming back and forth into the fat of your thighs.

He loves to make love to you, make you feel as good as you deserve, but there is something special to bend you over like this, watching your ass shake against him is secretly his favorite place to be.

To hear you cry, getting fucked stupid against his cock is his favorite song. As he feels his orgasm approach, he reaches around your front, thick fingers finding your clit to build you closer to the edge.

“Fuck Joel, stay right there-shit just like that.” You gargle out, feeling the euphoria in your gut.

“Gonna cum for me? Don’t be shy darlin’, wanna hear it.” Joel grunts in your ear.

You feel the rubberband snap as you cum hard, vision blurry as you blackout, as Joel holds you up. After a couple more thrusts, Joel pulls out his cock, jerking it in his hand as his cum paints your back. You feel the warm liquid run down your spine as you fall onto the couch breathless.

Joel doesn’t say a word as he walks off, grabbing a warm wash rag, he comes up behind you and begins to clean himself off of you.

“Sorry honey, got a little carried away there,” Joel murmurs, kissing your shoulder blade.

You don’t respond as you lay there, allowing him to take care of you, happy to have him to yourself the rest of the weekend.

jackson!joel

The trauma seeps deep through Joel, older and greyer, he’s a broken hearted man. The loss and betrayal has hardened him into a stubborn, mentally closed off shell of his past self. Beneath the surface, Joel longs and he’s desperate for love. He doesn’t want someone to try and fix him, he wants someone to meet him halfway.

He believes he’s not a good man, the things he’s dealt with in his past to survive shows that, and no one can change that. Joel just desires to be understood, wanting someone who sees through his silence, to stay, not pity him.

Meeting you, his layers slowly become undone. Joel was untrusting at first, with the whispers in town about him being a killer distanced himself even further with the community, he feared you felt bad for him.

You were just some young, kind girl with bright eyes and a gentle grin, you were full of something he didn’t quite understand yet. You never try to fix him or fill the silence, instead you sit with him, listening without judgment. You see the man he once was before, seeing the man behind the anger and hurt. You make him feel alive, and for the first time in years, he cherishes it.

The years haven’t been the kindest on his body, and he wished he could provide more for you in the bedroom. Although you never complain, his body aches to take you how he would have twenty-something years ago. Joel loves being as close as possible to you, breathing in your skin, with you riding his cock into the early mornings.

It started out as a one time thing, during late night conversations as he holds you in his lap, stroking your hair. As you begin to relax on his knees, your panty-clad ass grinds perfectly against his sweatpants.

Joel adjusts himself, feeling his boxers tighten, hips accidentally bucking into yours.

Suddenly, you stop in the middle of your sentence, words unable to fall out of your mouth.

You're breathless as a moan slips out, looking up to him and he's already looking at you.

Joel tests the waters, kissing your plump lips as he takes your hips into large hands, gently rocking them back and forth.

You both groan at the sensation, thin fabrics rub against another as you soak through your underwear. At first you allow him to lead you, resting your head against his chest, you melt into his touch, allowing the sensation to build inside your tummy every time his tip hits your clit. But, you become antsy, grinding your hips into his faster, guiding the pace exactly how you want it.

Whimpers fall from your mouth as you feel the fuzzy feeling in your stomach, grinding harder into him as he snakes his hands into your t-shirt. He’s touching every part of your skin and it makes you dizzy.

His cock is stained through his pants, hard and aching against your slick as you chase your high.

Joel’s fingers slip to your breast, pinching your nipple between the digits, the pleasure going straight to your clit. You feel your orgasm approaching, rutting against him like an animal, you lift your head to stare at him.

“Take it, you have me.” Joel puffs, watching you like the prettiest thing he’s ever witnessed.

You scream, orgasm crashing through your body as you grip his shoulders, Joel allows you to ride it out, panting against you.

Suddenly, you look down at the mess you made, feeling Joel’s rock hard cock against your butt, you look up to him, “want me to take care of that?” You question, slipping your hand into the material, “you deserve to feel good too.”

Joel groans, feeling like he’s the luckiest man alive as you fumble him out of his pants.

“You’re too good t’ me,” he exhales, running a rough hand up against the small of your back.

As his cock springs up to his belly, you maneuver your hand down to your panties, moving them to the side as you stare down at his red tip.

Joel takes himself into his hand, swiping a thump over the precum glazed tip, he rubs it against your soaked folds.

Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you jolt, mewling at the feeling against your swollen clit.

You raise your hips to help him stuff himself inside of you, hissing at the sensation as you sink down on him.

“Taking me so well honey,” Joel groans, hips faltering as he tries to contain himself.

Adjusting to his size your hips start up again, rocking back and forth against the fullness, you feel stuffed. “Wanna feel you cum,” you groan, chasing his release, forgetting about your own pleasure.

You start to slam down against his hips, walls clenching against his member, you feel his body stutter against yours.

“Prettiest girl in Jackson, taking care of her old man, yeah?” He grunts, lifting his hips to match yours.

You are a groaning mess, feeling the familiar warmth in your stomach, you stabilize yourself against him, putting a hand to his chest.

“Don’t think I can last much longer darlin’, gonna cum inside, keep you warm, always gonna take care of you, right honey?” Joel says, gripping the fat of your waist.

You move together seamlessly, you can’t tell when Joel ends and you begin as you both chase each other's highs.

Curses fall from your mouth, as Joel groans against you, and suddenly your second orgasm hits. Throwing your head back, you rock your hips into his, riding out your orgasm as Joel comes right behind you, thick ropes spurting inside of your cunt.

You don’t move, sitting against him you allow him to go soft inside of you, plugging his seed into your abdomen. Leaning back, he lays down with you on top of him, and he stays inside of you the rest of the night.

He didn’t talk much. Didn’t smile either. You’d never seen him dance, never seen him drunk, never even seen him laugh. Just watched him pass through town like he was only borrowing space. A shadow in flannel. A man-shaped warning sign.

You knew better than to want someone like that.

But that didn’t stop you from looking.

Not when you saw him fixing the east gate with Tommy, sleeves rolled up and veins flexing along his forearms. Not when you passed him in the cold storage shed and caught a whiff of sawdust and leather, the scent sticking to your clothes like it meant something. Not when you heard that voice—low, cracked, Southern-soft around the edges—muttering something in passing.

You’d tried to tell yourself it was nothing. Just a dry spell. Just curiosity. Just loneliness.

Until the dance.

You hadn’t planned to go. These things made you itchy—too many strangers pretending the world hadn’t ended. But you’d been convinced to show your face, put on something soft instead of tactical. You wore a dress that hugged your hips and sipped something sweet and flat, standing along the wall like an outsider at your own party.

And then you saw him.

Off to the side, where the light didn’t quite reach. Sitting on a bench with one leg cocked, elbow braced on his knee, a bottle of whiskey hanging loose in his grip. He watched the crowd with a face carved in stone—tired, unreadable. The kind of quiet that wasn’t asking to be filled.

His eyes lifted and caught you.

You should’ve looked away, pretended not to care, but his gaze held you, and before you could think better of it, your feet were moving.

He straightened a little when you stopped in front of him, like he wasn’t sure what to expect. His expression didn’t change much, but something behind his eyes flickered—surprise, maybe. Curiosity.

You sat beside him, close enough to feel the heat of him. The scent of whiskey and cedar and something darker.

“You always sit alone like this?”

His eyes dragged slowly over you, and when he spoke, his voice was like worn gravel. “Ain’t much of a dancer.”

You smiled faintly, looking back at the crowd. “Me neither.”

Silence settled again. Not awkward. Just thick.

He drank. You watched his throat move.

“You look nice,” he said, rough and quiet, like the words had been pulled from him.

You turned toward him. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He cut his eyes at you, cautious. “You flirtin’ with me?”

“Maybe,” you said. “Would that be a problem?”

He paused. Swallowed again.

“…No,” he said. “Don’t reckon it would.”

You shifted slightly on the bench, resting your forearms on your thighs, mimicking his posture. It felt easier that way. Like maybe he’d meet you in the middle if you didn’t ask him to come all the way.

His gaze stayed on the crowd, but you could tell he was aware of you. Aware of how close your knee was to his. How your voice sat low in your throat, casual but edged in something warmer.

“You here alone?” he asked, like it only just occurred to him to ask.

You shrugged. “Came with someone, but not like that. Friend thing.” You let the pause linger. “Left early.”

He nodded, once. He didn’t look at you, but he shifted just enough to make room for the possibility.

You looked over at him, taking your time. The faint glow from the dance hall lights caught in his hair, picking out the silver. He looked tired. More handsome for it, somehow.

“You?”

A flick of his eyebrows. “Me what?”

“Are you here alone?”

He made a soft noise in his chest, something close to a laugh. “Always.”

You liked the way he said that—dry and dismissive, like he didn’t want pity. Like he was just stating fact.

Another beat passed.

“Don’t usually see you at these things,” you said.

“Don’t usually come.”

“So what changed your mind?”

His lips twitched. He glanced your way, finally meeting your eyes. “Not sure yet.”

The corner of your mouth lifted. “Maybe I’m the reason.”

He exhaled slowly, long and steady. “That what you’re hopin’?”

You watched him. Watched the way his hands flexed against the neck of the bottle. How his jaw tensed under the beard.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” you murmured. “You’ve been looking at me all night.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You that sure of yourself?”

You tilted your head. “You gonna deny it?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He turned the bottle in his hands, watching the whiskey catch the light. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough around the edges.

“You lookin’ for something?”

It was an honest question. Guarded, yes, but not cold. Like he was trying to decide what you were made of. Whether you were playing a game he didn’t know the rules to.

You leaned back slightly, tilting your head to meet his gaze full-on.

“I think I’ve already found something,” you said. “Just trying to figure out what happens next.”

That got him. You saw it—the way he blinked, slow and deliberate, like your words had landed somewhere deeper than he meant to let you reach.

But he didn’t pull away.

He just looked at you for a long, long moment. Like he was reading something on your face that he didn’t expect to find.

“…I don’t do casual,” he said finally. Low and hoarse. “Not good at it. Not lookin’ to mess with anyone’s head.”

You gave him a small smile. “Good thing I’ve got my head on straight.”

“You sure?” he asked.

The question wasn’t teasing. Not even a little. It came out quiet, weighted. Like it mattered to him. Like he wanted the answer to be yes, but couldn’t quite trust it.

You didn’t look away. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

His eyes searched your face, not hungrily—just carefully. Like he was still trying to work out what kind of person you were. Whether you’d flinch if he showed his teeth. Whether you were real.

“I’m not young,” he said eventually, voice low and gruff. “Not soft. Don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“Good,” you said. “I’m not interested in soft.”

His mouth tugged to the side, like he almost smiled. Then he looked down at his hands again. Big hands. Veined. Strong. He turned the bottle in slow circles against his knee.

“You don’t know me.”

You shrugged gently. “I know you kill chickens in one blow. I know you say thank you when people hand you tools. I know you bring Ellie snacks from the stockroom and pretend it wasn’t you.”

He blinked, like that caught him off guard.

“I’ve been watching,” you said, softer now. “Same way you’ve been watching me.”

Joel exhaled, slow and steady. A breeze passed through the open door, lifting the edge of your dress. You smoothed it down absently, aware of his eyes there now too.

“Doesn’t mean I’m a good idea.”

You gave a quiet laugh. “I’m not lookin’ for a good idea. I’m looking for something that feels like it matters.”

His gaze sharpened. That hit somewhere. You could see it.

“Just want honesty,” you added, your voice slower now, almost shy. “And maybe a reason to stop pretending I don’t notice how you look at me.”

That silence again. Full of static.

He looked at you then. Really looked. Not just at your mouth or your legs or the line of your dress—but at you.

“I look at you,” he said finally, barely more than a rasp. “Because I can’t help it.”

Your breath caught a little, and he must’ve heard it. You watched his throat work around a swallow, his eyes flicking to your lips for just a second too long.

“But I don’t want to break anything,” he murmured. “Don’t want to ruin what’s good.”

You nodded. “Neither do I.”

More silence. Only now it didn’t feel like waiting—it felt like something opening.

“I should take you home,” he said.

Your pulse stuttered. “Are you offering?”

“I’m askin’,” he said. Then, quieter: “Can I walk you?”

You stood up slowly. Smoothed your dress. Looked down at him with a curl in your lips.

“You can.”

He rose beside you, slow and solid, and didn’t touch you—didn’t even reach for you. But he walked beside you all the way home, like you were something worth guarding.

You walked beside him in silence.

Not awkward. Not stiff. Just… aware. Every step in sync. Every brush of fabric had sparks.

You could hear the thud of your boots on the dirt path, the crunch of his heavier steps. Jackson was quiet at this hour—music still fading from the dance hall, chatter thinning behind you.

The wind was cool. You felt it on your skin where your dress dipped low. You wondered if he noticed. Wondered if it was driving him as crazy as it was you.

He didn’t speak until you reached the edge of your street. Then, he cleared his throat.

“I’m older than you,” he said.

You didn’t answer right away.

You turned to look at him—really look. The hard lines of his jaw. The streaks of gray in his beard. The way his eyes stayed on the ground as he said it, like he expected that to end things right there.

“I figured,” you said, voice soft. “What gave it away—the knees or the grumbling?”

He huffed, almost smiled. Almost. “Most people don’t take kindly to bein’ reminded of death.”

“Maybe,” you said. “But you don’t remind me of death.”

He looked up at that.

You stopped walking.

“You remind me of something that lasts,” you said. “Something that’s still here. Still kicking.”

His eyes searched your face again, same way he had back on the bench. Only now you saw something else flicker in them—something unguarded.

“You’re not a warning sign, Joel. You’re a goddamn billboard.”

That almost made him laugh. You could feel the breath of it when he shook his head.

“You think I’m kidding,” you added, stepping a little closer. “But truth is… I didn’t realize it did it for me until I got here.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Men like you,” you said. “Strong. Scarred. Quiet. Stubborn as hell. Built like a brick wall. Bit of a temper. Walk around like they’ve got nothing left to give but still show up when it counts.”

He blinked.

You smiled, just a little. “You’re exactly my type.”

Joel looked like he didn’t know what the fuck to do with that. His mouth opened, then closed again. His brows pulled together, like he was trying to decide whether you were fucking with him.

You reached for the doorknob behind you. The porch creaked beneath your feet.

“I don’t invite just anybody inside,” you said.

Joel hesitated. Then stepped closer, onto the first stair. He looked up at you from beneath the brim of his brows.

“You sure about this?”

You held his gaze. “Yeah,” you said. “I’ve been sure.”

You opened the door. Stepped back.

He walked past you slowly, and still didn’t touch you. But when you shut the door behind him and the latch clicked into place—

The air between you changed.

You hadn't even made it three steps inside before he turned to face you.

No words. No rush. Just a long, steady look.

You stood still under it. Let it warm you from the chest out. The door was shut, the night locked away behind it. The only light came from the little lamp on the counter, casting everything in a low, amber haze.

Then he reached for you.

Not all at once—he didn’t grab or push. Just lifted his hand, slow and deliberate, and wrapped his fingers around yours.

The calluses rasped over your knuckles, thick and dry and warm. He held you like he was holding something breakable, but still his. Then, without a word, he turned your hand over in his. Examined it.

Ran his thumb down the line of your lifeline. Touched the pads of your fingers.

You swallowed. “What are you doing?”

He looked up at you through those thick lashes, quiet.

“Just tryin’ to remember how this feels.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t know what to say to that.

So you tried to break the tension. “I could make us coffee,” you said, voice soft and a little shaky. “If you want.”

He let out a low breath. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh.

“I don’t want coffee.”

You waited.

“I wanna fuck you.”

The words hit you like a wave. No hesitation. No build-up. Just a raw, unvarnished truth in that voice of his, deep and hoarse and thick with restraint.

Heat surged low in your belly. Your fingers flexed in his.

“That so?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

That was all it took.

You stepped in and kissed him, hard. Fisted your free hand in the front of his shirt, rising up on your toes to press your mouth against his. He kissed you back immediately—hungry, rough, like he’d been holding himself back for too long.

His hand moved to your waist, fingers curling tight around the curve of it. You could feel the tension in his shoulders, the heat of his body crowding into yours.

Your lips parted and he groaned into your mouth, pulling you closer. He kissed you like he needed to taste you before he could believe you were real.

There was nothing polite about it. No careful step-by-step. Just tongues, teeth, gasps—your bodies locking together like you’d already dreamed this a hundred times over.

He kissed like a man with history. Like someone who’d been starved of touch.

And you kissed him like you wanted to make up for all the years he’d gone without.

When you finally pulled back for breath, your forehead leaned into his.

“I meant it,” you whispered.

“So did I,” he said, voice rough. “Still do.”

Your lips were still damp from the kiss when you whispered it, breath warm against his cheek.

“What do you need?”

Joel’s hand flexed on your waist. His breath hitched.

You shifted back just enough to look at him—really look. His eyes were dark, clouded with heat, but underneath that was something deeper. Something tired and aching and full of hunger that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with being wanted.

You lifted your hand, brushing it along the seam of his jaw, your thumb grazing the grayed hair just beneath his ear. “How do you want me?”

He didn’t speak for a long moment. You saw his throat work. Felt the tremble in his fingers where they still clutched your waist.

When he answered, it was barely a voice at all.

“Close.”

That was all. Just one word. But it broke something open in you.

You pressed into him again, your chest against his, your thighs brushing his jeans. You brought both your hands up to cup his face and kissed him slow this time, not soft, not gentle, just slow—like you had time.

He let you. Let you guide him. His mouth opened under yours, patient and hungry, letting you taste him. Letting you feel how much he wanted this—wanted you.

Then he pulled back, just enough to whisper: “Turn around.”

Your pulse fluttered, sharp and bright.

“Yeah?” you breathed.

He nodded. “Want to see you. All of you. Take it slow.”

Your hands slipped from his shirt. You turned without a word, facing the nearest wall—just a few feet from the kitchen table, the old floorboards creaking faintly under your feet.

You heard him step behind you. Felt the heat of his body close. He didn’t touch you yet. Just looked.

Then—fingers light at first—he ran one hand up your spine, tracing the zipper of your dress. He caught it and tugged, slow, inch by inch, the metal teeth parting with the softest sound in the room.

You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to.

You let the straps fall from your shoulders. Let the fabric slip down your body, pooling at your feet.

A sound came from behind you—low, broken. Joel breathing through his nose, holding himself in place.

You stood there in nothing but your underwear, hands resting at your sides, the soft glow from the kitchen lamp warming your bare skin.

“Is this close enough?” you asked, voice like smoke.

Behind you, his hands finally touched your hips. Firm. Unshaking.

“Not even close,” he said.

He kissed the back of your neck—just once, hot and open-mouthed—and pressed the weight of himself along your spine—slow, firm, steady.

You felt it instantly. Hard against your ass, hot even through the denim.

You choked out a laugh before you could stop yourself.

“Jesus Christ,” you said, head tipping forward against the wall. “You’re hard.”

Behind you, Joel let out a low groan that almost sounded like a laugh too, if he weren’t so clearly straining to hold himself together.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That part, uh… definitely still works.”

You laughed harder, breathless now, grinning even as your skin flushed. “No shit.”

He leaned into you then, arms bracketing your waist. You could feel the rumble of his chest against your back.

“You tryin’ to kill me?” he asked, voice pitched low beside your ear. “Laughin’ while I’m like this?”

You wriggled back against him just enough to feel him pulse in his jeans. “You think this is funny?”

His mouth brushed your shoulder, his breath hot. “No. Think it’s fuckin’ torture.”

“Want me to stop?”

His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. “Don’t you dare.”

You smiled again, slower now, biting your lip. Then you reached behind yourself and slipped your fingers along the waistband of his jeans. “Then maybe you should do something about it.”

Joel’s breath caught. His lips ghosted along the back of your neck.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

You felt him move—rough fingers sliding down to unbutton his jeans, the rasp of denim and zipper filling the space between your shallow breaths. Then his hand was back on you, under your panties, squeezing the curve of your ass like he needed to feel you, full-palmed, skin on skin.

You arched into him with a soft gasp.

“I’ve wanted this,” he said into your shoulder. “Since the first time I saw you.”

You swallowed. “And now?”

He kissed your spine. Once. Twice.

“Now I’m gonna take my time.”

He let go of you just long enough to step back, the heat of his body peeling away like sun slipping behind clouds. You almost whined at the loss.

You turned to face him.

Joel stood in the amber glow of your kitchen lamp, jeans hanging low on his hips, shirt wrinkled and half untucked. His hair was mussed, jaw shadowed thick, and there was something raw in his eyes—like this wasn’t just lust, not just a need. Like this was something he hadn’t let himself want in a long time.

You stepped closer.

He met you there, hands returning to your waist, calloused palms skimming the sides of your thighs. His touch was firm but slow, reverent even. When he slid your panties down your legs, he knelt to follow them. His fingers dragged down the backs of your thighs, and he stayed crouched for a beat longer, just looking up at you.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. Quiet.

Your chest tightened.

“Stand up,” you said, voice gentler now.

He did, and you tugged at the hem of his shirt. He let you undress him, arms lifting as you peeled the fabric over his head. Beneath it, he was all muscle and scars—hard-won strength etched into skin that had seen too much. You smoothed your palms over his chest, drinking in every inch.

He reached for his waistband next, pushing jeans and briefs down in one motion. His cock was thick, flushed, already glistening at the tip.

You licked your lips before you could help it.

He didn’t move toward you. Just stood there, letting you look. Letting you want.

You reached for his hand instead.

He blinked, surprised, and let you take it.

You brought his fingers to your lips, kissed the tips, then slipped two into your mouth.

The growl he let out was sharp and quiet, barely audible, like it scraped against the inside of his throat.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

You sucked gently, tongue gliding over rough pads and calloused edges, slow and warm and dirty just for him. You wanted him to feel it—to see what it’d be like to have you wrapped around more than just his hand.

He was breathing harder now. Cock twitching between you. You pulled off with a soft pop and met his gaze.

“You want me to stop?” you teased.

Joel swallowed hard. “No,” he said. Then, rougher: “Where’s your bedroom?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just reached for his other hand, curling your fingers through his.

“Come on,” you said.

And led him down the dark hallway, step by step, until the two of you crossed that threshold together.

The bedroom was dark, the door clicking shut behind you with a quiet finality.

You didn’t bother turning on the light. The glow from the hallway was enough to see the outline of him—bare-chested, cock hanging hard and heavy, eyes still fixed on you like you might vanish if he blinked.

He didn’t expect what you did next.

You dropped to your knees.

“Wait—” he said, voice gone gravel-thick with surprise, but your hands were already curling around his thighs, steady and sure.

“Let me,” you said softly. “I want to.”

He stopped breathing.

Your hands slid up the backs of his legs, slow and deliberate, and then you took him in hand—felt the heat of him, the weight, the way he twitched under your palm. You leaned in and pressed your lips to the tip, just a kiss. Then your tongue flicked out, tasting him, teasing.

Joel’s breath shuddered out of him. One hand hit the wall behind you. The other found your shoulder, holding—not pushing, not guiding, just holding.

“Goddamn,” he rasped. “Jesus, sweetheart…”

You took him into your mouth, slow and steady, your lips stretching around him, your jaw aching in the best way. You felt the tremble in his thighs, heard the low groan he tried to swallow down.

“Fuck, you’re good at that,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “That mouth… shit.”

He was big. Thick enough to make your eyes water, and you loved it—loved the weight, the stretch, the way he pulsed against your tongue.

But before you could take him all the way, he pulled back—gently, firmly, both hands cupping your face as he looked down at you.

“Enough,” he said. Not harsh. Not breathless. Just… solid.

You blinked up at him. “You didn’t like it?”

“I fuckin’ loved it,” he said. “Which is why I need you on the bed. Now.”

