#THAT MAN WAS BIT BEFORE HE WAS OUT THE WINDOW!!!

[rafecameroninterlude]

rafe + cnc

warnings: consent no consent (read at your own discretion), dom!rafe and bambi!reader who reenact a kidnapping, roleplay, brief mention of stalking, reader is tied up the whole time, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation (just a lil), rafe and reader break character towards the end

a/n: got the kidnapping idea after i watched buffalo ‘66, pls tell me someone has seen that scene </3

the sun was beaming down on you, your babydoll dress swaying in the light breeze as you walked along the dirt road, twirling the ends of your hair as you did so. turning around at the sound of a vehicle approaching, you watched as the window rolled down, revealing a stranger that wore an unnerving smile.

“are you lost?” his eyes trailed down your legs, making a shiver run down your spine. “uhm, not really i-” he opened the door, “a pretty girl like you shouldn’t be roaming around all by herself.” your breath hitched when the stranger stepped out of his truck. “don’t look so scared, i just wanna help you.”

you stepped back, letting out a scream when he lunged at you, his hand clamping over your mouth as he pulled you against his chest. “shhh, shhh, it’s okay, i’m only gonna rough you up a little bit.” you whimpered, feeling helpless as ever as he dragged you over to his truck, grabbing a worn out rope before tying your hands behind your back.

“where are you taking me?!” tears were running down your cheeks now, your hair disheveled as he slammed the door shut. “don’t you worry about that.” your heart was pounding in your ears, your vision blurry with tears you weren’t able to wipe. it wasn’t until he pulled off of the road, driving towards a sketchy looking shed that you started to kick the back of his seat.

“hey! don’t make me change my mind about going easy on you.” his words made your stomach plummet, your blood running cold once he parked in the middle of nowhere. “no, no, no, no, no..” you whispered as he got down, flashing you a smirk before opening the door closest to you. “no, please! i’ll do whatever you want!” you cried out, wincing when you felt the rope burn against your skin.

he laughed. “of course you are.” he cursed under his breath when your foot landed square against his chest. “still kickin’ huh? should i tie your ankles too?” the man yanked you up by your hair, almost making you lose your footing. “please, i’m begging..” he ignored your pleas, pushing you inside the wooden shed before turning on a single bulb light that hung from the ceiling.

“you already pissed me off.” he circled around you like you were prey, grabbing another rope from a nearby table. “lay down.” you stayed still, your chest rising and falling with each breath. the stranger’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring as he laughed bitterly. “okay..” he forcefully got you on the ground, a whimper sounding from your mouth, “since you want to make this hard for me, you leave me with no choice.” you gasped when he bent you over, forcing your ankles to cross one over the other.

he took his shirt off, balling it up and placing it under your head. “i could be an asshole and shove your face in the dirt, but i’ll be nice.” your body jolted when his hand slammed down on your ass, the force of it making your flesh sting. “don’t do this, please, i don’t want it..” you screwed your eyes shut at the sound of his belt unbuckling. he grabbed your dress from the back, pulling it hard, making it rip all the way down to the hem.

you had given up at this point, staring blankly at the ground as he roughly moved your underwear to the side. “fuck.” he hissed, running a finger between your folds. “and to think.. this pretty pussy was right in front of me all along. i knew you were perfect when i started following you home.” you shivered at the revelation, swallowing thickly as you felt him line himself up with your entrance.

he didn’t waste another second, thrusting into you with a groan. “oh, my god.” he drawled out, fingers digging into your hips. you couldn’t help the whine from leaving your lips, your walls fluttering around the intrusion. “you’re so fucking wet, ‘just slid right in.” you shuddered, the head of his cock hitting that sensitive spot that made you mewl delightfully.

“you like this, don’t you? you’re taking it so fucking good.” he grabbed the base of your neck, pulling you up so your back was flush against his chest. “stop.. stop..” you muttered, still trying to resist him even though your body was giving in to every one of his ministrations. his hand snaked down your body, your eyes rolling back once he started working your clit.

“you want me to stop?” his lips were next to your ear, the tone of his voice taunting. you stayed quiet, eliciting a laugh from him. “that’s what i thought.” he shook his head, pushing you down into the ground again. his thrusts were nothing short of sporadic, your mouth hanging open as he fucked into you mercilessly. “oh, yeah, you’re going to cum soon aren’t you, you fucking slut,” he slapped your ass again.

it wasn’t long before you found yourself moving your hips against his, chasing his cock so you could cum. “oh, fuck!” you squeaked, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. with both of your hands still restrained, you laid helpless as the man brought you to your orgasm, a sob erupting from your throat. “rafe!” you couldn’t hold in your cries, your boyfriend rubbing your skin soothingly as your thighs shook. “keep going for me, baby, you’re doing so fucking good.” he nearly whimpered.

you were sure he was going to leave marks with how hard he was gripping your waist, rafe doubling over on top of you. “i’m gonna cum, holy fuck i’m gonna fill you up, baby.” you squeezed around him, the death grip on his cock making him fall over the edge. your knees ached from being on them for so long, a thin sheen of sweat making your body glow with the small streaks of sunlight peeking through the wood.

rafe stared gloriously at where you two were connected, his jaw slack as he watched his cum spill out of your soaked cunt. “shit,” he felt like he was going to pass out, your pussy still sucking him in like a vice. you were only able to make little noises, your eyes half closed as you went through the aftershocks of your orgasm. rafe continued to thrust into you with long, slow, strokes, the action helping both of you come down from your highs.

it wasn’t until you felt him untying the ropes around your wrists, that you sighed in relief, your boyfriend immediately leaning down to check on you. “baby, you alright?” he moved your hair out of your face, meeting your shiny gaze. you fell flat on you tummy, flashing him an exhausted smile. “you did amazing.” he pecked your lips, leaving the shed before coming back with a different change of clothes.

“let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

#⟡ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 #bambi!reader #outer banks #outer banks smut #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe edit #rafe fluff #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe obx #obx #drew starkey

[papaya-twinks]

PLS WRITE LANDO NAKED UNDER THE FIREPROOFS PLSSSSS

Warnings: Smut, 18+, praise

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Lando was a man whore. That was obvious to everyone. But wearing nothing under his fireproofs? That was a whole new level for him, and he’d done some dirty things with you before. You both arrived at the car reveal, him already in his suit when he arrived. What you didn’t know, was what he was wearing underneath. In short, nothing. 

He was stood beside you, talking to the organisers of the event, his hand absentmindedly coming to the strap of his suit and redoing it. That’s when your eyes flickered down to his bare chest. Adorned only with a dainty chain, his tan skin briefly flickering. Lando took note of your flabbergasted expression, your eyes wide at him. “See something you like?” he snapped you out your day dream. 

“No,” you shook it off quickly, trying and failing to hide your blush. Your boyfriend simply smirked, tugging at your hand and pulling you to the side. “What is it?” he asked, eyes roving over your face. “You’re not wearing your fireproofs, or even a shirt,” you pointed out. “Oh,” he blinked, “that got you a bit bothered, sweetheart?” Lando smirked as you rolled your eyes. 

“No,” you shook your head, looking down, obviously lying. “Meet me here at six, yeah?” he said, referring to two hours after the car meet. He knew you’d be back stage, watching him do his job, whilst you weren’t allowed to be there. Afterwards, he had a few interviews, before he’d be free do whatever. You did so, watching your boyfriend, knowing fully well what was underneath the suit…well…nothing. 

You couldn’t get it out of your head, you wanted to see Lando with a boner, his hard cock pressed to the inside of his suit… You blinked, eyes on your phone. 17:55. You decided to Ames you way back from the little market you’d go e to visit, and be where Lando had seen you. The car showroom was empty, the windows now tainted, and blinds pulled down. “Lando,” you saw your boyfriend, 

His eyes were roving over the car, focused on the livery as he waited. “Oh, hey,” he smirked, seeing you. Your cheeks were red, fresh from the thoughts of earlier as he walked to you. His zip was undone, his chest peeking through as you silently begged for it to just…fall. “Staring, again?” Lando asked cockily as you flushed. “It’s fine, there’s no one here,” he said, undoing the strap beneath his neck 

You watched as he did so, the top half of his suit falling to his hips, his chest bare, complimented by the small chain. “Better?” Lando asked, a small smile on his face as he roomy our hand, pulling you closer to him. Your chest was pressed flush against his, his lips locking onto your neck as you gasped. “Wanna take you over the car, y’know that?” he mumbled against your neck. 

“Please,” was all you could say, his hand cupping your tit, squeezing and tugging at your top. You lifted your arms up, letting him take it off, leaving you in your skirt and bra. You gasped as he turned you around, pressing you against the car, your chest hanging over the cockpit, hands on the halo. Your skirt rode up in the process, his hand coming to press against your thong. 

He moved it to the side, fingers running over your wetness as you gasped, head hanging over the seat as you felt him take his suit all the way to his knees, his cock springing onto your ass. Lando’s hand moved to knead the flesh of your ass, as he used his other one to push his cock into you, your eyes rolling at the sensation. “Fuck, Lan,” you gripped the halo tighter, feeling him stretch you out. 

“Fuck, so tight f’me,” he groaned, hand running over your stomach as he felt himself twitch inside of you. Your moans were unfiltered, loud and lewd, his hips slowly beginning to slam into you. Your moans turned into mewls, your words coming out incoherent and mumbled as you held onto the halo for dear life. “So fucking gorgeous, y’know that?” he mumbled, he loved doing that. Asking questions during sex. Made both of you feel good. 

“Y’know, when they were showing us the car,” he spoke again, “all I could think of was your little ass stuck up in front of me with you bent over it,”. Your eyes rolled at his statement, the fact he’d been picturing that was hot. Wouldn’t it be crazy if people could mind read? 

Both of you would be done. “And look where you are, hm? Moaning dirty, baby,”he slammed into you, the knot in your stomach unravelling as you shrieked, his fingers replacing his cock as he left you cum, his own shooting out in thick, hot ropes of the stuff. 

“Be a shame if this was Oscar’s car,” you giggled, standing up straight. “Even if it was, it’s kinda got my cum on it, doubt he’d want that,” Lando snorted.  

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 #lando norris smut #lando x reader #lando norris imagine

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Joel helps out Tommy’s pregnant girlfriend while he’s in jail while secretly having feelings for her.]

Drama fluff

PART TWO

“Don’t work yourself up, darlin’. Any man would be stupid to not appreciate you growin’ a baby for em…be stupid to not want a family with you…” he looked down at you as you looked up into his brown eyes.

A few months had passed now as your belly grew…three months to be exact. Due to complications with his case Tommy had not been released yet, Joel would drive you to visit him every week. He only did it because he didn’t want you traveling alone, he never felt his brother deserved it. After todays sonogram you had planned to visit him. You always felt conflicted when going to visit him wishing things were different.

Joel stood beside you as a new doctor entered the room to perform the sonogram.

“Where is Dr.Edwards?” You asked a bit anxious only wanting to be treated by those you were familiar with.

“He had an emergency today so I’ll be taking care of his patients, how are we feeling today?” He asked with a warm smile.

“Good, a lot of kicking” you lay back staring at the ceiling as Joel stood beside you looking down at you. As the months had passed you and Joel had grown very close. You appreciated his time and care for you, you always wished Tommy was more like his older brother. The doctor went and placed the cold gel on your belly and proceeded to move his hand around getting a good look.

“Oh yeah look at that, he’s dancing around in there” the doctor laughed looking at the screen.

“Yes,it’s all especially at bed time” you sighed with a chuckle.

“And he’s a big boy, I could see-“ the doctor continued pointing at the screen.

“He’s going to be tall like daddy” the doctor pointed at Joel beside you. The both of you froze not knowing what to say..

“Um-he-“ you decided to not even bother as the doctor became distracted by the screen and let it be. Joel held back a chuckle as he lightly chewed on his bottom lip.

Every sonogram appointment was bittersweet, you loved seeing your son moving around but it broke your heart that Tommy wasn’t enjoying any of this with you.

“Everything looks great, I’ll see you back in three weeks" the doctor stopped before you and pulled his glasses down to the bridge of his nose looking at you and Joel.

"I assume dad is helping you around the house-“ he looked at Joel making you blush in embarrassment.

“Don’t let her overwork herself, that’s a big boy she’s carrying” he teased before rubbing your shoulder.

“Take care of yourselves” the doctor chuckled as he walked out leaving you and Joel awkwardly alone.

Not knowing what to say you simply allowed Joel to help you off the bed and walked out with him.

“Sorry about that” you suddenly spoke as you walked beside him to his truck.

“For what?”

“The doctor…you know…the dad stuff..” he opened the car door for you with a shrug.

“That don’t bother me, darlin’. I can play along” he winked at you making you look down with a smile.

“Well seriously, I'm so grateful with how helpful you have been with me, Joel…you don’t have to do any of this,”

“Hey…that’s my nephew you’re carrying, course I’m gonna help” he gave you his arm to hold to get in the car and closed the door.

“What would I do without you, Joel” you whispered to yourself watching him walk around the car to the drivers seat. You had no idea the true thoughts going through his mind.

Joel drove beside you looking over at you as you looked out the window. Every week you visited Tommy while carrying his growing son inside of you, and he never seemed appreciative of anything you did. Joel hated seeing it..

“I have the sonograms to give to Tommy so he can see how big our boy is” you smiled looking down at the photos as he peaked at them while driving.

“Do you think he’ll be happy to see?” You looked over at Joel noticing he seemed a bit upset.

“What’s wrong?” He quickly changed his expression and shook his head.

“Nothin’, just trynna get there”

“I’m sorry” you sighed.

“I don’t mean to bore you with all of this baby talk, it’s just-“

“Don’t you apologize honey, ya ain’t borin’ me” he assured you as he drove, finally arriving to the place.

Joel entered with you, standing beside you as you gave your information to see Tommy.

“Uh, Tommy Miller is no longer available for visits until further notice-“

“Excuse me?” Joel took a step forward beside you.

“What? What do you mean?” You asked confused.

“Yesterday evening he was involved in an altercation and lost visiting privileges” the officer explained.

“What?” Your heart beginning to race as anxiety took over and Joel could see it. Something didn’t sound right but what the hell did you know how any of this shit worked.

“What altercation? Is he ok?”

“We have no further information on the situation mam, you will have to call his-“

“No! I would like to see if he’s ok!” You began to scream before feeling Joel delicately pull you away from the window.

“Who can I speak to about this that can give us more information now” Joel asked directly.

“As I told the lady, Sir, you will have to call in the morning-“

“Is he alright?” Joel asked making the officer narrow his eyes on him.

“Please man just give her that…she’s pregnant for Gods sake” the officer took one look at you and gave in.

“He’s fine, he’s the one that did the damage. He has no access to visitors or phone calls until further notice”

“Shit” you whispered in a cry placing your hand on your forehead and turning away.

“Does he know?” You asked hoping maybe there would be a message Tommy had for you.

“Yes he does” the officer responded.

“How long is it gonna be like this?” You quickly asked before leaving.

“Could be a few months, all depends on how he behaves” pressing your lips together you walked out as fast as you could in disbelief.

“Hey” Joel called out to you catching up with you just as you got to the truck.

“Hey, easy-“

“How could he be so stupid!” You screamed slamming your hand on the truck.

“Try to relax-“

“I am six months pregnant, Joel! A few months I can’t see him or speak directly to him? I am due in November! It’s enough he can’t be here..What if-“

“Look at me” Joel unexpectedly grabbed your face.

“I will call tomorrow morning and see what I find out, I need you to stay calm until then. Can ya do that for me?” You sighed and slowly nodded.

“Now let’s go back to my place, dinner on me. Whatever you and little man are in the mood for alright?”

You chuckled softly, Joel was always trying to make you laugh.

“Sounds good” you whispered although he could see the clear concern in your eyes before he helped you in the truck.

The whole ride to his house he watched as you silently cried through the reflection of the window. You wouldn’t turn his way, you wouldn’t speak, he hated Tommy for this. All his brother did was hurt you time after time with no sense of remorse.

Once arriving at the house Sarah greeted you excitedly rubbing your belly with a grin.

“How’s my cousin doing?”

“Good, killing my back” you smiled softly but Sarah could tell you were upset and trying to hide it. Your eyes were puffy, it was obvious you had been crying. Joel ordered dinner and the three of you sat together as you silently ate. Silently he kept looking up at you with concern before Sarah finally spoke.

“So are you staying here tonight?”

Joel eagerly waited for you to respond.

“I think you should” she continued.

“I…-“

“You know, Tommy’s room is just gonna be empty for a while. You could stay there so if you need anything we’ll be close by”

Joel suggested, the thought was tempting yet you felt you were being helped enough to now move in.

“Joel, you’ve done enough for me I can’t-“

“Sarah and I would feel better if you stayed close, with the baby’s due date gettin’ closer and all…” he insisted, you sighed looking down. The idea didn’t sound bad at all yet the thought of staying alone in Tommy’s empty room depressed you.

“I suppose…just for some time”

Joel smiled in relief feeling better with you staying with him.

The days went on and still there was no call from Tommy. Joel trying to get through multiple times would only end up going in circles yet you appreciated how much he tried for you.

Three in the morning and you couldn’t sleep you found yourself standing in the kitchen eating ice cream. Staring into space thinking about the reality of the situation when Joel walked into the kitchen.

“Oh-I’m sorry if I woke you” you looked a bit embarrassed as he shook his head assuring you he had been awake. He stared at you for a moment and couldn’t help but smirk.

“What?” You raised a brow only causing him to chuckle.

“You’re laughing at me?”

“No mam” he quickly shook his head.

His eyes tracing over your swollen belly as you stood in the kitchen barefoot in a night gown eating ice cream out of the container.

“You just…you look beautiful…” your eyes slightly widened not expecting his compliment.

“Oh, well..thank you..”you blushed quickly putting away the ice cream.

“Was just craving some chocolate” you chuckled.

“Did you get your fix?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

“Yes, I think he liked it too” you laughed as you rubbed your belly.

“Stay right there” Joel unexpectedly grabbed something out of the cabinet.

“What?” You whispered as he pulled out a Polaroid camera.

“A picture?” you raised a brow.

“A picture of you pregnant, why not?” You smiled looking down, you realized you hadn’t taken any photos of yourself pregnant. With a silent nod you stood against the wall, holding your belly with a smile. Joel took a step back taking the photo, his eyes still on you as he bought the camera down.

“You think that came out ok?”

“Perfect” he whispered just as you noticeably winced.

“Movin’ a lot?” Joel asked taking a step forward.

“Yes, it’s always around the same time he’s more hyper than others, do you wanna feel?” You stepped forward taking a hold of Joel’s hand and placed it on the spot you usually felt him in. Joel awkwardly stood still as you held his hand, a few seconds passed and you felt the baby moving again.

“Jesus..” he whispered with a smile. Your hand softly placed over his large hand as he continued to feel the baby move.

“He does move a lot” Joel uttered as he looked down at your belly.

“Was Sarah like this when her mother was pregnant?” You noticed his expression slightly change at the mention of Sarah’s mother as he looked up. Slowly releasing his hand he took a step back.

“That’s kind of a blur to me, if I’m being honest. Her mother didn’t enjoy being pregnant, she realized a little too late that it wasn’t something she wanted.” You had never heard what happened to Sarahs mother, nor did you ever ask but you were always curious.

“So….she just left?” You whispered hesitantly as he cleared his throat and leaned back on the counter.

“Mhm”

You raised your brows in silence.

“How old was Sarah when she left?”

“Four months old”

“Oh wow, I’m so sorry, Joel” you responded.

“I ain’t, it was better for Sarah” you nodded in response, you knew he was a great father.

“It’s a shame…” you whispered.

“When a parent doesn’t…doesn’t prioritize their baby..” you swallowed trying to fight back tears.

“Tommy knew what would happen if he started anything there, he knew I wouldn’t be able to see him. He doesn’t care about the risks he takes knowing I’m pregnant” you whispered.

“I shouldn’t be surprised, he’s always been like this. I just…I guess a part of me hoped this would help him change” you quickly wiped away a tear as you cradled your belly.

“How stupid of me to think that it would-“

“Hey, Tommy’s the stupid one” he quickly interrupted.

“I just wanted a happy family with him” you began to cry as Joel took a step forward.

“C’mere” he placed an arm around you, his chin leaning on your head.

“Don’t work yourself up, darlin’. Any man would be stupid to not appreciate you growing a baby for em…be stupid to not want a family with you…” he looked down at you as you looked up into his brown eyes. Gently he wiped your tears away with his thumb when he noticed you looking at his lips. Unexpectedly you tip toed and kissed him, he didn’t move in shock. A second later he kissed you passionately before you abruptly pulled away.

“Oh my god-“ you gasped.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I-I’m sorry” you quickly ran to your room in shock.

“Wait-“ he called out to you but you didn’t listen.

Closing the door shut, your hand on your lips you couldn’t believe what you had just done.

Tommy’s brother? How could you be so stupid? The feel of guilt heavy in your chest, never had you betrayed Tommy this way.

Joel stood in the kitchen alone replaying in his mind what had just happened. Something he had wanted to do for so long yet didn’t expect in that moment…

The next day you woke up earlier than Joel and planned to take a cab to work. Sarah, who was always an early bird watched on confused as you grabbed your bag before looking at the time.

“Are you gonna wait for dad to take you?” She asked as you rushed to the door.

“No, I start earlier today. I’ll see you later, have a great day” You left the house before Joel’s alarm woke him.

Joel came down the stairs pulling down his shirt expecting to see you having breakfast with Sarah, expecting to speak to you once she left for school.

“Where’s y/n?” He asked curiously as Sarah ate her scrambled eggs.

“She said she started earlier today that she didn’t need the ride” Joel remained silent looking away.

During the early afternoon you had received a call that Tommy would be allowed visits. You didn’t know how to feel, Tommy had cheated on you many times in the past yet this somehow felt worse because he didn’t expect it from you.

Joel had thought about you all day, even calling your cell but never got an answer. Once you returned you hoped Joel wasn’t home yet there he was on the couch beside Sarah waiting for your return. Once you walked through the door he quickly stood up, yet you couldn’t speak. Walking into the kitchen you could hear his steps following behind, before he could say a word you spoke.

“They’re letting Tommy accept visits now” you blurt out making him stop in his tracks. You couldn’t even look him in the eye as you took a deep breath.

“I’m going to see him today-“

“I’ll take you,” Joel responded quickly.

“No, I…you shouldn’t” you whispered.

“I ain’t lettin’ you go out there alone” he took a step forward.

“I been worried about you all damn day, let me take you” he insisted, silently you gave in.

Neither of you said a word as he drove to the prison. Your stomach turning, your heart in your throat as you sat beside Joel waiting to see Tommy.

Confusion wasn’t the word.

Yesterday wasn’t right, you knew it wasn’t…yet you couldn’t get the feel of his damn lips out of your mind. Joel kept looking over at you itching to say something about the night before but he didn’t know how.

“You alright?” He asked with a deep breath.

“I-“

“Look about last night” he quickly interrupted.

“Don’t” you whispered.

“I don’t know what got into me. My hormones, my mind…I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry” you still couldn’t look at him blaming it on anything you could think of.

“Ya don’t gotta apologize” Joel responded, he wanted it more than you knew.

“Just leave it” you shook your head as he pulled into the parking area.

There was Tommy on the other side of the glass in his orange jumpsuit. He looked angry grabbing the phone as you slowly sat before him.

“Tommy-“

“What the hell was so important that you needed to come today” Joel instantly leaned forward beside you like a body guard on watch.

“She was worried about you Tommy”

“Well as you can see I’m fine right? And you,” he looked at Joel.

“Stop giving her damn rides over here” you looked at him in shock.

“You don’t want to see me” you whispered as felt a knot in your throat.

“For what? There’s no point” he bluntly responded. The sound in his voice, the words he used broke your heart. Pressing your lips together you hung up the phone and walked out as Joel looked down at his brother angrily and grabbed the phone.

“You always gotta be an ass huh”

“She’ll get over it” Tommy shrugged.

Joel flared his nostrils taking a deep breath, it was by luck that his brother was behind a glass in that moment.

Joel walked out to find you sitting in the truck looking down. You didn’t move as he got in, he himself not knowing what to say. Joel drove constantly looking over at you to make sure you were ok, you had remained silent staring into space.

“Look, Tommy is-“

“I don’t wanna hear it, I don’t care to” you looked straight ahead as he nodded and respected your wishes.

Walking inside his home you walked quickly to Tommy’s bedroom and decided to pack your belongings. Joel hesitantly following you inside until he noticed you throw your open luggage on the bed.

“What are you doin’?” he asked with furrowed brows as you began to pack.

“Going back home” you whispered without looking up.

“No-why? Look Tommy got nothin’ to do with me wantin’ to help-“

“Forget Tommy!” You screamed unexpectedly.

“I don’t need him” you continued moving back and forth grabbing your belongings from the closet.

“Look, you’re upset right now and I understand-“

“You really don’t understand so leave me alone” Joel pressed his lips together, the thought of you leaving and staying alone towards the end of your pregnancy all because of Tommy didn’t feel right to him.

“Don’t-“ he caught your arm stopping you from packing more clothes away.

“Let go of me, Joel” you whispered.

“No” he could tell you were holding back tears, holding back anger.

“Let go!” You screamed failing to pull your arms back. A part of you not wanting him to let you go but you felt leaving was the smart thing to do. After the kiss…you knew it wasn’t best for you to stay.

“Tommy doesn’t care about me or this baby-“

“Well I do, dammit” he almost yelled.

“Stop it” you shook your head as you began to cry, he wasn’t making this any easier.

“You’re his brother, I am pregnant with his baby and I kissed you and-“

“That’s why you wanna leave?” He whispered leaning closer towards you. The feelings you felt overflowing inside you, resentment and anger towards Tommy…yet safe with Joel. Maybe it was more than just safety with Joel…the kissed you both shared still heavy on your mind...

“I kissed you and-“

“I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about it since it happened” he admitted in a whisper, taking the words right out of your mouth.

“And you still think it’s right for me to stay?”

“I want you to” he insisted just as you both heard the door open and Sarah walked in.

“Dad? What’s going on?” Joel quickly let go of you as Sarah looked at all your stuff on the bed.

“You’re leaving?” She asked with concern.

“I-“

“Please don’t go, I really like when you’re here” Sarah made you smile with her words.

“I’m not going anywhere” you assured her.

“Did you see Uncle Tommy?”

You swallowed anxiously as your smile vanished.

“How about we get ready for dinner” Joel interrupted. She agreed not pushing the topic and left back to the living room.

Sitting at the table in silence Sarah stared back between you and her father. She knew something was off, she knew her father very well.

“So how was everyone’s day?” She asked making you look up.

“Good, how was school?”

“Yeah, how was that test you had?” Her father looked over at her.

“Aced it” she smiled.

“That’s my girl” Joel grinned before continuing to eat his food.

Once dinner was finished your proceeded to get up and collect the dishes.

“I’ll start washing these”

“How about you sit back and put those feet up, I think you’ve done enough today” Joel took the dishes out of your hands and walked to the kitchen. Sarah raised her brows holding in a chuckle.

“My dads not gonna let you lift a finger now that you’re staying here”

“Well, I appreciate that but I can still do things” you assured her before walking to the couch and laying back. Putting your feet up didn’t seem so bad, you sighed feeling the breeze from the window as your eyes began to close and you fell asleep.

An hour later you woke up a little confused not realizing you had fallen asleep. Joel was sitting on the couch beside you reading a book until he heard you move around.

“What time is it?”

“Eight thirty” he responded as you sighed.

“Geez,” Joel quickly stood up as you tried to push yourself up. Slowly he helped you up as you winced feeling an ache in your back.

“You alright?” He asked holding you steady.

“Yeah, I just need to walk” you assured him and slowly made your way to the kitchen rubbing your eyes. Leaning forward on the counter you held your lower back with one hand attempting to stretch your body in a way that would relieve the ache.

“My back has been killing me all day” you arched your back again attempting to relieve pressure when you suddenly felt Joel behind you, his hands pressing into your lower back.

“What are you doing?” You whispered awkwardly.

“Tryna help you”

“No, I don’t think-“ you attempted to turn back but Joel held you in place.

“Stay still, I know what I’m doin’. I promise I ain’t gonna try nothin’” he assured you assuming that was going through your head. Little did he know, it wasn’t the fear of him trying something, it was the thought of enjoying feeling his hands on you.

Leaning forward you closed your eyes as Joel worked his hands throughout your back. He sure did know how to work them, feeling the relief of pressure you moaned softly.

“Oh that feels…wonderful”

Joel smiled watching your body relax, your shoulders calmly drop as he continued to massage you.

He genuinely only wanted to make you feel comfortable knowing you had no one else to help you with this. Feeling you close was just a bonus for him.

“You’re the best” you whispered just as you both heard one of the bedroom doors open.

Sarah came out to see her father massaging your back as you awkwardly turned forward taking a deep breath.

“Hi Sarah”

She smiled as she walked into the kitchen and began to make herself a sandwich.

“I bet uncle Tommy is happy you’re getting help, I can’t imagine how scared he was with you alone” your smile dropped as Joel rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah” you responded softly.

“Well, I’m gonna get ready for bed. I’ll see you two in the morning” you walked past the both of them as Joel watched you walk into the bedroom. Sarah noticed just how her father kept his eyes on you but didn’t say a word yet she knew him well enough to know there was more she didn’t know about…

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x pregnant reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

[allurilove]

Yandere Stalker x you

Rated 18 + -- mature short content !

Content Warning: This story contains themes of obsession, stalking, manipulation, and violent fantasies. It delves into the unhealthy and dangerous mindset of a stalker obsessed with you. Reader discretion is advised.

WORD COUNT: 3.6K

INCLUDES: Stalking, blood kink, obsessive behavior, cunnilingus, fingering, fem reader, choking, mentions of cheating, p in v sex in public, murder, death, he's not a good person, dom yandere?, degradation?, he can be a bit of a gaslighter, gore, and more.

