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itsbrandy · 11 days

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Roommates | 2. sparks on the Fourth of July

Pairing: pornstar!joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Tommy and Maria have a proposition for you and Joel: buying a house together. When you host a July 4th party at the new house, you meet some very interesting guests.

Chapter Warnings: language, smoking cigarettes, alcohol, flirting, sexual tension, jealousy, mutual pining

WC: 9.7K

Series Masterlist

It was late. It was Friday night and it was really late. Almost eleven, but you tried not to stare at the clock too long. Somehow, you had gotten roped into working overtime all week long helping out Sam, one of the newer attorneys, compile documents before his first case on Monday. You were exhausted, but at least you were making overtime because Maria just dropped a bomb on you a few days prior: her and Tommy wanted to move in together. Which would leave you paying rent and utilities all by yourself.

At the time, you wondered if it was too fast. She had frowned at you and reminded you they've been dating almost six months and your jaw almost hit the floor. Six months. That meant it was almost six months since you've slept with Joel. Six months since he told you he was a pornstar and you ended things, but somehow, against all odds, you remained friends. It probably wouldn't have worked unless you both were always around Tommy and Maria, and therefore always around each other, but that didn't matter. You were just glad it worked, you didn't care how you got there.

As if he knew you were thinking about him, your phone rang shrilly on your desk with Joel's picture displaying across the screen. It was a goofy picture you had taken of him mid conversation but for some reason, you just loved it.

"Hello?" you answered and immediately pulled the phone away from your ear. The noise was deafening on the other end.

"Where are you?" you heard Joel's voice ask, "and don't tell me you're still at work!"

You rolled your eyes and glanced towards Sam's office. "I'm still at work."

He groaned and you heard some female voices laughing in the background.

"Sounds like you're having a pretty good time," you said, mentally tacking on without me, and you heard Joel shush the women he was with.

"C'mon, darlin', I haven't seen you in two weeks," he pleaded, the background noise fading. He must have walked somewhere more private.

"Joel Miller. Are you saying you miss me?" you teased, and you could practically hear his smile when he replied.

"If I do, would you leave work right now?" he asked, and you could hear the alcohol in his voice, his sentences drawn out and slow.

"Hmm, I don't know," you replied, tapping your fingers on your desk, "try me."

You heard him sigh before he said, "I miss you. Please ditch work and come hang out with me. Maria and Tommy ain't any fun. I feel like a third wheel, here."

You giggled, and just as you were about to reply, you glanced up and noticed Sam hovering over your cubical wall, giving you a quizzical look. "Uh, Joel? I gotta go." Without waiting for a response, you hung up and dropped your phone on your desk.

"I'm so sorry," you began, but Sam cut you off.

"Don't be. I was coming to tell you to head on out of here," he replied, his full lips curving up into a smile. "Boyfriend?" he asked, nodding towards your phone. You stared at it for a moment, momentarily at a loss for words.

"No. Just a friend," you said with a small smile as you began to gather your things and shut down your computer. When Sam first joined the firm, he got under your skin. You found him annoying and self-righteous, but working closely with him the past few weeks had shown you a different side of him. He was actually kind of nice when he wasn't trying to show off in front of the other lawyers.

"It's late, want me to call you an Uber?" he offered, pulling his phone out of his dark pleated dress pants.

"Oh, no, you don't have to do that," you said, taken aback by his generosity, but he was already tapping away on his screen.

"It's the least I could do. You've been a lifesaver these past few weeks. Let me express my thanks, alright?" he asked with a lopsided grin, his finger hovering over the confirmation button on his phone. You smiled and shifted your purse on your shoulder.

"Okay. Thank you," you finally agreed, and he pressed the button and took a screenshot before pulling up a blank message.

"What's your number? I'll send you the details for the driver," he asked, his thumbs waiting for your answer, so you quickly gave it to him and felt your phone vibrate in your hand. Glancing down at your screen, you read the information and nodded.

"Thanks again. That's, like, really nice of you," you told him, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice but he quirked an eyebrow and propped his hands on his hips.

"I can be nice," he teased, making you laugh.

"I didn't mean it like that."

He grinned and began to walk back towards his office, the only one on the floor with the light still on. "Have a great night," he called over his shoulder, your gaze lingering a little too long on the way his back stretched out his dress shirt before heading for the elevators.

When you got into the Uber, you asked the driver if he could take you to a different destination, knowing that if you went home to change you would never find the energy to go back out, so you gave him the address of Tommy's bar and sat back in your seat. Pulling up your phone, you found your text chain with Joel and began to type.

On my way!

You watched as the three little dots immediately popped up as you waited for his reply.

About damn time! I'll meet you outside.

True to his word, when your Uber driver approached the bar, you saw Joel's familiar tall, broad frame leaning against the shadow of the building smoking a cigarette.

"Thank you," you told the driver, who wished you a good night and drove off. Joel smirked and pushed off the wall, his cheeks rosy and eyes dark as he approached and tugged you into a bear hug.

"Was startin' to think you been avoidin' me," he teased, and you playfully shoved him away, making a face.

"I don't wanna smell like cigarettes," you told him, waving the smoke away from your hair. He laughed and took one more drag before tossing it on the sidewalk.

"You say that now," he replied, the smoke billowing out of his mouth as he spoke, "but you get a couple drinks in you and you'll be beggin' to bum one."

"That only happened one time," you said, rolling your eyes as his arm draped around your shoulders, walking you both towards the entrance of the bar.

"One time that you remember, maybe," he shot back with a smirk, holding the door open and ushering you inside. "C'mon, I got a good table, don't wanna lose it."

"Yeah, sounded like you met some new friends over the phone," you said, raising your voice so you could be heard over the music. He didn't answer, just gripped your hand tightly in his fist and pulled you through the crowd, drunken bodies bumping up against you as you went. When you arrived at the table, you were correct in assuming he had found a couple girls to hang out with, but Maria was also there, her back slightly turned from the others as she scrolled on her phone. When she saw you approach, her eyes lit up with relief and pulled you into a hug.

"You smell like an ashtray," she said immediately, and you scowled in Joel's direction but he was holding out your favorite drink and just like that, your annoyance disappeared.

Maria moved her purse so you could fit into the booth beside her while Joel somehow crawled over the two blonde girls with very fake tans and eyelashes, plopping down in between them on the other side of the booth and spreading his arms around each of their shoulders with a grin. You thought you heard him asking what they were majoring in and you tried to hide your cringe by turning towards Maria.

"Sorry I'm late," you told her, pulling out your phone and pausing when you saw a text from a number you didn't immediately recognize.

"Sam asked you to work late again? You're too nice, I woulda told him to shove it," she said with a giggle.

"He's not so bad once you get him away from all the other lawyers," you replied, taking a sip from your drink and glancing over at the bar. You spotted Tommy in his white tank top looking sweaty, even from a distance. Friday nights were always packed at the bar, but he usually made really good money so he didn't mind.

"Ooo, so you like him?" she teased while you felt a flash of heat crawl over your chest.

"Who?" Joel shouted from across the table, causing you both to turn in his direction. One of the blondes was losing interest, her smokey eyes drifting around the bar, but the other one was definitely trying to inch her hand towards his lap and doing a terrible job of being subtle.

"Nobody!" you said with a shake of your head, then looked at Maria again. "I don't like him like that. I'm just saying he isn't always a dick."

Maria gave you a look but let it go, and just as you were about to check the mystery text, she leaned into your shoulder and said, "I really wish you and Joel tried to make it work. I don't know how much longer I can stand watching him with these bimbos every weekend."

You both dissolved into a fit of giggles, pulling Joel's attention towards you both once again.

As he was about to open his mouth to call out to you, the blonde who was laying it on way too thick snatched his chin roughly in her hand, acrylic nails digging into his beard, and yanked his focus back onto her.

"Why do you keep paying attention to her?" she demanded, her words sharp and her tone angry. Joel frowned. "She's not the one rubbing your dick!"

You whipped your head towards Maria and made a face, both of you doing your best to stifle your laughter.

"I'm sorry, baby," Joel cooed, but the two girls were already getting up. "Hey, c'mon now, don't be like that!" he tried, but they left hand in hand, the one who yelled at him turning around and flipping him the middle finger before disappearing into the crowd.

When he looked over at the two of you, you burst out laughing.

"She was a little nuts," he said with a smirk, then leaned forward on the table so he could hear you both better.

"I'm fairly certain they were going to rob you," Maria told him, rolling her eyes and taking a drink. "Don't you get enough action at work? Why do you even bother picking up girls from the bar?"

"It ain't the same, Maria," Joel argued, then launched into a whole tirade about how sex at work is scripted and nowhere near as fun as a real-life encounter, but you zoned out and decided to check your phone. You didn't judge Joel for his profession, but you still didn't like to hear about it. Sliding open the unread text, your eyes widened when you realized you were opening the text chain from Sam, the screenshot of your Uber listed right above his text.

Went to a bar instead? Did I work you too hard?

"What is it?" Maria asked when she noticed your face.

"Uh," you stammered, unable to think of a lie quickly enough, "it's Sam."

"Sam?!" she exclaimed, and Joel perked up, watching the both of you like he was watching a tennis match. "How does he have your number, exactly?"

"He bought me an Uber tonight as a thank you for working late and he sent me the ride info," you explained quickly before rubbing your forehead nervously.

"Who's Sam?" Joel asked, but you both ignored him.

"What did he say?" she asked, tilting your phone in her direction then raising her eyebrows after she read his text.

"He must have gotten an alert on his app that I changed my destination," you reasoned, and once again, Joel spoke up.

"Who's Sam?"

"What are you gonna say?" she asked, and you waved her off.

"It doesn't matter! It's not a big deal!"

"Hey! Who is Sam?" Joel tried for the third time, but louder.

"He's some lawyer we work with. The guy that's had her working overtime for the past week," Maria said quickly before turning back to you. "I bet he likes you."

Joel felt a twist in his gut but remained silent.

"No, he doesn't. Don't be ridiculous," you said, locking your phone and putting it back down on the table, leaving his message on read.

"Why is that ridiculous? He could have chosen any of the aides to help him but he hand selected you," she said pointedly, and you felt your heart flutter in your chest. You chewed nervously on your lip before narrowing your focus on your phone, deciding that ignoring him wasn't very nice.

Just meeting up with some friends. Thank you again for the Uber!

You tilted your phone towards Maria and she nodded her approval just when Sam's response came through.

You're welcome. Have a drink for me. I'll be stuck at the office prepping for this trial all weekend.

Maria raised her eyebrows. "That was a fast response," she said, and you dismissed her while Joel sipped on his drink and watched you quietly.

I will be sure to do that. Good luck on Monday!

"Hey guys," Tommy said, suddenly appearing at your table. Maria's face lit up and she stood to lean over you, giving him a kiss. You locked eyes with Joel and fake gagged, making him smirk.

"I get off in an hour. Did you wanna stick 'round and we can hit Denny's or somethin'?"

You groaned, your eyes already feeling heavy, desperate to get some sleep, but the three of them goaded you into sticking it out. In the end, you were grateful because you didn't realize until you entered the diner that you were starving.

Tommy and Maria sat on one side of the booth while you and Joel sat on the other, and once you all got your food, Tommy cleared his throat and shot Maria a pointed look. Joel was too engrossed in his burger, but you noticed and raised an eyebrow.

"We wanted to talk to you guys about something," she began, making you both pause.

"It's 'bout us movin' in together," Tommy said, and Joel leaned back in the booth, tilting his head to the side curiously. "We found a really great place. It's a steal, really great neighborhood, taxes ain't that bad. The deck needs to be redone and the carpet needs to be replaced, but-"

"Wait, a deck?" Joel asked, "You're lookin' at houses? I thought you were lookin' at apartments."

"We were, but it just feels like throwin' money away on rent when you can invest in property. Any repairs, you 'n me can handle, Joel, but the only problem is the mortgage," he said, wrapping his arm around Maria's shoulders and letting her take over.

"It's a little out of our price range," she admitted, "but we really love the area and we really, really love the house, so we were talking about it and we thought - why not ask you guys to move in with us?"

Both you and Joel fell silent, the unexpected request taking you by surprise.

"It doesn't have to be forever. Once I pass the bar and become an attorney, my hope is that we will be able to afford the mortgage on our own. But we figured we would be displacing you guys already, and sharing the mortgage and utilities over four people would be so cheap. You could both save up so much money for a better place one day," she said, the lawyer in her coming out as she gave you the hard sell.

You glanced over at Joel and he looked back at you, both of you trying to figure out what the other was thinking.

"Here, let me show you the place and maybe that will help," Maria said, pulling out her phone and finding the house on Zillow before sliding the device between you both. You let Joel swipe through the photos hastily before he scrolled down and focused on the details of the house, the whole table silent as you thought their proposal over.

"It's got three bedrooms and two baths, that ain't too bad," Joel said, "and the furnace is pretty new. Roof might need replacin' in a few years."

"Yeah, but I know a guy. Jerry, remember him? He could get me a deal," Tommy said, and Joel hummed to himself as he continued to examine the listing.

"What do you think?" Maria asked you nervously. You looked up at her and took a deep breath.

"I like the area. The house is cute," you said, "but won't it be weird for you having roommates? Don't you guys want your privacy or whatever?"

They both shook their heads and furrowed their brows. "It's just you guys. It's not like we're dorming with complete strangers. You're our closest friends," Maria said.

"Besides, you would be over most of the time, anyway," Tommy joked, making you all chuckle.

When Joel was done looking at the listing, he slid Maria's phone back across the table and met your eye.

"What'dya think?" he asked softly, and you pursed your lips.

"I mean, it's a really great deal," you said seriously, "I just hope our roommates aren't complete freaks and into weird shit."

You saw Tommy and Maria each smile excitedly across the table out of the corner of your eye, but you kept your gaze trained on Joel.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Joel said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "What if there's a curfew or bullshit rules we need to follow."

"Like if we're only allowed to do laundry on certain days or can't flush the toilet past 10pm?"

"Or can't sit on the furniture unless we bought it?" he added.

"Or-"

"Alight, enough!" Maria exclaimed, cracking your facade.

"Yeah, okay, I'm in," you told her, then glanced back at Joel. He was still looking at you, something flickering in his eye before he replied.

"Me, too. Why not?"

Tommy and Maria celebrated gleefully as you watched in amusement, both of you blissfully unaware of what was to come.

"What the hell are in these boxes, anyway?" Joel asked as he re-entered your bedroom, rolling his shoulder. You tried not to focus too much on how his sweat was beginning to dampen the collar of his shirt, so you looked back towards your remaining boxes.

"I don't have much, Joel," you said with a roll of your eyes. "My whole world is pretty much in this one room."

"Yeah, well, your world is fuckin' heavy, darlin'," he said as he picked up one of the last boxes with a grunt. You grabbed a box of your own and followed him through the empty apartment to the moving truck waiting on the street.

"What's left?" Tommy asked as he took the box from your hands.

"Just my bedframe."

"Can you guys handle it or d'you need my help?" he asked, and before you could reply, Joel shook his head.

"We got it," he assured Tommy, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he made his way back inside while you followed dutifully behind.

"I'm gonna miss this place," you said wistfully as you walked through the apartment towards your bedroom, your eyes drifting over the barren kitchen and uncovered windows. "Lot of memories here."

"You're tellin' me," Joel mumbled under his breath, and just as you were about to ask him to repeat himself, he spoke again. "Did Maria tell you 'bout their dinner idea?"

You chuckled as you followed him into your bedroom. "Yeah, where we each take turns making dinner every day and then we eat as a family?"

Joel rolled his eyes at you, acting like he was annoyed, but his mouth was twitching playfully. "I can't cook for shit. I'll be bringin' home KFC and hidin' the containers in the trash."

"I can help you cook," you said almost immediately, and he allowed the grin to spread across his face.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, why not?" you shrugged, leaning up against the wall by your headboard. "You did help me move all my heavy shit, after all. It's the least I could do."

He hummed in response, grin still plastered across his face as his eyes danced over your headboard. You could tell he was thinking about something but didn't want to say it, so you poked him in the shoulder.

"What?"

"Nothin'. You grab that end, and-"

"Nuh uh. What was that all about?" you said, cutting him off and waving your finger in the air in front of his face. "I saw that look."

"You didn't see shit, little lady," he countered, but you held your ground.

"Bullshit," you teased, and he chuckled and dropped his gaze to the floor. "Spill."

His eyes lifted up mischievously and you should have known then you were in trouble right then and there.

"You really wanna know?"

"Yes," you replied quickly. Too quickly. He pressed his lips together, trying to hide his smile before answering.

"I was thinkin' 'bout how we nearly broke this damn thing not too long ago," he said, one hand on the headboard, his voice an octave lower than usual.

You stared at him in surprise, breath shallow and pulse racing as you tried to formulate a response. It was the first time either of you acknowledged the time you slept together, to the point where you were beginning to think you dreamed it up. But here he was, the very same day you were moving in with him, fucking talking about it like it was no big deal.

"I, uh," you stammered as your face heated up from embarrassment, your eyes flicking around your empty room aimlessly. What do you even say to that?

"Do you ever think 'bout it?" he asked, doing a terrible job at hiding his nervousness. "'Bout that night? D'you ever-"

"I don't know, Joel," you answered, heart hammering in your chest. "Maybe, sometimes? I-I don't know."

"'Cause I do," he continued, and you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"No," you said, squeezing your eyes shut, "c'mon, stop messing with me and just-"

"It was the best sex of my life," he said, cutting you off. Your breath caught in your throat as your mind raced to catch up with what he just confessed. Out of the blue. Completely sober. No excuses.

"Stop it," you said weakly, your voice holding no conviction.

As he was about to say something else, Tommy's voice echoed through the apartment.

"C'mon, already, what the hell?"

You dropped your hands to grip your headboard and nodded towards him, your gaze fixed on your hands, refusing to look at him. "You ready?"

He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment before shouting back, "On our way!" and looked at you, eyes skimming over your face. "I'm sorry. Forget I said anythin'."

"It's fine. I asked for it, I guess," you shrugged as you tried to calm the butterflies in your stomach.

You could tell he wanted to say more, his hesitation palpable, but he just sighed and grabbed the other end of the headboard.

"Alright?"

Your gaze drifted up to his and you locked eyes for a brief moment, something unspoken passing between you, before you cleared your throat and focused on the task at hand.

"So who's in charge of dinner tonight?" you asked, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears as you carried your headboard through the apartment and down the stairs.

"Better not be me, I'm fuckin' exhausted," he said, and as you stepped outside, it was like nothing had even happened. When he approached the truck, he and Tommy started bickering about who was going to drive the truck to the new house while you and Maria clamored into the backseat. When you found yourselves alone, you briefly wondered if you should tell her what Joel said, then immediately decided against it.

You knew Joel. You knew it didn't mean anything, so there was no point in telling Maria. She already gave you a hard enough time about not giving Joel a chance. You didn't need to give her any more ammunition, so you let it go.

Joel ended up driving the moving truck to the new house while Tommy fiddled with the radio and you stared quietly out the window.

"Hey, what do you think?" Maria asked, nudging your leg. You swiveled your head towards her with a frown.

"About what?"

She gave you a look before repeating herself, "Pizza sound good for tonight?"

"Oh," you said, then nodded and gave her a smile. "Yeah, sounds great." While Maria busied herself with finding a pizza place close to your new home, your eyes drifted lazily around the cab. Tommy was saying something about going grocery shopping tomorrow and Maria began jotting down a list when your eyes locked on Joel's in the review mirror. It was only a few seconds, but it felt longer. By the way you caught him looking at you, it was obvious he was still thinking about that moment in your bedroom. You wished you would have said more, but you had no idea what you even wanted to say.

Then the light turned green and his eyes flicked away, focusing back on the road before turning down your new street.

"Let's just get the essential stuff outta the truck for the night and we can finish the rest tomorrow. I'm fuckin' beat," Tommy said once you pulled into the driveway and Joel cut the engine.

You all agreed, and while Maria ordered two pizzas, the brothers slid open the back of the truck and began to pull out a mattress, you jogged up to the front door, unlocking it and propping it open before meeting them back in the driveway and grabbing a box of dishware.

In one hour, you had all managed to unload some kitchen essentials and all three beds into your respective rooms. You almost got the TV hooked up in the living room by the time the pizza was delivered, so you all took a break to eat in the middle of the floor, using unpacked moving boxes as tables while the sun began to set outside.

"Tell me someone grabbed a box of towels, I'm dyin' to take a shower," Joel said around a mouthful of pizza.

"Yep, I did," Maria replied, setting her beer bottle down on the carpet. "I didn't unpack it but it's upstairs next to your bathroom. Should be some soap in there, too, but if not, there's some in my duffel bag."

Your bathroom. Meaning the bathroom you and Joel were planning to share since Maria and Tommy took the master suite, which had it's own bathroom attached.

"That okay by you if I shower first?" Joel turned to you and you nodded.

"Yeah, I was just gonna go relax anyway."

Before it got too dark outside, Tommy made sure everybody had what they needed for the night from the truck before he pulled down the rollup door and locked it. You heard both showers going from your bedroom, your door half open as you sat on the edge of your mattress, your bedframe still unassembled and leaning against the wall, while you hunched over your TV. You had almost gotten it all hooked up by the time you heard your bathroom door open and the lights flick off from across the hall. Joel walked slowly down the hall towards his bedroom, still drying his hair with a towel as he went, when he paused outside your room. He leaned up against your doorframe with a smirk as he watched you struggle with your TV.

"You just gonna stand there or get in here and help me?" you said without turning around, and he laughed. When he entered your field of vision to take a look at the cords hanging from the back of the TV, you immediately regretted inviting him in. He was wearing loose pajama pants and nothing else, save for a bath towel that was draped around his broad shoulders, which he quickly flung off when it began to interfere with him being able to see what he was working on. The fresh scent of soap mixed with his natural musk invaded your senses, temporarily stunning you.

You tried not to stare, you really did, but it was like you couldn't help it. Seeing his exposed chest and back instantly transported you back to the last time you saw him undressed. Images of his body on top of you, caging you in, clouded your vision. The way his muscles twitched under his bronzed skin reminded you what they felt like under your fingers but the worst part was when he finished, he bent down to lift your TV with a deep groan that sounded exactly like the groans he muffled into your neck that night. Your chest and face felt flush as you stumbled across your room, creating some distance between you.

"What're you doin'?" Joel asked, still focused on centering your TV on the stand. You flung open your bedroom window and practically shoved your entire head outside.

"It's hot, I need some fresh air in here," you said, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. What had gotten into you?

Joel sighed and straightened up before clicking some buttons on your remote. You watched from your window as his brow furrowed in concentration, his pecs jumping slightly when his thumb pressed down on a button, and then your eyes traveled down. His pajama pants, hung low on his hips, hardly did anything to hide the outline of his dick and you found yourself swallowing the lump in your throat when you were reminded of his size. Sometimes you wondered if your memory played tricks on you, that maybe you were just out of practice and he wasn't as big as you thought, but one quick glance confirmed you were right the first time.

"Think you're good to go," he said, seemingly oblivious to the hungry way you had been staring at him. You blinked rapidly and forced your attention somewhere, anywhere, else.

"Thanks," you murmured, then cleared your throat awkwardly, "you can just leave the remote there," you added, not looking to get any closer.

He did as you asked, putting the remote on your TV stand, but lingered a moment longer. He brought his hands up to rest on his hips, giving you a full view of the broad span of his chest and arms. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you 'bout earlier," he began, and you momentarily forgot what he was talking about. Then it clicked.

"Oh, you don't-"

"I'm sorry for what I said. I don't wanna make things weird, 'specially now that we're livin' together. I don't know what I was even thinkin', it just slipped out, I didn't mean it," he said earnestly, and you could see he looked worried, like he was afraid he had ruined something between you.

You knew what he meant. You knew what he was trying to do, but he just seemed to have a gift for causing you to do or say things out of character.

So, without thinking, you replied, "it wasn't the best sex of your life, then?"

From where you were sitting, it almost looked like he had stopped breathing. His hands were still on his hips, his eyes glued to your face, but his jaw tensed and his chest stilled.

You quickly realized your mistake and forced a laugh.

"I'm messing with you, it's totally fine," you said, and he cracked a nervous smile before taking a deep breath and dropping his arms to his sides.

"You're trouble," he murmured with a chuckle, snatching his towel from your bed and heading to your door. He glanced over at you once more, still perched near your open window, watching him leave. "G'night," he said softly, then stepped back out into the hall, closing your door behind him.

You let out a shaky breath the second you were alone again and rubbed your face. You were tired and he just took you by surprise earlier. That's all it was. Nothing more. You had both agreed to be friends and you were actually really fucking good at it. Neither of you wanted to risk that.

By the time you had gotten ready for bed, all tucked in and flipping through the TV to find something to fall asleep to, you had convinced yourself it all meant nothing and at most, it was just a little harmless flirting.

But then your phone pinged somewhere within your tangled sheets, and when you fished it out and read the text waiting for you, your heart fluttered excitedly in your chest.

It was, by the way. Just needed to clear that up.

"Alright, you guys have your list?"

For the third time, you dug the folded up piece of notebook paper from the back pocket of your denim shorts and held it up between your fingers. Maria nodded approvingly.

"Yep," you confirmed before shoving it in your pocket and wiping some sweat from the back of your neck. It was a hot Friday afternoon, the Friday before the long July 4th weekend. Maria had come up with the idea of hosting a barbecue at the new house and invited approximately thirty of your closest friends to come see the place for the first time. Although it had been nearly a month since the move, it took a while to coordinate your time off, so the barbecue ended up acting as a Fourth of July/Housewarming party.

You had never been very good at planning parties, so when Maria proposed the idea a couple weeks prior, you were hesitant until you saw her meticulous eye for detail and organization in action. She had already come up with a guest list, thoughtfully inviting friends and family from all sides, and had half the menu already planned out.

It was easy to agree after that.

The party wasn't until Sunday, but she had dedicated Friday for errands and grocery shopping and Saturday for cleaning. You would have rolled your eyes at how motherly she was being if you didn't sincerely appreciate her efforts.

"Me and Tommy'll go pick up the fireworks and the tables and chairs. Hopefully we'll be done by the time you guys get back from the store," she said over her shoulder, heading towards Tommy's truck. "Gimme a call if you have any questions!"

"Yes, ma'am," Joel said with a lopsided grin, then slid his sunglasses over his eyes and dug his keys out of his pocket. The pair of you clamored into Joel's truck, the still, hot air nearly suffocating you. The heat managed to enhance the scent of his truck. A familiar, masculine scent that you always associated with Joel. A mix of leather, mint, cigarettes, and stale coffee that sent your body reeling when you took a deep breath. Fortunately, he rolled down both windows the moment he started the car and the air became diluted with the scent of hot asphalt and fresh cut grass.

"Where to first?" he asked as he backed out of the driveway.

"Let's hit the dollar store. I don't want our groceries sitting in this heat for too long."

He hummed and you leaned back into the passenger seat, letting the warm summer air wash over you as he drove. He flicked the radio on, twisting the dial with two fingers, eyes still trained on the road, until he found a song he liked and turned up the volume. Heart blasted through the speakers as he drove down the street, heading towards the direction in town where all the stores and restaurants were clustered.

Rolling your head lazily to the side, you peeked at him over your sunglasses. "Magic Man, huh?"

He grinned, that dimple popping up in the middle of his cheek, the one you always found yourself admiring lately whenever he smiled big enough.

"You ain't a fan?"

"Didn't say that. Just surprised you are."

"I got ears, don't I?" he teased, and you giggled before looking straight ahead again. "You wanna watch a movie tonight?"

"Yeah, maybe," you said non-committedly as you gazed out the window, houses blurring your vision as you sped by. "Told my mom I would call her later if I had the time."

"She comin' Sunday?" he asked. You snorted and shook your head.

"Nah, not really her thing," you replied, "besides, her boyfriend's got a boat. They were gonna watch fireworks over the river."

He clicked his tongue against his teeth as he pulled into the parking lot. "Can't really blame her, then."

"What about your mom?" you asked when he turned off the truck. He waited until you had both slid out of your seats and rounded the front of the car before replying. "Yeah, she's gonna try 'n stop by. Think she's excited to see Tommy all domesticated and shit."

You laughed as you followed him into the store. The automatic doors slid open, smooth, ice cold air washing over your skin, and you sighed in relief.

You made short work of picking up the tablecloths, disposable cutlery and paper products Maria instructed you to get, but when your back was turned, Joel snuck in an armful of red, white and blue leis, as well as some matching pinwheels. Then you noticed sunglasses in the shape of stars sitting on a nearby rack and before you knew it, your cart was full of cheap, ridiculous decorations that was definitely not on your list.

"Maria's gonna kill us," you told him, but Joel just shrugged.

"She shoulda known better than to send us here. Kinda feels like her fault," he replied, winking at you before swiping his card through the card reader. Biting back the flirty smile that always threatened to pull across your face whenever he winked at you, instead you focused on piling all your bags into your cart.

If you thought there was nothing to distract you from your list at the grocery store, you were sorely mistaken. Every aisle you went down, Joel managed to find something he wanted to buy, and he was very good at dragging you down with him.

"Oh my god, do you remember animal crackers in the little box?" you squealed, holding one up by the string. He leaned over the handle of cart, smiling warmly at how excited you were.

"Toss 'em in," he told you.

"They're not even a dollar each, what harm could it do?" you reasoned, then fell in step beside him as he steered the cart towards the meat section. Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you grimaced. "Maria," you said, and he shot you a feigned look of terror, as if the two of you had been caught doing something bad.

"What does she want?"

"She's just wondering if we're almost done. She says Tommy will need your help when we get back," you replied, chin tucked against your chest as you walked and tapped out an answer. Joel was picking out ribs as you shoved your phone back in your pocket and glanced around the store, seeing a pair of girls in their mid twenties staring slack jawed in your direction from the cracker aisle. You followed their gaze to Joel, who was blissfully unaware, tossing racks of ribs into your cart.

"Do you know them?" you asked under your breath. He looked up and met your eye.

"Who?"

You began to slowly walk towards the hotdogs. "The two girls in aisle twelve. They were staring at you," you explained, trying to keep your voice low. He pretended to stretch his arms above his head as he walked and twisted his neck in their direction, locking eyes with them both and causing them to flush with embarrassment and look away.

"No, don't think so," he said, but just as he was grabbing a few packs of hotdogs, you saw the girls hesitantly approach from the corner of your eye.

"Excuse me," the one with darker hair said, both of their phones clutched in their hands. Joel turned around and shot them a crooked smile, his eyes raking up and down their bodies appreciatively before he replied.

"Can I help you ladies?"

"Ohmygod, it's him," the other girl said, clapping her palm over her mouth once they heard his accent. You leaned against the cart, watching the interaction, completely lost.

"You're Joel, right?" the first girl asked, and he nodded. "Oh wow, we're big fans," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper, and then it clicked. They recognized him from his job.

Joel blushed a little as the girls continued to lavish him with praise and then asked to take a few selfies, the whole while your stomach twisted into knots. They began to ask him questions: what was he doing there? Did he enjoy his job? Does he have anything new coming out soon? And when you finally had enough, you cleared your throat, dragging his attention back to you.

"Sorry ladies, gotta run. It was great to meet you," he said before detaching himself from their grip on his arms and walking back to you with a guilty look. "Sorry. What else do we need?"

Sunday was even hotter, somehow. Sweat trickled down your neck and back as you worked with Maria to decorate the inside of the house while the boys were in the backyard, setting up tables, yard games, and coolers with drinks.

"Is that air conditioner even fucking working?" Maria grumbled as she shot the window unit a glare from across the room.

"Yeah, but it's too damn hot and we're moving around too much," you said, lifting your hair off your neck and wiping away the sweat that collected there. "Are we almost done? I wanna shower before Joel. He takes forever."

"Yeah, just gotta bring up the bottles of water from the basement and I think we should be all set. I don't wanna open any bags of chips til people get here."

"Good idea," you said, following her downstairs to grab a case of water.

"Do you know who Kayla and Riley are?" she asked once you both dropped your waters on the kitchen floor. You struggled to catch your breath and shook your head.

"No, why?"

"Joel invited them last minute. Said he ran into them at the store, thought you maybe knew them or something."

"He what?" you asked, your eyes widening.

"What's the problem? Jealous?" she teased, and you felt that familiar twist in your gut.

"No, of course not," you huffed, "they're a couple girls who recognized him in the store. From his movies," you explained pointedly, and Maria let out a low whistle and hopped up onto the counter to sit.

"Wow, that's kind of crazy, but Tommy did mention Joel had some movie recently that really took off. Went viral or whatever. So maybe he'll start getting noticed more and more now."

"Oh," you said in surprise, gaze drifting aimlessly around the room. "I didn't know that. I mean, I don't really talk about work with him, but... that's great, I guess. Good for him."

Bending over, you ripped open a pack of water bottles and tossed one towards Maria before grabbing one for yourself.

You each took quiet sips from your water, the only noise coming from Joel and Tommy cursing outside as they got distracted from setting up and instead, found themselves in a competitive game of cornhole.

"Did Tommy, uh," you began, trying and failing to sound casual, "did Tommy say what the movie was about?"

Maria grinned and swung her legs back and forth over the edge of the counter. "I think he played a teacher that gets seduced by his student for better grades," she said, watching your reaction closely. "Why? You gonna look it up later?"

You snapped your eyes back up and gasped. "No!"

Maria laughed as your face and chest got hot. "I'm just kidding! I know how you feel about all that. But..."

She trailed off and you propped your hands on your hips in disapproval. "What?"

"I've always wondered if his movies are similar to how he is in real life," she said with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

"You've watched his movies before?!"

"Shh! They're gonna hear you!" she said in a panic while your jaw hung open in shock. "What? Is that bad? It's bad, isn't it? I was just curious so I looked him up once... or twice."

"Maria! It's your boyfriend's brother! Gross!" you chastised her, but couldn't stop the corners of your mouth from twitching up into a grin, which quickly escalated into laughter. The sliding door to the deck opened and the brothers stepped inside, bringing with them a hot blast of air.

"What's so funny?" Tommy asked as he made his way to the sink, giving Maria a peck on the lips as he passed by.

"Nothing!" she said, shooting you a playful glare.

"I'm gonna shower," Joel said, sweat glistening off his tanned skin and grabbing your half empty water bottle, chugging the rest as he made his way for the stairs.

"Shit! I wanted to shower first!" you said, trailing after him up the steps.

He stopped outside his bedroom and shot you a devastating smile, the one that brought out his dimple and made your knees weak.

"Then let's shower together. Problem solved," he joked, and you felt warmth bloom low in your belly.

"Perv," you finally managed to shoot back, hoping he didn't catch the tension in your voice.

"What? Nothin' I ain't seen before," he teased before turning and heading into his room. "Go ahead, darlin', I'll wait," he said over his shoulder, leaving you paralyzed for a moment before you forced your feet to move.

As if you needed another reason to take a cold shower.

You had never met Joel and Tommy's mom before, but Maria dragged you over to meet her shortly after she had arrived. Based on what Maria told you, she was super sweet and easy to get along with. You quickly discovered she was right.

When Maria introduced you by name, you thought you saw a flash of recognition in her eye before she warmly shook your hand, clasping both of hers around your one, and gave you an endearing smile.

Maybe you had a few too many drinks by that point or maybe she was just that easy to get along with, but Mrs. Miller ended up seated with you on the deck, each of you with a drink in hand as she divulged to you her entire dating history. She had made it to the first boyfriend she had after Joel and Tommy's father passed away when Joel jogged up the steps, beer in hand.

"Mama, you're keepin' her from the whole party."

You both waved him off with matching frowns.

"She's a grown woman, Joel. She can make decisions for herself."

"And I wanna stay because we were just getting to the good part," you added with a tipsy giggle. Joel picked up on the tone in your voice and quirked a playful eyebrow in your direction. "But I do have to use the restroom really quickly, so if you excuse me," you said, and Joel's mother nodded as you stood up and headed into the house. Mrs. Miller smiled at your retreating form, and once you disappeared from view she swiveled back angrily towards her son.

"The hell's the matter with you?"

"What?" Joel asked, holding his arms out to his side defensively.

"What're you doin' with those two floozies when you got her right under your own roof?"

"Dammit, Mama, I already told you," Joel groaned with a shake of his head, "it can't work between us. We tried. We're just friends."

His mother huffed and stood up, brushing off the back of her sundress before pointing a finger up in her son's face.

"You're gettin' up there, Joel. You gotta think 'bout settlin' down sooner or later. One day you're gonna wake up and these types of girls," she waved her finger in the direction of Riley and Kayla, "ain't gonna want anythin' to do with you. You mark my words."

Joel sighed and turned around, leaning against the railing of the deck, and observed the party in full swing below him on the lawn. The sun was just beginning to set and Tommy was starting a bonfire.

"Even your brother's found a good girl," his mother said, her tone softer now as she sidled up next to him. "I just wanna see you both happy, is all."

"I am happy, Mama."

Mrs. Miller gave him a sideways glance before shaking her head and turning back around.

"Okay, then," she said, but her tone implied she didn't believe him.

Right at that moment, you slid the door open and walked back out onto the deck with a million dollar smile, and his mother lit up like a Christmas tree.

"I'm gonna head out, sweetie," she told you, and your face fell.

"So soon? You won't even stay for the fireworks?"

Mrs. Miller pinched your chin and smiled. "I've seen a lot of fireworks in my day. You enjoy, and keep an eye on my son," she said, turning to give Joel a mischievous wink. "Contrary to popular belief, he needs a lot of tendin' to."

You giggled and Joel felt a warmth spread across his chest at the sound, so he took a sip from his beer and looked away.

His mother kissed him goodbye before trudging across the lawn to say goodnight to her second born and you took up residence next to him against the railing. His skin already prickled from being so close to you, despite the heat that still lingered in the air.

"I like her," you said, taking a sip from your solo cup. "She's got moxie."

Joel chuckled softly and tipped his face in your direction. "Moxie?"

"Yeah," you said with a shrug, your eyes still following his mother across the lawn, "she doesn't tolerate any bullshit and doesn't let anything hold her back. Moxie."

He hummed as he considered your words and took another drag from his beer.

"She likes you."

You grinned, delighted, as you turned to him.

"Oh yeah? Did you talk about me?" you teased, but when he slowly nodded and his expression remained stoic, your excitement dwindled and smile faded.

"Mhmm," was all he said as he gazed at you, eyes a little glassy from the booze and cheeks a little pink from the heat. Your breath caught in your throat, the look on his face rendering you temporarily speechless. You wondered what was said, you wondered what she knew, and you were on the verge of asking those questions and more before Joel's guests bounced up the steps to the deck and managed to squeeze themselves underneath both his arms.