He hauled you up with a strength that made your knees weak, hands big and sure on your waist as he backed you toward the mattress. You fell back onto it, breathless and grinning, and he followed—settling between your thighs like it was the only place he’d ever wanted to be.

He kissed the inside of your knee first. Then your thigh. Then the other. He took his time, lips dragging over your skin like he wanted to learn every inch.

By the time his mouth reached you, you were already slick and aching.

He groaned when he tasted you. “Fuck...”

He set to work. Languid. Unrushed. His mouth was patient, lips parting you, tongue stroking soft and deep. He sucked your clit only when you were already close, never too soon, never too sharp.

He held your thighs open, kissed you through the first orgasm, coaxed you through the second—his voice murmuring praise against your skin.

“Good girl. That’s it. Let me have it, baby.”

And only when your thighs were shaking, your breath stuttering, did he finally lift his head.

“Now,” he said, voice dark and thick, “I’m gonna fuck you.”

You were still catching your breath when he moved—rising from between your legs, mouth shining, beard damp with you.

You reached for him, half-dazed. Ready to feel him above you, finally heavy and full inside, pinning you down. But instead of climbing over you, Joel sat back on the bed, broad legs spread and shoulders slack. He reached for you.

“C’mere.”

You blinked, dazed. “What?”

He nodded toward his lap, voice low and steady. “Come sit on it, baby.”

You flushed all over. The raw want in his tone made you ache. You crawled forward and climbed onto him, knees bracketing his hips, your thighs still trembling.

The head of his cock dragged between your folds, hot and slick and perfect. You rocked instinctively and gasped when the tip caught on your entrance.

Joel growled softly. “You feel that?”

You nodded, dazed.

He leaned back slightly, watching you like it was killing him to keep still. “Take it slow. Sink down on me, sweetheart. Let me feel you.”

You reached between your bodies and held him steady, your hand small against the thickness of him. And then, slowly, you lowered yourself onto his cock.

You both moaned—his hands gripping your hips hard, your mouth falling open as he stretched you, inch by inch.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “You’re—Jesus, Joel—”

“Shh,” he rasped, panting through his nose. “You’re takin’ me so good.”

You rocked once you had him buried to the hilt, hips shifting instinctively. The fullness made your whole body tense. Your muscles clenched around him and he groaned.

“That’s it,” he said. “Ride me. Show me how bad you needed this.”

You moved slowly at first, lifting and sinking onto him, but it didn’t stay slow for long. He met you halfway with every thrust, hips punching up into yours. His hands guided your rhythm—one wrapped around your waist, the other gripping your ass, fingers digging in like he needed to anchor himself.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t sweet. It was rough, a push and pull that felt like it could tear you open and still wouldn’t be enough.

You kissed him like you couldn’t breathe without it—messy and open-mouthed, tongues dragging, teeth clacking. Your fingers dug into his hair, gripping tight, and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, moaning into your mouth.

You broke the kiss with a gasp, forehead pressed to his. “You feel so fucking good—”

“Yeah?” Joel grunted, slamming up into you. “You love ridin’ this old man’s cock?”

You whimpered. “Yes, Joel, fuck, I love it—”

He shifted under you, pulling you forward, closer—until your chest was pressed to his, sweat-slick skin against skin. One arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other braced between your shoulder blades, holding you steady as he fucked up into you, deep and relentless.

You clung to him—arms looped around his shoulders, your mouth pressed to the side of his neck. You felt him everywhere now. Inside you. Against you. Beneath you. Around you.

The thrusts weren’t graceful anymore. They were desperate. Messy. Wet sounds filled the room—your soaked cunt taking him over and over, your bodies slapping together. Every time he slammed up, you gasped, your breath catching hard in your throat.

You could feel the way his muscles bunched under your hands. Could hear his breath ragged in your ear, the low, broken sounds he made when your pussy clenched around him.

“Fuck—baby—you’re so tight,” he groaned, voice torn and breathless. “You’re gonna make me come—”

You kissed him blindly, teeth clashing, and moaned into his mouth. Your hips rocked erratically, your thighs burning, and all of it—his cock, his mouth, the way he held you like he needed to fuse your bodies together—was pushing you right to the edge.

Joel felt it. He could feel the way you started to tremble. He leaned in, lips at your ear now. “That’s it,” he rasped. “Give it to me. I want to feel it.”

You shook your head, like it was too much. You were too full, too stretched, too fucked to handle one more second of it.

But then he fucked up hard—once, twice—and wrapped both arms tight around your body, burying his face in your neck.

You shattered.

It hit like a wave slamming into a seawall—violent, unstoppable. You came with a sharp cry, back arched, nails clawing into his shoulders as you convulsed around him.

Joel held on. Fucked you through it, groaning into your throat.

“Jesus, fuck—there you go, baby, there you go—”

You came hard, loud, legs shaking in his lap, mouth falling open in a raw yell that cracked at the edges.

Joel didn’t stop. Not until you collapsed against him, trembling, soaking, gasping for air.

Only then did he slow down. Pulling you tighter against him, one big hand smoothing along your spine.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

You nodded into his neck. Still wrapped around him. Still full of him. Still pulsing with aftershocks.

You didn’t want to move. Didn’t want him to, either.

So he stayed there—cock still buried inside you, heart pounding against yours—and let you breathe together.

Joel shifted under you with a quiet grunt. One hand splayed across your back, the other gripping your hip as he rolled you both onto your sides. You landed with your face buried in his neck, your legs tangled with his, his cock still hard and still buried deep inside you.

You gasped at the movement—still sensitive, still twitching from the last wave of pleasure. His hands gentled instantly, rubbing soft circles into your spine.

“You okay?” he murmured, lips brushing your hair.

You nodded, breath catching as his hips rolled, just slightly, nudging deeper. “Too good.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, his breath warm on your cheek.

But he was still inside you. Still thick and pulsing.

You felt it now—the way he was holding himself back. The strain in his arms, the tightness in his jaw. His body was shuddering with restraint, his cock twitching inside you every time you clenched around him.

“You haven’t come,” you whispered.

Joel’s jaw flexed. He didn’t deny it.

You lifted your head, lips brushing his. “Why’re you holding back?”

His voice came out ragged. “You came so hard, baby. Felt you shake all over me. Just… wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Your heart fluttered, warm and aching. But you weren’t finished with him. Not like this.

You rolled your hips, slow, grinding your slick heat down over his cock. He hissed through his teeth.

“I’m not glass, Joel,” you whispered. “Don’t hold back.”

He groaned—low and wrecked—and kissed you.

It was slower this time, but no less intense. His mouth claimed yours in long, deep drags, tongue sliding against yours, hands gripping your waist as he started to move again.

You moaned into his mouth as he thrust. Still tight from your orgasm, your cunt clung to him with each stroke, slick and hot and perfect.

He fucked you slow, chest to chest, breath mingling, bodies sliding together in the dark.

“Christ,” he muttered. “You’re still squeezin’ me like that.”

Your arms curled around his shoulders. “I want you to come,” you said against his mouth. “Want to feel it.”

His hips snapped harder, rhythm faltering, every thrust heavier now. You kissed his jaw, his throat, anything you could reach.

Joel buried his face in your neck and groaned—loud, raw, the sound of a man losing his grip.

And then he was there.

He growled your name like a prayer and shoved in deep, holding you flush as he came—hot and thick, pulsing inside you with a low, broken moan.

You held him through it, stroking his back, whispering, “There you go. That’s it.”

He trembled. He kissed you again, slower now, panting between breaths.

When he finally stopped moving, both of you a tangle of sweat and skin and breath, he stayed right where he was—inside you, heart pounding against yours.

Joel didn’t move at first.

He stayed deep inside you, chest to chest, limbs tangled up like ivy. Your legs around his hips, your arms looped around his shoulders. His breathing was still rough in your ear, his cock twitching in the slick heat of you—spent but still buried, still wanting to stay where it was warm and safe.

You could feel the thump of his heartbeat, steadying slowly against yours. His fingers brushed up and down your spine, more of a reflex now than anything else. Like he needed the contact to remind himself this wasn’t a dream.

Neither of you spoke. There wasn’t a need.

Eventually—eventually—Joel groaned low in his throat, the sound lazy and half-exhausted. He kissed your jaw, your temple, then finally lifted himself just enough to look at you.

“Alright?” he murmured.

You nodded, eyes still half-lidded. “Better than.”

He leaned in and kissed you one more time—soft and lingering—before his hips eased back.

He pulled out slowly. You both gasped at the drag, the loss of warmth. A wet heat followed immediately, thick and unmistakable, sliding down your thighs.

The air shifted. Joel caught sight of the mess soaking the sheets beneath you—your combined slick, his come leaking from where you’d been joined.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed.

Something about his voice—gravel and reverence, wrapped in that low Southern drawl—made you smile.

You rolled onto your stomach without thinking, cheek pressed to the pillow, your back arched in a long, lazy stretch. Limbs limp. Skin damp. Sated.

You exhaled softly, content and open, your bare ass high and warm in the soft light. The wet patch cooled beneath your belly, sticky and raw, but you didn’t care.

Joel let out another quiet groan behind you—half appreciation, half disbelief.

“Goddamn,” he muttered. “Look at you.”

You wriggled your hips playfully, just enough to hear the low curse that followed.

“You’re tryin’ to kill me,” he said.

“Mm,” you hummed, voice thick with sleep. “Don’t blame me. You’re the one who did all the damage.”

You felt the bed dip as he knelt beside you, large hands smoothing along the back of your thigh, then your lower back. Gentle, slow touches, not for arousal—just touch.

His fingers paused where your legs were still slick, and you felt him rub his thumb through the mess there, slow and soft.

“You want me to clean you up?” he asked.

Your eyes stayed closed. “Not yet.”

He kissed the small of your back, breath warm. “Okay.”

Then he lay down beside you, pulling you close, wrapping one arm around your waist from behind, his chest to your spine. You stayed there together in the dark, the air warm with sweat and sex and something deeper neither of you dared name just yet.

your involvement with Joel taught you one thing very early on in life: it is more bearable to yearn for what you can´t ever have, than to get it for a while, only to have it taken away again. 

Joel was your father’s longtime best friend and also happened to live just down the street of the house you grew up in. you´d always had a little crush on him, which was no shocking thing considering how handsome he was. your friends often gushed about him while you pretended you didn’t feel the same, even though you agreed with them when they called you lucky for having him around so often.

Joel wasn´t a man of many words but caring for his friend naturally meant caring for his daughter as well, so you could remember always feeling looked after by him, even when he never explicitly told you that he was fond of you, it was clear in his actions, the way he made sure that there was an extra pair of eyes on you at all times, just in case you needed help or comfort from someone older who wasn’t your parent.

his fatherly feelings slowly but surely turned into something else when you grew into a beautiful young woman, when other men in your neighborhood started looking at you for a little too long and he found himself wanting to gauge their eyes out.

to his relief, you went off to college before anything could happen, before he could obsess over you and give himself away somehow, invite you in without even realizing. then, during your first summer back home, Joel was hardly ever around due to a packed work schedule and a beach vacation he had taken together with his brother and sister-in-law, so you only saw each other a handful of times in passing, which made it impossible to get close, dangerously close, the way you would the coming year. the inevitable would happen sooner or later. some things can´t be stopped, only delayed. 

your second summer back from college was different. you were older, more experienced by then, more confident and secure in your body, your erotic appeal - Joel was off from work and spent that free time helping your dad renovate your childhood home, which meant that you saw him all the time, and to make matters worse, you saw him while he was breaking a sweat, his already tanned body only getting more bronzed each day, sleeves rolled up, muscles rippling from the strain of the tough work, the sun beating down on his brooding face, his achingly attractive physique, the damp fabric clinging to his chest in all the right, or wrong, ways, leaving you hot and bothered, not just from the humidity.

the weather gave you an excuse to be bold, audacious, to lay in the backyard in a skimpy bikini, sunglasses perched on your nose, fanning yourself with a thin book, watching him, catching him glance your way every now and then when your dad was inside the house, rubbing your legs with sun screen ever so slowly and smiling to yourself when you swore you could hear him curse under his breath. 

if you had to be confronted with his sex appeal all day long, then why should he not suffer the same fate? after that much time of having him appear in your dreams, haunting you, stirring your fantasies even while you were trying to date other guys, you were done playing it cool or pretending to be shy.

within no time, it became a little game between you two, daring the other one to look and then pretending not to notice when they did, your father blissfully unaware of the mating dance that was happening right in front of his nose. 

Joel nearly slammed a nail into his hand one time when you decided to turn around and lay on your stomach, bikini top undone to prevent tan lines, bikini bottoms barely covering your ass, your backside on full display as the sun made your skin glow, his jeans suddenly so tight that he had to excuse himself to go to your guest bathroom and help himself out as the images of you still burned behind his eyes, washing his hand clean of his sins afterwards. lord what he wouldn´t have given to just grab you and have your right there on that lawn, to show you what happens when a starving man finally gets his hands on a girl as delicious as you.

your father made a grave mistake, or did you a favor, depending on how you looked at it, by leaving Joel alone with you, leaving you alone with him, nobody around to stop you from what you had been dancing around for just a little too long by then. after that much time of yearning and guessing, it happened fast, it wasnt a slow burn anymore but a wildfire, scorching everything in its way. instead of being a brat or teasing him the way you had been the days before, you just walked up to him, wearing your nicest little summer outfit, and told him “come on, let me show you something”.

the second you were inside the house, you kissed him, no more hesitation, pure instinct, his arms scooping you up and lifting you onto the nearest surface with determination, his mouth all over your sunkissed neck and that was it. he was done for. the moment your soft lips met his, the moment he first heard you sigh for more as he nipped at your collar bone, he knew: I will give her whatever she wants. to hell with decency. to hell with guilt and shame: she is getting what she asked for. and you did. god you did.

that day, fucked for what felt like hours, first on the couch, then in your room, time melting away as he made you his, in every way he could, the sex so passionate and intense, so loving and charged with feeling and yet so fucking filthy, so much better than either of you could´ve imagined, that neither of you knew how to bring yourselves to stop until you finally collapsed drenched in sweat and shaking from pleasure.

Joel was a giver, through and through, he knew exactly what you needed, just from having observed you, and he didn´t take your virginity that first time you had sex but it felt like he had, since he was the first man to awaken your craving for it, so violently that you got wet just thinking of him in the coming days. 

you couldn´t stay away from each other after that, he tried, he really did try, he apologized to you afterwards and told you that you were way too young, that it was a mistake, that he was a sick man for doing all of that with his friend´s child, but it was pointless, the moment you showed up on his doorstep that night after sneaking out to see him, he folded, and kept folding every following time he saw you. 

the affair went on for nearly the entire summer, stealing moments whenever you could, whether it was fifteen minutes during the day, quickly fucking in his kitchen at noon before you went to meet a friend, or entire weekends when your dad was out of town and you slept in Joels arms like you´d done it a hundred times before, a constant back and forth on his part of “god I fucking love this girl, I wanna keep her forever and ever” and “Jesus Christ I am a depraved man, I need to stop this, now”. 

he had spent so many years suppressing all of his softer impulses, his romantic side, his true nature, so when you came along and he could finally treat you how he´d dreamed of treating a beloved for years, his devotion almost shocked you at times, the way this gruff, jaded man held you in his arms, kissed your face, hugged you in his sleep, with a kind of tenderness that brought tears to your eyes more than once. you behaved like a couple, which was exactly the problem, since you could never actually be one, not out in the open at least. 

eventually, after one too many weeks of counting on dumb luck and somehow not yet getting caught sneaking around with you, Joel sat down and thought about the fact that everyone one the street knew both you and him, that a nosy neighbor might just tell your dad “hey, I saw your daughter walking out of Millers house at 1am last night, I had no idea they were that close?”. one slip-up would be enough to earn him a beating he might not survive. all of a sudden, he was gripped by a white-hot panic after spiralling into those horror scenarios for an entire sleepless night and then sat you down the next day to do the thing that made him want to die: he broke it off. 

it was ugly. it ended in tears. not just yours. he told you that you both had to realize how dangerous it was, that you had to be sensible and move on and find someone your own age back in college, he tried so hard to sell it as the right thing to do, and part of you understood where he was coming from, but that didn´t matter at all, your heart shattered at the idea of never getting to feel him close again, never getting to kiss him or hold him or pleasure him again, so you left his house sobbing and shaking after ignoring his pleas to just hear him out and talk to him. 

later on, you blamed it on something else when your dad asked you about your bloodshot eyes over dinner with concern. “I am in love with your best friend and he just broke up with me” was hardly something you could tell him, the same way Joel couldn´t tell him “I am in love with your daughter and it´s ruining me.” when he saw him the next day and wondered why the man looked even more brooding and grumpy than usual. 

the only reason that you couldn´t crumble and beg him for one more night was that you were about to fly back to your college town anyway, so a week after your last time with him, you were already back in your dorm room, hundreds of miles away from him and still just as devastated as when you could see his truck parked out on the street from your bathroom window. 

you said yes to every plan you could make, to keep your schedule full, to keep yourself from wallowing, but it did not work, you were haunted, day and night, by flashbacks of him. you regularly zoned out while others were chatting around you, thinking about his big arms wrapped around your thighs as he ate you out until you were shaking, about how he worshipped you and kissed you all over, every single time, about his fingers buried deep inside you as he whispered to you good you felt clenched around him, kissing your neck and licking your cum off his fingers, making you taste yourself before adding a third finger and let you grind down against his hand til you cried from pleasure.. you missed the way he´d shush you and caress you when you were undone and weak, the way he´d hold you afterwards, as if he was shielding you from the world.

months of missing him followed that bittersweet summer. some weeks you were fine for the most part, others you cursed his name for making it impossible to even look at other guys, knowing they wouldn´t be able to make you even feel half as good as he had. you were mad at both yourself and him, for giving into something that would forever cast a shadow on any intimacy that wasn´t as perfectly matched as yours. 

the second half of the year passed as quickly as it always did, Christmas break was safe for you and Joel because he spent those weeks with his brother´s family, you weren´t at risk of running into each other, then come springtime you were busy focusing on an internship and classes, so for a while you thought you might actually be over him, but by the time June rolled around and the weather started getting hotter it felt like you were transported right back to the year before, like you´d circled right back to that day where you´d left his house for the last time, the same sense of heartbreak and dread creeping right back into your system when your dad picked you up from the airport and drove you past Joel´s house, the house where you´d spent the happiest nights of your life to date as well as the sweetest mornings. 

the thing that switched your feelings towards him from sadness and longing to blind anger was the way Joel behaved when he stepped foot into the same room as you again for the first time in nearly a year: he ignored you. 

he didn´t even look at you, not once, he refused to meet your eyes or talk to you, which struck you as cowardly, as a cop-out, as crueler than any charged look might have been. 

you wished he´d have just found a small way to let you see that he cared, that he wanted to make sure you were okay, even just a simple smile would´ve been fine, a bit of small-talk, anything, even just a quick “good to see you, kid”. but no. nothing. 

laying in bed that night, in the same bed you´d first had him in, feeling spiteful and hurt, you made a plan. he didn´t get to just look away, not after everything, not when he´d ruined intimacy for you by setting impossibly high expectations. admittedly, you were not just pissed but also unbearably horny after your period of celibacy, wishing he´d just cave and ask you to come over, make it easy for you, give you what you wanted. if you had to put in a bit of work, then so be it, you thought, let´s see how long he can pretend not to care. 

you did not want to be pathetic and beg for him, that was out of the question, you had your pride, but since you knew him well enough by then, you were able to come up with a plan to target his one weakness: jealousy. 

Joel was nothing if not possessive, especially as a lover, and he had yet to see you on another man´s arm, so you invited a few of your high school friends to your dad´s cookout that weekend, which the whole neighborhood including him, would be attending.

you invited one of your guy friends who you knew would play along if you asked him to help you make someone jealous, and, as expected, you were right on the money with that one. 

come Saturday night, you stood around a table with a few others, nursing a drink and telling your friend to touch your lower back right as Joel walked out, giving him the same sparkling eyes that you´d once given Joel, touching his upper arm the same way, really laying it on thick, so much so that Joel nearly tripped over his own feet on his way to help your dad with the grill. he wasn´t angry, no, he was fucking livid. but he couldn´t let it show, so he tried his very best to ignore the sweet, siren-like quality of your laughter and to keep his hands to himself, instead of ripping the guy away from you and slamming him face first into the grass. 

in his mind, you were still his girl, despite everything, so for Joel “nobody lays a finger on what´s mine” Miller it was torture beyond belief, to not just be near your again, which was painful enough on its own, but to also endure an entire evening of watching you, his girl who wasn´t really his, being felt up and flirted with by someone else. he was so close to snapping. he was so damn close to just picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder to take you somewhere private and remind you that he was the only one who truly knew what your body craved, what you fantasized about, touched yourself to. 

even though he busied himself with small talk and sat facing away from you, Joel was acutely aware of your presence, driven insane by it, so when you left to go upstairs and catch a break, to freshen up, disappear into your room for a moment, he should´ve been glad, he should´ve taken the chance to breathe out and calm down, but no. he was a strong man, but not when it came to you, only you could manage to make him feel utterly helpless, which was how he felt when he followed you inside, went up the stairs, and saw you there, seemingly only waiting for him, paused outside of your room, leaning against the wall, back turned to him.

he took the last few steps and then cleared his throat, his arms crossed, his defenses up as he said “so…s´that your new boyfriend out there?”. 

your turned around and for the first time in what felt like an eternity you met his eyes, both of you so clearly affected and yet trying so hard to appear nonchalant. he looked achingly hot in his faded jeans and gray t-shirt, the fabric tight around his tanned biceps, his salt and pepper hair longer than you remembered, his eyes betraying him as he looked you up and down as well, neither of you strong enough to keep your gazes from wandering, now that you were alone, the air immediately charged.

“good to see you too. and no, not that it´s your place to ask, but he´s not my boyfriend” you were being sassy to ignore how painful it was to see him, to remember how gentle he used to be, how much you still needed him, not just sexually, but sensually, to feel the comfort of his touch, his warmth, his adoration.

Joel watched you intently and cocked his head. “hm, right. why bring him home to daddy already then?”. he was onto something, the man wasn´t daft, it was true that you wouldn´t just bring someone your dating along like that unless it was serious, but you tried to keep up the lie, just to rub it in a bit more.

“you interrogating me now, Miller?” you asked, arms crossed as well, imitating him, your tone a little too bratty for his taste, but he´d lie if he said he didn´t have a soft spot for it, you toying with him like that, last name and all, he was a weak man, watching you there in the dim light of the hallway, barely any thought penetrating his mind except for “there you are. my beautiful girl. look at you, giving me hell”.

“just making conversation” he responded, matching your sarcastic tone, taking a few steps forward, as if his legs were moving on their own accord, an invisible hand pushing him towards you. you swallowed and tried not to let it show how badly you just wanted him to snap and overpower you. claim you. fuck you. 

“well, I´m grown, dad is aware that I´m dating, and he´s nice, so why not invite him?” you quipped, making it sound nonchalant.

“nice??” he said too loudly and then lowered his voice a bit, briefly glancing over his shoulder to make sure nobody had joined you. “that boy was getting handsy all night, in front of God and everyone, like some horny teenager. never heard of manners apparently. nice ain´t the word I´d use.”

you had to suppress a smile then as he went on his little rant, his jealousy suiting him a little too well, the vein in his neck bulging, his fist clenched, his eyes darker than ever. of course he would put it like that, the old school Texan gentleman, you knew from experience that he was the type to fuck his girl´s brains out in private while never being improper in public, it was part of his charm, the fact that he wanted to keep all the passion he shared with his girl in private, that he made a point of being chivalrous and decent, even though his passions behind closed doors were far from it.