*This is the third fic to this little mini series. Check out the first part, and the second part for a better understanding! He is referred to as "your stalker." The italicized portion is his inner thoughts! This fic is inspired by the show You, and this is purely fictional writing!*

SYNOPSIS: Your stalker's obsession intensifies as he becomes involved with another woman named Daniella Foster, who he views as inferior to you. Despite his disdain for your best friend, he engages in a flirtatious and sexual relationship with her, all the while fantasizing about you.

What's more dangerous than a sick, psychotic, and perverted man?

I ran out of your blood today.

Just four hours ago, I was completely fine. The vial of your period blood was nearly empty, but I was able to stick my finger inside to collect the last of your crimson essence. I sucked a particularly big blood clot off my finger, and I was able to start my day with a huge smile.

Four hours ago, I could claim that I was a normal and functioning man, someone you wouldn’t blink an eye at, and that was all thanks to you.

Four hours ago, I was able to brush my teeth, take a shower, and clean myself up for the day. I had an extra pep in my step, and I felt like I could take on the world with a positive outlook.

Don’t you see how much life you give me? Your blood alone has made me feel like I was on top of the world, like I could float up into space with just your plasma to help me survive.

But now, it was gone.

Your stalker stared blankly at the window as his body was jostled side to side, his hands tightly gripping the handle of his tote bag that rested on his lap. He tried to ignore the obnoxiously sick person near him, who didn’t even bother to cover their coughs. He closed his eyes to avoid staring into the eyes of another person across from him. He was sandwiched between two burly people: one shouted loudly into their phone, clearly having zero spatial awareness, while the other snoozed. The woman's head drooped as she nodded off, and her greasy hair brushed against his cheek.

She had a distinct smell of sweat and wet socks. Your stalker apologized to the man next to him as he slightly leaned his body away from the woman. He was stuck in this position unless someone took pity on him and spoke up.

His car was in the shop. The tire had unexpectedly given out, causing him to swerve into oncoming traffic. The car was old anyway, a gift from his parents when he first got his license in high school. That must have been, what, ten years ago? He didn’t like to think about his age; nothing good ever came from it anyway.

Your stalker rummaged through his bag, his hand searching for the familiar plastic tube he used to steal your period blood. His fingers brushed against a particularly sharp blade he kept for “safety” reasons before they wrapped around the vial. He had really tried to savor it. He would carefully open his mouth and tilt the vial just enough for a single drop of blood to settle onto his tongue. Sometimes he would pour a bit into his coffee, or he would put it into his food. Either way, it made him feel closer to you. It was a comforting notion to think about, that he was the only man and human who had access to you in such an intimate way.

Your stalker sighed as he put the empty tube back into his breast pocket for safe keeping.

He didn’t like taking public transportation. New York was known for having odd things happening on the trains, buses, and subways. He was pretty sure that last week someone had set a rat on fire, a poor woman got robbed in broad daylight, and a group of teens were filming their dumb YouTube prank videos on the elderly.

Your stalker felt a flare of irritation as the woman leaned on his shoulder again. He gently nudged her off and ignored the way she woke up all startled. He glanced down at his phone, counting the number of stops, and saw he had twelve more before he could get off.

He was going to Manhattan for a job. An absolute douchebag had hired him, and his name was Myron Vykolv. He was the type to spend his money on trips and a bedazzled car rather than giving back to charity. Vykolv was an artist's worst nightmare: fickle, a headache to deal with; but surprisingly, he had good taste in art. He had to; he hired your stalker, after all.

He pulled out his phone to scroll on social media, his eyes scanning the copious amount of braindead content, and he paused when he saw a familiar face. He pressed the buttons on the side of his phone, his screen flashing, and the screenshot he took was saved in his photo album. Your stalker zoomed in, and his eyes widened as he saw the perfectly harmonious facial features. The baby tee top had a cute graphic splayed on the chest area, hair slicked and pulled back into a bun, and gold hoops dangling from those nicely formed ears.

It was you.

He glanced down at the caption: "a coffee date with my favorite bff." Posted exactly five minutes ago. It wasn't your account, but it was the closest thing he had to you. Your stalker decided to follow your coffee-manic and bikini-loving friend, and every post and picture she had, you were in it too.

She made it almost easy to stalk. Jesus, what if a deranged man had decided to show up to her place in the Beverly Hills area on the street of— seriously? Did she really just post her full address online?

Daniella Foster. The epitome of a fun and ditzy socialite who spent way too much time at parties and clubs. A trust fund baby if there ever was one, with her daddy being a big shot in the entertainment industry. Despite all that privilege, she never quite made it big herself.

Your stalker snorted as he saw the array of failed projects she had been in. Modeling? Wasn't in the cards for her. Acting? Horrible. A piece of cardboard would've had more personality than her. Originally from Tampa, Florida, then she moved to California, where she had her comically large house, and then… she decided to bless us by coming to New York. Lucky us, right y/n?

Your stalker looked up from his phone and realized the train had come to his stop. He got up from his seat and quickly made his way out. He felt his phone vibrate in his hand and looked down: Daniella requested to follow you. That was fast.

He clicked accept.

She's a shameless flirt, your stalker soon found out, and he’s not the least bit surprised. Daniella slid into his DMs with a picture of her provocatively sucking a lollipop, and her first words to him were: “What do you look like?”

Gee, take a gander, Daniella. My profile picture is a high-definition shot of my handsome and sexy fucking face. But sure, ask me about my looks as if you were actually interested. Your stalker rolled his eyes. He didn’t even want to respond to that message, but he had no other way of seeing you again. You would probably run at the sight of him, and that would be the most sane and correct thing you could do.

So, what does a man say when he’s mediocre, average, and you’re clearly out of his league? “I look like the man of your dreams, sweetheart.”

Your stalker had spent hours sexting and courting this woman who had flooded his inbox. Even when he was painting for a client, he managed to multitask and send a dick pic. He sent her whatever she wanted to keep her hooked, and just by her messages alone, this must have been the only time a man actually matched her level of craziness and horniness.

Days turned into weeks and then soon into months. The moment he woke up, he would see that she had sent him hundreds of messages in one night—she must've been drunk again.

He spent hours reading each message, and he hearted the ones that he felt were the most important. It was actually coming to an end, thank God, but to his surprise, she asked him out on a date.

"So, what do you do? Who are you?" The girl in front of him asked.

He shouldn't have said yes because now he was sitting in a restaurant that he could barely afford or get a reservation to, and he had to be with this woman who wasn't you. She was dressed beautifully - he'd give her that. He liked the dark colors of her red dress, the way he could drink in the curves of her hips and chest, and how it gave him a clear view of her body.

Now, he wondered what you would have worn if you were on a date with him. Would you have put in this much effort and shown this much skin? Would you have laughed at all of his jokes to boost his damn ego, or knocked him down a peg? Would you have ordered something light so you could have sex afterward, or would you have eaten something hearty and called it a day?

He pretended to think for a while, all before he gently touched her hand, and his fingers caressed her soft skin. "Who am I?" He teased, his voice slightly deepened as he gave her a playful once-over. "I'm hurt. After all these months, you still don't know who I am?"

"Why don't you refresh my memory?" She tilted her head.

Your stalker sighed and he looked around briefly. This place was intimate, for high rollers only, and he could just imagine how much of his money was going to go down the drain. The tiny candle on the table, the white clean cloth, and the vase with a single rose was still too romantic for his taste. His thumb traced circles on her hand, and the other grabbed for his steak knife.

“I'm an up-and-coming artist,” He replied with a bit of a shrug.

“An up-and-coming artist, huh?” She echoed, her fingers now interlocked with his. “Do you come often?”

Lord, please have some mercy and shoot me. Do I come often? Wouldn’t you like to know, you slut. Is this the type of person you really want to spend your time with, y/n? Daniella is not you, and she could never be you. She parades herself around for anyone and everyone to ogle at—she is the epitome of what’s wrong with the dating scene. No wonder she doesn’t have a boyfriend. No wonder she’s desperate enough to entertain me—of all people.

I know the type of people you like, Daniella, and it’s not me.

“You know what you’re doing when you ask me that.” he brought her hand up to his lips and he kissed it. “I can tell you can make a man come often.“

Daniella giggled and her chest puffed out. She leaned closer to him, and he can practically drown in her scent of vanilla and cake. “I have an art piece that I think you'll appreciate. It's back at my place… wanna see it?”

Fuhhhhhck no. Your stalker slipped the knife into his pocket.

Your stalker smirked and he leaned in closer as well. He could see the makeup on her face, the gloss on her lips, and he could see a glimpse of her ample breasts. “I don’t know… is it one of a kind?”

Underneath the table, her leg started to caress his, and her foot slowly found its way to his crotch. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped, and he held onto her hand tighter. As much as he hated this, he would have been lying if he had said that the attention wasn’t nice. He felt the pressure around his groin tighten as she pressed her foot onto it, and she gently rubbed it up and down while maintaining eye contact.

“It’s an original piece…something that can’t be replicated. I’m sure you’ll love it.” Daniella said coyly, and she bit down on her plush lips.

She knew when to strike when the iron was hot. A taxi was called, and she made out with him in it. Her body was pressed up against his, and she felt his hand grip on her ass. His hand then slid up her thigh, his fingers ripped her black sheer stockings and two of them found their way to her entrance. He bit down on her bottom lip and his tongue slipped into her mouth.

She's a fun girl. She knew exactly how to inflate a man's ego and pride. He heard her sweet, light moans, and her hips started to grind onto his hand. His thumb played with her clit, and they only pulled away when the cab arrived at her house. He grabbed her hand and tossed a couple of bills at the driver. He slammed the door shut, and before she could unlock the door to her house, he pressed her against his body.

"W-We're in public...!" Daniella's face was flushed and she tried to close her legs, but your stalker was quick to pull them back apart.

He narrowed his eyes and tugged down her panties. "So? Don't tell me you have morals all of a sudden." he snorted.

He wished that she would just shut up. She opened her mouth to rebuttal but he wrapped one hand around her throat to keep her still and quiet, and he shimmied off his pants just enough for his cock to be out. "I didn't come here for you to talk all the damn time. Shut it, before I put that mouth of yours to good use."

Your stalker lifted her up and made her wrap her legs around him. His dick then entered inside her, and he groaned at how wet and ready she felt. It's been awhile since he felt actual warmth, and her walls started to clench around him. His breath is ragged as he fucked her. His eyes were closed and he couldn't help but bite down onto her shoulder. Daniella cried out, and her body was tense as his teeth broke into her skin.

"God... you needed this, didn't you?" He purred as he licked up the puncture wound. Your stalker then looked down to watch his cock disappear into her. "You need someone to fuck your brains out." He sharply thrust into her again, and his hands dug into the plush of her ass to help with the momentum.

Your stalker dragged his tongue across her bleeding shoulder, then pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall. With one hand still gripping her body, he used the other to shove his fingers down her throat, silencing her whimpers."You're the prettiest whore I have ever seen. Isn't that right, y/n?"

Your stalker truly believed he was being intimate with you. Daniella, who? All he knew was you. All he ever wanted was to feel you, to taste you, and to be able to hear you mewl around his cock. He wanted to see your eyes roll back into your skull, to paint your skin with butterfly kisses, and for him to finally come inside you again and again. It actually pissed him off to no end that he had to be stuck here with her.

When he felt himself getting closer to the edge, he unceremoniously pulled out of her, and his white stream of cum dripped down onto the ground. He sighed as his dick softened, and he gently helped her stand on her own legs again. His hand dipped underneath her body, his fingers playing with her wet folds, and he spread them apart to furiously rub at her clit. Daniella gripped onto his arm to keep him firmly there until she felt her leg shake.

Your stalker watched with a bit of fascination as what seemed like an endless amount of juices squirted out of her. He got onto his knees and helped her to sit onto his face. After he cleaned her all up, your stalker suddenly remembered something and his hand patted down his pockets.

"Hey... I think I'm missing my phone." He started his little lie. "Can I borrow yours? I forgot that I had an important call--"

"Bag." She just said and pointed to the one that was tossed to the side.

He muttered a "thanks" before he went over and rummaged through her purse. "What do you think about doing this again?" he kept an eye on her as his hand aimlessly tried to look for her phone. "I had fun tonight, and I'd like to see you one more time."

He could feel the various items in her bag. A packet of cigarettes, two lip products, house keys, a whole perfume bottle, but fuck where was her phone?

He watched as Daniella rolled down her scrunched up dress. The woman then raised her brow and she crossed her arms. "I'm pretty sure you said another woman's name."

"I didn't." He said rather quickly. "You drank a lot of wine--it was almost like you were trying to bankrupt me." He joked, and his hand firmly gripped onto what felt like a smooth case. He pulled it out of her bag and there it was. "What's your password?"

"Trying to change the subject, are we?"

"I'm pretty sure your phone is the subject, unlock it pretty please?"

Daniella pulled back her hair and she stared at him expectantly.

"I said give me your password, not a blowjob." Your stalker frowned.

She gave him an exasperated look. "It's my face dumbass." she then snatched her phone back from him.

"You don't use your thumb? What kind of update is that?"

"God, you're so poor." He heard her mutter.

That was so unwarranted, and sort of hurt.

Though it made him feel a lot better when he finally decided to slit her throat. Now that she was distracted, he discreetly pulled out the steak knife from his pocket before he dropped her bag and roughly yanked her back to him. His hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her screams as he dragged the serrated blade across her neck. The knife sawed through flesh, muscle, and sinew, blood spurting and gushing with each desperate pulse of her heart. It took him a while to sever her head completely, his arm burning with exhaustion as he hacked away, the blade catching on bone and gristle, her life draining away in a torrent of crimson.

Your stalker wiped his bloodied hand on her dress, he grabbed the phone off the ground, and he groaned when he saw that the screen was cracked. He tried his best to work the damn thing, his finger poking at the messaging app multiple times before it decided to open. Daniella had a plentiful amount of unsaved numbers but they had weird emojis next to them. One number was from a different country and had the eggplant emoticon.

Then he found the only saved number: y/n.

You're apparently a good girl and shared your location with your best friend. How adorable, you even share every given moment with her too. You even talked about how you were thinking about going back to your serial cheater of an ex.

Your stalker gasped, his head reeling back in shock. You were about to go back to your ex? Your ex, of all people? You couldn't have, what—moved on like a normal person? You couldn't have gone out and fucked around with someone new? Someone like him? It's like you purposely make the wrong choices just to be saved. Before he could be your little personal super hero... his eyes slowly made its way back to the body on the ground, and then to the keys that were in her bag.

Have you ever heard of cuteness aggression? The rush of impulsive behavior that you get after seeing a cute and defenseless puppy? I get that when I see you. I think you're so adorable that it makes my heart burst. Your stalker stared up into your apartment, and the car windows were rolled down to air out the perfume he dumped into the body bag.

However, there was nothing cute about this ugly pig-like fuck that touched your waist. That man had no redeeming qualities, and boy, did I want him to start squealing in pain. I wanted to pinch his body until he had yellowish-brown bruises all over. I wanted to crush his skull with my bare hands and feel his pulse drop. I wanted to be able to drink the blood shower that would come from their body and bathe in it. I want them to realize that you’re off the market, and that you’re solely mine.

They’re not good for you, love. You have seen that time and time again, and they have disappointed you before without fail; so why do you welcome them with open arms? It hurts to see your legs over their shoulders, and to see a bit of your face contorted in pleasure and ecstasy. Is it the sex? Is it the way they give you a fleeting moment of what could have been if they weren’t constantly cheating on you?

That’s pathetic, and you know it. But it’s okay, I’m willing to look past this little transgression. It’s not completely unforgivable. They must’ve broken you down and made you vulnerable enough to pull your pants down. It’s not your fault. It’s theirs.

Your stalker continued to stake out your house, patiently waiting for your ex to come down to the lobby. The moment he did, your stalker would be ready. He might not have been able to get your blood, but killing your ex and taking his was like killing two birds with one stone.

Allure: This is the first fic I wrote that actually has y/n in it! And it's pretty unedited, so if there is mistakes I will probs fix it later on. This dragged on for waaay longer than it needed and tbh, I am never writing a long fic like this again LMAO

#Allurilove yandere writing #cw blood #cw death #cw: gore? #tw stalking #tw murder #dead dove do not eat? #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x you #yandere stalker x you #yandere stalker x reader #yandere x fem reader #male yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x female reader #male yandere oc #male yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yandere writing #yandere fic #smut with plot #smut #smut writing #obsessive love #blood kink #yandere scenarios

[ivorydragoness44]

Red Hood x Reader: Dibs

Word Count: 1,100 Warnings/Notes: minor injury mention for the Reader (a bruise on their knee), some of the Batfam trying to figure out which one of them is the Reader’s favorite, and the Reader getting assistance to walk up a set of stairs. Summary: Walking home for the night, the Reader is found with a slight limp. They are offered a ride home from Batman. After some back and forth, the Reader finally agrees and finds that Batman is not the only one is the Batmobile.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

  Gotham City. The night was almost as busy as the day depending where you were. For the most part, you were grateful that you were missing any and all villain or otherwise ill intended activities.   There was a public text alerting citizens to a delay in public transportation. More notably, a bus that you wanted to use to go home. Walking home, in theory, would take the same, if not less amount of time than the estimated wait time for the bus alone. And walk you did. It would not have been so bad if not for a bruise you had gotten on your knee earlier that day. It made walking a bit more challenging.

  Continuing down the sidewalk, you kept a closer eye to the surroundings to the right of you, rather than the streets. However, the slowing down of a vehicle definitely caught your attention. The intersection was further up the street. Hesitantly, you peered over. What you saw made you stop with a small uncomfortable hop. The Batmobile.

  The passenger’s side window slid down. With it, revealed the black cowled cape crusader.   “Excuse me, I don’t mean to bother you,” he called over, leaning toward the other side of the car. “But, would you like a lift home?”   You shook your head slowly as you turned toward the vehicle. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”   “Oh, I saw you limping a little. I only wanted to offer some assistance in case you were injured.”   You rubbed your arm in your small wave of awkwardness. “I’m sure the bruise is healing by now,” you said, not missing Batman’s glance into the backseat. “I mean, if you really don’t mind?”   Batman smiled. “Not at all.” The side-door swung open.   Carefully sitting inside, the door closed on its own. “Automatic?”   “No,” he chuckled, “I pushed a button.”   “Oh,” you laughed quietly, buckling the seatbelt securely before giving him the directions/address to your home.

  Taking a breath, you calmed yourself. It was not every day that Batman asked to drive you home. Unless he was doing that now between vigilante work. You had no idea. What you did know was that every button, switch, and dial on the main console had absolutely no indication of what either of them did. Did he have every function memorized?

  “So, um, how’s your night going? I mean, I hope there isn’t a lot of villain incidents or anything, because I’m sure even you need the rest.”   “Mister Freeze was out tonight,” a voice replied from the backseat.   “We stopped him of course, but man were we freezing.”   “If that was you trying to do word play, it was awful.”   Surprised to hear other voices, you turned around in the seat. There, squished together in the backseat were four additional vigilantes. Red Robin, Robin, who was sitting with quite the disgruntled expression between Nightwing’s legs, and the Red Hood.   Side-glancing over to Batman, you whispered. “Are they in trouble?”   He smiled, steering the Batmobile down another street. “No, a… decision could not be made.”   “They all called dibs on this seat, didn’t they?”   A collective agreement affirmed your humored suspicion.   Nodding in understanding, you turned to sit correctly in the seat.

  A quiet moment or two passed before anyone spoke again.   “So, who’s your favorite?” Asked Nightwing.   “Hey.”   “That’s not fair to ask.”   “Overall, or specifically in the Batmobile?” You asked with a laugh.   “Batmobile,” they said rather quickly.   “You’ll be disappointed to know that I don’t pick favorites.”   “Aw.”   “But if you had to choose.”   “Obviously Batman. He’s the responsible adult driving right now.”   “That doesn’t count.” Red Hood’s muffled voice interjected.   “Yeah, well, Wonder Woman isn’t in the Batmobile, so,” you laughed with a shrug. They were appearing more normal by the second.   With a thoughtful hum, Red Hood replied. “That’s a good answer.”   “I thought so. Besides, if I were to have favorites, they’d probably change day to day.”

  The Batmobile slowed to a stop by the sidewalk. “Here we are.”   “Thank you, Batman. I really appreciate it,” you smiled gratefully.   “You’re quite welcome,” he smiled in return.   With a press of a button, the passenger side door flicked open and you stepped out.   “Will you be all right?” He asked, his voice laced with concern.   “Yeah,” you assured, stepping carefully away from the open door. “I’ve been dealing with this all day.”   “All day?” The backseat erupted in protest.   You gave a tired shrug. “Just another day in the life of an ordinary citizen.”   Red Hood pushed the passenger seat forward with a single gloved hand. Climbing out of the vehicle, he joined you on the sidewalk. But before you could ask, he put up a hand to stop you. “You shouldn’t have to struggle on your own.”   “It’s not that bad,” you assured, “I can manage.”   Reaching up, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Just…can you let me help you?”   Genuine. That was the word you wanted to use to describe the sudden turn of events for you that evening. First, an offered ride home, and now this? Were they like this with everyone?   “Okay,” you finally answered.   Red Hood’s sigh of relief was not subtle enough to go unnoticed by you. He likely thought it was.   Shutting the door to the Batmovile, it only drove away after the pair of you started walking toward the steps to your apartment building. Red Hood offered his arm. Previously intending to grab ahold of you for your own stability, but quickly retracted his hands.   Holding onto his arm, the initial warmth was a welcoming contrast to the cool night air. And thick. How much muscle did these vigilantes have/ And where did they even find the time?   “Easy,” he cautioned softly.   You pushed your weight onto his arm with every other step. Other than that, going to your apartment door was quiet and uneventful.

  Standing by the door to your apartment, you retrieved your keys. “Thank you for your help. And… I hope I didn’t bruise your arm.”   “Ha, I doubt it,” he crossed his arms. “Even if you somehow did, I’ll take it as a temporary momento.”   “And despite my better judgement, I’ll definitely be telling my boyfriend, Jason about this.”   “Heh, maybe not the best idea,” he advised.   You smiled. “I’m going to anyway. Have a good night. And thank you again, Red Hood.”   “No problem. Rest that knee.”   “I will. Bye.”

  In your apartment, door shut, and thoroughly locked, you laughed at the ridiculousness that had became your evening. “Jason might not believe me.”

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you would like to read more imagines and fanfics, check out my pinned post for My Masterlist of Masterlists.

#red hood #batfamily #batfam #wayne family adventures #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x you #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #dc x reader #red hood fanfic #red hood fanfiction #jason todd fanfic #jason todd x reader #ivorydragoness44

[rafesapologist]

the boy is mine ─ rafe cameron; chapter one

summary: you were an erudite kook with her life ahead of her, very highly sought after by almost every man from figure 8 all the way to the cut. but you only wanted rafe cameron, and just in the typical nature of getting everything you wanted, you were going to have him.

warnings: none in this chapter

author's note: as always if you'd like to be on the taglist for this series at anytime, please let me know! also, there will be some made up characters in this story for plot purposes.

"There's no way I would go to Midsummers with that freak," your derisive laughter erupted through the library before you halted to take a sip of your tepid iced coffee as its coldness faded, "I'd show up alone before I embarrassed myself like that."

"C'mon, he isn't that bad, y/n. I think he's actually pretty cute if you ask me," your friend, Sadie, nudged you teasingly, wiggling her eyebrows comically.

"You're forgetting the part where he's a Pogue, Sadie. I do have some self respect, you know."

Sadie rolled her eyes, her smile still teasing but with a hint of exasperation. "Sometimes you care too much about what other people think, you know that?"

You sighed, swirling the last bits of melted ice in your cup. "It's not just about what people think. It's about standards, Sadie. I've worked too hard to get where I am to throw it all away over some fling with a guy from the Cut."

Sadie leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "Maybe it's not about throwing anything away. Maybe it's about seeing people for who they are, not where they come from."

You opened your mouth to retort, but the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch period. The library's chatter died down as students gathered their things, heading off to their next classes. You and Sadie stood up, collecting your bags and discarded coffee cups. As you walked out into the bustling hallway, you couldn't shake the thought of him—the Pogue in question. John B Routledge. There was something about him that got under your skin, and not just in an annoying way. He was different, and that intrigued you, even if you'd never admit it out loud.

"Are you going to the bonfire tonight?" Sadie asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You shrugged. "Maybe. Depends if I finish my essay for English. You?"

"Of course I am, you should come! Live a little, y/n," Sadie insisted, her enthusiasm infectious.

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. "We'll see," you said noncommittally, but you both knew that Sadie had a way of persuading you into things you normally wouldn't consider.

As you parted ways, heading to your respective classes, you couldn't help but glance over your shoulder, half-expecting to see him there, with that easy grin and messy hair. You shook your head, pushing the thought away.

After school, you found yourself back in the quiet sanctuary of your room, trying to focus on your English essay. The sun was setting outside, casting a warm golden glow through your window. You sighed, tapping your pen against your notebook. The words on the page blurred as your mind wandered back to the day's conversation.

"Live a little."

Sadie's words echoed in your mind, but you couldn't shake the nagging doubt. You had always prided yourself on maintaining high standards—standards that didn't include dating someone like John B. He was charming, sure, but he was also a Pogue, and the class divide in your town wasn't something you took lightly. It wasn't just about status; it was about everything you had worked for, everything you stood for.

You leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling. Your parents had always taught you the importance of striving for more, of associating with people who could elevate your standing. Dating a Pogue, especially one as infamous as John B, seemed like a step backward.

But then there was the memory of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, and the infectious laughter that seemed to make the world a little brighter. There was an undeniable attraction, a pull that you couldn't quite explain. You shook your head, reminding yourself why it was important to stick to your standards.

"I do have some self-respect, you know."

You muttered the words to yourself, trying to reaffirm your decision. But as the evening wore on, you couldn't help but feel a little trapped by your own expectations.

Just as you were about to dive back into your essay, your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your thoughts. It was a message from Sadie: "Bonfire starts at 8! You better be there!"

You stared at the text for a moment, biting your lip. Maybe, just maybe, Sadie was right. Maybe it was time to let go of some of those rigid standards and see where the night took you. You asked yourself, what was the harm in one night of fun?

With a sigh, you closed your laptop and headed to your closet, rifling through your clothes for something suitable to wear. As you pulled out a casual baby blue sundress, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. "Live a little," you muttered to your reflection, echoing Sadie's words.

By the time you arrived at the bonfire, the beach was already alive with music, laughter, and the warm glow of the flames. The salty breeze played with your hair as you made your way across the sand, the sounds of waves crashing mingling with the chatter of your peers. You spotted Sadie almost immediately, her bright smile and waving hand a beacon in the crowd.

"Y/n! You made it!" she cheered, pulling you into a hug that smelled of sunscreen and coconut.

"Yeah, yeah," you laughed. "I'm here. Now what?"

"Now we have fun," Sadie declared, handing you a drink that sparkled under the string lights hung haphazardly between the palm trees. She led you toward the fire where the heat radiated warmly against the cool night air.

You found yourself standing at the fire, gazing at its burning flames as you felt the stares of everyone around you, right on you. The heat from the fire radiated against your skin, a stark contrast to the cool night air. You took sips of your drink hazardously, knowing that at the end of the day, you still had to keep yourself composed in front of everyone.

The laughter and chatter around you seemed distant, almost like a background hum to your own thoughts. You could feel the weight of expectations pressing down on you, a constant reminder of the standards you had set for yourself. You had always been the one who held it all together, the one who never faltered.

As you took another sip, the drink's coldness a fleeting relief, you glanced around the bonfire. Your peers were engrossed in their conversations, but every so often, you caught a pair of eyes flicking in your direction, a whisper exchanged. It was as if they were all waiting to see what you would do next, how you would handle stepping out of your carefully curated box.

Suddenly, snapping you out of your gaze was the sound of a familiar voice approaching with a kind "hello." You snapped your head in the direction of the voice, before realizing it was none other than Sarah Cameron. You met her early in the school year when she joined Honors Society with you and Sadie. The three of you clicked pretty quickly, but you never saw her much outside of school.

Sarah grinned, her eyes sparkling in the firelight. "I could say the same about you. I didn't think I'd ever see the y/n at a party like this."

You laughed, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement. "Yeah, it's not exactly my usual scene."

Sarah's smile widened. "Well, I think it's great. Sometimes it's good to shake things up a bit. How are you liking it so far?"

You glanced around, feeling the cool breeze and the warm sand under your feet. The sound of distant laughter and music playing flooded your ears, giving you a rush of adrenaline as the alcohol you had been drinking took its effect. "It's surprisingly kind of fun," you admitted, "I don't mind it so far."

As Sarah began to respond to you, she was suddenly cut off as she was spun into the air by a figure behind her. Your eyes widened as you watched the boy kiss her before gently setting her back down onto the sand.

A look of amusement draped across your face as you smirked at her, your eyes flickering between the two of them. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend, Sarah!" Sadie joked, teasing her lightheartedly. "It's nice to meet you, I'm Sadie."

Topper grinned, extending a hand to Sadie. "Nice to meet you too, Sadie."

"I'm y/n," you spoke up after Sadie finished. Topper's eyes snapped over to you as he greeted you back with a genuine smile.

"It's nice to meet you guys. I never get to meet many of Sarah's friends; sometimes I wonder if they think I'm not real or something." He chuckled, taking a swig of his Michelob Ultra.

"Well, now we know you're not just a myth," you said with a grin. "It's nice to finally meet you, Topper."

Sarah giggled in response to your joke, which also earned a head shake from Topper. "I like to leave people guessing," Sarah shrugged, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

Topper laughed, wrapping an arm around Sarah's shoulders and pulling her close. "Keeps things interesting, right?"

You smiled at their playful banter, feeling the warmth of their affection for each other. "Definitely keeps things interesting."

Sadie leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "So, how did you two meet?"

"She's actually my best friend's sister, so we sort of just met because of him," Topper admitted with a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "I didn't know you had a brother, Sarah?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued as you took another sip of your drink, the cold liquid sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

Sarah sighed, her gaze flickering over to Topper with a mixture of annoyance and affection. "Unfortunately, I do. He's my older brother, Rafe."