"Where have you been?" one of them whined, her dress too short and her neckline too low as she pouted up at him, but his eyes were still stuck on you. Watching your reaction to these two younger girls eagerly offering themselves up to him on a silver platter. You had drank too much. You couldn't control your facial expressions the way you typically could, so he saw it. He saw the jealousy flicker across your face. The distaste in the way the corners of your mouth turned down and your nose scrunched up. And then you looked away, your whole body turning so you couldn't see even a sliver of them.

Under normal circumstances, seeing jealousy in the eyes of someone he wanted, someone he yearned for, someone he fucking ached for, would send him to cloud nine. But not that night. No, that night he felt like shit when he saw that look on your face.

He didn't want to make you jealous. He didn't know what he was thinking, inviting the girls from the supermarket to the party. It was a dumb move, just a knee-jerk reaction.

But what did it matter if you wouldn't be with him anyway? He was never going to make you his again. Not unless he quit his job, and even then, he wasn't sure it would be enough. And how could he even consider that as an option? When his career was just starting to take off and he had no other experience or skills?

He determined his mother was just getting in his head and tried to shake it off.

"Sorry, girls. Wanna get a drink?" he asked, and they both nodded eagerly up at him as he led them towards the sliding glass door, disappearing inside and leaving you alone on the deck.

You needed to make sure you were not still standing there when they came back out. If they came back out. You stumbled down the steps, the image of Joel taking both girls up to his bedroom haunting you, the sounds you would hear through the walls making your stomach roll. You were too preoccupied with your own insane thoughts, wondering what he would say to them, what he would do to them, if it would be similar to what he said and did to you that one time when you ran smack dab into the back of another guest.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry!" you squeaked, eyes wide with embarrassment as you looked up at the mystery man you rudely bumped into.

A pair of crystal blue eyes locked onto yours with a warm smile. An arm shot out to steady you, turning his back on the group of people he was speaking with while you quickly took in his appearance. He had tousled brown hair and a chiseled jaw with just a smattering of facial hair, like maybe he didn't choose to shave over the weekends, and was wearing a button up white linen shirt with his sunglasses dangling from the collar.

"No need to apologize," he said, his voice smooth and deep. He dropped his hand from your arm, as if he just remembered he was still holding onto you, and shoved it into the pocket of his shorts. "Not sure we've met. I'm Charlie."

You tucked a loose hair behind your ear and smiled, telling him your name and explaining you shared the house with your roommates.

"Oh, so you're the other roommate. Tommy was telling me about the four of you earlier, how you all chipped in and bought the house," his eyes drifted up to the back of the house behind you and pointed his finger towards it while still gripping his beer bottle. "It's a great place. Nice yard. Seems like a good neighborhood. You liking it?" he asked, turning his attention back to you.

"Uh, yeah," you said, taken aback at the way he looked right through you, and cleared your throat, "it's great. Better than a shitty little apartment," you joked, making him laugh.

"I know what you mean. I'm currently renting my own shitty little apartment. Can't wait to find a place of my own one day."

Charlie, aside from being objectively attractive, was easy to talk to, which was a huge win. You spent almost twenty minutes listening to him tell you how he knew Tommy and what he did for work and miraculously not once did your mind wander to Joel.

But unbeknownst to you, Joel and his two friends emerged from the house back onto the now empty deck. He had plopped himself down in the middle of the porch swing, each girl tucking themselves into his sides and, given the privacy of the area, began to trail their hands up his thighs and torso. He was grinning, watching as their lips playfully nipped at his exposed neck and chest while their hands got dangerously close to his hardening cock when he saw you talking to some fucking guy he didn't recognize all the way on the other side of the lawn.

The smile slid from his face but the girls didn't notice. They kept going, one nibbling on his earlobe before reaching across his chest and locking lips with her friend, both their hands venturing in between his legs, but he no longer felt himself getting hard. In fact, the opposite was happening. And had he been in the right frame of mind, he might have been embarrassed, but all he could focus on was the way that guy was touching your elbow and how you smiled so sweetly at him.

And it really pissed him off.

"Joel?" one of the girls said, breaking away from the other and rubbing her hand over the fly of his shorts. "Something wrong?"

He took a deep breath, eyes still trained on you, body still unresponsive to their touch.

"Sorry, Kayla, my-"

"I'm Riley," she said, pulling her hand back and straightening up, her brow furrowing a bit.

"Shit, sorry," Joel mumbled, dragging his eyes away from you, "I think I drank too much. Gonna have to take a rain check."

Riley scoffed and stood, fixing her dress.

"You're a fucking pornstar and you can't get it up for two girls making out right in front of you?" she snapped.

Joel's eyes widened as Kayla stood to join her friend, casting him an angry glare.

"Ladies, it's not you, I ain't-"

"Whatever. We're leaving," the real Kayla said, snatching Riley by the arm and hauling her down the stairs towards the driveway, leaving Joel all alone on the deck.

His eyes found their way back onto you, right as you were giving that asshole your phone number.

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itsbrandy · 2 months

Text

This broke me. I like the pain, though. Greedy for it. Can you break me for eternity?

The falling | joel miller x f!reader, 5k

Summary: It’s a weird feeling, the moment you realize you’ve lost everything. You're falling. It is never ending, the falling, even after the moment, that exact moment, is long gone. Or you catch Joel cheating on you. The world comes crushing down.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST. That's it. Ok, bye. But seriously, angst, a whole lot of angst, alternated POVs, husband!joel, wife!reader, cheater!joel, married couple, Joel fucks another f!person, reference to sexual activity but nothing too detailed, as I said before-ANGST, excessive use of the word fuck, Joel is kind of a dick on this one, as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Let me know how you feel about this lost little puppy, I know he sounds arrogant and awful, maybe I can rectify that, on a second part. If you're interested in a closure for these two, hit me in the comments! Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

It’s a weird feeling, the moment you realize you’ve lost everything.

Everything dear and loved and cherished and so close to your heart. Your heart itself.

You still can’t decide if it’s liberating or torturing, to have that exact moment burned in your thoughts like a Polaroid.

But the pain is real. The pain is excruciating. It spreads like vines through your whole body, starting from the pit of your stomach in the form of a bile you try to hold back, moving to your heart’s agonizing clench, licking to the ends of your numb limbs which remain obstinately immobile. It feels almost like floating, but not exactly.

You’re falling; you’re still falling as if there’s no luxurious, expensive floor underneath your feet, holding you surprisingly still up. You wait for the landing, the crush, unmoving, unblinking, not quite breathing. It is never ending, the falling, even after the moment, that exact moment, is long gone.

Your designer’s tote bag, another unnecessarily extravagant gift from your husband, drops from your hands to the floor with a loud thud.

Joel’s thrusts stop immediately and he turns his head to look behind him, while he’s on his knees, balls deep in a female body on all fours. His eyes shut tightly in something you’re not sure how to interpret, dropping his head between his shoulder blades and his palms squeeze the hips of the female body he's holding, until his fingertips go white.

And you’re just standing there, on the threshold of your bedroom, taking in the scene. It’s weird how the mind works under stressful situations. Is the absurdity of the reality that keeps you calm? Is it your brain’s reaction to protect you from collapsing? Are you shutting down right now?

You feel your eyes unable to move around and at the same time you see clearer than ever, as if you’re looking through a wide-angle lens.

You notice all of the stripped clothes, which they don’t seem hastily taken off, the way they pool on various surfaces of the room; they took their time undressing each other.

You notice the crystal tumbler of a half finished liquid, Joel’s whiskey, on his side of the nightstand; they took their time having fun.

You notice the absence of a condom on Joel’s cock as he removes himself from the female hole he was buried deep, all splayed out for him and now you; they took their time before, it seems, there is an intimacy there. This is not a stranger, this is not a first time.

Joel is calm, collected even, as he stands to his full height, grabbing his pants from the floor next to the king sized bed and putting them on. Calculated, steady movements, he looks like he’s trying to stay in control of the situation, diminish it to something else. You pray he doesn’t go down that path.

You look behind him, the female body’s gathering itself into a ball, sitting on your bed now, hands hugging it’s knees, trying to protect its nudity. Your eyes roam her form until they settle on her face. Oh, you know her. She looks -hm, there’s a mosaic of emotions behind her eyes, which are surprisingly bold to look back at you. You see shock, you see fear, you see.. satisfaction?

“Darlin’” Joel’s approaching you, crossing the ridiculously big room, with a steady pace.

His chest is heaving from the effort to regulate his breathing, he’s sweaty, his muscles all bulged from the interrupted fucking, his curls -your curls, fuck, that hurts- damp. He’s so handsome in all his disheveled form. He looks like your Joel.

Imaginary flashes of her fingertips combing through his hair are passing through your mind and you feel your esophagus contracting, a sense of a burning hot liquid moving up to your mouth. You swallow it down.

He reaches to touch your arm, don’t you dare, is all you mutter lowly, still without moving a muscle as if you do, the world will come crushing down. It already did, didn’t you get the memo? Your voice feels foreign to your ears, your tongue feels rough like sandpaper. He obeys.

When does this falling end?

“Baby-”, he tries again, while he steps forward, a condescending tone to his voice, like he’s addressing a toddler.

“Don’t-”, you roll your eyes in your head, god, he smells so good, even with the sweat someone else poured out of his skin, he smells so fucking good. He smells like your Joel. “Don’t come any closer.”

“This-” he exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, as if it’s an unnecessary effort to explain, as if you should understand; of all people, you should know, “this doesn’t mean anything-” his hand gesturing between him and the female body, “she doesn’t mean anything.” You should understand, baby, you should know.

And for the first time her eyes leave yours and land on the face of the deceiver. If this wasn’t happening to you right now, you would take pity on her pained expression. You almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

“Does she know that?” you ask him, your eyes never leaving her tangled form on your bed.

Joel snaps his head to her direction, narrowing his eyes in warning, “Yes, she does.”, his voice comes out strict and final, signaling there’s no room for doubt. He doesn’t sound like your Joel.

“I need you to leave.”, you breathe barely audible, your eyes still on her face; now she doesn’t know where to look, the rug pulled out from under her feet from the man she had inside her minutes ago.

His gaze is cold and indifferent, as if everything is her fault, looking still in her direction. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, the empathetic part of your brain feels for her.

“Get your shit and get the fuck out, what are you waiting for?” he snaps at her.

“Not her, you.” you whisper, it’s impossible to speak louder, all of your energy powers your two standing feet.

He turns to look at you, shocked, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

“Wh- what are you talking about, sweetheart?” he tries to reason with you, “We need to talk, to-”

“Joel-”, you try again and thank god he’s interrupting you, you don’t have the strength to negotiate right now. Let the dice roll. It’s all fucked, anyway.

“This is my home; I’m not leaving.” he simply states, shaking his head from side to side, staring at you expectantly.

“You’re right. This is your house.” you acknowledge, coming to a painful realization. “Everything is yours; you own everything, don’t you?”, you smile sadly, crouching down to collect you bag.

You turn on your heels and leave the residence formerly known and felt as home, behind you.

Alarm system disabled.

Joe’s hairs are rising on the nape of his neck, when he checks the alarm app notification on his phone, thinking you came back home.

It’s been an awful month without you, without being able to contact you. He knew where you were of course, he could not for the life of him leave that information escape him, but he didn’t pressure you with an unexpected visit, he knew better.

It’s been a month. That’s plenty of time. You took your time and now you’re ready to talk. You have to be, this can’t be the end of this relationship, this marriage.

He presses your number and hits call. Fuck, he’s still blocked. Maybe you forgot to unblock him, it’s ok, it doesn’t mean anything.

He checks the house’s cameras. Shit. That’s not you. What is she doing there? What the fuck is going on? Alright, he’s going back to the house.

He stands on his feet, right in the middle of a meeting with the board and just leaves them. There’s a distant muttering of where does he think he goes, what happened, what’s gotten into him, this is important for the upcoming deal, but he pays no mind to them.

He needs to talk to you.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got everything you need,” Maria facetimes you, showing around your closet via her camera. “I’m loading the suitcase to the car and I’m out of here.”

“Thank you Mar-”

“MARIA?” Joel’s voice travels through the space from the ground floor, up.

“Shit, shit, shit, what am I gonna do?” Maria whispers to you turning the call to voice only.

“Just take the suitcase and leave, it’s ok, I only got personal stuff if that’s what he’s worried about. Let him check if it comes to that.”, you try to calm her down.

“Ok, ok-” Maria grabs the handle of the suitcase and moves to leave the walk-in closet.

“Hey.” Joel comes through the door to the bedroom taking in the scene. He hasn’t set foot in this room for nearly a month now.

“Hey.” Maria sounds pissed on the line.

“What are you doing here? Where's Tommy?”, Joel’s face frowns in question. “Tommy's not my keeper, his my partner. My husband, not that you would know what that means, apparently.” Maria just shrugs and moves to pass him by.

“What are you doing, what’s going on here?” he insists, blocking her way.

“I’m just collecting som-”

“How is she? Is she ok?” his voice softening when he asks about you.

“Oh, please, Joel, how is she? Really?” Maria scoffs at him. “She doesn’t want to see you, Joel or hear from you, that’s how she is.”

“Yeah, I gathered that much, thank you.” he mocks back. “Is she on the phone, can I just talk to her?” he extends his arm to reach for the phone. “Over my dead and cold body.” Maria says, pressing the phone on her chest.

His eyes are raging storms, his nostrils flaring with quiet rage. He takes a deep breath “Can you please ask her if I can talk to her, just for five minutes?”

“Why don’t you call her, Joel?” Maria taunts him, emphasizing the pronunciation of his name.

Joel just stares back at her, unfazed. Maria doesn’t move a muscle, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. Well, she did move one muscle.

Joel sighs exasperatedly “She blocked my number.”

“I wonder why that is.” Maria twists the knife, “I guess you have your answer, then.”

“Christ-” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “just- just ask her, please.”

Maria lifts the phone to her ear, rolling her eyes in frustration in the process. “Hey, Joel’s here, he’s ask-”

“Yeah, I heard everything.” you interrupt her, “No, I don’t want to talk to him.” Maria is shaking her head negatively at him as you talk, to pass the message.

Joel’s face goes cold and emotionless. “Well, tell her if she wants her belongings, she needs to come and get them herself.”

It’s been five weeks now and you can’t keep living in your best friend’s and sister in law's clothes. You’re gonna have to go and grab your stuff yourself.

Because it wasn’t enough what you’ve been through, what you’ve heard until you reached that goddamned bedroom door, what you’ve witnessed when you’ve entered, now he’s making you go back there to humiliate you. As you’re checking your calendar for your work schedule to decide on a suitable day, it hits you. You have Joel’s calendar on your phone, too. You always do, it was the only way to have some time together between his visits to work sites and board meetings and bussiness trips and fucking-behind-your-back, apparently.

And then you remember that day where you both stole some time off and decided to spend it cuddling with each other on the couch, talking nonsense and laughing at silly things and hugging and kissing and fucking all night long.

A brainstorm of thoughts run through your head instantly. How could he do that to you? He looked so happy in your arms. Maybe he was right, maybe it was nothing, maybe you should understand, you of all people, you should know. Do you need to do an STD test? How careless could he be? Where there others? Did he ever love you? Do you want to know?

Does it really matter?

You focus again on that day. He’d told you about a big deal coming up, one of the biggest in his career, if not the biggest so far and how important it was to the future of the company.

You searched frantically through his calendar until you found the date of the final meeting, the date where they’d seal the deal. Because there is no way they weren’t. If Joel wanted it so badly, he’d find a way to make it happen.

And you knew your husband, ironic as is sounds now. He was focused to a fault. He wouldn’t even check his phone that day. He’d done it every time since you were together. History indicated that he probably had other reasons, too, for not checking his phone in a timely manner, but you wouldn’t dwell on that. Not right now. Because now you had your chance.

That date was your chance.

Alarm disabled.

Joel’s phone is vibrating momentarily, not that he noticed, it was silent and tacked away in his jacket pocket, the jacket itself hanging on the back of his chair.

Don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, he’s chanting in his mind, under all this calm and confident demeanor, he’s sweating inside.

This is it, this is it, this is it, he repeats like a mantra, watching his opposite CEO, Leo Marks, playing with the pen between his fingers. He’s inspecting the contract again and he’s so close, so close to what he wanted. The room is silent, the long table full of seated lawyers and consultants from both sides, holding their breaths in charged expectation.

Joel knows that Marks is going to sign. He knows it. He worked for it. He convinced him, he made his vision clear as day and he lured him in. This is it. He got this.

Then your face appears in his mind. No, not today, he can’t do this today. You will have to wait. Like you always have. Joel shakes his head slightly, as if to remove you from his thoughts. His fingers get itchy, he wishes he could just check on you. Yes, he just want to check on you.

Are you alright? Are you thinking about him? Do you miss him like he does? Do you stay wide awake at night replaying the same scene over and over until you feel physically ill? Do you know that he thinks about you? Did he show you at all that night? Maybe he should have appeared at your friend’s door out of the blue. Maybe you think he doesn’t care. All he was trying to do was give you space. Respect your boundaries. Let you work everything out.

Fuck.

He reaches for his phone. He doesn’t know why. He knows his number is still blocked. He checks every night, when he's too exhausted from the lack of sleep and prays he could listen to your voice, or the soft sound of your breath when you slept next to him. But he fishes it out of his jacket pocket, anyway and then he sees it.

38 minutes ago.

Alarm disabled.

Alarm disabled. Alarm disabled. Alarm disabled, the only thought repeated in his head. He immediately searches the cameras for you but no movement is recorded right now. Maybe you already left. His heart rate spikes, his temples feel the pressure of his blood pumping violently in his veins. Cold sweat pours out of his body.

He’s squeezing his eyes shut, mentally counting all the places without cameras inside the house. What if you are still in there and he just can’t see you?

Fuck.

Mark’s voice extract him from his thoughts, “Mr. Miller, everything looks in order as we agreed.”

Joel snaps his eyes back to him, slightly irritated, “Of course it does, your legal team already did a thorough check all these months to get us here today.”

“Yes, yes,” Marks laughs entertained, “I just wanted to look it over one more time, I mean, we really are going to…”

What if you’re still there? What if this is his chance? He could always try to reach you after the deal, convince you to hear him out. Yeah, he can do that. He doesn’t need to chase you down. He can wait a little bit longer, can’t he? He can have it all, right? He was the man that had it all.

A mail pops up on his phone, a compliment note from the management of one of both your favorite hotels in Europe, thanking you for choosing their establishments for your stay, once again. Shit. You’re fleeing the fucking country? Are you fucking serious?

“..Mr. Miller?” Marks insists.

“Hm?” his eyes are glued to the screen of his phone.

“I said, before we sign, I need you to walk me through it one more time.” he demands like a little child asking for its favorite bedtime story. “I mean, this is the project of my dreams. I need your reassurance that this is as important for you as it is for us, that it’ll be your only focus for the foreseeable future.” he looks at Joel expectantly.

His only focus.

For the foreseeable future.

Fuck.

“HONEY!”. Your blood runs cold in your veins to the sound of his baritone voice. Your hand freezes over the shelf with the t-shirts, not making a sound. You didn’t take that long, why is he here? Why isn’t he in his meeting?

Joel enters the bedroom but you’re not there. Fuck, you hear the curse running softly from his lips. You don’t move, you don’t blink, you don’t breath.

He moves to leave and check elsewhere but then he stops. You hear soft steps and you see the door of the walk-in closet opening. His wide form blocks the light from the outside, his broad shoulders almost taking up all the space of the frame.

He looks disheveled, his baby blue shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned at the top, his hair a mess, like he kept combing his fingers through them. You don’t dare meet his eyes though. You keep your gaze as far as his chin goes, concentrating on the bare patch there. His sole presence electrifies you like he’s already touched you. Your whole body feels on fire and frozen simultaneously. God, you missed him.

“I was calling for you.”, he breathes out and you can feel his fear pulsing through his body. He’s scared you’re gonna run. That’s why he doesn’t leave his spot, blocking the door.

“I know.”

“Were you hiding from me?” his brows are furrowed in a seemingly pained expression from what your peripheral vision could help you understand.

“No, I just chose not to answer you.”, you lower your head, looking at your feet.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” you say hastily, but he’s waiting for a real answer. You breathe deeply, “It- it felt too domestic, you calling for me, me answering back, like how we were before.” He nods, biting his bottom lip. “What are you doing here, Joel?”

“In our house?” the edges of his lips are slightly turned up, his head tilting to one side.

“No, this is your house as you said yourself.”

“Darlin’, you know I didn’t mean it like that..” he sighs in regret, his head deepening in his shoulder blades in an effort to attract your gaze upwards.

“But you’re right.”

“I built it for you.” his voice soft, like it’s a secret mend to stay that way.

“Hm.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” his brows raise in genuine surprise.

“Nothing, forget it.”

“No, tell me.”

“You first.”

He looks perplexed, he forgot your question.

“What are you doing here, right now, Joel?”

“I got the alarm notification and.. it was the only way I could talk to you, honey..”

“But- your meeting-”

He searches your eyes, although you refuse to look at him, analysing your confused expression and it hits him. He smiles in understanding, nodding his head. “So, you chose today on purpose..”

You don’t respond, you keep looking everywhere but his eyes.

He laughs through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t drop everything to come and see you?”

“I really did.”

He gasps in disbelief, almost offended.

“Baby, look at me, please; look at me..” he pleads with you softly. You close your eyes as if in fear you would obey, your chin trembling from the effort to remain calm.

“Baby, look at me. I want you to look at me, now.” he presses in a more authoritative way. He thought he could order you around? Break you?

“No.” you shake your head.

Joel calls you by your name but before he has a chance to spit another soft command-

“I SAID NO!” you open your eyes, targeting them to his chest, tears spilling uncontrollably now. You can see from your periphery the look of shock on his face, because you never yelled before. Ever.

“Why, sweetheart?”, he retreats back to his soft side.

“Because that’s exactly what you want. And you can’t always get what you want, Joel, not anymore.” You can’t hold back your tongue now.

“Jesus Christ,” you grit through your teeth, “what do you want from me, hm?” your eyes keep dancing around his face but never on his eyes. He looks dumbfounded, his lips part slightly but you don’t wait for an answer. “What else do you want? Is this some kind of ego thing? You expected me to shout and break things and hit you and tell you to leave her and come back to me? Because your ego is safe, Joel, if that’s what you worry about. I didn’t leave you, you did that first when you went behind my back. So, you walked out on me and not the other way around. Happy? Ready to go on with your life?” You’re grabbing the shelf where your hand previously rested so hard, trying to steady yourself.

For the first time Joel is speechless. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t find the words to defend himself, to convince you about his feelings, to soothe you at the very least. He begins to have a glimpse of how he appears in your eyes right now. How much damage he’s done, even before that night. How much ground he lost over time.

“Darlin', I just wa-” he begins softly, almost like walking on eggshells, but your body visibly tenses, you jaw shuts tight, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Stop, just stop! Stop saying what you want! Stop making this about you! Don’t you see? You keep asking me for what you want! Have you stopped for a second, just a second, to think what I want? What I need? I don’t- I don’t recognize you anymore.”

“I-” he closes his eyes in distress, “I love you.” His last retreat. He’s trying anything that could help him. He doesn’t get it. He can’t. He’s not capable. But he used to be. He was the most empathetic person you knew. What the fuck happened?

Your eyes snap though the open closet door at his admision and on to the perfectly made bed.

His gaze follows yours behind his back and shakes his head once more in regret.

“It really didn’t mean-”

“Joel-” you warn him, “have some self respect and don’t say what I think you’re about to say. At least have the guts to admit exactly what you did, I’d appreciate it more.”

He exhales heavily, you’re not giving him an opening to fix this. You’re hanging onto every word he mutters. Not a single one of them is left unparsed and he's not used to that. He knows that if he does not control his anger right now, it's game over.

Heavy silence is hanging between you, each one lost on their thoughts.

“Do you know when you really lost me, Joel?”, you ask him eventually.

Half an hour ago he would swear he had all the answers, but now? Now he sees he’s in the deep, so he stays quiet, searching your eyes that still won't reach his, for answers.

“You lost me when you humiliated her in front of me.”

His face goes white, shocked, he can’t believe his ears. His mouth opens and closes but he makes no sound, how on earth does he respond to that?

“You still don’t get it, do you?”, you pinch the bridge of your nose exasperatedly. “You valued her enough to endanger our wedding, you valued her enough to bring her to our own house, to our bed, Joel; you valued her enough to fuck her raw, to let her know that you were unhappy with me, before I had a chance to realize it myself-”, Joel interrupts you almost panicked “I’m not un-” and for the first time your eyes pierce his in such an anguish that the words die in his throat. “-and then you just diminished her like she was nothing, just to prove a point to me. While she was naked, vulnerable on our bed. And trust me, this is not me defending her, she is as responsible for this as you, but you’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.”

Now he’s the one averting his eyes from you, looking down on his overpriced shoes, his demeanor defeated, this is not the Joel you know anymore.

“And what was the point, Joel? Hm? What? That she means nothing? Then why were you with her? Why did you choose her? Why did you spend your precious time on nothing, while I had to make an appointment to see you? That’s what you did with me, too? I mean nothing, too? Just a warm hole to fuck when convenient?” he snaps his head back to you, shaking it in denial frantically, his eyes blown wide and red from all the emotional stress you push onto him.

“But I guess I got my answer about a month ago, hm?” It’s one of those moments that epiphanies hit you as you speak uncontrollably, you just can’t stop your mind from running wild, your mouth from spilling bile, your heart from pounding so hard in your chest, your ears start to ring, your grasp on the shelf tightening even more for balance.

“And that tells me a lot about who you really are. It’s not just about the fucking, Joel, Jesus-, -for the brilliant man I know you to be, you’re stumbling through your blindest moment.”, you shake your head in disappointment, tears still running freely down your face, licking your jawline and falling like a waterfall to the carpeted floor. You feel so done, you find it pointless to explain any further.

“I- I don’t know you, Joel, I don’t know who you are anymore. Maybe I never did,” you conclude, “maybe you’re right,” you slowly nod to yourself, “and everything is my fault after all.” you whisper, not sure if you want him to hear that part.

He did. “I never said that it was your fault, baby. When did I ever say that?” his face is contorted in pain, “None of this is your fault, none of it, you hear me?” he wants so desperately to cross the fucking room and hold you tight, crush all your pain and insecurities and self hatred under an asphyxiating hug. He also knows that he won't make even two steps before you flee, or step back from him and he can’t for the life of him witness that. Because that’s how much he needs you. He prefers you standing there, where he can see you, where he can have you, even if you wither and die under the enormous trauma he’s putting you through.

“So stupid.. I was- I am so stupid..” you’re repeating to yourself almost deliriously, rubbing your fingers on your forehead.

“This isn’t you, sweetheart, you don’t talk like that, don’t- don’t do that to yourself.” Joel tries to bring you back.

“But this is you, isn’t it, Joel? The real you?” you bite back. “This isn’t me, really? How do you like the new me, Joel? Do you take pride on your creation?” you laugh bitterly at him. “Yeah, how you’d always call me? Polite little thing? Sweetheart?” you’re infuriated now, a rise fighting to explode through you. “How does it feel, Joel? To know you’re responsible for changing someone to their core? To know you had that much power over them?”

Joel’s shaking his head once again in desperation, hot tears spilling from his eyes, god, had he ever cried before? this is not a battle he can win, he sees that now. The damage is too great. What on earth was he thinking?

“Please, please honey, can we just take a breather, sit down and talk about everything?” he pleads with you, a last thread of hope shinning in his red rimmed eyes.

“Take a breather..” you mutter through your teeth, “you mean the breather you took while you were fucking someone else instead of talking to me?”, Joel shuts his eyes in defeat, there’s nothing he can say anymore. “I think you got it backwards, Joel.”

You take a steadying breath and command your legs internally to hold on a little while longer and move forward; clothes, suitcase, life left behind.

“Don’t contact me again, unless is via your legal team.” is the last bullet that hits Joel’s chest, right through his broken heart.

1K notes · View notes

itsbrandy · 2 months

Text

i know who you are | 3. the accident

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You and Joel spend some time getting to know each other, but during dinner with Tommy and Maria, the truth comes out about your accident.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, pining, sad!Joel, amnesia, slow burn, mild description of head wound/stitches, flirting, clickers, violence and some descriptions of injuries/blood

WC: 10.4K

Series Masterlist

Two Weeks Later

"This place is a lot bigger than I thought. I feel like I see someone new every day."

"Well, your brain did a factory reset, so you kind of are seeing new people every day," Ellie joked at breakfast one morning. Joel had been scheduled on early morning patrol shifts lately, so it was just the two of you before Ellie's classes started. You felt bad, but you grew to enjoy these mornings with just her. She was easy to get along with and she didn't pester you constantly about your memory loss. It was like she just accepted it for what it was and moved on. Joel, on the other hand, was a different story.

"What are you doing today?" she asked, pushing away her bowl of oatmeal.

"I have to go get these stitches removed," you said, your fingers coming up to brush across your injured scalp. "Couldn't come any sooner. They are so itchy."

She hummed and crossed her arms. "Surprised Joel didn't wanna come with you. He's been hovering over you non-stop."

"Yeah, tell me about it," you muttered. When you caught the playful glean in her eye, you backtracked. "Not that I don't appreciate everything he's done for me, it's just..." you trailed off, trying to find the right words.

"It's just a lot?" she offered, and you nodded, relieved that she understood.

"I didn't exactly tell him, either," you said, dropping your gaze to pick at your cuticle in shame. "Every time I go to the clinic, he scares the shit out of that poor doctor."

She laughed softly and stretched her arms out behind her head. "Joel does that to people. He comes off like a pitbull but in reality? He's just a golden retriever."

A slow smile stretched across your face as you absorbed her words, then burst out laughing.

"That is-" you began, cutting yourself off with another laugh, "the most accurate description I could ever possibly think of."

"I've known him for a long time, what can I say?" she said with a grin while throwing her hands up in the air.

Your laughter died down as you stared at the table, lost in thought. Glancing up at Ellie, you decided to see what else she might shed some light on.

"Do you know of a Ben and Lisa?"

She froze and looked at you quizzically for a moment before dropping her hands back down onto the table.

"Yeah, do you remember them?"

"No, no," you said quickly, waving her off. "I kept a journal. Y'know, from before. And I was reading it the other day and I mentioned them. Are they around?"

Ellie glanced around the somewhat crowded room before meeting your eyes again. "No, not today. They don't really come out much," she said, examining you carefully. "They have a small house on the outskirts of town. They are... homebodies, I guess? I think they've been in here, like, twice, since you guys arrived."

"So, they came here with me?" you confirmed, and she nodded.

"Yeah, the three of you arrived together," she said. Her eyes glanced up and saw a few classmates heading out the front door. "I better go, school's starting soon," she said, pushing her chair back and grabbing her backpack.

"Yeah, okay," you said, sitting back in your chair. "Thanks, Ellie," you called after her, and she shot you a quick wave before running to catch up with her friends.

You wished you had more time to ask her about Ben and Lisa. Were they together? Were they siblings? Friends? How did you meet them? What did they know about your past?

The questions were piling up as you let your mind wander. You didn't even realize Maria, Tommy's wife, had approached your table until she said your name for the second time.

"Sorry," you told her, shaking your head.

She smiled and pulled out a chair, joining you at your now empty table. "Don't worry about it. I wanted to check on you. How have you been feeling?"

"Better," you said honestly. "I haven't needed the Tylenol really, so I'm going to bring the rest back to Nick this morning."

"That's fantastic," she said, leaning forward. She regarded you quietly for a moment before speaking again. "Any luck on your memories?"

You sighed and shook your head. It was inevitable - everyone eventually asked you the same question, either morbid curiosity or genuine concern encouraging them. And you tried not to let it bother you, you really did. But you couldn't help but feel like a failure every time when the answer was no.

And then Maria asked the next question everybody always asked.

"How's Joel handling everything?"

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Of course this was hard for him. It was hard for you, too, just in a different way.

"Alright, I guess."

"Are you two getting along? I know Tommy mentioned you were nervous-"

"Yeah," you said, cutting her off. "It was a little weird at first but it's not so bad now." You glanced around the dining hall, which was mostly empty. "Can you tell me a little bit about him? About us? I would ask Joel, but any time he tells me about some memory, I can see it hurts him. And I just can't stand to see that look in his eye again."

Maria gave you a sympathetic look and squeezed your hand. "I get it. It must be hard, I'm so sorry," she said, and you could feel the tears beginning to prick the corners of your eyes.

"I just feel like I'm always letting him down," you said, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"You're not. Hey, look at me," she said, forcing you to drag your eyes up to meet hers. "You're not letting him down. He loves you. You have no idea how much. That man has been head over heels since the moment you met. He'd do anything for you-"

"I know, and that's what makes this so much worse!" you exclaimed. "I'm sitting around that house all day - our house - waiting for my brain to fucking work and give him the person he's waiting for and I just can't! I can't-" you slammed your palms flat on the table. "I can't fucking-" you buried your face in your hands as you tried to conceal your tears. Maria rubbed soothing circles on your back, giving you time to collect yourself.

"Sounds to me like you're going a little stir-crazy."

You dragged a shaky breath in and nodded, letting your hands fall to your lap.

"What if we got you assigned some work around town? Something light, nothing too strenuous. Would that help?" she asked softly, and your pulse began to return to normal.

"Yeah, I think that would be nice," you said, flashing her a small smile.

"Your choice, then," she said, pulling her hand back, "what are you good at or interested in? I figure stables are probably not a good idea. Tommy said you were having trouble riding. Is there anything you'd like to do?"

You pursed your lips and thought for a moment.

"I'm not sure... can I get back to you?" you asked, realizing once again that you knew very little about yourself.

"Of course," Maria said before standing up from her chair. "You know where to find me whenever you think of something. Or if you just want to talk... I'm here, okay?"

You gave her a watery smile before whispering your thanks, then watched her make her way towards the doors. You sighed and looked around, realizing you were the only one left after the breakfast rush, so you pushed yourself to your feet and followed Maria's footsteps. You had a few more hours before Joel was supposed to come back from patrol, so you decided to walk over to the infirmary and get your stitches removed.

The streets of Jackson were mercifully quiet. Most people were working and the kids were in school, so you didn't run into too many folks on your way towards the other end of town. You wrapped your arms around yourself a little tighter. The chill in the air still lingered from overnight, making you shiver. As you walked, you looked around at the buildings like you normally did, trying your hardest to shake loose a memory, or at this point, even a flicker of a moment, but nothing came.

You trudged up the steps to the infirmary and stepped inside, grateful to be back indoors where it was warm. A little bell rang above your head, announcing your presence, and a moment later you heard Nick's footsteps coming down the hallway. When he lifted his head and saw you, his eyes immediately scanned the room, searching for Joel.

"All alone today?" he asked, then motioned for you to follow him.

"Yeah, Joel's busy," you said, and you swore you could see his shoulders relax.

"I know the feeling," he said, standing next to an empty exam room and holding his arm out to his side, inviting you to enter first, so you did. "I've been trying to get around to doing inventory for weeks, but I'm swamped. Can't seem to find a quiet day," he continued as he opened and closed some cabinets. He pulled on a pair of gloves and opened a drawer for some scissors before placing it on a clean washcloth next to the bed and putting his glasses on.

"Oh, speaking of inventory," you said, leaning to the side so you could fish the pills out of your jeans pocket. You held them out to him with a smile. "Didn't need them all."

"Excellent. Thank you," he said, plucking the baggie from your fingers and setting them down on the counter next to the scissors. "Glad they helped. And again, I'm sorry I couldn't offer anything stronger-"

"Don't be sorry, I understand," you said, then tucked your chin into your chest so he could get a good look at the back of your head. He began to carefully snip away at the irritating thread, taking his time to pull each and every piece out without tugging too much on your skin. You noticed aside from the two of you, the office sounded quiet.

"All alone today, too?" you asked.

"Yes, unfortunately," he said with a sigh. "My aide, Monica, got poached from me. They needed someone on patrol since-" he cut himself off and cleared his throat, and you frowned before you realized what he was about to say.

"Since they had to replace me," you finished for him.

"Yes."

Your lips pressed into a thin line as Nick continued to work away at your stitches. Another casualty in the hurricane that your accident seemed to cause.

"Hey, what if I helped you?" you blurted out, and his hands paused.

"You want to be my aide?"

"Sure. Well, do I need any medical knowledge? I don't know much, but I can help you with inventory or cleaning instruments or... whatever else you might need."

You could sense his hesitation without even having to see his face and you knew in an instant he was thinking about Joel.

"Maria approached me this morning about a job. She said it would be good for me and I agreed. But if I'm not qualified, I understand-"

"No, no, it's not that," he said, and you rolled your eyes. Of course not.

"Joel isn't the boss of me," you said after a moment. He stepped backwards and you lifted your head up to look at him.

"He's an intimidating man," Nick said by way of explanation. He snapped his gloves off and tossing them in the trash. "Why don't you run it by him first? As a favor to me?" he added with a half smile. You sighed and nodded before sliding off the bed.

"Sure, I'll talk to him when he gets back," you agreed, following Nick towards the front door. You thanked him before heading back down the street, your fingers gingerly tracing your closed wound before you shoved your hands into your pockets.

How the hell could one man manage to scare half the town the way Joel Miller did? You thought you were beginning to see a glimmer of the man underneath the hardened exterior, but what on earth drew you to him in the first place? What did your past self see in him that made you so enamored? And why couldn't you see it now? You were afraid the answer didn't so much lie with Joel, but with you.

You desperately needed to discover more of the person you were before your accident. Maybe then you would get some more insight.

When you got back to Joel's house, you decided to take what little quiet time you had left and read some more of your journal. As the sun rose in the sky, the day began to heat up a bit, taking away that frigid chill in the air, so you cracked a window in his living room and curled up on a worn out, but very comfortable, arm chair.

You flipped through the pages, your eyes landing on the last entry you read: Joel lied to me.

You never asked him about it. Either you were too afraid of the answer or you were too afraid he wouldn't tell the truth. At first, you tried to convince yourself that it was nothing. That maybe you had just gotten into a fight on that particular day and you were mad. But seeing how sporadically you had updated the journal, you got the feeling you wouldn't have written it unless it was important.

And why wouldn't you have elaborated? What could it have been? Something that was so serious, you didn't want to risk putting it down in writing?

You hadn't realized how long you were staring at those four words until you heard Joel's heavy footsteps climbing up the stairs of the porch. You snapped the book shut and looked up just as he opened the door. His dark eyes found you immediately and, as usual, you saw what you always saw - relief in seeing you again, the joy one had when they saw their other half, the attraction a man has for the one he loves.

Damn him and his expressive eyes.

"Hey," you said with a small smile, "how was patrol?"

"Not too bad," he replied, kicking off his boots. "Quiet. No infected. Me 'n Alex made short work of our route," he said, strolling over to collapse into the couch next to your chair. He rubbed his eyes with a deep sigh, his head resting on the back of the couch.