“well, that´s for me to worry about, not you, besides, you could´ve also brought a date, she would´ve been feeling you up the same way, all the women were ogling you out there, could easily take your pick.” you weren´t entirely without jealousy either, he could tell, but it was sheer absurdity, your suggestion, it was frankly an insult to him to be told to find a date by the girl he was so clearly still devoted to, even just in thought, so he stepped even closer to you and sounded stern when he told you “oh no, don´t give me that, girl, don´t even start.” 

truthfully, it turned you on, to be told off by him, to feel the heat of his rage, even just a little bit, and then, right as he was only a few feet away from you, his cologne hit you in full force. your knees almost buckled from it, that scent, the one that you´d smelled whenever you nuzzled your nose against his neck after making love, the mix of his sweat and the sharp, masculine fragrance always dizzying your still-aroused body. the flashbacks hit you hard and you were done pretending, you were done lying and playing, so you said “well you´ll be happy to know that you probably won´t see him or anyone else cozying up to me after tonight, so, we´ll both be lonely then.” 

you held his gaze and felt your heart beat faster from the sudden attempt at honesty, Joel could tell, so he pressed on and tried to finally get some truth out of you “yeah? and why´s that?”. he came even closer, his arm almost brushing yours, your head tilted up due to the height difference. 

“because” you said and took a deep breath, not looking away from him once, trembling. “you ruined me for other guys. you fucking ruined me.” his eyes widened as the pained, angry sound of your voice hit him. “that´s why you came up here, right? to get a confession? well here it is. yes, I miss you, all the time, it´s been torture, and yes I wanted you to be jealous because I was dying to talk to you the moment I landed and then you just ignored me, didn´t even look my way once.”

he was scared you might cry, if there was one thing he couldn´t handle it was seeing tears spill down your pretty face, but his own rage was still simmering, so he was left conflicted and frustrated and unsure whether to shake you or kiss you or both at once. 

“and you think it´s any different for me!??” he hissed and tapped his chest, trying his best to keep his voice down, but increasingly unable to. “it´s been hell on earth to do the right thing and stay away from you, to remember that your old man would put me in the ground if he ever found out about us! do you think it´s easy for me? to just bottle up all my love and push it down forever?? it´s been eatin me alive.”

the words just spilled out, he realized too late that he´d been too honest there, he could tell the moment he saw the look of utter disbelief in your eyes, you hardly ever saw him that openly emotional, let alone talking about “love” explicitly, love, he had said it, he loved you, and you were rendered speechless, no response seeming adequate or enough, even though of course you felt the same. 

Joel´s hand was trembling then as he reached out and placed it on your waist, ever so lightly, the thin fabric of your dress doing very little to separate your skin from his, your whole body screaming for more, his palm so perfectly molded for the curves of your body, your breath hitched. 

“Christ, darlin” he breathed and looked at your neck, the space where it met your shoulder, where his mouth was aching to latch onto, drawing soothing and maddening circles on your left side as he braced himself against the wall with his free hand, trapping you, his scent even stronger then, his chest rising and falling rapidly mere inches from your face.

“do you have any idea what you´re doing to me right now? what last summer did to me? what this…seeing you now, after all that time, looking this sinful” his hand moved to your back then, splayed over it possessively, drawing you closer. “what it does to me?” his voice was barely audible, strained with need as your own breathing got heavier by the second.

“tell me…” you sighed and nearly blacked out when he leaned in to whisper to you “all night, I have had to try my best not to just pull you into a damn room and….” he broke himself off before he could finish the thought, his forehead dropping to yours, your breaths mingling, your hands finding their way to his sides, an instant shudder through his whole body from the contact, his muscles rippling in response to the feeling of you finally clinging to him again. “and-?” you asked, desperate to hear what he wanted to do to you. 

Joel pulled away from you and looked deep into your eyes, your noses almost touching, your scent, your body lotion and perfume and your own natural smell, suddenly flooding his senses as well and tempting him to just have you right in that damn hallway, the sound of laughter in the distance reminding him where he was, what he was getting himself into, again. 

“I should go. I should leave. right now” he said, more like a question than a statement, not moving a single inch away from you. you nodded and looked up at him, sounding just as unconvinced when you said “yeah… yeah you should” your voice barely in-tact by then, your body on the brink of unravelling just from being near him again, so sensitive to his presence that you were already growing wet. he could tell. he knew you. and it did him in.

he drank in the sight of you all vulnerable and open and put his hand to the left side of your face, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb, gasping when you opened your mouth as if it was second nature, your eyes locked on his as you licked over the tip of his finger and felt him push it in deeper, touching your tongue, pushing his luck, groaning quietly, unsure how on earth he would survive the sight of that, shutting his eyes for a second and cursing under his breath when you pulled your dirtiest move yet: you closed your lips. and started sucking.

your whole body burned, your blood rushed, your skin tingled all over as he cradled your cheek and watched you treat his thumb like it was his dick, which was straining in his jeans, aching, your plump lips wrapped around his knuckles as you shut your eyes and savored the feeling of having him inside you again, in that small way at least, taking whatever you could get and whining from it, growing aroused to a point of shaking. he moved his thumb and watched you with hunger, with love, with anger, with need, with everything, bursting at the seams, losing his last bit of restraint when he finally pulled his wet finger out of your mouth and wiped a string of saliva from your chin. 

without losing any more time, Joel gripped your wrist one hand, opened your bedroom door with the other, and muttered “dammit all to hell” as he dragged you inside.

he turned the lock with one swift motion before he pressed you up against the door and pulled you into a deep, bruising kiss, his hands grabbing your face with a kind of desperation that knocked the wind out of you. the kiss was pure fire, hard, punishingly passionate, all tongue and unrestrained hunger, his hands wandering, all over you, grabbing like he was scared you´d vanish.

both of you moaned into each other´s open mouths between kisses and Joel only broke away to pull your dress over your head and finally see your body in all its glory again, nearly choking on his spit when your matching set of lacy light pink lingerie was revealed, the golden details shimmering in the dim light of your room, inspiring nothing short of feverish need. you knew that see-through panties were a weakness of his, so it was no surprise that his voice cracked when he stared and whispered “beautiful…” while running his calloused hands all over your body, wrecked by the feeling of your shivers, the way you always responded to his touch, relieved to see that none of it had lessened during your absence, quite the opposite, you seemed even needier than he remembered, and it drove him insane with the desire to please. 

he pushed himself up against you, hips bucking against yours, hands on your exposed back, firm and warm, as he littered your neck in wet, open-mouthed kisses, his stubble tickling you just right, quickly unhooking your bra and letting it fall to the floor as you tilted your head and moaned for more, giving him better access so he would leave no inch uncovered, his lips finding the underside of your jaw, that weak-spot he was familiar with, and lavished it in attention, tempted to just bite you and mark you for everyone to see, barely keeping himself from it, barely. 

Joel cupped your tits and smiled against your skin when he heard the whiny “ohhh” tumble from your lips as he squeezed and leaned down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, groaning to himself as you were scared you might just fall to the floor, overcome with lust as his tongue drew circles around your sensitive area over and over, his teeth briefly sinking into the swell of your breast as one of his hands slid into your pretty panties to palm your cunt, not yet spreading you open, but well aware that you were dripping for him. you held on for dear life as he sucked on both of your tits and kept his hand in your underwear, rubbing, teasing, reclaiming. you were arms were around his back like a vise as you whimpered to him “I need you, please”.

Joel let go of your chest, leaving it glistening in his spit, and teased you with caresses on the outside area of your aching core as he sighed “right here, yeah? right now?” aware that it was reckless, counting on the fact that everyone was buzzed and happy to be out under the night sky, far away from your room, too far away to overhearing anything, because there was no going back, he needed you, just as much as you needed him. 

“yes right now, have me, please, please Joel I´m dying I can´t wait any more, it´s been too long” you begged and held onto his neck, staring at him with pleading eyes, so he scooped you up, as if you weighed nothing, and felt you wrap your arms and legs around him in response, carrying you with ease and pride as he assured you “shhh I´ve got you darlin, gonna make that ache go away”. 

he strode over to your bed and laid you down on your back, marvelling at the sight of you spread out in front of him, ready to worship at your altar. you held your breath as he kissed your lower stomach, once, twice, three times, and then climbed over you to lean down and kiss you again, slower this time, with feeling, with love, his knee finding your crotch to apply some pressure and hear you whimper into his mouth, to feel you chasing friction, grinding yourself up against his leg as you made out, your heart and soul bursting from the feeling of finally having your man in your bed again, the way it all started the year before, both of you chasing kiss after kiss after kiss, reclaiming both the deep carnal lust you´d shared before and the sacred tenderness, an addictive mix of “I wanna ruin you” and “I wanna make you whole again” to his every touch. 

Joel buried his nose in your hair for a moment to breathe in the achingly familiar smell of your shampoo and pressed a kiss to your temple before he moved down and started trailing kisses from the top of your chest down to your stomach, reverent and in awe, mumbling against your lower stomach “driving me crazy here, sweetheart” when he heard a high-pitched whimper fall from your lips, peppering your skin in too many kisses to count as he moved his hands all over your upper body, caressing, wordlessly telling you “I´ll take care of you now”.

he knew what he had to do when you started squriming, he couldn´t keep you waiting any longer, so he murmured “c´mere” and yanked you towards the edge of the bed, eliciting a gasp from you, pleased by the way you still seemed to adore his strength, the ease with which he could move you into the right position. 

“I wanna see you..” you begged, so Joel pulled off his shirt and let you marvel at the sight of his chest, his shoulders and arms in their nude glory, before he got on his knees and tugged your panties down, smiling at how obediently you lifted your hips, lifting your legs over his shoulders and placing a kiss on your left calf before he spread you wider and settled comfortably between your thighs, one hand reaching up to part your swollen lips and playing with your clit, gently at first, drawing circles and hearing you mewl from it so sweetly while you were propped up on your elbows and watched him, your cunt throbbing relentlessly, begging for more of his touch where an unbearable ache had settled.

“look at that… no wonder I went fucking insane…” Joel mused as he played with your pussy, filthy with it, spreading your juices all over his fingers and licking it off with a groan of pleasure before he finally put his mouth where you needed it. you sighed in relief as he kissed your cunt all over and then dipped his tongue between your folds to get a taste, after so many months of living off of memories, licking over you in broad, sloppy strokes, his hands gripping your thighs and keeping you wide open as he practically made out with your pussy, groaning into you as he lapped at you, picking up the pace, too riled up to draw it out, flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit, again and again, so skilled with it that you laid flat on your back and shut your eyes as you moaned “oh fuck, yes, yes, like that..” your fingers tangled in his hair, hips moving up to meet his mouth, whining for more, Joel switching between slow and fast moves of his tongue in a rhythm that made you see stars and drench his chin, his hands holding you still when you were getting too erratic and bucking up too hard, pulling you down against his mouth whenever you moved up as much as an inch, feasting on you, hard in his jeans from the taste and smell of your sex. 

“god I could stay here the whole night and still need more” he groaned as he come up for air and drooled some of his spit onto you, rubbing it all over you before he slipped a finger into you, slowly, testing the waters, finding no resistance at all, so he added another finger and heard you moan in approval, overwhelmed by how good it felt to finally have him stretch you again, whining as he pumped his fingers into your cunt, curled them up just right, up to the last knuckle, salivating at the sight of your velvety walls opening up for him like that, grunting “fucking hell, feel so good clenched around me baby”. 

a moment later he was back to sucking on your clit while he kept fingering you, the double pleasure driving you insane, his tongue circling your clit, suckling on it relentlessly, your hand flying up to cover your mouth before someone might've heard the loud cry you managed to keep trapped in your throat. 

your legs shook on his shoulders and he used his free hand to keep you somewhat still as you shuddered and came all over his mouth and fingers, faster than you used to, arching your back and biting your lip as it hit you out of nowhere, your cunt pulsating so hard he swore he could feel it in his cock, not just in his fingers, grunting as he kept his tongue on you and let you ride it out until you fell slack and he moved his fingers out, hearing that little whimper of pain at the sudden empty feeling in your cunt. Joel watched you and gently spanked your spasming cunt, to give it some more stimulation, which brought you near tears while the aftershocks were still making you twitch, not tears of pain but of overwhelming pleasure. the slap of his hand on your raw cunt felt divine and Joel could tell, he smiled and whispered “oh she likes that, huh? I remember..”, too far gone to be ashamed anymore. 

you nodded in your state of ecstasy “yes, more, please”, admittedly beyond thrilled by the fact that you were getting fucked like that in your room while everyone downstairs was blissfully unaware, basking in the forbidden thrill of having a man over twice your age take you in your childhood room, a man who was only ever filthy and rough when it got you off, never just to meet his own needs, your body so open to him because you were treated like the most precious, saintly thing, even in the midst of letting him do such sinful things. 

Joel nearly lost his mind and groaned “oh good girl, such a good girl for me....” and gave your cunt another spank, more force behind it then, not brutal, but hard enough to make you quiver and twist on the bed, another spank, and another, a quick succession of slaps against your wetness that made your already swollen cunt grow even more aroused and ready to be ruined, his cock leaking into his boxers, his eyes glazed over with pure lust as he felt you try your best not to move away from the impact of his flat palm, kissing and biting your inner thigh as he kept making “slap slap slap” sounds with his hand against your blood-swollen lips until he gave a last little spank and a kiss on the spot right after, soothing your core and leaving you panting and needy for more, already nearing your second orgasm just from that. you were about to be wrecked. and god were you glad for it. 

Joel unbuckled his jeans and before he could even think about fucking you, you scrambled to get on your knees on the bed, right in front of him and helped him out, eagerly tugging down his pants and underwear as he uttered “darlin.. you don´t have to” clearly never wanting you to give him head out of obligation, but you wanted to, desperately, so you looked up at him and sighed “missed your cock so bad, want it in my mouth..” and gripped his throbbing hardness as he was left bare, his hands on your shoulders then, holding on for dear life.

“Jesus Christ sugar..” he grunted as you stroked his cock and nearly whimpered at the sight.

you knew he was big, he´d been inside you many times, but it was like you were having him for the first time all over again, the thickness of his cock making you ache in anticipation. 

you drooled all over his length and slicked it up good before you circled his tip with your tongue as you kept moving your hand up and down, his hips bucking into your palm as he groaned “ohh hmpfff fuck” and shut his eyes while caressing your hair. you took him into your mouth and sucked him off, swallowing a few thick inches, your head bobbing up and down, your spit running down his shaft in a way that made him shudder and see stars. “fuck yes, like that, just like that babygirl” he praised and tried his best not to just fuck your face as you sucked him to a point of tearing up, addicated to the feel of him hard in your mouth, so vulnerable to your effect on him. Joel lost his mind as you eagerly drooled over his cock, licked and kissed it again before really going all the way down choking on it, his vision blurred and his abs tightly coiled until he pulled you off, so he wouldn´t come too fast.

Joel breathed so heavy that he sounded more like a beast than a man. he wiped the salvia from your mouth and chin and drowned in love and desire for you as you kneeled there with swollen lips and doe-eyes, treating him, an old rugged man, like he was the sexiest man on earth. 

“gotta be inside you, now, lay back baby, spread those pretty legs for me” he ordered and watched you do as he said, settling against the pillows as he climbed over to you while stroking himself, his cock glistening in the dark from your spit, his muscles somehow even more pronounced from the indirect light, his stature nothing short of god-like, so big and strong, the sight making you sick with need as you touched yourself to give him the same pleasure of watching, teasing your clit as he came closer and leaned down to give you a kiss, your free hand on his neck, both of you trembling from need, your bodies back in sync, the way they had been the summer before, perhaps even more. 

he pulled back and pressed one of your thighs up and to the side to give himself better access, guiding himself to your entrance as you gazed at him with pleading eyes, his tip slipping over your wet heat, a deep sound rumbling in his chest from it as he slowly inched in, just a bit, so he could let go and hover over you, tilting your chin up before he placed his hands on the sides of your face and sought out deep eye-contact before he sunk into you deeper, gauging your reaction and whispering encouragements as you wrapped your arms around his neck and whined “fuck..” clearly loving the feeling of his cock stretching you open, filling you the way you hadn´t been filled in way too long.

Joel shivered as he bottomed out and felt your wetness envelope him fully, his head dropping down to your shoulder with a labored breath, his eyes shut as he told himself “dont you dare come too fast” because being back inside you felt too heavenly, even better than he remembered, if that was possible. 

he stayed still for a moment to let both you and himself adjust to the feeling, your hands clinging to his back, turned on by the feel of his hard muscles there as he stretched you wide open, moving slowly at first, staying deep inside, grunting and whispering sweet nothings to you as you savored the full body contact, his scent and heat melting into one with your own, leaving you both deeply at ease and insanely overwhelmed, audibly so as you sighed “fuck… feels so good…” clearly not used to it anymore, so he kissed your cheek and whispered “yeah it does..deep breaths, I´ve got you, darlin, just hold onto me”.

and with that, he picked up the pace, gave you more, felt you scratch his back in a way that made him grunt like an animal from pleasure as he thrust himself into you over and over again, both of you moaning and lost in the feeling, your legs wrapped around his waist by then, trapping him, desperate for more each time his cock pulled out and sank all the way into you again, propping himself up better to get the full view of every little reaction. 

you moaned with each stroke and pressed your head back into the pillow, so Joel leaned in and covered your exposed throat in hot kisses as he dragged himself out of your slick heat and slammed in again with a perverse wet sound, so drenched by then that you could hear his movements echo through the room. “fuckkk baby this pussys gonna ruin me” he groaned and covered your mouth to really fuck your brains out, unable to hold back anymore, shutting you up as he gave it to you, ruined by the feeling of your tight walls gripping his dick as you whined into his palm and left it slick with your spit.

both of you might have come right then, if he hadn´t stopped himself to slow down and position himself more upright while gripping your legs and adjusting them how he wanted them, leaving you flat on your back and trembling, panting, hungry for release as he pushed your thighs up towards your face and fucked back into you “fuck right there, right there, yes” you groaned and closed your eyes in ecstasy as he nearly made you black out from how fucking hard his cock was hitting all the right spots, his voice cracked and full of need as he said “yeah baby? this the sweet spot? right here?”, an eager nod and almost pained sounding “hmm” from you in response as you surrendered to him, fully. 

Joel wasn´t gonna back down then, he was a man possessed and wanted to see you unravel, so he kept up the relentless rhythm of his fucking as he licked over the pad of his thumb and reached down to draw slick circles over your clit, the winning move, every single time, your body responding so well that he smiled at the pleased little “ohhh fuck, don´t stop” you let out, his finger pressing up against your sensitive bundle of nerves as his cock left your cunt feeling raw in the best way, “that´s it, taking me so damn well baby” he praised in awe.

Joel was overcome by it all, having you under him once more, after so many months of touching himself to memories, his eyes burning because he forgot to blink as he watched his dick disappear inside you again and again, the sight of your dripping, swollen, pretty pussy swallowing him like that driving him to near insanity, his finger dragging over your clit and spreading your juices as he fucked you deep, his body so coiled and tense as your walls contracted from the impending orgasm, his hips stuttered and his body shook as he groaned “fuckkk gonna kill me squeezin like that, goddamn baby.. youre so close, arent ya?”.

you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes and your face twisted in pleasure as you moaned “yes…fuck I´m gonna come”, the orgasm building and building until he said “let go baby, show me, lemme see” which was the final push, as if he had full control over your senses, the orgasm hitting you in full force as the words left his mouth, your whole body spasming as you went quiet and squeezed his cock so hard he had to brace himself against your thighs, a bruising grip on you as you came all over his length and heard him groan “goddamn...” as he didn´t let up yet and fucked you through the high, your body shaking and in that state where you wanted to be taken to a point of full on ruin,so instead of riding the orgasm out and waiting to pick up your fucking again, you begged him “keep going, please keep going”. 

Joel leaned forward again then and faced you as he sighed “wanna come for me again, yeah?”, kissing you all over your face and your mouth as you whimpered “yes, I´m so sensitive, I´ll come so fast” which was all he needed to hear. Joel quickly moved a flat pillow under your hips and caressed your shaking legs before he put one of them over his shoulder, creating the deepest angle possible and locking eyes with you as he smiled and put his index finger over his lips, teasing you, telling you “try not to scream, we can´t be found out”, your face hot as you kept looking into his dark eyes and saw nothing but deep devotion there as he held onto your extended leg and tilted his head to kiss your calve as he started to pound you, there was no other word for it, he was hitting parts of you that made it feel like he was fucking your soul, so you put your arm over your face and bit down into your flesh to muffle the cries he was drawing out of you, his pride bubbling up deep in his chest as he kept feverishly kissing your leg and rutting into you, his cock still not covered in enough of your cum for his taste, even though you were leaking by then, the man wanted to be covered in you. 

he smelled like wood and musk and his own natural scent, so carnal and sexy and his body was dripping sweat by then, beads of perspiration running down his back and chest, a faint growling sound rumbling in his chest as you left a bitemark on your skin from how hard you were trying to keep your moans from ripping out of you in a loud scream, your next high already building deep in your stomach and hitting your entire body soon after, his movements stilling as you clenched around his cock like a vise and convulsed from an even more intense climax than before, your juices leaking over his throbbing length as he grunted “fuckkk oh” and tired not to lose his stamina.

as you whimpered from the orgasm, he put down your leg again and hovered over you to gave you a deep kiss, swallowing up every little sound as you wrapped your arms around his back and kissed his shoulder, nuzzled your head against it as he let you catch your breath, his lips never leaving you, your mouth, your cheek, your temple, his hands reaching for yours so he could make you lace your fingers through his, a brief kiss to your knuckles, his heart bursting with love for you. 

“youre perfect, baby…want this sweet pussy leaking all over my face again” he whispered to you and helped you move. 

“come here, up here, sugar” he encouraged as he laid back and gestured for you to come and take a seat, hoisting you up with his strong arms and holding onto your hips with a firm grip as you placed your hands on the headboard and tried to find the best way to sit, which was made easy for you when he decided to pull you down onto his mouth and go at it without giving you any time to prepare, his tongue greedy and yet so soft and soothing on your aching cunt as he kept it flat and let you rock your hips to meet his slow, self-indulgent strokes, your body shaking a bit as you looked down to watch your cunt move back and forth over his mouth, turned on by the view, his eyes meeting yours as helped you, guiding your hips as you rolled them and whimpered from the feeling of riding his tongue, his nose bumping up against your clit in a way that made you bite your lip and curse under your breath.

the thing that killed you then, was that he took his right hand away from your body to reach down and jerk himself off, seemingly so turned on from having you drip all over his face that his cock was aching for relief, for any kind of touch, so for a while you kept your thighs spread by the sides of his face and enjoyed the feeling of being worshipped by his mouth like that, feeling so sexy and strong in a way only he could make you feel even as you were shaking and losing your mind, chasing your next high with desperate need as he kept his tongue still and let your really fuck his face, slippery sounds and pleased “hmms” hitting your ears as his hand slowly moving up and down his throbbing shaft. he grunted up into you, deeply pleased when you shivered and nearly collapsed right on top of him from yet another wave of orgasmic pleasure, his mouth thoroughly covered in your arousal. 

you climbed down from him while uttering “jesus…”, dazed and vibrating with the never-ending drive to be completely undone by him. he wiped his mouth and licked his lips with a pleased smile, hands reaching out to steady you and keep you from falling over to your side “hmm, easy there, nice n´slow”. 

“need you deep in me.…” you whined, still not close to done with him, which made him smile, pride flickering in his eyes, remembering all those times you´d just asked for and more of him, no matter how sore you´d be the next day. 