You tilted your head, observing Sarah's words carefully. There was a hint of something in her tone—disdain, maybe even a touch of resentment—but you didn't want to probe further. Whatever the dynamic between Sarah and Rafe, it seemed like a topic best left untouched for now. You nodded in response, deciding to steer the conversation in a lighter direction.

"Is he hot?" Sadie spoke up, her curiosity piqued as she glanced between you and Sarah.

Sarah's eyes widened, caught off guard by the sudden question. She shot Sadie a look of mock indignation before bursting into laughter. "Seriously, Sadie? That's your first question?"

Sadie shrugged, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Hey, I'm just trying to get the full picture here."

Sarah rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness in her expression that belied her exasperation. "He's very cocky if that answers your question," she said, her tone tinged with amusement.

Sadie grinned, clearly enjoying the playful banter. "Well, I can work with cocky. Confidence is sexy, after all."

You laughed, shaking your head at Sadie's unabashed flirtation. "You're incorrigible, Sadie."

She shrugged, flashing you a playful wink. "Just keeping things interesting."

"Wait," Sadie paused, her hand reaching out to gently halt you and Sarah, her eyes alight with curiosity. You and Sarah turned to face her, the flames of the bonfire casting dancing shadows on the sand around you.

"Does that mean he's here, too? You know, since his best friend is here and all," Sadie asked, her gaze flickering towards Topper, who was lounging nearby, a relaxed grin playing on his lips as he watched the conversation unfold.

"Yeah, he's here, somewhere," Topper replied with a casual shrug, taking another sip of his drink, the condensation leaving tiny droplets on the bottle's surface.

The mention of Rafe's presence sent a ripple of tension through the group, a silent acknowledgment of the complicated dynamics at play. You exchanged a meaningful glance with Sarah, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension flickering in your eyes, the crackling of the fire providing a soothing backdrop to the unfolding drama.

"There's no way you're trying to make a move on my brother right now," Sarah joked, a playful scoff escaping her lips as she glanced at Sadie, her eyes dancing with amusement.

Sadie shrugged, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she took a gulp of her drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass. "Well, you've intrigued me, so now I wanna see what he looks like."

"I mean, I can go find him if you want," Topper suggested, joining in on the banter with a playful grin.

"Top, no I—" Sarah began, but Sadie cut her off, her excitement palpable as she interjected, "Please!"

Topper chuckled at Sadie's enthusiasm, pushing himself up from his lounging position with a dramatic sigh. "Alright, alright. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

As Topper wandered off into the crowd in search of Rafe, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation building in the air. What would Rafe be like in person, away from how Sarah spoke of him? It was a question that lingered on the edge of your mind, waiting to be answered.

As you waited for Topper to return, the crackling of the bonfire seemed to grow louder, the flames casting flickering shadows on the sand. The night was alive with possibility, and you couldn't help but wonder what other surprises it had in store.

"I can't believe this is happening," Sarah groaned, her voice tinged with resignation as she rubbed her temples, a sense of dread creeping over her at the situation that was waiting to unfold.

"Oh, come on, Sarah, we were gonna meet him sooner or later!" Sadie nudged at her, a playful glint in her eyes as she teased her friend.

"I was hoping to keep him as far away from my friends as possible, actually," Sarah admitted with a rueful smile, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she resigned herself to the inevitable encounter.

Surprisingly, as the anticipation grew, you couldn't help but feel nervous yourself. Excitement fluttered in your stomach like a flurry of butterflies as you waited to see the mystery that was Rafe Cameron, Sarah's brother. You wondered if he was the typical older brother type—overly cocky and thinking he was better than his siblings, maybe even a little overbearing. You weren't entirely sure what to expect or even what he might look like, and all you could do was wait.

The crackling of the bonfire seemed to grow louder, the flames casting dancing shadows on the sand as the night stretched on. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, the anticipation building with every heartbeat.

Finally, you spotted Topper making his way back through the crowd, a familiar figure trailing behind him. Your heart skipped a beat as Rafe came into view, his confident stride and piercing blue eyes immediately capturing your attention. He was taller than you had imagined, his presence commanding and magnetic as he approached.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, Rafe was standing before you, a cocky grin playing on his lips as he looked you over. "I heard there was a party going on over here," he said, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine.

You felt a rush of adrenaline as Rafe's gaze locked onto yours, his presence filling the space between you with an undeniable intensity. Despite the nervous flutter in your stomach, you couldn't help but be captivated by his confidence and charm.

"There's definitely a party," Sadie chimed in, a mischievous smirk plastered on her face as she stepped forward, extending her hand towards Rafe. "I'm Sadie, by the way."

Rafe's gaze shifted to Sadie, his cocky grin widening as he took her hand, giving it a firm shake. "Rafe," he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with charm. "Nice to meet you, Sadie."

You could tell Sadie was entirely encapsulated by him as she stared up at Rafe like he was a Renaissance painting of some sort. Her eyes sparkled with admiration, and you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself at her unabashed gawking, which you assumed didn't go unnoticed by Rafe.

As you stood in the circle with the group, quietly observing the interaction, you took a small sip of your drink, trying to mask your amusement. Much to your dismay, Rafe's eyes ventured away from Sadie and landed on you, making you the center of attention in the moment.

"And you are?" Rafe's voice was smooth and confident as he directed his attention towards you, his piercing gaze locking onto yours.

You silently gulped at his question, feeling a rush of nerves coursing through you as you took in a deep breath before responding, "I'm y/n. One of Sarah's friends."

As you spoke, you tried to maintain a calm and composed demeanor, but you couldn't shake the feeling of being under Rafe's intense scrutiny. It was as if he could see right through you, peeling back the layers to uncover the truth beneath. Despite your best efforts to remain unaffected, you couldn't deny the magnetic pull of his presence, drawing you in with every passing moment.

He nodded, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he subtly looked you up and down, a gesture that didn't escape your notice. Heat rushed to your cheeks, leaving you feeling flustered, though you couldn't tell if it was the liquor or the way Rafe was eyeing you that caused it.

"I haven't met any of Sarah's friends, seeing how she's always stuck up Topper's ass," he joked dryly before taking a swig of his beer, his smirk lingering on his lips.

Sarah scoffed and rolled her eyes at him, clearly not amused by his comment. "I don't introduce you to them because you'd probably try to sleep with them," she retorted, her tone laced with sarcasm and exasperation.

You couldn't help but chuckle nervously at the siblings' bickering, feeling a mix of amusement and discomfort as you found yourself caught in the middle of their dynamic. The tension between them was palpable, but the only thing you felt you could do to ease your own nerves was to continue taking sips of your drink and observe the conversation unfolding.

Luckily for you, Sadie spoke up again, her voice breaking through the awkward tension like a ray of sunshine. "How old are you, Rafe?" she asked, her curiosity evident in her tone.

"I'm 19," Rafe replied, turning his attention back to Sadie with a casual shrug.

"So you're in college?" Sadie pressed on, her curiosity piqued.

Rafe shrugged nonchalantly, a hint of indifference in his demeanor. "Eh, not yet. Didn't feel like going from 12 years of school straight to more school," he explained, his tone casual as he took another sip of his beer.

"Yeah, I get it, I wouldn't want to either," Sadie replied, her tone casual as she shrugged, but you couldn't help but give her a puzzled look. Sadie was an honors student, just like you. Her entire life seemed dedicated to keeping good grades and maintaining perfect attendance at school, and all she ever talked about was wanting to get into Yale. You could see right through her act, realizing she was only dumbing herself down to appear more interesting to Rafe, which made you cringe.

"Oh, so you're taking a gap year?" Rafe asked, his tone curious as he looked at Sadie.

You chuckled in response, shaking your head as you looked down at your drink, feeling a mix of amusement and discomfort at the situation. "Yeah, I'm sure Yale will accept that," you mumbled under your breath, unable to hide your skepticism.

Rafe's eyes shot over at you, confusion evident on his face at your remark. "Well… I don't know what I'm doing yet, okay?" Sadie replied defensively, shooting you a glare with wide eyes, silently pleading with you not to embarrass her in front of Rafe.

"I take it that you're one of those honors students," Rafe implied, his gaze shifting between you and Sadie as he sipped his beer, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Sadie laughed nervously, swaying slightly as she tried to keep her composure. "Yeah, but it's not a big deal. It's not like I make it my whole personality," she replied, her words slightly slurred from the alcohol.

"Sadie, all you talk about is wanting to get into Yale," you interjected, unable to hold back your frustration any longer, feeling annoyed at her facade and wanting nothing more than to call her bluff.

Sadie's eyes widened in alarm as she shot you a pleading look, silently urging you to drop the subject. But it was too late—the truth was out in the open, hanging in the air like a heavy cloud.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting between you and Sadie with renewed interest. "Yale, huh? That's ambitious," he remarked, his tone neutral as he took another sip of his beer.

Sadie laughed nervously again, her movements slightly jerky as she rubbed her arms uncomfortably, nodding at Rafe. "Yeah, it's just something my parents have always wanted for me, I guess," she admitted, her gaze falling to the floor as she shifted uneasily under Rafe's neutral demeanor.

Rafe's gaze lingered on Sadie for a moment before turning to you, his expression unreadable. "What about you? What do you plan on doing?" he asked, his tone casual but his eyes searching. You blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the sudden question. Glancing around to make sure he was actually speaking to you, you felt a wave of shock wash over you.

"Uh, well..." you stammered, feeling the weight of Rafe's gaze bearing down on you. "I'm going to Princeton in the fall." As the words left your lips, you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at the realization that you had finally vocalized your plans for the future. It was a decision that had taken months of careful consideration and countless hours of deliberation, but now that it was out in the open, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you.

Rafe's eyebrows shot up in surprise, a flicker of intrigue dancing in his eyes as he regarded you with renewed interest. "Princeton, huh?" he remarked, his tone neutral but his expression curious.

You nodded, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you met Rafe's gaze head-on. "Yeah, it's been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember," you admitted, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of finally pursuing your goals.

Rafe nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the group. "Well, congratulations," he said, his tone genuine as he raised his beer in a silent toast. "Here's to chasing your dreams."

You watched intently as Rafe raised his beer to toast you, a hint of curiosity flickering in your eyes as you observed his casual demeanor. There was something intriguing about him, a magnetic charm that drew you in despite your reservations. You couldn't help but wonder if he was putting on a show or if he was always like that—confident, carefree, and unapologetically himself.

As Rafe tilted his head back to chug the remnants of his beer, you found yourself studying him intently, trying to decipher the enigma that was Rafe Cameron. His easygoing mannerisms and effortless charm seemed to mask a complexity that you couldn't quite put your finger on, leaving you feeling both intrigued and apprehensive in equal measure.

Once he was done chugging his beer, Rafe nonchalantly tossed the empty bottle across the sand into a nearby trash can before sparking up a conversation with Topper. You couldn't help but admire his ease and confidence, wondering if you would ever be able to exude that same level of self-assurance.

Beside you, you could feel Sadie's embarrassment radiating off her in waves, and you couldn't help but feel partially guilty and at fault for it. But deep down, you knew that you couldn't stand when people dumbed themselves down for attention, even if it meant putting your friendship on the line. Sure, Sadie was your best friend, but that gave you all the more reason to keep her in check and hold her accountable for her actions.

As you stood there with your drink in hand, you found yourself once again trying to figure Rafe out. His presence seemed to fill the space around him, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. You couldn't help but admire the way the firelight danced across his tanned skin, accentuating the sharp angles of his jawline and the intensity of his sparkling blue eyes. It was as if he had a magnetic pull, leaving you feeling captivated and entranced in his presence.

The sound of his low-pitched voice sent shivers down your spine, each word resonating deep within you as though you could listen to him talk for hours on end. There was an air of mystery surrounding him, a sense of danger that only served to heighten your fascination with him. He was somewhat intimidating, but that only made him all the more attractive to you.

Despite the unease you felt at being drawn to someone like Rafe, you couldn't deny the butterflies that fluttered in the pit of your stomach whenever he was near. There was something about him that ignited a fire within you, a desire to know more, to experience more of him in any way you could.

Just as you began to mull over your thoughts, an idea sparked in your mind like a sudden burst of fireworks, causing you to perk up with newfound enthusiasm. "Hey, Sarah, why don't we make plans soon? We never get to see each other outside of school," you suggested, a glimmer of excitement twinkling in your eyes.

Sarah's face lit up at your proposal, her expression mirroring your own excitement. "Yeah, sure! That sounds like a great idea," she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "Why don't you come over tomorrow, and we can go swim at my place?"

Your heart raced with anticipation as you considered her offer. It was the perfect opportunity to spend quality time together and perhaps even devise a plan to encounter Rafe again. "That sounds amazing!" you replied eagerly, a devious smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Sarah beamed in response, her excitement palpable as she nodded enthusiastically. "Great! How about around 5? That should give us plenty of time to have some fun," she suggested, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

You nodded eagerly, unable to contain your excitement at the prospect of what tomorrow might bring. "Sounds perfect. I'll be there," you exclaimed, already counting down the minutes until your rendezvous with Sarah.

As the conversation around you continued its lively cadence, you found your gaze drawn back to Rafe like a moth to a flame, his presence casting a magnetic allure that was impossible to ignore. Amidst the laughter and chatter, your mind wandered to the possibilities that lay ahead now that you were growing closer to Sarah. Each glance in Rafe's direction ignited a spark of anticipation within you, like the gentle flutter of a butterfly's wings in the pit of your stomach.

Lost in reverie, you allowed yourself to drift into a realm of daydreams, where the boundaries of reality blurred and the realm of possibility expanded infinitely. In this ethereal landscape, you envisioned a tapestry of adventures unfolding before you, each more enchanting than the last. The mere thought of what could transpire filled you with a sense of exhilaration, like the rush of wind through autumn leaves or the soft whisper of waves lapping against the shore.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

taglist: @yawnzshit

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe cameron x reader #obx #outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe angst #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe fic #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe

[f1-jay]

Relax - Jenson Button

Pairing: TeamPrincipal!Jenson x FemDriver!Reader

Summary: Jenson helps the reader relax after a bad result.

Warnings: MDNI - Smut (P in V), sex in the workplace, Age Gap

Words: 1.8k

The race didn’t go as well as you had hoped, especially after qualifying in 2nd and ending up in 8th, putting you from first to third in the championship. You went through the media pen, then had a debrief with the team. There was positive energy, and the team was still happy with the result; you got four points and your teammate got twelve. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. You went into a small office area and really tried to determine where you went wrong.

The bright light from the sunset was streaming in through the window and into your line of sight. You closed the blind and continued analysing the footage. You can see the door open from the corner of your eye, and look up to see your team principal, Jenson Button. When you make eye contact with him, he tilts his head slightly. You pause the video.

“Yes? Can I help you?” You ask, even though you were pretty sure you knew what was going to come out of his mouth. The look on his face gave it away.

“I know you’re not pleased with your results, but that doesn’t mean you need to do this. We went through it in the debrief; you drove great; an unfortunate-timed safety car isn’t your fault.” He reminds you with a gentle smile as he comes in and closes the door.

“I know, but I was 6th after the safety car, then I proceeded to lose two more places, so I still want to see what I could’ve done better.” You say it with a shrug of the shoulders. Jenson leans against the desk next to you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You did the best you could. No one’s disappointed in the result but you” he says reassuringly. He reaches out and takes the device from your hands. “You need to take a break. We’re headed straight into another race week; I would rather you prepare for that than stress about this.” You hold your hand out, wanting him to give the device back.

“Just 10 more minutes." You negotiate, but he shakes his head and places the tablet on the far corner of the table, out of your reach.

“No, I’ve seen you on a weekend like this before. Ten minutes will become one hour.” You know it’s true and figure that there is no point in arguing, so you put your hands up in surrender and agree to not do any more. “You put in some of the most intense hard work and preparation I’ve ever seen; you need to not push so hard sometimes. In the end, it won’t do you any good."

“That sounds a little hypocritical,” you say with a slightly confused look on your face. “Weren’t you like this back in the day?”

"Yeah, and that’s why I’m telling you to slow down.” He admits “Plus, Id hate to see you go grey early," bringing a lighter mood to the conversation.

“I think I’ll leave the whole ‘going grey’ thing to you for now.” You gesture at him.

“That sounded a bit judgy, I happen to look good with grey, thank you.”

“I never said it didn’t look good?” You place a hand on your chest as you defend yourself.

“Oh? So you think I look good?” a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He always had a natural flirtyness with the way he spoke.

“Shut up.” You laugh and shake your head at him. Your response caused him to chuckle softly.

“You can’t deny it. You think I’m attractive.” He teased

“That would be a little scandalous, no? Telling my boss that he is attractive” You lean back in your chair and fiddle with your fingers. Jenson looks at you amused; his eyes still fixed on you.

“I’d describe it more like…thrilling”

“Is that right?” You question. The conversation felt like it could be heading into dangerous territory, but with a man like Jenson in front of you, what else were you meant to do. You knew it was wrong; it was your boss, but it was also the man you’ve been crushing on for a few years. He leans down slightly.

“You sound intrigued.” His voice was a little deeper than before.

“I shouldn’t be.” You don’t want to be too forward, hoping that he leads the conversation if he wants to go in that direction.

“But you are, aren’t you?” His hands come down to both arm rests, caging you in, as he gazes down at you. You slowly nodded in response and confirmed what he said. He leans even closer, your noses almost touching. His eyes linger on your lips for a few seconds before meeting your eyes again. “And what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t think I can say. It’s not very work-friendly.” You can feel the warmth of his breath as he chuckles.

“What we do after work isn’t really anybody’s business but our own.” I look to the side and gesture outward.

“We’re still in the workplace.”

“The door is locked. The blinds are shut. Nobody is going to walk in on us or see.” His eyebrow slightly arches, as if he’s challenging you to go ahead and do something. You grab his jaw, pulling him forward to kiss him. He lets out a surprised hum, then closes his eyes as he eagerly kisses you back. His hands move from the chair to your waist, pulling you up from your seat so that your bodies are against each other. He slightly turns and takes a step, so your butt is against the table. He lifts you up to sit on top of it and stands between your legs as he continues to kiss you. Jenson’s hands move down to your hips as he deepens the kiss. His tongue runs against your bottom lip, you adhere and open your mouth slightly, and one of his hands makes its way to your hair. He slowly breaks the kiss and starts trailing his lips along your jawline and down your neck.

“Sir” you softly breathe out. He pulls back a little and looks at you with a grin. He leans in by your ear.

“Yes, sweetheart?” His lips hover over your skin.

“I need to know if we are going to go all the way.”

“Do you want to?” He asks, looking into your eyes again, and you nod. His eyes darkened slightly. “Are you sure?” He wants to make sure you are certain before you go any further.

“Yes, Jenson” His eyes roam over your face, searching for any hesitation. When he finds none, he kisses you again, his hands moving to the waistband of your pants. He works on getting them off, and they fall down to your ankles while you untuck his shirt and fiddle with the buttons. His thumb circles your clit over your panties for a moment until he can feel wetness on the pad of his finger. He pulls them down, and his fingers run through your pussy.

“I’d love to take this slow, but it’s only a matter of time before someone interrupts.” He pulls his pants and underwear down and holds his hand out under your mouth, telling you to spit. When you do, he begins to stroke his cock. His other hand goes to your shoulder, guiding you to lay down. He slides the tip through your folds before pushing it in; you can’t help the small gasp that comes from you. Inch by inch, he slides to rest in, and the slight stretch feels heavenly. You try to keep your voice down as you tell him how good he feels. He keeps hold of your hips as he builds rhythm, and you are forced to bite your lip to contain noise.

Honestly, it had been a little while since you had sex, mostly because you could imagine the things that the media would say if they found out, you would get torn to shreds just because you’re a girl. The desk beneath you creaks every so often, which reminds you where you are. Then the doorknob rattles. You both tense up a little, and Jenson stills inside of you for a single second.

“Who is it?” He calls out; it’s one of the engineers wanting to talk to him. Your pussy clenches around him, causing his attention back to you. He starts thrusting again, slow but hard. “Y/n and I are having an important conversation.” His voice was strained. “We need some time.” My nails dig into your back, and my hand comes up to my mouth as you speed up. His eyes close as a soft grunt leaves his lips. Once the guy acknowledged that and walked away, you asked him to go faster again, and he did. His hand comes to your mouth, moving yours away and covering it himself. “You need to be quiet, sweetheart. Can’t have anyone hearing us.”

“Sorry” you mumble into his hand. An amused grin is on his face at your apology, and his hand squeezes a little tighter, being sure to muffle any noise. Your back arches and you grab his hand that’s silencing you, gripping onto it. Your actions spur him on, and as he looks down at you with desire, his movements become more intense.

“That’s it. Come on.” His voice is low and almost rough. Your hand that’s on his back slides across to his bicep, and you tap a couple of times, trying to tell him you’re getting close. He’s also starting to feel the same way, with the same tension building in him. “Let me have it, sweet girl.” That’s enough to have your high hit you. Jenson feels your body shiver beneath him, and it pushes him to his finish. He keeps grinding softly as you ride out your releases. For a few moments, the only sound in the room was ragged breathing.

He pulls out and leans on the desk, then looks down at you lying on the desk. He reaches out and brushes a lock of hair from your face; his eyes roam over your flushed skin.

“You okay there?”

“Mmm, I’m great." You open your eyes to look at him. He smiles at you and slowly pulls you up into a sitting position, his hands on your hips to keep you there.

“You certainly look great." His words make you shake your head and giggle.

“I hate you” You say as you look away from him, almost nervous to make eye contact.

“You seemed to think I was pretty great a few minutes ago.” He gently turns you back to look at him and cocks his eyebrow.

“Well, we might have to do it again soon for me to actually confirm if it was any good.”

“Is that so?” He leans down to kiss your lips. “I think that can be arranged.”

#f1 smut #jenson button smut #jenson button x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fic #jenson button fic

[chronically-ghosted]

and in their falling, rise again (lover, share your road - part ii) series masterlist | AO3 Link | part i | part iii

chapter rating: T

word count: ~25K

chapter summary: You and Ellie have adjusted to the Miller homestead in your own ways. Much to Sarah's delight, these roots you've planted have grown a bit deeper than any of you initially expected. But figuring out how Joel is feeling about all of these changes is a complicated dance you worry you're stumbling through — except when he takes the lead.

chapter warnings/tags: reader is described as skeletal early on but that is due to food scarcity not her natural body type, psychological/mental effects of domestic abuse, allusions to domestic abuse, underground spaces, one dead body, brief moment of gore, guns, aggressive behavior, father/daughter relationship dynamics, slow burn, praise kink in a trojan horse of "making friends"

a/n: this would have taken months longer (or not at all) without the support and guidance of @toomanytookas. everyone please say thank you! please note the update to the series parts on the masterlist - we're doing four (you have @toomanytookas to thank for that as well!)

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine - Wild Geese, Mary Oliver

part ii:

Dawn comes slowly to Dalhart, a place hardly anyone knows about, the last stop on the railway line where the forgetful or the sleepy end up because they’ve missed their stop somewhere else. The wheat boom made this place swell with life, with the blood of eager men, with the sickness of greed, and now the boom has burst, the guts and blood of hopes and dreams splattered up and down the dusty streets. Still, the next year people believe they can conquer the elements, conquer nature, their own hubris leading the way in the dark, following the guidance of a false sun. So they who came have stayed, mostly — mostly because they follow promises like fireflies, winking in the night with just enough light to convince themselves the darkness won’t last.

It’s for this reason, these stragglers with misbegotten illusions of grandeur, that he moves without light, embracing the dark. The lock on the back door was rusted from the wind and dust storms, easily broken against the butt of his gun, but he moves, low and fast, as fast as his knees will allow, relieved to find the windows still boarded up and threads of curtains still covering the dirt-smeared glass. The office in the back is windowless, which will make rifling through it, checking for false bottoms and loose walls, easier. This building is technically abandoned but getting caught will mean he has to answer questions he’d rather not answer – to himself or anyone else. Which means moving quick through the front reception room and maintaining the utmost silence is paramount to –

crunch

Joel whips around, the grip around his Colt tightening briefly, and locks eyes with the fourteen-year-old behind him, crouched as low as he is. 

A red handkerchief around her neck, she scrunches her nose up in a grimace, teeth stacked in her mouth. Oops. Sorry. My bad. 

Dropping the barrel of his gun lower, he points to her other foot, frozen in the air, inches above another cracked plate of glass. He indicates it with the jerk of his gaze and she nods, hands raised, slowly backing up and off another potential alarm. Shaking his head, he eases forward on protesting knees, his own thick boots shuffling flat against the floor. He feels eyes on the back of him, watching how he navigates the shards littering the ground. 

Briefly listening for movement, he knocks back the office door with his shoulder, rising slowly in spite his screaming thighs, scanning the darkness before flicking on the light. The girl behind him shuffles in and shuts the door after her. 

He sees Ellie blink rapidly against the light, scowling behind her raised hand, before she takes a look around. 

“Shit, man, did a fucking bomb go off in here or something?”

People, like most pack animals, tend to react instead of think in moments of fear. Fear, like when their town’s only doctor takes off in the middle of the night with no warning. A bad omen, an egg forgotten until it starts to stink. 

“Dalhart got all pissed off when Eldelstein split. Came here to either ransack the place or take what they thought they were owed.” Joel moves to slides his gun into his waistband, but the muzzle keeps getting stuck on his belt. 

“Guess they thought they were owed a lot,” Ellie muses as she kicks over a broken plank of wood, adding to the debris that litters the dust-covered floors. She watches him struggle tugging his shirt out. “I can carry the gun, if you want. You know, if you need a hand free.” 

He responds with that glare, the glare that he often reserved only for her. Disapproving, unamused, but . . . Ellie smirks, hands up in the air. 

“Sorry I asked, man, just trying to help.” 

Joel nods sternly. “You heard what your aunt said. Help, but don’t touch. D’you need the list again?” 

She waves him off, wandering over to the overturned couch. “Nah, I know what I’m looking for. And you know she’s no fun anyway.”

He watches her, hesitant, as she crouches down by what used to be a consulting couch and peels back the wood planks and torn wallpaper. This isn’t the first time she’s done something like this – scavenging for supplies – and he is reminded again of the bits and pieces of Ellie’s old life he has picked up on over the past few months. Every time, it knots his stomach. 

Jaw tight in his head, grasping at that relentless focus that seems to be eluding him as of late, Joel overturns what used to be a desk to look for the latch you told him might be there. 

Just by the top drawer.

Your shoulder, then the crease of your arm had touched his as you leaned in towards the rough sketch you make of a doctor’s desk. You smelled like lilac and sunlight. There was a curl of hair on the back of your neck, loose as it curled down your throat, by your pulse. 

It’ll be small. Just a latch.

Your fingers had brushed his wrist, eyes downcast, lashes soft against the curve of your cheek. There was a smear of something green on the sleeve of your dress. Fresh grass, maybe? Herbs from the garden? The light behind you illuminated the thin skin of your ear, the supple drop of your earlobe.

You won’t need much pressure. Just a flick. It should open up under your thumb. You can’t miss it, Joel.

Joel.

“Joel!”

“What?” 

Ellie rolls her eyes at his nearly-bared teeth. “I’m gonna have my aunt look at your hearing, ‘cause there’s definitely something wrong with you.”

With a grunt, Joel kneels down and reaches into the far back of the desk where it is still held together in the corner, resolutely smothering the high flutter in his chest. His fingers touch something metal, something other than that green felt and split wood. He gets his thumb around it and it clicks.

“I found gauze and iodine,” Ellie says, holding up half a bottle and some dirty wrapping. “That wasn’t on the list she put together, but we probably need it, right?” 

He feels something give way, but it isn’t clear where. He eases the desk back further to try and lift it to the light. 

“Iodine is meant for keeping infections out. Wounds clean n’ all that.”

Ellie huffs, more exasperated this time. “I know that. That’s why I was asking.”

“Planning on getting wounded any time soon?”

“Fine, you jackass, I’ll just throw them out –,”

“Put ‘em in your pack if you’ve got room. Otherwise, we only take what we came here for.” 

With a light press, a small drawer eases open. Just a crack and barely enough to get his fingers inside, but he can see the bottle. Clear, made of glass, and filled with little white pills. 

Morphine. 

It had been his first idea when Sarah’s condition started to deteriorate, but the papers and medical journals he ordered in at the supply store about addiction kept him from ever really considering it as an option.  But with you here – and you had already done so much for her recovery – with you here –

I can manage it, Joel. They’ve done wonderful things with rehabilitation and comfort. I promise I will monitor her closely.

He knows a line should exist about what he would and wouldn’t allow for Sarah’s treatment, but as of late, that line has become so blurred he sometimes has to scramble to find it. 

Would and wouldn’t.

Should and shouldn’t. 

His feet are starting to sting from balancing on that knife’s edge these past few months.

He hears the pills rattle as he drops the bottle into the bottom of his canvas rucksack. Ellie’s buckling hers as Joel stands and joins her search of a knocked-over cabinet. Not much there either but cough syrup and penicillin. 

“What else you got?” 

“Some bandaids, a handful of calcidin tablets, and a busted hot water bottle that I think we could melt shut.” She adjusts the straps, her face serious. “Maybe he kept the good stuff for himself upstairs.” 

He nods to the fourteen-year-old with a knife in her sock and a hard scowl on her face. “Yeah, maybe.”

He objectively can see the absurdity of supply stealing with a girl barely older than a child, but in this world, in Dalhart, at the end of the line, there is always more innocence to be lost. He knew Sarah’s own childhood was not a normal one, not one that any fussy school marm would deem appropriate for a young girl, and so if he isn’t working himself to the bone in the fields, he is working himself tirelessly to shelter whatever is left of her youth. But, like so many other things, it feels gone already, passed on in a cloud of dust. 

He thinks, had her life been different – that look in her eyes only comes from being exposed to violence – Ellie might have been a bit softer at the edges, no different from any other teenager. He wonders, briefly, what happened to her that made her believe she has to carry a knife with her everywhere.

“We’ll go check but you’re gonna follow the rules, right?” 

Ellie’s shoulder slouch forward, buffeting air between her lips. “Stay behind you, stay low, and stay quiet. Oh, and help but don’t touch. I got it, I got it. ” 

“And here I thought it was physically impossible for you to listen,” he mutters as he flicks off the light and opens the door again. He crouches low again, easing out into the front hallway as bruised morning sunlight peaks in between the boarded windows. 