"Tired?"

"Yeah," he said, dropping his hand to his lap and rolling his head in your direction. "Glad I got tomorrow off. Maybe we can do somethin' together."

"Yeah, okay," you agreed. Maybe it would be a good opportunity to learn more about him without directly asking. His eyes drifted down to the journal in your lap and he jutted his chin towards it.

"Read anythin' interesting?"

Looking down at it for a brief moment, you thought about asking him what he lied about, but you ultimately decided against it.

"Yeah, actually," you said, flipping a different page open. "I wrote about a Ben and Lisa. Ellie told me we arrived together and they keep to themselves," you continued, looking up at him. His expression was unreadable. "Maybe I should pay them a visit one of these days. Maybe they can tell me a little about myself before-"

"Yeah, maybe," he said suddenly, then stood up to head towards the kitchen. You frowned, your eyes following him as he filled a glass of water. When he turned back to you, you were still looking at him, waiting for him to say something else.

"Why don't you give it a little time before you go seein' them," he suggested after downing his water in one gulp.

"It's been two weeks," you said quietly, "how much more time should I give it?" He shrugged and strolled back into the living room, leaning against the doorframe.

"What'dya wanna know?" he asked, avoiding your question. "I know you better than anyone. I can answer your questions."

"I didn't know you the whole ten years, though," you reminded him, unfolding your legs from the chair. "It sounds like they knew me longer. I just thought they could tell me how I survived-"

"For what?" he snapped, and his tone took a sudden turn. When you met his gaze again, the warmth was gone, and in its place was a face of stone. "What does that matter?" he asked, his voice rising a little. "You're here, you did what you had to do. We all did. What's the point in rehashin' it?"

"What's the point?" you repeated, bewildered. "The point is so I can learn about myself. So I can figure out the person I became, the person you fell in love with!"

Something flickered across his face for a brief moment before his eyes softened and his shoulders relaxed.

"You're right, I'm sorry," he said, the edge to his voice now gone. "I'll take you to see 'em one of these days. We'll go together. I haven't seen 'em in a while myself. It'd be good to catch up," he added.

"Okay," you said slowly, "thank you." He took a deep breath and angled his head towards the stairs.

"I'm gonna take a quick shower," he mumbled, and you nodded, your eyes following him up the steps until he disappeared around the corner.

Joel Miller was an incredibly difficult man to figure out. Just when you thought you knew who he was, he did something like that and it made you second guess yourself. You had determined that aggressive side came out when he was protecting the ones he loved. So who was he protecting this time?

"What'dya wanna do today?" Joel asked you around a mouthful of eggs from across your kitchen table.

"Um, I don't know," you said, pushing your food around on your plate uncomfortably. You thought spending time alone with him was a good idea, but when you woke up that morning, you felt nervous. "Did you have anything in mind?"

He sat back in his chair and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "If you were feelin' up for it, thought I could take you outside the walls a bit. Maybe teach you how to ride again."

You perked up at his suggestion. For some reason, you didn't consider leaving Jackson as an option.

"Yeah, that sounds great," you said with a grin, and his chest warmed at the sight. He missed seeing you smile. Then he remembered something that might make you smile again. He stood up quickly, his chair sliding back across the hardwood floor, and walked over to his backpack, still hanging by the door from yesterday.

"What are you doing?" you called after him, but he didn't reply until he reentered the room with his hands behind his back.

"Forgot I gotcha somethin' when I was out yesterday," he said, trying to bite back his smile. It didn't even occur to him until the last second that you might not like what he was about to give you, that maybe your tastes were different ten years ago, but it was too late now. Nervously, he held out two worn paperback books. You stood up with a curious look on your face and took them in your hands, your eyes running over the covers quickly before turning them over and reading the backs. He shifted his weight as he anxiously waited for your reaction, and when he was rewarded with another huge smile, he couldn't hold his own back.

"These sound great," you told him, glancing at the books again. "I love mysteries, this is..." you met his eyes briefly before shyly looking back down. "This is so thoughtful of you, Joel. Thank you."

He beamed with pride, thrilled that he was able to do something nice for you. "You're welcome, ba- ahem," he coughed, stopping himself from finishing his sentence. You looked back up at him, heat creeping up both of your necks. He cleared his throat and turned around, picking up your plates. "You're welcome," he said again, "thought you might be gettin' bored 'round here."

He rinsed the plates in the sink before heading towards the front door. You put your two books on the counter and trailed after him, the both of you sliding on your boots and jackets. Joel grabbed his backpack before opening the door for you and he followed you down the porch steps.

"Yeah, I'm definitely getting a little bored," you said, eyeing him up as you walked side by side towards the stables. "But speaking of that, I was talking to Maria yesterday and she suggested I get a job." His head swiveled over to you, lips parted in surprise, but before he could speak, you continued. "She said I can pick whatever I want, nothing too strenuous."

He nodded and looked straight ahead again, your words rolling around in his head. "Yeah, suppose that makes sense."

"Good," you said, pleased he was open to the idea. "So when I was at the infirmary yesterday, Nick mentioned-"

"Why were you at the infirmary? Were you in pain? Did you get hurt?"

"Joel, I was fine," you said with a huff. You pointed to the back of your head. "I had my stitches removed."

He stopped in his tracks, which made you skid to a halt. His arms reached out to lift up your hair but at the last second, he held back.

"Can I?" he asked over your shoulder, and you nodded. He gingerly lifted up your hair to take a look at your injury, which felt much better now that the stitches were gone.

"Made showering so much easier," you told him. He hummed and dropped your hair.

"Looks good," he said, and continued walking. "You shoulda waited, I woulda went with you," he added.

"It took ten minutes," you said, waving him off as the stables came into view. "But while I was there, Nick mentioned his aide got reassigned to patrol to fill my old position, so I offered to take her place."

"You wanna work at the infirmary?" he asked, and you shrugged.

"I don't know much, but he said I didn't need to. He just needs help around the office. Cleaning up, taking inventory, maybe help him with some minor procedures. Hand him tools and all that," you said, and Joel nodded slowly.

"Alright," he said, "if that's what you wanna do, sure."

And although you weren't asking for his permission, it felt like you got it, anyway.

As you got closer to the stables, the high pitched whinny of a horse in a nearby paddock caught both your attention. The horse looked smaller - younger - and was attached to a long rope, and in the center of the field holding the other end was a man around Joel's age. Even from a distance, you could see the clench in his jaw and the way his muscles strained to rein in the animal, but he was losing the fight. The horse was too young and too strong and kept pulling away, getting as far away from the man as possible before the lead went taught and the horse was forced to face the man again. Each time it happened, the horse let out a shrill whinny and stomped its hooves in the dirt, expressing its displeasure.

"That's Caleb," Joel said as you both paused to watch. "Must be breakin' in a yearling."

"Breaking in?" you asked, your eyes still glued to the horse, whose head was twisting around angrily, trying to break free.

"It means he's tryin' to tame her so we can ride her," he explained, and you nodded. You both leaned up against the fence and watched the beautiful animal rear up and then dig its hooves deeper into the dirt, dust kicking up into a cloud around them. Caleb was struggling. Sweat was dripping down his face as he tugged on the lead and shouted commands at the horse, but she was having none of it.

The horse's whinnies were becoming louder and more panicked. The whites of her eyes showed when Caleb attempted to get closer, his skin tight over his knuckles from holding onto the rope. Once Caleb got close enough, the horse swung its massive head around in the air then reared back again with all its might, pulling Caleb off his feet unexpectedly with a shout.

"Shit," Joel muttered. He gripped the top rail of the fence and hauled himself over before you could even process what was happening. You watched, eyes wide, as Joel ran into the middle of the field, his arms raised up high over his head to keep the horse from stomping on Caleb.

"Hey! Hey!" you heard Joel's booming voice shout at the animal, drawing her attention off Caleb. The horse charged at Joel, but swerved away at the last second. Joel turned around and gave Caleb a hand, dragging him to his feet before the horse made its way back to where they stood.

"Hey," Joel said, softer this time, but his arms still stretched out in front of him. The horse skidded to a stop a few feet away, snorting and pawing at the dirt, its long tail flicking back and forth. Caleb stood and dusted himself off before taking a few steps backwards to catch his breath, but Joel remained in the same spot. He stared down the animal, the two of them silently sizing the other up. Joel's voice rang out again, just as soft as before. "Hey, shh, girl," he said, relaxing his stance a bit.

You stood cemented to the ground, entranced, as you watched the stand off between man and beast. Joel didn't look scared. He barely even flinched when the horse let out another high pitched squeal. He stood tall and firm, refusing to back down, and patiently waited for the horse to come to him.

He left his arm outstretched as an olive branch, his eyes never leaving the horse. He murmured low, soothing noises until it took a tentative step forward. Joel nodded encouragingly and continued to speak softly, earning him another step.

You felt a stirring low in your stomach as you continued to watch, with your jaw slack and your breaths shallow. Joel finally reached out and grabbed the lead, then ran the flat of his hand slowly up and down the horse's nose, giving it a little scratch between the eyes, and you clenched your thighs together.

After a few minutes of Joel calmingly murmuring to the horse, he handed the rope back to Caleb, who expressed his deepest gratitude before carefully leading the filly back towards the stables. Joel turned back towards you, dusting his hands off as he walked. Your cheeks felt warm by the time he made it to the other side of the fence and climbed over.

"That was..." you trailed off, not sure what to say. He smirked at you as he leaned down to pick his backpack up. "That was really impressive," you finally squeaked out. Unbeknownst to you, he could see right through you. He'd known you for too long and he especially knew what you looked like when you were aroused. He eyed you up and down before nodding towards the stables.

"It's 'bout respect and patience. You get what you give," he explained as he wiped away some sweat that formed on the back of his neck. Your mouth went dry at the sight.

"H-have you done that before?"

"What, break in wild animals?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at you, and you nodded. If he didn't already clock the way you were reacting, he wouldn't have said what he said next. "No. Only you."

You choked on your laughter and he grinned.

"I hardly think I can compare to a wild horse," you said, your cheeks on fire.

"You're right. Tamin' you was harder."

"I thought I was the one who confronted you about sneaking around? Which is it?" you teased as you followed him into the barn, the scent of hay and leather and the sound of horses gently snorting in their stalls invading your senses.

"Oh, you did. You just didn't like sneakin' 'round. Took a lot longer to make you fall in love and move in with me," he said. He walked up to a list pinned to a clipboard and scribbled his name inside an empty slot.

"Mm, and you really think you can do it again?" you asked, trying to sound doubtful but your smile gave you away. He glanced down at you, leaning against the wall for a moment, his eyes lingering on your lips and cheeks before chuckling.

"Oh, absolutely," he said lowly, and you felt your heart flutter in your chest.

"Alright, Casanova. Let's get a move on," you said, rolling your eyes and turning away, but not before he caught the excited glint in your eye.

Thank god for Joel's backpack.

That was the only thing separating you two as you clung to him from behind as he steered your borrowed horse through the woods. It was peaceful. Serene, even. It was hard to believe so many horrible things happened, and were still happening, in this world when you were surrounded by such beauty. And you might have been able to appreciate it more if you weren't so utterly distracted by your body's reaction to Joel. You couldn't imagine what you would be thinking and feeling if there wasn't a buffer between you. Had you been able to feel each and every strong muscle in his back and shoulders, or the heat rolling off him, or fully commit to memory his very unique and intoxicating scent.

No, luckily you had some distance, and by the time he reached the field he was looking for, you felt like you had regained your senses. You brushed off your earlier reaction to your hormones and nothing more by the time you slid down from the horse and joined Joel on the ground.

"It's so quiet out here," you remarked, looking around and shrugging off your jacket. By now, the sun had risen high enough in the sky to warm everything up around you, the frosty morning air long since melted away. Joel tied the reins of your horse around a tree trunk and took off his own jacket, slinging it over the saddle.

"We used to come out here a lot," was all he said, avoiding your eyes. You looked around again, trying to find something familiar. He could tell what you were doing and he shook his head.

"Don't try to force it, it ain't gonna do any good," he said, and you looked over at him, surprised.

"Sorry. I'm really trying," you said softly, looking down at the dirt. He looked at you sadly, just for a moment when your attention was on your shoes, then forced a smile across his face.

"C'mon, I wanna show you somethin'."

You followed him through the thinning trees towards the open field; the grass waist high as you hiked through it together, cicadas singing all around you as you walked. The sun was growing more powerful, but you weren't uncomfortable.

"This is my favorite time of year," you told him, and he glanced over at you. "It's not too hot, not too cold."

He smiled and looked straight ahead once again. "I know. You like warm days and cold nights."

"That's right," you said, pressing your lips together and wondering if there would ever be anything you could tell him that he didn't already seem to know. "You have a good memory."

"When it comes to you, yeah."

Joel held out an arm to stop you, your face angled towards the ground as you walked so you wouldn't trip. You looked up when you ran into his arm, first at him, and then at the scenery before you.

It was breathtaking. Somehow, without even realizing it, you were on top of a mountain. Or, close to it, anyway. Near the edge, you looked around and saw other hills and valleys surrounding you, green and lush and full of life. A flock of blackbirds swooped by straight ahead, and way down below, between all the jagged rocks, was a little lazy river.

"This is beautiful," you breathed, your eyes glistening. Joel studied your face while you were distracted, his eyes never once looking at the nature surrounding you.

"Yeah, I know," he whispered. You dragged your eyes away from the view and gave him a dazzling smile, one that made his chest ache, before sitting down at the edge of the grass with a sigh.

"Okay. What do you miss most about your life before?" you asked him out of the blue. His stomach lurched, his mind immediately filled with thoughts of a little girl with curly hair and dark brown eyes that once made him finally understand the true meaning of unconditional love.

"Barbeques," he choked out, hoping you didn't pick up on his mood shift.

"Mm, that's a good one," you said dreamily, still staring out over the edge of the cliff. "What was your favorite part?"

He felt himself relax a bit as you forced his mind to shift gears. "The music. The food. Just... lazy weekends, hangin' out with friends or family. Spendin' time with people I cared 'bout."

"What's your favorite barbeque food?" you asked, pulling your knees up to your chest and turning your head towards him.

He thought about it for a moment, his daughter's memory drifting back into the recesses of his mind. "Ribs. Or maybe burgers. Tough call," he said with a chuckle. You slapped the side of your leg and turned your whole body towards him excitedly.

"Oh, my god. Speaking of ribs. My brother - Matty - one time he was in an 'all you can eat' ribs competition," you said, a grin already pulling at the corners of your mouth. "He was like, 22 at the time and he could really pack food away. Like, really eat. It scared the shit outta my mom, she had no idea how he did it and still stayed so trim," you said, and Joel chuckled. "Anyway, he entered this contest and all of the other contestants were these, like, huge guys. I'm talking pushing 300 pounds huge, right?" you said, the excitement evident in your voice now as your eyes shone bright, making Joel smile even more. "So, anyway, one by one these guys are dropping like flies and my brother just kept mowing down all these ribs like it was nothing. It was down to him and one other guy and the other guy looked like he was about to tap out. The prize was like, a thousand bucks, and we were all getting so damn excited. He was gonna win!" you said, your voice getting louder the more excited you became. Seeing you that happy for the first time in weeks made Joel's heart feel like it was going to burst, so he played along and urged you on. "Then, Matty freezes. And I'm staring at him. And he's just staring down at his hands, and we're all like 'what the hell is he doing?' and suddenly - woosh!" you said with a giggle, using your arms for emphasis. "He pukes everywhere! It was so fucking much, Joel! And it was so disgusting, oh my god. People were running from their seats and dry heaving, and me and my parents are fucking dying with laughter," you said, your giggles growing louder the more you remembered. You wiped a stray tear from the corner of your eye as you continued. "Anyway, of course he got disqualified and he never could be in the same room as a rack of ribs ever again," you finished, flashing him a grin. But when you saw his expression, although he was smiling and giving you some obligatory laughs, you could tell it wasn't the first time he had heard that story.

"You knew that already, didn't you?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. He smirked and looked down at his hands.

"Yeah," he admitted, and you groaned. "But it's still a real funny story. I love the way you tell it."

"I wonder if there's anything I didn't tell you," you said with a sigh. He inched a little closer when he heard the despair in your voice.

"It doesn't matter. I love hearin' everythin' 'bout you," he said, and you gave him a little smile. "You could tell me a hundred times and I wouldn't care."

He kept saying that word. Love. Over and over, like it was nothing. You looked away, his eye contact too intense all of the sudden, and stared out at the beauty before you. But you could still feel the heat of his gaze on your skin. It sent a shiver down your spine. Your mind raced, trying to think of something else to say when he softly whispered your name. You tilted your head in his direction and the look in his eye caused you to temporarily forget how to breathe. He was staring at you like you were the only other person in the world. Like you were a siren, calling to him on the sea, or Aphrodite, knocking him to his knees in prayer.

No, no, no, you thought as he leaned in a fraction, his eyes flicking down to your lips. Too soon. Not ready.

A blood curdling screech echoed from somewhere behind you. Somewhere far too close for comfort. You froze, eyes wide and scared, but Joel whipped around and reached into his backpack, pulling out his revolver and knife.

Stay here, he mouthed, pressing a finger to his lips, and you couldn't remember if you acknowledged him or not before he crouched and disappeared into the long grass, leaving you all alone on the edge of a very dangerous cliff with some terrifying monster nearby. Slowly, trying very hard not to make a sound, you turned your head, searching for the source of the noise. As you scanned the field, the tall grass hiding Joel somewhere in its depths, you spotted it. It, being the only proper word.

It was hideous. Fucking disgusting. Half its face was overgrown with fungus plates, its mouth wide and wet and dribbling with blood, teeth yellowed and bared. It hunched over as it got closer and closer to you, snapping its jaw like a lion, trying to locate its next meal. You swallowed roughly as it got closer, its torn clothes and bent fingers coming into view. And the smell. The stench of death and rot filled the air, completely ruining the beautiful backdrop you were admiring mere minutes ago. Your heart slammed wildly in your chest, your breathing unsteady and your hands shook violently. You had nothing to defend yourself. You looked to your side, wondering if you could push it over the cliff if necessary. Where was Joel?!

Just as it was about to clear the grass and step into the clearing, Joel leapt up behind the creature and stabbed it in the back of the head with a loud grunt. It collapsed in an instant, blood spilling from its skull as Joel stood over the corpse, shoulders and chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.

"Oh my god," you whispered, your trembling hands coming up to cover your mouth as you stared at the lifeless body. You hadn't seen an infected alive yet. And they were far more terrifying than you ever imagined. Tears welled up in your eyes that you quickly tried to flick away, but Joel already noticed.

"You okay?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed with worry as he cleaned his knife off in the grass.

"Yeah," you replied shakily, still staring at the dead infected a few feet away. You slowly forced yourself to your feet and walked around it, only stopping when you were safely in the grass. With a grunt, Joel kicked the body closer and closer to the edge until it tumbled over. You winced as you heard its body faintly thudding and cracking against the rocks and branches below. He glanced over at you, your face screwed up with a mix of distaste and fear, and he sighed.

"Wanna just head back?"

"Yeah," you said, looking at the view once more before following him through the tall grass. "It was nice while it lasted, though."

The two of you trudged through the grass quietly, back towards the woods. He could tell you were shaken up and he inwardly cursed the clicker for ruining what could have ended up being a really nice day with you. A day where he thought he was making some progress. He made you smile and laugh and he definitely recognized that heated look in your eye back at the stables, but all of those memories suddenly seemed so distant. It wasn't until the horse came into view that he even remembered why he brought you out in the first place.

"You still wanna learn to ride?"

You looked up at him, your perfect lips parted ever so slightly. It made him want to grab your chin and press his mouth against yours so he could remember what you felt like again.

"Oh, sure," you said, glancing wearily over at the horse as you approached.

"Why don't you take the reins and I'll sit behind you," he offered as he untied the horse from the tree. "That way I can take over if you're feelin' too nervous."

"Okay..." you agreed slowly, realizing that meant he would be pressed up against you for the entire ride home. And this time, there wouldn't be a buffer.

He laced his fingers together and bent forward, offering you a boost. You got a good grip on the saddle and delicately placed your foot in his hands before he launched you upwards. You swung your leg over and shifted in the saddle a bit, looking down at the back of the horse's head. Its long ears flickered back and forth, trying to shoo away the flies.

You gasped when the saddle shifted slightly and Joel climbed up behind you. Your body stiffened and you stared straight ahead as he got himself comfortable. You tried to block it out, but when his arms wrapped around you from behind and took the reins from your grasp, you realized it would be impossible.

"This is how you wanna hold 'em, see?" he murmured softly in your ear, and you immediately felt goosebumps break out up and down your arms. He hadn't been this close before. Not even when he was examining your head wound. His exhale tickled the side of your neck and you realized his lips were dangerously close to your exposed skin. When it occurred to you that he had asked you a question, you blinked and snapped out of it.

"Yeah," you said, and you hoped he would think your hands were shaking because you were nervous to ride and nothing more.

"Now we're ridin' western, so when you steer, you wanna pull the reins across, like this," he said, demonstrating with his hands over yours, and just like that, the horse turned to the left. "And you just do the opposite if you wanna go the other way."

"Okay, makes sense," you replied, surprised you were actually following along.

"You want the horse to move, you gotta squeeze your legs. Gotta do it hard, though. It's a big animal, they can't feel you if you don't squeeze hard."

"Uh huh," you said, so you gave it a try. You squeezed your legs as hard as you could and the horse slowly lumbered forwards, and you squealed with excitement. "I did it!"

Joel chuckled behind you. You could feel the deep rumble through your back and the little puffs of air from his nose on your neck. It made you shudder, and you tried to pass it off like you were cold. The horse began to slowly walk back the way you came, through the trees and past a little stream, and the longer you walked, the more confident you became.

"This isn't so bad," you admitted, and you weren't sure if you were talking about Joel's embrace or riding the horse. You were growing used to his arms around you now, even though you didn't really need his hands to guide yours, you didn't say anything. It was... nice.

"How do I make it go faster?" you asked.

"Well, you can give her a little kick, or you can click your tongue. You remember how to click your tongue?"

You laughed a little and without thinking, you gave it a try. Clicking your tongue experimentally against your teeth sent the horse rushing forward. Just into a trot, but it still took you off guard. You gasped and leaned back into Joel's chest, looking to steady yourself so you wouldn't fall. You could feel him laughing behind you as he tightened his arms around your waist and gave the reins a gentle tug, slowing the horse back down to a walk.

"Not funny!" you exclaimed, but your smile gave you away.

He missed this. He really missed this. He missed holding you and laughing with you and spending time with you. What he wouldn't give to kiss you again. He ached for the way you tasted, the way you moaned underneath him, the feeling of your smooth skin under his rough palms. Every day that passed he felt like he was forgetting little by little, and the urge to remind himself, the urge to pull you into his arms and kiss you deeply and take you to bed with him was becoming more intense by the day.

But he had to be patient. He could be patient. You'd come around, one day. He was sure of it.

By the time you made it back to Jackson, you were feeling much more at ease. Maybe this is what you needed. Some time away with Joel, just the two of you, so you could learn more about him. You had to admit, you were beginning to see a very soft and sweet side to him that you only caught glimpses of in the past.

Before today, you hadn't been able to understand the attraction. He was good looking, you already knew that, but you also knew that couldn't have just been it. That wasn't enough to share a love for one another that he classified as rare and meant to be. Now, it was starting to become clearer. There was something inherently sexy about the way he handled himself. The confidence he had, which, at first, came off as cocky, you now viewed in a different light. After the way he handled the horse in the pasture and the clicker in the field, you were beginning to understand.

Joel Miller was a protector. He cared deeply and passionately for the ones he loved, and he stopped at nothing to defend them. Sometimes that love was misplaced as anger, and that's where he kept losing you.

He had asked if you felt up to joining Tommy and Maria at the dining hall for dinner, and even though you were a little tired from your outing, you agreed.

As you walked down the street together, he had to fight the impulse to hold your hand. He still noticed the way people looked at you, their curiosity over your now famous injury getting the best of them, but once they caught his eye they quickly averted their gaze. It angered him, he couldn't help it. He didn't want you to feel uncomfortable. You didn't deserve to be gawked at.

You followed Joel through the crowded hall once again, and just like before, the crowd naturally parted for him. He seemed to be making his way towards the back, towards the same table as before, only this time Tommy and Maria were already seated and waiting.

Maria greeted you with a hug and you gave Tommy a quick smile across the table before sitting down between her and Joel.

"Beautiful day out today," Maria said off to the side while Joel and Tommy talked amongst themselves.

"Yeah, it really was. I'm gonna miss it when the snow comes," you said, giving her a face. "Who's watching your daughter?" you asked suddenly, glancing around as if you could have possibly missed a small child running around.

"Oh, Dina offered to babysit, so we jumped at the chance to get out of the house," she said with a laugh. "Did you do anything exciting today?"

"Yeah, actually," you said, glancing at Joel, who was still talking quietly to his brother. "Joel taught me how to ride a horse. Well... re-taught me, I guess," you said with a small laugh.

"Thats fantastic. I'm glad you were feeling well enough to go out," Maria said with a warm smile.

"Oh, that reminds me-" you said, stopping yourself when Seth came over to take your orders. You just asked for what Maria was getting and turned your attention back to her. "I thought of a job."

Her eyes widened in surprise and she clapped her hands together. "Let's hear it!"

"I thought I could help out at the infirmary," you said, and she nodded along thoughtfully. "Nick was telling me his aide had to join patrol and he says he just needs someone to help do things around the office."

"That sounds like a great idea," she said, but you could hear the hesitation in her voice. When she glanced over at Joel, you connected the dots and sighed.

"He's fine with it," you grumbled, your gaze dropping to your hands.

"Fine with what?" Joel's voice asked from beside you.

"She wants to help out at the infirmary," Maria said, and Tommy grinned.

"Great idea, sugar," he said, "Nick could use the help. He's smart, but he's disorganized as all hell."

"I think it'll be good for you," Joel said, his knee knocking against yours under the table. "Help you get to know everyone a little better. Besides, if anythin' were to happen, you're in the right place," he added, leaning back in his chair so Seth could put his plate down in front of him.

"What do you mean?" you asked, picking up your fork and then scrunching your nose when you saw cherry tomatoes on your plate. Without even looking up, Joel speared the tomatoes with his fork and put them on his plate, then the three of you watched as he gathered his squash and gave it to you.

"I mean, if your head ever got to hurtin' again, then you'd be in the right place," he explained, looking up and licking the pad of his thumb. He frowned a bit when he noticed the table staring at him, and Tommy and Maria quickly ducked their heads to focus on their food, hiding their smiles.

"What?"

You dropped your gaze shyly to your plate and poked at the squash with your fork. "You know I hate tomatoes."

Heat crept up his neck a bit but he grinned. "The acid upsets your stomach," he said, and you chuckled to yourself, about to say something else when Jesse happened to walk by your table with some friends.

"Hey, Jesse!" Tommy called out, making him stop. He gave you all a quick wave before looking at Tommy expectantly. "Think you can join in on the 10am patrol tomorrow? Joel was just tellin' me he saw a clicker in that zone. Don't want any surprises like last time."

"Yeah, of course," Jesse said, then Joel frowned.

"Speakin' of last time," Joel said, his eyes drifting back and forth between the two men. "You never did explain how she got hurt on your patrol."

"That's right," you said, setting down your fork, "what happened? How did I fall? Was it the horse?"

Tommy and Jesse exchanged a nervous look. It was quick, but Joel still caught it. His jaw ticked to the side as he patiently waited for an answer.

"Uh, it was all so fast, and so much was happenin'," Tommy said, clearly floundering.

"Yeah, it's kinda hard to remember exactly," Jesse said, scratching the back of his neck.

"Well, try," Joel said, his voice dropping an octave. You turned your head slightly to look at him, not understanding why there was a sudden mood shift.

"We got ambushed by a small hoard," Tommy began, pushing his food around on his plate. "Thought we had it handled til a bunch more came outta nowhere," he continued, looking up to meet your eye now. "You were takin' down a runner, didn't see one comin' up behind you and it pushed you down. Knocked your head on a sharp boulder. Jesse 'n me took down the rest of 'em and that's when we realized you were knocked out cold."

You nodded, the story making sense as you remembered waking up to them yelling your name and their clothes covered in blood. But Joel wasn't satisfied. He knew they were leaving something out.

"That all?" he pressed, eyeing his brother. Tommy looked at Joel, a tense moment passing between the two before Tommy slowly nodded. He was about to open his mouth to speak when Jesse interrupted.

"It was my fault."

The whole table turned to look at him, taken aback. His hands were fidgeting at his sides as he avoided Joel's intense stare, trying to look anywhere but at him.

"I wanted to check out this department store. It was too big, we hadn't cleared the area, b-but we hadn't seen any infected in weeks a-and I thought we were good," he said, glancing up quickly at Joel, who was clenching his jaw and glaring at Jesse.

"What'd you need so bad from this store?" Joel seethed, and you saw Jesse swallow nervously.

"I-it's me and Grace's anniversary soon, wanted to get her something-"

Joel stood up quickly, his chair tumbling backwards, clattering loudly on the ground and silencing the room.

"So you wanted to get your girlfriend a present? That's why she can't remember a goddamn thing?" Joel roared, pointing at you. Tommy stood up and held his hands out.

"Calm down, Joel."

"I ain't calmin' down!" he shouted, and you jumped in your chair, scooting away from him and closer to Maria, who put an arm around you and urged you to stand.

"Let's go to the bar," she murmured, ushering you away as if she knew what was coming.

"I-I'm so sorry, Joel," Jesse stammered, tripping over his feet as he tried to put some distance between them.

"Sorry ain't gonna bring her back," he growled, rounding the table, his shoulders tight and his eyes wild. He reached out and grabbed Jesse by the collar before Tommy could react, and slammed him face first into the table. Food and cutlery went everywhere. People at nearby tables backed away but stayed to watch the fight unfold. Joel lifted Jesse up and smashed his face into the table again with a grunt, and this time you heard Jesse cry out in pain. You covered your mouth in horror as you watched Tommy try to pry Joel's hands off of him. "Wonder how many hits it'll take before you forget Grace. Maybe then we'll be even!" he shouted, pulling him back up by the collar. By now, blood poured from Jesse's mouth and his cheeks, mixing with tears as he tried to pull Joel's hands away. Just as Joel was about to slam his head into the table for a third time, you found your voice.

"Stop!!" you screamed, and by some miracle, he did. He still gripped Jesse's shirt in his hands, but Joel twisted his head around to look at you. Whatever he in your face made his fingers loosen their grip and Jesse stumbled backwards, collapsing into a chair as Tommy kneeled down next to him, trying to wipe away the blood.

Joel turned his whole body toward you, his face red and his chest heaving. His eyes were still crazed with anger but you could see it slowly melting away.

He took a step forward and you took a step back.

His eyes dropped to your feet, regret washing over him in an instant.

"Maria, can you gimme a hand?" Tommy called out, and she rushed over to help Jesse stand. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw them slowly leading Jesse towards the front door, no doubt in search of the doctor to help patch his wounds, but your eyes remained locked on Joel.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, not caring about all the onlookers still frozen in silence. But you did. You opened your mouth, then glanced around and thought better of it.

"Not here," you said under your breath, then stalked towards the exit, pushing your way past people until you felt the cool night air in your lungs.

You hurried down the street, wrapping your arms around yourself as you barreled home. You didn't turn around to see if he was following you. You knew he was. It was almost like you could feel him now. His presence draped around you like a scarf, surrounding you, engulfing you, suffocating you.

Storming up the porch steps, you flung the door open and walked inside, not bothering to close it behind you. You charged into the kitchen and paced around, your anger boiling inside you with nowhere for it to go.

"I'm sorry," he tried again from the doorway, trying to give you space. You stopped in your tracks and looked at him. His eyebrows were pinched together as he quietly waited for you to say something.

"Have you always been like this?"

His breath caught in his throat and he paused for a moment before replying. "Since we met? Yes."

"So you're saying I've caused you to act like a caveman when you hear something you don't like?" you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly.

"No, no, that's not - what I meant was, since you've known me, I've... had a temper," he said, quickly correcting himself.

You let a silent moment pass between you as you thought about what he said.

"It's no wonder it took me so long to fall in love with you," you said, and he winced. He looked away, trying to hide the pain, and you couldn't help but feel a little bad, but you stood your ground.

"It didn't bother you before," he mumbled, looking at the ground.

"Well, it bothers me now," you snapped, and he nodded.

"Okay, then I'll work on it," he conceded, looking up at you. "Happy?"

You snorted and rolled your eyes. "Thrilled."

Brushing past him, you marched up the stairs towards your bedroom and slammed the door shut behind you.

You could hear him moving around downstairs as you washed up and changed into pajamas, still seething at his behavior. How could you possibly fall in love with this man? You could barely figure out who he was - one minute he was soft and sweet, and the next he was bashing people's faces in. Even you could see it wasn't really Jesse's fault. The three of you would have agreed to check out the store together. Joel was just looking for someone to blame. It was immature and brutish and stupid.

Just as you pulled the covers over yourself, you heard a quiet rap on the door. You paused for a moment before rolling your eyes.

"Come in."

The door slowly creaked open and Joel slipped inside your room, glancing around at the bedroom you once shared together before looking at you.

"Can we talk?"

You furrowed your brow for a second before nodding, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He stepped forward and perched on the side of the bed, facing the wall so you could only see his side profile as he sat, deep in thought. You pulled your legs up so your chin rested on your knees and waited.

"I lied to you."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and you couldn't help but think of the journal - Joel lied to me - and wondered if this was it. If you were going to get your answer.

"When you asked me what I missed most 'bout... before. I lied."

Okay, so probably not the lie in the journal, but still, your interest was piqued.

"What do you miss most?" you finally asked, and he sucked in a deep breath, his eyes glistening as he stared at the wall.

"My daughter. Sarah."

Your heart clenched in your chest and your gaze dropped to your hands. A daughter?

A long silence passed as you slowly connected the dots. The way he was with Ellie. The anger. The journal entry about Tommy having a daughter. The softness he kept hidden away.

"She died on outbreak day," he began, his throat already constricting. "Died in my arms. She was shot and-" he sniffled and took a deep breath. "And I couldn't save her. I held her and watched the light leave her eyes and I -" he choked back a sob and looked down, still avoiding your gaze. "I've never been the same," he finally managed to get out.

You swallowed back the tears that were forming. How couldn't you see? Of course he was hurting. Of course he lost someone. Just like you lost your family, he lost his. Were you that selfish and blind that you couldn't see it?

"Joel, I'm so sorry," you said shakily, but he shook his head.

"Just wanted to explain why I'm... whatever," he replied, giving up and rubbing his face.

Your chest ached for him. He was in pain and you couldn't stand it. Inching forward, you wrapped your arms around his neck, tentatively resting the side of your head on his shoulder. His hand came up to cup your elbow and he tilted his head so it rested against yours.

"I'm sorry," you repeated softly.

"Me, too."

You stayed like that for a while. Extending small olive branches to each other as you sat with the weight of what the world did to you both, and you finally began to understand what might have brought you together in the first place.

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itsbrandy · 2 months

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I spend most every night beneath the light of a neon moon.

-Cigarettes After Sex

May I present: Javier Peña💜✨

after SOOO long I am finally back on my painting grind and OMIGOD?? I think a hiatus did me good because this only took me one day and- as you might have guessed -this ain’t the whole thing;) I’m obsessed with these colors, man😭

Like, reblog and the rest of that jazz to see the full piece!! Im hoping to have it done in a few days, and I absolutely can’t wait to show y’all!

Stay hydrated, and dream of soft summer nights in Medellín🌙

I love you all so much

@theywhowriteandknowthings @furious-rogue-stuff @for-a-longlongtime @beefrobeefcal @pedrit0-pascalit0 @pedroshotwifey @astrangebird

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itsbrandy · 2 months

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go west, to the southern plains, go west to breathe (lover, share your road - part i) series masterlist | AO3 Link | prologue | part ii

chapter rating: T

word count: ~21K

chapter summary: at the end of the line, you make a business proposition to Joel Miller. He brings you and Ellie home to the last sanctuary left in this world in exchange for your skills. What you find there and what you find out about Joel Miller is not what you expect.

chapter warnings/tags: depictions of going hungry and poverty, sexual harassment, period accurate sexism, depictions of a sick child, reader depicted as skinny but due to lack of food not her natural body type (and this will change), allusions to domestic abuse, hurt/comfort, pining, the beginnings of a praise kink, let the idiots in love begin

a/n: shout out to the ever incredible @jennaispun for beta-ing the prologue and this first part!

“After a long walk in hell, I found you. You made hell feel like home, you made the flames feel warm. It’s true, you haven’t saved me but you were the closest thing to heaven.” — Maram Rimawi

part i:

Beneath the soot-gray fingertips of your gloves, the dust of the high plains sits coarse and heavy on the tattered, yellowing strip of paper. You hold it down flat as a brutish wind snakes up the empty dirt road through the center of Dalhart, grabbing hold of the brown dust that clings to everything — and tugs. Underneath your pale blue dress, with the hemline torn and the collar in need of stitching, your heart pounds as you read the small, almost guilty, advert:

Help wanted. Can pay.

Contact Joel Miller.

The promise of actual money should have had every able-bodied American scrambling to answer the advert, but by its place near the bottom of the announcement board outside of the country store, buried beneath slashed prices for milk and eggs and headlines out of Washington – it seems certain to be relegated into obscurity.

For all you know, this could be months, even years, old. Miller, whoever he was, could be long dead, or gone with the rest of the exodus to California. Or he could have gone the way of your “Uncle” Robert – a huckster, discovered too late; one of many who prey upon the desperation that sticks to the country like the acrid smell of smoke. Your hand shakes as you pluck the yellow card from the wooden plank. There is no contact number, no address. Another trick? Dust stings the corners of your eyes when you pinch them close, your breathing quickening, your pulse sharp in the sleeve of your ratty glove.

Oh, God, what are you going to do? What if this is nothing, just like Robert’s promise? What if there’s nothing here for you? What if –

A small hand on your forearm centers your spiraling thoughts. From beneath a faded blue baseball cap, two brown eyes peer up at you, firm and reassuring.

“You okay?” She keeps her voice low, just like you asked.

“Yeah, El–Ellie, I’m fine.” You squeeze her too-thin hand, your stomach toiling with guilt and its own emptiness. “Just figuring out what to do next.”

“Is finding and murdering this asshole Robert still off the table?”

You frown, your niece’s quick temper more from your dead sister than you. “It is. Now, I’m going inside to ask about this advert. Maybe this Miller still has a job or two open.”

Ellie’s eyes fall to the slip of paper in your hand, her aggressive scowl tightening into something that too closely resembles fear. She knows what’s at stake just as much as you do and you hate that that knowledge ages her youthful face.