“yeah? need to be nice n´full again, sugar?” he asked as you went to straddle his legs, those big strong thighs had grinded up against countless times before, still so maddeningly enticing to you, just the like the rest of his physique as he sat there in the nude, ready to have you take what you needed, to have you on top of him for the first time in way too long. 

you reached out to stroke his dick and watched him nod in approval as his abs tightened in response “yeah baby, take that cock and make it yours”. he watched you like a hawk stalking its prey as you hovered over him and held him in your hands, lowering yourself and guiding him to your entrance, whimpering as you slowly sat down on his length, his hands on your waist to help you, sooth you, caressing you softly as you got all the way down and started rocking yourself back and forth. 

you braced yourself against his chest and started riding him, eager, needy, relieved to have him inside you again, your body glistening with sweat, his eyes straining to take in every little detail at once as he murmured “atta girl, look at you..”, unsure how he´d gotten lucky enough to have a girl like you spoil him like that, his hands wandering down to your ass, squeezing and supporting you as you slid up and down his length, your head thrown back, your tits bouncing with every move, both of you beyond riled up, moaning and mumbling barely coherent things to each other, suddenly reminded why you used to fuck for hours and still want more, right back in that place where everything around you faded and all that was left was the need to ruin each other with as many releases of your pent-up lust as possible, until your bodies would force you to take a break.

he marveled at you as you rode yourself into oblivion on him and let out the sweetest cries, Joel angled his hips a bit differently then to make his cock hit you even better and watched you fall apart, your pussy dripping all over him, leaking down your inner thighs, your walls pulsing so hard you were about to start crying from it, so he pulled you down and held you against his chest as he assured you “shhh I know it´s a lot, you´re doing so well darlin, you can take some more, I know you can, just let go, I´m here, right here”. 

you were flush against his chest then as you nodded and whimpered against his skin while you kept moving, Joel taking over and asking “want me to go hard, baby?”, adjusting you on him so you could lay there and let him fuck you from below. “yes.. please…” you sighed and the achingly fragile sound of that “please” was the thing that did it for him. he was so overcome with everything he felt for you, everything he had to bottle up for so long, that he snapped and held you tighter against himself than ever as he fucked you from below like he had a point to prove, your moans of approval only turning him even more feral, the sound of skin slapping against each other filling the room as you kept your face pressed against his shoulder and let him ruin you, another orgasm hitting you then as he gave you a calculated, intense, deep last thrust and then stilled completely, buried balls deep as he told you “come all over my lap, that´s it, good girl, so good for me” as you bit his shoulder to stifle your high-pitched cry and shuddered, leaking all over him, still rocking up and down on his cock as he groaned and nearly came inside you, but not yet, not just yet.

after a moment of laying on him, breathless, undone, you shakily peeled yourself off and said “one more…”, reading his mind, so he caressed you and asked “you sure, baby? already took a lot” making sure you were fine, but you didn´t waste any time talking and instead just moved over to the empty side of your bed and got on your hands and knees, lowering your head until it was resting against your pillow, which left you ass up, looking so deeply submissive that Joel almost felt undeserving, like he´d cheated his way into that moment and was gonna pay for it heavily down the line, but all that mattered to him then was you, your body, your heart, your soul, your needs, so he got behind you and caressed your cheeks before littering them in kisses and lovebites before he leaned in and buried his face in you. 

at first, he ate you out from behind, grunting as his still-hard cock twitched from that divine taste, lapping at you as you drooled into the pillow.

one thing you loved about fucking him was the he always switched between giving you head and fucking your brains out, using the soothing effect of his tongue to give your overstimulated pussy some love between positions, always starting and ending your moments of passion with his mouth on you, never just penetrating you, always making sure you were kissed and licked just right. he was a filthy lover, so he moved his mouth up and ate your ass too, greedy with it, spitting on his fingers and teasing your hole before he swirled his tongue over it and heard you moan “fuck.. ugh” in response, clutching the sheets and tilting your head on the pillow to look behind and see him going at you like a man starved. 

“want you to come in me…” you sighed, so he pulled his mouth away and slid two fingers into you from behind, slowly, making sure you were still wide open and relaxed, an undignified squeal leaving you as he did it, your pussy always aching for him, his fingers in particular, something so intimate about it, the hand that was used to handling rough material, so gentle when it was inside of you. “yeah? want me to fill you up? want me to claim this pretty pussy?” he groaned and slid his fingers out again, licking them off and guiding his tip to your swollen lips, easily sinking into the depths of you again, holding your hips and drawing soothing circles there with his thumb as he gave you slow strokes from the back.

his cock hitting a differnet angle now that you were face down, ass up, a different kind of ache spreading through your core, so deliciously overwhelming after all the other ways he´d already pleased you by then, “fuck baby, I´m gonna come…” he growled and went a bit faster, snapping his hips against your ass as he could feel his cock throbbing painfully hard until he buried himself to the hilt, leaned over you, flush against your back, and kissed your shoulder feverishly as his cum leaked into you in thick spurts, so warm and comforting, your pussy drinking it all up, his groans so animalistic as he kept deliriously kissing your back, both of you completely ruined, so deeply satisfied, so relieved and happy to have it back, that once in a lifetime physical connection, that love you shared, that ability to undo and heal each other all at once. you glowed with exhaustion and happiness as he peeled himself away from you and gave you a moment to calm down, laying on his back and caressing your spine, fingertips ghosting over you, marvelling at his beautiful girl, all his again, all his. 

you both knew that every second you spent locked inside that room was a risk, you knew someone, god forbid your father, might be looking for you right at that moment, you knew, and yet neither of you could bring yourselves to rush and get up, to get dressed and leave that moment of sacred intimacy behind already. 

so, you laid there, just as quiet as him as you felt him trace patterns on your back, smiling to yourself, every part of your body practically thanking you for being that audacious, every inch of you thoroughly relaxed and loose, after so many weeks of aching for him, being tense and lonely and untouched. you could feel his cum slowly leaking out of you, but you didn´t care about ruining your sheets, you refused to clean it off, for the time being you wanted to feel claimed, you wanted to feel the proof of his need for you between your legs, just for a little longer - Joel refused to move and grab a tissue or towel, for very similar reasons. 

eventually, you turned around and looked at him, so Joel sighed “come here, let me hold you” and opened his arms, overjoyed to watch you settle on his chest the way you did, like you belonged there, which you did, your head resting right above his heart as you laced your leg over his and put your arm over his middle, snuggled up against him, breathing in his scent, the same way he did yours, Joel pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head and rubbing your back just the way he knew you loved. 

“yeah I know why we went insane…” you mused, which got a low laugh out of him “you´re telling me, girl. I was out here losin whatever was left of my sanity thinking of you day and night. could anyone blame me though?” he asked and gave your hip a squeeze for emphasis, which made your grin and turn your head to look up at him. 

“yeah? that bad?” you asked, clearly aware of your effect on him, but still, wanting to hear more. Joel tapped the tip of your nose in response to your cheeky question and said “let´s just say I´m pretty damn sure some of my gray hairs have something to do with you, what you put my old heart through.” he phrased it dramatically for comedic purposes, he wasn´t actually blaming you, so you smiled and reached up to ruffle his hair a little. “I noticed, yeah. it suits you.. I like this” you twirled a longer strand of his salt and pepper hair around your finger before you let go and saw him raise his eyebrows and smirk. “do you now? got a thing for silver foxes, sweetheart?”. 

“just for you” you whispered and moved further up to give him a kiss, a lingering, loving one, his hand reaching down to caress your neck and pull you up against his lips as close as possible.

“you know..” he said and looked at you with a flicker of mischief in his eyes. “if you wanna sneak out later and come to my house, the way you did last summer, I won´t turn you away. I´ll just take the damn risk this time, you´re worth it, always.”

you beamed at him then, clearly feeling triumphant, beyond glad that he was not brushing your reunion sex off as a moment of weakness, a mistake, a one time thing that can never happen again, that he was trying to be brave for the sake of your connection. 

“haven´t had enough of me, old man?” you teased, that familiar little nickname reminding him of all the other times you´d joked about his age to bait him into proving just how strong his “old” body still was.

“no. never. and you´re not going home with that little boy down there, that much I know.” he said, the sound of his jealousy never seizing to send a little tingle through your system, but you decided to relieve him of it, for the time being. you looked at him and said “he´s just a friend,  we were putting on a show, he helped me out, did me favor”. 

Joel rolled his eyes and smacked your thigh playfully “Christ, of course that´s what it was. always been a tease, hm?”.

“I haven´t been with anyone.. since you.” you confessed and you swore you could hear him sigh in relief. all the nightmare scenarios of other men getting their hands on you, waking up next to you, getting their taste of you, vanished into thin air and left Joel feeling a few pounds lighter.

“me neither, ain´t no way in hell I could´ve done that, I´m a one-woman-man, even when she´s not really mine and far away, even when it´s just in my head.” he said, which made you melt and kiss him again, both of you losing yourselves in the kiss as you sighed against his lips and revelled in the feel of his strong body pressed against yours “we have a lot to make up for then, hm?”.

he had his arms wrapped around you all possessive as he agreed “oh, yes. don´t care if I´ll be limpin and sore all over, I´ll make sure we get our fill, trust me, baby.” 

“I´ll massage you if it hurts too bad” you told him and gently squeezed his shoulders.“such a darling girl, hm?” he said and smiled at how you were feeling him up. you could tell that he was debating whether or not to say what was on his mind when you looked into his eyes again, surprised by the the vulnerability you could detect in them, so you nudged him, ever so lightly, wordlessly asking to be let in.

“it´s just…” he traced your arm with his index finger “you deserve much more than this, sneakin around. but I swear I´ll do whatever I can to make you happy, to make you feel good and looked after, and I mean that. if anyone gives you trouble, if anything at all is bothering you, you come to me, alright? I´ll be there, I swear, won´t ever make you leave me alone again. damn fool, that´s what I was last year, but not anymore. I´ll make it up to you, promise, baby.”

you almost teared up and took his hand in yours. “Joel.. first of all this is all I need right now, this is more than enough for me, and I know how scared you were, for good reason, you had every right to break it off. I just loved that time we had together, so much, and I needed you so bad that it turned into anger. but I never actually blamed you, it was a tough situation, still is. but we´re here now, that´s all that matters to me, this is all I want”. 

“same for me baby, I’m right where I wanna be, can’t believe I have you back in my arms.” he whispered the last part and kissed your forehead before pulling you into a tight hug which you stayed in for a few minutes, just resting your heads on each other´s shoulders and breathing, warm and safe. 

when you separated, you said “we should probably get downstairs again” and moved to the edge of your bed. Joel nodded and moved to get up “yeah. I think he won´t let me leave before 11, so I´ll stay for a bit longer, but then I´ll go home and you can come over like half an hour later, alright? or fifteen minutes maybe…” you smiled at his impatience “I´ve got it, I´ll make sure he doesn´t notice where I´m going, promise”. 

“you´re a clever girl, I trust you” he said as he pulled on his boxers and watched you gather your dress up from the floor, making sure you knew that he wasn´t pressuring you to make him feel safe in your shared transgression.

after you put on your bra and dress, you stood there watching Joel, admiring him as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and smoothed it out over his chest, whistling quietly to get his attention and tell him “you´re getting even more handsome with age, you know, it´s not fair”.

Joel was not used to being flustered or blushing over compliments, not anymore, not since you´d left, so he waved it off and said “oh shush”, suppressing a smile and shaking his head in faux-disapproval “always givin me hell, I swear, gonna be the death of me one of these days...” it was sweet to you, that a man like him almost seemed like a schoolboy with a crush whenever you explicitly told him how hot you thought he was. 

before you could get to your panties, which were still left on the floor, he picked them up and took a good look at them, smoothing the light pink lace out between his fingers. “these are new, aren´t they” he mused and felt tempted to push them up against his nose. 

it pleased you, that he noticed, since you´d bought that set of lingerie with him in mind. 

“yeah, I remembered you had a thing for me in lace, so” you admitted and stepped closer to him, gently prying the garment out of his palm to do something he wasn´t expecting. not one bit. 

instead of putting your panties back on, you folded them up and reached around to the back of his jeans to stuff them into the left pocket, shoving them down so the fabric wouldn´t peek out at the top, holding his gaze as you did it, smiling and then stepping away again to watch him realize what you were letting him get away with. 

Joel knew it was all kinds of fucked up, but he was thrilled by it: the idea of walking back outside again, talking to people, his neighbors and friends, being polite and charming, a gentleman, as always, while his girl´s panties were stuffed into his jeans, right there with him, soiled by your desire for him. the idea of you walking around without anything under that dress of yours, maybe even still leaking with his juices, that part he couldn´t even think about without fearing he might get hard again.

Joel pulled you in by your arms and stared down at you as he  “you know me too damn well, sweetheart… it´s dangerous.” a pause before he leaned down to whisper to you “never change.” 

eventually, you unlocked your door and peeked out to make sure the air was clear before waving him out. 

Joel rested against the wall next to you, like he was a stranger chatting you up at a bar, and said “alright, I´ll go down first and if they ask where you´ve been for so long you can just say you got sick and I helped you out, okay?”.

it was an easy but effective lie, in case you needed it, so you nodded and agreed, still holding his hand without even realizing, his thumb tracing little circles on your open palm. he looked at you as if he was waiting to wake up from a dream, scared he was just imagining it, your touch, your presence, the mercy of having you back after all those sleepless nights of imagining it.

neither of you wanted to part ways, even though you would see each other from afar once you were both out in the backyard again, but Joel somehow mustered up the strength to tear himself away from you after he gave you a firm embrace and a kiss to the top of your hand, bowing his head and leaving his lips lingering right on your knuckles until he reluctantly let go and walked downstairs.

a few minutes later, you found your friends sitting by the pool, too drunk to notice that you´d been absent for a good while, to your great relief. Joel took a seat nearby, chatting with your dad and a few other neighbors over a cool beer as he kept glancing over at you, the way you were dipping your feet into the water and swinging your legs back and forth while laughing at something your friend had said, that sweet sound he wished he could hear as often as he heard the birds chirping outside his bedroom window. 

to his surprise, he didn´t feel guilty in the presence of your father, not really, something had shifted for him because he knew in his heart, that despite what he´d told himself before, that he was good for you, that he was handling you with care as a lover, showing you what you deserved, that he was making sure you´d never settle for lukewarm passion and someone who didn´t treat you right. 

around 11 he made a joke about being too old to stay up that late and hugged a few people goodbye before he gathered his things. when you turned your head to look at him and found him glancing your way over his shoulder too, you gave him a knowing, soft smile and swore you could see him clutch his heart right as he disappeared into the dark of the night.

You weren’t really sure how your feet had managed to carry you the final few blocks. The time was lost, locked away in some dark, inaccessible part of your mind. But you had made it, one way or another.

Each step had been automatic— driven by instinct more than conscious thought. Like your body had been moving on muscle memory alone, tuned to the invisible pull of something you couldn’t name. Or maybe it was just hope. Raw and stubborn. The steering wheel was disengaged and the quiet, steady hum of autopilot kept you in a constant state of movement. Too long still and you would come crashing down.

The streets around the building were quiet now. Muted by the soft hush of snowfall, interrupted only by the occasional hiss of tires on wet asphalt or the distant echo of a barking dog. You took a few slow laps around the block, your eyes cast low, watching the ground like it might tell you something you needed to know.

The snow here was thin, icy. Trampled in some places, still pristine in others. Boot prints overlapped like tangled threads— some large, some small, some dragging behind like their owners had been too tired to lift their feet. People had come and gone.

But not here.

As you rounded the corner and approached the narrow alley that led to the side entrance— Frank’s entrance— you released a sharp burst of air. The snow in front of the old door was untouched. No prints. No scuffs. Just a wide, unbroken sheet of white.

A soft shiver traced the line of your spine.

No one had been in or out. Not this way. Not in hours.

You didn’t know how to feel about that— the storm of emotions inside of you waged on, pushed forward, complex and confusing.

You stood there for a long moment, staring down the cracked concrete stairwell— edges worn to nothing by time and weather. The darkness at the bottom of those stairs felt deeper tonight. Hungrier. Like it held the answer to a question you didn’t want to ask.

The wind curled around you, biting through the seams of your coat. You drew your bag closer and reached inside. The lining was slick and cold against your skin, but your fingers found the weapon without hesitation. You drew it out slowly, the metal freezing but familiar in your hand.

You wrapped your fingers tighter around the grip— and began to descend.

Each step was deliberate. Quiet. Your boots made no sound against the concrete. Your breath clouded in short, shallow bursts, each one disappearing into the shadows that waited below. The noise of the city fell away behind you like a door closing. With each step, the silence got heavier.

You eased the metal door at the bottom of the stairs open and stepped through, the hinges groaning faintly behind you before clicking shut. You took one final look over your shoulder— but the outside world was already gone.

You lifted your weapon and crept forward.

Silence greeted you first. Dense. Absolute. The kind of silence that settles in a room where something has just gone terribly wrong.

The air was stale— lingering scents of plaster, dust and wet concrete tickling the back of your throat. Somewhere above you, a broken fluorescent light buzzed in time with your pulse. The hallway flickered like a failing signal.

You moved slowly, placing your feet heel to toe. Your arms remained steady, still, but your grip was tighter than it should’ve been, and your wrists ached with the strain of the tension. You weren’t Frank. You didn’t move like him. You could only mimic what you’d seen and hope muscle memory would catch you if instinct didn’t.

You imagined, from an outside perspective, you likely looked like a woman who’d lost her mind. Eyes wild, flickering every which way in tune with the ticking of a clock. Body strained, rigid, and yet somehow still managing to tremble and flinch at any miniscule sound. The fear within you was only rivalled by sheer, unbridled determination.

In your clouded mind, Frank’s words from earlier in the night played on a steady, constant loop.

“Stop doubting yourself— I don’t, not for a second.”

You clung to his words; wrapped them around you like a protective layer.

Each hall stretched long and narrow, lined with peeling paint and half-torn flyers. A draft slithered in through a broken window at one end, moaning as it passed. You swore the shadows moved with it, even though you knew better.

You counted your breaths. Counted your steps. The gentle incline leading to the sublevel was colder still— steeper than you remembered, though perhaps it was because this time, you moved much slower. Much less steadily. There was no Frank here, in front, guiding you and protecting you. You were on your own, now. You were the only one who would keep you safe.

You could feel your pulse in your teeth. Your ears. Your fingertips. The thought hit you, sharp and unwelcome— what if someone else found this place? What if Frank wasn’t the only ghost who knew the way back in?

It was a real, palpable possibility. You steeled yourself against it, the muscles in your abdomen clenching and then releasing. Your chest ached— lungs burned— begging you to just sit, take a minute, regroup. Run, maybe.

But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

You came to the final fork in the mass of hallways and peered around the corner, to the right, your gaze immediately settling on the green door down the way. Even when you squinted, when you tried to see, you couldn’t tell if the lock was still in place— not from this distance, at least.

And so you did what you had to do. You approached. Your footsteps were still so slow, so measured, that they didn’t make a sound. And as you closed in on that familiar green door, you realized that your silence might have been the only thing keeping you alive. 

The padlock was gone. Not broken. Not cut. Just… gone.

Unsealed.

Undone by someone who knew the combination.

Your pulse spiked. For the briefest moment, your heart leapt toward the impossible.

Maybe it was him. Maybe he’d come back. Maybe you’d step inside and find him exactly where he’d been that morning— at the desk, bent over his notes, the glow of the radio at his side. Maybe he’d stand when he heard you, weapon drawn on reflex, only to soften when he saw it was you.

Maybe he’d say your name, in that way that only he could manage. Equal parts soft and hard. Gentle and rough. Reverent and indifferent.

And everything would settle. Everything would make sense again.

But you knew better.

If it were him, he’d have found you by now. Somehow. Some way. He wouldn’t have left you like this.

It didn’t make sense, how you knew— but you just did.

Your gaze refocused on the door before you, eyes narrowing. It was just slightly ajar, the faintest hint of dim, golden light spilling out into the hall. You didn’t breathe. Not fully. Just short, shaky pulls through your nose, like too much oxygen might trigger whatever waited on the other side. You felt every inch of your body, hyperaware, your skin crawling beneath the suddenly heavy, unbearable material of your clothes.

He said this place was secure. He said no one else knew. But he’d said a lot of things— and with time, it proved only some of them were true.

So you moved closer, weapon raised, shoulders braced. Your body was locked into that half-crouch he’d taught you, every muscle tense with the promise of violence.

You were the only one who would keep you safe.

The door made no sound when you nudged it open, slow and steady. You swept the room the way he’d drilled into you the night before— center, right, left.

At first, it looked unchanged.

And then—

Your eyes fell upon a figure across the room, seated at Frank’s desk, one hand sprawled across the papers he’d left there. Like the things there fascinated them; like they had every right to scan the information, memorize it. You came to a standstill, then, lifting your gun until the front sight was directly aligned with the back of their head.

You weren’t sure what it was, exactly, that you’d been expecting— but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

Because this was a woman.

She was blonde, her long hair pin straight and brushed back over a shoulder, falling down her back. Her posture was impeccable— the type to instantly awaken a sudden ache in between your shoulder blades, reminding you to do better. She was tall, her long legs tucked beneath the desk before her, crossed at the ankles. She looked a bit older than you, too, though it was hard to tell from this far, with nothing but the dim bulbs hanging from the ceiling to illuminate the space. Beneath those same lights, her skin appeared to almost glow— translucent in a way that had you blinking, wondering if you really had begun to lose your mind.

And then her body went impossibility more still. Like she could feel the weight of your gaze on her. Her chin tipped in your direction, sudden and sure.

Her eyes— ocean blue, sharp despite their softness— widened slightly. Not surprise. Not panic. Just... interest.

Her lips parted, a soft breath released into the air. But she didn’t move. Just stared back.

She looked at you like she’d been waiting. Maybe for a while.

Your brain tried to catch up, tried to make sense of the absolute mess locked within, but your voice got there first. You needed control— needed to take it, just as Frank had taught you.  

So you set your jaw, tightened your grip on the gun, and faked the confidence you didn’t feel. 

“I’m only going to say this once,” your voice was low, hoarse with exhaustion, frayed at the edges. “I’m not screwing around, alright? My night’s been straight out of a Hitchcock film and I’m jumpy as fuck. So don’t test me.”

You raised the gun higher.

“You’re going to move. Slow, with your hands up. Now.”

The woman’s gaze didn’t waver. Her hands rose, measured, until her palms faced you. She began to rise from the desk chair, and your finger toyed with the rounded edge of the metal just above the trigger. You focused on the beating of your heart, desperate for anything to ground you to the moment— anything to keep you from letting the façade fall.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the woman said, her voice calm. Even. Soft in a way that had your brow furrowing— you had a gun trained on her forehead. Why was she speaking to you like you were old friends, reconnecting after years apart? “I’m looking for Frank.”

You managed to keep a hold of your expression, though it wasn’t easy. Your mind raced, thoughts jolting through you at breakneck speed. She knew him by name— no alias, no superficial title. And she said it like she really knew him, too. Knew him in perhaps a way you didn’t— and maybe never would. There was a weight there, implied in what hadn’t been said.

“My name is Karen Page.”

Her name hit you like a slap, and despite yourself, you winced. Recognition crashed through you all at once, the pieces falling into place too quickly to catch.

You’d never heard the name from Frank’s lips— he wasn’t quite so generous with his ghosts. But you’d seen it, read it. Again and again. Beneath headlines, at the bottom of op-eds that were more confession than journalism, mentioned like she was a recurring character in Frank’s story. Ever-present. And as your gaze refocused on her, studied the familiar lines of her face, you knew it was her. You’d seen her photos, the pictures of her seated with Frank’s defense team, all those years ago when he’d been on trial.

She saw the way that familiarity hit you, too. Was far too smart, too perceptive, to miss it.  

Her hands started to lower, the tension bleeding from her shoulders.

But you didn’t lower the weapon. You told yourself it was caution— necessary, rational— but deep down, it felt like something else. Like you were holding onto it because letting go meant surrendering too much at once. Felt like handing control over to her.  