“Only one of us is deaf, old man,” she mutters gruffly over his shoulder. 

Across from the reception hall is where Eldelstein would receive and treat patients. Most likely the first place that was ransacked, but there might be things missed. He makes a note to circle back after checking the apartment upstairs, but now with it getting light out, he knows their time is limited. 

The Colt at his side, Joel shuffles up the wooden staircase, dirt and dust sitting heavy between the crevices. Without much surprise, he realizes he can barely hear Ellie behind him at all, as if she took to his flat-footed approach. 

In the few months that have passed, he’s come to learn that Ellie is a very quick learner. 

The second story is almost the exact layout as the office arrangement downstairs. A brief hallway with two doors. He glances over his shoulder, rewarding her trust with an opportunity to lead, and Ellie’s eyes widen in understanding. She frowns at the two closed doors, thoughtful, and then she shrugs. 

“I’ve always felt good about being a righty.”

With a shallow huff, he moves forward towards the right door, hand gently twisting the knob, finger hovering over the Colt’s trigger. The door squeaks open as it swings back, Joel against the doorframe until he can give the space one quick sweep of his gaze. Then he’s opening the door wider and pocketing the gun.

Here the damage is less. Less rage and more morbid curiosity. The few narrow beds are shoved haphazardly around the room as if someone went about kicking them aside. Old gray sheets lay in tangled bundles on the floor and the mattresses. Beat-up infusion stands are rusted and broken in the corner, one halfway stuck in a torn-up chunk of wall. A thin door at the far end of the room shielding a dark bathroom is missing its handle. Drawers are torn open, left hanging like loose teeth, violence as enjoyment. A patient recovery room, most likely, for those needing overnight care and –

She gasps sharply behind him before sprinting across the room, the floorboards shrieking.

“Ellie!”

“Joel, look, it’s a radio!” 

It’s about the size of her head, turned away and tilted on the back of a long shelf below the window, but she drags it forward, setting it in front of her and her fingers immediately fly to the knobs.

“I’m gonna shit a brick if this works–”

A faint crackle and her own gasp of delight. It’s not much, it’s hardly music, but there’s something there. She spins the dial, moving across radio waves, the faint yellow light flickering behind the numbered notches. Just as a voice breaks through the dusty speakers, the box hisses and the radio goes silent. 

“Okay, but you saw that, right? It worked for, like, ten whole seconds! If we take it home, I bet–,”

“No.” 

“Aw – what?” She frowns. “Why? C’mon. It’s one radio.”

“It’s too big and we can’t travel light with it.” 

“But I’ve got room in my pack –,”

“No.”

“Fine!” She flicks one of the broken dials off, scowling. “Whatever.” 

Her back turned to him, Ellie yanks open a nearby cabinet door, the lines of her shoulders tight. Joel watches her rummage around, a heavy weight in his gut, before he rights a fallen bedside table to get to the counter behind it. 

He finds scissors, a stitch kit, and saline solution. Behind him, he hears Ellie load her pack. 

The silence stretches, a handful of conversations pressing up to the back of his teeth before fading on his tongue. Sarah is rarely ever this annoyed with him – especially not as often as Ellie seems to be – and it doesn’t sit well with him, knowing Ellie is over there, stewing. 

He doesn’t want her angry with him, for no other purpose than she made Sarah happy. 

No other purpose at all. 

He’s reaching up, checking above a tall wooden wardrobe, when his hand bumps into something, a jar, and he remembers those comics she told Sarah about. Maybe some of them are around here somewhere. 

“Hey, Ellie, uh–,”

“Why hasn’t anyone found out about your homestead yet?” Ellie asks suddenly, her arm digging around behind a chipped bureau. “Or raided it? It’s just you and Sarah out there and people could . . . how do you keep it a secret?” 

His fingers close around the cool jar and he pulls it down. 

Luxor, the label reads. 

Hand cream. 

His dirty thumb smears brown over the lip of the jar. He thinks of delicate skin, raw pink, a painful pink. The thing he has in his hands would soothe that ache. He thinks this might form the words I thought of you when his own mouth fucking can’t. The muscle between his shoulder blades twinges painfully as he takes off his pack and slips the jar inside. 

The radio really would be too much weight, but . . .

“It’s complicated.” He tells Ellie. Across the room, she stills, turns around and looks at him straight on. This is the niece of someone who almost shot two Texas Rangers, who at fourteen carries a knife in her sock and won’t hesitate to use it. There is something wild in her eyes. 

“I don’t think it is.” Her tone edges the line between curiosity and taunt. Her eyebrows ride high on her forehead and her lips slightly purse, mouth centimeters from a smirk. She speaks quietly, honorifically. “I think it has something to do with why those ranger guys were so fucking scared of you they nearly shit themselves. I think it also has to do with Sarah.”

Eyes narrowed, locked across the recovery room. Careful. Be very careful. The jar offsets the distributed weight of his bag. 

“I don’t think anyone actually knows about her condition or how well the homestead is doing. And I think you’d fuck up a whole squad of those assholes to keep it that way.” The silence stretches but it’s sticky now. Ellie grins up at him, the secret she plucked from him sitting in her smile. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

She smirks with the confidence of youth, a spark of naive innocence.

Joel scuffs his shoe on the ground, his hands going to his hips. “You’re right. I’d do anything to protect Sarah. To protect what’s mine.”

That smile drips off her face when he lifts his gaze. He lets it grow hard, weary – a warning. 

“I have done a lot of things – things I never want her to know about – to keep her safe. Those men, this town – they’re right to be afraid of me.” 

Ellie swallows around the weight of the room, her gaze metallic, bright and sharp. Her mouth is a straight line of barely contained victory. I knew it. 

She lifts her chin, hands curled at her side.

“How?”

“How what?”

“How do you make them afraid?” 

He can see a flash of bone between her lips – teeth, eagerness. And then in a blink, it’s gone. Wiped clean from a youthfully smooth face. Ellie drops his gaze, deflates, and stares at the floor. 

“I mean – it just seems like a lot – keeping it all a secret.” 

“It’s not. Not when it’s for her.” 

And it’s like he’s pressed roughly on a fresh bruise; she curls further into herself for protection, almost wincing. He suddenly remembers her half-snarl when he said there’d be twice as many mouths to feed if he took them in. A burden, twice as heavy. 

“Yeah, of course, she’s your kid.” 

Her rough voice is as physical and real as she is as she pushes past him, marching out of the room and twisting the handle of the closed door across the hall.

“It’s not much of a choice then, is it?” She says, loudly, the door squeaking as it opens. 

Behind him, over his shoulder, the door to the bathroom slams shut – a draft. His heart pitches in his chest – he’s seen how you and Ellie have reacted before at loud noises and certainly slammed doors before – he hears her soft gasp, her narrow back tight in the frame of the door, but it’s different from one from the one he expects, one of learned skittishness. It’s a boneless sort of horror, wet, sudden, cold – he fights the urge to tug her out of the room by her collar. But she’s already seen it. There’s no taking it back.

The smell is horrendous. The blockage by the door must have masked the stench because with the door open, there is no denying the scent of rotten flesh. 

Someone who was unlucky enough to get caught up in the crazed fervor of the lynch mob meant for Eldelstein? Someone who deserved it, maybe? Whatever and whoever they were, they make up a mutilated shadow beneath the far window, the soft bits of their flesh a home for flies and maggots. The room is dark, drained of sunlight and the sense that anything living ever existed inside its walls. Boarded up and stale, it stinks of a graveyard, but one without coffins, where the bodies are left to ooze and decay and spill out into the wet soil. It stinks of putrefaction, of tainted earth and poisoned air.

But Ellie doesn’t scream. Doesn’t turn. Doesn’t run. Doesn’t cry. 

Just stares wide-eyed and inhales. 

Joel watches and waits for her. Watches because he recognizes that hard, blank look on her face, one that is familiar to him and far too old for her. Waits because he doesn’t know how to react because this activation is so unlike Sarah. 

There are not many fourteen year olds who would barely flinch when eye-to-eye with death.

He stands behind her, a physical presence larger than herself, something bigger and scarier than all the flies and maggots in the world. 

“Is this your first time seeing somethin’ like this?”

Her answer doesn’t entirely surprise him: she shakes her head. 

He nods and takes the handle from her. He gently shuts the door, inches in front of Ellie’s face. “I think we got all we needed. Ready to go?”

She nods, then heads for the stairs, not taking another second to look back at the room with the radio.

The metal teeth of the cultivator catch and drag over a large dirt clod and with a grunt, you shatter it with a few good thwaps. When you stand, sweat races down the back of your neck and between the cotton straps of your bra, cooling the heat of your skin. Your muscles throb pleasantly beneath sunlight. It’s a sensation you’d never had before coming here, to Joel’s homestead, but one you had quickly gotten used to. 

You are not the same girl who came here all those months ago.

You first noticed it when stepping out of the bath one summer morning and your eyes caught yourself in the mirror. 

There are no divots in your hips any more. The deflated skin around your ribs has filled in. Your body – a thing that had merely housed you and sometimes betrayed you to slow down and eat, and ached when you didn’t – had changed. Without you knowing, seemingly overnight, your clay sculpture had been remade. Rebuilt and reborn. For the first time in what felt like years, you wondered how you appeared to another person. 

Thin and skeletal, you had offered nothing to anyone because there was nothing for you to give. But, at the homestead, around Joel with Sarah and a kitchen and abundant food, that had changed. Things swelled here, near him, made ripe and sweet. A vitality returned, flooded in, and you, with your thin petals and wilted spine, blossomed. There’s now the inkling of a person in the mirror, one that hadn’t existed with your husband and now you wondered who she might be. 

And yet, while you flourished with regular meals and the stability of Ellie’s safety, the vitality of the land itself had seemingly dried up to a trickle. The last rain was days ago, the downpour offering even less than the previous one. 

You squat to your ankles, balancing the cultivator against your weight, and press your fingers into the ground. Dry. Delicate. An absence, and an unusual one at that. The dirt trickles off your fingers like sand. The sun’s heat prickles your entire back, oppressive and stifling. A drop of sweat slips off your nose, a finger wagging at you: you can’t deny this anymore. 

This is the same baked and dry earth that had been found on the southwest edge of the property, beneath the waves of dust that had blown in, covering the crops and grass in a gnarly, heavy film. Joel decided to cut his losses there and replant what he could, closer north, nearer to the river. But the look in his eyes was beyond frustration or annoyance. He moved with quick, long strides covering the fields with his tools and the horse. Agitated, maybe – a shark rechecking and double checking the edges of its territory. 

And then the next morning, in the blue of dawn, with the smell of fresh coffee drawing him out of his room and down the stairs where you stood trying to decide whether or not you liked the taste, he asked if you knew how to rake crop stripes.

No, you told him honestly. That didn’t seem to surprise him, but he postponed the lesson you had for Ellie and Sarah that day to diligently walk you through the tools that hung on the wall of the barn. He wasn’t satisfied until you knew them all by name, what their purpose was, and how to properly maintain them. Then, he broke down the pieces of the plow – what they’re called, how they connect, and what to check for before loading up the plow onto the horse.

Sarah and Ellie gleefully watched from the porch that following morning– their chores mysteriously done faster than a blink of an eye – as he had you strip down the tack, clean the leather, and reassemble it. Then he made you haul the plow onto Everrett, never once offering to help. But by the set of his jaw, you knew it wasn’t out of cruelty or distaste. By the time sweat was pouring down your back, the afternoon sun beating down on your exposed ears and neck, you realized he wanted to make sure you could do it all on your own.

By the end of the week, you knew as much as any farm hand. In practice at least. 

But another week went by and Joel never mentioned the lesson, or any further ones. 

Until the morning you came downstairs to find a man’s work shirt and pants waiting for you on the kitchen table. 

Your thin dresses wouldn’t protect you from the sun, he posited, his broad back to you as he poured himself a cup of coffee. The hat he left you was a little too big, as were the clothes. You’d never seen him wear them, but you kept your questions about the original owner to yourself. He didn’t seem to mind when you altered the pant’s hemline and brought in the waist of the shirt. 

Who’s Annie Oakley now? Sarah giggled when you tried on the hat for the first time. 

You could hardly recognize the woman underneath it. 

From there your lessons became about crop rotation, polyculture, and agrochemicals. He had you walk beside him in the rows of crops as he pushed Everrett along with the plow, identifying out loud any signs of vascular wilting, necrosis, and soft rot or tumors. Bacterial diseases were particularly devastating to crops, he said, eyes forward and sweat rolling down his temples, the muscles of his shoulders straining beneath the tight straps of the suspenders hooked into his belt loops. The heat of the sun spreading to your cheeks, you were grateful for the excuse to keep your eyes trained on the ground. 

Leaf blight, he warned, was also very common in young crops – caused by the fungus Cercospora carotae. You asked him then if Sarah had been taught any Latin. His cheeks were flushed pink, but that was probably due to the heat more than anything else. 

Over time and at Joel’s side, you eventually felt confident in your new knowledge. Memorization had never been a problem for you and witnessing the theoretical application of the knowledge in real time helped significantly. However, it was the physical application where things got difficult. 

The day he let you push the plow, he wore a familiar expression all morning. Jaw clenched, Jaw tight, nostrils flared, it was the same look he wore when you approached Sarah during her first fit. He was helpless when you angled the share into the dirt and tore the ground apart. The sight of his furrowed brow knotted your stomach, but you pressed on. You pushed forward, one step after another, just as you had seen him do more than a dozen times. You could almost retrace his steps in your mind’s eye.

With him a hair’s breadth behind you, quickly barking out commands if you strayed a centimeter out of a straight line, something occurred to you.This was no longer a job for you. This was living proof you could take something in your hands and make it better. All your life you had been subservient to someone; a doctor at the hospital, your manager at the diner, your husband in that goddamned dug out – they all held power over you and your choices. But you knew this was different. You knew if you could eventually prove to Joel that you were worthy of being trusted with his land, then he would treat you as an equal. So you pressed on. You pushed yourself until your skin baked in the sun, until sweat dripped from your neck, until blood spilled from your cracked hands. 

Under Joel’s supervision, you fed the land with your blood. 

And six weeks later, the blisters on your hands had calcified, proof and reward of your dedication. You had muscles, hard and lean, strengthened joints and flexible tendons. The molten steel of your body, your form, had finally solidified. 

Your days started alongside Joel’s now, instead of divided by domestic spaces. Some days, he lingered inside even longer than you, polarized positions of where you stood weeks ago: you unlocking the barn, loading the horse and driving out into the fields while he stood at the window, a mug of coffee in his hands. He never made you wait for long, usually offering you a full canteen of water for the day, a single nod before you worked opposite ends to meet in late afternoon. 

But there were times – instances, occasions – that you think, you wonder, if, from the window, he still was watching you. 

Thoughts of his face, all lines and dark eyes, as he held your palm up to the heavens that night in Sarah’s room trickle in when you rest idly, in the seconds before you sleep. When you let your unconscious awareness drift. Which, fortunately, didn’t often happen out in the fields, especially not when Joel had told you about another threat to the crops; what to look for and where to find it. 

And worrisomely, you had – again: dry, inhospitable earth. 

You frown at it beneath your hat, the sun’s touch hot around your shoulders and spine, a low skirting wind by your ankles. An infection spreading. Joel won’t like this, not at all, but he’ll know of some way to shelter the crops. An alteration with the irrigation system, maybe? 

Flora huffs at you, eyeing you with a twitching tail. How much longer are we gonna be out here?

“It’s hot, girl, I know, I’m sorry.” You pat her speckled rump. “We’ll be done soon.” 

Whenever Joel gets back. 

Dusting your knees off, you stand and take a small stake with a white flag from the cart. 

Beneath the bag of staked flags sits your handgun. It hasn’t been used once in these past months, but Joel never lets you go into the fields without it. More often than not, he makes you keep it physically on your person – in a pocket, in your socks, somewhere within reach – but the sight of it sickens you, the horror of what you almost had to do that night you met Joel. How easily you were willing to do it for Ellie. How easily you’d do it again, to keep her safe. 

But now he expects you to do the same for Sarah and this homestead in his absence: protect at the cost of violence. 

The longer the gun sits out in the open, glinting sharply in the sun, the guiltier you feel. 

The breeze comes not a moment too soon. It breathes across your clavicle, the muscles of your throat. It draws your gaze up, outward, to the line of white flags peeking out of the ground. Soldiers in a row, surrender fluttering in the wind. Grave markers of failed crops. You forget the gun as your stomach turns at the sight of the fields full of little white flags.

The land is ill. You can’t deny this anymore.

The breeze thickens to a harsh blow and you grab your hat to keep it steady. Under the rush by your ears, you hear your name. By the house, under the wired row of drying clothes, Sarah waves to you – too far away to hear anything distinct, but she’s pointing and waving to the road and a cloud of smoke barreling down it. 

No, not smoke. Dust. Two figures atop a white horse racing through the chalk of the earth. 

Ellie.

And Joel.

Flora lets out an audible groan of relief when you take her reins and pull her back towards the house, the cart of flags clicking behind you. You wonder if he’ll see the line of flags from the road.

The barn is quiet in the late afternoon heat. You hear june bugs chitter in the rafters as you unclip Flora from the wagon and lead her to a stable. Fauna’s big ears flap towards her sister, brown eyes sparkling, almost bragging.

Ha, ha, you had to be in the fields today.

“None of that,” you scold, as you loosen the leather cord around your jaw and let your hat fall back against your shoulders. “You’ll be getting it soon enough, missy.” 

“You know, talking to animals is the first sign of going crazy.” 

Sarah slides silently through the side door and offers you a towel. She smells of soap, her bouncy hair pulled back today, her smile soft and warm, and you take it, rubbing it up behind your neck. 

“Well, at least I get a warning,” you grin. Sarah was no longer the same plagued girl you met those months ago. 

The ground had shifted in more ways than one the morning of Sarah’s recovery. Of course, there was still pain and soreness, but for the first time in months, she felt strong enough to walk around without her braces. She couldn’t run, couldn’t move fast, but standing next to Ellie, there was nothing that would suggest them any different. She seemed taller, hair bouncier, a focused glint in her eye that wasn’t there before, as if she alone had decided something rather vital. 

Her treatments of warm compresses and exercises went from daily to weekly to now every other week. Once she’d seen you walk through the steps of her therapy, she started to do it on her own in her room. Preventative and calculating. 

The days she can now spend outside doing laundry and planting fresh herbs have done her good. Her healthy skin glows. 

But there’s something delicate about the way she does, or rather, does not look at you now in the barn. An energy you can’t quite place, one that seems to hum louder as the months pass. She watches you, a placid smile on her face, her shoulders halfway turned to the barn door as if she wants to be the first one to see them open. 

“Has Ellie come by yet?” She asks breezily, her fingers lightly running against the edge of the stack of towels tucked up under arm. “I saw my dad walk off to the house, but she wasn’t with him.”

“No, I haven’t. But if they’re back, she should be around here somewhere. Is there something wrong? Are you alright?”

Sarah inhales, round eyes widening – caught – but she shakes her head. “No, of course not. I just . . . I’m just wondering if they had a successful trip.” 

If you knew her better than only for six weeks, you’d think she might be anxious. She goes quiet as she watches the barn doors. The arch in her neck belies tension. You realize she has one of your dresses folded over her arm. 

“Sarah, are you –,”

Everett’s irritated whinny cuts you short and the barn door is thrown back as a short figure tugs the off-white horse into the cool half-light. 

“Yeah, I know I smell. It’s not like you’re a bucket of roses either, pal.” 

At least crazy runs in the family. 

“How was the run?” Sarah asks immediately as Everett clops by dramatically, the weight of the world seemingly on his hooves. The kerchief around Ellie’s neck is crusted over with dirt. 

“Good. Really good, actually. Got a shit load of supplies.” 

Ellie, another changed casualty in all of this. Except, instead of shedding an old skin, she’s grown a new one. The original. Something that, perhaps, always was there. 

She removes the saddle with practiced ease, despite it being nearly twice her size, and puts it on the stock post, just as Joel had shown her. She returns to Everett with a brush and a blanket, because the sun is going down soon and the night will be cold – just like Joel had told her. She banters a bit with Sarah, the work almost mindless with her confidence.

She has taken to this life like a fish takes to water, as Anna would have said. 

But what would your sister think of this life you had rushed her daughter into? Are calloused hands and thick, ruddy skin – supply runs into ghost towns – all that she wanted for her only child?

This, among threads of Joel, keeps you up at night. 

But these are the least of Sarah’s concerns about Ellie. Her fingers dig into your dress as if to physically stop herself from lunging forward. 

“What’s the town like? Are there people still there? Has anyone new come in?”

Ellie shrugs as she unhooks Everett’s bridle. “Boring, like four, and I probably wouldn’t know.” Ellie’s eyes widen, a small smile unfurling across her lips. “But we found a radio. Joel said we couldn’t keep it but – oh, wait, Joel said he was looking for you. Had something he wanted to show you.” 

You blink as Ellie and Sarah, in twin movements, glance to you.

“Oh? What was it?”

“I dunno. But he’s up in the kitchen unpacking the supplies if you wanna go ask.” 

“Was there–,” The corners of Sarah’s mouth goes red as she is suddenly seized by a violent, hacking cough. Both you and Ellie move towards her, but she waves you off. She steps back, turning her mouth into her elbow, her back shuddering as she gasps in air only to choke on it again. 

“Must’ve – breathed wrong–,” her eyes are watery. “I’m – fine.” 

In recent weeks, despite the rest of her body prospering, Sarah’s cough had turned rather rough. But every time you check her airways, she’s clear. Still, the concern lingers – you see it in Ellie’s eyes too. It’s not the kind of cough that comes from polio, you know this. You self-soothe with this. But you think of the white flags in the fields and something sour rolls down your spine.

You meet Ellie’s gaze while Sarah’s back is turned. Excitement, agitation, they had been bringing on more and more coughing spells – whenever Sarah tried to breathe too deeply. Ellie shakes her head at you, jerking her head back towards the house. I got this. In a low tone, she offers Sarah some water who drinks it gratefully. 

 It’s not the kind of cough that comes from polio.

The last bit of sunlight drips down below the horizon, lazy and pungent. A quick glance out to the fields, you can barely see the flags in the periwinkle distance. The air is warm, buzzing with a lingering heat from the escaping sun. You inhale, closing your eyes just for a moment, as you slope up the creaking wooden steps to the porch, and exhale, a chaff of tension sliding off your shoulders. 

When you first came here, you could barely stand the thought of being alone in the same room as him, just like with any other man. But eventually you learned that Joel Miller is unlike any other man in the world, unlike anyone you’ve ever met before. The foreign alchemy of his quiet nature, his diligence over the land, and his deep, endless well of love for Sarah was all at once confusing and – strangely – exciting. 

Earning Joel’s trust precipitated a steady climb or thundering fall – you just weren’t sure which yet. 

Despite the lateness of the hour, Joel hasn’t turned on the kitchen lights, coating the kitchen in a film of purple, blurring edges, and spreading shadows. His broad back greets you first, arm still deep in his pack at the table, when you shut the back door and move for the sink. 

“Ellie says the supply run went well. I hope that means you didn’t run into any trouble.” The rushing of the faucet saves him from having to answer, but you feel his eyes on your back, your shoulders, the flat seat of your hat between your shoulder blades. Brown muck runs down the drain. 

“It was fine. Did she mention anything?”

“No.” You shake your head, digging at the dirt under your nails with another hand. “Why? What did you find?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, at least.” 

Joel never rushes unless he means to. He holds everything in before he speaks, each word as deliberate as the sway of his shoulders, the crunch of his knuckles. But this – how he talks now as if the words he says are chosen at the very last second – it feels like he’s hiding something.

In the failing light, you face him, eyebrows tugged down. 

“Joel? What is it?” 

At the table, he’s no longer digging around in the pack. With one hand on the table, fingers lightly pressing into the wood surface, he stands as if bracing for impact. He works his jaw back and forth, eating letter after letter, word after word, until –

“C’mere.” 

The deep timber of his voice strokes the back of your neck, releasing a quiver down your spine, heart suddenly up in your throat. It’s not fear you’re feeling, not exactly, but it makes you break out in goosebumps all the same. 

You go to him without question. 

But like a magnet repelled, he steps back the closer you get. With his gaze, he points to the array of supplies. On the table, in almost a sterile, clinical order, is the cache of medical items you requested. Medicine for Sarah, potential treatments for burns or cuts. The bigger items like splints or canes aren’t there, you didn’t expect them anyway, but you could treat the four of you for months with what they’ve found. You open your mouth, praise and appreciation on the tip of your tongue, but he still hasn’t looked up, hasn’t looked at you. He stares at the pack on the table with trepidation.

Wordlessly compelled, you reach into the nearly empty pack until your hand closes around one single item.

You draw it out, the jar cool against your overheated skin.

Luxor. You can’t tear your eyes away from the glass jar. 

His voice is so rough it barely makes it out of his mouth.

“For burns.” His gaze drops to your hands, which have since healed after the night of Sarah’s fit. Weeks ago, in fact. “It wasn’t on the list, but –,”

Oh, Joel. Your throat is sealed shut. You have to nearly wrench your jaw open to push words out of your mouth.

“No, no, that’s fine – that’s –,” you press the glass to the spread of your clavicle to ease your pounding heart. 

This wasn’t on the list. And yet he . . .

Your choice was either to look at him or shatter apart. 

How can a man almost fifty years old look so boyishly uncomfortable? 

“This . . . I . . . this is wonderful. Thank you, Joel. I mean it. Thank you so much. ”

You can already smell the rose water. You wonder if Joel likes the smell of rose water. His jaw unclenches enough, relieved, and his lips almost form – a memory, a dream, an aspiration of – a smile, and he says: 

“You’re welcome.”

In the half-light, you stare at him far longer than you ever have before – and he stares right back. 

In the half-light, you hear it, louder and more cruel than before:

You can’t deny this anymore.

“Okay, who can tell me the difference between genus and family in biological classification?”

One hand in the air.

“Yes?”

“A genus contains one or more species. A family contains one or more genera.”

“Correct. And how does this relate to our lesson last week?”

“We were identifying different species of crops, but how they often overlap in genera.” 

“Correct again.” 

You bend over and pick up the basket at your feet. In the motion, you can feel your dress unstick itself from the warm dampness clinging to your skin beneath your armpit. The summer day is hot, scorchingly so, and only made worse by the lack of a breeze and the immobile stench of cow in the barn air. It’s a different kind of smell than the one that soaked your husband’s dugout – burnt cow chips –  but it is still gut-churningly familiar. You wonder if Ellie remembers that smell as intensely as you do. 

But if she does, she doesn’t show it. Ellie always could hide her emotions better than you. Head down, she draws circles on the wooden table with her finger, side-by-side with Sarah. The girls’ chairs come from the dining room and the table is an old woodworking mount that Joel repurposed for your classroom. It’s uneven and heavy, but the wood is as smooth as butter. After the harvest, he promised a new one, but you don’t think you could bear getting rid of it.

Ellie jumps when you drop the basket in front of her. You return to the back of the barn, gather up another basket, and leave this one with Sarah, whose eyes grow wide when she catches a glimpse of the contents inside. 

With the single square of chalkboard, made from paint and grout, and a rapidly-dwindling nugget of chalk, you write three words:

Genus

Common name

Poisonous

The chalk clicks as you press a small circle beneath the question mark. 

“You have ten minutes to identify the genus of each of the mushrooms within your basket, as well as its common name and whether or not it’s poisonous.” 

Sarah sits up even further in her chair, eyes bright and mouth a sharp line. She loves pop quizzes. 

You had thought of Ellie’s strokes with her knife outside at sunset, her physicality with the animals, and her near abhorrence for traditional learning when designing this particular test. Despite her resistance to any sort of structure, Ellie had been quick to follow directions and provide support as Anna got sicker and sicker. Ellie would make a good nurse – a good anything – but that potential only simmers, never indulged. Anna would have known how to bring it out in her, you often think. The best you can do is try and adjust your lesson to make this at least partially entertaining for her. 

Her forehead shining, her gaze brushes each mushroom in the basket with slow intention.

“Licking them probably won’t help, right?” She smirks at you as she plucks one out and spins it with her fingers. Smartass, as always, but for once – engaged. You try to muffle the spark of excitement in your fingertips.

“That’s one way to determine if they’re poisonous or not,” you reply just as flippantly. “But you’d better be sure.” 

Ellie’s smirk lightens to a grin, her head tucking down as she starts to rifle through her basket. Sarah already has her basket empty and is sorting her mushrooms into the corners of her table. She hasn’t once looked up from her task since you set the timer. Head down, eyes bright, lips tucked tightly between her teeth, you can almost hear her reviewing her notes in her head as she carefully picks up each mushroom, testing the spongy flesh with her thumbnail, watching if any flakes fall off, and glancing at your handmade chart of the animal classifications every few touches. 

Ellie merely sniffs hers. 

You turn, hiding your grin to catch a glimpse of the outside blue sky.

The timer goes off and Flora groans at the loud noise. Sarah correctly identifies all the mushrooms, while Ellie only knows the poisonous kinds. Close enough and perhaps most practical. 

“Just so you know,” Ellie begins to Sarah, head again in the cradle of her palm, her eyes watching you as you swipe the mushrooms back into the basket, “most pop quizzes aren’t fun like that at a real school. Usually it’s just math and the clock makes an annoying little ticking noise the entire time.”

Sarah’s eyes brighten, I love math clearly on the tip of her tongue, before she settles a bit and she scoffs, sophomorically indignant. 

“Yeah, of course, I know that.”

“So you better hope they keep the school shut down for a long, long time.” Ellie leans back in her seat and presses the soles of her sneakers to the edge of the table. “That place is the worst.” 

Sarah shrugs, practicing some of Ellie’s casual indifference. “You’re probably right. It’s definitely lame. Just . . . it would be kinda cool for a change of scenery or whatever.”

“Um, you’re not gonna get a better change of scenery than this.” Ellie bats her eyelashes with her eyes crossed, tongue out, and Sarah giggles. 