“You stay close and don’t let anyone get a good look at you, okay?”

Ellie nods, already familiar with the routine, and scoops up your luggage case, her tattered satchel hanging off her other shoulder. She had been wearing pants long before reaching Dalhart, but it soothed you to think the eyes of cruel men passed right over her, their interest rarely in young boys.

A bell above the door tinkles when you open it, but by the dull, muted sound, it most likely has a few dents. Behind you, the afternoon heat follows you in, the sunlight illuminating the floating dust mites in the air. The door whines as it closes, brightening the inside of the store, where the mites settle back into the silver layer that sits over cans of tomatoes and peaches, linens, boxes of gum and cigarettes. Nearly everything sits untouched and unmoved, old dust settling between cracks and grooves, patrons not having enough money to buy something and the owner not having enough to change out stock. Struck still, frozen in a single, long exhale. The slow, creaking death of the economic system has reached Dalhart too. You shudder, suddenly cold as if in a mausoleum.

The further away from Boston the train took you, the further back in time you felt. Here, you are reminded of the old general stores of cowboys and pioneers. But maybe, that is exactly where you are: out of time.

A man in long white sleeves, coiffed hair, and perfectly round glasses, looks up from the wilted newspaper spread out over the counter.

“Can I help you?” His accent hails from the east, North Carolina most likely. However, his manners are not reflective of that famous southern hospitality. He looks at you like you’re a bad dream and it unsteadies you.

“Y-yes. I, uh, I’m hoping that you know a-a Miller. Joel Miller? I have his advert and I’m, um, I’m looking for work.”

The man’s thin eyebrow jumps mockingly. Aren’t we all, sister? But eventually, he shakes his head.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re doing all the way out here, but this ain’t no place for a young lady out on her own, job or no job. Where’s your husband?”

“Dead.” Your voice doesn’t waver, but then again, why would it?

The clerk’s eyes soften, if only slightly. “I see. But I’m sorry to say, there is no job here for you.”

Your mouth instantly dries out. “What do you mean? Where’s Mr. Miller?”

“He’s a mean ol’ sunuvbitch, livin' God knows where. Comes in twice a month for supplies and he’s back out into the prairie.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t see why that’s a problem –,”

“He ain’t fit for civilized life, ma’am.” The clerk drops his nose, eying you seriously over the rim of his black glasses. “Whatever he’s offering, you don’t want no part of it.”

“I think we’ll be the judges of that.” Beside you, Ellie drops your suitcase and it loudly clatters to the ground. “Thanks for the tip though.”

The clerk’s eyes widen – this is terrible behavior even for a boy – his mouth unfurling to give a nasty tongue-lashing, when you interject, your voice thick with pleading.

“I would just like to meet the man. Please, sir.” The clerk, like most men without scruples, can barely resist the sound of a woman begging. Those uncanny blue eyes find you again. “Has he come in recently?”

You can feel Ellie’s wicked sneer behind you, the clerk’s gaze switching between the unlikely pair in his shop. Finally, he shrugs. Who gives a fuck if one more woman goes missing?

“He’s due for a resupply.”

“How soon?” Your palm sweats under your gloves.

He narrows his eyes, evidently annoyed that a woman would reject his warnings. “Soon. We have a parlor in the back if you’d like to wait for him. But you have to buy something,” he adds vehemently.

You nod, unsteady on shaking knees as you walk towards the door in the back of the store.

“Thank you, sir. You have been so kind. We very much appreciate it.”

Any chance that the clerk finds you sincere is lost when Ellie wraps her knuckles on the counter as she passes.

“Buh-bye, dude.”

The parlor is small, dark, damp, and smells faintly of kerosene and leather. A woman, most likely the wife of the clerk you just annoyed, glares from behind a counter as you and Ellie walk in.

“Lunch.” Not a question.

Ellie looks up at you, eyes wide, fearful. You hadn’t let her see what is left in your purse, but she knows it’s low.

With your stomach in knots, you wouldn’t be able to eat anyway. You pluck out a dollar, bringing your total down to three dollars, and giving it to your niece.

“Order whatever you want.”

The beating heart of the blazing Texas sun edges downward across the open sky, falling, until it drops completely behind the harrowingly flat horizon. Purple erupts in its wake, the last pump of blood of a dying muscle, and nearly instantly, the temperature drops. You watch the explosive coronary of the sky from a table at the back of the parlor, your own pulse doubling the later it gets. You squeeze your hand between your thighs to keep your fingers from drumming uneasily on the table. But for once, Ellie doesn’t pick up on your nerves.

A dollar went farther out here and, as a result, Ellie is allowed her first big meal in months. Twice now, she’s nearly forgone the silverware to shove food directly into her mouth with her fingers, had it not been for your glares to remind her to slow down.

“This is slow,” she grumbles as she licks her bowl of mashed potatoes clean. Of course, half of what she ordered sits waiting for you, but you know she needs this meal more than you do – even if your rumbling stomach disagrees. You’d already had lunch at the train station; one more missed meal won’t kill you and less for you means more for Ellie.

Suddenly becoming a parent to a very opinionated fourteen-year-old girl was not something you had anticipated, and most times you figured you were doing it all wrong. The least you could do is give her everything you could.

“You think he’ll show?”

You tear your eyes away from the parlor door, blinking back into your body out of your cloud of thoughts. Ellie’s little hands grip the bowl, a white smear sitting on her bottom lip, her eyes dark as they watch you.

You grin as her pink tongue swipes up to lick her mouth clean. How easy you forget she’s only fourteen, with her loud mouth and provoking eyes. “Eat your food, Ellie.”

The words have barely left your mouth when the door to the parlor bursts open. Two men, clearly drunk and smelling of it, stumble in. This is the part where you wish you too could believably dress up like a man. Your pulse thrums in your neck like a heightened prey animal.

One pushes the other’s shoulder, smirking, and grunting something. His friend, also in a cowboy hat but half his size, nods and makes an unsteady line for one of the tables, while the other does his best to get to the bar.

The man at the table has light green eyes, overly thick eyebrows, and a flat mouth, loose with drink. He flops into a wooden chair and you watch as the Texas Rangers badge on his chest flashes in the firelight behind him. Your stomach tightens.

He stretches out, feet crossed over his ankles, limp hands crossed over his denim jacket, hollering at his friend and the woman working, who looks equally displeased to see them as she did you and Ellie.

Smirking, his eyes slide from the wooden bar top, over the back wall, and right onto you.

You watch as his gaze blurs for a moment, a film of beastial hunger smothering the color of his eyes. You can feel your pulse in your ankles now.

“Well, now, what do we have here?” The lilt in his voice calls out two unspoken words: fresh meat. Distressingly steady, he climbs to his feet, his hat tilted obnoxiously on his forehead. “Where did you come from, you pretty little thing?”

He saunters over, his thumbs stuck in his belt, the gun at his side snug in its holster. The grin on his face is hideous. You’d smack it off if you weren’t suddenly overcome by a debilitating fear. A look like that on a man is never, ever a good thing.

“Whatcha got there, Lee?” his buddy calls out from the bar, beard drenched in beer foam.

“I dunno quite yet, Knapp,” he says over his shoulder, his livid green eyes never leaving your face. He nearly folds in half to press his spider-like hands on the surface of your table, coming inches from your face. His breath smells like corn whiskey and cheap tobacco. “Guess I’ll have to find out. What’s your name, pretty thing?”

“Or she could not tell you her name and instead, you could fuck off.” Ellie’s scowl wrenches her mouth open, her knuckles white around her spoon. There’s a part of you that fully acknowledges and accepts that if given the signal, she’d scoop the fucker’s eyes out with the silverware right here. “We’re eating here, or are you too busy smelling like a fucking whiskey barrel to notice?”

As with most adults when Ellie decides to show her teeth, Lee stares stunned before the self-righteous anger sets in. Your heart stops for a moment when you think he’s going for his holster, but instead, he uses the flat of his hand to swat her hat off her head.

“Shut up, you little fucker, where’d you learn your fucking ma–,”

Ellie’s long hair tumbles down her shoulders, the baseball cap on the floor behind her.

Lee is stunned into silence once again. The parlor goes deathly silent.

It’s Knapp who sets off the explosive spark again. “Holy fuck, you’re a little girl.”

Ellie snatches up her hat, cheeks flaming red, but Lee’s hand grabs her wrist.

“A kinda cute one at that,” Lee sneers. He twists her arm and she yelps. Knapp at the bar laughs, his paunch shaking as beer sloshes over the side of his glass. The woman is cleaning something with a rag, turned away from the scene, her shoulders hunched to her ears. You’re on your feet, your hand on her purse. “What are you thinking, hm? Dressing this sweet little girl up like a boy?”

The trigger clicks and Lee and everyone else in the parlor freezes. The edge of your lash line is wet, fear rolling through you like fog on the bay. Your hand is steady, miraculously, but your voice isn’t.

“L-l-let–,” your voice cracks and you try again. You only have one gun drawn on Lee and you pray to whatever god is listening that Knapp doesn’t remember his. “Let her go.”

This small pistol is your last line of defense against those who would take everything from you. You couldn’t keep your sister safe, your husband didn’t want to be saved, but you’d die before you’d let anyone come within an inch of Ellie. You pawned off your wedding ring long before you ever considered selling this weight in your hand. You couldn’t physically win a fight but you’d be damned if you weren’t going to take someone out with you.

There’s more than one reason you never let Ellie look into your purse. You won’t make eye contact with her now.

Lee’s eyes harden into black flints in his head. “Yeah? You’re shaking like a leaf. You ain’t gonna do shit about it.”

He twists harder, forcing Ellie to her knees, his mouth smearing into a sickening sneer, Ellie’s cries loud – “get off me, you fucker!”

All you have to do is miss. Once.

Your arm shifts right and you fire. You meant to hit the floor, but instead the leg of a chair at a nearby table shatters, wood and smoke sparking into the air. Lee and Ellie jump, their struggle broken, but Ellie’s quicker, smarter. Hunched to avoid debris, they are nearly eye to eye and Ellie doesn’t hesitate; she jerks her head back and then launches her forehead forward – square into his flat nose.

The crunch is sickening and it turns your already empty stomach. Lee shrieks, releasing Ellie, his hands flying to his misshapen nose to staunch the river of blood pouring from his nostrils.

“You bitch!” he whines, voice wet and gummy as blood trickles down his throat, eyes watering. You hear a roar of anger as Knapp stands, no longer finding any of this funny.

“Get behind me, Ellie.” You snap, eyes on Knapp as he lumbers forward. She hesitates, looking like she’d like nothing more than to kick Lee up the balls, but obeys the closer Knapp comes. She slots behind you, eyes sharp on the squealing man on the floor.

“She broke my fucking nose, man,” he cries, face already purpling.

“Yeah, and don’t you forget it, you fucker!” She snarls over your shoulder. One hand holds your elbow, and the other brandishes her mother’s knife that had been at the bottom of her satchel seconds ago. Fuck.

Ellie Williams is not, and never has been, nor will be, one to deescalate a situation. Knapp responds in kind. His drunk fingers fumble with his holster, his face contorted with rage.

“Shootin’ at an officer of the law – you’re gonna hang for this, you thieving little c–,”

“Knapp.”

A fifth voice – low, deep, a mammalian bark that grinds the chaos of the room to a halt. The large man stalls, his engine snagged by the rough grain of that voice. On the floor, Lee lets out one quiet whimper as he cracks open a pulsating black eye.

In the glow of the firelight, you watch as beads of sweat swell on Knapp’s big forehead beneath his wide-brimmed hat. His wide eyes flash between you and the man who just walked in.

“M-Miller, the fuck you want?”

Your heart seizes in your chest. Miller.

Joel Miller.

You never thought your saving grace would come in the shape of a hulking, dark-eyed man.

A well-worn handkerchief around his neck, crusted over with dust, his broad shoulders stretch a denim work shirt, the unbuttoned collar loose and just as dirty. Worked-over hands, dry and brown as the earth, curl into fists at his side. Tight jaw, flared nose, eyes black, his presence expands in the cramped room, a leviathan cresting dark waves to command the roaring void.

“Back off, both of you.”

Knapp sneers, desperately tugging at some misguided sense of bravery, with sweat running hot and fast and smelly down the sides of his rubbery face. “Y-yeah, or what?”

“You fuckin’ know what.”

Knapp visibly swallows and lowers his pistol, hands trembling. Lee whines from the floor, his eyes open as wide as the swelling will allow, abject terror on his face as he stares up at Miller. Neither of them move.

A guard dog satisfied by the corralled sheep, Joel’s heavy gaze roves from the two men, across the room, to you.

His expression doesn’t change.

The weight shifts across the stiff planes of his shoulders, and he turns, leaving as quickly as he appeared. Beneath his thick boots, the wooden floor creaks and it rouses you. Your mouth is so dry you can feel the skin of your lips split apart.

“Mr. Miller, w-wait.”

He doesn’t.

With a single glance to the men still frozen in terror, you follow him through the now-dark and empty store. The cold desert air cracks hard against your overheated cheeks when you burst through the door, into the black night. The moonlight illuminates the threads of silver hair in his beard that the dark parlor hid. His fingers work slowly, unhurriedly, as he tightens the leather buckle beneath the wide girth of his off-white horse. It lifts its head as you stumble out onto the dusty road, its round eyes watching you with more interest than its rider. White ears twitch forward, a snort from the long snout, and Joel rubs the soft place between two giant nostrils without looking up.

“J-Joel – Mr. Miller, please, I need your help.”

“Already got it.” His shoulders flex and roll as he loads up another loose sack onto the rump of the horse, then tightens the securing belt. It snorts again and shifts on its hooves, its long tail flicking back and forth.

You shake your head, swallowing the hot rush of embarrassment. The wind licks at your ankles and you fight back a shiver, bringing a hand to your shoulder to warm the goosebumps. “No, sorry, I mean – I’m here to help you. I saw your advertisement and I was wondering if the position was still open.”

The buckle quiets. The dirt at his feet crunches as he faces you.

There are no trees in Dalhart, Texas. There are barely any clouds, no coverage. Overhead, the few buildings not yet folded up in the wake of the financial collapse throw shadows over his angular face, but you can still feel the trace of his gaze over you. A curious search, the investigation of scent.

Then he shakes his head.

“No.”

Your entire chest tightens. “Has the position been filled?”

“No.”

“Then why–,”

“I don’t need you.” He lifts up the third and final sack and you feel your hope being carried away with it. “Need a farm hand. You’re not the type.”

“N-n-no, I’ve worked on a farm. I-I’ve only planted seeds but I’m a quick learner and I–,”

“No.”

“Sir – please, I’ll do anything–,”

“Then go home.” He unties the reins from the wooden post and clicks to the horse. Its big eyes watch you as he turns them for the road. “There’s nothing here for you.”

You absolutely will not cry in front of this gruff stranger. Panic icing down your spine, you follow him on weak knees. In the wake leftover from the wheat boom, Dalhart is quiet as soon as the sun goes down. Empty of people, of light, of any sort of guiding hand, you try to appeal to the last human you’ve found at the end of the world.

“Mr. Miller, there must be something you need. I’m a hard worker, smart, you won’t have to train me at all. Please. I’ve been a housekeeper, a seamstress – a nurse. I —,”

The horse huffs when Joel pulls tight on the reins.

In the moonlight, all of his hair looks gray. Your heart plunges in your throat. You can feel your stomach trying to digest your spine.

“Done any work with kids?” He asks, after a moment.

His brisk question is not what you expected. You can barely hear him over the pounding in your heart.

“Y-yes. I’ve treated children before. A-and I was a teacher, briefly. I’m very good with children, actually.”

The scarred hand at his side tightens, flexes open and closed, the tips of his thumb and forefinger twitching over the other. Over his shoulder, you think his head tilts a centimeter towards you.

“You know what? Fuck this.”

Out of the shadows of the county store, Ellie tears down the steps, her face pink and her hair stuffed back up her ball cap. She loops her small hands around your forearm and tugs, her eyes like chips of bark, glaring hatefully at the man in the middle of the street. Faint dust churns beneath her faded sneakers.

“She’s fucking begging you and you don’t give a fuck, you old shithead!” She tugs again. In the flash of the moonlight, a glassy film has settled over her eyes. “C’mon, we don’t need him. We – don’t need – him.”

“Ellie, please!” You grab her by the shoulders, a soft hand in a swirling tempest, and she settles, her mouth twisted up in anger and embarrassment. She hates that you have to beg anyone. “Please.” Shielding her from him, you squeeze her shoulders. “I know, Ellie. I know. But I have to keep you safe.”

Ellie finally turns that hot glare at you, eyes damp. Petulant when terrified, your sister was the exact same way.

Fuck, Anna, it should have been me.

“She yours?”

Joel rests his weight on his left knee, fingers loose around the reins. He’s lowered the mask around his mouth. You snap your head up, your voice thankfully steady. “She’s my niece. She . . . I’m responsible for her.”

Below your palms, Ellie stiffens.

Fifteen feet from you, Joel nods, the muscle in his jaw tight. The horse huffs and he glares at it like it just yelled at him too.

“I’m not in the habit of pickin’ up strays,” he says as if that means a lot.

Hope springs in your chest and it snags the air in your lungs. “We’re not. I-I mean, we’ll work hard. Please, give us just one chance.”

“And you expect me to take on the both of you.” It isn’t a question, but his eyebrow arcs all the same. “That’s two mouths I gotta feed, ‘steada one.”

“She can have mine.” In the silence, you think you can hear the faint choir of crickets. You remember the tarantulas and centipedes that lived inside the walls of your husband’s prairie dugout, and your stomach twists. “Ellie can have whatever you give us.”

She makes a brief cry of protest, but you squeeze her shoulders. The sharp flair of his nostrils smooths and the corners of his eyes pinches, tilting his eyebrows up. He’s still glowering, but somehow, his expression has suddenly opened, just a crack.

And then he nods.

“Stay here a night. I’ll be back in the morning with the wagon.”

And that’s it. You have a job.

You’re so elated it takes a minute for his words to sink in. He turns back down the road, the horse's hooves clipping on the dry ground. You follow after him, hand outstretched.

“Oh, no, w-we can walk, it’s no trouble. Let me just get our things and–,”

“Too far to walk. And there’s things out in the dark more dangerous than those fuckin’ rangers.” He nods to the country store, eerily quiet. It sits, ugly, like a brown old frog. “There’s a hotel just up the road. It’s not much, but it’ll do for one night.”

“But, sir, we really can’t stay. I don’t – there’s no –,”

You stumble to a stop when those merciless dark eyes root you to the ground. The leather reins squeak when he tightens his fist around them. Again, you are under the impression of a dog sniffing out your scent for any deception, any treason. He takes you in, all of you in – your ratty gloves, your torn hemline, your tattered collar – and by some miracle, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, the groove above his nose softens.

Wordlessly, he reaches into his back pocket and takes out five dollars from a brown leather wallet. He offers it to you between two fingers.

Take it, his eyes command.

You do, with a shaking hand. You hate charity, you hate that you’re at his mercy –

But Ellie has a bed for the night. Inside, warm. Where, hours ago, she didn’t. You smother your pride and nod, gaze at the scar on his cheek that you only now notice at an arm’s length away.

“One night,” he says. “For you and the kid.”

You nod again because that’s all you really can do, his pity clutched in your fist and held against your heart.

Ellie scowls as he swings up onto the horse and readjusts his mask.

“What a guy,” she murmurs to you, her eyes still narrowed. Joel clicks his teeth, and the horse trots off into the dark, a lone man riding out into the featureless night.

Evidently still feeling slighted, Ellie sticks her tongue out at the denim back.

“Better keep that tongue in your mouth, kid,” he hollers before digging his heels into the horse’s flanks. “Liable to be chopped off like a copperhead.”

Ellie’s mouth snaps shut.

The money Joel gave you is more than enough to cover a room and another plate of food. You even spurge your own money on some small candy for Ellie, determined to give Joel back every cent left over and then some, once you’ve proven you can earn your keep.

For you and the kid.

You shake your head, lost in your own thoughts, the gnawing hunger in your belly satiated, as you pull back the covers to the twin bed. The metal frame squeaks as you climb in, your night dress thin and ragged as the rest of your clothes.

“C’mon, Ellie, time for bed.” When she doesn’t move, you stop rearranging the pillows and look at her. In her own white nightie (because she’d outgrown all her other pajamas), she sits in front of the roaring fire, her chin on her knees, and her arms wrapped around her shins.

She’s quiet - either a good sign, or a terrible one.

“Ellie, sweetie, we’ve gotta get some sleep. It’s gonna be a long day tomorrow.”

You watch as her narrow back expands and falls in one slow breath, her skin bright in the firelight.

She nods mutely and climbs into the space beside you. She rolls onto her side, away from you, her hands tucked up under her head, her knees curled up beneath her.

This is where Anna would know what to say. How to soothe this girl with so much awareness in a world that is raw to even those willfully ignorant. You can’t bullshit Ellie the way you can some kids. She knows too much. Seen too much.

You settle down next to her in the shadow of her shoulder. Your fingers hover, locked between the yawning gap of touching her and not touching her, when she finally speaks.

“Is this really going to work?” Her voice is quiet, soft, dust-covered and buried. “Is Joel really gonna . . . are we safe?”

You cannot bullshit Ellie Williams.

“I don’t know. I’d like to think so. I know you don’t like him, but I think we can trust him.”

She’s quiet again, only this time because there’s something she doesn’t want to say.

“Not like Uncle Robert – or Robert, if that’s even his real name. I’d never met the man in person, but I wanted – so badly – to believe . . .” You swallow, your own shame boiling your skin. “I think we’re safe with Joel Miller.”

The god’s honest truth.

She hears it in your voice.

Ellie tips back to look you in the eyes. She’s lost so much weight recently. “Yeah?”

You tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, the ghost of your thumb across her cheek. She allows the show of affection. “Yeah, El. I do.”

You want to say: you can trust me. I’ll always take care of you.

But you know it would only come out hollow.

Neither of you would think it was honest.

She pulls away from your grasp, her eyes almost golden in the firelight. She nods and stares at the burning wood.

“Okay.”

“So . . . is your car, like, broken or something?”

You elbow Ellie and she sits up from hanging over the edge of the wagon. She frowns at you – what? – and you both glance at Joel at the front of the wagon. If the question annoys him any more than he perpetually already is, he doesn’t show it.

“Don’t have one.” He says to the back of the horse. The wagon rocks and sways over the clods of dust and stone in the road. “Never did.”

“Uh, why?”

“Cars break down in the dust storms. Short out. They end up being more trouble than they’re worth.”

Again, that half-centimeter turn, his tone implying what his eyes can’t, faced away from you. Ellie narrows her eyes at the back of his head. She wrenches her mouth open, fire in her eyes, but she catches you glaring, and her mouth snaps shut. Pouting, she chucks a lone pebble off the back of the wagon.

The sky is strikingly blue, bright as a livewire, the air warm and crackling with the early summer heat. Away from Dalhart, away from the collection of dust on every surface, dripping through every crack, you find the clarity and distance of the southern plains to be . . . unexpected. So careless and abrasive one minute, but then, in moments like these, it became hard to believe that nature could ever be so cruel as to make the earth rise up and swallow it all whole.

You swing your legs off the wooden edge, the sunshine warm on your knees. It’s no use trying to hide how badly your socks need darning, so you lean back and stretch your legs as far as you can, your face tilted towards the sky, the still air peaceful. This morning, you’d put on your yellow plaid dress, torn cotton lace around the sleeves that stop at your elbows. You tucked your hair up and pinned your straw hat to your head. It was a reflex, to present your most beautiful self to a man, even one you barely knew. By the way Ellie had rolled her eyes, she felt no such compulsion.

Demure, your mother always told you, you’re not very pretty, you’re not very bright, the least you can be is demure.

The wagon shudders, clicks, over the empty road and you open your eyes. Ellie is turned away from you, eyes out to the fields on either side of you. You don’t understand what she’s looking at, until you realize that’s exactly it: there is nothing to look at. On the other side of those loopy barbed-wire fences through cock-eyed posts, there are miles and miles of nothing but churned-over dirt. A lazy wind spins over a patch of emptiness, tossing clods and sand into the air, an aimless sadness as tangible as the dust itself. Phone lines stand, corroded and chipped, along the side of the road like tangible manifestations of a deadly infection.

“There’s no crops here either.” Ellie says, voicing loudly what you only thought. You can’t see her face but she sounds as stunned as you are. “What happened?”

You watch over her shoulder, eyes level with the earth bleached of all material, all life. With the drought, your husband’s field shriveled up in months, the cracked ground peeling away from the sodhouse in some places. You still have nightmares about waking up with grit between your teeth, choking and coughing up bloody chunks of mud.

This is desolation on an epidemic scale.

“Ask different people ‘n they’ll tell you different things.” Joel says in his slow drawl, the crackle of the earth soft beneath the wooden wheels. “No one really knows. But nothing like this happened when the buffalo grass was here, ‘steada wheat.”

“Wait, you were here before Dalhart?” Ellie twists on the wagon, leaning over the lip where Joel sits and drives the horse.

“My family was. Here before anything. My grandpa befriended the Comanche Indians and –,”

“You got to hang out with Indians?” Ellie nearly hurls herself over the edge of the wagon to try and look him in the eye. “What are they like – did they teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow – can they really ride horses like that –,”

“Ellie!” You want to grab her by her collar and yank her back into the wagon. “Not so many questions.”

The noise Joel makes is somewhere between a grunt and the word no.

“It’s fine –, “ he looks down at Ellie, still curled around the back of the seat, her eyes wide with a giant smile on her face. His ever present scowl doesn’t seem any deeper, nor does it deter her. Joel turns away again and in the sunlight, his hair is gooey, caramel brown. You stare at the dirt road while listening, the back of your neck hot. “They’re good people. Didn’t deserve what happened to them – to any of ‘em. But they taught my grandpa and grandma how to take just what they need, nothing more. But then everybody needed grain, offered money for cheap, easy labor. They poured in here, into the prairie, and in years, it became this. Folks blame the drought, but it’s more’n that.”

Ellie’s inordinately quiet. She knows exactly what your husband did to you, to your family, and now, maybe to the entire land.

“‘Next year’ people, they claim,” Joel continues, his voice deepening with anger, “‘next year’, things’ll be better. ‘Next year’ the rains’ll come. ‘Next year’ the wheat’ll return.” He shakes his head, boots creaking against the toeboard. “Anyone who thinks that is lyin’ to themselves. Anyone’s who’s been here, seen what’s here, for us it’s been –,”

“The end of the world.”

The silence that follows your words stretches long, an anchor dropped off the end of the wagon and rattling around the wheels. You swing your legs, fingers curling around a tear in your hemline. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words to describe the state of things. That’s what your husband called it and you believed him.

Evidently, Joel agrees. His wide shoulders taught, the denim blue faded beneath the boundless sky, he nods.

“Griiim,” Ellie mutters as she curls up and drops her chin on her knees.

You’ve been watching a single cloud chase the sun from the floor of the wagon when Ellie, silent for all of about fifteen minutes, lifts her head from her hands draped over the edge. Her eyes go wide, her ears pink from the sun, and says:

“Whoa.”

The horse huffs as you sit up, a soft wind snagging the loose hairs on the back of your neck, and your mouth drops.

Grass.

Fields of it.

The air is fresh, warm, and filled with the scent of living, breathing earth. Tipped with lush purple seeds shaped like paintbrushes, a sea of stalks bend and ripple in the cooling breeze, undulating like waves on solid ground. The wind is soft here, teasing, rolling through the tall grass, carrying the scent of growth and green in the air. You’re suddenly aware of how dry your mouth is, cracked and padded with dust.

“We left it be.” Joel offers simply, voice too gruff to surely be filled with pride. “It’s endured and survived, and so have we.”

Further back, you can see where the line of his property ends – a harsh division of paradise and purgatory – and marked to the north by a dip in the ground and even over the crunch of the wheels over the ground, you hear it: water.

A river. An oasis in a wasteland.

Ahead of the white tufts of hair on the horse, the road curves, disappearing into the sea of grass, but letting your graze drift up, you see an a-frame home, white like a lighthouse at the edge of a storm. The instant the home comes into view, Joel clicks his tongue, urging the horse faster – eager.

He leads the horse up through the road, through the grass, and on the other side, by the river, two cows chew up the green, oblivious. Beyond them, tucked behind the house is a barn. Low to the ground but wide, hunched like a fighter with a heavy center of gravity, it looks ready to endure and survive. As this entire secret world had.

Joel tugs the horse to a stop, the wagon rattles as it slows, by the wide porch of the a-frame. It sits also low to the ground, wider with a dark roof, held together with something black and smeared. You’re so distracted by the unique qualities of this house in the middle of paradise that you miss it when the door creaks open until you’re staring down the barrel of a shotgun.

“Who are you?” The voice behind the gun is deep, even if the barrels shake slightly. In the dark of the doorframe, you can’t quite see their face, only their short stature.

You see Ellie’s hand twitch towards her knife, which she now carries in her sock since the night of the county store.

However, Joel is less concerned. In fact, the boulders of his shoulders loosen, ease to simple muscle and blood. He makes a noise that on anyone else, it might be considered a laugh, a chuckle, but he isn’t even capable of smiling –

He slings down from the seat and pats the horse.

“Easy there, Annie Oakley, it’s just me.”

The shadow in the doorway stiffens.

“Dad?”

The shotgun lowered, the shadow staggers into the light. Brown eyes, just like his, scrunched against the blinding sunlight, a girl with the most beautiful head of curls blinks at Joel, her thin hand held up to shield her face.

“Hey there, baby girl.”

In a single leap, she jumps down from the porch but all too quickly, the smile slips from Joel’s face.

“Hang on, not too fast–,”

She stumbles towards him as best as the metal braces around her knees, down to her ankles, will allow, defiant and smiling, despite the beads of sweat that have swelled over her forehead. Joel surges forward, faster than you thought possible, and reaches for her, nearly on one knee.

“Slow down, please, Sarah.”

“Dad, I’m fine,” she huffs before tossing her arms around his neck. “I’m fine. Just – missed you, is all.”

You can’t see his face, but he straightens up still holding her. With one hand he flattens those curls to her cheek, and kisses the other.

“Enough to forget all the things I taught you about gun safety? You just tossed that thing aside,” he scolds fondly. She rolls her eyes as he sets her down.

“Okay, but if you didn’t know it was me, you would’a been totally scared, right?”

She watches as he chuckles, a deep, warm sound, but her own smile flatlines when she spies Ellie climbing down from the wagon. You ease off the edge, your lower half sore from the ride.

The girl, Sarah, narrows her eyes.

“Who are you?” She positions her body slightly in front of Joel’s. “And why are you dressed like a boy?”

Joel’s soft scolding – “Sarah” – is lost beneath Ellie’s scoff. She adjusts her satchel.

“Why are you dressed like Raggedy Ann?”

Her father’s massive hands clench down on her shoulders, Sarah’s scowl evident that she’s about half a second away from launching herself at Ellie, leg braces be damned.

“Now, let’s slow down here.” Joel’s deep baritone is light, but just as firm as his grip. If you knew him better, you’d think he is about to laugh, the lines around his eyes thick, while his mouth stays flat. “We got off on the wrong foot. Sarah, this is Ellie and her aunt. They’re going to be staying with us for a while to help out with your schooling.”

Those curls go flying, her frown now pinched in worry. Another girl caught between a child and adult – for the sake of their single parent, you notice, your chest tight.

“I thought you needed a farm hand. You were going to teach me.”

“You know you already read better than I do.”

“Dad–,”

“Miss here is also a nurse.”

“Oh. Oh.” She glances down at the metal braces as if she’d forgotten they were there. The skin on her knees is chaffed, rubbed pink. “She can . . . help me?”

Twin pairs of brown eyes settle on you, one hesitantly curious, the other aggressively determined.

You can, right?

Ellie’s staring at the braces, her gaze distant, heavy. She’d seen this before, but everything back then moved too fast. Back then, there was no time for braces.

Braces only help a small percentage of polio patients. The lucky ones.

You nod, your heart hammering under your chest bone. “Yes – yes, sir. I think with Ms. Kenny’s therapy, we might be able to alleviate some pain.”

Those eyes, exactly like and so unlike her father’s, widen.

“Really?”

You introduce yourself with your first name, pressing the crease in your glove between your nail and your thumb with your other hand.

“I’d like to try, Sarah.”

You suddenly understand that Sarah is Joel Miller’s most guarded secret, out here in paradise, paradise as the most beautiful prison in the world. He continues to stare at you from under thick eyebrows after Sarah moves away from him. Ellie, caught off-guard by her forward movement, takes a significant step back.

“I, um, got some marbles out back,” Sarah starts, thumbing over her shoulder, and every other word sounding like an apology. “If you wanna play.”

Ellie jerks forward, her eyes round with excitement, but stops. She looks at you.

“Can I?”

Soft when eager, just like her mother. So unlike you. You nod.

“Stay close, okay?”

You and Joel watch as Ellie and Sarah toddle around to the back of the house, Ellie quietly narrating every thought she has as she keeps pace with Sarah.

Those look actually really cool, you know?

Yeah?

Totally. Have you read Amazing Stories? You look like you could be part of the Space Family Robinson.

Who are they?

Oh, you’ve never read those!? Okay, so they’re a family who live in space and they go on these awesome adventures together to different planets and . . .

The farther they go, the faster Joel turns back to stone. His gaze lingers just a hint longer before those dark eyes pin you to the ground.

“You said you can clean? Cook?”

You nod quickly. “Yes, sir.” Guard dog Joel. Stocky pitbull, teeth long and wet Joel.

He tilts his chin towards the house.

“Kitchen’s in the back. I gotta clean up the wagon and the horse, then gonna tend the field. I’ll be back in a few hours, but Sarah knows where to find me if y’need somethin'.”

You nod again, but he misses it, turning away to unbuckle the horse. You slide your trunk and Ellie’s satchel off the end of the wagon and head into the shadow of the house.

The white clapdoor snaps shut behind you, followed by the softer snik of the screen clicking into its frame. Slipping the bobby pins out of your hair to release your hat, you take in the Miller home.

The air is cool. Dust motes float in the sunlight streaming in from the second floor over a staircase with wooden wainscoting leading away from the open front room. With a brief glance up, you can see the faded white walls of the upper hallway, some not-yet-seen window drawing in bolts of morning light that pierce the air in bullet holes. It’s quiet and it smells warm, like lace kept in the back of a drawer near a wall that faces the heat outside.

A blue two-seater couch faces a squat fireplace, with a Queen Anne table sandwiched between the two. Behind you, a large grandfather clock ticks and waits, a server waiting in the shadows with a watchful eye to report back to its master on the going-ons of the house. With only a cedar hutch, a few daguerreotypes, a smattering of books, the room is sparsely decorated, but kept clean and organized. You could see Sarah, a focused look in her eyes, sitting on the steps of the stairs and making Joel move and rearrange furniture over and over again until the room felt right.

Through a white arched doorway, you find yourself in the kitchen. The light sparks more brightly here, the sky a stark blue through the four square window over the kitchen table and above the sink, reflective of the sun. You realize then the house runs north to south at an angle, where there are limited windows in the walls on the east and west sides, thereby limiting direct sun exposure and, more importantly, heat. Both the kitchen and the front rooms had been built out of the line of the sun, making cooking and cleaning and living bearable without a painful glare.

A thoughtful and patient consideration.

Someone had attempted to add some levity with brown and blue plaid wallpaper around the cove of the dinner table, all the way to the other side of the room around the kitchen counters and stove. But unfortunately for everyone else, the wallpaper is hideous, only tampered by the off-white counters and cupboards.

The cupboards have glass doors, blurring ceramic cups and plates on the tops of the shelves.

It reminds you of the small apartment Anna and you lived in back in Boston, when it was just the two of you. It wasn’t much, but it felt sturdy, secure. Safe.

A door to the right of the stove has a latch, and you lift it and poke your head inside. A chilly darkness greets you, along with the scent of wet, deep earth. A basement? No. Not this close to the kitchen. Curiosity pulling you forward, you descend the sturdy wooden stairs, into the sunken darkness. You count ten until a draft licks your ankles. You keep going, one squeak of wood after another until - you touch soil. The heady scents of pine bark and peat moss soothe the air from where your feet press into the ground, fertility thick like mushrooms in the gut of a lichen-drenched tree. But it’s dark, too dark to make out much, barely your own hand in front of your face. With your fingers outstretched, as if you’ll bump into a gas lamp conveniently on the ground, you shuffle forward and almost immediately a cold chain tickles your face. You grab out of instinct and pull.

Nearly blinded by the light that erupts from an exposed bulb directly in front of your left eye, you stagger back, wincing, your footsteps muffled by the earthen floor. You blink through the tears as the secret at the end of the stairs finally reveals itself.

A pantry. A cellar.

At least twenty feet deep and ten feet high, with rows and rows, stacks and stacks, wood shelves cover nearly the entire length of the underground room. In between the rows, large barrels sit, quiet and sturdy, with bottles of vinegar and olive oil sitting on their rims.

You realize two things within seconds of each other.

This house has electricity. It stands above the ground, proud, independent, full of heat and light. So unlike your husband’s dark hole in the ground.

and

there is so much food.

Pickling jars. Seed pouches. Culled wheat. Cans of fruit and vegetables and eggs. Olives with squash and pumpkins. Crates of potatoes and half bottles of wine and syrup. Onions and carrots and spices and garlic.

A feast. Meals for days and days and days. The bounties of earth stored, safe beneath the ground, like a secret.

It’s more food than you’ve seen in years.

A hunger like you can’t remember having roars in your stomach out of nowhere and everything pitches to the right. The edges of your vision blurs, your shoulder knocking into stone wall, and breathing becomes a nearly impossible task. You turn, nearly stumbling up the dozen steps that have turned into a thousand.

The tacky memories that stick to the crevices of your dreams yawn awake, bringing with them dry mud in your mouth and thick salt to your eyes. Mud, dirt, dust – everywhere. In that stinking hut in the ground, the dust replaced your molecules, your atoms, until you too might blow away, until you are cracked and empty and dry. The static from the dust storm memories shoots down both of your arms and you sway on your feet. Your heart suddenly pounding so achingly fast, you have to drop your forehead against the flat surface of the closed door to keep the room from spinning.

You had forgotten what safety looked like.

You had forgotten what living could be.

You know the ringing sound of that gunshot is just in your head, it’s not real, but you shudder all the same, your hands curling into claws under your chin, your nails tearing up the white paint.

You’re here, not there. You are safe. Ellie is safe. That house and him have been entombed together under piles of dirt, with the bugs and the rot and the stench from the weak stove. Rivers of sweat rolling down the back of your neck, you beg yourself to stop shaking. You feel like cheap terracotta pottery – made from dirt, left too long to bake in the sun and made brittle; one good tap and you’ll shatter.