You hadn’t said it out loud— Karen Page— but her name was already bitter on your tongue.

It spread through your mind, through your chest, like poison. It tainted every thought you had as it passed, sinking its teeth into the things you had been clinging to with a desperate grip.

She wasn’t just someone who knew Frank— she’d written about him. Defended him. Maybe even loved him, though you had no right to think that, no evidence to support it. Just… instinct. A gut-punch of a feeling that curled itself behind your ribs and burned slow. Made it hard to breathe.

If she knew about this place— if she knew the combination to the lock on the door—then it only stood to reason that she’d been here before. That he’d brought her here, once. Maybe more than once. Your gaze dipped from her face, unable to hold its line. Before you could stop yourself, your eyes tracked to the cot at the far end of the room.

Had she slept there? Had he climbed in behind her, too— offering quiet warmth in the cold, just like he had with you?

The thought twisted. Left something sharp behind in your chest. You pressed your lips together to keep it in, though it begged to rip free.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said again. Same tone. Calm. Controlled. Her gaze snapped back to your face. Her hands had dipped to her sides, her posture relaxed, though just slightly. “But you should probably lower that before one of us does something we can’t take back.”

You didn’t move. Your voice scraped out of your throat, hoarse and jagged.

“Why are you here, then?”

Karen blinked once. Slow. She didn’t look away.

“I’ve been looking for Frank, trying to get in touch with him for weeks. I stopped by this place a few nights ago, but no luck. Thought I’d try it again.”

That didn’t make sense. Your stomach flipped, something ice-cold sliding down your spine.

“He didn’t mention you,” you said, the words coming out sharper than intended. A defense mechanism, more bite than blade. As soon as it was out, you regretted it, the obvious show of jealousy making your stomach roll. Guilt, shame, disbelief— they all mixed together, the perfect cocktail, spreading through your veins like battery acid. Thick, with a burn. Not easy cleansed from the system. A beat passed, and you cleared your throat. “What’s the deal with you two, anyways?”

She flinched, but just barely. Her gaze on you lingered just a second too long, like she saw something in your face she wasn’t expecting. Something she remembered— something so familiar she might’ve first seen in a mirror. Then she folded her arms across her chest— cautiously, deliberately, like she was trusting you not to shoot her mid-move.

“I’m not really sure anymore. We were close, once.”

The air between you shifted. Something old and sharp slipped into the silence.

“I helped him when no one else would. Gave him leads, covered for him, hid him.”

Her eyes pinned yours then. Not unkind— but unwavering. There was a weight behind her words, one you recognized. The kind that came from sleepless nights, bad decisions, and choices made in the dark. Choices that maybe, just maybe, she would go back and change, if given the chance.

“I saw him for who he was, not who he wanted the world to see,” she added, though it wasn’t for you— as you stared her down, you saw the way her gaze unfocused, the way her lips remained parted, though the words had come to a standstill. She had been transported somewhere else, perhaps to a time she’d seen the real Frank— the one beneath all those layers of rage and violence. The one you’d seen a few glimpses of, in these last few weeks.

Slowly, your grip on the weapon loosened. The tension in your body began to dissipate, fading into the air that spread between you and Karen like a safety net. It was a protective layer, the bubble wrap thrown in the box to save something fragile from splitting into two. You lowered the weapon, but didn’t let it go, or put it away.

When your gaze locked, next, something unspoken passed between you. You’d seen it on her face— and now, as she looked at you, she saw it on yours, too. Understanding trickled between the two of you, like you’d finally put a name to the thing that connected you to each other after wondering about it for ages.

You clicked on the safety of the weapon and tucked it into the pocket of your coat. Then, with your eyes still locked on Karen, you took a long, withering breath.

“Then I guess we’re on the same side,” you paused, reconsidering. “For now.”

Karen stood across from you, arms crossed, leaning against the shelving unit by the cot. Her posture was relaxed, but not loose. Not casual. She was still assessing— still watching. You sat perched on the edge of Frank’s desk chair, elbows on your knees, fingers laced together so tightly your knuckles had gone pale. The seat still held his warmth, or maybe you only imagined that part. Maybe it was just your own heat bleeding into the space he’d left behind.

The words had already left your mouth. He was supposed to pick me up at the library, after meeting with his contact. But he never showed.

You’d said it once. That was enough.

Karen hadn’t looked away from you since. Her expression had shifted only in fractions— something between concern and calculation— but there was no obvious judgment in it. She wasn’t interrogating you. She was waiting. Like she knew better than to pull at someone who was trying to hold themselves together.

Finally, you spoke again— your voice quieter now, like the words were meant for you, not her. “He told me a time, told me to stay put. So I did. But he didn’t come back. And now… he’s just gone.”

You reached into your pocket, flicked open the ancient flip phone. Still dark. Still silent. “No missed calls, no voicemail, nothing. It’s like the line just… stopped existing.”

Karen exhaled slowly through her nose. Her gaze drifted toward the desk at your side, toward the scribbled pages Frank had left behind.

“That’s not like him,” she said. Steady. Measured.

You barked out a bitter, hollow laugh— one that didn’t reach your eyes. “You think?”

Karen didn’t respond. She pushed off the shelving unit, walked slowly across the room. She didn’t look at you again, not yet. Instead, she stopped in front of the wall where Frank had started building his map of everything. The web. The evidence. Your photo was there— your name scrawled beneath it in ink. You saw the moment her eyes found it.

And your stomach dropped.

You froze in place. The sudden weight of your name in her hands— figurative or not— hit like a punch to the gut. She was a journalist, an investigator. A damn good one, if the pieces you’d read of hers were to be believed. One name was all she needed to peel you back, layer by layer. There was so much you had buried, things no one was supposed to find again. Things Frank didn’t even know.

Your pulse ticked up.

Fuck.

Karen traced her finger gently along the edge of the photo, but didn’t say anything. She moved on— eyes scanning each page, each note, each breadcrumb like she was cataloguing them. Like she’d done this before.

“How long has it been?” she asked, seemingly still keeping hold of the calm she’d worn since the moment your eyes had fallen on her. She still wasn’t looking at you. Her voice wasn’t sharp, but it was careful. Intentional. She wasn’t making small talk— she was compiling information, sorting it.

You swallowed, looked down at the black screen in your palm. “Four hours. Maybe more.”

Karen turned then, her eyes locking with yours. “And no call. No sign.”

You gave a slow nod.

She opened her mouth— hesitated. Then closed it again. Her brows knit, just slightly, and you saw her recalibrate in real time. But before she could try again, you lifted a hand.

“That’s enough about me,” you said, a little too fast, a little too sharp. The edge in your voice wasn’t intentional, but it bled through anyway— raw, defensive, like a wire pulled too tight. “Tell me why you’re really here. All of it.”

Karen didn’t flinch. She didn’t bristle or raise a brow. Instead, she stood there, arms still folded, one finger now tapping against the back of her hand in a slow, methodical rhythm. It was her tell, you realized. Her version of fidgeting— controlled, composed. A strange warmth curled low in your chest, quiet and unexpected. It didn’t rise with pride or confidence— nothing that loud. Just a hush, a low glow. The kind that said: maybe I’m not entirely out of my depth. Maybe I see more than I thought.

“I keep tabs on him,” she said finally, pulling you back to the moment. Her eyes were on yours as she spoke, nothing to hide. “Not every day. Not even every week. But… enough. We check in, just a few lines now and then. Usually, I reach out first. It’s not much. Just… a way to make sure he’s still breathing.”

There was a tightness forming beneath your ribs, low and hollow, like something beginning to stretch.

“And this time?” you asked.

Karen’s gaze dropped to the floor for a beat, then lifted. She exhaled through her nose, a slow, deliberate breath. “It’d been longer than usual, so I sent a message— just to say I was still here. That I didn’t want to find out he was dead through a headline.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward the wall again. “He didn’t answer.”

You didn’t speak, but your body did. The way your jaw locked, the way your hands tightened around themselves. And Karen caught it— you knew she did. You felt the change in her— like someone who’d just confirmed a theory.

And suddenly, you understood what she must have seen: the echo of his absence stamped into your shoulders.

You weren’t just a person caught in Frank’s orbit.

You were the reason he’d been missing from hers.

Karen’s voice dropped a fraction, she her expression didn’t change. “Then I started hearing things. Not official reports— just whispers.”

She was back in her rhythm now, walking a slow path near the cot. You didn’t follow her with your eyes. You couldn’t. A sudden flash of heat settled over your back, a phantom pain, a reminder.

“Some of my old contacts in law enforcement… they started passing along rumors. A few unnamed bodies turning up. Someone resurfacing— no one said it, but I knew.” She paused, gaze resting on the makeshift bed for a beat. Two. “It felt like him.”

You didn’t mean to look, but you did. Just for a second. The cot. The blanket folded at the foot of the bed, all the memories of the night before wrapped up within it. Your body had shared that space with his, curled together in the cold like survival depended on it.

The ache of it settled deep within you. Clung on. Refused to budge.

Karen didn’t say anything, but when she spoke again, her tone had shifted. There was a cold, clinical undercurrent threaded through her words.

“The subway attack,” she said quietly. “The warehouse. And then…” Her voice faltered for the first time. She was watching you intently, waiting for your reaction. “The hospital.”

It was immediate— your reaction, the images that flashed before your eyes. Your breath caught. Your lungs didn’t fill all the way. You turned your head, just slightly, like that could protect you from the weight of it. But it couldn’t— because the reminders of it weren’t in front of you, they were inside of you. The blood dripping from the bed, creating a puddle on the floor. The slick slide of it beneath your shoes. Those dark, unseeing eyes, staring straight through you. The reminders of it buzzed beneath your skin like a live wire, the aftershock of something you hadn’t yet named.

And Karen saw it. You felt her watching you. But you couldn’t pull yourself free— couldn’t claw the hands from around your throat.

But she didn’t call it out. She didn’t lean in.

She gave you the space. The grace.

“I was trying to find him,” she continued, pushing on without much of a pause, as if she was giving you the time to pull yourself together. “And that meant following the pattern. The kind of mess only he leaves behind— controlled chaos, always with a reason. Someone was being hunted. And someone else kept walking away.”

Her words landed like footsteps in fresh snow. Clean. Soft. But deliberate. They tugged at that invisible string inside of you, slowly leading you away from the darkness in your mind. You chased after it, desperate to rid yourself of the fog that had taken up a home in your mind.

You still couldn’t speak. So you stared down at the desk instead— at his handwriting, pieces of him everywhere, the ghost of his voice embedded in every stroke of the pen. Your eyes traced his words, as if you could follow them backwards. As if they’d lead you to him.

“I read the report on you,” Karen said, her voice thinner now. “About the hospital. About the inconsistencies in your statement. The ballistics, the open questions. The fact that you survived when no one else did.”

You closed your eyes.

Not to block her out. Not even to hide. You just needed a second— one moment of darkness, of stillness, where you didn’t have to feel every part of yourself unraveling under the soft cadence of her voice.

Your chest ached like a pulled muscle. A low throb, centered beneath your ribs. Not painful, not exactly. But persistent. Familiar.

“And then I found your address,” Karen said quietly. Gently. Her voice a low hum against the silence. “Two blocks from the subway.”

A faint buzz echoed in the background— one of the lights above flickering every few seconds, casting an uneven pulse of yellow across the room. You heard the subtle creak of a pipe above your head, the slow drip of condensation rolling off metal and hitting concrete somewhere nearby. The bunker breathed around you— alive with old sounds and dust that hadn’t been disturbed in days.

You opened your eyes, turned back to face her. Some of the fog had faded, the memories crawling back to the dark pit they’d escaped from. Not gone; not even close. But put back to sleep… for now.

Karen was still watching you.

But not like a journalist waiting for a quote. Not like someone assembling a narrative to sell. No— this wasn’t about headlines.

She looked at you like she’d stumbled across the last page of a half-burned book. One with sentences missing, paragraphs scorched black, a story that hadn’t finished yet but begged to be told anyway.

“I know how Frank works,” she said, her arms still folded loosely, fingers brushing the hem of her sleeve. “He doesn’t help strangers.”

She tilted her head slightly. The barest movement. But it was enough to strip something away— some of the guarded edge in her voice, some of the distance.

Her words landed quieter this time. “Not unless they matter.”

That one hit. Square in the chest.

Your lungs drew tight all over again. You looked down at your hands again— where your knuckles had gone pale from clenching, fingernails nearly digging into the creases between them. You forced them to relax, one finger at a time. Counting them as you went.

“I came here a couple nights ago,” Karen continued, taking a few steps across the room. She didn’t come closer— just wandered past the shelving unit, her fingertips ghosting along the edge, as though she needed something to tether her to the space. “It was locked. Dark. No signs of him. So I waited for a while… thought maybe he’d come through after I left.”

She paused beside the cot again, her body still angled away from you. She didn’t touch it. Didn’t sit. Just stood there— motionless— her profile haloed in soft light from the bulbs overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete.

“I tried again today.”

A beat passed. A long one.

Your gazes met and held.

“And I found you.”

The silence that followed didn’t stumble to fill itself. It just… settled. Thick and slow, like dust in sunlight. Between the two of you. Around the lingering scent of gun oil and water-stained concrete. Around the hollow where Frank should’ve been.

Karen didn’t move.

She just stayed rooted, watching you. Holding your gaze like it was the only steady thing in the room.

“I think we both know something’s wrong,” she said softly, her voice a breath across the static. Quiet. Honest. Like the space between pages of a book you’ve read too many times. "And I think we both know the only way we're going to find him... is if we work together."

You didn’t answer.

Just watched her.

And in her expression— barely changed, but somehow fuller— you saw it. Not pity, not curiosity. No desire to pry or peel you open.

Recognition.

Her grief wasn’t yours. Not in shape, not in age. But it mirrored the same ache. Yours was still raw— still red and sharp-edged, like the sting of an open wound. Hers was older. Smoothed by time, but no less present. Faded from crimson to rust, but carried just as close.

She had survived her fire. But she remembered the burn.

You drew a breath. Slow, deliberate. Trying to quiet the tremor in your lungs.

And when your eyes met hers again— across the bunker, across the quiet— you felt it. Something small, but solid.

Your eyes found Joel instantly, as if your body knew where to look before your mind caught up. He was bent over the pool table, cue in hand, the curve of his broad shoulders and thick forearms framed by the golden glow of the overhead light. His tanned skin gleamed, stretched tight over muscle, the sleeves of his Henley shoved up to his elbows. Every practiced movement he made, every shift of his hips, sent a pulse of heat through you.

Goddamn, he was handsome.

You dragged your lower lip between your teeth, pulse fluttering low in your belly. It didn’t matter that it was late or that the whole town might whisper about you chasing after your husband like a lovesick fool. Let them talk. All you wanted was him — home, in your bed, with his arms around you so you could finally sleep.

Tommy stood nearby, beer in hand, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth. A few other men lingered around them, voices blending into the warm hum of the room.

“Think your wife’s lookin’ for you, big brother,” Tommy called out, his teasing voice cutting through the chatter as his gaze landed on you.

Joel straightened, glancing over his shoulder. The moment his eyes met yours, something in his expression softened, the faint crease in his brow easing. He set the pool cue aside, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a way that made your breath catch.

“Whatcha doin’ here, sweetheart?” Joel rumbled, his voice low and rough.

You didn’t answer immediately — just crossed the room like some invisible thread was pulling you. The noise and light of the bar dulled at the edges of your senses the moment you reached him, your arms sliding around his waist like it was the only place you belonged.

“Couldn’t sleep without you,” you murmured, voice soft enough that only he could catch it.

His familiar scent filled your head, grounding you in a way nothing else could. Joel let out a quiet sigh, one hand resting on the small of your back, his thumb tracing a slow, lazy circle against your spine. His gaze flicked toward the clock above the bar, and you felt the tension in his chest when he realized the hour.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice thick with regret. “Didn’t realize it was so late, baby.”

You shrugged, fingers toying absently with the edge of his belt, the rough denim warm under your touch. The simple act made Joel’s throat work in a swallow, his free hand tightening on the pool cue.

From behind him, one of the younger guys — Wes, you thought his name was — chuckled into his drink. “Jesus, Miller,” he drawled, grinning around the rim of his glass. “A man that whipped, I swear. Must be some kinda magic between her legs, huh?”

The words landed like a spark in dry grass. Joel stiffened, his jaw ticking as he slowly turned to glare at the kid, his arm pulling you a fraction tighter against his side. The easy, good-natured grin he’d worn moments ago was gone, replaced by something colder, sharper.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth,” Joel said, voice calm in that dangerous, unhurried way.

The table went quiet for a beat too long. Tommy let out a short laugh to cut the tension, clapping Wes on the shoulder a little harder than necessary. “Ah, c’mon now. Don’t poke the bear, son. He’ll tear your damn head off.”

Wes raised his hands in mock surrender, but Joel’s eyes were already back on you, softer now, like nothing else in the room mattered.

“Let’s go home, handsome,” you murmured.

Joel’s jaw flexed, a muscle ticking in his cheek as his hand slid from your back to your hip, holding you close. His gaze stayed on yours, something unspoken passing between you. He gave a stiff nod, about to walk away when Wes opened his damn mouth again.

“Shame you’re leavin’ already,” Wes called, leaning back against the pool table with a cocky grin. His eyes dragged over you, slow and bold. “Didn’t realize Miller’s wife had such a pretty mouth on her. Bet she’s a fuckin’ firecracker in bed too, huh, Joel?”

The words hung in the air, sharp as broken glass.

The room stilled. A few guys exchanged glances, Tommy’s grin fading into a scowl as he straightened up from his stool.

“The hell is wrong with you?” you snapped, stepping toward Wes before your brain could catch up to your mouth. Heat rose in your chest, anger snapping through you like a whip.

But you barely made it two steps before Joel’s hand clamped around your waist. He hauled you back against his chest like you weighed nothing at all, his body slotting between you and Wes with lethal precision.

“Behind me, baby,” Joel growled, his voice low and dangerous, laced with a possessive edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt the tension rippling through him — the tight coil of muscle, the storm brewing behind his eyes. His fingers flexed against your hip as his other hand balled into a fist, making Wes flinch.

“That’s my fuckin’ wife you’re talkin’ about,” Joel said, each word slow, deliberate, and deadly. His voice dropped to a dark, dangerous rasp. “And you’re one more word away from pickin’ your teeth up off this floor.”

Wes’s smirk faltered, his throat bobbing as the color drained from his face. The rest of the bar went quiet, save for the crackle of the fire and the faint clinking of glass in the far corner.

“Alright, alright,” Tommy cut in quickly, stepping between them, a hand on Joel’s chest. “Easy, brother. He’s an idiot, ain’t worth it.”

You reached for Joel’s hand, which gripped your hip, lacing your fingers with his. “Come on, baby,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the pulse pounding in your ears. “Let’s just go.”

Joel didn’t move. His glare was still pinned to Wes, who had the good sense to look away. Then Joel huffed a sharp breath, squeezing your hand before turning toward the door, keeping you close at his side.

Tommy clapped Joel on the shoulder as you passed. “Get her home, big brother. I’ll handle this shit.”

Joel didn’t answer, focusing entirely on you as he opened the door and guided you into the cool night air.

The walk home was thick with silence. It hummed with tension, electric and heavy, stretching between you. Joel’s grip on your hand was firm, his palm rough and warm against yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

You could feel it in him — the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his jaw stayed tight, his strides just a little longer than usual, like he was still chasing the fight he’d left behind in that bar. Every few steps, you rubbed your thumb along his wrist to soothe the fire simmering beneath his skin.

The lights of your house came into view, a soft glow in the darkness. Joel’s voice finally broke the quiet, low and rough.

“Is Ellie home?” he asked, eyes fixed on the front door.

You shook your head, your pulse picking up even before the words left your mouth. “No, she’s at Dina’s—”

You didn’t get the rest out.

Joel’s hand tightened around yours as he spun you toward him, backing you up against the porch rail before you could blink. His mouth was on yours in an instant — hot, desperate, claiming. The kiss wasn’t soft. It was teeth and tongue and the low, possessive growl in the back of his throat, his hand sliding to the small of your back, pressing you into the hard line of his body.

You gasped against his mouth, fingers fisting in the front of his shirt as heat flared through you, molten and sudden. His other hand cupped your jaw, angling your face the way he wanted, deepening the kiss like a man starved.

“Goddamn it,” Joel rasped against your lips, his breath hot and uneven. “You don’t get it, do you?”

Your heart pounded, your skin flushed from the sudden rush of him, from the possessiveness still radiating off his body like heat from a fire.

“Get what?” you managed, voice breathless.

He kissed you again, slower but no less intensely, his hand sliding down to squeeze your hip. “What you do to me,” he murmured, lips brushing against the corner of your mouth, cheek, and jaw. “Watchin’ some punk look at you like that… talk about you like that… Jesus, baby.”

You shivered, arching into him, your fingers tugging at his belt like they had in the bar, but now with clear intent.

“Then show me,” you whispered.

Joel’s eyes darkened, and the ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. “I plan to, sweetheart.”

Joel reached past you, shoved the door open, and pulled you inside like a man past the point of reason. The door slammed shut behind you, the soft click of the lock barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing.

Before you could take a single step, his mouth was on your neck — hot, open-mouthed kisses, his teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp. He sucked at the delicate skin just below your jaw, a low groan rumbling from his chest when your fingers dug into his shoulders.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moaned, your head tipping back to give him more access.

His hands found your hips, dragging you against him, the hard line of his arousal grinding into your belly. Every touch was rough and needy, as if he was still chasing the high of what happened at the bar, and the only thing that could settle him was you.

Somehow, you made it to the couch, stumbling, pulling at clothes between frantic kisses. Shirts tugged halfway off, jeans yanked down just enough — it wasn’t graceful. Heat and desperation, limbs tangling and mouths colliding like you’d fall apart if you didn’t touch.

By the time Joel dropped to his knees in front of you, your top was still on, bunched up over your ribs, your legs spread wide on either side of him. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, his eyes dark and hungry as he looked up at you from between them.

“Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ night,” he rasped, his voice a gravelly promise that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

Then his mouth was on you.

A sharp cry left your lips as his tongue dragged through your folds before his lips closed around your clit. He sucked, hard, sending a bolt of pleasure straight through your core. Your back arched off the couch, fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him as heat bloomed low in your belly.

Joel groaned against you, the vibration of it making your hips buck. His hands pinned you down, thumbs digging into your thighs as his tongue worked you over — long, wet strokes mixed with sharp flicks of his tongue, his scruff rough against your sensitive skin.

“Joel—oh, God—baby,” you gasped, your voice breaking on a whimper as he sucked your clit between his lips again, his tongue relentless.

He grunted in approval, one hand leaving your thigh to slide a thick finger inside you, curling just right. You cried out, the pressure building fast, your body strung taut, teetering on the edge.

Joel pulled back just long enough to murmur, voice thick and wrecked, “Told you I’d show you, darlin’. Gonna make you come all over my tongue.”

Then he was back on you, tongue and fingers working in perfect, devastating rhythm — and you knew you wouldn’t last long.

Your body was on fire.

Every flick of Joel’s tongue, every curl of his fingers pushed you higher, the pleasure building sharp in your belly. You could barely breathe, panting, gasping his name like a prayer, your fingers fisting so hard in his hair your knuckles ached.

“F-fuck—Joel, I’m—” you stammered, voice trembling, hips bucking despite his iron grip.

He groaned against you, the sound deep and hungry, his mouth sealing around your clit and sucking hard. His fingers curled inside you just right, and the coil inside you snapped.

Pleasure shattered through you, sharp and white-hot. Your cry broke from your throat, back arching off the couch, legs shaking as your orgasm tore through you.

And then it happened — a rush of wetness, sudden and overwhelming. You felt yourself gush against his mouth, a choked moan tumbling out of you as your vision blurred.