“Oh, whatever,” she swats Ellie across her shin, “like you wouldn’t go crawling up the walls if you had to live here every single day, day in and day out.”

You slow in your collection of your supplies, something she said the day of the supply run scuttling up the banks of your memory to prod you in the back of your head. Ellie concedes by crossing her arms, contemplative. “Still better than school.” 

“How long did you go to the school in Dalhart?” You ask as you erase the white chalk on the board. 

“Since it opened,” Sarah replies. “I hadn’t gotten sick yet and it wasn't anything special. It was kinda far from here, but Dad always made sure I got there on time. He always wanted me to get an education, focus on school and studying. He never wanted me to be a farmer like him.”

That sends the front leg’s of Ellie’s chair to the hard, packed dirt. “Really? Why?”

“I dunno. But I guess it all worked out. I’m better at memorization and trig than I am at carrying a saddle.”

“What’s trig?” Ellie asks, head tilted. 

“It’s a kind of math –,”

“Advanced math,” you interject. 

“Yeah, I guess. But my teacher at school really made it fun! She’d stay after class and show me things that weren’t in the textbooks, or even in the syllabus. And Sam, he’d –,” 

All at once, Sarah’s mouth snaps shut, her eyes diving to the floor. She tugs a bouncy curl behind her ear as Ellie’s frown deepens.

“Sam? Who’s Sam?” 

“No one. He was just – this boy – in my grade and he was really good at trig too and he lived right outside Dalhart for years and sometimes he’d help me when I got stuck on certain problems,” Sarah rambles, her voice a tick higher. “His family left the year they shut the school down.”

You stifle a grin. A crush. Sarah Miller has a crush on a boy. Even at the end of the line, at the end of hope. 

Ellie, however, remains completely baffled.

“Yeah and? He’s just some guy.”

Sarah blanches at the suggestion that she might have to defend him past being “just some guy” while trying to keep her secret of him being “the guy” all at once, so you step in and save her.

“Did you ever spend time with Sam outside of school?”

Sarah shakes her head no. 

“Not even with a group of people?”

At that, she bites the corner of her mouth, the heel of her brown boot circling in the dirt. You know her cheeks are fire-hot.

“No. My dad totally would have found out.” 

Ellie stares at both of you as if you had started speaking gibberish. And then she blinks.

“Oh – you mean like a date.”

“Who’s going on a date?” 

The three of you jump at the masculine voice that breaks out from the back of the barn. Those thick brows furrow in as Joel visibly wonders if he walked into something he shouldn’t have. On the days you have class, he spends his time repairing things around the farm, often taking stock of the cellar in preparation for the harvest and then the winter. Whatever he had been working on has a wet flush peeking out from under his collar – not the heated lather that comes from the fields, but a run-off of the hot summer day. He wipes his brow, mouth parted slightly.

You stand upright, as if the headmaster had just strolled in. Well, to a certain point, he had. 

Ellie, with the least amount of skin in the game, rolls her eyes.

“We were talking about boys.”

One of those dark eyebrows twitch up as his gaze roams from Ellie to you to Sarah, who you think you see sink a fraction of an inch in her chair. 

“Oh.”

“We were learning about poisonous fungi as part of the curriculum on important flora,” you say pointedly to Ellie. “That particular topic came up at the end of the lesson. Both girls scored very well on their pop quiz.”

Joel nods, wiping his hands on his shirt. 

This Joel, the By-the-Light-of-Day Joel, is different from the Joel that meets you on the purple, blurry edge of night and day. The shadows that soften the world soften him too, the hidden planes of his face affording you delusions of further softness regarding his own feelings towards you – feelings of, if not companionship, at least respect. There were times you were righteously sure of how and where you stood in Joel Miller’s eyes – he appreciated you enough to watch over his land and his daughter – and then there were times you could have been on entirely different planets. A twisted Space Family Robinson, alone and lost in the cold vacuum. 

The Joel that gave you the cream for your burned palms is not the same Joel that stands before you. He fidgets with the rag in his hand, weight shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. Sweat leaks into your hairline, and you are suddenly overcome by the desire for him to look at you. 

“Given how close it is to the harvest, I thought having some extra hands who know what we’re looking for might help. Might be useful to you.”

“Yeah.” He nods slowly, as his gaze falls to Sarah. “But I don’t want you overworking anything.” 

Her eyelashes flutter as she rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m not overworking myself. I’ve been studying, like you asked.” 

“And it shows in your work.” You smile. Sarah pins you with her own vulnerable gaze. “You’re an excellent student, Sarah.” 

The tension in her shoulders eases and she sits up straighter, grinning. 

Something flashes across Ellie’s face out of the corner of your eye and she leans forward, mouth twisted with a thick smirk.

“Bet you were a lot better student with Saaam around!”

“Ellie, shut up!” She springs up in agitation, her eyes wide, her jaw tight as she rounds on the other girl.

“Who’s Sam?”

“The boy Sarah’s going on a date with–,”

“I am not!” Sarah snaps, her voice wavering at the end. 

Those dry lips curl up, a smile hidden somewhere beneath that wiry beard, and Joel puts his hands on his hips. “I know that’s right. No dating ‘til you’re thirty.” 

Sarah’s grip tightens around the back of her chair, her mouth tipped down, eyes blazing. 

“That’s not funny, Dad.”

“I’m not tryin’ to be funny,” he replies, very seriously. “Just want you to know the rules.”

Whether or not Joel actually has any rules around Sarah’s dating life, it doesn’t matter. That’s not the point.

The point is that he very clearly, unintentionally or not, brushed up against something that, for Sarah, was very, very tender. 

She stands, awkwardly lurching out of her chair as it catches on the dirt floor. Her delicate fingers clenched into fists, she darts off for the back door.

“It’s not like anything’d ever happen anyway,” and she’s out into the sunlight. 

By the shocked look on Joel’s face, that might be the first teen tantrum he’s ever witnessed. Instinctively, he takes a step forward, an apology in the curve of his lips, but you reach out with a hand, even though he’s several feet from you.

“Joel –,” your fingers flutter close, politely rejecting the implication they know what his skin feels like. “Just give her some time.” You glance at Ellie, whose expression is dark, confused. “Both of you. She needs some time to cool down.”

Joel frowns at you, more at your words, evidently just as confused as Ellie. Of course a man could not fathom why it would feel so ridiculously cruel to a girl to be teased about a boy by her father. You smile at Joel’s instinct, your own father never possessing such a level of concern. A girl could be such a fragile thing after all.

“Would you talk to her? After she, hm, has some space?” 

His thumb anxiously edges the ridges of his forefinger, then his palm. He looks at you, uncomfortable, as if his request is particularly unwieldy, too much for anyone but him to bear. But, to you, this gift is lighter than air.

Joel’s trust makes your heart soar. 

Only to come crashing down. 

You are not capable of this kindness, this nurturing, guiding hand that some women and men ingratiate on instinct alone. You’ve failed Ellie, you know – you feel it in the distance between you and your niece – the best you can offer is a teacher, a thoughtful friend whose insular life is a world away entirely. No more, even when she needs it the most.

Nurture. It’s not what you do. 

“I – I can’t – I don’t know what – would she even listen to me because I don’t think –,”

There’s a conviction in his eyes as he looks at you that wasn’t there when you first set foot on the homestead, an acquired belief that had grown over the past few weeks with you as you learned and serviced the land under his guiding hands. 

That ping of his steel gaze against the porcelain of your skin. It makes something within you sing. 

  “Alright, Joel. I’ll try.” 

Quietly, without much conjecture or fanfare, Sarah has taken over doing the laundry for the whole house.

She rises with the sun. Not the blurry violet light smearing shadows, but the dawn – bold, bright, loud and full of thunderous color. She rises in the gold morning and, arms full of sweaty, dirt-thick clothes, she gathers them all into a white wicker basket and takes them out into the backyard near the spigot and the wide, low-set wooden basin. From the time you see the screen door shutter open until the moment you and Joel guide the heat-lathered animals back into the barn, she scrubs the dirt loose on the metal washboard then pinches the clothes high in the white, dry air.

And then, in the falling darkness, she carries her wicker basket, attached to her hip, around the house, laying out towels in the proper cupboards, and folded shirts smelling of sun-drenched air inside heavy dresser drawers. She tucks her dresses inside the line-thin wardrobe and, occasionally, she lays yours out on the bed. 

So it’s not entirely surprising to find her in the room you share with Ellie – the room that used to hold storage, old suitcases, and paintings, things of Joel’s foremothers and forefathers, where Ellie has now started to store her collection of unearthed arrowheads and snake skins – standing at the foot of your bed, with your yellow dress between her fingers. 

What is surprising, however, is the reverent, almost-delicate way she touches the buttons, strokes the faded lace, pinches the thin fabric between her fingers, like it’s made of threaded gold. Like it’s so much more than just a dress.

You watch her for a moment, from the shadows of the hallway. With Ellie, you never had to pick apart her feelings – either she made them known or would snap and snarl at anyone who dared to coax them out. Anna had eventually stopped coming to you for advice as you both got older, deciding to handle her personal problems all on her own because everything you said turned out wrong. You worked so well with your hands because your mouth couldn’t be trusted to be of any help.

And yet, looking at a girl who is brave and curious, but perhaps as lonely as you are – maybe you could just speak from the heart instead. As you get closer, under the sloshing anxiety, curiosity tugs on you: why did she come here – to your room? 

“My mother gave me that.” Sarah jumps at your voice, the late afternoon sun through the window coaxing the russet out of her curls and her large brown eyes. She drops your dress as if she had been snooping around in your things as opposed to simply doing her self-assigned chores and steps back. 

“I’m sorry – I-I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just . . . it’s pretty.” 

“She made it by hand,” you say. “But you have dresses just as pretty, Sarah.” 

You slide away from the door frame to touch the dress on the bed. It had been your mother’s. You always hated it. You thought, briefly, when she first tossed it to you, that it might be cursed. Might bring down your father’s eye towards you, away from her for once. And you had been right – sort of. He came for you all the same, the dress nothing but a waving flag that to him signaled your own complicity. But Sarah stares at it with a certain fascination, roused into alertfulness by something awakening inside her. 

The conditions of the farm, of being field hand, barely lent itself to the constriction of being beautiful, of being lovely and soft. You, like every other challenge that had been placed in front of you, swallowed that fact whole; an acceptance that Joel didn’t seem to care what you wore because he didn’t care to look at you at all. 

You sit on the bed, watching the young girl in front of you. She’s made improvements, her health not the underlying current in every room for weeks now, but now, sitting so close to her, you can see the weight of that disease. The weight of an unconscious consumption in a conscious body. Sarah’s hand trembles as she touches the dress again. 

“I don’t have anything of my mother’s,” she says simply. “I don’t have anything I didn’t make or my dad bought in Dalhart.” 

The dress means so much to her precisely because it’s your mother’s. Sarah doesn’t know how she fell apart, just that she raised you. Staring at your mother’s dress, you are quite confident that she would hiss and spit at the hard woman you’ve become. For once, and gratefully, this dress no longer feels like hers, or yours because you had avoided the same fate that befell her while entombed in this dress. And you weren’t about to subject Sarah to your family’s curse. 

You stand and pull out a blue pin-striped dress from your drawer, one that you’d had since you were her age, but one that never seemed quite right and over the years had grown too short on your calves and too small around the waist. You take it out and hold it over her shoulders.

“I think this is about your size.” You inspect it thoughtfully. “Have it. Wear it for the next school year. Or, one day, on your first day as a freshman in college.” 

She peels the dress away from her body like it sticks uncomfortably to her skin and laughs – a huff, a sharp release between tight ribs. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“You don’t like it?” Your heart seizes – did you say the wrong thing?

“Oh, no, no, no – I do – it’s beautiful, I’m sorry, I mean – but school – college – I don’t think it’s for me.” 

The dress bunches in her fists as she holds it in her lap. She hasn’t drawn it towards her but hasn’t set it on the bed. You frown. She is capable enough to pass the entrance exams and she knows it too. This is something else, something you could see she didn’t want to address directly, or simply couldn’t. 

Your mother’s yellow dress was a signal for you too: a blazing icon, a silent voice screaming –  you don’t belong with these people with whom you share only blood. You do not belong to them.

The silence stretches thin, lean and taught. You don’t know how to pick up the threads of her denials, so you simply march forward, into the crux of things.

“I was wondering if we could talk about today.” You start over. “An outburst like that isn’t all like you at all, Sarah, and your father and I are concerned. You know he was just teasing you.”

Her hands tighten their grip around the folds of your dress. “I know.” She squeezes her eyes shut. The silence lingers, sitting down heavy on the mattress underneath you. What do you say to a fourteen year old whose girlhood was vastly different from yours? Who has a father that loves her and a safe place to sleep at night – how could you possibly compare? As dozens, if not hundreds, of compassionate but meaningless comforting cliches race through your head, you take her hand and squeeze it and you decide to tell her what you at fourteen always dreamed of hearing.

“It’s okay if he doesn’t understand you, Sarah, but he loves you. He’d do anything for you.”

“I know. “ She repeats in a voice that says she doesn’t. The back of her free hand pressed against her lips, she lets out a sound like a hiccup and sob. Sarah closes her eyes with a sigh. “You’re right. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get it. And even though Ellie and I have gotten really close . . . she doesn’t get it either.” 

You scoot closer to her and squeeze her hand again. “Doesn’t get what, darling?” 

Sarah lifts her gaze and you see hope in her shiny gaze. A flame, small, but bright – flickering, building as if swelling under music, a tune that existed without shape or ears to hear it until this moment. 

Until something sang out to it. 

“How?”

“How what?”

“How do you see the world?” 

You sit back and she leans forward, the blue dress tighter in her hands than ever before, that spark in her eyes burning.

“I want to be like you and go to Boston. I . . . I wanna see skyscrapers and ride in taxis and take elevators as high as they can go. I wanna ride across the country on a train and eat in beautiful restaurants. I want to go to college, to learn, and carry textbooks, and go to a giant stadium and watch football – and I –,”

She swallows down a gulp of air, hands shaking from the tension in her knuckles, and in the pause, you touch her shoulder, like you would Flora if she were agitated. That completely derails her train of thought and she lets out the air in her lungs with a sigh so fast, it’s almost a hiss.

“Sarah, darling, why do you think you won’t ever have those things? Your dad wants you to be happy, to follow any dream you have –,”

“But I can’t leave him.” 

Sarah’s thumb rubs the thin fabric almost mournfully. When she speaks, her voice is tight, cramped with grief. 

“He’s given everything he has to keep me healthy and safe, especially because it’s just been the two of us for so long. More than anything, I want to make him proud, and so I study, and I study, and I work hard the only way I can –,” she swallows, her long lashes fluttering against her skin. “I can’t abandon him. I won’t. Not for something this . . . silly.”

Calmly, she puts the dress on the bed and stands, her hand and shoulder slipping out of your grasp, the wicker laundry basket still at her feet. 

“Thank you for the dress. But I think it'd be better if we just . . . forget about this.”

There is so much of you in her, it hurts to accept she is not yours, in any capacity.

“Sarah, do you know what rouge is?” 

The resignation melts from her face, those curls twisting towards you in curiosity. 

“I think so? It’s what women wear on their faces, right? To make their lips . . . um, redder?”

“Have you ever worn it?” 

Eyes go wide; a dawning and the enforcement of protection for a vulnerable thing all at once. “No?”

“Would you like to?”

You stand and go to the tan, leather trunk. It’s old, out of time, bears the marks of the frontier before it was settled and it keeps the last few talismans you’ve dragged to the ends of the earth. Your hand goes to a small cloth bag at the bottom.

Sarah is like you in many ways, but then again, she is nothing like you.

The day you and Anna ran away from home was the best day of your life. So much so, it became your escape strategy for everything. Run and hide for cover until the storm has passed. Staring up at you, her brown eyes blazing with hope as you gesture for her to come back into the room, you know Sarah has never run away from anything in her life. So, in this moment, you decide to bring everything else to her. 

“My sister and I lived next to an old woman when we were kids. Our parents were always out working, so we stayed with her a lot. And she always let us play around in her cosmetics.” You sit, the click of blush compacts and mascara loud as you dig through the bag“A girl in school must always look her best.” You pause and pull out what you were looking for. “This is real rouge from Lancome. Would you like to wear it?”

Eyes wider still, she drops onto your bed as if her knees suddenly gave out, her head nodding vigorously. She watchest the small tail of the brush twist in your fingers, around and around the pot, gathering the paste like dust on a wet cloth. 

“Open your mouth. Just a little bit, soften your lips. Yep, just like that.” 

She jerks back, half her mouth as pink as a sunset and curled up into a giggle. “Sorry, that tickled. It’s cold.”

“Feels weird, right?” You wrinkle your nose at her with a smile. She nods, grinning.

“Sorry, I’ll be still, I promise. Keep going, please.” 

You finish her lips and return to your cosmetics clutch. The metal lining is cold, as if it had been left in the dark. With care, you push the realization that you haven’t touched this bag in weeks out of your head. 

“You know, my sister loved getting all dolled up like this. Tilt your head to the window.” 

“Really?” Sarah murmurs. “From how Ellie talks about her . . .”

“Hard to believe, right?”

She doesn’t want to move again, but the eye contact she makes with you is all the sheepish nod you need. 

“By the time Ellie came around, there really wasn’t much time to spoil ourselves like this.” You smile softly, adding a few more strokes of blush against her high cheekbones. “But, a long time ago, Anna was an artist.” 

Sarah hums noncommittally, her gaze hovering around the edges of the window sill. When the blush kit clicks close, she looks at you. 

“My uncle Tommy was – is – that way too.”

“How so?”

“He liked writing stories, which I guess is a different kind of artist. But he’d come up with these crazy fairytales and I always thought he got them from books, but he said he made them up, off the top of his head.” She quiets when you take out the small palette of eyeshadow and tell her to close her eyes. “I think that’s why he left in the first place. He didn’t want to stay on this farm his whole life.” 

Her skin is soft, forgiving, as you dust the powder over her eyelids with your ring finger, the lightest touch you can offer. 

“Have you seen him since he left?”

“No,” she says, staying as still as possible. “Dad says if he wanted to see us, he’d make the effort . . . or he wouldn’t have moved out there at all.” 

Her words slide a stint up into the crevices of your heart, the reasoning behind her hesitancy to leave all the more apparent, but you close the two-color palette without saying anything else. With a few flicks, you finish her glamor with some light mascara.

“Now,” you say as you close the black tube. “Would you like to see yourself?”

Sarah’s eyes spring open, the russet vein of that thrumming, hopeful fire bright.

“Yes. Yes, please.” 

Despite the erosion of the very core of you brought on by the sheer enormity of what it takes to survive in this world, this little tarnished gold disc is the weight of your own vanity in the palm of your hand. Yet every time you open it, you hoped for a glimpse of Anna’s beautiful blue eyes, the curve of her smile, the bounce of a dark curl the way she kept it as a child. The mirror rarely felt like a mirror, more a clear window into the murky cold fog of your past. 

To every cop and ticket-taker on a train who looked through your purse, you kept a compact mirror for vain, silly reasons because, as a woman, you are a vain and silly thing. 

But at the look in Sarah Miller’s eyes, as you reveal the great and powerful secrets of ancient sisterhood to her, this compact is a mirror, and a window, and a weapon all at once. 

“This . . . is what I look like?” Her voice is barely a whisper. She turns her head slowly back and forth slowly, the powder shimmering on her cheeks, a queen surveying her jewels. “H-h-how?” 

“Practice.” You hand her the compact and she takes it, her own hand trembling. She hasn’t looked away from the mirror for an instant. You sit beside her on the bed, her crossed knee pressing up against your thigh and you wait. You wait until she’s had her look, until she’s absorbed her image from every angle, and you slip the cosmetics bag into her lap. She stares at it, and then her eyes widen. “And the right tools. With that, you can do this anytime you want. Do anything you want.” 

“Really?” Small. Hesitant. Hopeful. 

“Really. It’s yours . . . to do what you want with it.” 

“Then I want to do it to you!” Sarah’s smile erupts across her face immediately, her fingers digging into the soft pink material. “I have to practice somehow and I think Ellie will come after me with that knife of hers if I try it on her.” 

You grin, already picturing Ellie’s hackles going straight up if she sees Sarah anywhere near her with that bag. You nod and Sarah actually squeals. You can’t help but grin as she flips through the jars and compacts in the bag.

“Okay, okay – it’s easier to start with any concealer – this one. I didn’t use any on you because you’re far too young and beautiful to need it.” 

Sarah flushes as she unscrews the pot and takes up the brush you hold out for her. With familiar diligence, Sarah’s hand is steady and her dark eyes are clear and focused. She absorbs every instruction you give her, every tip you offer. 

For a minute, there is no farm. No debt to be paid. No pain or disfigurement. Only a bond, one willingly given and one willingly taken. For once in your life, connection is wonderfully easy. 

“Did you know it’s Ellie’s birthday tomorrow?” You ask after a while, mouth stiff as she applies rouge to your lips.

Sarah stops, her eyes widening. “No! She hasn’t said anything!” But then she makes a face. “Actually, I think I’d be more shocked if she did.” 

“I know there isn’t much I can offer her all the way out here. But . . .” And maybe this is where you take it a step too far. All Joel asked of you was to make sure Sarah was alright. None of this had anything to do with the argument she had with her father. Maybe this is incredibly selfish on your part. But, whether you – or Joel – like it or not, you care for Sarah, in a way that was entirely different and exactly like how you cared for Ellie. You couldn’t help but want more than to make sure that Sarah is just alright. You pull away from the brush in her hand and hold her gaze. “I was wondering if you wanted to help me make her a cake.” 

Sarah’s face nearly shines with joy.

Cool. 

A sensation that draws heat, soothes aggravation, exhilarates that which is dry.

Water, fresh and clear, anoints your forehead and sinks into your hair. It pours off your shoulders, catching the soft skin near your hips, your calves. Droplets pepper your toes like embers from a fire. 

Another splash and the water spills over the crown of your head, through the thickness of your already damp hair, threatening to drip onto the back of your neck and send a flood of chills down your exposed skin – 

But a warm hand cups you near the base of your skull and a new sensation flutters awake, this time from within.

“Good?” His voice. You hear it more in your chest. It’s deep, rumbling. Patient. 

You can’t find enough of your body to tell him, yes, Joel, yes, feels so good.

His wide hand slides down your bare back, a warm stone against the river of your skin, and another spout of water drenches you again. 

A second hand joins the exploration of your body, massaging and squeezing all at once. Slow, steady fingers curl around the wings of your ribs, then where your skin thickens and swells, his nails scraping across the low curve of your breasts.

Oh. Oh, Joel. 

“Tell me you want this.”

That voice prickles your ears, the rough scrape of a beard nebulous on your shoulder, just as you had always hoped it would be. Water splashes you again and every inch of your shudders.

“I won’t stop.”

Don’t. Please. 

“I won’t stop. You just have to pick it up.” 

His hands are gone, his warmth evaporated. 

The water is suddenly slick, lichen-drenched, and stagnant. It lurks by your ankles.

Pick it up. 

The stone walls at the bottom of the well ring with coldness. You shiver, naked and alone. Afraid, as frozen as a block of salt. 

Don’t just stand there. You’ll never do it. Just pick it up. That voice. You hate that voice.

The barrel of the gun brushes against the edge of your foot, the head of a snake gliding in the water –

You grab wakefulness by the throat and use it to yank yourself out of the nightmare. 

The familiar silence of the early gray morning in the kitchen that had become comfortable as of late is decidedly – worryingly – not. Your shoulders are taut, straight as a board from end to end. Over the suds and the dishes your hands move mechanically, ignoring the clatter of knives and forks and the rush of water. But above everything else, it’s the expression on your face that concerns Joel the most.

Even when you’ve worked yourself to exhaustion, there’s normally a light in your eyes that settles something restless inside of him, even after hours of labor. A source of strength that he finds himself eager to chase, to let it flood him – but right now, as you stand at the kitchen sink, you’re gone. Elsewhere, disappeared into blackness where that brightness used to be. 

If he were a different man, a man capable of this sort of concern, he could ask you about it. At the very least get you to look at him. During breakfast, amidst the girls’ playful bickering, you hadn’t even noticed he, or anyone, was there. You had eaten as though your spine had been sealed to an iron rod – stiff, painful. Ellie and Sarah had run out a while ago, Sarah leaving to gather up the laundry and Ellie to let the animals out to pasture. He isn’t even sure if you noticed that he stayed behind, but that stirring behind his chest, one that’s become more insistent when you’re around, froze up to a painful knot at the thought of leaving you alone like this. Like you were caught someplace where you might not come back from. 

So, straddling this widening gap he fears slipping off of, Joel lands on the only thing he knows where there is some common ground:

“Don’t think I said anything before, but Ellie’s a pretty brave kid.” 

At her name, you blink. Slow the scrub of soap across the plate, then stop. You look at him and the darkness is not so deep in your gaze. He busies his hands with picking up a rag and beginning to dry the stack of plates to your right.

“Oh?” Recognition flickers over your face as if you’re suddenly aware of who you were talking to. A tender crease appears between your eyes. He dries off another plate and turns to face the sink, to hide the curve of his mouth from you. 

“You’re surprised.” 

You blink, glance down at his hands, and pick up the sponge again. 

“No – I’m not – I mean, I know she’s a good kid, but . . .” You swallow, brow furrowed again. “What did she say to you?”

“Hm, not so much said anything as just listened. Stayed close, kept quiet. Left no rock unturned.” The edges of his sleeves are damp. You have your dress sleeves pushed all the way up past your elbows; it’s Saturday, a brief respite from the cycle of labor in the fields. The skin over your forearm and wrist looked particularly delicate against the breakfast table, now hidden by the soap and the water. Joel dries the cup in his hand with a bit more force. “She’s smart too. Knew all about iodine and what it’s used for. Had some idea how to seal up a hot water bottle. I’s glad to have her with me.” 

You actually snort – without an ounce of respectability – and he stares at you, transfixed by a noise he’s fairly certain he’s never heard you make before. You duck your head as the small smile falls off your face, scrubbing the fork in your hand a bit rougher.

“Sorry. It’s just . . . Ellie doesn’t get along with most people, or . . . anyone for that matter. Sarah – well, Sarah could make friends with a feral cat so I’m not surprised they get along. But you . . .” You trail off and Joel shifts his weight back and forth, all the possibilities of what you meant reverberating in the spaces between his ribs. “I guess I’m just glad she didn’t piss you off.”

“Oh, it takes a lot to piss me off. ‘Cause I’m a casual and easy-going kinda guy, y’know.” 

You freeze again as if he had just tried to convince you the sky was green and you should be looking for some sort of head trauma. He lets a small grin spread over his mouth, even brighter as your eyes widen. A joke. He is teasing you. 

A soft, barely intimate gesture. 

You smile. He feels something shift in his chest. Whatever else happens today, he’ll keep that smile in his breast pocket. He clears his throat.

“Nah, she’s a good kid. Just needs an outlet, I think.” 

You stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him at the sink. The cream lace curtains drawn horizontally across the window block out the brightening horizon. An early morning breeze smooths across the pasture grass, the light weak with the sun still low in the sky. The silence that follows is easier, something he can stomach. In the sink, the water sloshes, silverware clatters, and the plates squeak when he dries them off. The faint curves of your mouth he sees out of the corner of his eyes embolden him further.

“She, hm, ever mentioned any interest in music?”

You shrug. “Ellie and her mother loved dancing to our neighbor’s radio in our apartment in Boston. Why do you ask?”

“She found a radio while we were in town the other day, and she was curious. But with no radio here, the best I can do is a guitar – I know’ve got one around here somewhere and I figured she might like to learn some chords. But I wanted – hm –,” that goddamn tickle in the back of his throat, “wanted to make sure it’d be alright with you if I showed her a couple of things.” 

Eyes wide, soft lips parted – he doesn’t know where to carry the look you’re giving him now. 

“Y-yeah, Joel, that’ll be fine. If you think that’ll make her happy, then . . . of course.”

He nods, slowly, the hot realization that he’ll now have to approach Ellie with an offer for guitar lessons pricking the back of his neck. Her bewildered expression probably won’t look much different from his own.

“‘Least I could do, after what you did with Sarah.” He means going to talk to her, not the immense relief you’ve provided her physically the last few months. He still hasn’t said thank you for that – or that you indulge in her every academic desire or curiosity. There’s no question too outrageous or problem too difficult that she brings to you – and curiously, you seem delighted every time. “She, uh, she’s getting older and I don’t always . . .” It’s an admission of his own shortcomings and it twists his gut. But then that radiant smile returns to your face and he thinks he feels that restrictive choke of guilt ease . . . just a bit.

“She’s very special, Joel. We had fun.” You finish laying out the last bits of damp silverware and a plate or two on the drying rack, your hands all white with soap bubbles. And then you pause. “She . . .”

He catches the brush of your gaze as you look away, shoulders suddenly rigid. You were about to say something, something you assume that he doesn’t already know about Sarah. You have something precious of Sarah’s and you don’t look willing to share.

“What?” It comes out a bit rougher than he means, but his heart rate is up a tick and the corners of his mouth are dry. “She, what?”

You unplug the drain, your movements slow, hesitant.

“She has dreams, Joel, just like every other teenage girl.” 

“Of course she does. I know that.”

The murky water swirls low with a gurgle. You follow it with your eyes, the timbre of your voice low, but firm. “If you want to go out there and ask her what they are, then by all means, go talk to her. But she trusted me to keep her confidence.” 

He swallows, as much as your words burn him – deeper and hotter than he expected – you’re right, of course. But now, for the first time, there is a visible crack between him and his daughter. A wet slippery feeling snakes around the bottom of his spine, tying a knot in his stomach and grinding his voice down to a growl. 

“That is not your decision to make.” 

Your mouth is set firm, but the brightness of your eyes has faded, more distance between you and reality. More space, on the edge of a protective cavern. You step back, about two arm lengths away. 

“Joel,” you begin. “She is entitled to her privacy.” 

The knot in his stomach expands up into his ribs. His heart beats faster, attempting to stretch away from the hot iron in his gut but he can’t escape it. “What did you two talk about?”