You breathe in and taste wet salt. Breathe out and cry – cry from the fear and the dread and the relief and the hope. God, that hope tastes worse than all the dirt in the Panhandle of Texas.

You cry and cry and cry until you don’t feel so brittle anymore.

Sunlight has struck copper, heavy, tangy in the mouth, when the back door opens and the house is instantly filled with the sound of girls’ rabid conversation. You step back from the stove, cheeks warm and arm sore from continuously stirring the rice and vegetable soup. It’s not as thick as your mother once made, but without milk, it would be nearly impossible to improve. You smile at the girls as they tumble in, more dust mite than human, whispering about some secret.

“Having fun?” You ask with a grin on your face as Ellie helps Sarah take off her shoes, already attentive to what a girl with her health concerns might need.

There’s an overlap of chatter as Ellie and Sarah both answer you and then, answer each other.

“Well, good,” you say, turning back to the stove, making sure the bottom of the soup doesn’t burn, “but whatever you got up to, it’s all over your faces so please wash up before dinner.”

“It smells real good, miss,” Sarah says as she hobbles over to the sink and starts rinsing off her arms and cheeks, while Ellie takes off her own shoes. “What is it?”

“Something my mom used to make when the cupboards were bare.”

Sarah stills, the water rushing over her soft skin. Those inquisitive eyes are just as captivating, just as forceful as her father’s, but for entirely different reasons. She tugs the words out of you by the sheer, needling strength of her gaze.

“I mean – I found the cellar, the house is incredibly well stocked, but I didn’t see any preserved meat or dairy and I didn’t – I didn’t think your dad would want me poking around out back.”

Immediately Sarah softens and rolls her eyes. “Dad’s all bark and no bite,” she huffs. “We’ve got stored beef and cheese in an ice chest downstairs. I’ll show you around tomorrow.”

You smile and those brown eyes go warm in the coppery light. “Thanks, Sarah.”

“Bunch up, I gotta wash my hands too.” Ellie none-to-gently bumps Sarah with her shoulder to get to the sink but before you can scold her, Sarah swings back, using her precarious momentum, and pushes Ellie back. They both giggle. Something that’s been cramped far too long in your chest loosens.

“So, Sarah, tell me where you are with your schooling. Do you have books, diagrams?”

She thinks for a minute as she opens a drawer that leaves her back to you and takes out two, then four thin cloth placemats. She hobbles back to the table to carefully spread them out.

“I was up to seventh grade before the school shut down. That was about two years ago, so Dad’s been trying to make sure I don’t forget anything. He got me a Midsummer Night’s Dream by Shakespeare a while ago and made me read it out loud to him. He has me work on my letters every day – including cursive.” She adds, with a bright spot of joy cranking her mouth open. You imagine someone like Sarah would have beautiful penmanship. “He shows me around the yard, asking me to identify plants and animals, especially anything that might be poisonous. I don’t think he really understands it but he explains what happens when you add water to a seed and keep it in damp earth. Oh, and he has me help balance the books for the farm – what we made, what we sold, how much we have left, stuff like that.”

You smile at her over your shoulder as Ellie hands her bowls. “Accounting.”

“Huh?”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “It’s so boring, don’t worry about it,” she whispers conspiratorially.

“What your dad is teaching you is called accounting,” you say a bit firmly, eyes tracking your niece as she shows no shame. “It’s a very special skill to have, especially if you work on a farm or in a business. Do you like it?”

She nods rapidly, those cork-screw curls bouncing around her thin face. “Yeah! I do! I’m much faster than Dad when it comes to figuring out the sums and dollar value.”

In the front hall, the clap door creaks open then slams shut, heavy footfalls proceeding the man that makes them.

“Does that happen a lot?” you ask softly as Sarah sidles up next to you to peer into the pot.

“Where I know more than my dad?” Sarah smirks up at you, all devious youth. “More often than you think.”

A mini sun bursts from the ceiling as Joel flicks on the light switch and is almost immediately tackled by Sarah. The copper sun on the horizon finally, in the distracted moment, slips down and drags the night behind it. It’s purple twilight outside when Joel lifts his head from the embrace around Sarah’s shoulders to stare at the two strangers in his kitchen.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” you say brightly and you can almost picture your mother in the same exact position in front of the stove, stirring soup until her cheeks were pink, her hand resting low on her back, her tummy round and full in her second attempt to keep her husband’s rage diverted from her. It’s a boy, she promised.

The memory makes you so violently ill out of nowhere, you lose your appetite. But you persevere; you carry on and load up the bowls Sarah stacked for you. Ellie saves you from having to dislodge the prickly knot in your throat when she snags a bowl and eagerly yells, “get it while it’s hot!”

The arrangements from the stove to the table are a bit of a blur, the slick anxious weight from earlier today curling around your lungs again as you remember shadows in chairs like these, but so different from the flesh-and-blood bodies that occupy them now.

You’re dazed, a little light-headed, but not so much to miss the glance between Joel and Ellie. A junkyard puppy skirting the territory of an older watchdog, a bone in each of their mouths and dragged to opposite corners of the battlefield. Satisfied with the lines of demarcated territory that had been drawn, they call a temporary truce by eating in complete silence, until Sarah groans.

“Oh my god, this is better than it smells!” she hums, her mouth full of potatoes.

“Just wait till she adds chicken,” Ellie grumbles, mouth cupped open to keep from spilling. You watch her, a faint smile on your face, and the slippery feeling fades. When cleaning up, she missed a spot on her left nostril and you fight the urge to clean it with your thumb.

“There’s more.”

Your gaze snaps to Joel hunched over his bowl. The spoon that Ellie and Sarah have to both clutch in their fists to eat barely swings between his massive fingers.

Joel’s dark eyes trace down your nose, your chin, your neck, to where your hands lay flat on the table in front of you. Your own bowl and spoon sit on the counter behind you. You worry you might have upset him, with the way he’s frowning.

“There’s more,” he repeats, same tone.

“I'm sorry?”

He puts his spoon down and clears his throat, then nods to the pot on the stove. Ellie watches him out of the corner of her eye.

“I saw how much you made. If you’re hungry, you should eat.”

As though speaking a language only you could hear, he looks at Ellie the same time you do.

She frowns. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Sarah begins to giggle, nodding, when Joel starts again.

“You should eat. There’s enough.”

It’s like his eyes can see through your blue veins and clammy skin, to your yellow bones and clawing stomach. You choke on the mudball that’s been hovering in your throat for months and nod.

“Alright.”

You don’t know if you’re actually hungry – you can’t really remember the taste of warm food – or if you’re doing it just to appease him, but something about the heat of the bowl and solid spoon in your hand, it rouses you from this sinking you find yourself in. Your bones feel like jelly.

“How’re the fields, Dad?” Sarah asks with her big eyes, seemingly unaware of the layered exchange between you and her father, or kind enough not to address it.

He responds to her, his voice deep in the cavern of his chest. It’s an easy way he speaks to her, heavy with the seriousness she’s earned to be talked to like an adult, but gentle enough that for all his low grumbling, it comes out as a thick murmur. You find yourself listening to their conversation, their interactions, as soothing as music turned low from a well-tuned radio. Ellie is even roped in when Sarah tells Joel all about the Space Family Robinson and Ellie’s knife. “It’s really cool, Dad,” she says preemptively. “She knows how to use it and she’s really safe.”

“Well, if it’s really cool . . .” he fills his mouth with potatoes, tamping down the ghost of a grin on his lips around the spoon.

Ellie shuffles in her seat, her own hesitant smile glittering in her eyes, and with only minor prompting, she holds no prisoners when gleefully telling Sarah that she’s got the story of finding a mess of wriggling worms out by the back of the barn all wrong.

“Just keep ‘em outta my side of the bed, alright?” You grin at her, spooning another dribble of soup into your mouth. You’ve realized too much, too fast can just as easily twist your stomach so you focus on cradling a digestible amount of food – broth, potato, carrots – in the well of your spoon.

But the landscape beyond the silver lip has stilled. Both girls are happily slurping up the last bits of their meals, throwing quips back and forth, but Joel’s shoulders have locked up again, the bones of his wrists flat, a static alertness that you’re sure would travel all the way down to his ankles if he was standing up right. You aren’t sure if Sarah has picked up on the subtle change in his breathing – from the deep well of his lungs to shortened and shallow – but somehow you have.

You’re staring at him far too long.

Those thick eyebrows pitch down again. Beneath the loose button that pins your dress closed over your chest, you feel a swell of heat and you wish you were like Ellie, capable of making an easy joke – what, is there something on my face? The heat bubbles almost uncomfortably under his weighted gaze.

“I hate bugs,” you blurt out, desperate to give him what he wants, if only you knew. The girls glance at your sudden outburst. “I don’t like worms especially. I don’t mind straw beds, as long as they’re clean – I mean, I–I hope they are, the straw beds, not the worms.”

Another eternal second of being pinned down by Joel’s frown, this one decidedly less hostile, before understanding breaks open the harsh lines of his mouth and around his eyes. His eyes go wide for less than breath, then he drops his gaze to the bowl. His shoulders shift, muscle redistributing weight as he settles his thick forearm closer to the edge of the table.

Oh, that relief of muscle says.

“You’re not sleeping in the barn.” Joel says, head tucked down. At that, Ellie slows her ravenous eating and frowns at him.

“Then where are we sleeping?”

Joel lifts his head, a new, special emotion just for her tugging on his mouth: exasperation. “My room. You two in there and I’m takin’ the couch.”

Shame and embarrassment drip down over your skull, between your ears, like a cold, runny egg.

“No, we couldn’t possibly–,”

He shakes his head, eyes still on the split potato chunk at the bottom of the bowl. His hand flexes briefly and you think of it around the bridle of the horse.

“It’s not up for discussion.”

Beside him, Sarah frowns at him and you’d wonder how many times in her life he’s ever said that to her – if you could think properly over the roaring of blood in your ears.

“Joel,” you say, something syrupy under your tongue molding the words Mr. Miller into a tone you’d use for an old friend. “I can’t ask you to–,”

Hand flexes. The seat of the chair squeaks.

“You’re not askin’, I’m tellin’.” You’re still vastly underprepared for when those eyes - those deep, dark eyes - suddenly snap on you, as if your very presence commands his entire attention. You notice the dirt underneath his nails and around the knot of his wrist on the table. He’s filthy.

Quietly, with the surety of a dog slipping its snout between its paws, he cuts the last chunk of potato in half with the curve of his spoon. “The new mattresses’ll be here next week. We’ll make do ‘till then.”

The slurp of soup between his lips seems to signal the end of the conversation, but you can’t quite mash together your kaleidoscope-spinning impressions of the man across the table from you.

“Thank you . . . Joel.”

He nods, back teeth breaking apart the soft mush of the potato. He swallows and glances back up at you.

“It’s good,” he says, briefly holding his spoon aloft. “You did good.”

His words burst the choking bubble in your chest and warmth drips down your spine, splashing in the cradle of your hips. Hunger rises, but it’s a different kind of hunger. A growl of neglect. One you sometimes wondered if it was even possible for you to ever even feel.

Even while you were married to your husband.

You put your spoon down to keep your hand from shaking. The soup won’t feed this new churning hunger and, frankly, you don’t know what will.

You did good, he praised, parsed out like torn bread tossed across a black lake.

It makes you warm in places food never could.

The immediate next morning, you meet the sun early, eagerly. Eager to wake and rise and become so useful, you are intricately tied to this house; if you are removed, a vital piece of the land, the prairie is torn up along with you. Ellie sleeps softly next to you, curled up in the same position she was in the hotel bed, tucked in so tightly as if to take up the least amount of space possible. She sleeps, unbothered, blissful, and again you fight the urge to brush the hair that covers her sleeping eyes. You settle for tugging the beautiful quilt, with its stunning blue and red and green patches, up to her shoulders.

As you tie your dress up, your suitcase partially open and on the ground, movement from outside in the dawning pink catches your eye. A brisk shadow, those thick shoulders proceeding a taught waist are unmistakable as they move towards the barn. You stand, transfixed for a moment as broad hands slide open the barn doors, you hear a faint creak, and he disappears inside. The capability of those hands; the surety, where every action is deliberate and intentional – it makes something arc up your throat. A warm piercing that bursts through bone and muscle alike. Trembling fingers tug at the wilting lace around the cuffs of your dress, imagination stretching out into the dark morning, inspired by curious and impossible ideas of those hands.

Something – most likely Sarah next door – squeaks the floorboard and those tendrils of thought snap back as if someone had slammed a lid shut. You glance at the clock and make a mental note to wake up earlier tomorrow, to beat him to the kitchen.

You are also desperately eager to get out of the room where you can practically smell Joel on the walls. It’s simple, just like the rest of the house, but amongst the hand-drawn sketches of himself and birds (likely gifts from Sarah), the half-spent candles and well-read books, you find him in everything. You wonder, briefly, if the indentations made on the cotton mattress are from him or you – the scent of his hair in the pillow from sweat or soap.

The encroaching feeling that you don’t belong here in this house nearly swallows you whole as you dress in a room you definitely don’t belong in.

Joel remains a distant figure, a familiar shadow across the lightning horizon, long after you finish the eggs and toast. You consider perusing the pantry for blueberries or something similar, when Sarah comes down. Fresh-faced, dressed with the care most people reserve for church, she stumbles in, her braces clacking as she finds a seat at the table.

You notice a brief flash of pain across her face when you bring over a plate of food. She unconsciously rubs a circle with her thumb on her left knee as she picks up her fork.

“Pain today?” You ask, eyes on her knee, even though it’s obvious.

She nods, strained. “Just a little bit. But it’s nothing. I’m sure it’ll go away when it warms up outside.”

You doubt that is remotely true, but you let her hold the comforting lie. She doesn’t seem like the type to swallow pity with ease, and neither was Anna. You put on that detached but focused "nurse's" mask, your lips a straight line and brow furrowed, your voice slipping on something more commanding too.

“Let me see.”

Sarah blinks at you briefly, evidently surprised by your shift in demeanor but eventually, she obeys. She drops her fork and slides the chair back, the chair legs squeaking against the rough wooden floor.

You crouch in front of her, gathering up her ankle first and testing its mobility.

“When were you diagnosed?” you ask, as soft as you are firm.

“Never, technically.” She watches you and occasionally winces. You wonder how long she’s grown stiff like this. “The doc had left over braces that Dad bought before the guy skipped town.”

“So then how did you know it was polio?”

By her sudden stillness, you know this is the first time that word has been uttered under this roof in a long time. You lower her ankle, rising gaze meeting hers. Her mouth is pulled tight. You can practically read the familiar headlines as they scroll across her mind.

New Polio Cases by the Thousands

Polio Claims Life of Infant

Polio Outbreak: Thirteen Dead

“Not every case is serious,” you say, gently, using the word serious in place of fatal. You don’t want to scare her unnecessarily. But by her wide eyes, you know the word sits in her chest all the same.

“I know. And I know it can be made worse by moving too much. That’s why Dad’s always on me about resting and going slow.”

You return to your examination. Her skin is rubbed raw in some places by the braces. You remind yourself to ask Joel for some old sheets to make better padding.

“That’s not always true,” you say, shifting to her other leg. “Even though she was sore after, Anna often said she felt the stiffness go away after walking around the neighborhood block.”

Curious, Sarah tilts her head, those lovely curls swaying like leaves in a breeze. “Who’s Anna?”

Your skin around your eyes tightens – how could you be so careless with such a secret – when you hear feet thundering down the stairs and a second later, Ellie swings around the lip of the doorway.

“Is that toast?” She asks, eyes wide and hopeful. “If you got bacon, I’m gonna start kissing faces.”

You and Sarah exchange a small grin before you stand up right and Sarah returns to her own meal.

“No bacon today, but who knows what else is stored in the pantry?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Ellie exclaims as she slides into a chair, her own plate pilled far too for a girl her size. “Treasure hunt.”

You see the tips of Sarah’s ears go briefly pink at Ellie’s language but the muffled smile on her face hints at awe, impressed – so you let that one slide. A stream of light through the half-shut curtain tugs your thoughts outside, to the man literally toiling in the fields.

“Does your dad want me to bring him some food?” You ask, standing from the chair and glancing out the window. You can’t see him any more and for some reason that makes your chest go tight.

Sarah shook her bouncy curls. “No. He’ll come in and get it when he’s hungry.”

You didn’t like the idea that you weren’t going to be directly feeding the man who employed you literally to cook for him and his daughter.

“Does he like coffee?”

Sarah arches an eyebrow at you. “Yeah, he loves it. But I’ve tried for years to make it the way he likes and he always drinks it, but I think a little piece of him dies inside every time he does.”

“Then you must be a great cook too,” Ellie smirks up at her. In response, Sarah smiles impishly around a mouthful of eggs.

You hold that little bit of information about Joel - something you knew that he didn’t know you knew - close, like a dollar bill in your pocket. You drum your fingers, searching for memories of how Anna used to shoe-string coffee when you couldn’t afford a maker in Boston.

“Did you eat?”

Ellie’s voice tears your gaze from the window. Her plate is only halfway empty. Her fingers uneasily move the fork around.

“Yeah,” you answer truthfully. In fact, you are rather ashamed by how much you took, sitting at the table in the purple dark, before you remembered that you had to feed three other people. “I’m good, Ellie. Thanks.”

She nods, returning to her plate and shoveling two bites into her mouth without slowing down.

“What’s first today?” Sarah asks, her eyes bright. “I can show you my sums. We have a chalkboard in the barn.”

You smile at her eagerness to show off while Ellie dejectedly pokes at her remaining floppy eggs. She had never been one for school, another thing you found hard to relate to about her. Fortunately for her, Anna nor you ever had the time to be as diligent about her education as Joel had been for Sarah. And unfortunately for her, you intend to fix that as quickly as possible.

“I’d love to see them, Sarah, but would you mind showing me around the cellar first? Maybe there is bacon hiding down there somewhere.”

You don’t miss the small smile that creeps across Ellie’s face.

“Junk or keep?”

Sarah looks up from the tip of her stick dragging nonsense through the barn’s dirt floor, her chin flat in her palm, elbow on her knee. She frowns at Ellie holding up . . . something that might have been a tractor part at one time.

“I don’t even know what that is, so – junk?”

Ellie shrugs, tosses the piece back and forth in her hands, and then chucks it like a ball to the opposite end of the barn. It collides loudly with the wall and Flora, the white and black cow, lifts her head at the noise from her stable and lets out a low groan.

The entire barn smells of hay and animal but in a way that is warm, almost comforting. The two cows lazily munch from their troughs in their stalls, occasionally eyeing you as you carry items back and forth. It’s fortifying in a way only working outside and with your hands can offer.

You turn to her disapprovingly but she’s already back, elbow-deep, in the pile you had designated hers to sort. Sarah, to whom you suggested rest this morning, goes back to boredly drawing circles in the dirt. Even though she clearly hates the idea of being idle, you are surprised she takes your medical advice without any fight.

If you had successfully completed your duties as cook, now it was time to take on your other task as teacher. Sarah had a few textbooks, but mostly outdated and only one copy. You know trying to find a full library in times like these is laughably impossible, but there is nothing wrong with hoping for a blackboard. You’d made one before when the school district you tempted at didn’t approve new funding, and you feel confident you could do it again. Trouble is, you have nowhere to put it, much less set up a laughably impossible classroom for two students.

Until Sarah casually mentioned the unfortunate pile of junk in the back of her father’s barn, “taking up at least half the space in there.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“Yuck – is your dad a hoarder?” Ellie asks with slight disgust as she pulls up a stack of newspapers held together by twine. “Why does he even have this stuff?”

Sarah grins, delighted by Ellie’s prickly teasing. “This place actually used to be pretty organized. This was his space for a long time – where he went to think, or figured out what crops we needed for the next year.”

Her smile crumbles. “But, uh, then I got sick and now he doesn’t come out here unless it's for work.”

Ellie pinches the soft of her cheek with her teeth, nodding, her eyes downcast.

“So . . . junk?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The stack of newspapers comes up to her knees and Ellie struggles, off-balanced, to carry it across the hay-covered floor.

You reach for it and she gives it to you gratefully. You take it with a smile; you never know what she’s going to appreciate or just see it regretfully as charity or pity.

“I think your dad is losing it,” Ellie says as she wipes sweat from her brow, shaking her head far too seriously. “Losin’ it, big time.”

Sarah giggles.

You drop the stack of papers in the corner, but when you let go, the string snaps and the papers spill everywhere. With a sigh, you kneel down and gather them back together, but not before a few headlines catch your eye.

Your heart twists.

Paralysis Takes Three Children

Join the Mothers’ March on Polio

QUARANTINE: POLIOMYELITIS

Why would Joel keep these? Everyone knew how devastating polio could be to children, even infants. Why would he –

Roughly dispersed throughout the article, sentences and phrases were underlined in blue pen. Sentences containing, “iron lung”, “bedrest”, “antibiotic” –

No cure.

Warmth spread out across your chest. Joel was looking for a way to treat his daughter, the only way he could in a town without a doctor: outside information. Something about this makes the space beneath your chest bone hurt so badly, you get a little nauseous.

Now you consider conserving these papers as if they are important historical documents. Behind you, where Ellie and Sarah are lobbying jokes back and forth, you see more stacks of neatly contained newspapers. He looked everywhere and found nothing.

You reshuffle the stack that fell, when you spot something else that hardens the warm feeling in your chest and makes it brittle.

Mob Over Breadline Kills FIVE

Experts Say There is No Way Out of This Depression

Mother of Drowned Children Claims She Did “What Was Best”

The rough floor hurts your knees. Eyes closed, you try to ignore the flood of images of what you witnessed in Boston, how desperate and cruel people became in Oklahoma. With each memory, your heartbeat pounds harder.

Red. Blood. Pink. Skin. White. Bone.

The riots got to be so terrible, but people were just hungry.

Ellie calling your name jerks you out of the sinking muck of memories.

“What? What is it?”

She eyes you with distant concern then glances at Sarah. “She wanted to know where you learned all this stuff.”

“About cooking, and teaching, and nursing,” Sarah clarifies. “I think I’ve read every book in our house probably four times and I still feel like I don’t know anything.”

“You probably know more than you think,” you offer as you scoop up the uncomfortable newspapers, easily switching tracks of thought to mute the swell of horrors from the rotting box in your mind. You leave them in the corner for Joel to do what he wishes with them and stand, dusting your dress off. “What do you call the process by which plants get energy from the sun?”

Sarah’s eyes brighten immediately. Where her body fails her, her mind is as sharp as a tack.

“Photosynthesis!”

“Good,” you nod, smiling. “And what’s the primary source of energy in animal cells?”

“The mitochondria!”

“Very good.”

Ellie sighs angrily from her pile and puts her hands on her hips. “I think I’m gonna make like mitosis and split, if we keep talking about all this boring stuff.”

Scorned for her love of learning a second time and already in a bad mood from the pain this morning, Sarah frowns.

“What’s your problem? Why do you act like school sucks? You had your mom teaching you –,”

“She’s not my mom!” Ellie snaps back, her knuckles white around a rusted bucket. “She’s just my aunt!”

“Yeah, well, I have an uncle I never even get to see!” Sarah stands up as smoothly as she can, but her knees and ankles are pink again. Her calves shake. “You’re lucky!”

Ellie’s teeth clench in the back of her jaw, lip curling.

You remember distinctly more than once having to pick Ellie up from school early because she’d been caught fighting and you take a step in her direction, even if Sarah could no doubt land a few solid ones in.

“And you’re–,”

“Ellie.” You know how rough Ellie can be. You remember the tone to take with unruly students, even if you don’t mean an ounce of it. “Don’t. Just let it g–,”

“Why do you always take her side?” That ire whips around to you. Loyalty, that was another trait her mother favored. Ellie’s shoulders roll forward, her fists clenched. “Why do you let her talk like she knows anything about us? About Mom?”

“I’m not taking a side, Ellie,” you say firmly, your chin tilted down to her. One day she’s going to be taller than you, you know it. “Both of you, this is enough.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Ellie tosses the broken bucket in her hand to the ground and storms towards the barn doors.

“You just like her because she’s a fucking dork like you,” she growls under her breath before shoving open the large square door.

It swings shut, the metal clattering against the wood. The brief stream of light filtering in is shortly swallowed up into the shadows again.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah says almost immediately, her brown eyes swiveling on you. Her skin is tinged a little lighter and there’s sweat along her hairline. With a fleeting flash of worry, you wonder if she’s in more pain than she lets on. “I didn’t mean it . . . I mean, I think she is lucky to have – but . . . I shouldn’t have said that.”

She drops your gaze and you think those dark eyes might be softer, wetter than usual. She plucks at the hem of her dress, her mouth twisted to the side.

Where Ellie explodes outwards, Sarah implodes inwards. You never could understand Ellie’s inclination to destroy everything around her.

You hand her a broom, with a smile on your face.

“Do you want to tell me about your uncle?”

She takes it slowly from you, eyebrows furrowed down. This is a look you are familiar with, even when it comes to Ellie. She is stuck between answering like a kid, getting it all off her chest to be free of the emotional burden, and swallowing it all to please the adults in her life.

You’ve also found Ellie tends to open up when she doesn’t have to look you in the eye. Sarah’s own gaze is stuck to the floor as she vaguely sweeps at the hay.

“We don’t talk about Uncle Tommy a lot,” she mumbles.

You focus on untangling an old bridle. “Oh? Why?”

“Dad’s still pissed at him for moving out to California. Said he left what’s really important for a bullshit dream.” Her eyes pop up, wide and shocked. “Sorry, that’s what he said.”

Despite your limited time with him, you can easily see how Joel Miller might take something like that personally, but you just store that away too, another breadcrumb leading the way.

“Why California?”

“It’s–,”

The barn door opens again and Joel’s shadow breaks through the almost painful white light. Behind him, Everett (the horse) snorts and huffs, pulling along the giant creaking plow, the air suddenly pungent with the smell of warm dirt, leather, and animal sweat. Joel murmurs something to the frothing snout and wipes his own forehead with the back of his arm, smearing sweat and dirt across his browline. He stops when he sees you two staring.

By Sarah’s wide eyes, it’s clear Uncle Tommy is a subject that is not often brought up in this house either. Joel frowns, but just as he opens his mouth, you interject – you know how to deflate a potentially angry man.

“We were just cleaning up the back of the barn,” you say, careful not to use words like junk or scrap heap. “I’m hoping to use the space as a school, for Sarah and Ellie.”

His gaze settles on you, like the dust at his feet.

“Mhmm.” His tone scrapes something low in your stomach.

“I’m sorry – I should have asked – I didn’t think –,”

“No, it’s –,” he shakes his head. His eyes catch Everett’s foamy nose and he pats it, noting the long sweaty forelock. “Smart. Next spring, we’ll come up with something better, but there’s no time now, with the harvest comin’.”

You nod, peeling off what you were going to say from the back of your teeth with your tongue. Joel casually drags his fingers through Everett’s forelock before stepping back to unhook the plow’s leather buckles. It’s when he shifts towards Sarah, looking to her, that he grimaces.

He put his weight on his right knee and it immediately caused him pain.

“We could help,” you offer, eyes on his knee, his thick fingers rubbing into the muscle just above his knee cap. "Ellie loves being out in the sun and I can teach her how to plant–,”

“‘M fine,” he mutters gruffly, straightening up and wiping his hands on the cloth around his neck. “Sarah, go inside for a bit. There’s something she n’ I gotta discuss.”

His tone indicates this is not the time for eye rolling but she does it anyway.

“I’ve said for years that you need help, Dad. She’s just offering to–,”

“Sarah, inside. Please.”

Sarah scowls and drops the broom against one of the stalls. She hobbles out of the barn, first scrunching her nose up at Joel’s obvious smell, then muttering something about having to go look for the hell spawn. You finger the scrap metal in your hands, a fluttery nervousness growing in your stomach the closer Sarah gets to the door. With one more disapproving shake of her thick curls, she shuts the door behind her.

Everett nickers and paws the ground, eager to be returned to bed after a long morning of work. Light streams in gold from the slanted windows above the loft, separating the front stalls from the back of the barn where you stand, fidgeting. There’s no escaping the hot animal smell now, and it’s your turn to be intercepted by Joel.

Another apology is nearly out of your mouth when he speaks first.

“Do you know how to shoot a gun?” He asks, his mouth set into a firm line. In the half-darkness of the barn, you can’t quite make out his eyes.

You swallow against the encroaching dryness in your throat. “I-I have a gun. Keep it in my purse, o-only for emergencies and I–,”

“That’s not what I asked.” He shakes his head, tone soft, almost gentle. He glances past you to the stacks of newspapers you had moved into the corner, the ones about violence and pestilence. He rubs his fingers between the bridle and Everett’s thick hair. “Found a hole in the barbed wire fence today.”

You frown, the tension of his voice indicating a severity you are utterly unprepared for. “What does that mean?”

“Someone tried to cut through.”

A white hot panic lurches up your spine out of nowhere. Fueled by fear, you see the outline of your husband shambling across the propertyline and you go cold.

“W-why would someone do that? What are they after?”

His hand stills as every muscle in his body briefly tenses. Eyes dark beneath a tight brow, the tightness in his jaw is an answer and a threat all at once. He looks almost offended by your question.

You know exactly what they would take.

All you can do is nod.

Everett nudges Joel’s shoulder, impatient to get out of the harness, for that bath he so very much deserves. As though you had disappeared, Joel unbuckles the restraints, taking a brush to the gray coat as he goes. Maybe you’d misread that last signal and he thought he told you to fuck off.

You move towards the back door when his voice, timbre deep and low, stops you again.

“I’m gonna to teach you to shoot.” He announces to the lathered withers of the horse. “But you keep that gun on you, at all times, especially when you’re out with the girls. You got that?”

He pauses just as he slides the hitch off the horse's back, his arms covered in dirt as dark as the leather. It’s minute, the shift in his weight, but you suddenly realize he wants verbal confirmation.

“Y-yes. Yes. I’ll take it with me.”

The minutia shifts again, a lessening of tension across his broad shoulder, his thick back. He nods.

“Good.”

The aching need for him to say more, for that good to turn into you did good or good job – or good girl – it sparks so fast and hot inside of you, you think you’ll choke. Instead, you leave through the door on unsteady legs, jaw locked tightly shut.

You find comfort in the monotony of sewing.

Anna always scolded you for it, that you were “giving into women’s work.”

How are they ever going to take us seriously when you actually like doing this dainty shit?

But where Anna seemingly delighted in her mile-a-minute thoughts, you need an outlet – some way to settle, to ground yourself in the here and now. Furthermore, you could sew anywhere – on the train, on the bus, in a foreign house in the middle of nowhere where you were, again, dependent on the kindness of a complete stranger –

It isn’t sewing specifically that you enjoy. If there was another activity where your mind could detach itself from your body, you would have liked it too. Here, in this space of blank concentration, you separate further from yourself with every stitch you pull together. Here, you are not a sister, a housewife, or an aunt. Not a nurse or a teacher or a failed fieldhand.

Not scared of living or scared of your husband or scared that you’ll fail your sister over and over and over again –

For a handful of minutes, you are not scared and you are the closest thing to yourself you can possibly be. You think, as a child that might have been the closest you’d actually been to understanding your own wants and dreams and desires, but now it is through this act of repetition, of delicate guiding, do you find yourself remembering what it was like to exist unafraid, as thoughtless as a child.

You sit on the edge of Joel’s bed, eased into something vaguely like relaxation by the needle and thread in your hand. You’d found some old pillows in the barn earlier today and surprisingly the stuffing was still intact. After watching Sarah struggle today, you knew you couldn’t spend another second watching the poor girl hobble around on painful braces.

It’s twilight, the sun gone beneath a blanket of scarlet and indigo, everyone fed and full – the girls almost instantly forgetting their first fight in favor of a discussion about their most effective marble-flicking techniques – and you already have at least one leather-bound pad that is twice as thick as her old one. You grin, excited to share your creation to her. You wonder what Joel will say.

Through the wall over your shoulder, in Sarah’s room, you can hear the low murmur of their voices, as quick and fast as two co-conspirators. You can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but the words don’t matter. It is the high joy in Sarah’s voice, or the creaky laughter from Joel. They could be speaking in a completely incomprehensible language but the sentiment is unmistakable: you make me happy and I love you.

I love you.

The needle and thread stills in your lap.

You glance out the window, to a much smaller shadow in front of the barn as it cuts and darts in the blurry half-light. The silver tip of Anna’s knife winks in the glint of the light from the windows as Ellie slashes and digs in the open air. Alone.

In the late hours, in the hours when the veil between life and death felt so especially fragile, Anna made you promise that you'd look out for Ellie, to raise her as your own. To finally give her a childhood like the two of you never had.

You had done that. You raised her. She’s alive and healthy and fierce.

But would she find your sentiment about her unmistakable? Do you know hers as intimately as you knew your sister’s?

Do you make her happy when both of you are constantly reminded of the ghost between you?

Sarah’s chatter echoes throughout the dark house, disembodied and entirely untethered.

It’s one week into this new, adjusted life in a house you haven’t yet found a home in when the unthinkable happens.

A loud, wet cry startles you awake and immediately your hand flies towards Ellie, panic like ice in your jaw. Your palm touches her shoulder, but she’s already sitting up, eyes towards the door. She glances at you and from your stumble out of a dreamless sleep, you realize it wasn’t Ellie who made that noise.

It comes again, as sharp as a bone crack, and you both scramble out of bed.

Sarah.

Up against the far wall, in the corner where her bed tucks up into the corner, Joel holds her like a lion clutches to prey.

Giant, fat teardrops pour down the sides of her ashen cheeks, those bright eyes clamped shut, her mouth twisted in agony and she claws at her father’s forearm across her shoulders. His other hand is going white from her fingers crushing his in a bone-cracking grip. His voice is soft, firm, and fast in her ear, comforting and scared as hell, as she whimpers.

Every muscle from her thighs down is stretched taut. Every muscle unwillingly tightened, flexed, the chemicals in her brain battling the commands of the bacteria. The pain, as described in medical journals, is crippling.

Ellie glances at you out of the corner of your eye. Muscle spasms.

“Sarah, darling, how long has this been going on?” She’s trembling from the pain and exhaustion. You wrap your robe around you before kneeling down to inspect her — and you feel Joel’s glare nearly singe the skin from your face.

“Don’t touch her,” he snarls and pulls her closer. Sarah whines and buries her face in his shoulder, trying to stifle her sobbing to keep from shaking and causing more spasms. “She’s–,”

“I can help her, Joel.” Your training became a bulwark – strong, immobile – in moments like these. Maybe it was all an act but that first rush of hope that you could ease pain, soothe what hurts, made you feel like you were made of gold. You let that unbreakable shine pierce Joel’s gaze. “But you need to listen to me.”

Sarah squeaks and you watch his resolve instantly break. Shakely, he nods.

“Ellie,” you instruct over your shoulder. “Go start boiling water. There’s a pail out on the porch.”

She is out the door before you finish your sentence. She knows exactly what you need.

Help on the way, you turn back to Sarah, her feet twisted in grotesque contortions.

“How long has this been going on?”

“About ten minutes,” Joel grumbles. She squeezes his hand so hard you hear his knuckle pop. She sobs, open mouth, and he presses his cheek to her. He murmurs softly, “I’m sorry, I know, I’m sorry.”

“Is this the longest fit she’s had?”

Joel reluctantly nods.

“Sarah,” you say and gently touch her knee. She peels her eyes open, cheeks stained with tears, eyes wet with fear. “We need to loosen your muscles, okay? That’s what’s causing you pain right now. So, we’re going to use heat and pressure to do that.”

She nods, gaze solidifying with your every word, every word a new step out of the path of pain. Joel smooths her curls off her sweaty forehead, his own wide-eyed stare never leaving your face. You roll up your sleeves and curl up your hair off the back of your neck just as Ellie stumbles back into the room. She’s got at least five towels around her neck, and she’s red-faced and straining from keeping the pail of boiling water from spilling or burning her. She eases it down next to you and hands you a towel. Both of you each take a side and immediately tear the one in half.

Before you wore gloves, some sort of protection, but now there is no time. You hear Ellie inhale sharply, recognizing what you’re about to do a second before you do it.

You dip the towel into the steaming water, let it soak, and pull it out. You grit your teeth against the immediate burn on your palms, the trail of fire over your knuckles and wrists, as you squeeze out the dripping water, Sarah’s soft cries in your ears enough to push past your own pain.

Half-way between an inhale and an exhale, you think you hear your name.

Ellie already has another dry towel loose around one of Sarah’s legs. She glances at you, her brows knitted together.

Ready? She asks without words.

You drape the hot towel around her leg and Sarah yelps. She thrashes in her father’s arms as you wrap the towel tighter and tighter. Expecting Joel’s inevitable bark, a hard shove against your shoulder, get away from my daughter – but it never comes.

As soon as you tighten the towel as firmly as it can safely go, Ellie slides in next to you and begins to massage the muscles in her calves, her feet, her toes.

Sarah whimpers again, but the sound isn’t as sharp, pain-choked. Joel holds her tighter, as if her torso is also knotted and could be relieved with warmth.

On an inhale, you pick up the other half of the towel, drench it in boiling water, and wring it out with your bare hands. A silent prayer for lotion is fleeting as it drifts through the dense focus of your mind. You squeeze out the dripping water and wrap Sarah’s other leg, prepped again by Ellie. She watches you as you tug and tuck the steaming towel, her own focus as sharp as a tack, mirroring your motions as you knead and massage the muscles.

After a few minutes of faint whining, a couple of sobs, the room slips into an exhausted silence. Her breathing slow on his chest, Joel draws back her damp curls and finds her face relaxed, asleep. His mouth parts and the skin around his eyes goes slack.

Relief.

With a shudder, Joel knocks his forehead against hers, his thumb on her chin as if to feel her breathing. You look away, the moment so tender it shouldn’t be witnessed.

You realize then how badly your palms ache.

The towels have lost their immediate heat, so you unwind them. Ellie’s small hands overlap yours as she helps. For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to look her in the eyes. The both of you fall back into roles most comfortable to you.

The wet towels gone, you wrap her legs more tightly this time, slightly past the edge of comfort. You ease her back, flat into the bed, and some small part of you is aware Joel is letting you guide her. He slips out from behind her when you tuck her in, tight with another blanket around her legs. She could be exhausted for days after this.

“We’ll need to keep heat on her legs every thirty minutes, fifteen if we can manage,” you say as you fold up the damp towels. Joel hasn’t moved. Stares down at Sarah’s small body. “I’d like to keep a warming pan here, to have hot water on hand if she wakes up in pain again. When she comes out of it, she needs water and food. Have her eat it slowly, small bites at first.”

You remember a doctor at the hospital where you trained as a nurse give advice to a newer doctor: medical mysteries and illnesses are one thing. Nervous parents are something else.

You call his name and he doesn’t move.

You step forward, touch his forearm, and he blinks at you. He feels so remarkably solid.