“Oh my— fuck, Joel, I—I can’t—”

But Joel didn’t stop.

He growled low in his throat, his tongue lapping at your release like a man possessed, hands tightening on your thighs to hold you open as you writhed. The way you’d fallen apart, the way you soaked him — it only drove him wilder.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips slick, beard damp with you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with pure, feral hunger. “Look at you… fuckin’ perfect. Such a good girl.”

His mouth was back on you before you could catch your breath, tongue working you through every aftershock, every tremble, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were a whimpering, shaking mess against the couch cushions.

“J-Joel—s’too much,” you gasped, half-laughing, half-crying as your body shuddered under him.

He only grunted, one last possessive suck against your clit before he finally let you go, his mouth glistening, his chest heaving. He looked up at you like he hadn’t even begun to get his fill.

“You make the prettiest fuckin’ mess,” he said, voice rough, thumb lazily stroking your inner thigh. “And I ain’t even fucked you yet.”

A slow, wicked grin tugged at your lips. You bit down on your lower one, teasing yourself with the scrape of your teeth as you looked at him through heavy lashes. “Ain’t my fault you looked so hot defending my honor,” you shot back, voice breathy but teasing, the words making his mouth twitch like he was trying not to smile.

Joel huffed a dark little laugh, shaking his head as he pressed another hot, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “You’re my wife,” he muttered, like it was the world's simplest, most obvious thing. His lips dragged higher, soft kisses turning hungrier as he worked his way up your body. “’ Course I would. No one talks about you like that. No one looks at you like that. You hear me?”

Each kiss scorched a new mark into your skin, his scruff rasping against sensitive flesh, until he reached your stomach. He nipped there, the sharp sting of teeth making you jolt, your breath hitching in your throat.

“And I’m gonna make damn sure everyone in Jackson knows you’re mine,” Joel promised, voice thick and possessive.

You smirked, your hand weaving into his hair again, tugging just enough to make him grunt against your skin. “Gonna make me a mama, Joel?” you murmured, eyes locked on his.

The words seemed to snap something in him.

His pupils blew wide, his nostrils flaring as his hand slid up to palm your still-quivering belly, rough fingers splaying possessively. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, and the hunger in his eyes made your pulse spike.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he growled, dragging his lips up your body, stopping just below your breast, his breath hot against your skin. “Gonna fill you up, get you nice and round. Put a baby in you so there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind you’re mine.”

You whimpered, your hips canting toward him, need flaring bright and sharp in your gut.

Joel smirked against your skin, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “Bet you’d look so fuckin’ pretty all swollen with my baby. Takin’ me so good every night, beggin’ for it.”

“Then do it,” you whispered, shivering under his touch, a throaty little plea.

He lifted his head, his mouth crashing into yours, tasting of whiskey and you, his hands already pushing your top higher, moving to claim every inch of you.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Joel rasped, dragging the tip of his nose along your jaw as he positioned himself between your thighs. “I’m gonna fuck a baby in you.”

Joel didn’t waste another second.

His eyes dragged over your body, hungry and wild, and when he settled between your thighs, his cock heavy and flushed in his hand, you swore you could feel your pulse in every inch of your skin.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, look at you,” he rasped, fisting himself as he lined up with your slick entrance, the fat head of his cock nudging at your folds. “Already so wet for me. Messy little thing.”

You whimpered, hips tilting up to meet him, your fingers digging into his arms, desperate for more.

“Beg for it, mama,” Joel gritted, his voice rough. He leaned down, teeth catching your earlobe. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“Joel,” you gasped, head falling back as your body ached for him. “Please. Need you inside me. Need you to fuck me. Fill me up—give me your baby.”

A deep, wrecked sound tore from his throat — half a growl, half a groan — and then he was pushing into you in one hard, slow thrust, sinking deep until his hips met yours. The stretch burned, your walls clenching around him.

“Goddamn,” Joel grunted, head dropping to your shoulder as he bottomed out. “Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight. Feels like heaven.”

You could barely breathe, could only cling to him as he set a punishing rhythm, his hips slamming into yours with desperate, brutal intent. The couch creaked beneath you, every slap of skin against skin loud in the otherwise silent house.

His mouth was everywhere — your neck, collarbone, and jaw underside. He muttered filth into your skin between ragged breaths, every word fanning the fire already consuming you.

“Gonna fill you up so good,” he growled, his hand sliding to your belly, pressing down just enough to feel the bulge of him moving inside you. “Put a baby right here. Get you so fuckin’ full you’ll be beggin’ me for more.”

“Fuck, Joel,” you sobbed, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming, your nails raking down his back.

He grunted, his thrusts somehow rougher, deeper. “That’s it, mama. Take it. You were made for this — for me. Always knew you’d look so goddamn pretty carrying my kid.”

The word mama on his lips sent a shockwave through you, your whole body reacting with pleasure. Heat coiled low in your belly, a deep, needy ache blooming, the edge of your orgasm creeping back up so fast it made your head spin.

You barely recognized your voice — breathless, wrecked, laced with a teasing, desperate kind of heat. “Wanna give you a baby,” you whispered, your nails raking down his sweat-slick back, hips arching up to meet every savage thrust.

Joel let out a sound that was half growl, half moan, like the words cracked something inside him wide open. His hips stuttered for a heartbeat before slamming into you even harder.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice thick and ragged, his mouth dragging along your jaw. “Say it again, darlin’.”

You gasped when he hit that perfect spot, the pleasure stealing your breath.

“Wanna give you a baby, Joel,” you choked out, fingers gripping his hair, pulling him down until his forehead pressed to yours. 

The snarl he made against your lips was pure filth, his pace turning brutal, desperate.

“Yeah, you do,” Joel rasped, his voice rough with tenderness and possessive heat. “Gonna knock you up, fill this pretty pussy ‘til it takes. Get you nice and round, let everyone see what I fuckin’ did to you.”

Your body broke again, pleasure slamming into you like a wave, your moan spilling into his mouth as you came, clenching around him so tight it dragged a loud, broken curse from his throat.

Joel’s hips jerked, his cock twitching deep inside you as he followed, coming with a low, possessive growl. “Mine. All fuckin’ mine, mama.”

And the way he kept moving, soft, shallow thrusts as his come spilled inside you, made your head swim, the aftershocks rippling through both of you.

“Gonna fill you up again in a minute,” Joel murmured, his lips brushing against yours, his breath hot and uneven. “Ain’t stoppin’ ‘til you’re carryin’ my baby.”

You shivered, a giddy, breathless laugh escaping you as you kissed him, your heart pounding against his.

Joel groaned against your lips, the sound deep and wrecked, his tongue slipping into your mouth like he couldn’t get enough of you. His hips gave a sharp, involuntary thrust, and you felt it, that familiar, liquid heat spilling deep inside you as his cock twitched inside your still-clenching walls.

A dark, possessive noise tore from his throat, his hands gripping your thighs so hard you knew there’d be bruises come morning. The weight of him, the heat, the lingering pulse of his release made your whole body tighten in response, another soft, needy whimper escaping your lips.

You bit his bottom lip, just enough to make him grunt, a wicked little smirk curling your mouth as you tugged before letting go.

“Can feel you,” you whispered, your voice breathless and teasing, your thumb brushing his jaw. “Fillin’ me up again, handsome.”

Joel’s gaze darkened, his breath hitching as his hand slid possessively over your belly, pressing his palm flat against it like he could already feel something growing inside you. 

“Can’t fuckin’ help it,” he muttered, his voice a gravelly rasp, kissing you again, slower but no less desperate. “This pussy’s too good, sweetheart. So goddamn tight, squeezin’ me like you’re tryin’ to keep every drop.”

Your body shivered at his words, arousal flaring sharp and hot all over again.

Joel groaned when he felt the way your walls fluttered around him, a wicked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah… you like that, huh?” he murmured, teeth scraping along your jaw. “Bet I could make you come again just like this, keep you stuffed full ‘til you can’t even think straight.”

The way he said it — low, tender, filthy — made your pulse stutter, your hips instinctively rocking against him despite the oversensitivity.

His hand slid between you, two fingers teasing your swollen, soaked clit with slow, lazy circles.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his voice thick with hunger and rough affection. “One more for me. Let’s see how much more this pretty pussy can take.”

You moaned his name as Joel rocked his hips in slow, deep thrusts. Each one dragged along oversensitive nerves, the thick slide of him inside you sending heat curling low in your belly, sharp and insistent. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, your body trembling, every lazy grind pushing you closer to the edge.

“Yeah, that’s it, mama,” Joel rasped against your ear, his voice rough and tender. “Feel that? Still so full for me.”

The tension in your belly coiled tight, your walls fluttering around him, and then it hit — your orgasm cresting sharp and hot, pleasure tearing through you in thick, rolling waves. You cried out his name again, your body clenching down around his cock, slick flooding around him as you came hard.

Joel groaned low, his hips giving a final, deep push before he stilled, buried to the hilt, savoring every pulse of you around him. His head dropped to your shoulder, sweat-slick skin sticking to yours, his breath hot and uneven against your neck.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

He pulled out slowly, and you both let out soft, wrecked sounds at the wet, filthy slide of it. A warm, sticky mix of your arousal and his seed spilled out of you, slicking your thighs.

Joel watched it, pupils blown, a dark, possessive hunger flickering across his face. Without a word, he slid his fingers through the mess, gathering it up, and then eased two of them back inside you, pushing it deep.

“Not wastin’ a fuckin’ drop,” he murmured, voice a gravelly promise, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as his fingers worked it back in. “This’s all mine, darlin’. You hear me? Every last bit of it.”

Your breath caught, a whimper escaping you at the stretch and the possessive tenderness in his touch.

“Gonna keep you nice and full,” Joel went on, his voice softer now, fingers dragging slowly inside you, his other hand splaying over your belly again. “Get you nice and round for me.”

Your body shuddered, another wave of heat crashing through you at his words.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your lips brushing his. “All yours, Joel.”

Joel stretched out on top of you, his head resting against your chest. Both of you were too wrecked and sated to care about the mess clinging to your skin or the sticky heat between your bodies. His fingers lazily traced circles along your hip, his breathing evening out against your skin as the frantic pulse of earlier settled into something warm and steady.

You carded your fingers through his damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you knew he liked. He released a low, contented sound — part sigh, part rumble — and pressed a soft, unhurried kiss above your heart.

Eventually, Joel shifted, lifting his head to meet your gaze. His thumb brushed across your cheekbone, the rough pad of it catching on your skin. “C’mere,” he murmured, voice still thick and gravelly from the aftermath.

He helped you sit up, wincing a little as he did, and you both chuckled softly at yourselves — sticky, sweaty, and spent.

Joel disappeared for a moment, returning with a warm, damp cloth. He cleaned you up gently, his touch careful and tender. He murmured soft apologies every time you flinched from oversensitivity.

When he was done, he leaned down, kissed your forehead, and scooped you into his arms like it was the easiest thing in the world. You nuzzled into his neck, your body limp with exhaustion, your heart still pounding slowly and content beneath your ribs.

“You good, darlin’?” he asked quietly, kissing your temple as he carried you upstairs.

“Mmm,” you hummed, too tired to say much else but letting your lips brush his throat in answer.

You both stripped off what little remained of your clothes in the bathroom. The shower was quick and lazy — more leaning against one another than washing — the warm water washing away the sweat and mess while Joel kept his hand on you, steadying you when your knees went weak from pure exhaustion.

Afterward, you both climbed into bed, skin still damp, limbs tangled beneath the worn quilt. Joel pulled you close, your head tucked under his chin, one big hand spread over your belly in a possessive, tender gesture.

The night was quiet around you. The only sounds were the faint chirp of crickets outside and the steady beat of his heart against your ear.

“Love you,” Joel murmured against your hair, voice already thick with sleep.

You smiled, pressing a lazy kiss to his chest. “Love you too.”

Sleep took you both not long after — warm, sated, and wrapped up in each other like you never wanted to let go.

The next morning, Joel padded downstairs barefoot, the house quiet except for the creak of the old floorboards under his weight. The scent of sex and sweat still lingered faintly in the air, clinging to the room like a memory.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, still feeling the ache in his muscles, a hazy mix of satisfaction and guilt gnawing at him. Hope I didn’t wear her out too bad , he thought, glancing toward the stairs. You’d been so boneless, half-asleep when he kissed your temple and slipped out of bed, still curled up in the mess of sheets.

Joel filled the coffee pot and started a fresh brew before grabbing a rag to wipe down the couch. The dried streaks of sweat and arousal, and the faint outline of a handprint in the fogged glass of the side table, made his lips twitch in amusement.

“Goddamn,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he scrubbed.

He’d just finished, the rag still in hand, when a sharp knock rattled the front door. Joel sighed, tossing the rag over his shoulder as he padded over.

The door swung open to reveal Tommy, leaning against the frame with a shit-eating grin and one brow raised.

“Oh good,” Tommy drawled, giving his brother a once-over. “You’re alive.”

Joel rubbed at his eyes with a groan, still half-asleep and in no mood for whatever this was. “Yeah, barely. Ain’t got patrol. Why the hell you here so damn early?”

Tommy didn’t answer immediately — just snorted and jerked his chin toward the house behind him. “Neighbors complainin’,” he said, barely holding back a grin. “Said they heard some woman screamin’ her head off last night. Thought maybe some infected made it past the gate.”

Joel’s stomach dropped, his eyes going wide. “ Shit, ” he muttered, heat creeping up the back of his neck.

Tommy’s grin split wide as he let out a bark of laughter. “Relax, big brother. I told ‘em it was just you bein’ an animal. Didn’t even blink.”

Joel scowled, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Goddamn it, Tommy.”

“Hey,” Tommy chuckled, backing down the steps, clearly enjoying himself. “Least now the whole town knows you ain’t as old and tired as you look.”

Joel shot him a glare, but there was no real heat. “Keep runnin’ your mouth and see if you don’t end up limpin’ on patrol tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Tommy quipped over his shoulder as he walked away.

Joel watched him go, shaking his head with amusement before shutting the door. He turned, grabbed two mugs off the shelf, and filled them with coffee, still grinning.

Carrying them upstairs, he peeked into the bedroom, finding you still curled under the covers, hair a wild, messy halo around your head.

“Hey, darlin’,” he murmured, setting the mugs down and crawling back beside you, kissing your shoulder. “You know we got the whole town talkin’?”

You groaned, burying your face in the pillow. “Joel Miller, if you tell me what I think you’re about to…”

He chuckled, pulling you closer. “Might’ve made ya scream a little too loud last night.”

You smacked his chest with a sleepy grin. “Next time, I’m gagging you.”

The agent, Lucien’s agent—James, also working for a few of the on-set cast, looked hopeless.

He nods, squeezing tight at the phone in his hand, one more inconvenience text from snapping it in half.

“No,” You refuse, chewing at the sweet and sticky granola, “why—why me? My tiny apartment?”

“He’s exhausted any other chance,” The agent explains vaguely—yeah, real convincing, this guy, “listen—I like you, you’ve helped me in plenty of binds. It’ll be two weeks before he’s leaving for work, I just need somewhere to keep him for a while.”

“You’re making it seem like I’d be dog sitting or something,” You retort, watching as the agent glanced down at his phone, notifications spilling in, “this is Lucien—controversy magnet, and he’s rude—”

“You’ve gotta get to know him—”

“The one set I’ve worked on with him he spilled my coffee on me and acted like I made him do it. Fuck him, tell him to sleep on a bench.”

“I’ll pay you,” He scrambles, “Just—please?”

You pause, narrowing your gaze. Being a production assistant hadn’t been the life of luxury, minimal pay in an overpriced city in a shitty apartment with barely decent and affordable rent was nothing short of miserable.

“How much?”

“A thousand,” He offers—a shrug of uncertainty follows.

Silence stretches.

“Two thousand? Come on–that’s a thousand for each week.”

“Make it three and you’ve got a deal.”

The agent is quiet for a few seconds before he caves, sighing heavily, “Fuck, fine. Three. Can I drop him off tonight?”

“Tonight?” You balk, “You know, you’re actually the worst.”

His hands grip your shoulders, shaking you with far too much force than needed, “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”

He’s long gone and buried in a phone call before you grumble a disgruntled, “You’re welcome.”

-

You consider later that evening that disclosing the recent…activities around your apartment complex would have been a good idea, especially with someone as high profile as Lucien taking up space in your one bedroom apartment.

Three break-ins in the past two weeks, noisy and unruly neighbors both above and sandwiching you—it wasn’t exactly peaceful or safe, but it was something. 

You wait with a creeping anxiety as you tap your chopsticks against the homemade ramen you’ve made for yourself, one true moment of happiness in the day as you’re finally sitting down to relax, feet aching terribly.

It was coffee runs and constant back and forths over forgotten supplies or paperwork—it was the perfect job to keep you active and on your toes, never sure when someone might blow up on you for whatever reason it may be—you were nothing special, helpful, but when it came down to it, you were more or less in the way, so you often made yourself small out of habit. 

The knock that startles you is hurried, like a panic. It sends your heart rate skyrocketing but your name echoes on the other side of the door, scrambling to open the door, you’re faced with two men.

The agent, James, a decent man despite his unorganized and erratic personality—and Lucien, a piss poor disguise covering his face.

You snort, addressing the ball cap and sunglasses with an amused expression, it was doing nothing to cover the instantly recognizable wispy brown hair of his and aquiline nose—the upcoming king of stage and screen. It was a wonder he even made it here in one piece.

“A natural chameleon,” You joke, widening your door to let them inside—the apartment was clean, thankfully. You’d scramble to get home after work and pick up, given you didn’t have much time to actually prepare, “seriously—get inside before someone clocks you.”

The agent stays though, like his feet were planted.

“He’s all yours,” He tells you, “you’ve got my number—don’t let him leave. I’ll check in when I can. Keep an eye out for paps.”

“Hey, no—” You interject, watching as the agent turned on his heels and departed, “we didn’t agree to—”, turning the corner with a shout of a long, helpless, “that!”

You sigh with a deep frown, turning over your shoulder to find Lucien with a chopstick in hand, noodle dangling from the utensil with a curious face, sniffing it cautiously. 

“Hey!” You chastise, plucking the chopstick from his fingers, “Stop that.”

He looks at you curiously, obviously taken aback by your tone of voice and lack of intimidation by him, like a startled cat.

Jesus, okay.

You force a calming breath through your nose and look up at him, “Would you like some?”

“Is it gluten free?” Lucien inquires, peering over your shoulder at the still steaming hot bowl of soup.

“Actually, yeah,” Your brow furrows, “it—it is.”

“Sure,” He shrugs, beginning to remove his cap and glasses, along with his jacket, resting them haphazardly on the kitchen island as he takes a seat on the only other unoccupied barstool in your kitchen.

“Oh no,” You swiftly rectify his actions, “we’re not doing this—there’s a coat rack for a reason and a shelf by the door for things like,” You walk toward the front door, hand circling the object like a cherished belonging, “keys—sunglasses, hats,” You stress the final two words and point at the items before jutting your thumb frustratingly at the door, “—if you don’t mind, while I make your dinner.”

It was clear he’s spent most of the past several years with people ready and waiting on him, never questioning or ordering around, but it was basic human decency, you weren’t going to allow him to be amiss to it.

He obliges quietly, a surprise to you. You hide the satisfied smirk as you pour the broth into the bowl along with the noodles before placing the bowl on his side of the island, placing another dish near him, scattered with different toppings.

Lucien looks silently intrigued, the ends of his mouth curling down in interest as he sprinkles various toppings over his food, beginning to eat silently as you return to your own meal.

After a long enough silence and Lucien’s occasional slurping you decide to set a hard boundary, given the various personalities you’ve dealt with in the industry, it was you being proactive out of habit.

“Let me be clear, I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” You inform him, locking eyes with his intense stare, something you hadn’t forgotten, not since the on-set incident, “This is still my home. Don’t be an asshole about it.”

“James said you were a firecracker,” Lucien smirks slightly, resting his chopsticks along the top of the bowl, “and a little bit of a bitch, but—”

“Good, he hasn’t lost his mind then.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a professional at this shit now. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Highly unlikely, you think.

He even makes a point by grabbing his bowl and emptying it before placing it in the sink before extending his hand out to your own bowl. You watch him wash the dishes, something that looks unnatural, but you aren’t going to complain.

“You always cook like that?” Lucien asks curiously over the running water, head turning over his shoulder briefly.

“No, only Friday. I never have time otherwise, work is…busy,” A generous way to describe it, but Lucien doesn’t seem to care or question, drying off the last dish before extending his hands out by his side in a grand gesture.

Maybe he was expecting a roaring applause, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. You offer him a genuine thank you but it doesn’t extend beyond that before you’re trailing a few feet over toward the living room, a clean pillow and blanket draped over the couch, along with a fitted sheet if he felt like using it. It was all unmade, allowing him to set it up himself.

“Also,” You clasp your hands together at your front, “James didn’t mention this because I didn’t tell him but we’ve had a string of break-ins for a while now, so—always keep the deadbolt locked. Please.”

His eyes widen, looking around the apartment for the quickest escape. You were on the seventh floor, the only other escape option was a less than reliable balcony that you barely used.

“I have a bat,” You tell him, before pointing toward the door beside the entrance, “in the shoe closet, but I think we’re okay.”

“Think?”

You shrug, “It hasn’t happened yet, but the police have shit response time around here.”

Lucien looks overwhelmed, but nods.

“Oh, and the neighbors like to have really loud sex—walls are thin. Have fun.”

“No puedo creer esta mierda—” He mumbles under his breath as you turn your back, a sharp flap of a sheet, and a short laugh from you follows.

“Blame your agent, Lucien.”

He didn’t think you’d understand him, but your astute hearing proved otherwise. 

Lucien was putting on an act with his gesture, clearly. 

He doesn’t respond, pouting his way through the process of setting up his new bed for the next couple weeks in silence, ignoring the soft click to your door as you turn in for the night, the creeping and soft city noises filtering in through the thin apartment walls.

It wouldn’t be an easy night but he's never really liked big, empty houses anyways.

—

The weekend is uneventful; you fear it might be a dream, too good to be true, a complete fluke.

Maybe he had a change of heart overnight, but Lucien is overly polite.

He deconstructs his bed both mornings, packing it away in a corner of the living room, listening to the television at a reasonable volume with fresh coffee in the coffee pot, he cleans up his dishes and leaves a marginal mess. 

The real kicker—he has the ability to keep the toilet seat down with your now shared bathroom attached to your bedroom, a real…gentleman. 

You eyed him suspiciously most of the day, when he’s unaware and preoccupied, wondering when the facade would drop. Does he even remember the coffee incident? 

He had to, right?

He approaches with a silent gesture of his emptied cup as you fill your own.

Fine—you pull the cup from his grip and fill it to the brim, sliding it back over carefully.

He sips gingerly as he raises it to his lip before speaking, “S’good coffee.”

“Thanks,” You answer nonchalantly, pouring a generous amount of sugar and cream into your coffee and stirring, watching as the dark black lightened into a soft brown, “are you a coffee guy?”

“I’m an anything guy,” Lucien responds, “but—good, it’s good. I’m impressed.”

“Why?” You ask with a little more bark than needed, a flippant tone rounding out your morning irritation as you readied for work. “Are you—you really don’t remember, do you?”

Lucien raised his eyebrows in question, expectant.

“Your last job, up in Hollywood Hills. You spilled coffee all over me, blamed me, then got me suspended for a week, because of your outburst. I barely managed rent that month”

His eyes narrow, recollecting the thought like he’d been stricken with temporary amnesia.

“You’re all so much of the same, y’know?” You continue, sipping generously from your cup as his face relaxes, following your movements with a casual glance. “Cocky, egotistical, little dicked men. Without me you wouldn’t have that ridiculous fifteen dollar hyper whateverthefuck water you insisted you needed in your trailer, or your dry cleaning? God forbid. Seriously, fuck you.”