“School. Makeup. Clothes. Her life here. ” 

His hands sweat. “What about her life? Is she unhappy?” 

“Oh, God, no, Joel, she loves you and she loves being here with you. She just wants –,”

“What? What does she want?” You stiffly turn to put away the dishes, to close him off, but he steps closer, over the already blurring lines. “Look, I took you and Ellie in off the streets – I hired you – to come here and look out for her – act as her nurse, her teacher – to keep her safe. Not to keep secrets from me.” 

Your spine goes rigid, just like it was at breakfast, as you gingerly put the plates down on the counter. 

“And we’re enormously grateful for your kindness. You know that.” Hands pressed flat onto your hips, you turn and look at him, blank-eyed and drawn thin. You stare at him like he’s a stranger. Something completely foreign and unfamiliar – he hates that look. “Are you asking me as my employer?”

What else are you to me? 

Someone at least worth the weight of a jar of hand cream. 

He shoves back that thought as the fog of a dozen others crowd in to take its place.

“I am. I appreciate your help earlier, but this is the line. Is Sarah alright or not?”

You glance away from him, as if he might find the truth in your eyes. “What she’s experiencing is perfectly normal for a girl her age. You wouldn’t understand.” 

The ground trembles, unsteady, beneath him. Where had he gone wrong? He didn’t feel the earthquake but now can see the broken faultline, the great maw opening its jaws beneath his feet. Fear, so dark and deep – it threatens to swallow him whole, but he gets his hands around it, by the throat, and snaps it clean in two. Joel narrows his eyes. 

“Somethin’ I do understand is Ellie’s been eyein’ my gun since day one. What kind of fourteen year old girl s’after that? ” 

At that, you blanch. It’s like he can see the bile rise up in the back of your throat, sit on your tongue and stay there. You’ve gone totally still, barely breathing. Joel isn’t sure if he’s satisfied or not that the remark landed its blow so thoroughly. 

“She’s just a c-child who wants to pretend she’s an adult. Just like S-Sarah.”

His fist curls around the damp rag in his hand, desperate for something to hold onto, to squeeze until the ground feels solid, but his anger isn’t fortifying him anymore. The next words out of his mouth are disgustingly desperate. 

“Is that what this is about? Did Ellie say something to her?” 

“Ellie? What? No! No, this has n-nothing to do with Ellie.” You look at him, something tender and wounded flashing there and it chills the heat rising in his chest just for an instant. “I would tell you if it was something serious. Don’t you trust me?” 

But you can’t come between him and Sarah. Nothing should.

The black chasm that he feels compelled to claw back against breeches open again. Edges crumbling beneath his fingers. Sarah, Sarah –  is the only one who matters. 

The muzzle runs its clammy tongue up the back of his spine, releasing a landslide of heavy dread across his body. His anxiety peaks in a wave and as it crests, he slams his hand on the counter, a blown fuse. 

“No, goddamn it, I don’t!” 

Jaw locked, he whips his head up. Whatever sits sour on his tongue, when he looks at you, it turns to a block of ice.

Where it bubbles up like black tar behind his chest, a thing that possesses him, you watch him with horror. Eyes wide, lips drawn so tight they’re practically nonexistent, hand around your throat as if to protect it preventively.

The bracing skeleton of indignant rage melts from his body so fast his brain goes fuzzy. He wasn’t thinking – wasn’t thinking about how you flinched, tears in your silver-dollar eyes, at the loud sound that time he accidentally knocked a pot to the floor. He had never seen you so bewildered and terrified – until now.

“Look, I’m–I’m not . . .” he swallows, “I didn’t mean it.” 

He watches your eyes drop to his hand curled around the edge of the counter and he intentionally relaxes the muscle. He stands up right, but leans back from you, giving you space. The tension in your shoulders eases only a fraction. “She doesn’t . . . doesn’t have to tell me everything, but I just wanna make sure that she’s safe, and happy. Can you at least give me that?”

You’re breathing rapidly, eyes watching his hand at his side as if anticipating it curling into a fist. He turns his palms up in supplication – he really, really didn’t mean to lose control like that –  and he steps back until he’s up against the door leading to the cellar down below. The wood is warm against his back, but his shoulder bumps into the hinge and it pinches his skin.  

Your hands are no longer wrapped up in tight fists. With a deep inhale, you close your eyes, as if steadying yourself against a torrential wind. When you breathe out, it’s unsteady and shaky. 

“Physically and m-mentally, she’s fine. She’s j-just . . . just growing up.”

All this time, bits of you have been growing towards the light as the days and weeks pass. He’s watched you transform, can’t take his eyes off you some days, into this woman where before he had seen you as just a tool, another a rake or a trowel. Now you’ve curled back into yourself like nothing had ever happened between you and him – all it took was too-sharp a snap. Sarah always said his bark was worse than his bite. 

Joel takes a half a step forward and you take three steps back. Your hand is over your heart, fingers curling into the fabric, eyes still as wide as they had been the night in the general store, facing down those rangers entirely by yourself. Shit. 

He wants to ask you why you fear loud noises, wants to know who did this to you and why.

He’s not that kind of man who does this sort of thing, someone who scares women.

But he’s also not that kind of man who knows how to navigate the aftermath. He doesn’t know how to be anything other than a father and a worker. Hasn’t cared to be anything else for a long, long time, and the muscle has atrophied. Can’t be a friend. Not a companion. Not whatever paints his dreams with streaks the color of your eyes. 

“‘M gonna go find Sarah, talk to her, like you said,” he mutters, shuffling towards the back door. “If you – need – if you want –,”

His throat finally closes, shame making his gaze slippery and it slides away from your face. He doesn’t stay long enough to hear if your breathing has settled as he shuffles out the door and towards the barn.

The metal of the iron flares to an ugly, angry red, and you wipe your forehead before the sweat can drop onto the stove top and sizzle. With your teeth mashed together so tightly your jaw aches, you lift up the six-pound metal wedge up off the stove, shake it free of as much ash as possible, and then press it down onto Ellie’s collar shirt on the floor. Immediately you sweep up and down the length of the shirt, careful not to linger too long on any one spot, but sure to flatten the wrinkles.

Sad irons, is what Anna called them one day after taking in the laundry from the washing line outside. She had heard a few of the neighborhood bitties tittering about them and found the term hilariously apt. Sad irons because they’re more work than they’re good for. 

Truth be told, you liked ironing, only in certain instances though. Moments when you wanted physical exhaustion to serve as a numbing agent to the battle of emotions building between your ribs. Sweat drips down your neck, your knees aching from pushing into the hardwood floors, your arms and shoulders burning from lifting the hot iron up and down, as you rock back and forth to clear away every last wrinkle. 

Joel’s hand smacking against the counter echoes in your mind again and again and again, as the kitchen and the homestead and reality bends away from you as you tumble through memory after memory – distracted, the iron brushes up against your flesh and bites in.

You yelp, sucking the flat back of your thumb into your mouth to ease the sizzling burn, and you sit back onto your heels. 

Yes, the pain is bright and it stings, but not enough to draw tears to your eyes, and yet they well up all the same.

A single image breaks through the numbing barrier of pain: the jar of Luxor in your room. You want nothing more than to sink your scalded thumb into its cool gel, but instead the image alone threatens to crack a sob out of your chest. 

He wouldn’t have done anything. Nothing like your husband.

You know that, and you hate yourself a little bit that you reacted like that, even after all this time. Why couldn’t you stand your ground, even for Sarah? God, if you had cried in front of Joel – the mere thought of that embarrassment burns hotter than the sting on your thumb. 

He had gotten so close. Too close to the truth. What had Ellie told him about the gun, even by accident? Joel didn’t seem intent on calling the police, but he’d left so fast. He must have been so angry just to leave like that. 

As you open your eyes, a thought occurs to you and the strength of it nearly disconnects you from your body: what if you left?

Your gaze darts to the blue sky just outside the window, too low to see the gold ground but you know it’s there – just as wide and open as it had been that first night in Dalhart. 

What if you gathered up Ellie right now and ran? It had worked before, and this time you didn’t leave the evidence in the bottom of a well. He couldn’t prove anything, just the ramblings of a fourteen year old girl. 

Shit, what the hell did he know?

“Hiya!” Sarah skips in through the back door, arms full of fresh herbs in her basket.

“Be careful!” You snap at her, your thumb throbbing, tears and hasty decisions receding. “Don’t track in dirt – I just mopped.”

She freezes, catches sight of the iron and Elllie’s shirt. You haven’t looked up at her. Slowly she unlaces her boots at the door and steps gingerly onto the wooden floor. You can feel her eyes track you as she walks to the kitchen counter and drops off her basket. The anxiety pulsing beneath your skin ratchets up your heart rate, hot blood pounding in your ears. 

“So, um, anyway, I was wondering if we could talk about Ellie’s birthday. I know she loves chocolate, but Dalhart hasn’t had that in years. But I think we might have a bit of vanilla in the cellar. Do you want me to go look?” You don’t miss the way her eyes flit over her shoulder to you, the question posed as if she was sticking a tree branch through the bars of a tiger’s cage on a dare.

“Um, yeah, that’ll be fine.”

Ellie never had the language to find the source of your anxiety and over the years learned either to leave you to your physical work or silently help you with it. Joel evidently – obviously – was a better parent than that:

“Are you okay?” Sarah asks.

You stop, in daze, then slide the iron off the clothes and onto its side. It seems ridiculous but you can’t remember the last time anyone asked you that. Ellie, your only connection to family, knew exactly what you had to do to keep you both safe, so the question was always irrelevant. So when did you let another person in enough for them to care that much to ask?

“Just, uhm, busy. Need to get this done.” 

Sarah narrows her eyes at you. “‘Cause you don’t sound like you’re okay. In fact, you actually sound really bad. What’s wrong?”

“I’m . . . I just didn’t sleep well. Had a bad dream. That’s all.” 

The lies knot in your throat; it’s insufficient to call it bad – it’s insufficient to call it a dream, the thing that had scared you so badly, even Joel picked up on it. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

You glance up, still on your aching hands and pinched knees. She watches you with those same endless brown eyes as her father’s but immeasurably softer, arms wrapped over themselves, eyebrows furrowed with concern. You had snapped at her when she didn’t deserve it and she just . . . moved on.

“No, Sarah, I-I don’t want to burden you . . . it’s nothing, honestly, I’m just being silly.” 

She rolls her eyes, that wise stare cracking in half. “Fine. Don’t talk to me, but you should talk to someone. Talk to my dad. I know he doesn’t look like it but he’s a really good listener.”

Your cheeks go as warm as the iron beside you, making it impossible to keep looking at her. “Sarah, please, I am his employee. That is entirely inappropriate.” 

“Oh, please.” She swats away your concern and turns back to the herbs. She pulls out canning jars from below the sink and begins to organize by food or medicine. “Fine. Don’t tell me. When do you want to start working on Ellie’s cake?” 

The iron is no longer nearly hot enough to be effective but you run it up the shirt again, to smooth the uneven threads of your own feelings.

“Maybe tomorrow morning, when she’s out with the cows.” You pause. “No, wait, we’re spraying pesticides tomorrow. I can’t.”

Again, in that flippant teenager way, she shakes her head. “Dad’ll let you have a morning off if you tell him what is for.”

Joel’s anger, the smack of his palm – they reverberate in your head again as if someone had struck you with a bell. Your chest tight, you say,

“I don’t think your father wants anything to do with me right now.”

The excited buzz that always follows after Sarah like floating dandelion seeds settles eerily. You bite your lip – why did you say anything? – and watch her back stiffen, rosemary in one hand and a jar in the other. 

She is the daughter of your employer; you cannot forget that, but you had – you had forgotten, and so easily too. She was well within her rights to –

“What did he do?”

You blink. “What?”

She lets out a frustrated groan. “God, I swear that man likes the taste of his foot in his mouth!” Sarah turns around, rosemary and jar back on the counter, her hands on her hips and you feel like you’re the one about to be scolded. “What did he say to you to make you upset?”

“Nothing, Sarah, I swear.” She raises an eyebrow. You break instantly. “We just had a disagreement. He wasn’t . . . pleased with my work, and he told me so. Which is perfectly fine, given that I am his employee.” 

She shoves her palms into her brow, groaning. “But that’s not all –,” she shakes her head. “That’s it. I’m gonna go talk to him.” 

“Sarah, don’t –,”

You struggle to your feet, your knees stiff and popping, hand outstretched after her, but she’s too fast. She opens the back door and lets it slam shut behind her, leaving you blinking on the floor. 

He’s been staring at the back wall of the wooden shed for twenty minutes. Hadn’t made a move to grab a single tool, or pick up a bag of feed. Behind him, the wind dives into the fields, scuttles apart the branches of the oak tree by the river in a soft crackle. In the barn, one of the cows lets out a loud groan.

The back of his neck is starting to grow hot from the sun. Sweat peaks at his brow. His hand on the door, the other by his side, his fingers ceaselessly twitching, taking on physical shapes of his anxiety. But he can’t move away. If he moves, he’ll make the wrong choice again.

He’s angry. He’s still angry.

But that anger is fueled by a churning ball of fear that sits right on top of his chest and lashes at his skin like steel wool. It itches like hell and he can scratch at it all he wants, but it never goes away.

This was all a mistake. He sees that now. He could have handled another season on his own. He didn’t need another farm hand – he’d done it before and could do it again. Sarah was smart enough to read the right books all on her own and if she didn’t have the ones she needed, he’d go get them – wherever they might be. 

Sarah didn’t need anyone either. She’d make friends with kids soon enough, in town or whenever the school reopened. She was smart, always had been. They’d figure it out, together. 

He could have lived the rest of his life without another living soul crossing the boundary onto the Miller lands. 

And yet he hadn’t. 

He’d let someone in. 

As a general rule, he tried not to think of you in any capacity outside of work, education, and medical treatments, but he found that he had no defenses against the presence of someone who lives in his house also taking up residence in his mind. Against someone who cooks his meals and makes his daughter laugh. Who has a fraught relationship with her niece and yet would quite literally kill for her. 

That he understood, even if you and him seemed determined to prevent yourself from relating to one another in any capacity - which was fine with him. But he saw it in you, even if he didn’t recognize it at first in that bar in Dalhart. And then he saw it again the morning you and Ellie saved Sarah. The instinct to protect, to secure. It had been years since he’d seen it on someone else, and had never seen it that strong. 

And that’s what had gotten him into trouble today. That instinct he’d had all his life suddenly butting up against a tender feeling that is so foreign to him he doesn’t know what to do with it. Doesn’t know how to hold it, carry it, so it goes everywhere, soaks him down to the bone. 

All his life, he’s only ever enjoyed the company of two people, now one. He knew that if he took care of the land, it would take care of him and his family, so he never needed anyone else. But Sarah had a caretaker and a friend and nurturer but still clearly wanted more. Something he couldn’t give her. Something that never would have come to her otherwise if he hadn’t taken in you and Ellie. 

In his hardest of hearts, he both highly praised and deeply, deeply resented you for that. 

For coming here and upsetting everything. 

Fuck. 

His thumb catches on a splinter from the doorframe, tearing his eyes away from the blank wall, the brief pain causing his anger to flare brightly, the slice of wood embedded deep in his skin. His eyes snap to the back wall, looking for pliers to yank the damn splinter out – but his gaze catches something on the back wall first. 

Your work gloves, on the shelf. As broken in and soft as his. Taking up space beside his own as if they had belonged there all along.

In direct conflict with everything he thought he wanted, everything that he understood about himself and his daughter and the land he protects, you and Ellie had become embedded in the homestead such that now he's not quite sure he could picture it without your presence. It's a permanence that, he could tell, you all had sorely needed.

You, unlike him, did need someone else to survive in this world, one that isn't built for or kind to or willing to value women like you – and yet he got the impression that you never had a soft spot for people either. Been on the receiving end of harassment and cruelty too much and too long to find anyone or anything meaningful outside your family. It was narrow-minded and perhaps selfish, but not a perspective he would ever disagree with.

Ellie, unlike Sarah, had a caretaker but lacked a friend, someone to nurture her emotionally, tenderly, despite her vocal protests. He can see in the dark well of her eyes every time she watches him out of the corner of her eye when he cocks his gun or saddles up the horse. Like you, the ability to share a burden had been beaten out of her.

Now, what does he do with –

“Dad!” 

He jumps, the bark of her voice so loud and brash it rattles his heart for a second. Christ, is that what he sounded like?

He looks over his shoulder to see Sarah striding over to him, fists clenched, eyes blazing, dark hair turned light in the harsh glare of the sun. Sometimes – oftentimes –  he was surprised that a tempest like her came from him. 

“Dad!” Sarah barks again, the smack of her boots in the dirt launching puffs of earth by her ankles. She grinds to a halt in front of him, hands on her hips. “She’s my friend! What did you say to her?” 

“I haven’t seen Ellie since breakfast –,”

“No. Not Ellie.” The pitch of anxiety plummets into his stomach. He knows what she’s going to say before she opens her mouth. “Her aunt. You said something to her that made her upset, and I want to know what it is.” 

Where her fists lock onto her hips, one hand curls onto his hip as it juts to the side. With a sigh, Joel wipes his eyes with his fingers.

“Sarah . . .” 

“Oh, don’t Sarah me! And don’t act like I’m too young to understand, either! You raised me better than that.” Her footing shifts slightly and Joel sees an opening, small, flickering. He sees her pouting at five years old, wanting to stay up past her bedtime not for the sake of being disagreeable, but merely to spend more time with him. 

He tilts his head. “I don’t think you’re too young to understand, Sarah. Come to think of it, I’ve probably let you see and hear too much. Put too much on you.”

Her boiling anger simmers and the frown on her face softens. 

“That’s not . . . that’s not it at all, Dad.” 

With half a sigh, he extends his hand towards her, a peace offering as much as he was capable of. “C’mere, let’s get outta the heat. You and I gotta talk.” 

Her eyes fall to his outstretched hand, lip bitten between her teeth, as if under some obligation not to take it. He lets it fall, as much as it stings a very delicate part of him, and turns back towards the cellar doors. Attached to the house near the water pump, they face west, spending most of the day in the shade. Where he would sit to catch his breath after laboring in the fields all day and she brought him water and they would talk – about anything and everything. 

Joel slides down into the dirt, dust clinging to his shirt, his pants. He looks up at her, waiting, holding his will silently against hers without demand, and with a huff, Sarah drops down next to him. They sit in the shade, like they’ve always done. 

This place has always been a place of safety for him. Not just this land, but this spot, this shaded seat next to her. Joel looks at her, his smile wan. “So, if that’s not it, what is it, baby? ‘Cause I clearly haven’t got a fuckin’ clue what I’m doing. I’m sorry I made you so angry. I promise you, I was just teasin’.”

She always liked it when he spoke softly to her, maybe bringing back memories of when she was small and slept for hours on his bare chest. He turns his gaze to the yellow land, the distant dirt roads, and the sprawling emptiness beyond them. This land, that is his responsibility to keep safe. 

“I know, Dad.” He listens to her scrape the heel of her boot back and forth over a pebble. She feels warm against his side. “I’m not mad about that. I mean, I was, but not anymore.”

“But you’re mad about somethin’?” 

She’s not ready to meet his eye, he knows. That’s okay. He can wait. 

He smells lavender as her hair flutters again, her gaze joining his to watch their fields, the fields held by their family for three generations. The memories of her illness –of so many nights spent in fear, in anguish nearly as painful as death itself, as she cried and cried and cried and he could do nothing to stop it – overwhelm him out of nowhere and, like a fist has settled around his throat, he can’t breathe right for a moment. His hands flex and strain where they hang over his knees.

Air returns to him when she rests her head against his shoulder, and he is suddenly more grateful to you for bringing back his little girl than he’s ever felt towards anyone in his life. But the taste of his words he said to you lingers on his tongue. He had been so terrible.

“I like learning.” Sarah says. The wind tugs on her hair, the hemline of his pants. He resists the urge to press his face into her curls and instead settles for breathing in her scent, her warmth. He closes his eyes. She is his whole world. 

The heat of the sun toasts the air around them as the wind settles. He opens his eyes to the solar star far beyond this planet. Another world entirely. It feels particularly close today.

“I know you do. You’re good at it, always make me proud.”

Sarah lifts her head and he feels the traction of her gaze. His stomach knots, but not as heavily as his heart swells. Her eyes are older than he’s ever remembered seeing when he finally looks at her, and he’s felt a lot of his years recently. Her hands curl around his elbow, like she used to do when she begged him for a new book or a new dress. Pleading with him, to make him see her.

“But I think I’ve learned all I can . . . here.”

Joel breathes through the gaping wound and surge of pride in his chest. She watches him, brown eyes wide, mouth set. The same little girl he’s always known, and nothing like her at all. How had he missed it, this fundamental and irrevocable change? Where had the time gone? 

“I know, baby. You have to go.” 

He expects something like a girlish squeal, maybe little dance, a yelp of joy – throwing her arms around his neck, making promises to be on her very best behavior – 

But instead –

“But not right now.” Her eyes fill with tears, voice small, uncertain. Vulnerable in a way only a child’s can be.

He puts his arm around her shoulder, between her and the dirt-crusted house on the land that is now his, was his father’s, and his father’s before that, and hides his own wet eyes from her by burying his face in her hair. Her arms are wrapped so tightly around his chest, his heart nearly stops.

“No, not right now. But some day.” 

They who have been alone together all their lives sit and hold their other half for a long, long time.

The sun hovers in the late afternoon sky, unwilling to let time march forward, but it always does. It always has to. 

With a gruff grunt, Joel pulls away and wipes at his eyes with the palm of his hand. Sarah sits up more, sniffing, her delicate fingers smearing away the dampness on her cheeks. He clears his throat again. 

“C’mon, enough out here. Ellie’s probably out lookin’ for you, and I need to help, um –,”

“Dad.” He drops back down the half inch he pulled himself up. Suddenly, with a grin and a mischievous light in her still-wet eyes, she looks as young as she is supposed to be. “We haven’t talked about everything yet.”

“What do you mean?”

Her dark eyes flit back to the house, a pointed look. A knowing look. He doesn’t know why but it makes his stomach churn and his heart rate speed up, ever so slightly. That grin on her lips evolves into a full fledged smirk. 

“You were a jerk. Now you have to make it up to her. How are you gonna do that?” 

Joel’s mouth twitches. “I’m out of ideas.” 

“Good. ‘Cause I’m not.” Sarah heaves herself onto her feet, then stands, and dusts the back of her skirt with a few good thwaps. “It’s Ellie’s birthday tomorrow. Me and her aunt are gonna make a cake, so you’re gonna get her a present. You’re also in charge of distracting her while we get everything ready.”

Joel chuckles lightly as he stares up at her, one eye squinting against the sunlight. “Yeah? And what am I supposed to get her?”

She extends her hand and he takes it. Together, they get him on his feet. She dusts off his sleeve, then grins up at him, her smile wide and full and loaded with secrets he knows he didn’t tell her. “I can’t give you all the answers, old man.” 

It’s nerves. 

It’s nerves and that’s why you can’t find the vanilla you know is down here. For the fourth time, you get on your toes and look at the far back of the top row of cellar shelves. Joel had organized the cellar by least perishable to most, and vanilla beans stayed intact for years if kept out of the sun or moisture. Sarah was distinctly confident that they had at least a handful, far more than enough to flavor a cake, and this was Ellie’s cake. You owed it to her and Sarah –and shit, since he’ll be eating it, Joel – to not give up the search. 

But by the time your line of sight got to the second shelf, your mind was already wandering. 

He had taken Ellie out onto the front porch for a guitar lesson. 

After the terrible things he had said to you this morning.

After you acted like he was a cruel man whose viciousness knows no bounds.

He wanted to teach Ellie something, after he had asked you first. 

Came out of the hall closet with it in his hand, and while his dark expression was distressingly unreadable, his voice was light when he offered to teach her some cords. Ellie, who was nose deep in another Space Family Robinson, nearly launched herself off the couch: “HELL YEAH!”

Standing at just an angle that allowed you to see the living room from the kitchen, you could have sworn he smiled. A muffled thing, but it drew up the corners of his cupid’s bow in a beautiful twist, the long expanse of his throat looking warm as he turned his head to give Ellie the guitar, his hair curled in reckless waves at the nape of his neck. He smiled at Ellie and offered her a lesson – 

And you haven’t been able to focus since. 

You stop halfway on your fifth search, press your forehead to the wooden post, and sigh. 

The silence in the cellar is different from other silences on the homestead. More compact, more dense. You suppose that has something to do with it being buried several feet underground, but the strength of it is comforting in a way you’ve never experienced. Since you were sixteen years old, you’ve worked a full time job, sometimes two, sometimes three, for just enough money to eat and keep your sister housed. You often have trouble sleeping because you can still hear the noise of all those people, gears in your mind churning, despite the physical exhaustion of your body, always thinking about tomorrow’s to-dos and where your next meal might come from. You’ve been going so hard and so fast – barely surviving – you forgot what true, thick silence sounded like. How much easier it was to breathe and smother that runaway train of thought. 

Despite your initial apprehension, the cellar had become your most favorite place on the entire homestead. The silence was almost friendly, protective; you could whisper your secrets to it and know they’d be safe forever. Surrounded by abundant food, lovingly grown and cared for, you too sometimes feel as if you too had been raised, had been grown to ripeness, on this earthen floor. 

For the first time in hours, your heartbeat slows. With a grin, you lean into the wooden shelf, its corner sticking into your shoulder like a hand would press into your skin. 

“I’m trying to do something nice for Ellie. You know she deserves it,” you grumble into the silence. The wood is soft, gently carved. If you try hard enough, you think you can still smell the wood grain. “Having some vanilla flavoring would really make her happy, and that kid needs a win.” You shuffle, standing up right, and the toe of your boot kicks the post. It shudders slightly. “I –,”

In the momentum, something falls off the shelf and plops into the dirt to your right.

Vanilla beans.

You grin as you pick them up, trying half-heartedly to find that watchful eye. Just before you click off the light, you affectionately rub the corner of the wall.

“Thanks.” 

If talking to animals is the first step in going crazy, talking to holes in the ground must be a pretty bad sign. 

“‘kay, it’s real easy.” He clears his throat again, shifting, and the wood panel squeaks beneath him. Crickets echo in the shadows beyond the light of the porch. “This is gonna be your C – your A – your G, and your D. There’s only twelve you really gotta know. From there you’ll get the basics and can start to –,”

“Where’d you learn to play?” Ellie asks abruptly. She sits with her back against the wooden post outlining the porch, her knees tucked up to her chest. Joel is reminded of the look Sarah once gave him after he silently helped her chop the rest of the wood before a rainstorm came – he had told her she couldn’t do all of it by herself, and she had adamantly refused, but he didn’t rub it in her face when he came to help. They narrowly avoided the downpour but had enough firewood to last them a week. 

Grateful, was the expression he remembers. 

The heat of the day still lingers in the air, the sun just beneath the horizon. Flies and gnats swarm and tangle around the exposed bulb over the porch, thickening the shadows of his hands over the neck of the guitar and beneath the porch steps. 

Joel’s fingers still, the music of fluttering wings and electrical zaps taking over. “My dad taught me. He taught me . . . and my brother.”

Maybe it was the talk with Sarah that had loosened something, at least temporarily. He doesn’t feel like he’s been torn open, spilling his guts, when he tells her about Tommy. He wonders briefly if Sarah had ever mentioned her uncle and if she didn’t, why. He can see the question build behind her eyes, thoughts shuffling, looking for a memory if he had ever mentioned a brother before. 

“We got pretty good for a time. Played at school, church. Had a guy come through town once and tell us we could really be something.”

“Like a Hank Williams kinda something?” 

Joel eyes her, impressed she knows one of the greatest artists who’s ever lived.

“I dunno what he meant,” he says. “But that’s never why I did it anyway. Just wanted something to do with my little brother. He had some good lyrics too. He was always talented that way, with his head, you know? I think sometimes that’s where Sarah gets it. ‘Cause i'snot from me.” 

Joel smiles and Ellie grins back, an inside joke they didn’t know about yet. He strums quietly.

“I think he wanted to be that Hank Williams kinda somethin'. But it’s hard when you’re no one from nowhere. And I think him leavin’ would’ve broken our mama’s heart.”

“Tommy . . . right?” Joel glances up at her, the name so foreign on someone else’s tongue she could have meant someone else entirely. “Sarah – she, um – she mentioned him, once. And that he left for California – a while ago.” 

Joel nods, again in search of that anger to wield as a weapon, but the guitar digs into the place in his chest where it hurts the most. 

“Is that why the guitar was in the trunk? ‘Cause you’re pissed at him?”

It’s almost funny, the way she needles through to the center of things. He could lie, but what’s the point?

He hums. “I stopped playing this thing long before Tommy left. No time. Even with his help, you gotta fight with this land to grow anything. Then Sarah got sick, and now there’s all this fuckin’ dust . . .” 

He puts a hand on the belly of the guitar to stop the vibrations. He looks up at the stars, blinking into existence as night falls like a dropped curtain, and shakes his head. It felt like an excavation of something haunted, when he pulled the guitar from a trunk in his bedroom closet. Truly, he hadn’t thought about this guitar in months and taking it out again was just asking for something dangerous to befall him. Maybe something already had, given how much he had started to care for the girl who carries a pocket knife in her sock. 

Joel’s gaze drops to that girl now, her wiry little fingers wrapped around her ankles as she stares right back. He had forgotten they still made people like her.

“But it’s good. It’s good to remember.” Joel slides the guitar off his lap and onto the wood step between them. This guitar is older than Ellie and he hands it to her. “Now let’s see if you’ve been paying attention.”

She stares a second after he leans in to point out the chords before she tries to match his fingers on the strings. But then Sarah opens the screen door, out of breath and the tip of her nose pink as if she’d been standing over a fire. 

“Dinner’s ready.” 

Joel stifles the urge to roll his eyes; his girl was many things, but subtle was not one of them. As she disappears back inside, Ellie hands him back the guitar and meets his eyes with a confused look on her face – what’s up with her? Joel shrugs, then tries not to groan as he stands up, his knee acting up again. Odd, given that it only used to ache when a storm was coming, like a warning. But the skies had been clear for weeks.