“Joel. She’s safe.”

“Do you want me to go get more towels?” Ellie’s gathered the damp towels off the floor, her chest wet. She stares at Sarah’s bed frame.

“Get breakfast first. Then I might need your help later.” She nods, turns to go, but hesitates. Her mouth is pinched tight, eyes wide, looking for something to ground her, to calm the vortex that the adrenaline in her veins widens with each beat of her heart. She looks so . . . childlike.

She looks so much like Anna.

The momentary fortified strength shatters and you're afraid again. What do you say to comfort her? What would Anna say? Good job, I'm proud of you, thank you -

But then she turns away, carrying the dripping towels, and you lose your chance to parent.

Joel has curled himself into the rocking chair by her bed, so close his knee touches her mattress. He holds her thin hand in the cup of his two massive palms. His heel taps loosely, quietly against her rug, every possible outcome of this morning striking him in the chest with each drop of his foot. His face is a blurred, dark shadow, hanging between his shoulders.

To describe Joel in this moment, nervous seems quaint.

In silence, you gather up the tepid pale of water and exit the room, closing the door after you.

The rest of the day passes in haze, tendrils of sleep still between the cracks in your brain left there by the harsh break into consciousness.

You have Ellie feed the animals, and you start a load of laundry. The ratio of dry towels to wet is rapidly becoming unbalanced and you know after the initial attack is over, pressure is more important than heat. Sarah has barely moved all day but she is responsive and drinks water when she comes out of her deep sleep. You’ve made soup again – a heavy meal that doesn’t require much managing and can be easily re-served – and it gives you time to think. Sarah mentioned the doctor skipping town, that he had all but dropped everything and ran. You wondered what else might be in the doctor’s old shop. Morphine seemed too valuable to have been ignored in any ransacking, but often doctors kept a secret supply, unbeknownst to even most nurses for special cases or when supply was low. You think about that and stir the pot as the sun crawls across the sky.

With your head bent over the pot, something moves in the field outside and you watch with surprise as Ellie leads one of the cows, Fauna, out of the barn. Through the rippled glass, you watch her talking to the cow, her face scrunched up in concentration, and shockingly, Fauna appears interested, her big ears flicking back and forth. But Ellie leads her only a little bit from the barn, in the grass but visible from the house. She drops to her knees and takes out a wooden stake and a hammer — nevermind where she found those – and then ties Fauna’s lead rope to top of the stake sticking out of the ground.

Ellie wags her finger, her back to the window, her stance very serious. You smile to yourself and to Anna as she marches back inside and shortly returns with Flora, the other cow, to do the same. She gives them both a stern talking to, as evident by her hands on her hips, before turning back to the house. You glance down, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate it if you saw her babysitting the cows. It was what Joel did every morning – let the cows out to graze – but she did it in her own Ellie way: on a smaller scale and perhaps with a little more gentleness.

See, Anna, she’s all grown up.

By nightfall, both of you are exhausted. You don’t know how Joel manages to run this place by himself, especially with a sick child, but after one day, you’re ready to curl up into bed and never leave. Ellie looks like she’s about to face-plant into her soup, her eyes half-shut. You smile, stretching, before gently shaking her shoulder.

“Go to bed, Ellie. You’re exhausted.”

She blinks harshly, indignant and scowly, as you take both your bowls to the sink. “‘M fine. Just a lil’ –,” she yawns deeply, “sleepy.”

“You’re right. My mistake.”

“Besides, we got coffee coming, don’t we?”

On the counter, your make-shift coffee press gurgles, the cap steaming from the bubbling water over the grounds you found in the cellar. You eye her over your shoulder.

“You don’t even like coffee.”

“Yeah but you’re staying up, right? You and Joel?”

Neither of you had seen Joel leave Sarah’s room all day. Ellie eyes the ceiling as if she can see right through it.

“I’m taking him some food and a cup of coffee,” you say as you finish drying the plates. There’s a rigidness to your hands as you delicately lay the plates flat, unconsciously careful to keep them from making a sound as they touch. “But at St. Joseph’s, some of the nurses would offer to keep vigil, to give the parents a chance to rest.”

You know in your heart he won’t take it. You just hope he finds your coffee inoffensive.

But Ellie doesn’t respond. She sits still, staring at the ceiling.

“Ellie, she’s going to be okay.”

Those bright eyes fall on you. “You can’t know that.”

In your hands, you wind the damp towel between your fingers. They’re pink and still ache but the rough linen is a welcome distraction from the churning acid in your stomach.

“This isn’t going to be like last time,” you say, your hips against the counter. “Sarah’s infection is nowhere near her lungs. And she’s been responding to treatment.”

Ellie drops her gaze, her bottom lip curled between her teeth.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it. Unless you can swear to me.”

One of life’s simple truths: parents lie.

You recognize there is a part of her that wants you to look her in the eyes and lie. She’d be angry, eventually, if your lies were exposed, but in that moment, as she sits in an unfamiliar house, at an unfamiliar table, with you and this wretched ailment the only things she knows to be constant – she wants a comfort you can’t give her. You are not capable of parental truth.

“I can’t promise anything.”

She inhales, breathes shaky, and exhales, the spoon in her hand trembling. “I know.”

Hands full of a white, chipped food tray, you knock twice carefully with one hand like you had been trained to before opening the door. The lamplight has been turned on, but the room, blanketed in darkness and shadows, looks the same. Sarah sleeps deeply, if not well, her hand curled by her face against the pillow, her heavy storm of curls cradling her head gently. Joel watches her, as still and silent as the moon. His foot has settled, but now he breathes so slow he might not be breathing at all.

Of all the terrible things you had seen during your time as a nurse, witnessing someone like this is always the hardest. Feeling helpless is a sentiment you are all too familiar with and the thought of someone just sitting there and watching you with your grief makes your skin itch.

“Joel.” A formality, because those trapped in a cyclone of worry require a slow approach, easing a startled animal. “I brought you something to eat.”

Speaking, it lets him acclimate to your voice.

You set the white tray on Sarah’s dresser, a piece of furniture meticulously crafted. Like Joel’s room, there are books everywhere, but more animal drawings, some directly on the walls. Sarah’s brilliant personality expanded here, in the blues and pinks, not capable of being contained in a single body.

A body that seems so small and fragile in that little brass bed, while her father looms impossibly large.

“Joel.” Again, soft, but this time you put a hand on his bicep. Never near the neck, an older nurse warned you, that area is sensitive. His denim shirt is soft beneath your fingers, nearly bleached white from the sun and worn smooth from dust and dirt and wind. You think you smell churned earth and hot leather in the instant it takes you to kneel down beside him, your grip sliding from his shoulder to his forearm. With the other hand, you tip a steaming cup into his open palm.

“Sarah told me you liked coffee.”

Slowly, as though he had blinked and reality disintegrated and reformed around him, Joel’s gaze slides from Sarah’s waxy face, to yours, and then the hand on his forearm. The back of your scalp prickles, the bulwark of courtesy shaking, before you remember you’d done this hundreds of times, to people of all ages, men and women. He seems to understand this – a professional gesture – and he takes the mug from you. With an almost perplexed expression, he stares into the nearly black liquid, his jaw tight.

And then he drinks, without saying a word.

You think you might have heard a low rumble from him, a pleased groan as heavy as the plow in the barn outside, but the floorboards creak when you stand up, so you might have been imagining things.

“This tastes good,” he says bluntly, voice weather-beaten. You smile into the bowl of soup as you wave a hand over the steam to cool it down to something bearable. “How?”

Despite his monosyllabic responses, you take this as a good sign. Something tells you that you’ve made exceptional progress by getting him to talk at all.

“I got pretty good at making cowboy coffee, as my sister used to call it, before we moved to Oklahoma. You already had the beans in the cellar,” you say, shrugging as you bring the soup over to him. He eyes it warily, as if this is not the appropriate time to eat, as if his own suffering would make Sarah’s lessen.

You’d only ever seen that instinct in a handful of parents while in the hospital and it made something wide and warm press up against your chest bone.

So you don’t give him a choice. You push the soup into his hands with enough speed that he has to take the bowl or drop it entirely. He, like most people with common sense, takes the bowl. He has a second to frown at you before you turn away to Sarah.

“And I suspect they were hidden down there on purpose?” You ask as you take out another blanket from the basket beside her bed and flutter it over her legs. You remember stories about the women working with Elizabeth Kenny filling quilts with rocks or beans, anything with weight, and putting them over the affected limbs of polio patients. The compress soothed the ache.

Sarah snores gently in her sleep as her father behind you laughs, a soft rush of air from his nose, his mouth preoccupied with a half-grin.

“I try not to hurt her feelings,” he admits quietly. You hear the clatter of metal on porcelain as you fold and refold the blankets to carry more weight. “That girl is a lot of things, but good at making coffee isn’t one of ‘em.” He slurs around the soup in his mouth.

It’s hard to believe she’s only a year older than Ellie. They have both lost things, indescribable things at too-young an age. But where Ellie carries it in the grip of her hand around her knife, Sarah takes it on the chin.

Polio, a disease of freezing agony.

You wonder how much of Sarah’s inner world she keeps to herself.

Like with Ellie, you fight the urge to brush a lovely curl away from her cheek.

“You have a special girl here, Joel.”

You feel his gaze on the back of your neck and you drop your gaze from her pristine face, remembering it’s not your place to look at her like that. Not like how you want to look at her.

Not like how you might want to look at him.

Joel shifts on his feet, leaning forward to put the now empty bowl on the ground.

“I know.” By the strength of his tone, he admits to knowing that you see the bright light about Sarah like he does and so he lets you look. Your heart stutters at this silent transference and you grab blindly for that mask of noble duty.

“How has her breathing been?” You sit down next to her and pick up her wrist, feeling for that steady pulse. You relax slightly when it’s easy to find. The beat of it is a little faster than you would like, but it hasn’t woken her up.

“Good.” A disgruntled groan from the chair as he adjusts behind you. His voice is rich like molasses, dripping warmth down the knots in your spine. “Woke up here n’ there, like you said. Gave her food. Got her water. But she just went right back to sleep.”

“But she ate and drank?”

He nods out of the corner of your eye. You check the mobility of her joints and they seem to be back to their natural looseness. Whether she’ll feel strong enough to walk is another matter entirely, but it’s not good to worry him unnecessarily.

“That’s good, Joel. That’s really good.”

You smile at him and finally, finally, the corners of his eyes soften, his brows pluck up, and he breathes deep. The tension leaves his body the way steam leaves a lake in the hours before dawn, the cup of coffee resting on his thigh. His gaze falls from your face to hers, shrouded in shadow.

“She’s never slept this long after an attack,” he says quietly. “Always restless, pain flaring up. We once stayed up a whole day and night when it got bad.”

He shakes his head, clears his throat a bit as if the words in his mouth leave behind a mucky, sour taste.

“Thank you. For treating her properly.”

For doing what I couldn’t.

It’s true. But no amount of reassuring – I’ve just had training, you did the best you could – would dissipate that repugnant scent of guilt lingering in the air. You are forced to let it linger, unable to say a single damn thing that would mean anything to him.

As he finishes the last dregs of coffee, Joel unwinds his long legs from beneath the seat and his knees crack. Stiff joints after a long day of stillness, but immediately his fingers fly to that same spot he touched in the barn in that afternoon, his mouth tight from the unexpected flash of pain.

Immediately you kneel down, worried at the slight hiss he made, fingers inches from his thigh when he straightens.

“You don’t have to–,” he shifts as if he can pull away from your touch and stay seated. “It’s not that bad –,”

You frown at him. “Can the person here who has had actual medical training determine that?”

Something light flickers over his eyes, so fast it might not have been real, smoothing the lines around his mouth. Joel nods, glancing to the floor.

“Yes, ma’am.”

That single word almost splits your skull in half like lightning.

You are immediately grateful for the heavy shadows in the room. Your palms, smarting all day, are now blistering with heat. Mouth shut tight, you don’t trust whatever sits behind your lips, so you begin your inspection of his muscles. Thumbs down, you feel along the lines that lead down to his knee.

Hard, firm, you notice. Made solid by work and toil. A few of the bricklayers and farmers you’d attended to had muscles like these. Despite the rough denim and how unsettling it is to be this close to him, it’s easy to lose yourself in the methodology of the human body. You’ve learned to read sinew and bone and scar tissue like a map and you come to find that the topography of Joel Miller is mountainous.

“So, mhm, where’d you learn to make coffee?”

You thought the stiffness in his thigh was due to lingering pain, but when you look at him and his guarded expression, chin tilted into his chest, fingers tight around the bottom of the seat, you realize he is uncomfortable. He is made uncomfortable . . . by you. Something sharp pokes through a slot between your ribs and you sit up straighter, trying to make your touch even more clinical if possible. But what he says next, you aren’t sure if it’s genuine or genuinely meant to hurt.

“Your husband?”

You shake your head. “My sister, actually. Ellie’s mom. We’d trade night shifts when she was a baby. One of us would come home from our second job, and the other would leave for their first. Anna said she’d never have survived those first years without coffee.”

You can hear the question he wants to ask buzzing in his head, your thumb rubbing therapeutic circles around the inflamed area. But instead he asks:

“And you . . . you like coffee?”

You shrug. “I don’t think I ever slowed down enough to ever taste it in the first place.”

With Joel Miller, silence means a thousand things. It’s not the way he looks at you, but the way he looks into you.

“Anna always said we’d be fine, that two unmarried women with a baby could make it in the city. But I wasn’t so convinced. There wasn’t much time for something like enjoying the taste of coffee because I was always busy taking every job I could get.”

“Like treating sick kids.” He says it like he just found a piece of you off the ground and added it to a sprawling puzzle. He politely stares over your shoulder.

You swallow, throat tight. “Actually, um, Anna had it - polio - too. I took the job as a nurse to learn how to treat her from home.”

Those heavy eyes swing into you full force and you can feel your stomach roll and collapse against your spine.

“Every case is different, Joel. What I did for Sarah, it wouldn’t have helped someone like Anna.”

“But she died?” A third unwelcome presence.

“Yes. She went fast. There was nothing anyone could do to save her.”

There was nothing you could do to save her.

Your thumbs are starting to ache, but you don’t want to leave just yet. You want to sit and listen to his voice, even if it’s pitched in anger towards you.

But it’s not. His next words come out soft, if not a little bit disbelieving.

“Where did you come from?” Joel asks. “You said the city, Oklahoma. How’d you end up in fuckin’ Dalhart, Texas?”

You use your elbow on the thicker muscle up his thigh and he tries very hard not to wince.

“We grew up in Boston. City girls all our lives. We had big plans of catching the bus line and going all over the country, just the two of us, but then Anna got pregnant and overnight, everything changed.”

He nods, knowingly. You add that to your own Joel Miller mosaic.

“I met the man I’d marry while I worked as a maid in a motel. He was a banker, or so he told me, and he wanted to whisk me away. We were three months behind on our rent, so I told him yes, I'd marry him after knowing him for a week — as long as I got to bring Anna and Ellie with me. All he talked about was money, so I thought he had it. What he did have was enough to get us to Oklahoma, buy some farm equipment for the wheat boom, and then lose it all in a handful of years.”

“And then we lost Anna. We lost my husband. I went back to trying to find a job in town with no jobs.” You pull your hands back, the deep tissue of his thigh flushed with blood from your therapy, and having nothing more to do, little more to say, you drop them into your lap. “Just after we missed the payment for the equipment for the second month, I got a letter from a man claiming to be my long lost Uncle Robert. I hadn’t eaten in three days and Ellie just got tagged by the police for shoplifting. I sent him a letter back and he said if I sent him our last twenty dollars he’d get us set up in Dalhart where he had a successful car dealership. I did and he didn’t and if you hadn’t picked us up, I don’t know what we would have done.”

You sit with the hot truth of it and he sits with the both of you. It’s silent in a way that only a house in the middle of nowhere can be. Sarah stirs in her sleep, her legs rustling the sheets, but doesn’t wake up.

“You don’t have to do that here, you know.” He straightens his legs, just as quietly as the rest of the house. He crosses his arms over his chest and you think about the muscle just under his forearm, thick and immobile as sea-drenched rope. “Not eat . . . for Ellie’s sake. There’s enough for you and her. Always.”

You think of the cellar with its soft dirt, cool air, the endless rows of stored fruits and vegetables and meat, buried like a still-beating heart beneath the dust-whipped house in a paradise on the prairie.

“But I understand the inclination.” With you on the ground before him and Joel leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his broad back arching under the stripe of white moonlight, he looks at you.

Really looks at you.

Like recognizing like.

A passing in a distorted mirror that might be me but it’s not but I think I know you all the same there is a thing just like me out in the world and it sees me.

Slowly, hesitantly, as if he’s afraid you’ll bite, he reaches forward and takes your wrist from your lap. The calluses on his thumb brush roughly against the knot of bone as he twists your palm upward. Pink, too pink, a stinging color, even in the low lamplight. Joel works his jaw back and forth, staring at your palm with weary concern, as if it told him things he didn’t want to know.

His gaze lifts and your fingers curl instinctively in. He’s trying to make you look and you don’t want to. He sees your sacrifice and you don’t want it called that, there’s certain nobility in sacrifice, in a sort of suffering for other people, but it’s not sacrifice if you go willingly and despite you not wanting to look, not wanting to put a name to it, not wanting to take up any space at all, he looks at you like he, a man as broad and wide and powerful as he, is grateful.

For you.

Every bulwark inside of you, every foundation that you had built yourself because you never had the chance to grow hearty roots somewhere permanent, rumbles. Shakes, beneath a single solitary, rolling earthquake. A landslide of earth behind the strength in his eyes.

“For her, for Sarah, I’d do the same,” he says.

For her. For the children in your lives.

Do you even like coffee? All you know is how to make it. What would you do with it if you did? If you liked coffee? If you loved it.

If there was someone outside yourself and Ellie to make you coffee simply because you wanted it. Because you were in a circle of people for whom people would do things for. For her. For you.

The heart of Joel is like coffee: dark but warm.

Your wrist slips between his fingers, finding refuge again in your lap.

“I know.”

You wonder what it would be like to be within Joel’s circle of people for whom he does things. To be given coffee, just because you want it.

You bet it’s warm.

You stand up, collect the empty, used things, and wish him a good night.

A noise and sunlight startles you awake. Your eyes tear open, hand flat on an open pool of sunlight in the center of the mattress, head twisted and knees bent up by your chest. In your sleep, your body twisted itself into a Gordian knot, unable to escape the dreams about the cellar ground turning into coffee beans, and the cramped bloodflow leaves you disoriented until you can roll onto your back and remember where you are. The smells that surround you.

You hear the noise again and you think of Ellie and in that instance where complete consciousness returns to you, the weight of her is gone. Literally.

Ellie is not in the bed beside you.

The room’s brightness is suddenly too bright, the clear, electric blue sky too blue – it’s too beautiful and it lulled you into a sense of comfort. Stupid, so stupid. You ignore the warm floorboards against your bare feet, the faint birdsong from outside, as you rush towards the source of the sound, towards Sarah’s bedroom – oh god, I was wrong it’s too late it took her in the night and I –

The sound you do not recognize, the sound you could not comprehend while buried in dreams and memories, is the sound of laughter. Loud, full laughter.

The brass bed creaks as Ellie uses the mattress to fling herself into the air. On the other end, just as determined to reach the ceiling, is Sarah. Hands outstretched and reaching, her legs bend and flex and propel her up and up. Every time she gets within a handful’s reach of the ceiling, Ellie’s laughing, cheering her on, and then it’s her turn, Sarah giggling as Ellie’s face scrunches up as she reaches out towards the blue sky on the other side of the roof.

“Oh, hey!” Ellie says, pink-faced and causal, half-way out of breath. Sarah spins, mid-way through a jump, her eyes bright, sweat peaking on her brow line. “Sarah bet – I couldn’t touch – the ceiling — so we’re taking turns – loser has to shovel – the barn!”

You watch, dumb-struck, as the bet continues, the girls laughing and criticizing each other and offering techniques as they work in tandem to fling the other one higher. Sarah is flush with vitality, with life, with a dewy glow reserved for spring mornings when the earth stretches awake after the death of winter.

And Ellie . . . she looks her age.

The earth has shifted beneath your feet, while you were sleeping, and a seedling has been planted, the dawn of something new, something fresh and utterly unexpected. You can feel it in your bones. Hear it in their laughter.

“Not a bad thing to wake up to.”

Joel, arms crossed, eyes soft, leans up against the door frame, blue striped pajamas low on his hips, a thread-bare white undershirt cupping his biceps. He eyes you from toe to head and stops when he meets your eyes. You wonder how long he’d been standing there – if he too woke to noises he couldn’t explain, rushed in here, and found something miraculous.

The smile crinkles his eyes as it unfurls across his face.

“I haven’t heard her laugh like that in a while,” he says quietly, head tilted towards the bed, as if there could be any other meaning. “I owe you one.”

You could say the same thing about Ellie.

There’s the line, the boundary of the circle to the place of being warm. He’s not cleared the way for you, not invited you across, but he’s shown it to you. You can see it, feel it, and know what it takes to get there.

Your smile blooms. The girls’ laughter rings throughout the house and into the sunlight.

But, outside of paradise, away from the river and the white a-frame house, from the horse and the cattle and the long strands of prairie grass, where there is not enough to eat and the earth is in its death rattle, the wind blows. It swallows up dust, and dirt, and fine sand, gluttonous. It swirls and pulses, agitated and restless and seeking violence. Spinning with the power to blind with a single whip of dust, it spins up over the earth in its death rattle, where there is not enough to eat, towards the prairie grass. Towards the horse and the cattle. Towards the river and the a-frame.

Towards paradise with the promise of total ruin.

END OF PART I

series masterlist | AO3 Link | prologue | part ii

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itsbrandy · 2 months

Text

i know who you are | 1. the beginning

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: A head injury on patrol causes you to lose your memories of the outbreak and the people you have grown to know and love over the last ten years.

Chapter Warnings: language, descriptions of blood and wounds, vomiting, angst, amnesia

WC: 7.6K

A/N: I shortened the timeline a bit - all of the events from the first game have happened, but this takes place ten years after the outbreak instead of twenty.

Series Masterlist

Pain.

That was all you could recognize at first. The back of your head throbbed so badly, you couldn't even open your eyes. There were sounds, but they were unidentifiable through the searing, red hot pain radiating across the back of your skull. Tenderly, you reached your hand back to press against the source. You recoiled instantly, the pain too much to bear. A thick and sticky wetness coated your fingers.

Then you smelled it.

The smell of metal. Coppery, familiar. Then... did you smell fireworks? Was it the Fourth of July? A few years back, your older brother was messing around with fireworks and nearly blew off his hand, ending the night in the emergency room. Your parents never let him forget it. Is that what happened? Did he make some stupid bet with you? A game of chicken wasn't out of the realm of possibility. He always brought out your competitive side.

You forced your eyes open just a crack, the sun immediately causing you to close them again. It was too bright and your brain was vibrating like it was trying to escape from the confines of your skull.

You were outside. It wasn't dark, fireworks wouldn't make sense. What was going on?

Then you heard your name. Someone shouting it, over and over, panic stricken.

You tried to hold up your hand, wave them off, tell them to stop being so loud, but you could barely lift your hand before the nausea hit. Unable to stop yourself, you rolled onto your side, your head screaming and punishing you for the sudden movement as you heaved, emptying the contents of your stomach into the grass. The force of it made your head hurt even more, if that was even possible.

The smell of acid mixed with the smell of metal, now.

Maybe you were dying.

Someone's hands were on your shoulders, pushing you onto your back, yelling your name over and over.

"Stop," you pleaded weakly, tears springing into your eyes. The pain was too much.

"Jesse! Get her water!"

You groaned and covered your face with your palms. The sunlight was so fucking bright that you could even see it through your eyelids, a red glow everywhere you looked. You needed darkness. You needed quiet.

"Here, drink," you heard a man's voice say, then the hard plastic pressed against your lower lip. You whimpered and tried to pull away, the thought of anything in your stomach making you feel sick again.

"Shit, Joel's gonna fucking freak," you heard another male voice say from behind your head.

Against your better judgement, you forced your eyes open. Blinking rapidly, you locked eyes with the first person you saw. A man with dark, curly hair that went past his ears, with patchy facial hair and soft, brown eyes. Your eyes drifted down to his dirty, denim jacket, and then you saw his hands. Fear shot through you when you saw the drying blood, fist still clutching a gun, and as you tried to scramble away, you bumped into someone behind you, causing you to panic.

Why were they surrounding you? Who were these people? It wasn't fireworks, it was gunpowder.

"Get the fuck away from me!" you screeched, but the dark haired man inched forward, his free hand reaching out to you, telling you to calm down, it's okay, sugar, but you continued to crawl backwards, ignoring the pain throbbing behind your eyes. What did these people do to you?

"Whoa, it's alright," the other man said. A younger man, also darker hair, but shorter.

Your chest heaved as you gasped for air, panic seizing you from head to toe. Your eyes flicked around the forest, the huge tree trunks making it impossible to figure out where you were.

"W-where am I? Where's my mom?"

The man holding the gun frowned and exchanged concerned glances with the other man.

"She's gone," he said gently, as if it were obvious. A strangled noise got caught in the back of your throat when you looked at the man's gun again.

"What did you do to her?" you asked, voice wavering. The man's eyes dropped to the gun in his hand and he quickly holstered it.

"I didn't do anythin' to her, sugar," he said, and again looked at the younger man before continuing. "She died the first day."

"What?" you asked, lip trembling. What the fuck was going on?!

"First day of what?"

"You don't remember?" he asked, and you could see the worry in his face. His eyes wide and his hand a little shaky.

"No, I don't fucking remember! What the fuck are you trying to pull?" you exclaimed, your voice rising the angrier you got.

"Sugar, do you know who I am?" he asked, sneakily taking the handgun that laid abandoned by your side in the dirt and tucking it into the back of his pants.

"No," you spat, then winced and clutched the back of your head again. When you pulled your hand back, you saw fresh blood coating your fingers. Your heart began slamming in your chest and you were finding it difficult to bring in enough air to keep you level.

"Jesse, get a rag," the man ordered. Jesse jumped up and jogged over to a backpack discarded on the ground. Old, worn, faded, with splashes of blood.

Then you saw the bodies.

Well, you supposed they could be considered bodies, but they didn't look like people. Not anymore. Their skin was sagging and grey. Clothes, torn and dirty. Mangy hair ripped out in handfuls at the scalp. Their mouths were agape, revealing yellowed teeth and stinking of rot.

"What the fuck?" you whispered as your vision narrowed. You faintly realized Jesse was pressing a rag against the back of your head, trying to stop the bleeding and had you not been so scared and confused, you might have shoved him away.

"Tommy, what do we do?" Jesse asked, and you could hear the fear in his voice now. His hand shook against your shoulder as he tried to keep you still.

"We gotta get her back home, have Nick take a look at her," he said, and you looked back and forth between them, flabbergasted. Talking about you as if you weren't right there.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," you told them. You tried to stand up, but fell to your knees. Tommy knelt down next to you, his arm circling around your shoulders, but you shrugged him off.

"C'mon, sugar. We ain't gonna hurt you, you just hit your head and you need to see a doctor," Tommy said. "Jesse, grab me my first aid kit."

"I gotta go home," you mumbled, and forced yourself to stand again. You couldn't see straight. Everything around you was spinning even though you were fairly certain you were standing still. "I need to see my dad... my brother."

"Shit," you heard Jesse mutter under his breath as he hustled over with a small, leather bag.

"Okay, why don't we take you to a doctor first, then we can talk about your family, alright?" Tommy asked gently. "I'm just gonna patch you up til we get back," he added, reaching into the bag for some medical tape. You watched as Tommy instructed Jesse to hold the rag against your head while he ran the medical tape around, holding the cloth in place.

You didn't have much choice. As you looked around, you were becoming more and more aware you had absolutely no idea where you were or what was happening. You definitely weren't home. There weren't trees like this back home.

So, begrudgingly, you agreed to follow them. Tommy stuck two fingers into his mouth and whistled, a sharp, piercing noise that made you wince. You were confused until you heard the soft pattering of hooves approaching, and through the trees, three tacked up horses emerged. A pale yellow one slowed and stopped a few feet away from you, snorting loudly and stomping its foot. You watched as Tommy and Jesse grabbed their backpacks and mounted their horses. Then Tommy seemed to realize the problem and quickly slid back down to the ground.

"I'll give you a boost," he said, crouching next to the yellow horse and lacing his fingers together. Slowly, you walked forward, eyeing the horse wearily before gripping the saddle and stepping one foot into Tommy's hands. He hoisted you up as you tossed your leg over the side of the horse and you bent forward, momentarily burying your face in its mane while you tried to stop the world from spinning. Fuck, your head was going to explode.

You followed Tommy's horse while Jesse took up the rear, all of you maneuvering around the rotting corpses littering the ground.

"What is this?" you asked, utterly confused. "Did I faint when we found a bunch of dead bodies or something? We have to go to the police," you told them, panic rising once again.

"We will," Tommy said, and you took a deep breath. Okay, things were making sense. You hit your head. Maybe you fell off your horse and knocked yourself out. You don't remember meeting these men before, but they seemed to know you, and they didn't appear to be threatening. If they were, they wouldn't give you your own horse, right?

"How far away are we from your home?" you asked after about ten minutes.

"Not far. Maybe another half hour or so. You holdin' up okay?" Tommy asked, twisting around in his saddle to look at you, his eyes briefly glancing over your shoulder at Jesse.

"Yeah, I think so. My head really hurts, though," you said, blinking slowly. "Do you have a farm or a ranch or something?"

"A what?" Tommy asked, confused until he looked down at the horses. "Oh, right. No, but we do got a barn."

"Oh, okay," you said uncertainly. You looked around at the trees as your horse obediently followed Tommy's. It was so quiet. You must have been deep into the woods because you couldn't hear any road noise at all. Looking up, you didn't even see or hear any planes. You had never known quiet like this before. It was almost... peaceful.

You looked back over your shoulder, making eye contact with Jesse, who gave you a nervous smile.

"Is he your dad?" you asked, and Jesse snorted.

"No," he chuckled, then cleared his throat and wiped the smile off his face, becoming serious again. "No, Tommy's just my friend. Our friend," he added, and you slowly nodded before turning back around.

You loosely held the reins in your hands as you made your way through the forest, the only sounds coming from your horses and the birds singing in the branches above your heads. When you crossed a small stream, Tommy called over his shoulder not much further now.

At the end of the forest was a clearing. You could see it already. A huge gate and reinforced walls surrounding what you assumed was home to these men, but it looked like a fortress in the middle of nowhere. There were even guards with guns strolling along the top of the fences.

This didn't seem right.

"Stop," you told your horse, but of course it kept walking.

"Stop!" you shouted, and it pinned its ears back. You looked up at Tommy, who had now turned around in his saddle.

"How - I don't know what I'm doing, tell it to stop! I want to stop!" you told him as the panic rose from your chest and squeezed your throat.

"Pull on the reins," Tommy said, and you quickly tugged them, making the horse come to a sudden halt.

"Where are we? What is this?" you demanded, narrowing your eyes at him. By now you had made it just outside the gates, and the guards on top were looking at Tommy questioningly.

"This is Jackson," Tommy said calmly, then slid down from his horse to approach you. "This is where we live. We got a doctor here who can take a look at that head wound."

"Why don't you live in a normal house? A normal town? I don't understand," you said, and the tears began to well up in your eyes. You were so frustrated and everything was so confusing and all you wanted to do was go to bed and forget this ever happened.

"I'll explain everythin', I promise, but first we gotta get you to the doc, alright?" he asked as your tears began to fall. Tommy glanced up at the top of the fence and nodded. You watched as a handful of men began to crank open the gate, revealing the beginnings of a quaint -looking town.

"Can you get down? Go slow, I'll catch you if you fall," he said, and when you looked into his eyes, you could see affection there. You did as you were told. Swinging one leg over, you slowly and carefully lowered yourself to the ground, Tommy's hands reassuringly hovering above your shoulders until you were standing on your own two feet.

"Are we... together?" you asked him.

Tommy and Jesse both laughed heartily and then he quickly shook his head.

"No, sugar," he said, a smile still etched across his face. He looked over at the open gate and his smile slowly began to fade. "But we oughta get you to the doc right away."

You sat on the edge of an exam table, head tilted down, chin against your chest as the doctor Tommy introduced as Nick stitched up the laceration on your scalp. He had numbed the area pretty good with something from a very large needle that sent you spiraling into a frenzy until Nick and Tommy managed to calm you down and convinced you they were not in fact trying to drug you and sell you into sex trafficking, like you had accused them of trying to do.

Once the doctor started to work on your injury, Tommy excused himself, mumbling something about needing to talk to someone and that he would be back as soon as possible.

Nick said he had to cut away some of your hair, that you would have a small bald spot for a while, but the rest of your hair would be able to hide it effectively.

After he took care of the cut, he began to examine you further. He flashed a bright light into your eyes, making you wince and recoil. He asked you strange questions that you were confident you didn't answer correctly based on the expression on his face.

"Cordy- what?"

"Cordyceps," he repeated.

"No, I have no idea what that is. Is it a band?" you guessed, and he shook his head.

"Well, you certainly have a concussion, and I'm afraid you have some memory loss," he said, sitting down on the small stool across from you.

"How much is 'some'?"

"Uh, difficult to say, but ten years? Give or take?" he said, and you balked.

"Ten years?!"

He nodded.

"I'm afraid so. Can you tell me the last day you do remember?"

"Well," you began, relaxing your shoulders as you thought. "I remember it was fall, but it was still hot out. I had a long day at work - I'm a banker," you told Nick, and he nodded. "My feet were killing me, I had barely sat down all day. It was family dinner night at my parents' house. Me and my brother go over there every Friday. My dad made ribs out on the grill so he wouldn't heat up the house with the oven. My mom was wearing this new, green dress that I thought looked hideous but I lied and told her it was cute. And my brother was telling us about a girl he had met the weekend before."

Nick looked at you to continue, but when it became clear you were done, he sighed.

"That's the last day you remember?"

"Yeah," you said slowly, finally picking up on the concerned look he was giving you. "Was that really ten years ago?" you asked, softly this time. Nick pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and nodded.

"Oh my god," you breathed, looking around the sparse, run down room. What happened in ten years to make the world look like this? You were about to ask when you heard shouting coming from the lobby of the infirmary.

Nick jumped up and opened the door, then turned back to you.

"I'll be right back," he said, then shut the door quickly behind him.

You sat on the edge of the bed, legs lightly swinging as you tried to piece together what you knew.

Ten years.

Ten whole years, just... gone.

What memories did you make in that time? Your mom is dead, but what about the rest of your family? Is there anybody in this town that you might actually remember? You looked down at your body. You thought you looked the same, maybe a little thinner, but otherwise the same. Did you ever get married? Have kids?

The shouting got louder and pulled you out of your reverie. It was a man's voice, and it was growing closer. He sounded angry. Livid, even.

You could now hear him opening up the other exam room doors and calling your name, ignoring the voices of Tommy and Nick urging him to stop, and a jolt of fear shot through you. Glancing around the room, you looked for something, anything that might protect you or reinforce the door, but it was too late.

The door swung open and you jumped off the table. If this man was going to hurt you, you wouldn't go down without a fight.

He paused in the doorway, his eyes raking up and down your body, assessing you silently while you did the same. He was tall. Broad shoulders strained underneath a black T-shirt. A blue flannel was clutched in his fist. You could see his muscles twitching under his tanned skin, and when your gaze finally met his, you felt something else other than fear. Something you couldn't quite identify. You knew this man, but you didn't know how.

His hair was dark and had loose curls, similar to Tommy's but shorter and a little lighter. The beard surrounding plush looking lips had a dusting of white at the corners of his jaw, but it was his eyes that drew your attention the most. A deep, beautiful brown that told a whole story in just one moment.

Nick and Tommy stood behind the strange man, looking back and forth between the two of you. Dragging your gaze off of him, you looked at Tommy, hoping he would explain.

Then the man said your name softly and your eyes flicked back to him.

"What?" you finally said with an edge to your voice, growing annoyed with how nobody felt compelled to say anything. They just kept looking at you, waiting for you to acknowledge him as if you'd known him your whole life.

"You remember Joel. Right, sugar?" Tommy asked, and your eyes drifted back to him. All three men stared at you, the room so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Slowly, you shook your head, and Joel's face fell.

"Is it permanent?" Joel asked, turning to Nick.

Nick paused, his mouth opening and closing as he considered his answer before clearing his throat.

"It's too soon to say-"

"The fuck d'you mean?!" Joel roared, grabbing Nick by his collar and shoving him up against the door. You stumbled backwards in surprise.

"Joel!" Tommy yelled, yanking on his shoulder, trying to loosen his grip on the poor doctor but Joel just shrugged him off.

"Fix her!" Joel yelled, redness creeping up his neck as he slammed Nick up against the door again.

"I-I can't just fix her! What do you think this is? Look around!" Nick stammered, his fingers clawing at the backs of Joel's hands.

You gasped and felt your knees give out from underneath you. Slowly, you sunk down to the floor, crippled in fear. You huddled against the side of the bed, your hands clamped over your mouth as you rocked back and forth, trying and failing to keep your tears at bay.

"Joel! Let 'em go, you're scarin' her!" Tommy yelled, and that finally seemed to snap Joel out of it.

His grip instantly loosened and his head swiveled towards you, his eyes softening when he saw you curled up on the floor. He rushed forward but you held out a hand to stop him.

"Don't come near me."

He froze and stared down at you, hurt written all over his face.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, and you flinched. Baby?

"Maybe we should give you two a minute," Tommy said. Your eyes widened and you shook your head.

"N-no! What do you mean? No!" you cried out. You clawed at the table, pulling yourself up as the tears dried on your face. Joel took a few steps back and stood against the wall, crossing his arms and dropping his head, hiding his face.

"It's just Joel, he ain't gonna hurt you," Tommy said softly, but you still shook your head.

"Look what he just did!" you exclaimed, not even caring anymore if you were hurting his feelings. "How can you say that?"

"Because he loves you!" Tommy said, sounding exasperated.

The room fell silent, the only sound coming from you as you struggled to catch your breath. You glanced over at Joel but his chin was still tucked against his chest.

"Is that true?" you asked him. He nodded, but still didn't look up from the spot on the floor.

You sighed and rubbed your palms roughly over face.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? There's just a lot happening right now and I'm very confused," you said, suddenly feeling guilty.

"I get it," Tommy said, looking back and forth between you and Joel, but Joel still appeared to be fixated on the floor. "Why don't you go home and rest. Can she, doc? Maybe some sleep will help?"

Tommy raised his eyebrows at Nick, trying to get him to agree and play along. Say yes. Don't piss off Joel.