“Wait—” Lucien staunches, hold his hand up in pause, “hold on—”

You wait for approximately half a second before you roll your eyes, pushing beyond him to gather your bag and keys, “You know, I don’t need a disingenuous apology. I’m not doing this as a favor. I’m being paid.”

James had lied to him, that much he was figuring out as he processed the situation. You weren’t someone offering up free charity, a helping hand for a starving actor in need—except that wasn’t the case for him. Despite his team's careful guidance; he was a repeat offender of bad choices and money management, a part-time alcoholic, and a serial flirt. He knew how to play his hand and he was good at it, but with you—it was clear that you were a challenge.

But, it was only a couple weeks. He could survive that. He was a people person first and foremost and he’d charm the hell out of you if given the opportunity. 

“James said he’d be by in an hour to pick you up for your meetings today—lock the door when you leave. Please.”

Still speechless, he watches you leave with a stiff, crisp shut of the door.

He couldn’t remember, racking his brain for one incident after another. His own fair share made him cringe in hindsight, but he…couldn’t remember. He’d almost hoped you were a fresh face, leaving him free of judgment, but it was clear that this situation was about pure survival.

-

“You did do that,” James confirmed to him as they left the first brand meeting that morning, “It was the morning of the big awards show—you remember?” He doesn’t wait for Lucien’s response, continuing, “Poor kid got her ass chewed out and had to take a trip to the clinic for the burns. It was…a mess. Never cried, though. I’ll give her that.”

And, like a strike of a match, it floods back. You’re shocked expression, mouth slightly agape as the sting of pain settled in, bracing for the impact of Lucien’s wrath because you knew. A man allergic to accountability, oozing power, it was almost too easy.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Apologies seem pointless now, but it could help. But…be genuine.”

“I’m genuine.”

James gives him a certain look, one that argues otherwise.

“I am.”

Only time would tell, really.

By the end of your work day, it was with great relief as you stepped through the door of your apartment until you remembered one fine detail you had told Lucien more than once.

Lock the door.

The eeriness hits you as the door clicks shut behind you, the place falling into a dead silence for a brief moment, your bag hitting the counter as you maneuvered your keys between your fingers, ready to take on what you could with what little strength you had to offer.

Just maul their face off, that seemed like the best option.

You count the seconds in your head, breath held tight and constricted in your chest. You quickly check the available pathways—living room, kitchen, before slipping down the hall, left with the only room to flee if not away from your apartment.

Bedroom light off, not a thing out of place, pristine even—but your eyes track toward the bathroom light seeping underneath the gap in the door. With careful, measured movements you approach the door although you haven’t thought through the actual process of what you wanted to do.

But, before you can react the door is swinging open as the bathroom is plunged into darkness, revealing a sopping wet Lucien, towel tied tight around his waist as he slings a smaller one over his shoulders, completely relaxed until he spots you.

Both of you scream—you out of anger and fear, Lucien at the incoming hand that he snatches by the wrist, your eyes landing on each other, your nostrils flaring in frustration.

“You’re insane!” Lucien shouts, shoving your hand away, “You nearly tore my face off.”

“I thought you were an intruder,” You seethe, “—what kind of maniac showers with the front door unlocked while home alone?”

“You said you had a bat,” Lucien excuses, “I could have defended myself.”

You sigh, plucking the keys from your grip before you toss them on your bed, stepping away from Lucien and away from the radiating heat of his body as it glistened, obnoxiously.

“Get out,” You snap, “get out—go—”

“I was just gonna…grab my clothes and come change in,” He weakly gestures toward the bathroom, earning a sharp look of distaste in his direction, “alright—alright, Jesus.”

He pauses for a moment, though. Before the lightbulb clicks on and he’s scrambling into the living room and back in record time, shoving a small white envelope into your hands.

“What is this?” You ask tensely, blindly ripping at the seal as you stare at him.

“It’s uh—what I owe you, for the coffee thing. I…I remember now. Figured I could pay you for the work I made you miss…is that about right?”

You peer at the wad of cash. It was indeed, enough.

“You’re unbelievable,” You reply, shaking your head.

It gives him false hope, wondering if it was all going to be brushed under the rug and that he could continue the rest of his stay in a somewhat semblance of peace, but then your expression flips and oh…that’s not…

“Are you physically incapable of saying the words “I’m sorry”—would it kill you? Allergic to accountability? God, you know what, I’m gonna call James and tell him I just can’t do—”

“No,” Lucien panics, hand around your bicep as you attempt to push past him, immediately recognizing the fierceness of his grip he loosens it, calms himself, “no—please, listen…I…I didn’t think you’d care enough to hear it. I do remember now and I was a dick, I was trying to offer a gesture of good faith. Peace, even?”

“Is this even your money?” You ask curiously, brow furrowed as you help up the envelope.

“Yeah, yeah—I pulled it out of my savings. Why? Do you…not want it?”

You quickly snatch the envelope away, “No, I’ll take it. But, words mean a lot. Like calling me an ignorant little bitch.”

“Okay, okay. I am sorry. I had a lot going on and I know that isn’t an excuse either, but I am.”

You tilt your head in examination, peering through the raw emotion on his face, whether he was putting on a masterclass in acting or not, it was believable enough. You could remain bitter, even if it meant suffering in silence, but you liked the peace just as much as he, so you compromise.

“You still have to get out,” You inform him, walking your fingers tauntingly toward the door, “and I swear, Lucien, if you used all the hot water—”

-

Lucien was insistent about rehearsing at least five hours a day, even on weekends. Luckily, most of those days you were spared, but when you’re barricaded away in your bedroom, sound travels. And Lucien doesn't care much to stifle his performance, maybe it was a weapon to backfire at your inconsiderate neighbors, but it was driving you insane.

He’s stuck on one scene, clearly a building tension that explodes and apparently he can’t nail, having heard the lines a hundred times over through the muffled walls—your first instinct was to complain, tell him take it elsewhere, but you remember your deal with James. Lucien just needed a place to stay for a while and this was his job.

Eventually, you poke your head through your bedroom door with a cautious expression, watching Lucien examine his face in the mirror, filing through various emotions before he finally gives up, tossing the script against the counter.

He spots you as he turns, already gearing up to apologize or maybe even excuse—but instead, you speak.

“Is it for an audition?”

“How’d you know?”

“The yelling, the emotion—I guess? I help on set with self tapes from time to time. I’ve learned to spot the difference between just memorizing lines and trying to feel the script.”

Lucien pushes his lips out in thought, tongue rolling over his teeth as his hands settle against his hips, pushing the sweatpants lower on his hips as he stands, deliberating.

“Just ask,” You tell him.

“You any good?”

It was a genuine question, not meant to attack your own ego. Besides, it makes you laugh.

“I’ll get your good side,” You promise him, surfacing from your room as you beckon for his phone with your hand, getting straight to work.

It only takes a few minutes to find a solid place to set up, against one of your cream colored walls, pictureless and plain, but with ample lighting from inside and out, it highlighted the wispy grays in Lucien’s untamed curls hanging over his forehead, the wrinkles creasing there as he looked down at the script and examined the text.

“Do you have them memorized?” 

Lucien nods absently, his finger trailing down the side of the paper until it was suddenly gone, snatched from his hands with a smile on your face as you pointed for him to slide into frame. You take a step back, watching the screen with a careful eye before motioning with a finger for him to move a few centimeters to the left, “There. Perfect.”

You flatten out the creased paper as you speak, “From the top?”

Lucien smiles halfheartedly—the stress washing from his face for a moment—and nods.

–

You could keep up, that much was obvious.

Lucien is used to the monotone voice on the other side of the camera during auditions, forced tones and half-cocked emotion, it was hard to act against and with, but he’s learned to push through for the sake of a role. 

It was an emotional scene, almost a requirement to have that intensity to act against and Lucien caught your eye line at one point, face buried in the script as you uttered the lines with teary eyes, letting your own emotion fill you to the brim and flow out, giving him a real and authentic reaction to act against.

He watched it back with a grin, mostly out of his own cocky admiration for himself but the secret you’ve been hoarding, a welcome surprise.

“Have you never considered acting?” Lucien asks curiously, emailing the video off to his agent.

“Cameras are daunting,” You shrug, folding and filing away some freshly washed towels as Lucien reclined on your couch, “I prefer being behind them.”

“You’re a natural,” He offers honestly, “that’s really rare.”

You shake your head in amusement as you riffled through the unfolded laundry, separating in different piles until you come across a no longer white blouse, stained a soft pink—and of course, Lucien. It was Lucien who offered to take laundry down the night prior, needing a moment away from being cooped up in the apartment, swearing he had it under control.

“I told you not to put this in the wash load with the colors! Look at this—” You held up the obviously stained blouse, crumpling up the fabric and tossing it to the couch with a frustrated huff.

“To be fair, it’s been years since I did my own laundry,” Lucien responds casually, “—don’t worry, I’ll have James buy you another.”

Your face twitches, actually twitches.

“No, no—it…it’s fine. It’s only a shirt,” You tuck a loose hair behind your ear as you heave the towels into your arm, “just—whites and colors, always separate them.”

And while living with Lucien had mellowed out some, it was still tumultuous at times.

Fighting over the bathroom was a regular occurrence, both of you guilty. But, that could be worked through, it wasn’t the end of the world. Occasionally it was the lights, a bad habit of Lucien’s to leave them lingering in his wait, lamps and fixtures, nothing was safe. Opened cabinets, items forgotten and out of place. It was all tedious and frustrating, picking and choosing your battles as they came, brushing far too much under the rub for the sake of peace.

You knew it was almost over, enjoying a quiet night to yourself while Lucien was apparently out at dinner—you weren’t sure, you didn’t really care, but you enjoyed the glimpse of what was to return to you, tucked away on the couch while half-dressed, hand stuffed into a freshly popped bowl of popcorn.

It was Friday and your neighbors never failed to come home from a rowdy night of partying with everything but sleeping on their mind, getting straight to business and your grab for the remote was immediate, turning up the volume to drown out the obnoxious moans and groans of drunk sex happening on the other side of the wall.

Lucien arrives back somewhere near the middle of the movie, the soft laughs from you pulling his attention to the couch as he clocked the nineties rom-com on the television, your cheek resting against your balled up fist, placing his wallet against the counter to signal his entrance.

“Loud enough for you?” Lucien jokes, approaching the singular piece of furniture in your living room, fingertips pressing against the arm of the couch as he takes in your appearance, shirt barely reaching beyond mid-thigh, thick socks keeping you warm as you curled in on yourself, careless that Lucien was definitely looking you make a noise in question, the words processing in a delayed manner.

You reach for the remote, pausing the movie briefly to reveal the reason; the insistent thump of wood against cheap sheetrock and moans, squealy and high-pitched, forcing a raised eyebrow from Lucien that needed no words.

“Nevermind,” He concedes,hands thrown up in defeat with a chuckle hidden behind his teeth, walking closer to examine the screen, filing through his internal rolodex of films and drawing a blank.

“Are you going to keep standing there like a total weirdo or are you going to watch the movie?” You ask with a joking tone, tucking your feet underneath you as you made room, glancing down at your phone as a notification brought the screen to life.

Lucien catches the faint tug of a smile on your face as you type away, clicking the phone into sleep mode a few moments later before continuing the movie without a word.

You’re not sure which one of you succumbs to sleep first, but it didn’t matter, finding that you both aligned together easily as you slept, covered with a blanket that Lucien must have snatched somewhere near without disturbing you—and when you wake in the middle of the night, complex quiet throughout, you can’t even find it in you to move.

–

Lucien’s length of stay was diminishing quickly and you were relieved, only a few more days and things would be back to normal, you’d be three thousand dollars richer, and you wouldn’t have to confront the fact that Lucien wasn’t entirely as bad as he seemed, temper aside.

You’re both on your way out the door on a weekday morning when you spot him, navy blue hoodie draping his body, one you favored because of its size and comfortability.

“That’s mine,” You utter as you’re fisting your keys into your hand and tucking a makeup applicator away in your bag, “that’s…mine—why is it on your body?”

Lucien looks down, perplexed. He could’ve swore…

“It’s mine, I swear,” You’re peering over his shoulder and pulling at the collar, examining the tag by his neck, or lack thereof—you always cut them out, hated the feeling against your skin.

“It’s mine,” You say with finality, “But, it’s fine. I’ve been meaning to replace it anyways. And now that you’ve worn it, definitely.”

“Ouch,” Lucien chuckles, shaking his head at your bluntness, “I guess I deserve that. I did think it was mine, though. Swear. Must’ve gotten mixed up somehow.”

 “Oh, well, just burn it now—oh, shit, before I forget,” You point your finger at his chest, stopping him in his tracks, “I’ve got a date tonight. I’ll more than likely be gone when you get back here. I’m leaving a key under the mat, you know the deal. Respect it…protect it like you give a shit if anything happens, it’s all I have.”

“Date?” Lucien teases, “Sounds—”

“We’re not doing this,” You cut him short, finger raising higher in reprimand, “don’t do that.”

Again, Lucien values his well-being, so he admits defeat. 

It was difficult for him, his eagerness to please and charm, to command the conversation and impress—but with you, it was impossible. Truly, it was mesmerizing to him.

It was several hours later when Lucien arrived at the apartment, pointedly locking the door behind him as you had reminded him several times—he wasn’t completely aloof.

His orders takeout on a whim, disguised under a fake name and the careful directions to leave at the door, having practiced the art of subtly when it came to laying low, enjoying a couple beers from a pack James had bought him as a small celebration for a week of good, decent meetings. 

Things had been looking up recently and it made Lucien unsettled in a way, but thankful nonetheless, sipping at the beer generously and relaxing well into the night, dusk turning to black skies and few twinkling star lights, drowned out by the thick smog of city pollution. It started raining eventually, a soft pattern picking up gradually and he, for natural reasoning, is slightly concerned. So, he stays up despite some lingering exhaustion, barely hitting a quarter beyond eight o’clock when the door handle rattles, soft curses on the other side of the door that send him to his feet, peering through the peephole to spot a sufficiently blurry outline of you.

And what he opens the door to is not what he’s expecting, although, he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting in the first place, but this…it wasn’t it.

You were wet, clothes dripping and rain water pooling at your feet, everything sticking to you like an uncomfortable glue, cold and shivering, your bottom lip trembling.

Without thinking, Lucien shifts into action. 

He doesn’t ask a single question, not at first. Silently pulling the items off of you as you allow him; keys and purse first, clanging against the counter before he’s pulling your coat of, blouse, even kneeling down to remove your shoes before he’s carrying the clothes to the bathroom with you in tow, turning on the shower until it was steaming up the mirrors, heat radiating through the room as you pulled at the button of your jeans weakly, fumbling with cold and feeble hands.

He holds his hands up, careful not to approach in a way that would startle you or force you into attack mode, which seemed unlikely with the disheartened look on your face and he asks quietly, “Do you need help?”

You’re quiet for a long, tense moment before you nod, trying to quell the full body shivers as he assists you in stripping down to your underwear, also soaked. He pulls the curtain back and helps you over the side of the tub with the solid weight of his hand and speaks again despite your silence, “I’ll wait in your room—do you need anything?”

It doesn’t take a genius to piece things together as Lucien settles against the edge of the bed and it angers him for some forlorn reason, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. When the shower cuts off, he straightens, hesitates—should he leave? 

You’d want privacy, right? Yeah. No, definitely.

He rises to his feet without another thought, his awful timing sending you straight into his chest as you swung the door open, towel snug around your body and smelling sharply of fresh, citrus body wash.

“S-sorry,” You stammer out, “you don’t—you don’t have to wait around, Lucien. Or give a shit, either. I don’t expect you to and I don’t care—”

It was unusually cold. He’s become familiar with your snark, that sharp and cunning personality, but this was different. This was a push, a defense of hard and impenetrable walls building up before his eyes and he speaks without thinking, hoping that it slips through the cracks.

“Regardless, I’ll listen,” Lucien provides—it wasn’t an overwhelming expression of fake, forced care or, god forbid, love. But, it was a raw enough response that it grabs your attention, “—if you want me to.”

—

He cranked up the heat while you dressed, flipped open his leftover takeout, and listened. You weren’t used to this and for a while, you were half-expecting him to find a way to turn the situation on himself, a sob story for a sob story. But, he doesn’t.

“This sushi…” You savor the taste, eyes falling closed.

“Good, isn’t it?” Lucien smirks, popping another into his mouth with careful precision, chopsticks in hand.

You could cry, it was such a strong and startling feeling that it caught you off-guard, “Yeah, really good.”

You clear your throat, tears shoved aside, “Have you ever ditched a date before?”

Lucien shakes his head with a subtle frown.

“Right, Lucien De Leon,” You respond jokingly, that magical emphasis around his name, “any woman would be dying for all of….this,” You gesture to him lazily with a faux disgust that couldn’t even be forced, both of you divulging into a laugh.

“Hey, you said it,” Lucien shrugs with a pointed wink that you shouldn’t find so attractive, but the natural charm he emits makes it impossible, “—but, no. Can’t say I have.”

“Even the ones who wouldn’t put out?”

“At the risk of sounding like an asshole—“ Lucien begins, but you follow the rhythm of the conversation and it isn’t long before the lightbulb strikes on and you’re nodding.

“Right, you probably don’t have an issue in that department. Stupid question, sorry.”

You pluck the last piece of sushi off the styrofoam and chew, speaking behind your hand, “I should’ve known that dude was a prick, only stared at my tits the entire date.”

Out of reflex, his eyes drag to your chest and you click the movement in an instant, “Not helping,” You warn him lightly, “I guess I was too blunt, he kept…touching me. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable going back to his place, he made some excuse to go to the bathroom and I waited for a half hour. Until the server came by with the bill—so, not only did he ditch me, I paid a hundred dollar tab and I didn’t even eat my food.”

Even in Lucien’s wild days, he couldn’t imagine doing that. Not when he was drinking more heavily, partying, hooking up on a daily basis—before his first failed marriage, it was foreign to him. 

“You could’ve called me, or James, shit—an uber.”

“Phone died,” You shrug lamely, “it doesn’t matter, anyways. And don’t get me wrong, casual sex—it’s fine, but I got too hopeful, I guess. All men are the same.”

“Come on,” Lucien jests, “that’s not fair.”

“Fine, enlighten me, then.”

“You can’t expect fairytale shit—I mean, I’m one failed marriage and plenty of missteps in my life. Do you think I’m a bad guy?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?” 

Lucien sighs in defeat, scratching at his mused hair as he tosses the empty food container aside.

“I’m fucking with you,” You offer in a quieter tone—even if you weren’t friends with him, he didn’t have to put in the effort to help or listen, but he was, “I’m—just, thank you.”

“I’m in good graces now?” Lucien asks curiously, that playful mischief gracing his face with a smile.

You make a motion with your hand from your head as you grab, like pulling a thought and throwing it away, “Coffee incident? Forgotten—unless you pull some heinous shit.”

“You know, I might actually miss this,” His finger does a swirling motion, encompassing your living room, “you—eh,” a shaky hand motion that earns a jab to his thigh from your foot, “shit, ouch—that was a joke.”

“I know,” You concede with a smirk, “—I won’t, though. I want my couch back. And my bathroom.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think you’re a catch,” He tells you, “although, I do like the ones that bite, so—“

You reach forward this time, swatting playful at his chest with the back of your hand, but his fast reflexes beat you, your fingers smacking into solid rings.

He snickers softly and examines the grimace on your face as you pull back, “Pobrecita,” He coos mockingly, reaching for your hand and pressing a gentle kiss against the skin, “see what I mean?”

You ignore the heat that strikes through your body like a freshly lit match, pulling your hand away with a distinct eye roll. 

He’d be gone soon and this would all be a ridiculous memory to think back on. 

There was no room for newly evolving feelings, or worse, infatuation. 

—

The three months you spend falling back into your normal routine is monotonous, safe, but the kind of security that has you itching for change. You find yourself checking on Lucien more often than you should, regular social media checks, the occasional subtle question to James when you happened to catch him on set. It wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

He did seem more erratic, often coming across other quick clips and social media stories of him at the club during waking hours, pure reckless abandon, he was having the time of his life—you couldn’t blame him, but it was…slightly alarming.

It was a Saturday night when all hell broke loose, police sirens raining down the street as you raced to your open window, peering down at the obscured face of a man in cuffs as he was roughly shoved into a police car before there’s a pounding knock at the door, your heart nearly bursting out of your chest at the sound.

Turning on your heels and swinging the door open, you can’t help but find yourself speechless at the sight.

“Think they caught your burglar,” Lucien notes under his baseball cap, eyes catching the cascading red and blue lights outside your window, duffel bag at his feet and a regretful look on James’ face.

You tilt your head at the discovery, your brain working overtime before your eyes widen.

“Just hear him out,” He pleads with prayer like hands, phone sandwiched between two begging palms, “Lucien—go,”

Lucien seems to stutter-step in his mind, not expecting to be the one leading this proposition as he side-eyes James, “I…need a place to stay…again,” Lucien squints his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, looking almost embarrassed, “for the next six months.”

“No,” You nearly shout out incredulously, “the first time wasn’t a trial run.”

There’s a long moment of tense eye contact and uncertainty.

An underlying worry in your gut at the sight of Lucien, a little worse for wear but still mostly himself, gripping tightly at his carry-on bag in his hand, thumb rubbing nervously at the leather strap.

Goddammit.

–

He’s paying the entire six months of rent he planned on staying there while he filmed for a movie they were shooting a short ten minute drive from your complex, a quaint little studio gracious enough to let the crew film free of charge—he’d given you the whole spiel, in one ear and out the other still wondering how you’ve tangled yourself in this web again.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” You inquire, helping him file away some of his clothes in a drawer you had emptied out for him like this was normal. He makes a soft noise of acknowledgment with his lips pursed together, tired sunken eyes staring back at you, “Why not get your own apartment? A house? I mean, you’ve got the money?”

Lucien clears his throat, scratching at his neck where it jostles his chains, fingers slipping under the silk fabric of his shirt, “I, uh—feel weird…livingalone,” He rushes out, quickly turning to grab more clothes as you stand, hand placed against the top of your dresser as your brow furrows, feeling like you’d just fallen deaf.

“Come again?”

A small huff as Lucien passes a stack of expensive shirts, material that had to be ethically sourced or…some bullshit like that, he’s told you the story before in passing.

“I don’t like living alone, ‘s why I float,” He offers lamely, tossing the empty duffel into the corner of your room—you’d pick it up later, it didn’t matter, “I left all my old stuff to my ex-wife, it was easier that way.”

Often you had to remind yourself that Lucien was older, nearing his late forties while you were still managing through your late twenties, a big thirty on the horizon.

It dawns on you then that you don’t know much about Lucien at all outside of tabloids and gossip sites, the rumor mills running through Hollywood—you often find yourself reminding you of the fact he was still a person, with troubles, clearer now more than ever.

“It wasn’t always like this,” He assures you, “I’m a fuckin’ mess, I already know.”

“I think we’re beyond judgment, Lucien,” You assure him, “You saw me sobbing and nearly naked—just keep this place clean, like you give a shit about it, alright?”

Lucien nods dutifully, “Yes, ma’am.”

–

You learn quickly that his long term stay meant that little quirks were beginning to surface—always organizing your things out on the sink opposite of his own, a small gesture that didn’t go unnoticed when you were rushing out the door on days he wasn’t given a call time. Or how he always made sure there was food waiting when he arrived before you—takeout or not. He wasn’t a great cook, but he could manage.

In turn, you tried to cook more often. And he loved to hover, but not with a homey, warm feeling that made you feel safe, rather like a curious dog nipping at your ankles. And more so, he would finish his own plate before looking cautiously at your own before you nod, allowing him to pick from your plate with a greediness that made you giggle under your breath.