“Good first lesson, kid. I’ll put this up, you go see what they got cooked up.” 

“You sure?” Her gaze drops to his knee, observant as her aunt. 

“ ‘M fine. Go on.” He knows there’s more affection than gruff in his voice, but at least Ellie doesn’t seem to register that. 

He follows her inside, the air warmer in here due to the oven and a lack of a breeze. When she moves towards the kitchen, he goes to the closet beneath the stairs and opens up the trunk at the back. 

He isn’t entirely sure he can forgive Tommy for what he did, but at least he understands it. Beneath where the guitar laid, there’s a scrap of crumpled paper – a telegram he thought about tossing in the fire when it first arrived. Instead, he is glad he just wanted it out of his sight. 

It is blank except for a few letters and numbers: a forwarding address. 

He can’t pick it up and look at it, not right now, but maybe. Maybe someday, when he needs his brother.

“Holy shit!”

Joel smiles as he shuts the trunk lid and stands. Not today.

When he finally makes it to the kitchen, Ellie stands at the head of the table, her shoulders by her ears, arms out, as if preparing to be tackled to the ground. Her eyes are bigger than he’s ever seen them.

“Happy Birthday, Ellie!” Sarah yells from the other side of the table, the words bursting out of her. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? I . . .” Wordlessly, she slides into the chair, her face glowing in the light of the candle sunken deep into the top of the cake. The shadows, thick and heavy around her mouth and under her eyes, blur the emotions on her face. 

“Ellie?” You say, tentative. That crease is back between your eyes and Joel wants to press his thumb to it until it goes away. “Is this okay?”

Slowly, she lifts her eyes. The shadows cannot hide the wet shine there. Joel has to look away, something hot expanding under his ribs. 

“Uh, yea-ahh . . . this is fucking okay.” He hears the slight chuckle in her voice and he looks back. Her smile is stretched from ear to ear. “And this is dinner too, right? We get to eat cake. For dinner?”

You smile, relief and excitement giving your own face a special glow. And then, your eyes fall to him and that hot band in his chest thickens to his throat. He’ll dream of your eyes again tonight, he knows it.

“Mr. Miller has extra storages of flour in the cellar,” you say, gaze slipping away before he can hold onto it. The band in his throat hardens when you refer to him so distantly. “We used just a bit of cream and milk –”

“And sugar!” Sarah blurts out. She is practically vibrating next to you. “We have to really conserve sugar, only for special occasions, and what’s more special than a birthday?”

Ellie tears her gaze up from the candle and, for a second, she looks very small. 

“You used it for my birthday?” 

While Sarah nods vigorously next to you, he watches as your face falls. He knows that look, felt it screw up his face too – you feel like you’ve failed Ellie somehow.

“Of course, Ellie.” You say quietly, your hands knotted in front of you. He watches as the words get caught in your throat, all the right ones and the wrong ones. “You . . .”

“You’re a good kid.” Your eyes jump to him, wide, as he steps closer to the kitchen table. He puts a hand around the knot on the back of Ellie’s chair. “Is what your aunt means to say. Happy birthday, from all of us.”

Ellie’s gaze is so gentle, she looks timid. She glances between Joel, you, then Sarah, and back to you. 

“Um, thanks, guys. I guess.” 

In the soft silence, she takes a brief moment, her eyes closed, and then leans forward over the candle and promptly blows out the flame. The kitchen falls into darkness, a second before you reach for the light. 

Sarah claps her hands, the amber electrical light softening her already smooth skin. “What did you wish for?”

Ellie’s smirk returns, her hard edges returning. “Can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

Sarah rolls her eyes as you gather the plates you and Joel had cleaned just this morning. “I always thought that rule was so stupid. It’s no fun.”

You grin at her as you hand Ellie a plate and then Sarah herself. 

“It’s the secret that gives the wish its magic. All the good things are best kept secret.”

Your hand extends a plate out towards him, but it’s your gaze that meets him first. Mouth slightly parted, you watch him from beneath your long lashes. The light that softens Sarah emboldens the curves of your cheeks, the slope of your nose, the entanglement of your hair against the nape of your neck. A table between you, he hasn’t been this close to you in what feels like days, when it had only been this morning. This morning, when he had never felt further from you, when his own fear had gotten the better of him. 

For so long, the circle of his love ended at the property lines and he had spent years of his life etching in that demarcation, digging in and digging in until the wet earth swallowed him whole. There was nothing else but Sarah and this land because he could not afford to lose either of them, so he held on tight and burrowed deep.

But this deep down, the earth he loved might as well have been a coffin. A tomb. In order to stabilize his daughter, the land, and himself, there had to be less of him. Less to carry. Less to burden. 

Less of him to share. 

He thought – maybe hoped – that those bits of him that had fallen away would always stay gone, another sacrifice in addition to his blood and his sweat into the soil. It was easier to mourn a loss if you never had it in the first place.

But, as he looked at you from across the table in the low light, as your fingers touched his beneath the plate – even for a fraction of a second – the pieces he’d left behind roared to life once again. 

Heat warms him up his arm, down into his chest – and it keeps going. The smell of you, of sweat and sugar and honey and sunlight, invades his head like a dirty wind and the fire inside scorches him as it flushes down his ribs, through his stomach, and right into his groin.

You all but drop the plate into his hand, pulling your fingers away from his touch, gaze diving away. But he can see your nervous swallow, the way your hand shakes when you pick up the knife to cut the cake. 

“Let’s eat.” You smile at the girls, but it’s as weak as your voice, crackling, trembling, overwhelmed. As if you too had been consumed by years of dormant want out of nowhere and now couldn’t possibly put those feelings back into hiding even if you wanted to.

Even if you begged.

The cake is gone in a matter of minutes. 

Ellie lets out a groan, leaning back in her chair, her hands resting over her full stomach. “That was so goddamn good.” 

“It’s inappropriate to lick the plate, right?” Sarah asked, sponging up crumbs with her finger. 

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Ellie grins. She snatches up her plate and with her tongue flat against her chin, licks up every last morsel. Sarah snorts, laughter bursting out of her, before doing the exact same thing. It’s not long until both of them are making grotesque noises. 

“You girls act like you haven’t had a proper meal in weeks.” Joel sits across from you, his arms folded across his chest, a faint glint in his eye as he glances back and forth between them. He sits low in his chair and his shoulders look especially broad across the back of it. “Y’all are gonna eat me out of house and home.” 

Sarah giggles and wipes her spit-covered chin. “Ellie said she found a really good spot out back to look at the Milky Way. Can we go look?” 

You expect him to ask that they clean up the table first, at least put the dishes in the sink, and not to stay too far into the dark. He’s watching Sarah for a beat too long before he opens his mouth again.

“But then when will Ellie get her present?”

His eyes lock onto you.

“THERE’S MORE?!” Ellie screeches.

The heat in his gaze sends a tangible shock down your throat, across every single one of your ribs, right into your nipples. Your faint gasp is overshadowed by Sarah and Ellie’s yelling – oh my god you didn’t tell me about this what’s wrong with you – please please please can I see it I’ll clean the bathrooms if you just lemme have it please –  but the look is gone a second later when he stands up and jerks his chin over his shoulder to the living room. The girls sprint into the room before he can take his first step. He doesn’t look at you as he follows them, slow, confident, teasing them just a bit.

“What is it?!”

“Is it more comics?”

“More marbles?”

“New clothes?”

“Ew, that would suck.” 

As if deaf to their pleas, Joel slowly walks over to the chest in the corner of the room and just as the girls are about to burst from excitement, he bends down and picks something up from behind it.

A radio. 

The radio.

The same one they had found in town. 

Ellie and Sarah’s eyes widen to the size of the dinner plates sitting on the kitchen table, covered in spit and cake crumbs. They drop to their knees, fingers outstretched like they approached a feral kitten.

“Now, it doesn’t work right.” Joel says, his arms crossed again. “But I thought it might be a good project for you girls. Something to work on together. Maybe learn about magnets and electricity n’shit.” 

His eyes fall on you again, as if you knew all about “magnets and electricity n’shit.” Joel grins again, this time just for you, and something inside of you snaps in half, melts, sparks open; some great weight, one you didn’t even know was there, has been lifted off your shoulders, your heart, and you can breathe properly again. You sink into the blue sofa, hands in your lap to keep them from trembling. 

The idea that you would ever willingly leave this place is laughable.

The idea that you would take Ellie away from this, from Sarah, is agonizing. 

They’re both fiddling with the buttons and twisting the jobs, the novelty of it perhaps the most fascinating. They are silent, more reverent than if they are on hallowed ground. 

“I’ve got some pliers and a screwdriver if you wanna –,”

Perhaps it was the witchcraft of the sisterhood. 

Perhaps they had managed to work out some secret code.

Perhaps they were just lucky. 

The radio lights up and the tear of a trumpet whines out of the speakers. Their yelp of delight is muffled beneath the white-hot music of a jazz band. 

Joel watches with what can only be considered bemusement as the girls leap to their feet and start dancing like no one had ever taught them about rhythm. 

The sofa squeaks, the cushion under your butt tilting up, as he sits down next to you. 

“Not likely to win any competitions any time soon,” he mutters quietly, presumably to you, as you both watch Ellie’s jerky knees and Sarah’s dizzying twirls. You sit, hands in your lap, perched on the edge of the cushion, while he leans into the sofa, arms back in place over his chest. With the way you are positioned towards the radio and him facing straight on, your knees almost touch. 

You wonder if he’s as aware of that chance as you are. 

“Listen, I wanted to say I’m sorry.” His voice is deep enough to be heard over the music. He glances at your hands, and then your face. The sincere regret in his eyes makes the blood in your wrists pound. “You didn’t deserve all of those things I said to you this morning. Both you and Ellie have been . . .” he struggles for the word, his bottom lip moving with the swipe of his tongue, “a good change in our lives, and I regret saying the contrary.” His gaze falls back to your hands, your thumb tucked into the hole made by your other fingers. You wouldn’t look away from his face if it was the sun itself. “The fields have been well taken care of . . . and I know Sarah’s grateful for everything you’ve done for her. You’ve changed her life for the better. You’ve changed m–,”

It’s like his voice crumbles and slips off a cliff. His broad shoulders sag forward and then he looks up at you, a desperate sort of hope in eyes. Hope that you understand what he’s trying to say, and hope that you don’t make him say it. 

Oh, but you want him to say it. You want it so badly. 

You nod, this crumb sweeter than anything on the kitchen plates. On some heady sugar high, you smile at him.

“Well, I meant what I said.” He frowns and your grin widens, but then teeters and topples over. Your wrists ache. You have to lose his gaze for what you’re going to say next. “We are very, very grateful you took us in. I know it wasn’t a decision you made lightly, risking so much of you and Sarah for two complete strangers.” You shake your head with disbelief. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that you made the right choice, if I have to.”

You glance up at him – and immediately wish you hadn’t. 

It’s that same look he gave you when you handed him his plate over the kitchen table. Lips pursed, brow slightly furrowed, with a wary uneasiness in his eyes. Like he’s finally figured out what kind of woman you are, and he can’t quite tell what to do with you.

“C’mon you two!” Sarah yells and that hazy bubble that envelopes you bursts. He blinks, as if not remembering where he is. “You gotta dance!”

“Yeah, you old farts!” Ellie pants, red-faced and nearly out of breath. “It’s my birthday so you have to do what I say and I say, let’s boogie!”

You lunge at the chance to be distracted; you turn away from Joel and arch your eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re dancing? Is that what you’re doing? Can hardly tell.” 

Ellie sticks out her tongue while Sarah starts kicking with one foot then bounces to the other, flicking her wrists. “I saw this move on the school’s television!”

Ellie immediately stops the flailing of her limbs and watches her moves. “Teach me!”

Sarah slows it down until Ellie gets the hang of the bounce. Sarah looks much more natural in the rhythm, but at least Ellie is partially on beat. 

“And then I think you do this–,”

Her foot dangling in the air, she loops her ankle around Ellie’s and starts hopping in a circle. Ellie lets out a giggle.

“No way this is a real thing!”

“It is, I swear!”

“You got any moves like that?” Joel asks quietly, but still ensnaring your attention completely. He sunken completely into the sofa, hips low, legs wide. His thumb taps the beat on his thigh. Something about the way he has completely relaxed allows you to unclench your fists and loosen your foot tucked behind your ankle.

“Me?” You chuckle, leaning back on the arm rest. “I never had the time to go to the dancehalls, much less learn complicated moves such as the – Sarah, what is that dance called?”

“Hell if I know!” They’ve switched feet, trying to go counterclockwise this time.

“Complicated moves such as The Hell-if-I-know.” He rewards your terrible joke with a low chuckle. 

“Me neither. I can’t dance for shit.” 

As though he had called her name, Sarah stamps down her foot and rolls her eyes at her father, Ellie trying to follow along with the instructions the singer is giving over the speakers.

“Yes, you can. You taught me The Dip.” 

“That’s not a real move, Sarah–,”

“You can teach her!” Sarah’s brilliant smile extends to her eyes as if she had just announced the best idea in the history of ideas. “Then she’ll know at least one!”

Your fingers return to their fists. Joel stiffens beside you.

“Yeah, you should.” Ellie yells over her shoulder distractedly, one arm raised and the other leg straight out – in complete opposition to what the lyrics said. “Can’t have her embarrassing me in public.”

“C’mon, Dad, just one dance!” Her brown eyes flicker to Ellie and sweat-damp shirt. “It’s Ellie’s birthday!” 

“And for the party, we – must – dance!” Ellie strikes a dramatic pose and Sarah, giggling, swishes her dress with a flourish. With a brief glance at you, she rejoins Ellie, her skirt twirling.

The sofa squeaks as if he’s moving, a soft hand comes to rest high on your back, and panic leaps into your throat.

“Mr. Miller – Joel – you don’t have to – Sarah is just being silly –,”

“Well, it's not like I’m going up there by myself.” 

That rough palm slides over your scapula, then your shoulders, and down your arm. Tugging gently, a soft pinch around the bone of your elbow nearly pulls you to your feet, but sense-memory has you folding your arm back up towards your chest, your knees locked and heels heavy. Immediately he senses your rejection and stops. 

The warm light above threads gold through strands of his silver hair, the ends of his curls long enough to disappear into nothingness, into the halo around him. 

Joel Miller would never, ever hurt you.

Joel Miller is not your husband.

Joel Miller could be your friend.

His light touch releases and just as his fingers drop from your sleeve, your arm unfurls towards him, taking him by the bicep. His eyebrows lift slowly, watching as your fingers curl around his arm. Drawn towards his light like a sunflower, you stand, closer to him than ever before, and smile up at him. Friends go dancing together all the time, right? 

But all the standards and regulations of propriety and social mores were flung out the window the second you, an unmarried woman, stepped foot onto the land of an unmarried man. Nothing about this, about any of this, could be considered conventional.

A step or two away from the sofa, he holds your waist in one hand and yours aloft in the other, fingers interconnected. Respectful. Decent. A good man. No boundary crossing here. 

“Ready for your next lesson?” he asks, a little breathless. Maybe he forgot the steps and he is simply nervous to perform – hm, teach. He does a bit of adjusting, watches his own feet adjust as you stand still in front of him, waiting to be moved.

So, you open your stupid mouth and say,

“See, teaching isn’t so easy, is it?”

You grin and finally his eyes meet yours. Soft as leather, warm as a saddle in sunlight. It’s your turn for necessary air to be drained from your lungs and he decides then to move.

“Gotta lead up to it,” he grumbles, the corner of his mouth lifted. “Can’t just dive right in.” The way he leads is completely out of sync with the music, but you see that it’s intentional, a choice to slow things down. Not quite what you’d expect at the Boston dancehalls, but something far more precious and memorable. He sways with you, as supple as a blade of prairie grass in a warm wind. 

The curve of his shoulder is warm beneath your fingers, your thumb inches from his collar. He is more solid than any other person you’ve ever touched – including Anna. He could stand at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and never be washed away. You cannot imagine what that stability feels like, but you crave it all the same. 

There’s a respectable distance between your hips and his, but you can still smell the sweetness of the cake on his breath, the hot earth he tends to so lovingly, and the tang of sweat. 

“I know you’re a fast learner.” You turn your head towards him, but he gazes straight on. For a moment his face is so stoic you start to wonder if he actually said anything, but then a smile, a small one, flickers across his face. He turns his head towards you, his nose brushing yours, and suddenly you are too close together. Instinctively you pull away – your head, your shoulders, your hands – then find yourself frustrated that this is how you still react. You don’t even mean it. You don’t even want it, this temporary separation. But still Joel stands. He waits for you and sure enough, you sink back into his arms, your palms separating for only a second. “We made a regular farmhand out of you in a handful of weeks. Could get you to a full Dip in days.” 

He’s talking too softly to be easily heard over the banging percussion, the scream of trumpets, the boozy warble of the singer, so you bend closer. Over his shoulder, Ellie and Sarah take turns curtseying and bowing and then locking their elbows together and spinning each other in circles, giggling. 

“They’re alright.” The words hum in your ear, heat warming the air after a flash of lightning, and you fight a full body shudder. You tear your gaze back to him and his smile. His hand hasn’t moved an inch on your back. You worry your palm is getting sweaty. “Just focus on me.” You nod. 

From the radio, the song ends and the band slows to a discordant crash, as exhausted as the ones who danced to their rhythms. Men raucously laugh over the airwaves at their own created chaos and the two girls collapse onto the couch, red-faced and sweaty and laughing. 

“You trust me?” His eyes are brown and dark and smoky, firewood kindling. He really intends to teach you something. You nod slowly. The memory of his hand smacking into the counter breaks apart when his palm slips further down your back, his leg shifting in between yours, and he leans forward to lean you back. Back, back, back, off the edge of the earth. Hair slips off your shoulders as you hang, suspended above the floorboards, cradled by his hand and his thigh, the other hand holding yours to his chest. The world is upside down – in more ways than one. 

When you lift your head, he blocks out the light above for just a moment. Joel, for a moment, is all you can see. He holds you like you weigh nothing, gravity a suggestion to a force of nature like him — and a moment later, he pulls you both upright. 

Your cheeks are burning, your heart roars in your chest, in your ears, and there is no other way this would have ended: you glance at his mouth. He looks at yours. The fingers entwined with yours tighten. 

And then the radio dies. No preamble. No warning. Just ringing silence.

“Welp, it was fun while it lasted.” Ellie huffs, out of breath, smacking her hands against her thighs. 

Sarah wipes away sweat from her forehead with her arm. “Nah, we’ll get it back. I know we can fix it. Right, Dad?”

Joel Miller is still staring at your mouth. 

He’s quiet too long before he drops his gaze and clears his throat. Caught in a daze, you blink and suddenly his warmth is gone. Your hand floats in the air, empty. Joel pulls on the waistline of his pants and turns back to the sofa, nodding.

“Course, we can fix it. But not tonight. Get to bed, both of you.” The gravel of his voice makes his words harsher than they need to be, but Ellie just rolls her eyes and Sarah throws herself onto her feet. 

“C’mon, teenie bopper, I found a mouse skull the other day I forgot to show you.”

Ellie’s eyes widen as she follows Sarah up the stairs. “Like a skull skull? No meat, just bones? Was the rest of the skeleton there?”

Her interrogation continues as they move around the second floor and you can almost hear every word of it. A stark and abrupt reminder that this house echoes – any noises or sounds made can be heard anywhere, in any room, by anyone. 

Your gaze drops to Joel like a stone and with the added weight of whatever he was thinking, it all becomes too much for him. He turns away, denim shoulders nearly up to his ears.

“I’ll clean up.” He waves his hand vaguely to the kitchen. Cake. Plates. Flour on the counter. Oh, that’s right. “You cooked.”

A trade, a sharing of responsibilities between two equal partners. There’s some part of you that knows you should argue, cleaning was what he hired you for, but this is not him telling you as your employer. 

This is . . .

“You did good today,” he says, quickly, his hands on his waist, a step forward, as if he remembered something mid-stride. “It meant a lot, to the both of ‘em. I know you don’t think much of it, but you’re good at this.”

Your face heats, a familiar zing from his words racing down your spine into the bowl of your hips. The next breath you take is a shaky one. “Thanks, Joel. I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

He swallows, then nods. “Night, then.”

“Good night.” 

You might have let yourself believe you had imagined the whole thing, as you walk down the long wood floor to your bedroom, the girls’ chatter now just noise in your head. You might have believed that, after half a decade of being unwanted and undesired, abandoned at the edge of civilization, you extrapolated sentimentality from the first man who looked at you. All your life you doubted yourself; doubted your ability to keep Anna safe, doubted that you’d ever be something more than a pathetic replacement for Ellie’s mother, doubted your own sanity at times when you sat in that dark, dank dug out and listened to the scratchy winds tear apart your husband’s finances. 

But this – this you did not doubt. You did not mistake, or dream up, or lie to yourself. 

Before he let you go, Joel had squeezed your hip, rubbed his thumb against the waistband of your skirt. Let his fingers snag and catch in your blouse.

Whether it was trust or companionship or something ultimately more terrifying, he felt some kind of way about you. 

What kind of way you felt about him, you couldn’t answer honestly. 

And yet for a moment, for a brief moment, you had stepped into his light and, goddamn it, you were right. 

It was warm.

END OF PART II

series masterlist | AO3 Link | part i | part iii

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel miller au #joel miller imagine #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #joel miller tlou #tlou fic #joel the last of us #the last of us fanfic #joel x reader #tlou hbo #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller x you

[gilbirda]

Personal coach Red Hood

Another quick one before sleep. This is honestly becoming a fun wind down exercise to relax before bed! I highly recommend just letting the words come as they come and disconnect for a moment.

Shout out to @impyssadobsessions and @emeraldsandamethyst for hyping me up as I write this fic! Thank you for the support!

Part 1 || Part 3 - Part 5

----

Jazz flexed her right hand and picked up the wooden spoon again. Her knuckles were definitely bruised and it was going to be annoying for a day or two. 

She sighed. 

Not even making her favorite soup was proving capable of cheering her up anymore. She kept going back to Hood screaming at her after the bank robbery earlier that afternoon, how he grabbed her and pushed her away.

His constant rejection stung, and she wasn’t stupid — smiling and having a positive attitude wasn’t going to magically change his mind. She tried to prove she was smart, resourceful and strong enough; and if it wasn’t enough for him then there was nothing she could do.

She could try her luck with the other bats, but she didn’t know if he had already warned them about her or something.

Jazz tried the soup and winced. It was… not fine. Tasted slightly burnt and needed more salt. She shouldn’t be cooking while in a bad mood since she was messing even the soup she could do with her eyes closed.

A soft tap on her balcony window made her jump and then chide herself for being so easily startled.

She turned, finding the same vigilante she had been thinking about. What did he want?

He said something, but his voice was muffled through the glass, and with the helmet’s voice modulation she couldn’t make the words. Jazz pointed at her ears and shook her head. The man sighed, given how his shoulders slumped, and took off his helmet.

Jazz’s eyes were glued to the white locks of hair he had at the front. 

“I want to talk.” He said.

She considered him — the disarmed body language, the tense lips that weren’t a smile, his fingers tapping the helmet. She was sad and a little bit mad about the incident that day but…

She checked the soup one more time and sighed, turning off the stove and putting the pot away.

“What do you want?” Maybe she could have said that less like she wanted to bite his head off, but she was tired and mad and hungry. And he had been an asshole to her for the better part of a month.

Hood just stood there, quiet. She raised an eyebrow.

“Your food sucks.”

Jazz took in a deep breath and moved to close her balcony glass door, considering the conversation over. 

“Wait,” he stopped her from totally closing the door, “I didn’t mean that.”

She glared at the whiteouts of his domino mask. “You don’t have to lie, I know I’m not a good cook.”

“Okay, then your food has… room to improve?”

This made her chuckle, but it was more because of the face he made. He looked completely out of place, trying to play nice like this. 

“What do you want?” She asked again, reopening the glass door. This time, she also made a gesture to let him inside if he wanted. Surprisingly enough, he followed, his helmet under one arm. “Want something to drink? I may have some apple juice, but I’m not sure.”

“Beer?”

“Are you drinking on the job, Mr. Hood?” She smirked, enjoying the way he huffed at her words.

“Call me just Hood.” He shook his head. “And I’m fine just like this. I’m not staying long anyway.”

She shrugged. “What do you want?” She asked for the third time.

Jazz watched him shuffle his feet and run a gloved hand through his hair. He was nervous, avoiding her eyes. He reminded her so much of Danny, and how hard it was for him to open difficult conversations.

“After— After you left, I saw the snipers. Thank you.” He added with a small voice. It was genuine. “They could have really turned the situation to something worse, and… and I couldn’t… I didn’t…”

“It’s fine. You were busy.”

He was talking about the guys on the rooftops that she took care of, and the reason why she couldn’t follow him into the bank on time before the lockdown. She tried to explain, but he cut her off so rudely so he might have found them tied up and knocked out where she left them.

He shook his head again. “I didn’t let you explain.”

“No, you didn’t.” What was the point in sugar coating? “You were, and excuse my wording, a grade A asshole.”

He chuckled. “Yeah.” He sighed. “That I am.” He cleared his throat but didn’t speak for a few moments. Jazz waited patiently as he gathered his words. “I’m not a good mentor. I don’t even know what I could offer you. And I’m a ‘grade A asshole’, but… You are one tough motherfucker to keep coming back again and again... And you did me a solid today… I guess what I’m trying to say is—”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, I will be your student.” She smiled and extended her hand. “When do we start, teacher?”

----

Back to Main Archive

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#dpxdc #jazz/jason #jazz x jason #anger management ship #hardcover ship #dp x dc #personal coach au

[itstimetojellyfish]

Im sorry , what? ( Jing Yuan x reader x Blade)

For context , this isn’t smut , it’s angst and fluff

Why?

You never really noticed your husband getting further and further away from you , you suppose that’s your fault entirely.

It all started when that Stellaron Hunter came onto the Luofu, what was his name? Blade ? Ren? You don’t exactly know .

When he first arrived , you weren’t surprised that Jing Yuan was busy , not allowing you to see him .

You thought it was either confidential information or that he was trying to keep you safe in case Blade ever got out .

Soon enough , days turned into weeks , you stated to get a bit suspicious.

You were walking around when you heard some weapons clash, you rushed over to find out who was doing it and planned to stop it before anyone got hurt .

It was Blade and Jing Yuan

You were about to call out to them or try stop the dangerous Stellaron hunter but something unexpected happened .

Jing Yuan dropped his weapon , went over to the man , caressed his cheek before kissing him on the lips.

You stood there as your heart tore into pieces right then in there , you didn’t file any divorce papers right?

What did you do wrong ?

Before you can ponder about it , both of the men look towards you and see you staring at them .

Blade looks at you with wide eyes , before a face you never thought he could manage was made .

He looked at you with pity .

Jing Yuan just looked at you with confusion .

You ran , he tried to call out to you but at this point you knew that Blade was just simply better than you .

He’s tall , handsome , lean , muscular, doesn’t pry when asked , silent , and good at defending himself .

He’s independent.

While you depend on someone to help you .

Soon , before Jing Yuan got home from work , which was a good 3 hours , but probably more , you packed your things and left the house .

You took off your wedding ring and placed it on the counter as tears slipped through your eyelids .

You then took off the necklace he gave you , that was a yes to love each other for eternity. Well . Look where we are now ….

You never had much , you never asked for anything you couldn’t have . You faked non-interest in things . So you didn’t have much to pack .

You ran away , rented an apartment, and dumped your suitcase on floor before going to the bed , nabbing all the pillows and blankets , and huddling in a corner .

You never thought they’d just… kiss in public .

It hurt your heart that Jing Yuan didn’t ask you for divorce papers before kissing the very handsome man .

As much as you hate to admit it , he did look better than literally almost everyone in the luofu.

You stayed in the corner sulking , and crying , not even bothering with the fact that you needed to eat , you drank water , but your appetite diminished greatly after the incident.

You wish they’re at least happy that you aren’t in the picture anymore .

Jing Yuan was out of your league, you were just to love- struck to finally notice .

You sit there , malnourished and numb . Quietly crying while taking some water .

Then , your window opens , did you forget to lock it or something?….

When you looked up you didn’t expect Blade to be there staring at you . His eyes narrowed before stalking closer and lifting you up in a bridal carry .

Your eyes widened before thrashing around , you couldn’t help it! What would you do if the person who stole your husband from you is a Stellaron hunter and is in your house?!

You expected him to drop you from somewhere , but he didn’t . He took you out and stared to run somewhere you didn’t know .

But soon , you knew where he was taking you .

Jing Yuans house

As soon as you realized that you started to thrash around , you didn’t need to cause any more trouble .

But

it didn’t matter as Blade just pinned your arms to your sides by wrapping his arms around you .

You attempt to get your arms free but instead it proves fruitless , you have already arrived at the last place you wanted to be .

Blade opens the windows and with a gentleness you did t know he had , he places you on a bed and keeps you there by pinning you to the bed with his whole body weight .

Then the door to the room is opened , your eyes widen as you see soft amber eyes look at you and then the person you dreaded most walked towards you with only a bath robe on , the clothing not even doing anything because it showed his chest .

He gently laid down on the bed , and then started to nuzzle you . It was an unexpected feeling as he continued to show affection .

“ You know , I was surprised to see your wedding ring and necklace on the counter that night .” He gently cradle your face and peppered it in kisses as blade holds you down .

” So? You cheated on me with this Stellaron Hunter!” You struggle as you attempt to get out from underneath Blade’s body .

“ Oh? I think you misunderstood, we both want you .”

You stare at them in shock as you look back and forth , you thought they were cheating , now it’s a fricking threesome?

Jing Yuan simply smiles before cuddling you and pulling the blankets over your body as Blade continues to rub against you .

“ Dearest of mine , I’ll never let you go .”