"Yeah, perhaps it's a good idea if you went home. There's some evidence to suggest being around a familiar setting might trigger your memory to return," Nick said, and Joel finally looked up from the floor.

"What else can we do?" he asked as your fingers fidgeted at your sides. You really didn't like the idea of going home with this man. He clearly had a short temper and that set you on edge.

"Are there any personal effects that she holds some sentimental value to?"

Your gaze bounced back and forth between the men as they all talked about you like you were some science project.

"Yeah," Joel said with a nod.

"Alright. Start with that. Anything since you've known each other would work best, see if it jogs her memory. A necklace or a trinket-"

"Yeah, I get it," Joel said, finally chancing a look in your direction. You quickly dropped your gaze from him and looked back at Tommy.

"Can I talk to you?" you asked Tommy, who looked at Joel. Joel didn't say anything, he just stared right back at Tommy, his jaw clenched and his shoulders rising and falling slowly, as if he were trying very hard to control his breathing. You looked back and forth between them, waiting for the silent standoff to end.

"I'll be outside," Joel finally muttered, then stalked out of the exam room with Nick in his wake, leaving just you and Tommy.

"I don't want to go home with him."

Tommy sighed and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his eyes.

"It's your home, too," he said.

"He scares me," you replied, crossing your arms. "He's a loose cannon. I-I don't feel like I know anyone here and everyone seems to know me. Do you know how that feels? Do you know how scary that is?"

Tommy dropped his hands and looked up at you.

"No, I don't. And I'm sorry, but I promise you nothin' bad's gonna happen. Joel's always had a short fuse but he would never, ever lay a hand on you. He's been head over heels since the moment he met you, and you love him back, sugar."

You looked around the room, needing a break from eye contact for just a minute while you gathered your thoughts.

"How long have I known him?" you asked.

"Five years."

You nodded and chewed on your lower lip.

"And how long have you known him?"

"All my life."

Your eyes darted over to his in surprise and he gave you a small smile.

"He's my older brother," Tommy explained, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh," was all you said, suddenly feeling like shit for saying such things about his family.

"Listen. Why don't you give it a chance, hm? One day. See how it goes, and if you're still uncomfortable, we'll figure somethin' else out," Tommy offered. You considered it for a moment before reluctantly nodding your head. Aside from just walking out of Jackson, you didn't see much of a choice.

To say the walk to Joel's house was awkward would be putting it mildly.

You weren't sure if he overheard your conversation with Tommy, or maybe he just could sense how you felt about going home with him, but ever since you forced yourself to leave the exam room to find him waiting for you in the lobby, he had been very quiet.

His feelings were hurt, that much was obvious, but what could you do? It wasn't like you set out to intentionally hurt him. You had no idea who he was at the time.

You still weren't sure who he was.

You tried to subtly admire his profile as you walked side by side. He had a strong jaw, a sharp nose and a full head of hair, although you could tell he was older than you. By how much, you weren't sure.

You tried to see underneath the gruff exterior, wondering what on earth made you fall in love with him, but it was so hard to see past your first impression.

Well, second first impression.

Then he turned his head to look down at you. Your eyes met and you thought you felt a small flutter in your chest, but you couldn't tell if it was nerves or fear or something else but his eyes were absolutely beautiful. There was something so sincere about them and you found it oddly funny that they seemed to betray the rest of his hardened expression.

"Anythin' lookin' familiar?" he asked you. You blinked and looked around.

The street he was leading you down was filled with people. Children laughing and playing, adults chatting and smiling. If it wasn't for the setting being so strange, it would feel normal. You squinted at some of the faces as you walked by, hoping you would recognize somebody, but you didn't.

"No," you said with a shake of your head, and you thought you saw his shoulders slump next to you but you didn't want to get caught staring at him again, so you focused on looking straight ahead.

The two of you remained silent the rest of the walk, although you could feel the energy radiating off him and for the first time, you began to realize this must be just as hard for him as it was for you.

You were examining the huge watch towers that surrounded the town and wondering what on earth would require such firepower when you realized Joel was no longer at your side. You swiveled your head around, suddenly lost in a sea of people that were smiling at you as they strolled on by but you didn't see a single recognizable face. You felt the panic begin to build again until you heard your name and a gentle hand on your elbow. You looked up and actually felt relief when you saw Joel.

"Sorry, thought you were still with me," he said, then tilted his head towards a side street he must have began to walk down without you.

"We live down here," he added. You heard someone call out both your names as you walked down the street. Joel waved to an older gentleman on his porch and after a brief delay, you waved as well.

"This is so weird," you muttered, shaking your head as you looked around.

"Yeah, I reckon it is."

Joel stopped short in front of a small, two-story house with a large front porch. You looked up at it, taking in every detail. The shutters, the rocking chairs, the small garden out front surrounded by a white picket fence, hoping something would click but you still felt nothing.

"This is your house?" you asked him. He watched you carefully as you continued to look around, wishing he would see something in your eye that would give him a shred of hope.

"Our house, yeah," he corrected you. You glanced up at him and quickly looked away, feeling too guilty when you saw the look on his face.

"Sorry," you whispered.

"Don't be sorry," he told you, but he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and glanced around. "D'you wanna look inside?"

You nodded and followed him past the gate and up the little stone path that led to his - your - porch steps. A flash of yellow in the garden caught your eye and for the first time, a small smile played upon your lips.

"Oh, I love black-eyed susans," you said dreamily, your hand instinctually reaching out to touch the delicate petals.

"Yeah, I know. You told me your mom planted 'em every year," he said, stopping at the top of the steps to look down at you.

"That's right," you said with a smile. "Although it drove her crazy because-"

"The bunnies kept destroyin' 'em," he finished for you.

You stared into each other's eyes for a moment: him, waiting for you to remember, and you, wondering how you could forget.

"Yeah," you finally said, then dropped your gaze and cleared your throat, giving the flowers one last look before ascending the stairs to the front door.

Joel unlocked the door, pushing it open all the way and stepping aside so you could go in first. You peered inside for a moment before taking a step forward.

The first thing you noticed was it smelled faintly like firewood and coffee. The kitchen was to your left, living room to your right, and a staircase was in front of you next to a small hallway that appeared to lead to a back door of the house.

Joel stepped inside behind you and shut the door quietly, allowing you to take your time and process everything at your own speed. He desperately wanted to drag you around the house and show you things you should remember, but he refrained. Instead, his eyes followed where yours went. When you looked at the kitchen table, he thought remember when we had breakfast there this morning? When you looked at the fireplace, he thought remember on our anniversary when we couldn't make it up the stairs quickly enough so we made love in front of the fire? When you noticed the board games, boxes all frayed and worn, sitting on a bookshelf behind the couch, he thought remember when you beat Ellie in Scrabble and she flipped the board over?

But of course, you didn't remember any of those things.

You looked around blankly, and he could tell you were trying to remember but not a single shred of recognition flickered across your face. Your eyes landed on the kitchen counter and you took a step forward.

"We had coffee together today, didn't we?"

Joel's heart fluttered excitedly in his chest.

"Yeah, you remember that?" he asked, quickly joining you at your side. You looked up at him and he could immediately tell what your answer would be.

"No, I'm sorry, it's just-" you pointed to the two mugs still sitting together on the counter and he nodded solemnly.

"Oh, right," he said, then walked over to pick them up and rinse them off in the sink. He turned around and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched you slowly navigate the kitchen. Opening and closing drawers and cupboards, picking up a recipe book and flipping through it, then looking at the paintings on the walls.

"Did you or I draw this?" you asked, stepping towards a portrait that was clearly of him.

"Neither. Ellie did it," he told you, and you looked at him curiously.

"Ellie?"

He nodded and just as he was about to open his mouth to explain, the front door whipped open, startling you.

"Is it true?" a young girl with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail asked as she barged into the kitchen. When her eyes landed on you, she dropped her book bag and stepped forward, peering at you as if you were under a microscope.

"Ellie-" Joel began, pushing off the counter, but she cut him off.

"People are saying you lost your memory or something, is that true?" she asked again, and you nodded slowly.

"Holy shit!" she sputtered, and Joel repeated her name again, but harsher this time.

"Sorry," she mumbled, then pulled out a stool that was tucked under the kitchen island and plopped herself down. "Are you, like, okay? How's your head?"

"Uh, better now. The doctor gave me some medicine and it finally stopped hurting so much, but I got a pretty bad cut," you reached back and touched the bald spot with your fingertips. "He had to stitch it up."

"Can I see?" she asked, and you couldn't help but laugh a little, completely missing the way Joel perked up when he heard it.

"Sure," you said, turning around and lifting up your hair. "Can you see it?"

"Yeah, fucking gross, dude," she said with a shudder. You dropped your hair and turned back around.

"Is she your daughter?" you asked Joel, and Ellie burst out laughing.

"No way," she said, and he just rolled his eyes.

"I don't understand," you said with a frown. "Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," she told you so casually it almost gave you whiplash.

"Oh, my god! I'm so sorry," you said, feeling terrible, but she just gave you a look like you were crazy. Maybe you were.

"It's cool," she said, looking back and forth between you and Joel. "So she really doesn't remember anything?" Ellie asked him.

"Only stuff from... before," he said, narrowing his eyes at Ellie as if trying to silently communicate with her.

"Oh," she said, nodding slowly as if she understood. "Shit."

"Before what?" you pressed, but they both ignored your question.

"Why don't you give her some time to settle in," Joel told Ellie. "Meet us later for dinner at the Bison."

"Yeah, okay," Ellie said, sliding off the stool and picking up her abandoned backpack.

"You don't live here?" you asked her.

"Sorta. I live in the garage, see?" she said, pointing out the window to a building out back with a large window in the front and a small light next to the door.

"In the garage?" you repeated, appalled, but she just laughed.

"It used to be a garage. Joel helped me fix it up and it's more like a guest house now. Right, Joel?"

"Yeah," he said, walking deeper into the kitchen so he could look through the window with you. "You helped her paint it," he said quietly.

"I did?" you asked, and they both nodded.

It looked like they were both waiting for you to say something further, waiting for you to maybe recall the color or the weather that day, but nothing was ringing a bell. You looked at them hopelessly and Joel averted his gaze.

"Go on, Ellie. I'm sure you got schoolwork," he said, and she rolled her eyes as she turned and headed towards the door.

You watched her walk through the backyard and unlock the garage, catching a brief glimpse of the inside before she shut it softly behind her.

"You wanna go lay down for a bit?" Joel asked after he noticed you yawn, and you nodded. You followed him up the creaky staircase, your eyes drifting over everything you could find, hoping something would jump out at you along the way. When he got to the top of the stairs, he stopped suddenly between two bedroom doors and you gave him a confused look.

"What's wrong?" you asked, the look on his face beginning to worry you.

"Nothin', I just realized..." he trailed off and took a deep breath, still staring at the two doors. "We share a room and I just realized tonight'll be the first time in years we sleep apart."

You looked away, feeling uncomfortable. You could see the anguish all over his face. His jaw ticked to the side and he was blinking faster than usual and the guilt was burning a hole in your stomach.

"I'll stay in the spare room," you said, breaking the tension. "Can you just show me where I keep my stuff and I'll-"

"No," Joel said, shaking his head. "I'll go in the spare room. You stay in our room. Maybe it'll help... it should be more familiar to you in there."

You decided not to argue with him. He finally stepped towards the door on the right and pushed it open, leading you into a master suite with a queen sized bed in the middle of the room. There was a quilt on top that appeared to be handmade in various shades of greys and purples. You ran your hand over the material thoughtfully while Joel opened a few dresser drawers and pulled out some spare clothes for himself.

"This is pretty," you said, and he turned around to look at the quilt.

"Becky a few doors down makes 'em," he said, turning back to the dresser. "You really wanted purple and I fought you on it, but you always win," he said with a chuckle. You smiled to yourself as you continued to look around the room while Joel collected a few more belongings. You noticed a pair of reading glasses on top of an old western book on one end table. The other end table had a few loose hair ties, a homemade lip balm, and a black, leather bound book with a pen on top. Without even thinking, you walked forward and picked it up, flipping through the pages one by one. It appeared to be a journal, and it looked like it was your handwriting.

Joel stepped out of the bathroom attached to your room and saw you holding the book. He swallowed and watched your face closely, looking for any sign that what you were reading made sense.

"I was gonna show you that tomorrow. Thought it would be too much today," he said after a few minutes.

"I kept a journal?"

"Yeah. You don't write it in often, but sometimes if somethin' special happened, or you just felt the urge, you would write it down," he said, putting his toiletries next to his clothes on the bed.

You closed the book and placed it back on the table, staring at the old cover, lost in thought. You had a million questions and you had to start somewhere.

"Joel... what happened?" you asked him. He frowned, not following at first until you clarified. "In the world, I mean. What happened? Because all of this," you waved your hands around the room and gestured out through the window. "This doesn't seem right. Did I join a cult or something?"

Joel shook his head and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I don't wanna overwhelm you," he began. You sat down as well, making sure to put plenty of distance between you.

"I'm already overwhelmed. Just please... tell me what's going on."

He sighed and looked at the clock on the wall.

"The world ended," he said bluntly, glancing in your direction. You stiffened but you waited for him to elaborate. "It was quick. Happened on a Friday, everythin' was gone by Monday. There's this fungus called cordyceps-"

"Nick asked me about that," you said, and he nodded.

"Well, best guess is the fungus mutated and got into the food supply. It, uh, it infects the brain. It grows and takes over, but it doesn't kill you. Well, not technically." He could see the confusion on your face. He wasn't explaining this right. "The fungus wants to spread, you see? That's it's basic function. If it killed the host, it wouldn't be able to spread. So, the host remains alive, but they're no longer... them."

"And the hosts are... people?" you guessed, and Joel nodded.

"Yeah. Spread like wildfire. One person would get bit-"

"Bit?" you repeated, eyes wide.

"Yeah, it's how the fungus spreads. Through blood. One person would get bit and they turn within hours."

"And there's no cure?"

Joel paused and took a deep breath, his gaze darting nervously around the room.

"No, there's no cure," he finally said.

You sat back on the bed and thought about what Joel just told you. Suddenly, things were starting to make sense. She died the first day.

"And my family?" you asked softly, closing your eyes as you waited for the answer. Joel looked at you, his heart breaking that he had to deliver the news.

"They didn't make it," he said, and one tear slowly escaped and slid down your cheek. "It was a miracle you even made it. That any of us made it," he added, hoping to take the sting out of it.

"A miracle?" you scoffed, opening your eyes now. "How do you figure, Joel? What's the fucking point in living like this?" you asked him angrily, standing up from the bed and pacing around the room.

"Don't say that," he said sadly, rising to his feet. "Believe me, I thought the same thing," he said, unconsciously scratching at the scar on his cheek. "But it turns out there's plenty to live for. It ain't so bad."

"Oh, yeah? Like what?" you challenged, eyes brimming with unshed tears. "What is there to live for? Because I have to be honest, I'm not seeing it."

Joel swallowed as he watched you angrily move around the room.

"Love," he said quietly, and you stopped. You stood with your back to him, your shoulders rising and falling as anger and frustration coursed through you.

Finally, you turned to look at him, tears silently falling.

"But everyone I loved is dead," you sobbed, burying your face in your hands. "My family is dead! Everyone I know is gone! What do I have left?" You dropped your hands and looked at him, tears steadily falling as you waited, completely forgetting the obvious answer.

"You have me," he said, his voice cracking. "And I know that don't mean much now, but I promise you, it will."

Your head fell forward, chin tucking into your chest with your hands on your hips.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, still looking down. "That was so rude, I didn't mean to say it like that."

"This is hard for me, too," he said, taking a few steps towards you, then stopped. He wanted to pull you into his arms and hold you close, tell you everything was going to be okay, but he had to remind himself that he was essentially a stranger to you.

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizin' for somethin' that ain't your fault," he told you sternly. You dragged your eyes back up to him, your shoulders slumped forward, eyes puffy and red.

"What if my memory never comes back?" you whispered. It was a question Joel didn't want to ask out loud but knew eventually it would be brought up. He took a deep breath and looked you square in the eye.

"Then I'll have to make you fall in love with me all over again," he said with a small shrug, and you let out a huff of laughter at that.

"You sound pretty confident," you replied.

"I did it once before, I can do it again," he told you, his gaze never wavering. "I'll never stop tryin'. What we have together, it's... it's rare. And it might sound stupid, but we're meant to be together. If you let me, I'll prove it to you."

Something in his eye made you feel calmer the longer you looked at him. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't joking. He meant every word. You tore your gaze away from him and looked around the room again. The room you shared with him. The room where you held each other, kissed each other, made love together. Years of memories etched into the floorboards. Countless secrets whispered into the pillows. Laughter and tears echoed against the walls. Your eyes found him again just to realize he never looked away. He stood tall and firm in the middle of the room, patiently waiting for you. And you had to assume if he felt this strongly about what you had, then it must be worth fighting for.

"Okay."

Follow @punkshort-notifs for fic updates ❤️

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itsbrandy · 2 months

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i sincerely do not care about writing or reading right now. i’d say i’m sorry for that, but i’m not. it’s bizarre and truly disgusting how many people have unfollowed me in the last 24 hours or less since i would rather spread awareness of something that is going on in the real world. something that is heartbreaking and something that has been happening for the past 75+ years and is still happening over me writing about a fucking pixel. truly, it proves so many things, and it definitely proves that some of you do not care about it. seriously, fuck you.

Palestine masterpost

How you can help Palestine

Donate to Palestine

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Do not buy the remastered TLOU 2 2

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itsbrandy · 2 months

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title: Just One More Thing

rating: M (this may change, I dk)

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

summary: You are a human lie detector. You managed to piss off the Cali Cartel in a poker game that went sideways. Now it's up to Javier Peña to get you to testify. What happens next is something neither of you could have anticipated . . . and that's the God's honest truth.

warnings: language, references to drugs/cartels, drinking, smoking, no use of y/n, eventual smut, really dated references, canon typical violence, i'll update these as we go

a/n: this is my love letter to 70s TV mystery series, Narcos, and Poker Face. I really don't have an ending planned so this might get a little wild.

🤍AO3 Link 🤍Masterlist

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part 1: Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

part 2: nose as long as a telephone wire

part 3: ???

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itsbrandy · 3 months

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Literal poetry I tell ya

Deliver Me From Nowhere

A Joel Miller Story

joel miller x f!oc

series warnings: dark themes surrounding history of domestic violence, dark themes in general, heavy emotions (hope can also be heavy)

.................................

In the wee wee hours your mind gets hazy Radio relay towers gonna lead me to my baby The radio's jammed up with talk show stations It's just talk, talk, talk, talk, 'til you lose your patience Mister state trooper, please don't stop me

Hey, somebody out there, listen to my last prayer Hi ho silver-o, deliver me from nowhere

"State Trooper" Bruce Springsteen

..................................

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

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itsbrandy · 3 months

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Damn you Catfish

☾☼🫧 Catfish 🫧☾☼

Summary: a fisherman walks into a bar..you again with the damn umbrellas in his drink.

Pairing | fisherman!Frankie Morales x bartender f!reader

Warnings: fluff, smut, teasing, banter, enemies to lovers (sorta) mean!frankie, grumpy!frankie, is really just a big ole softy!frankie, close proximity, no fish fingers..I swear +18, no age gap, minors dni!

coming soon (probably like really really soon)

Chapters: (I told myself this would just be a oneshot..we all know how that goes!)

chapter 1 - Filet O’Frankie

chapter 2 -

chapter 3 -

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itsbrandy · 3 months

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The Hills Have Eyes | Chapter 3

“It’s Dieter’s world and we’re all just living in it”

A/N: So, before we get into the chapter I just wanted to put a disclaimer out there regarding the nature/genre of this fic.

Dieter is a very fluid individual. He is in an open sexual/romantic relationship (Polyamorous relationship) with his PR wife. Dieter and his wife are allowed to sleep with whoever they please (sometimes sharing partners/hookups) as long as it stays out of the medias eye. Dieter chooses to marry his wife because not only is she in his inner circle, she is just like him and therefore he knows he doesn’t have to hide who he truly is. Dieter and his wife are both bisexual and as someone who only recently came out as Bi this year, there will be moments where Dieter feels shameful of his lifestyle. Particularly because his sex life is extremely vibrant and fluid. That being said, things will get messy and in the eyes of Hollywood, things will ultimately be exposed. Dieter’s lifestyle may be triggering for some,and I will make sure that every chapter has the appropriate warnings listed. This series is stepping out of my comfort zone, but I am very excited to dive back into this story in particular.

~word count: 6.0k~

Pairing | Dieter Bravo x f!reader x OFC! (Aubrey Plaza face claim)

Summary: a glimpse into Dieter’s life 16 years later

Warnings: smut, polyamorous relationship/lifestyle, open relationship, multiple sexual partners, PR marriage, F/M, M/M partners, unprotected PIV, (wrap it kids) Anal sex, oral (m & f receiving) mentions of drinking and smoking weed, brief feelings of sexual shame, semi-public sex, dom/sub vibes (M/M) daddy kink, Dieter might be a bit of a sex addict, mentions of cheating, grudges from the past, old feelings rising, reader has no physical descriptions such as skin color, body-type, Dieters maid is described to be plus sized. There is one mention of Dieter holding her hair but no descriptions of her skin color. Readers nickname is Sweet Tart, No Age Gap, +18 minors dni! Please please let me know if I missed anything!

You wiped the sleeve of your hoodie against your cheek. The fabric was stained with your tears and remnants of makeup. You were sure that you had raccoon eyes from your mascara running down your cheeks, but did you care? No. Not when just a little under an hour ago you found your fiancée (now ex fiancee) balls deep inside your (now ex-best friend) How could they do this to you? How could he do this to you? You had just sent out the fucking wedding invitations last month. The venue was booked, and you already had your dream dress bought and stored safely in your closet.

Now none of that mattered as you nursed a cheap bottle of wine along the steps outside of your home. You didn’t hesitate to dial Dieter’s number in your moment of need. You had memorized it by heart, and despite the years that had passed with no communication, you were able to swallow what was left of your pride and call him. The dial tone rang, and rang, and rang, and just when you were about to hang up, Dieter picked up.

“Sweet Tart? To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing your number pop up on my screen?” Dieter spoke softly into the receiver.

“Dee..he—he cheated on me.” You spoke just above a whisper.

“Who did? Your fiancée? What’s the fucker’s name again? Eric? Fucking tool. Always was a prick back in highschool. Sweet Tart, I’m so sorry, my dear. Are you okay? Where are you?”

“He cheated on me with Melanie. I caught them in our bed. I got home from my meeting early and we—we were supposed to go out to dinner. I’m outside on the front steps of my home in San Francisco. That’s where I live now.” You sniffled and took another swig from the bottle of wine clutched in your fist.

“Mel? Wow. Always knew that one was a cunty little slut but I never would have thought that she would stoop that low.” He tsked disapprovingly under his breath. “San Fran huh? Well, why don’t ya leave and come back on over the bridge to Los Angeles. Leave that life behind and let those two assholes have each other. You could pawn the ring and burn all of the fucker’s pictures.”

You were full on sobbing now as the realization crashed down over you that your life had now drastically changed and it was no longer picture perfect on the outside. Tears were blurring your vision as you struggled to regain your shattered composure. “Dieter, I can’t just—I can’t just leave. I love my home and my job and there’s—there’s nothing for me in LA.”

“Oh, Sweet Tart. I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to make you cry. What do you mean there’s nothing for you in LA? Babe, I’m still here. Well, I live in the Hollywood Hills now but you’re more than welcome to come and visit, ‘kay?”

You pressed the rim of the wine bottle against your temple as you questioned why you called Dieter in the first place. Was it just the wine in your system talking? Did you miss your best friend that terribly, that you had no one else you could possibly call?

“Dieter, I appreciate your offer, but I can’t just leave my fucking life behind like you can.” Your tone was bitter and your words were harsh. You didn’t mean to snap at him, not really. You were just hurt and frustrated and overwhelmed. Everytime you closed your eyes you saw your ex fiancée drilling into your ex best friend in your fucking bed and it was all too fucking much.

“Sweet Tart, why did you just have to go and be so fucking mean, huh? I was just trying to make you feel better. You’re the one that called me. Go sob to someone else if you’re gonna be that way. I thought after 16 years you would have dropped that fucking ridiculous grudge that you’ve been holding against me. Here I thought that maybe my best fucking friend was just calling me because she missed me! Guess not, huh? Guess I was wrong again. I’m sorry that your fiancée cheated on you. He’s a rotten son of a bitch that clearly has no idea what he’s got. I’m even more sorry that your so-called best friend betrayed you like that too. The world fucking sucks sometimes, Sweet Tart. It chews you up and then fucking spits you back out. You’re not the first one to be cheated on like this and you won’t be the last. You wanna wallow away in self pity, and stay in that house and keep working that mediocre job? Be my fucking guest. Don’t call me crying, and then get upset when I tell you how you can fucking fix it.”

Fuck

“Dieter, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said, you know that right? I’m just hurt and angry and fucking overwhelmed! I know I shouldn’t have gone and taken that out on you. It’s been 16 years and I have no reason to hold anything against you.”

“No. You meant what you said. C’mon, Sweet Tart. You’re a big girl. Stand behind your fucking words.” The pads of his fingers pressed deeply into his temples as he sighed. He didn’t want to admit that your words really fucking hurt. They sliced right through him and obliterated his already pathetic heart.

“Listen, my offer still stands. I’ll text you my address, and if you want to come and visit, you’re more than welcome to. Just don’t go and leak it anywhere alright? You should maybe go and get a hotel room for the night or something. I wouldn’t want to sleep in my bed after all that but that’s just me. I’ll see how you’re feeling tomorrow morning, Goodnight, Sweet Tart.” Dieter didn’t wait for you to answer. He just went ahead and hung up the phone before tossing it on his towel that was resting on the pool chair.

“Dieter—Dieter?” You finished off the bottle as you struggled to pull yourself up to your feet. You could go and get a hotel room with no problem. Instead you found yourself going back inside of your home and plopping face first onto the couch.

Dieter reached for the abandoned joint that was left simmering on the edge of the heart shaped ashtray that had a Chanel logo in the middle of the vessel. He plucked the joint up between two fingers before placing it between his lips. His eyes fluttered shut as he took a long deep drag of the herb, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling it upwards towards the star painted sky. He reached for his phone and unlocked it with a couple taps on the screen. He opened the iMessage app and scrolled till he found your name. A moment of hesitation washed over him as he typed in his address. The hesitation he felt was soon erased as he hit send before tossing his phone to the side once more.

“She probably won’t come to see you. I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” Dieter spoke to himself through the dry California air. “On the off chance that she does show up..what am I to do then?”

He scratched at his patchy beard with a huff. The joint he was presently smoking was almost completely gone as he tapped a blur of ash into the tray. “Help her get over her stupid fucking excuse of an ex-fiancée.” He muttered as if the answer was painfully obvious.

Your phone thrummed along the coffee table, and even in your grief and drunken stupor, you knew it was your Dieter.

When you awoke the following morning you could barely open your eyes due to the residue of mascara causing your lashes to stick together as if there was glue on them.

You let out a frustrated huff and rubbed your knuckles against your eyes to loosen up the clumps of mascara.

Then, that dull pulsing pain in your skull began to breach the surface. Fucking cheap-ass-wine hangover.

You struggled to pull yourself up into a sitting position, squeezing your eyes shut when you felt a particular sharp pain. “I am never drinking again.” Something that every adult has probably said a handful of times in their life.

Once your eyes were well adjusted to the early morning light trickling in through the curtains, you forced yourself to get up, snatching your phone up from the coffee table as you headed straight for the kitchen; coffee was needed if you were to make it through the day.

While your coffee was brewing and you were greeted with the familiar drips falling into the coffee pot, you remembered your conversation with Dieter last night, and the things that you both said. Holding a grudge against your best friend..was not a smart move, but it wasn’t like you meant it. Not really, you were just frustrated and hurt, and people say shit they don’t mean when they’re upset all the time.

Your phone buzzing in your palm tore you away from your thoughts and then you saw Dieter's name flash on your screen, and your heart skipped a beat.

Hey, Sweet Tart, I apologize if I was mean to you last night. I know you’re just pissed off at that stupid fucking ex fiancée of yours. Anyway, let me know if you’re planning on visiting soon. I’d love to see you. Gets pretty lonely up here in the hills. It would be nice to see a familiar face.

Dieter sent you the text message after he had fixed himself a screwdriver cocktail with extra vodka to get his day started off on a happy note. Beverly was out of the country, filming for her next project, so Dieter was left alone to his own devices, naturally.

And what’s an actor, such as himself, to do in such an obnoxiously massive house tucked away from the public eye in the Hollywood Hills? Prance around in nothing but a silk robe, and stupidly expensive Chanel sunglasses. His music of choice for the morning was Queen’s, I Want To Break Free.

He had a perfectly rolled joint tucked behind his ear in a light pink rolling paper. He brought the rim of his glass to his lips and took a sweet indulgent sip, before he spun around on his heel to the rhythm of the music. His softened cock swung freely between his soft thighs.

Dieter was never shy of his sexual appetites, and those he wished to partake in them with. He’d never actually put a label on himself, but if the question ever arose, he’d proclaim himself a proud bisexual.

“It’s gonna be a good day, Bravo.” He hummed to himself and reached up for the joint tucked behind his ear. “It’s gonna be a good day indeed.” He reached for his lighter across the expanse of the counter top. He sparked the joint up, taking a long drag with his eyes softly shut in a relaxed blissful state.

They snapped open at the pleasant chime of heels clacking along polished tile. His maid, who he had been fucking with and without Beverly in the mix, was leaned against the entry way of the kitchen, clad in nothing but a garter belt and Louboutin heels that he purchased for her.

“Good morning , Mr. Bravo.” She purred through her pretty painted lips.

He drank in her attire (or lack thereof), her supple, luscious curves with a lazy grin plastered on his scruffy face. The joint dipped down between his lips while he admired her a bit longer, eyes raking down her body in a lustful gaze.

“Good Morning to me indeed, wowza.” He whistled. “Can I get a spin from ya, baby doll? Are those the pretty heels I got you? You’re absolutely rocking them, my dear.”

She giggled, soft and sweet. The heat rose to her cheeks from the compliment he bestowed upon her. “They are, sir. I think they’re quite pretty too.” She gave him a little spin, twirling around like a ballerina.

He pushed himself off the side of the counter in a very Dieter like fashion. His cock had begun to harden, coming to life at the sight of the beauty that confidently stood before him. “Beautiful.” He whispered, “just absolutely breathtaking.” He swooped in, hand finding purchase around the thick flesh of the curves on her ass. “I have to go for my morning swim, but after…” he trailed off with that knowing glint in his eye.

She dragged a perfectly manicured nail down the clavicle of his chest, swirling it around one of his nipples, the right one that was pierced with a shiny nipple ring through the middle. Her lips pouted like two rose petals, lashes fluttering in a flirtatious manner, “are you sure that your swim can’t wait a little longer, Dieter?” She cooed softly.

With his hand still clasped around his glass of vodka with a sprinkle of orange juice, he pressed his thumb down against her pretty pouty lips. The joint still pursed between his lips, blazing red-hot. “I’m sorry, pet. I promised Jackie I’d start every morning off with a relaxing swim. It keeps me from wanting to put the ‘bad’ stuff into my body.” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Your agent is no fun, Dieter. I think she could use a little to loosen up..” she trailed off, letting her nail drag lower, and lower till she swirled it through the coarse, dark hair that sprouted up from beneath his pubic bone. His neglected cock twitched with that aching need, but he was trying to be good.

“She really could loosen up, doll face. I agree. But..I can’t go back on my promises.” He sighed rather dramatically while he kneaded the flesh of her ass between his thick ring clad fingers that glimmered under the patch of sunlight trickling in through the skylight on the high ceilings above their heads.

Just when his pretty faced maid was about to drag her nail across the weeping head of his cock, he declined because he really was trying to be good. “I promise, after my swim, I’m all yours.”

Dieters routine swim didn’t last as long as he planned it too..but to be fair, it was hard to turn down good pussy that was practically being served to him on a fucking silver platter. His naughty maid had laid herself out on one of his pool chairs, thighs spread wide for his view while her painted nails played with herself, dragging through the mess of arousal that leaked out for him. She kept her red bottoms on because she really did feel pretty in them, and she was grateful that Dieter was the type of celebrity to share his wealth with everyone.

Dieter found himself fixated on the spot between her thighs, glistening, pulsing under the rising hot California sun. He licked his lips, pupils darkening while he pulled himself out of the pool.

He feasted upon her sweetness, her taste. He lapped between her folds, dragging his tongue across her needy clit in long, languid strokes that had her throwing her head back in ecstasy. His hands were anchored under the thick flesh of her ass, keeping her spread wide open just how he liked it. The tip of his tongue swirled in a figure 8 motion that had his naughty maid crying out his name in no-time

Dieter. Dieter. Dieter.

His first meal of the day was one that left him feeling full, and satisfied. The scruff of his beard glistened in her release when he came up for a quick breath of air. “Naughty thing you are, doll face. Spread wide open for all of the Hollywood Hills to see?” He gave her left ass cheek a playful swat before his fingers dug in once more. “Naughty.” Another swat, a playful nip to her inner thigh. “Naughty.” Devious eyes peering up between her silken cunt, “Naughty” a whisper of warm breath that kissed her skin the way that rain does.

He was about to dive right back in, when his phone blared loudly on the poolside table. He grumbled from the disturbance before he pressed a chaste kit to her swollen clit. He sat up with a huff, running his fingers through his damp head of curls, and reached over her to grab his phone.

When he saw your name light up on his screen, he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, or the way his heart did a fucking somersault in his ribcage. “Sweet Tart is calling, you gonna be a good naughty maid and suck my cock while I take this call?” His brow raised suggestively in her direction, cinnamon brown eyes flickering with unabashed mischief.

His naughty maid was already sitting up on her knees along the pool chair, crawling towards him while he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock. He twisted his wrist in a languid, corkscrew motion, while his unoccupied hand swiped across the call button on the screen.

“Sweet Tart, how are you feeling this morning? I gotta say, I’m surprised that you called.” A hum nearly crawled up the back of his throat when his maid wrapped her pretty painted lips around the head of his cock. He threaded his fingers through her hair, gently holding her head. His ring clad fingers glistened under the blazing sun when she began to slowly bob her head.

“Hey, Dee. I feel like shit.” You laughed softly through the receiver, biting down gently on the tip of your thumbnail. “I’m sorry..for how I treated you last night.”

Dieter allowed himself to take one shuddered breath when he felt the tip of his cock kiss the back of his maids throat. The little gagging noise she made sent his eyes rolling back into his skull. “How come you feel like shit, Sweet Tart? It's okay. I know you didn’t mean what you said. You were just upset, and understandably so.” He glanced down at his maid, and in a praising motion he mouthed, good girl.

“Too much shitty cheap wine. My head is pounding out of my skull right now. Nothing a cup of coffee can’t fix, huh?” You sighed, leaning back against the countertop. “I know, Dee, but you’re my best friend. I shouldn’t hold a grudge against you just because we’ve barely spoken in sixteen years. It’s not fair to you.”

“Well, that’ll do it. But you know the best cure to a hangover is to keep drinking, Sweet Tart. You really don’t have to apologize, okay? All is forgiven. I’m not going to hold a grudge either.” He paused, thinking over his next choice of words carefully. “Have you given any more thought to my offer? It still stands, and I’d love to see my best friend again.”

He took his lower lip harshly between his teeth when he felt his cock twitch in his maids mouth. It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to hold back a groan from bubbling over. He made the executive decision to pull himself out of her wet mouth with a soft pop. He used his chin to press his phone against his shoulder so that his hands were free to mold his naughty, and very eager maid in the position he wished to fuck her in. His hands wrapped around the outside of her thighs as he gradually pressed her knees towards her chest.

“I won’t apologize for it again, Dee. I promise. I thought about your offer, and I’ll gladly take you up on it. I have some work I need to finish up..but I was thinking of driving over Friday? Does that work with your schedule?”

Dieter dragged the tip of his cock through her slick folds, rolling his hips forward slowly, catching her clit along the head of his cock. “Oh, Friday sounds perfect to me, Sweet Tart. I can always send a car over for ya if you’d like?”

An extremely light hiss slipped past his parted lips when he finally began to sink into her warmth, loving the way that her pussy pulled him in, inch by inch till he was bottomed out, hips pressed tight to her ass.

That’s it, beautiful. He mouthed to her.

“Oh, that’s okay, Dee. I don’t mind driving myself. But that’s kind of you to offer.”

Dieter hummed through the receiver while he dropped his hand to rest along her hip, ogling at the where their bodies were connected. He drooled a glob of saliva right between the space and used the pad of his thumb to rub it against her clit in tight circles.

“Listen, Sweet Tart, I’d love to keep chatting, but I got a call on the other line. I can’t wait to see you Friday. Let me know when you’re on your way, ‘kay?” His voice was raspier now, deeper, and even a little strained. He thrusted his hips forward, falling into a steady rhythm that had both him and his maid feeling satisfied for the moment.

“I understand, Dee. I should probably take a shower and make myself look presentable. Anyway, I can’t wait to see you as well. I hope you have a good rest of your morning.”

He suppressed a growl, doing everything he possibly could do to not give himself away. “You too, Sweet Tart.” He ended the call in a haste, tossing it to the side, not caring if it fell to the ground and shattered. He grabbed her wrists in his freehand, pressing them above her head in one swooping motion.

“Who’s Sweet Tart?” His maid couldn’t help but ask. It was an innocent question of course. There was no harm behind it. She met his thrusts midway with a gentle roll of her hips into his. A free falling moan slipped past her painted lips. Dieter swallowed it, tongue and all while he pried her thighs apart so he could squeeze himself between them.

“My best friend.” He mumbled into her lips. He continued to strum her clit with his thumb, picking up the pace with his calculated strokes. “She’s coming to visit me this weekend. Haven’t seen her in sixteen years.” He grunted low and deep, dropping his forehead to hers.

She whined beneath him, wrapping her ankles around his hips to draw him in even deeper. “Fuck, Dieter. Your cock is so—”

“Big?” He chuckled in a cocky tone, pulling his hips back slightly before slamming them forward. “I know it is, doll face.” “And your pussy? It’s fucking tight. Silky, warm. So glad you kept the heels on, baby. Y’look so goddamn pretty in them.”

And then, of course when they were both on the edge of an impending orgasm, his goddamn phone rang again, but this time it was Jackie, and she’d have his head if he ignored her call.

Frustrated, and unintentionally edging himself, Dieter reached for his phone, answering it with an anger grumbled breath. “For fuck sakes, Jackie. I’M BUSY!” He snapped through the receiver, not caring if he would get chastised for it. He hated being interrupted when he was on the verge of coming.

“Well, good morning to you too, Bravo.” She snickered on the other end.