“My ex-wife never cooked,” He had told you once, “I mean, she tried—but she was terrible. And this,” His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he steps at the homemade ravioli, “is there anything you can’t do?”

“Say no, apparently,” You gave him a solid once-over, a look from head to toe—he’s never offended anymore, taking the playful jest in stride, it had already been a month and it was beginning to feel like normal, again, having him there.

Your conflicting schedules meant a lot of time away from each other, which wasn’t bad. It almost helped more than you expected and while your apartment wasn’t well-fit for a roommate, Lucien made the place feel less empty.

You couldn’t say it out loud, but you were starting to understand the charm. You could see beyond the facade and the persona—a troubled man with ambition, purpose, but a mountain of struggles. The drinking wasn’t a surprise, nor his uptick in smoking. He always smoked out the window so the smell wouldn’t permeate, but the drinking started to become…an issue. 

It wasn’t that Lucien couldn’t handle himself when he drank, but he often did it to fill the dead time—so he said—when you were still at work, fighting with his own demons in his mind. He always ended up on your bed those nights, curled up in a fetal position at the wrong end and you couldn’t find it in yourself to move him, draping a blanket over him before you decided to spend the night on the couch. It was a weekly occurrence after a while, slowly growing in frequency.

He always apologizes, tells you he won’t do it again, but eventually you find yourself melding around him, sleeping in a way that keeps you comfortable and doesn’t disturb him. You don’t judge him, don’t think any lower of him—but there was concern and Lucien could see it growing with every passing conversation as the weeks dragged along. 

By the third month, the dam breaks.

You don’t sugarcoat anything for him either.

“Do you need rehab?” You ask bluntly, watching him peel the gold-flaked under eye patches from his face, shoulder leaned against the doorframe, “Or, like, therapy?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” He defends, washing his hands under the warm water, “I can get sober if I wanna, but it helps with the stress, you know?”

“No,” You respond honestly, but softly, “I don’t. Unless this is just some big excuse for you to sleep in my bed, which if it is—”

Lucien chuckles, toweling his hands dry, “You caught me.”

“You would tell me if it was getting bad, wouldn’t you?”

It seemed like the least he could do, considering how greatly you were carrying the burden for him by allowing him to stay in the comfort of your own home, treating him like a human. You ignored the tabloids anymore, always negative and nefarious toward him, like he wasn’t allowed to make a few mistakes along the way. He had to be perfect, given his troubling start in the industry. DUIs, cheating, eventually settling down to marry but that didn’t work out great for him either—you’d done some research lately, out of pure curiosity to understand what he wasn’t always willing to share, but you preferred to hear it from him.

Lucien squeezes at your chin in a comforting manner that makes you grimace in feigned disgust, forcing a gentle laugh through your nose as he answers, “Yes, I would.”

–

When he should, he doesn’t. 

Award season was approaching and work was hectic, Lucien had wrapped on his next project and his previous one was gearing for a big release and line of promos, which meant Lucien had to be on his game.

The lamp in your living was broken, a shattered glass bottle on the floor beside it, a trail of clothes following to your room and a heat in the apartment that was sweltering in a way that had you stripping down immediately to the thinnest layer you could manage without getting to your underwear, jeans and a thin strapped top as you walked barefoot toward your room.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting or hoping for, but it isn’t this.

He’s naked, completely bare, save for the blanket draping his groin to save his modesty, out cold but skin obviously clammy, reeking of alcohol and sweat and you can’t help scrambling to the floor, unable to form any type of tangible sound. You check for a pulse, fearing that you might have just found yourself in an inescapable scandal, but it was there. That soft thump, thump, thump under your fingertips before you press the back of your hand to his skin and despite the sweat, he’s cold. He must have sweat out most of the alcohol in his system, your eyes dragging to the forgotten bottle on the ground.

You sigh, eyes falling closed as you gather your thoughts. You devise a plan, slow and methodical—first was to clean, grabbing the clothes and broken glass from the ground, leaving no trace of his mayhew before you’re returning to your room and straight for the bathroom, immediately turning on the cold water, the stream forceful as it pushed through the showerhead.

“Fuck,” You curse to yourself as you glance at Lucien who is mostly dead-weight, struggling to understand how you can get him from one point to another—with another quiet huff you approach him, shifting until you can get your arms under his armpits and heave him up, blanket falling from his waist as you yelp, eyes shooting toward the ceiling as you continue to drag his slumped body toward the tub, “okay—god, Lucien, you fucking owe me.”

It takes some maneuvering and the unbelievability that you are so incredibly close to his bare ass and dick in a way that most would fall over backwards for, regardless of the situation—it felt wrong, seeing him in such a manner and so completely helpless, but you shove the thought aside as you finally get him in the tub, the cold water waking him almost immediately.

It starts with a gasp, a sharp tug of the curtain and coarse, “Shit,” that assures you he was alive and well, coherent, even. A small smile tugs at your lips as you hear him let out a string of curses before he finally settles.

“There’s a bottle of water and some Advil on the counter—take it,” You instruct behind the curtain, “I’m going to grab dinner—try not to hurt yourself, please.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, not that you expected it. And it doesn’t take long to grab the food either, calling it in and driving there and back in about twenty minutes, finding Lucien freshly showered and sitting on the stool near the counter, eyes telling a story of exhaustion but his insistently bouncing leg telling another.

“Chicken or steak?” You ask nonchalantly, holding the styrofoam containers in both hands.

He takes a moment to answer, unsettled by your calmness, “...steak.”

You hand it over without a question, grabbing a couple drinks before you’re digging in, standing opposite of him rather than sitting, eating in a silence that grows, thickens.

“It’s quiet,” You note the obvious before you scroll through your phone, searching for a soft tune to play through your speakers, something to fill the air, “better—how’s the food?”

“I like it,” Lucien responds with a full mouth, somehow endearing as he swallows and sips at the second water you offered him, attempting to help keep him hydrated, even if it was still annoyingly hot in your apartment, “—I…I think I broke your AC.”

“You did. I’ll put in a work order for it to get fixed,” You answer, a solution to the problem, “are you okay?”

If Lucien was being honest with himself, he can’t remember the last time anyone has asked him that—not genuinely, anyways. He falls silently, biting at his bottom lip in deep thought as his eyes squint, poking quietly at his food.

Talking was hard, you understood that. But, you hoped there was some trust built between you in the past few months, that you hadn’t laid your vulnerabilities out bare the night you came home rain soaked without the ability for him to share too. Plus, he’d broken your favorite lamp.

“It’s complicated,” Lucien diverts, but that doesn’t stop you, eyes lying in wait as you laid your utensil down to listen, “—I’ve got two kids. One, he’s eighteen…awesome, awesome kid. His name is Raynor. I didn’t meet him until a few years back, I’ve been tryin’ take make up for that. We even went on a roadtrip a couple summers back.”

Lucien fiddles with the cap on the water bottle idly, speaking further, “I, the other, my daughter, she’s a couple years old—it was a crazy night with a co-star,” You clock the information immediately, knowing who he was talking about without the confession, and he knew too—it wasn’t exactly a well kept secret in Hollywood as Delia was now married, to another co-star, raising that child, “a long story for another time, but we’re going through this nasty court battle.”

It would explain his financial situation a little, his willingness to take roles as he could, but the growing stress on his face as weeks passed, the tendency to hide or ignore the situation rather than face it—you understood, to a degree. 

“So, all the drinking? The transiency?”

“It just helps,” He shrugs—helps him forget, temporarily, before it all comes barreling back at him, “she wants to revoke shared custody—she’s got her more anyways, with my work and everything, but she wants to deem me unfit, make it—” Lucien’s throat tightens, exactly why he wanted to avoid this conversation entirely, “she wants to erase me and the moment the press gets wind—”

All hell would break loose. 

“Lucien, I don’t think it works that way,” You assure him, even if your knowledge was slim, “there’s…that's your right, she’s your child.”

“Given my history, the judge could consider it,” Lucien replies lackluster, ashamed, “look—I’m sorry to dump this shit on you, I fucked up your apartment, I can find another place to stay and I’ll pay out the rest of the rent like I promised.”

You look at him with a gentle expression, tilting your head until his eyes finally rise, “I asked,” You remind him, “and I hated that lamp anyways, so you did me a favor,” It was a lie, but given his emotional state it was acceptable, watching as he forced a weak laugh, “I’m not kicking you out either, if the media publishes anything about it, you hunker down here. I can deal with a few paps, you know? We do work in the same industry, after all. I may not understand the full scope but I do understand, Lucien.”

He returns a look with sad, red-rimmed eyes as you reach to clean up your shared dinner, before approaching him with a careful few steps, a hand gliding over his bicep and your fingers rubbing at the small dip in the back of neck, your first real initiation of genuine touch. He was a touchy person himself and seemed at ease by the feeling, your lips coming to press a soft kiss against his cheek. Kind, friendly, you pat at his back.

Something changes between that touch and the look he gives you as he turns, eyes flicking toward your lips out of desire, silently he pushes logic aside and leans forward, pulling your chin into his hand like he has before, a familiar touch followed by a foreign one, plush lips against your own that has you swimming in a mix of emotions, eyes falling shut briefly before you realize what was happening, lips parting slightly as the tip of his tongue touches your own before you’re ripping away, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” You utter out, wishing the words had stayed inside of your head, “I, uh–I’m—”

You stutter relentlessly before you’re scrambling toward your room, door falling shut with a soft click as you sink into your sheets, heart racing uncontrollably and your hands covering your face, unable to face what you had just escaped from as a knock comes a few minutes later on your bedroom door.

You couldn’t face him. You couldn’t.

Eventually, he leaves. Slow footsteps that eventually lead toward another door that closes too, unsure of where he was wandering off to, but you couldn’t think about that, not with the conflicting, battling emotions in your head and chest, a startling yearning coming from just a simple touch.

He was everything you despised—somehow finding level ground, adoring him, caring about him, it was never supposed to go this far. He started as an inconvenience, a disruption to your life…and now, you weren’t sure you could imagine it without him there, in some form.

It takes a couple hours, already deep into your slumber, but the dip of weight in your bed startles you for a moment before the movements stop, the strong press of a back against yours, and an unspoken security that pulls you both under quickly.

He’d gone out drinking again, but at this point, you couldn’t blame him.

–

He awakes to a sweet smell, distinct and fresh. And air, cool air. It can’t be dawn, the sun is too far in the sky to be early morning. Lucien rises with a heavy grogginess, rubbing at his eyes as he finds his footing and walks toward the living room of your apartment, finding your back turned to him as you fiddled with the buttons on your AC as you bid someone goodbye, a man carrying a toolbox descending toward the hallway.

He gears up for an apology, the words balancing on the tip of his tongue.

Suddenly, you’re in front of him, two filled mugs in hand, coffee just the way he liked.

 And Lucien doesn’t know when or why the feeling overtakes him, but he kisses you again. It isn’t a simple peck. It was full, all-consuming, feet lifting off the ground type of kiss.

No, literally—you rise to your tiptoes as the cups jostle in your grip as two large, warm hands curl around your back and his lips melt against your own, earning a starling gasp that slips through slightly parted lips, followed by his name after a moment too long.

“Coffee, coffee,” You mumbled quickly, “hot—burning, my toes,” Lucien pulled away quickly at the words, watching as the tan liquid pooled at your feet before he rushed to clean up the mess.

You watch with an amused expression before you finally hand the cup of coffee over, “Good morning to you too, I guess,” You smirk, biting down on your cheek to stifle the laugh that was fighting it’s way out, “please don’t tell me you’re still drunk.”

“I need to apologize,” Lucien tells you, “...again—I’m—I’m sorry for kissing you—again, like that, assuming that was something you wanted. I got pulled into the moment—”

You’ve had all night and morning to think it over, mulling over the emotions and feelings, still not quite sure, but you couldn’t help the swirling feeling of nervousness that had grown more frequent in Lucien’s presence, his looks, his flirtatious nature and touches. You were under his spell completely.

And if you didn’t want to kiss him, you would have stopped him.

Besides, you didn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news after his terrible night, having been let go from your job position that morning, no notice—you were still reeling, but didn’t want to burden Lucien with the news.

You needed something else to occupy your mind.

“Drink,” You instruct, taking a seat on the couch as you sip at your coffee in silence, watching as Lucien mirrored your actions and sat at the opposite end, legs out-stretched and his chest on display, tanned skin with neatly trimmed chest hair, soft tummy leading into the charcoaled, stretchy lounge pants leaving little to imagination as he fidgeted in his seat.

“Where’d you go last night?”

Lucien’s face immediately flushes with guilt, “The—a bar. I didn’t drink. I swear, I—”

He makes a small noise of frustration and closes his eyes, “I did something stupid, I needed a distraction, alright? I shouldn’t have kissed you, that’s not what you wanted, I know that.”

With a silent reservation, you press the coffee cup into the table in front of you before slowly make your way toward him on your knees before you pluck the half-empty mug from his grip and return it to a similar spot, feeling a surge of bravery as you climb onto his lap—there’s some underlying stupidity there, you think. But, fuck it.

“You don’t know what I want,” You assure him, fingers dragging along the top of his head before you’re tugging at the stands to tilt his head back, kissing him soundly, sweet dark roast on your shared breaths as you lick into his mouth, the opposite hand pressed flat against his bare chest. It takes a while, but eventually his brain catches up, along with his movements, and his hands curl around your bare thighs, fingertips grazing the silk shorts you wore to bed the night prior, like butter against your soft skin as his fingers climb and dig, pressing into your skin as you continue to discover every inch of him he had to offer—mouth, tongue, neck, chest.

It was a dormant hunger that had awoken after careful thought and pure primal need, tired of waiting things out for perfection when you had something tangible in front of you.

He’s mumbling your name softly as you lean into him, the bottom of your lip dragging against the tip of his nose as he pulls you away, strong hands encompassing your face as he looks at you, searching your glazed over eyes, “What are you doing?” He asks, apparent concern.

“Distracting you,” You tell him, immediately diving back in to kiss him, nipping at his chin playfully, a shaking sigh falling from his lips, “are you distracted?”

He chuckles weakly, “What happened to me being a cocky, egotistical, little dicked man?”

“I can go back to hating you if you want,” You respond, nipping at his ear before you pull back to look at him, so close you can feel his breath against your lips, “If you’re into that sorta thing.”

He could see in your eyes that you needed this too, a way to shut your brain off for a while, months of failed dates you’ve told him all about, in detail, he can’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, stifling a groan as you core grinds against him, cock stiffening with the movement.

“Maybe,” He’s undecided, “we’ll see how this goes.”

You smile wide, feeling a surge of pride as he returns the kiss more fully, a hand twisting around the back of your neck as he kisses you fully, all wet and uncoordinated but it makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Let me taste you,” He begs, clawing at your top in an attempt to get his hands on your skin, pushing up the fabric as you follow his movements, top off, stripping your shorts down along with your underwear, an eager Lucien gripping at your hips to maneuver you down into the cushion as he hastily shoves the table away with his feet to make room for him on the floor, no reprieve as he hooks your legs over his shoulder and splits his tongue through your folds, licking up the center.

A man of his word, he tastes. Noisily he licks and prods, tongue dipping inside of along with wandering fingers, sucking gently at your clit until you’re yanking at his hair, hand curling over the back of his scalp, fingernails digging into the top of his back, moans spilling from your lips like a flowing river, the rapids rushing through, walls clenching around nothing but cool air as Lucien parts from you, admires. 

He’s got two hands on your thighs to keep you open, “Wider,” He coaxes, your breath quickening as he squeezes at your thighs, “right there, don’t move.”

He shoves his pants down his hips, the heel of his palm rubbing down his shaft as he wraps his fingers around his cock, jerking himself off at the sight of you, glistening and eager, your fingers digging into the cushion fabric—you’ve seen him before, naked, in starkly different context. 

But, he had nothing to be ashamed of, your eyes counting the faint splattering of freckles on his chest as his hand glides over his cock, tugs, thumb sliding over the tip to spread the precum down his shaft and you don’t hear him calling your name until his hand touches your skin, gliding over your knee as he taps, coming to with a weak, “Huh?”

Lucien laughs under his breath before he’s beckoning you closer, pushing up with your palms as he cups his hand under your chin and asks—no, demands, “Spit,” He tells you, following his order without missing a beat, the saliva dripping into his hands as you push it past your lips and he moves closer, knees settled on the plush rug in your living room, guiding you until your ass was nearly hanging off the couch and using your saliva to aid the tug of his cock.

“No condom,” You quickly interject, slightly out of breath. His mouth opens like he wants to respond but you quickly shush him, “we can avoid the spiel, I’m on the pill.”

Lucien shrugs with a cocked smile, “Just checking. You alright?”

You nod eagerly, dying for a reason to shut your mind off.

It was the perfect angle, his hips just level enough with your hips that he slid in with ease, adding his own string of spit into the mix as rubbed it down your cunt and pushed his cock inside—deeper, deeper, the head of his cock sliding against your folds teasingly as he rocks his hips until he’s fully flush inside of you.

Your anxious hands are taken hold by him, curling around his wrists instinctively before they’re being shoved over your head and against the back of the couch, his towering frame leaning over you as his hips piston you at a bruising pace, deep enough that it aches. It’s been long, so long and you feel pathetic for already wanting it so bad, core pulsating with an insatiable need.

His breath is hot, wet against your skin as his teeth graze against your breast, sucking the skin between his teeth as you gasp, “Louder,” Lucien coaxes, “let ‘em hear you. Think they deserve it after all they’ve put us through.”

You laugh at that, full-body and airy, eyes falling shut as Lucien plants a foot against the floor, changing up the angle to an intense degree, his cock slipping out briefly as he adjusts, catching glimpse of the string of shiny slick that connects you both before the thick head of his cock pushes back in, a soft squelch of admittance, a tell-tale sign of your obvious enjoyment.

If he knew this would shut you up, he would’ve tried seducing you months ago—though, he had a feeling the attempts would be futile, he was floating on his own cloud of disbelief that after all his wrong-doings, his missteps, it hadn’t pushed you away.

“Show me—huh, show me what you like,” Lucien pleads through baited breath, hair sticking to his forehead from the sheen of sweat, his own hands leaving yours with the silent promise that you wouldn’t move them, finding purchase underneath your thighs and pushing them up toward your chest, your fingers gripping around the back of the couch in desperation, “touch—touch yourself, show me.”

The drag of your hand is slow, but eventually your fingers hover over your cunt, pressing against your sensitive clit as you circle, slow and intentional movement that rips a loud moan from your chest matched with his pointed thrusts, feeling his stamina weaning as he watches, hips stuttering.

“You’re a fucking dream,” Lucien admires, “makin’ a damn mess, too. You hear that?”

He slows down on purpose, partially for his own benefit but he’s proving his point, that sticky squelch of arousal, his faint grunts mixed with your quickly rising moans.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” He asks curiously, eyes locked on your pussy, watching his cock split you open, gripping him and pulling him back in eagerly with every thrust, “Look at me—answer me, baby.”

There’s something so distinct in the way he says it, laced with an addictive drug.

Your eyes peel open, bleary behind near tears and you shake your head.

“Do you wish it did?” You counter, earning a subtle head shake from Lucien as he pulls out.

A moan of disappointment leaves your mouth before he’s quickly jostling your around, chest against the couch, his hand spreading wide over your back as he bends you over, fisting his cock as he feeds it back into your greedy cunt, the swollen head making you gasp as it pushes through your over-sensitive folds.

He uses the leverage as his hand climbs, gripping at your shoulder to pull you up, bracketing your body into the couch with a knee at your side, pressing you tight into his chest, his hand sliding around to your chin and turning your face to his, lips parting as he fucks you with a newfound ferocity, eyes rolling back so deep you aren’t expecting the fingers that find your clit, circling the senstive nerves until you’re tipping over the edge, soft encouraging words pulling you through your orgasm like a gentle wave, his fingers slowing down as you resurface.

He comes soon after, his hips stuttering out of pace again as you lean forward, feeling him pull out at the last possible moment before he’s painting thick strips of come against your lower back, the fingers of his left hand digging into your skin as he grabs you tight, the tip of his cock sliding against your ass.

You collapse with a content laugh, oblivious to Lucien searching frantically for something to clean you up before settling on one of the kitchen towels, your body slumped lazily against the couch and sighing when you feel his warm touch, the words slipping out on their own accord, “I got fired.”

“What?”

He tosses the dirty towel aside and passes over your clothes, pulling his own lounge pants back up his hips, sans underwear—and it makes you curious how often he does that normally, comfortable as he takes a seat, legs spread wide as he settles into the cushion.

“They called this morning,” You explain easily, pulling your top over your head and maneuvering your panties and shorts back on, “wouldn’t give me a reason, but it doesn’t matter.”

Lucien’s brow furrows in thought, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips out of habit.

“Is this one of those situations where you’re gonna ask if I’ll sign an NDA?” You half-joke.

He shakes his head almost immediately. He doesn’t seem to find it amusing, almost slightly concerned—or wounded?

“Come work for me,” He insists, “I’ve been needing an assistant.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” You ask him, staring at his flush chest and mused hair, evidence of rigorous sex all over his face, it was almost enough to have you confessing some unspoken feelings, but you weren’t that easily broken down.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Are you just trying to find a reason to stick around longer?” You tease him, a smile peeking out behind your tired expression, “Because it won’t work.”

“No—I’m serious about getting my shit together,” Lucien promises, “I might need a little help…but I want to.”

“Can I think about it?” 

Lucien nods, hands dropping to his lap as he fiddles with a ring on his finger, eventually trailing toward the chains around his neck before his head is popping up, a quizzical look on his face.

“Wait—was that because you were having a bad morning?”

The sex, he means.

A smile breaks out on your face, “Nothing an orgasm won’t fix.”

He can sense it isn’t the full truth, but he doesn’t pry.

“Damn straight,” He chuckles, both of you falling into a comfortable silence.

–

Your answer doesn’t come for a solid week, thinking over the pros and cons. It was complicated, indeed bound to be messy if you allowed it, but Lucien was promising to double your pay, no undermining, no hovering—it seemed too good to be true.

But, you were taking the risk.

Lucien was still awaiting the imminent release of the court documents, the storm of press, but when you were secured in the safety of your apartment, hidden under the blankets as Lucien clung to you, head buried in your chest and his cock still buried inside of you, a slow and lazy day was what he needed, but he also craved you—and he was addicting, impossible to deny.

“We can’t keep doing this when I start working for you,” You remind him.

“Who says we can’t?” Lucien asks curiously, adjusting his hips as he slides deep inside of your cunt, peering up at you with soft eyes, “We keep it casual, if we decide we wanna stop. We stop. It won’t affect your job. I’m not that much of a dick, baby.”

“Well, for starters, you can’t call me baby at work.”

Lucien nods dutifully, listening to you divulge into a long lists of hardset rules, eventually pulling your focus back to him, his hips moving at a slow but gradual pace until you can’t focus any longer, giggling loudly as he buries his face into your neck, a sufficient end to the conversation.

The rest could be figured out later.

-

Clint Flood.

he's not vocal like you might think BUT he made some noises that you've learned to identify if he likes it or not. he usually grits his teeth and hisses if your cunt is squeezing him right. he also likes it sloppy because the sound of skin against skin spurs him on and on and on. he definitely goes "c'mon.. I know you're close.. give it to me, baby. giveittome-" and then shuts and hisses when you cum all over his dick :p (aftercare? sometimes)

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Harry Castillo.

this man FUCKS and he's too cocky abt it. he's not too loud but he's kinda vocal and goes like "ah, like it baby? i know you do, pretty. I know. Too big for you, little girl? haha-" and he LAUGHS abt it 🙄 while you are literally CRYING abt it. the sucker. (aftercare? yess)

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Lucien de León.