#fluff #angst #honkai star rail #jing yuan x gn #jing yuan x reader #blade x you #Blade x Jing Yuan #blade x reader #blade hsr #Reader is anxious #Jing Yuan is a bit tricky #Blade just likes both of them #Reader is confused as frick

[unforgivenntired2]

More than just butterflies

Todorokixreader

The afternoon sun filtered through the window, casting a warm glow over the cluttered desk where you sat, absorbed in your studies. Exams were coming soon and to be honest, everyone was scared about them. As you flipped through the pages of your textbook, trying to focus on the equations in front of you, a soft knock on the door interrupted your concentration.

"Come in," you called out, expecting one of your roommates.

The door creaked open, and you looked up to see Todoroki standing there, his dual-colored hair falling gently over his forehead. His expression was unreadable as usual, but there was something in his eyes, a glint of uncertainty perhaps.

"Hey, Todoroki. What's up?" you greeted him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Um, I was wondering if you're free later," he said, his voice slightly hesitant as if he wasn't sure as to what he was saying.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his request. "Sure, I don't have any plans. Why, what's going on?"

He shifted on his feet, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "I was thinking... maybe we could go grab some coffee together?"

Your heart skipped a beat at his suggestion. To be honest, You had a small huge crush on him for a while. Momo and Ochaco had just laughed saying that it was practically impossible that Shoto would ever like you back. Todoroki rarely initiated outings, especially not something as casual as getting coffee. "That.. That sounds great. I'd love to," you replied, trying to keep your excitement in check and not accidently squeal in front of him and do your happy dance.

As you walked to the nearby café, the air between you was charged with a strange tension. Todoroki seemed lost in thought, and you couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something important he wanted to discuss.

When you reached the café, you ordered your drinks and found a quiet corner to sit. The atmosphere was cozy, with soft music playing in the background, but the silence between you felt heavy.

Finally, Todoroki cleared his throat, breaking the quietude. "I... I wanted to talk to you about something," he began, his gaze fixed on his cup of coffee.

You nodded encouragingly, giving him the space to speak.

"It's... It's about... us," he said, his words hesitant but filled with determination.

Your heart skipped a beat at his admission. But.. there was no way. THE Shoto Todoroki who was always so clueless about normal teenager things would never.

"Us?" you echoed, trying to hide the hopeful tone in your voice.

Todoroki took a deep breath before continuing, his gaze meeting yours. "I... I've realized that... I care about you a lot. More than I thought I would," he confessed, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Your cheeks practically turned as red as a tomato and you couldn't help but let out a huge shout. "WHAT?!"

Todoroki flinched a bit at it. "D-Did I say something wrong...?" He looked at you awkwardly and you practically gave yourself a hard mental slap. Greaaatt y/n. Great job on fucking embarrassing yourself in front of the man you liked.

"Wait- nononono No! Y-You spoke great! Wait I mean no! I care about you so much too Todoroki!" You gave yourself another mental slap, thinking about how dumb and childish that must've sounded. You coughed as if to clear your throat and made your pathetic attempt to sound professional. "I-I mean I care about you too."

His expression softened, a small smile gracing his lips. He loved how cute you looked all flustered and struggling to talk. "I'm glad," he murmured, his eyes holding yours in a tender gaze.

As you sat there, lost in each other's eyes, you realized that this was just the beginning of something beautiful.

#mha #anime fanfic #anime ff #anime fanfiction #boku no hero academia #mha todoroki #shouto todoroki #todorokixreader #todoroki fluff #todoroki x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #fluff #writing #shoto todoroki #shoto x reader #mha shoto #todoroki family #my hero academia #bnha #mha fluff #mha ff #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #mha au #bnha ff #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction #bnha fic #mha fic

[sleepyghostuwu]

The Artist and the Gem (Part 2, rewrite)

Synopsis: You start brainstorming about your mysterious client's request and begin working on it. Unfortunately, that means finding a way to get your unconventional art subject to cooperate with you, whether or not he knows about it.

Notes: (Edit: I wasn't too happy with how it turned out and it was bugging me a fair bit, so I had to redo it for my own peace of mind.)

Fem! Reader POV will be used in this series as it is what I'm most comfy writing in ^^ Also it's really lengthy lmao (I got too excited writing this) so get ready-

Previously: Part 1

It has been a good number of months since you've received the mysterious client's commission.

You've been finding yourself becoming increasingly productive in both your white collar and artistic jobs, presumably from wanting to rid yourself of as much work as you could to work on Aventurine's portrait. It has gotten to the point you even managed to send out most of your commissions to your other clients, even the impatient one who had been living on your nerves for what felt like an eternity. What made you want to get his portrait done and over with so badly? That was a question you were too afraid to find answers to.

Speaking of Aventurine, you have a slight problem: while you knew how he looks like very well, you had no clue how to draw him that well. The fact that the both of you work in different departments and hence very rarely see each other made your task of observing his appearance better all the more difficult.

With all possible odds pitted against you, only two solutions remain: you could either spy on Aventurine during your lunch and tea breaks and sketch him in secret, or directly ask him to pose for you for a few minutes. Given your current ranking in the IPC, you have a slightly better chance at the former. As the clock strikes at lunchtime, you quickly grab your tablet and head for the first place you can think of: the lounge.

-------

"...Don't worry, I'll be sure to send you the updates as soon as I get them," Aventurine's carefree voice echoes like a chime as he and the other Stonehearts leave the meeting room for their break. Your breath hitches and you quickly crouch behind the nearest potted plant you spotted in the vicinity, peeking through its leaves cautiously.

"This is the worst idea I've ever thought of..." you curse under your breath as you stabilised yourself against the wall. You have passed by Aventurine during work before on several occasions, and rarely ever get to briefly speak to him about work-related matters, so seeing the man himself with your eyes was not something unfamiliar to you. However, what left you the slightest bit horrified was the next thought that entered your mind.

Aventurine is stunningly handsome.

His sandy hair, which was slightly tucked behind his left ear, flowed down his neck like sand in an hourglass, and his eyes were as vibrant as stained glass windows in the sun. The deep green and gold coattails trailing behind him reminded you of a brightly coloured bird as he strode across the hallway, always seeming like he had people to show off to in every corner.

(Y/n)! Focus! You frantically shake your thoughts out of your hand and ready your tablet. It's your only chance at this, so don't mess this up! Propping yourself against the wall as you continue crouching behind the potted plant, you whip out your stylus and begin drawing furiously.

The first few attempts you made were a little sloppy (by your standards, at least), but in a short while, you manage to fill the better half of your drawing spread with surprisingly good sketches. The fact that Aventurine was perfectly still as you drew each pose made your success feel too good to be true. As you watch Aventurine leave the vicinity with a few cups of coffee in hand, you heave a sigh of relief and stood up, propping yourself against the wall as you wait for your legs to recover from crouching on the ground for so long.

And it's still lunch hour, too! You smile to yourself as you turn to leave for the office cafe. Everything went according to plan. Surely nothing could possibly go wrong after this-

"Oh, (y/n)? I didn't expect to see you here."

A chill runs down your spine as you slowly come face-to-face with none other than Aventurine himself.

-------

"H-hello, sir," you squeak, clutching your tablet in a tight embrace as you desperately tried to hide its contents. Clearing your throat, you add, "I was just going to the lounge to...well, take a rest."

"Hmm..." Aventurine stares intently at you before checking his watch. Then, he looks up at you again and chuckles. "Really? With that tablet of yours, too?" He raises an eyebrow at the tablet in your arms. "I'm pretty sure doing extra work isn't something a person would be doing to take a break."

Damn, he's catching onto me. Embarrassment and fear kicking in, you avert your eyes from his. Aventurine tilts his head to the side in feigned curiosity. "What are you doing here anyway? Are you...hiding something from me?" His eyes shift to the tablet in your hands.

"No..." You cling to your tablet tighter as the voices in your head scream for you to run before he does the last thing you want him to do. However, Aventurine swiftly swipes the tablet (which, much to your dismay, was still switched on) from your hands before you can physically react.

"Well, well, what do we have here- oh?" Aventurine's smirk gives way to a more surprised expression as he gapes at the canvas of digital sketches of him. "Oh my. Is that- is that me?"

You feel the heat rising in your cheeks as your worst possible outcome unfolds before you. Frantically, you attempt to snatch your tablet back, only to have your hands flail in vain as he kept moving it out of reach, only relenting and returns the tablet to you after a good few minutes.

"Oh, relax, (y/n). I didn't mean anything negative by that. Those sketches of yours are quite majestic, really. I'm just...pleasantly surprised, hehehe~ Though, I have to ask..." He leans slightly closer to you, his iconic sly grin now back on his face.

"What exactly are they for?"

#honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #aventurine #hsr #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr fanfic #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail x you

[dixons-sunshine]

Not An Abomination | Vamp!Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Coming across the church seemed like a real blessing to your group. The priest was nice enough to open the doors and showed you all nothing but kindness—that is, until he made the ingenious move to insult Daryl.

Genre: I don't really know, but there's some fluff towards the end.

Era: Post Terminus.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of blood and death.

Word count: 2.1k.

A/n: I didn't have the time to rewatch the episodes of the church again, so I improvised. Hope that's okay lol. Anyways, I hope you like this!

“You have a beautiful baby,” the priest, Gabriel, told you as you walked around, scanning the interior of the church. “She's truly a blessing from above.”

You turned around to face the older man, Judith clinging to you and fiddling with your necklace as a way to keep herself entertained. You glanced down at the almost one year old little girl before looking back up at Gabriel. “Oh, she's not mine.” You jiggled the baby a bit when she started fussing, pulling a funny face at her and successfully coaxing a giggle from her. You smiled fondly and smoothed some of her wispy hair, before shifting your attention back to the priest. “Rick's her father. Her mother... She passed away during childbirth.”

“I'm so sorry to hear that,” Gabriel responded, a look of sadness spreading across his face. “But she's in much better hands now. The Lord will take care of her now.”

“The baby or her mother?”

Gabriel smiled and clasped his hands in front of him. “Both. The Lord is good to everyone, here on earth or in heaven.” The priest looked up at the wooden cross and sighed in content. “He's been good to me, and I haven't always deserved it.”

You looked at Gabriel thoughtfully. “What are you—”

“Rick! People! They've got guns!” Glenn suddenly called out from somewhere outside the church. His words barely reached your ears before bullets came flying through the windows.

Instinctively, you ducked down behind one of the seats and covered Judith's small body to protect her from any stray bullets. Judith let out a loud cry, her small fists clutching your shirt in distress. Gabriel hid with you, panicking. Making a quick decision, you handed Judith over to the priest and grabbed your gun from your waistband.

“Go to your office and lock the door!” you shouted, disabling the safety on your weapon and cocking it. “I'll cover you. Keep her safe!” You stood up and started shooting at the ambushers. When Gabriel made no effort to make a run for the office, you raised your voice again. “Are you fucking deaf?! Go!” You shot at a person climbing through the window. “Fucking GO!” Gabriel finally scrambled up to his feet and adjusted Judith in his arms. With one last look to the chaos that unfolded in his church, he made a break for his office.

With Judith out of immediate danger, your attention fully shifted to the intruders. You ducked back down when more bullets flew in your direction. You felt a hand grip your shoulder and you quickly whipped around, your gun raised to shoot at the person or walker. However, you were instead met with the striking blue eyes of the man you had come to develop feelings for. On closer inspection, however, you could see flecks of red seeping into the blue, a clear sign that he hadn't fed in days.

“S'jus' me!” Daryl assured you quickly. When you visibly relaxed, Daryl grabbed your hand and pulled you up with him. The two of you ran towards the door and hid behind the wood. Daryl shot his crossbow at one of the people outside before moving to hide again. “Ya see anybody in our group yet?”

“No. They were all checking the back of the church for that bus Abraham saw when all of this happened.” You gasped when a bullet broke through the wood and nearly grazed the side of your face. The only reason it didn't was because Daryl's senses alerted him to the danger and he pulled you back at just the right moment. “Shit. Thanks.”

“Dun' mention it.” Daryl gently grabbed your gun out of your hand and took a shot at the person, successfully hitting them right between the eyes.

Everything fell silent after that. No more gunshots could be heard, and that made you let out a sigh of relief. Slowly, you crept out of the church with Daryl following closely behind you, his trained eyes scanning for any threats that could still linger. However, once you caught a glimpse of your group, every member relatively unscathed, you sped up your pace and rushed over to them.

Michonne was the first to notice you. She gasped in relief and brought you into a tight hug, one which you reciprocated in an instant. When you pulled away, you were tackled in a hug by Carl, which made you chuckle in surprise.

“I thought you died in there,” he told you when he pulled back, taking a step back to grant you your personal space again. “We heard yelling and thought that they got you.” He stopped once he realized that Judith wasn't with you. “Judith? Where's—”

“She's fine,” you instantly reassured both him and Rick, who you saw was anxiously looking at you for an answer. “She's with Gabriel. They're locked in his office. He—”

Suddenly, a loud bang of a gunshot could be heard, and it was closely followed by a sharp pain shooting through your arm. You cried out in agony and instantly gripped your arm, nearly tumbling down to the ground. Michonne quickly steadied you, however, and you turned around while being brought tightly against her side in a protective gesture while the rest of the members of your group reloaded their weapons.

A man stood a few feet away from you, his body bloody and a gun being shakily held in his hand. He quickly cocked the gun again to attempt another shot at someone before he was ultimately killed, but his attempts were quickly proven futile. Without so much as a noise, Daryl stood behind him in seconds. His fangs elongated and the archer sunk them into the ambusher's neck.

The guy cried out in pain, but it was soon silenced when Daryl snapped his neck with little to no effort. The archer hesitated for a few seconds longer, savouring the taste of the blood for a few moments before withdrawing, letting the dead man fall down to the ground. Daryl slowly turned back to look at all of you, expecting to see terror written across all of your faces, but was relieved when he was instead met with looks of gratitude and understanding.

“Good Lord.”

Everyone's attention was diverted to someone standing behind Daryl. The archer turned around and locked eyes with the priest, who looked at him with the terror he had expected to see on all of your faces. Gabriel was holding Judith close to his chest, and Daryl was sure if it wasn't for the fact that he was holding the baby, Gabriel would've bolted by now.

“Gabriel, I'm gonna need you to calm down,” Rick began, slowly walking towards him with an outstretched hand. Everyone else closely followed behind, ready to offer your leader support should he need it. “There's no need to start acting irrational here.”

“Irrational?” Gabriel asked rhetorically, laughing in obvious terror. “How would I be the irrational one here? This... thing killed that man with his bare hands. He snapped his neck like it was nothing. And he drank his blood! That's not normal. That's... That's the work of the devil.” Gabriel took a fearful step back, looking at Daryl, who had blood messily dripping down from his mouth. “You're the devil! I let the devil into God's house. You're something that I've only ever heard tales about. You're a monster. You're an abomination.”

Daryl pursed his lips and ducked his head in shame. However, he raised his head again when he saw someone move past him. He saw you standing in front of Gabriel and gently taking Judith from his arms. He didn't miss the way you hissed in pain when you held the baby in your arms, or the way you winced when you handed Judith over to Carl and the boy accidentally touched your arm. He also certainly didn't miss the way you spun back around and clocked the priest right in the face, his nose crunching under the harsh pressure of your knuckles.

“Fucking hell!” you cried out in pain. You realized a little too late that you probably shouldn't have used your injured arm to swing that punch, but there wasn't anything you could do about it now. Daryl was by your side in seconds, looking you over and assessing the damage that dead bastard inflicted on you with that bullet. Luckily, it was only a graze, but he knew it would still hurt like hell. You looked at him and gave him a reassuring smile, your heart fluttering at the archer's obvious care. “I'm fine, I promise.”

“Let's get one thing straight,” Rick began, recapturing your attention, as well as Daryl's. “I don't care what your beliefs are or how you choose to honour them, but with us around for the foreseeable future, we're not gonna take this shit again. Daryl is one of us. He stuck his neck out to protect this place. He didn't have to do that for you. He killed that man because he shot one of our own.” Rick motioned towards you before continuing. “How he did it doesn't matter. What he is doesn't matter. What he needs to eat or drink to survive doesn't matter. He's part of our family, and nothing is going to change that, not even the fact that he's a vampire. Now you have a problem with that, I promise you, we have absolutely no problem with leaving you to the walkers next time.”

With that, Rick stalked off towards the church, everyone else closely following behind. Gabriel cowered under everyone's harsh glares, recoiling with every harsh word thrown his way.

“Fucking asshole,” Maggie voiced, glaring at the priest distastefully.

“Gon' leave you to die next time, shitdick.” Abraham closely followed behind Maggie, soon disappearing into the church.

“Ungrateful ass,” Michonne spat angrily, her glare burning into the side of Gabriel's head.

You and Daryl were the last ones to enter the building. The archer lead you to one of the benches to sit down, taking your arm in his hand and carefully examining the graze more closely this time. You hissed in pain when Daryl twisted your arm too hard, and he sent you an apologetic look.

“Sorry,” he apologized.

You shook your head and sent him a small smile. “It's okay.” Daryl hummed before chuckling, making you frown. “What's so funny?”

“Nothin',” he quickly deflected, shaking his head. “Jus' amazed how ya got shot and ya still managed to put a guy on his ass.”

You laughed and shrugged. “I wasn't about to let that asshole call you an abomination. You're not. I hope you know that.”

Daryl didn't believe that, but he wasn't about to ruin the mood with his insecurities, so instead he just nodded. “Yeah, I do.” He grabbed the piece of red fabric that he always kept on his person and held it over your wound to stop the bleeding, making a mental note to go get some water later to clean the wound somewhat until he could find something better. “Still amazed tha' ya put a guy on his ass when ya were shot, though.”

You giggled. “What can I say? I'm just amazing like that.”

You were only joking, and Daryl knew that. However, you certainly didn't know how right you were to him. You were amazing. You were so amazing to him. And someday he hoped that he would be able to express to you just how amazing he thought you were.

However, not at that moment. No, at that moment, he'd simply enjoy your company, and be happy about the fact that the people he had come to care for so deeply didn't view him as the monster he saw himself as. That meant so much more to him than any of you would ever know. Just for that small moment, even though dead bodies were littered outside the church and everyone had just narrowly escaped being shot at, he was at peace.

However, something always came along to disturb that peace, because later that night, when everyone was celebrating and making plans to head to DC, you and Daryl were speeding off after a car, with only one objective in mind; you had to save Beth.

#krys writes .ೃ࿐ #the walking dead #vamp!daryl #twd daryl #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #vampire!daryl #vamp!daryl dixon #vampire!daryl dixon #vampire!daryl dixon x reader #vamp!daryl dixon x reader

[henry7931]

The Brat Who Mowed My Lawn

Harold:

You know this kid is a real piece of work! But now that I have his body that’s all gonna change.

Chase has mowed my lawn for a couple of years now and I should have fired him for his poor attitude awhile ago.

The only is that he’s only one around I know who will do it well. Being an old man, it’s hard to get around but my ears and eyes still work!

Well I guess that’s a problem of the past for me and more of a problem for Chase.

All I do is catch that boy up to know good. And I knew for a fact he was going to be just as much of a bully and an a hole in college as we was for the last 18 years of his life.

What really upset me was how mean he would be to that sweet gay kid next door Joseph. That kid didn’t do anything to him!

Well I got a surprise for Chase when he wakes up from my nap, not only is now old, going to have trouble moving around but he’s going to hear about his body coming out as a proud gay man!

You know this is the last thing I’m going to do for him which is a free mow of his new lawn haha!

Now I better get back to my new home before he wakes up.

10 minutes later:

“Wooowee!! These piggies right here stink!”

But look how sexy my new young toes look! Let me get a good ole sniff…

*sniff*

Boy that makes my new pecker harder than a pool!

I take a little peak at my growing boner and it’s a pretty good size.

I walk over to my window to see if he’s gotten up yet but that’s when I spot that sweet gay boy walking.

I crack open the window and say, “Joseph!! Hey hold up a minute, I wanna talk to you!”

He looks nervous and I say, “I promise, it’s nothing bad. Just give me 2 minutes.”

I run downstairs and meet him at my door.

He looks at me shyly and I say, “hey I owe you an apology.”

“Really?”

“Yeah I’ve been awful to you and— it’s because I haven’t been honest with myself. I just see you out here being so you and truthful… I guess what I’m trying to say is…. I’m gay too.”

He looks shocked hearing the words come out of my mouth.

“It’s okay Chase, I uhhh I’m kinda surprised but thank you for the apology.”

“Well how I’ve been was not acceptable at all and I would love to make it up to you.”

“Yeah?”

I scoot closer to him, “I think you’re awfully cute and uh… what are you doing right now?”

I was gonna ask him on a date but my bodies hormones are losing control right now.

“Nothing really.”

“Well you wanna hang out?”

1 hour later:

So Joseph and I made out for a bit which kinda led us to heavy pettin’

And well I may have let him explore my new body. And we’re pretty compatible, we both like smelly pits, dirty feet, he even let me play with his cute toes too.

But the best part was the foot job he gave me. It felt amazing on my new pecker. He even let me lick all the cum off his toes.

Now he wants to come back tonight for a “sleepover.” Good thing is that my new parents won’t mind, that it matters I’m a grown adult at my age.

Oh wait I’m getting a FaceTime, oh look who it is! It’s the old sleepy grandpa.

“Hello Mr. Harold, how did you like your yard?”

“SHUT UP OLD MAN! AND GIVE ME BACK MY BODY!”

“Oh no, is everything okay over there? You don’t sound well. Should I call someone?”

“Don’t play stupid! You need to give me back my body or—“

“Or what exactly? You’re going to beat me up? Tell someone? Listen, I don’t think anyone had ever taught you a lesson so I’ll make this easy for you.”

*click*

Poor old man, sounds like he’s going through a lot. Oh well!

*A Few Months Later*

“Ugh are you going to tease me with this clothes on or are you gonna join me?” says Joseph my currently naked boyfriend standing with an erection in front of me.

“Well let me start out with my socks, I know you love my feet after a long day.”

“God you I do love your feet but I especially love that nice cock of yours.”

Joseph impatiently hops into the recliner with me and I embrace his body wrapping my hands and with his cock.

“So glad your parents are out of town, I can’t wait until we’re ‘college roommates’ next week.”

“I know then we can do this every night,” I say pinching his ass.

Joesph or Joey as I like to call him makes a yelping noise,

“Oh my god, I forgot to ask you. Did you hear about our old neighbor next door?”

“Oh yeah, poor old guy. Well you wanna take this upstairs because I’m horny as f*ck now.”

“Please! And you better fuck me tonight Chase, I’m not giving you a foot job again.”

“But!!! But you’re so good at them baby and your feet are so sexy!”

“Nope I want you rail me.”

“Fine!”

#body swap #male body swap #male tf #body theft #old to young

[leslut-de-lioncut]

Let’ s put a bit aside Devil Minion obsession for one minute and let’s talk about the vibe and esthetic of this beautiful singular episode 5 (shout out to Craig Zisk who also directed the first episode in Eastern Europe, the 2 best episodes so far in my opinion)

Daniel mentioned the Zodiac killer cause he operated in San Francisco a bit before 1973. But his MO didn’t match Louis and Armand’s at all. This mention of a serial killer is not there randomly though imho cause this episode screams serial killer vibe, in what’s happening and what’s said (128 victims) but also in the whole esthetic and lighting of the flat, the body wrapped in plastic, the paper pages glued on windows. More precisely, I think they took inspiration from Jeffrey Dahmer, a killer of Wisconsin that was in activity in the 80’s. We know a lot about his flat and there were a lot of adaptations of his atrocities, the serie Dahmer being the latest.

As you can see there is the same dim light yellow oppressive esthetic in the two shows, and the furniture and flat are quite similar (you can say it’s just seventies esthetic but I think it is not just that). Dahmer used to pick up his victims in gay bar and clubs and chosed sometimes drug addicts. (The only thing different here is that the black man is not the victim but the killer). In the different medias about Dahmer there are often a victim moaning in the bedroom or one in the fridge when an other one is tortured in the living room, similar with Daniel in the living room, Louis wounded in the bedroom and the guy wrapped up in the plastic bag. Plus Dahmer used to drill into his victim brains to lobotomise them and put them to rest before eating them or raping them, similar to what Armand does to Daniel, metaphorically drilling in his brain with his mind gift.

What do you think about this theory ? Did you notice that as well ?

#interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #iwtv 2022 #loustat #iwtv #entretien avec un vampire #anne rice #lestat de lioncourt #vampterview #armand #loumand

[moonspirit]

Pregnant Annie headcanons ft. some Papamin Propaganda #12:-

requested by @leitouris

Atleast some of this is a repeat from my earlier papamin posts, but nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!

When Annie first finds out she's pregnant, she spends a lot of time wondering how to tell Armin. She has many options: surprise him? Give vague hints? prepare a candlelight dinner? or spend an evening at the beach in the sunset where she'll look into his eyes and say, "You're gonna be a papa..." ?

But you know what? She's not really very good at the "planning romantic things" bit. Still, she wants to make it special, so she settles for dropping hints here and there. Because he's so SMART right? Surely, he'll figure it out?

Turns out Armin is very DENSE when it comes to things like this.

He says: "What's this, Annie? Why are you giving me a picture-book for babies?"

And he says: "Annie, why is this towel so small? It's like it's meant for babies... oh haha, I get it, it's very good for cleaning corners!"

Annie becomes incredibly frustrated and ends up spending an hour throwing darts on a picture of Reiner's face to calm down.

One day, however, she comes home to the sounds of loud crying and sobbing. She finds Armin in the bathroom, sitting on the floor, her positive pregnancy test clutched to his chest.

And he says: "Anniiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee, y-y-you're pregnant??? And you didn't tell me?? I'm going to be a dad?!"

How can the world's smartest man also be so stupid sometimes?

So the pregnancy reveal is a disaster. Of course it is. They're both idiots.

Anyway.

As her body changes, slowly, Annie also begins to feel incredibly uncomfortable and a little insecure. She was always so sure and certain about her body before, in her size and strength and speed. Things are not like that anymore; she's gaining weight, sometimes her back hurts, a lot of the times she feels sick and slow too.

But every time she feels awful, Pieck begins to talk about her baby; about who it's going to take after, what the baby will look like, etc., and it makes Annie feel better. Armin also tells her how beautiful she looks and how lucky he is to be with her. How she's a great woman and that she's going to be an amazing mother. Every night. Every night when she cries, feeling scared, he's there, combing her hair and whispering into her ear until she falls asleep.

The morning sickness is BAD. Nausea and vomiting and revulsion to certain smells. Everyone, Armin especially, tries their best to make things easy for her. In this time, Armin learns to properly cook! (Jean teaches him).

Months pass, and as Annie's belly swells, she can no longer wear her usual clothes and has to resort to loose, flowy, comfortable dresses. Armin's very happy with this! It means he can see Annie in pretty floral prints and fluttering hems!

Whenever the others drop by (Jean, Pieck, Connie & Reiner), they always end up fighting with each other over baby names. Pieck has the best ideas, Reiner has the worst ideas, Jean hates everything because he only likes fashionable names, and Connie's the only one with normal suggestions. Aruani watch them loudly argue in the living room, bored and tired of the noise.

(Secretly Armin has a loooooooooong list of girl baby names that he hides from Annie).

But Pregnant Annie is soon glowing. With happiness, with excitement, with some wonder and bafflement that still lingers even after the first trimester. It's hardly believable that there's a new life growing within her. A bit of hers, a bit of his.

She cries a lot.

Late nights are spent in their dim bedroom with the windows open. On the bed, leaning against the headrest, Annie cradles her swollen belly while Armin, laying by her knees, his chin propped up by a hand, talks. He talks a lot to her and the baby in that soft, smooth voice, of everything and anything. He tells the baby she's going to love the world, that she'll love the sea, that she'll love the sky, that she'll love her mother the most.

"I love you both so much," He murmurs, holding Annie in his arms and stroking her hair. "From the ends of this earth to the moon and beyond."

(You see, Armin's very certain it's going to be a baby girl).

When Armin's not around, Annie too, talks to her baby. Quietly, a little awkwardly, but she talks. She tells the baby, "Your father, he talks a lot doesn't he? He's really looking forward to holding you in his arms... he told me that when you were sleeping last night. You're going to be a curious troublemaker, I can tell."

Baby kicks a LOT. Armin jokes that it's all Annie's genes - great lower body strength and powerful legs.

LOTS AND LOTS OF ARUANI KISSES AND CUDDLING.

When they go shopping for baby clothes, Armin very conveniently ignores the boy-section altogether, much to Annie's annoyance. He's desperate to be a girl dad, pls don't blame him.

All that said, Annie's pregnancy cravings are outrageous and awful! She wants all the strangest combinations of food to ever exist! Fish and ice-cream. Tons of plain sugar and soup. Ice and pickles. These combinations will kill an ordinary person, but she's a hungry mother-to-be, what can you say? Armin's very scared sometimes, but humours all her cravings anyway. Midnight trips to the nearest convenience store and ice-cream shop? He'll do it.

But her favourite pregnancy food is steamed sweet potato :3

Everyone is HELLA protective of her. EVERYONE. Armin most of all, because he's hopelessly panicky and over-protective, but when he's not there, Reiner and Jean are fussing Annie over the smallest things like she's incapable of doing shit by herself. Pieck says: "Why are YOU guys so scared? Annie's the one who's pregnant, not you!"

When Mikasa's around though, she's hovering behind Annie like some dark force from the underworld.

But still, the pregnancy isn't easy. There are scares, like sudden bleeding and several emergency hospital visits. But Aruani get through them, somehow.

What makes the final trimester bearable is Connie, the resident jokester. He cracks so many bad jokes for Annie one morning and she laughs so hard and her water also breaks.

...

EVERYBODY PANIC!

Aruani baby is eventually born to a cheering, tearful crowd.

Armin breaks down crying when he sees his baby's tiny face and tinier hands.

Mama Annie is relieved, sweat clinging to her forehead, out of breath and exhausted, but when she reaches out to hold her newborn in her arms, she realizes with a laugh, that indeed; those big blue eyes are definitely those of a curious troublemaker's.

#I hope this was alright to understand! #and I had a lot of fun making this xD #ask #leitouris #aruani #headcanon #cw: pregnancy #papamin propaganda #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #armin arlert #annie leonhart #aot #snk #armin x annie #aruannie