“This better be fucking important, or I swear to god.” In the same breath he whispered to his maid to get on all fours. He slipped out of her wet, hugging warmth, impatiently.

“Just wanted to check in and make sure you got your laps in today. Oh, and don’t forget, you have dinner with Sebastian Nicks tonight at seven. Do not be late.”

Dieter fought the urge to roll his eyes because goddammit, Jackie, this couldn’t wait??

“Yeah, yeah. I got my laps in alright. And I was absolutely enjoying the fabulous sunshine, and being balls deep inside of my gorgeous maid when you oh so rudely interrupted us!” His tone was clipped and cold. He gave his cock a few quick tugs before he lined himself at her entrance, notching his tip between the seam of her pussy and slipped right back in. He gave her ass a firm smack!

“Dear god, Dieter. That is information that I definitely did not need to know.” He could already picture Jackie rubbing her temples, and shaking her head.

“Yeah?” He grunted deeply, and placed his hand against the curve of her spine, pressing her down further into the pool chair. She arched her back towards him, letting out a string of profanities when the tip of his cock reached that spongy spot inside of her deliciously. “Well, maybe don’t call me before nine a.m next time!”

“Dieter..it’s nine-thirty right now.”

He threw his head back frustratingly. “Oh my fucking god! Jackie, can I just call you back?!”

“Sure, Mr. Grumpy pants.”

He muttered a fuck off before he tossed his phone completely out of reach. It miraculously landed on one of the nearby pool chairs. (He couldn’t fathom having to get another phone)

He was kind enough to come on his maids back, painting her in hot ropes of his release. He tasted himself along her skin, dragging his tongue slowly through his come. He wrapped his fist through her hair, gently tugging her head back so that he could give her a proper kiss, and so she could have a taste as well.

He slipped out of her slowly, feeling somewhat satisfied, but his agent calling him really soured his mood. It was written all over his face.

“Dieter?..” She asked him while he was using a pool towel to wipe his come from her back, and between her thighs.

“Yeah, doll face?” He met her gaze, pursing his lips, feeling his shoulders sink forwards because he knew he didn’t do his job to the best of his abilities.

“Do you think you can?…” she trailed off.

“Of course I can. Hold that thought, ‘kay? Let me go grab something inside.”

He pressed a light kiss to her hip bone before he pushed himself up from the chair and sauntered back inside. He stopped in the kitchen for a couple quick puffs, before he continued on his mission. He felt slightly embarrassed, and a little angry that he didn’t do enough to make her come. He always had been a huge people pleaser, especially when it came to pleasing his sexual lovers.

He shook that gnawing feeling of shame off his shoulders for now. He dug out his box of sex toys from their home in his walk-in closet; There wasn’t anything that his Hitachi wand couldn’t do.

And so he fucked her again, this time with no interruptions, and with the wand placed directly against her clit, it sent rapid vibrations through both of their connected bodies. It was a bonus that he got a second orgasm out of it as well.

In no time they were both a sweaty mess of tangled limbs with Dieter’s scruffy cheek pressed comfortably against one of her pillowy tits, lashes shut, breaths coming out in hot, quick pants. He pressed a chaste kiss to her clavicle before he pushed himself up on his elbows. “Let’s get ourselves cleaned up, shall we, doll face? Then I’m gonna cook us some well deserved breakfast.” He hummed.

She nodded blissfully, tangling her fingers through his messy head of curls. “Clean me up with your tongue, please?” She gestured with a cocked brow to the sticky, drooling mess between their still connected bodies.

With a lopsided, sex stained grin, the actor nodded with absolute enthusiasm. In a haste he slipped out with a soft, wet, squelching noise. The wand was tossed to the side, and his tongue delved between the seam of her pussy once more.

He loved to please.

It was approximately two hours before Dieter would be meeting Sebastian Nicks for dinner, and the nerves were already beginning to tingle and bubble. The itch was building, crawling up his spine, but he was trying to be good. So, he’d have to relieve his impending anxiety in another way.

Dieter’s Dom frequently visited on the occasions when the actor needed him most. And right now, Dieter needed to clear his head desperately.

Dieter was in the shower, letting the scalding spray of water ease the strain in his back when the bathroom door creaked open. His eyes were closed as he felt the blood begin to rush to his cock in anticipated excitement. As much as the actor loved to fuck, he equally enjoyed being fucked as well.

His hand dropped down between his thighs, thumb stroking across the head of his cock. He was already imagining himself being split in two, right down the middle, while being called a good boy, when he heard the clink of a belt, and fabric dropping to the tile floor with a soft thump.

He rolled his shoulders forward, taking his lower lip between his teeth when he felt the presence of a rock solid body behind him, a strong arm wrapped around his middle yanking him back swiftly. His head lolled to the side, dropping against the man’s shoulder. He pumped his fist around himself a few times, feeling the heavy press of the man’s cock against his ass.

“Hey, pretty boy. Y’called?” The man’s voice was deep, lax, rumbling and low against the shell of Dieter’s ear.

“Mhmmm. Hiii.” Dieter whimpered with his lower lip still trapped between his teeth. His back arched, molding into the man’s hard chest and taut stomach. “We gotta make this quick, ‘kay? Got an important dinner tonight with Sebastian Nicks.”

“Mmm.” The man hummed against Dieter’s ear, nipping at the lobe with his teeth. “That’s nice, baby boy. We can make this fast, sure. How about you bend over a lil’ for me and spread your cheeks.” He commanded firmly.

Dieter's cock twitched pathetically in his hand from just the man’s voice alone. “Mhmm, daddy. That’s the one. It’s a big deal for my career. M’so excited..” he trailed off while he released his cock from his grasp. He slowly bent over, reaching behind him and placed his ring clad fingers on both cheeks, spreading them apart. He could feel the man’s hot gaze drifting downwards.

“Always such a good little cockslut for me, baby boy. You’ll have to tell me all about your little dinner with Sebastian Nicks next time..” he purred, placing his hand against the actor's lower back, pressing him forward while he grabbed a hold of his own cock in his fist. He gave his wrist a few twists, spitting right on the head of his cock before he notched the head between Dieter’s spread cheeks. “Y’ready for me, baby boy?”

“Mhmm. Please fuck me, daddy.” He dropped one hand from his ass to steady himself against the cool tile. He pressed himself back against the man’s cock, inch by inch till he was fully seated on it.

An exchange of deep grunts followed by the man’s hand making harsh contact with Dieter’s left ass cheek. He lurched forward, both from the fullness he was feeling, and the sting along his skin. “Fuck yourself on it, baby boy. Let’s see you do all the work yourself.” He growled.

Dieter remembers the first time he gave into his sexual desires with another man. The first time he sucked a cock with tears rolling down his cheeks, and drool dripping down his chin while he sat prettily on his knees. He remembers the first time he kissed a man, dragged his fingers through a man’s happy trail, left lovebites, and felt the pleasant scrape of another man’s beard against his thighs. He remembers the first time he felt the stretch of a cock, the slap of a man’s balls against him, and he loved it.

“Y—yes, daddy. Whatever you want.” He stuttered out, knees nearly buckling as he rolled his hips and ass back in a circular motion, fucking himself along the man’s cock like the good boy he was.

“That’s it, good boy. Such a good boy fucking yourself on my cock.” He praised the actor while he kneaded the soft flesh of his ass between his thick fingers. He met his thrusts halfway.

“Daddy, I—I—need more. Please. Please.” Dieter begged.

“What do you need, baby boy? Need me to take over already?” The man chuckled, giving his ass another firm smack.

“Mhmmm. Please, daddy. I need you to split me in half, please. Fuck me stupid, big boy.”

That’s all it took for his Dom to give in, and Dieter was seeing stars dancing behind his closed eyes as his Dom yanked him back up against his chest, arm possessively wrapped around his middle, and his hand splayed against Dieter’s throat. He fucked into him at a punishing pace, wet skin slapping against wet skin.

“Fuck, daddy! Y—yess! S—so good to me! Hnngh. Thank you! Thank you.” He cried out, hand wrapping around the base of his cock once more. “Tell me you love me, daddy. Tell your baby boy that you love him.” He groaned deeply, feeling himself already begin to fall apart.

“Daddy loves you, baby boy. He loves you, and this tight fucking ass.” The man grunted against his ear, hot breath kissing his skin.

It didn’t take long for Dieter to hit his crashing orgasm, fist pumping wildly around his cock as he coated the ridiculously expensive shower wall in thick, hot ropes of his come.

On the drive over to the restaurant that Dieter would be meeting Sebastian Nicks at, he felt relaxed, confident, and in character. Dieter would always pretend to be anyone but himself when he’d meet new actors, business partners, and the likes of Hollywood. It was as if he had a switch that he could just turn on at random, and when needed. Landing this role would be a huge deal for the actor, and there was no room for him to screw the pooch on this one.

I’m Dieter Fucking Bravo, and I can do anything.

This was his ritual mantra.

He remembered then that he needed to call Jackie, and let her know that he was on his way, and that he needed her to clear his schedule for the upcoming weekend.

“Are we less grumpy than we were this morning, Dieter?” She asked through the smooth sounding speakers in his car.

Dieter thrummed his fingers against the sleek leather steering wheel of his jet black, Aston Martin DB5.

His car was his baby, and his first official ‘big boy’ purchase after becoming an actor.

“Not an ounce of grumpiness in me, Jackie. I’m on my way to the restaurant as we speak.” He said smoothly.

“Oh, good! I spoke with Sebastian’s agent, and I don’t want you to start celebrating yet, but there is a high chance that you’re going to be co-starring in his next film.”

Dieter perked up from her words, trying to hide the smile that was threatening to spill over his face. “Really? You’re serious about that?”

“As serious as they come, kid. But hey, don’t blow this one alright? I think you’re the perfect fit for the role, personally.”

“Pssh. Me? Blow this? Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen! Especially in front of Sebastian Nicks! I’d rather step on a nail, or remain abstinent for the rest of my life.” He chuckled.

“Oh, that’s a good one, Bravo. I almost believed you there.” She laughed, and he could picture her shaking her head.

“Jackie? Do you think you can do me a favor and clear my schedule for me this weekend? I have important plans that I can’t miss.”

“Oh? And what is the occasion for these important plans of yours?”

Dieter scratched at the patches between his beard as he rolled his shoulders forward before he leaned back against the crisp leather seat. A smile tugged across his lips, and his heart began to race at the thought of you, his Sweet Tart coming to see him.

“Sweet Tart is coming into town Friday. We're finally gonna reunite after all of these years apart.”

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itsbrandy · 4 months

Text

Rockford & Roan Pt. 6

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC ‘Roan’

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: “You’re probably thinking, this is crazy. Being whisked away through a portal for a clandestine meeting with my match’s brother–what the hell is going on? Am I right?”

Rating: T. Heed the warnings y'all!

Warnings: Language, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding, sort-of threat of murder, Reader has a made-up place of birth, stress, anxiety, named Thief character

- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford. Reader is mentioned to have hair

Author Note: Thank you always for the kind support💗

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜

Series Masterlist

The Brother

It takes a moment for you to shake off your shock, mutely staring at the man–Rockford’s brother, his flesh and blood relative–before stooping to reclaim Banjo's leash, giving it a firm tug. Your dog obediently, albeit begrudgingly, returns back to your side where he sits with a paw on your shoe. A hugely possessive action for such a small creature.

The man in the floral robe (and what’s up with that? His entire outfit looks perfectly tailored, every last crisp detail painstakingly crafted to suit his broad frame) inclines his head, looking cordial if not for the slight calculating sharpness in his gaze. “You’re probably thinking, this is crazy. Being whisked away through a portal for a clandestine meeting with my match’s brother–what the hell is going on? Am I right?”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” you say flatly, and he actually chuckles at that.

“When one is avoiding the attention of Timotheus Rockford, discreetness is the name of the game. Hence the one place he refuses to set foot in again.”

Well, that certainly doesn’t sound ominous at all. A memory flickers in the back of your mind of a knife stabbed into the apartment’s wall. Rockford’s first and to date only mention of his brother.

“Which is a shame,” the man continues with a put upon sigh, “because all his things are exactly where he left them in his room.”

“What?”

“Mamá insisted,” he says plainly, as if those two words are enough to erase your confusion. He scoffs then, nose scrunching. “No matter what I say, the old bat thinks her darling boy will find his way back home one of these days.”

Home? Rockford’s never struck you as the filthy rich type before—the man owns exactly one (1) ratty brown trench coat that he’ll probably take with him to his grave, for crying out loud. You’d assumed he’d had a modest upbringing similar to yours, but standing here in a lavishly decorated room larger than half of your childhood home…well. It’s crystal clear you were wrong about him.

Brown eyes narrow in consideration. “You seem upset.”

Your spine tenses up, not liking the shift in subject of the conversation. “Yeah well, you seem–”

Your empathy spasms painfully when you reach for it. A pins and needles sensation that has your fingers flexing instinctively. You can barely sense the faintest of glimmers from the woman’s mind behind you, empathy feeling strained as if she’s hundreds of miles away. Horror begins creeping into your bones as you turn your attention to the man who’s begun to smirk at you.

“I was wondering when your soldier instincts would realize something was amiss,” he says, looking at you the same way you imagine a scientist looks at a microscope slide, putting you on edge.

Gritting your teeth, you sharpen what little of your mind-gift you can concentrate on into a blade. Even if you can’t pierce through all his defenses, at the very least he’ll have a migraine from hell.

But lashing out reveals no target. Just a blank, gaping void where his aura should be.

Your lips part in a silent gasp, all coherent thoughts fleeing your head. If you weren’t looking directly at him, you wouldn’t be able to tell he was here at all. How…how is that possible?

Every living being has emotions, even those with the coldest of hearts can’t evade your mind-gift’s detection. And this man—this man wearing your match’s face—he’s obviously experiencing feelings. One look at the crinkled lines along the corners of his eyes, the flash of his white teeth in a smug grin, is proof enough. So why the fuck is he invisible to you?

“Who are you?” you ask, raking your gaze over him.

“I answer to many names.”

“He’s a dramatic bitch,” the nameless woman chimes in with a voice like smoke and chocolate. Banjo growls a low, grumpy note, still distrustful of her.

“Your commentary, as always, is much appreciated, Saturn, thank you.” The man’s tone is sharp, and his glare sharper. If looks could kill, Saturn would be a bloody stain on the floor right now.

Instead, she shrugs off the retort like a duck flicking water off its feathers. “No problem, boss.”

Your lips curl into an unimpressed scowl. “Who are you?” Then, more insistently, “What are you?”

“I’ll let you call me Cassius, Miss Roan. We are practically family, after all,” he says with a wryness that has your temper flaring hotly. “As for what I am, well. I like to think of myself as something of a master thief. It’s got a nice ring to it. Much better than a suppressor, in my opinion.”

A ripple of shock spasms across your face, heart lurching heavily in your chest.

Suppression is widely considered one of the rarest of gifts. Rare like one born every ten years kind of rare. You’ve only heard news stories about suppressors, how they can steal the abilities of others with just one look or touch. Sometimes for mere minutes. Sometimes for several years. They’re reported as heroes saving the day as often as they are criminals who need to be isolated from the rest of society.

Regardless of his relationship to Rockford, Cassius’ status as your ally or enemy remains to be determined. His personality leaves much to be desired, but really it all boils down to how long he intends to lock away your mind-gift.

Your empathy has always been a vital part of you. The way you can feel it fading away, a dying candle flame devoid of oxygen, makes your skin crawl. Reminds you of childhood summers at the beach, futilely grasping at sand slipping through the gaps of your fingers. You didn’t realize the full extent of how much you rely on your mind-gift until right this moment, forced to guess what Cassius’ is feeling just from his body language alone. Is this really how the rest of the population lives? You shudder at the thought.

“Relax,” Cassius tells you, though it doesn’t have much of an effect. Not until he adds, “I won’t keep your mind-gift long. And if I really meant you harm I would’ve had Saturn portal you off a building.”

“Messy, but effective,” Saturn agrees.

Your eyes grow impossibly wider. (Did she just confess to murdering people? Surely she’s joking. Yeah. You’re gonna tell yourself she’s joking.)

“I really did just bring you here for a chat,” the thief says, ignoring his…assistant? Business partner? You haven’t quite pinned down what they are to each other, relying only on Saturn referring to him as ‘boss’ as a clue.

“Why?” you ask, voice still a little shaky before you make yourself take a deep, steadying breath. “Clearly you and your brother aren’t on the best of terms with each other. I matched with him, yes, but other than that I’m a nobody. Why waste time talking to me?”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Sergeant Roan. You’re far more interesting than any old nobody.” Cassius sticks his hands into the deep pockets of his robe, expression annoyingly inscrutable. “Born in Rabicano. Enlisted at eighteen. Discharged earlier this year following a lapse of control. Though you did manage to save your camp and fellow soldiers from falling into enemy hands during a midnight raid. You deserve kudos for that.”

Your lips purse, fighting to remain calm. Those details are supposed to be confidential, known only to you, the military, and Dr. Odair.

“You’ve done your research. Good job.” You flash a sardonic smile. “Are you trying to scare me off? Is that what this is?”

“Not at all. On the contrary, I quite like you staying at 445D Albatross Lane. Gives you close eyes on Timotheus—his comings and goings, his health, his cases.” He pauses, wetting his bottom lip. “My sources tell me you’ve been searching for a new source of employment. I’d be happy to pay you a large sum of money.”

“In exchange for what?” you ask cautiously.

“Information,” Cassius answers, eyes gleaming. “Just…tell me what my brother’s up to. Despite our differences, I do care about him. Somewhat.”

“No. I’ll never be a spy.” You shake your head. Things may be strained between you and Rockford at the moment, but you’d never betray his trust. Not for all the money in the world.

The thief blinks, something that looks an awful lot like surprise there and gone in the span of a heartbeat. You bite back a smug grin. It’s pretty nice being the one catching him off guard for a change.

“I haven’t mentioned a figure.”

“Don’t care.”

“You…don’t care?” Cassius echoes faintly, and it genuinely appears as if you’ve short-circuited his mind. He recovers quickly, squinting with a knowing air. “You’re protective of him.”

“He’s my match,” you say firmly. “And he’s my friend.”

There’s an awkward stretch of silence, nobody saying anything. Even Saturn doesn’t have a quip prepared. You find yourself wondering about Rockford, if he’s noticed you’re missing. You hope so. You hope even more to mend what’s been fractured. A long talk is in order once things wrap up here.

And then Cassius sighs—a single puff of air, yet it has the impact of a bullet hitting your gut.

For the first time since meeting him, his expression isn’t one of blankness or arrogance or humor at your own expense. No, it’s something else aging him several years, deepening the wrinkles of his brow, shoulders sagging from their perfect posture.

You’re scared to realize it might be disappointment.

“His friend? Nonsense. That tells me you don’t really know who he is.”

The moment Cassius says them, you want to take those words and stuff them down his throat until he chokes. Because that’s your biggest fear– plucked from the darkest corners of your being and exposed like an open wound to be mocked and prodded–that everything you’ve been learning about Rockford is wrong. No, maybe not everything, but the intimate details. All the itty bitty pieces gathered and studied and fitted together in hopes of understanding what makes Rockford Rockford.

“It’s a work in progress,” you admit. “We’ve both got trust issues and baggage we don’t talk about. And maybe he’s got a bit of a head start with his gift when it comes to knowing me, but I can be patient. Good things come to those who wait, so they say. And he’s worth waiting for.”

Cassius hums, thoughtful, then asks you, “And if it’s not a good thing in the end. What then?”

You frown. “I don’t understand.”

“I think there’s another popular phrase you’d do well to remember.” He steps closer, indifferent to Banjo scampering onto four legs with a disgruntled woof and the way you bristle when he clasps your shoulder in a firm hold, thumb pressing down ever so slightly. An unspoken warning to shut up and listen. Leaning in even nearer, his mouth drifts mere inches above your cheek, breath warm, and then he’s whispering in your ear, “Ignorance is bliss. Be very careful, Miss Roan, which truths you seek to learn about my brother.”

You say nothing, staring at the wall over his shoulder, heart pounding in your throat.

When he steps back, hand dropping to his side once more, the thief is smiling again, dimpled and cheery, expression cleared of stoicism. “I’m glad to have finally met you. It was an enlightening experience. No need to worry about finding a cab at this hour, Saturn will drop you back safely at your apartment doorstep.”

The Card

Your second trip through one of Saturn’s portals is as chaotic and disorienting as the first time, but you land on your feet at least instead of rolling across the sidewalk. Even better, your arrival back home comes with the return of your mind-gift, rising like the first sunrise after months of pitch blackness, burning away the numbness plaguing your brain.

The portal closes up behind you with a quiet whooshing sound, leaving you and Banjo alone on Albatross Lane, not another soul in sight. Banjo gives himself a full-bodied shake from nose to tail tip, yawning once he’s finished. Seems like you’re not the only one exhausted by the last few hours.

This night feels like one of the longest ones of your life, full of unexpected twists and traumatic trips down memory lane, culminating with perhaps the strangest encounter you’ve ever had with another human being. You’re still not sure what to make of Cassius. What kind of man offers to pay someone to provide information on his own brother? Is their relationship seriously so hopelessly broken that they can’t even fake a civil conversation on the phone like many siblings do?

Only two people can answer those questions. And one of them’s a short elevator ride away. You can sense Rockford’s emotions from down here, almost like a distant thunderstorm on the horizon, rumbling with irritation.

You stick your hands into your jacket pockets, mentally bracing yourself for what’s next to come, but the discovery of something brushing against your fingertips makes you pause. Eyebrows scrunching, you pull out a green patterned playing card and flip it over to reveal the three of hearts. You’re baffled by its existence for all of five seconds before remembering Cassius’ abrupt closeness at the end of your conversation. A cover to hide his parting gift unnoticed.

That settles it then. Mysteriousness must run in the Rockford family genes.

“C’mon boy,” you say to Banjo, stuffing the card away. The yellow door beckons you closer, friendly amongst the nightly shades of grays and blacks. It’s a shame what awaits you inside isn’t nearly as soothing. “One more conversation to go before we sleep.”

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itsbrandy · 4 months

Text

Domum

This is completely self indulgent - originally I wanted to write something creepy and dark, but I ended up going in a different direction. This is a period piece - no actual year mentioned but I imagine it happening in medieval times? There's no mention of a specific place. My interpretation of Max isn't true to the movie. I also keep writing pieces and leaving them open ended - if there's enough interest then I'll revisit, or if I can think up more adventures for these two.

I am always open to discuss anything I write - don't be shy!

Max Phillips x F!Reader

Pairing: Max x F!Reader

Word Count: 12K (I make no apologies)

Warnings: **TRIGGER WARNING** Max is a vampire so there will be a lot of blood talk, some of it sexual in nature, implied violence (nothing super graphic) Reader is a witch - the witchy stuff I researched and combined it in a way I thought would work given the time- please don't try any of it, fluff, language, Smut 18+, PIV sex (wrap it up), slight dirty talk, Oral-female receiving, (Again, blood play but it should come as no surprise)

Masterlist Part 2

---------------------------------------

You were at the door before the knock came, scaring the woman standing there half to death.

You wanted to laugh in her face but you kept your face neutral.

You recognize her of course - the nerve of her to come to your dwelling at this hour. You could see her sneering face, ugly and red with rage a few days past. Screaming the familiar taunt of ‘witch’ at you as you tried to gather some much needed supplies from the market. You almost wanted to slam the door in her face. Chant some nonsense words and watch her run away screaming.

“I believe you have the wrong dwelling.” Your tone was acid.

“Greetings, no- I don’t, I humbly beg you for your help.” She had the decency to look ashamed at least.

“And what help could you possibly need from a witch.” You spat the word at her, making her recoil slightly. You were enjoying this if you were honest.

“William - I suspect he loves another, I need him to love only me.” You could smell the desperation on her and it was difficult to keep the sneer off your face. The hypocrisy towards you from the people who lived in and around you was astounding at times.

“Why would I be able to help you with that? Moreover, if I could - why should I?” you crossed your arms at the threshold of your home.

She wrung her hands, her eyes darting around behind you. You could see her take in the big pot on your fireplace bubbling away, the herbs and flowers drying in the rafters. Your cat lounging on your bed.

“I’ve heard- I mean to say, there has been talk - that you can, assist… Please - I can pay.” she held out a fist full of coins desperately. You sighed heavily as you stepped aside so she could enter.

“There is a fine line between love and obsession. If you play with this it could end badly. I am warning you now - do you want to proceed?” You cleared the table and grabbed an apple along with a needle from your sewing kit, a fresh sheet of paper and a quill with ink.

You waited- needing her answer before you continued.

She nodded enthusiastically- “Yes, I understand. I want him to love me intensely.” She was breathless.

You sat in front of her and handed her the apple and the needle.

“Take this, write your name on the apple, very very faintly, so as to barely show. Make sure William eats this apple. The whole thing. Be sure to carry the seeds with you along with this.” You wrote out some symbols on a piece of paper and folded them up- handing them to her.

“At the next full moon - plant these seeds in your garden along with the note.” you handed it to her.

“If you fail to complete any of the steps I’ve laid out for you, his love will turn to scorn. It will wither and die and you will be invisible to him.” you warned her as clearly and seriously as you could. You had her complete attention.

“Yes - I understand.” She grabbed at the supplies greedily.

An icy finger ghosted along your neck and you shivered violently. Your cat raised his hackles - something was coming.

“Take this all and do exactly as I said. I would thank you to remember this the next time you see me in the village. Now go - go and do not stop until you reach your home.” You gave her a hard stare as you hurried her out of the cottage.

Your cat stalked over to where you were standing at the door - meowing at your feet. You picked him up as you kept your eyes on the trees surrounding your cottage. Something was coming and whatever it was, it would be here soon.

------------------

I really put my foot in it this time he thought to himself as he hastily made his way out of the sprawling estate.

He could never leave well enough alone. He had to be better at this or he’d be running forever.

What were you thinking?

Seemed like he was always asking himself the same question. He needed to lay low and find a small place where people didn’t notice him. They never did, until he started gorging himself.

You have to work on that.

This time would be different. Only feed on people no one will miss, not the richest man in town's wife. That was an error in judgement, he could admit that.

Okay Max, fresh start - you can do this.

He had been travelling for days and the animals he’d been feeding off were absolutely not cutting it. He needed somebody soon.

The scent hit him like a cannonball.

Something on the breeze, the smell of fresh rain. Of sunshine and fields of wildflowers. The smell of a lover, sex and passion.

Something sinfully delicious. Irresistible.

Not for the first time - Max followed his nose.

-------------------------------------

“Stop that Ambrose, I need these herbs to grow and I'll thank you to keep your paws to yourself.” you chastised the cat who - once again - was digging at your chamomile.

He meowed pitifully as you moved him out of the little patch of dirt, doing your best to put everything back in place.

You took off your shawl, the sun warming you enough to work on your garden in the simple shift you wore. You could feel eyes on you, just outside your field of vision. Something moving silently through the trees. Ambrose could feel it too- he kept snapping his gaze to different areas around the cottage.

You ignored it. After all you were used to people staring at you, nothing new there.

You continued toiling in your garden, knowing that whatever it was watching you, it would not approach.

Yet.

——————————

Turn on the charm.

He approached the inn with a friendly smile, he spoke softly as he paid for the room for a week until he could get himself a little place. Eventually he would be able to compel someone to give up their home and move away.

Enough time for that later. For now he had to figure out who the hell the woman in the cottage was.

He walked through the market, listening to the conversations of the people around him. He kept mostly in the shadows, hiding himself from everyone. He could disappear into a crowd easily, fade into the background. It was one of his more useful gifts.

He saw you then, walking through town with your basket. Head held high; imperious.

He heard the way the villagers spoke about you, some comments made loud enough for you to hear. Your name was whispered like a curse, you held your head up high. It all rolled off of you like water off a duck's back.

He saw you snap your head over to him and moved further back into the shadows.

Did she see me?

“She surely worships the devil, her and her familiar!” The look on the woman’s face was pure arrogance, there was venom in the words she spoke to her partner. He was looking at you too, his look held something else. It wasn’t friendly.

You would definitely not be missed.

———————————————-

You heard the comments as you walked through town, nothing new.

Some faces were friendlier than others - the woman who had come to you just two days ago asking for a love spell smiled shyly. Secretly of course. William - you guessed - following her around like a puppy. You could live with that. Secret smiles are much better than open disdain.

You only needed a few things. Some new thread, a bit of fabric - some dry goods. Once you had everything you needed you made your way out of the village.

You could feel the presence at the edge of your vision, never getting close enough to make himself known. Probably thought he was exceedingly clever. That made you want to laugh, you could hear him coming a mile away the way he was thundering through the trees. Pathetic.

You finally reached your cottage, Ambrose was lounging underneath your rose bush. He perked up once you came into view. He was staring just behind you, following movements that you couldn’t see, but you could definitely feel. You continued to ignore it.

——————————-

Does she know I’m here? The cat definitely does.

He watched you from the foliage just outside your cottage and relished the smell of your blood. It was absolutely intoxicating. He would have to play this right.

Don’t repeat the same mistake Max, this is rare, you mustn’t waste it.

If he killed you now he would have at least a few weeks before anyone would notice but something holds him back. Killing you would be like drinking a glass of fine wine and then smashing the bottle. A waste.

Maybe you really were a witch, he’d heard of witches way back when, in the village he grew up in but he never found any. Never really looked after he turned. Usually it turned out to be a strong willed woman being named a witch by the people around her.

It was no use, he had to speak to you.

————————————-

“Are you quite done skulking in the shadows? Who are you?” You didn’t need to look up to know he was there. It was about time.

“I wasn’t-“ you cut him off.

“Yes you were, speak plainly. What would you have of me?” You brushed the dirt off your hands and wiped them on the apron you wore. It was hot as sin and you really didn’t want to be outside anymore.

“The villagers in town think you’re a witch, you know that don’t you?” He narrowed his eyes, you thought he might be curious.

“The villagers will believe anything.” You gathered up the herbs you’d cut and tied into bundles, placing everything into your basket.

“So you’re not a witch then?” He had a frown on his face, he was trying to figure you out.

“I am actually.” You made your way towards the front door, Ambrose followed behind you, the heat was affecting him too. You turned back, expecting this man to follow you.

“Why don’t you come in, we have a few things to talk about.” You opened your door wider, inviting him in.

His smile was something to behold. On the surface it was pleasant, charming - blinding. His teeth were too perfect, too white. There was a twinkle of violence in his eyes, a red tinge that you could almost recognize. He seemed shiny and new, like a blade glinting in the dark.

He approached you with clear excitement and you made space for him.

You could see the look of confusion on his face as he reached the threshold of your modest cottage. He could not enter, you had invited him in but he seemed to be stuck in place, a fly who landed in honey.

“I knew it.” You couldn’t stop the sly smile that spread across your face.

“What is this?” He was at a loss.

“My home is protected, against your kind.” You were giving him an appraising look. You had never encountered one before, barely believed they existed but your mother insisted. She had been the one to teach you how to protect your home. To lay salt and silver within the wood of the doorway and to bless it with holy water. You didn’t even know if it would work, until now that is.

He was speechless, looking at your cottage with curiosity and awe, you could see that this had never happened to him before.

“Some of the legends are true then, you cannot cross into my home, and you had to be invited in. Obviously the sunlight being deadly was a lie. Which others apply to you? Speak truthfully.” He was frowning at you. You stood just inside the doorway but It seemed he could not reach you.

“Sunlight is… uncomfortable. Not deadly. This is not my regular time. Garlic is harmless. Religious artifacts, crucifixes, holy water- that’s true. Stake through the heart or fire would kill anyone, me included. I do not know of any others.” He paced side to side, he had the look of an animal trapped in a cage. He looked hungry.

The holy water was what had done it. That is good to know.

“When did you last feed?” He stopped dead in his tracks at your question, you saw his fangs elongate. So that was true as well.

“It’s been too long…” he was smelling you, you could see it in his face.

“If you drank my blood, would I turn? Or must there be an exchange?” You wanted him clear headed. You saw the flash of excitement at your words.

“There must be an exchange. We would have to feed off each other in order for you to change. Do you have anyone in mind?” He raised an eyebrow, skeptical at your insinuation.

“I believe we have more to discuss, can you behave if I let you bite me?” You could see the frisón of pleasure flash across his face. Regardless of what he said, you guessed he’d probably get carried away.

“I will definitely try my hardest.” His smile was genuine but it had the edge of violence to it.

“Very well. We will do it out here. I am warning you-If you get carried away I will pour holy water on you.” You reached for one of the jars that lined your cupboard. He held his hands up in surrender.

He followed you into the shadow under the big willow tree at the edge of your garden.

“Here, take my wrist and drink. I’m warning you once more, if I think for a single second you’re going to take liberties with my generosity I will throw this water into your eyes.” You had the jar open as you brought your wrist to his mouth.

——————————-

Okay Max, control yourself.

He took your wrist as delicately as he could, he didn’t want to scare you away. He could smell the blood pumping under your skin and it was making him dizzy.

Keep your eyes on her, you cannot let this get away from you.

“Will it hurt?” You ask with genuine curiosity, it’s not out of fear.

“It depends, if I were to catch you unawares and tear into your neck it would hurt a great deal I would imagine. Struggling, fear - these things make the bite worse. If you give in to me willingly- well…” he was trying to say it, without actually saying it. He could see the realization hit you.

“It can be pleasurable.” You weren’t asking.

“Yes.” He didn’t need to elaborate. He saw you hesitate momentarily.

“I don’t know your name.” The prospect of his name in your mouth excited him far more than he would have cared to admit.

“Max.”

——————————————

You gave him your wrist and braced yourself. You knew he could feel the way your pulse was racing but that was to be expected.

He took your wrist and brought it close to his mouth- you watched the way he looked at your skin; almost reverently. His canines had elongated and were ghosting over your pulse point. You braced yourself for the pain, expecting it to hurt no matter what he said.

It was bliss.

The painful edge was there but it was nothing compared to the euphoria you felt. It was curious- your scientific mind immediately racing to understand. There might be something in it, something that lessened the pain somehow. You gasped when he sucked - the feeling going straight to your nipples and your sex. It was hard not to pull yourself onto his lap as he fed.

You clutched the holy water.

After a handful of darkly pleasurable pulls he reluctantly lets go, giving your wound a last lick. You saw the cuts beginning to close up. His lick must have healing properties. That was very useful to know.

He looked replete. His deathly pallor was now shining healthy looking skin. His eyes a warmer brown compared to the inky pools of darkness they were previously. He had an allure before, but it wasn’t an attraction. It was a morbid curiosity.

Now he was handsome, with those eyes, the full lower lip, the thick brown hair. Even the endearing curve in his nose. He was lovely.

You watched your skin grow back and it was like nothing had happened. All you had to prove it was real was the aching emptiness between your thighs. You cleared your throat.

“Are you feeling better?” You kept the mask of neutrality on.

His face was tilted up towards the heavens and he had a dreamy, satisfied look. He was savouring you.

“I cannot possibly even begin to explain how I feel, it’s almost like rebirth however even that doesn’t quite convey it.” The enjoyment on his face, his eyes closed, lips parted- his neck exposed. It all made you painfully aware of your arousal. You hadn’t given much thought to your solitude until now.

His bite held an intimacy that was unparalleled, so much better than the awkward trysts you’d had previously. Your mind kept imagining him inside you, in more ways than one. His bite in different places, your thigh, your breast.

He looked at you then, almost as if sensing your thoughts and his knowing smile made you feel caught.

“It will subside. It is an after effect of the bite, but if you wanted to try, I would not be opposed.” He raised an eyebrow and you smacked his chest. He laughed and raised his hands in surrender.

“Now that you have your head clear and the bloodlust has subsided we can speak freely. Why are you here?” You angled your body to him and he turned to face you.

“The angry mob chased me out of the last place I was in. I - took liberties…” you rolled your eyes.

“You gorged yourself.”

“I gorged myself, yes.” He nodded somberly.

“Well you cannot do that here. You must either leave, or learn to feed off animals. The villagers here will find a way to blame your...discrepancies on me and I will not stand for it.” You did not need him coming here, killing a bunch of villagers and getting you killed in the process.

“That hardly seems fair-“ you cut him off.

“This is my home and I will not have you making things worse for me.” You were dead serious.

“So as long as I don’t kill anyone, we should be fine is what you mean to say.” He had his eyes narrowed.

“Yes. You cannot kill or turn anyone in this village. Stick to wild game or leave outright. Anything deemed unnatural will undoubtedly point at me. Good luck Max.” You got up and dusted yourself off as you made your way over to your cottage. He sat there watching you go.

————————————————-

He paced back and forth in his room for hours. He was restless.

Once he was replete, your blood was singing in his veins. Seeing the look of pleasure on your face at his bite, the one you tried so valiantly to hide - was enough to send him into a frenzy.

He imagined himself buried to hilt in your wet heat as he fed, the sounds he would coax out of you.

Get it together. There has to be away you can stay without putting the town to slaughter.

He thought about how to keep you happy enough for him to stay.

Ha. That’s funny, just a day ago I was trying to figure out how to get rid of her.

Think Max - there has to be something you can do.

————————————————-

A vampire.

Ridiculous. That’s just what you needed.

A vampire running amok in this village - bringing death and destruction no doubt. You had lost some sleep thinking about him not heeding your warning.

You considered how you could push him to move on, to leave and choose another place to terrorize but then your mind went back to the feeling of his bite and you pushed it away.

Maybe this could be beneficial? Maybe you could feed him, while he stayed. You could spare a little bit of blood every week for your village couldn’t you? Not that they deserved it. The ungrateful wretches.

A tiny part of your brain whispered that you were decidedly not doing this for your village. You stomped that thought away.

You knew that he’d come back. You could almost hear his thoughts even now. Could hear him turning the thoughts over, trying to find a way to stay.

He’ll come back.

It was three days later, sooner than you’d expected.

You felt him out there, his presence casting a shadow over your home. Ambrose was pawing at the door - he felt him too.

“Can I help you Max?”

“Greetings.” He smiled, he was still looking healthy, but you knew that he wanted to feed again.

“Are you going to visit me every time you have a craving? This isn’t an inn.” You couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

“I’m here to propose a truce, an agreement that would help us both. If you would indulge me?” He sat under the willow tree and waited.

You grabbed your shall and wrapped it around your shoulders and made your way out. He was smiling up at you as you stood over him - there was a hint of something underneath it. You had the vague sense of stepping into a trap. You sat down beside him anyway.

“What can I help you with?” You were wearing a plain shift while you did some chores, it was a thin linen and left nothing to the imagination, the shawl was necessary if you didn’t want him to see you practically in the nude. If he saw anything - he made no mention of it.

“I believe I have figured out a way that we could happily co-exist here-“ you cut him off, knowing where this was going.

“You want to feed off me periodically, I thought you might have come up with something more original. Are all vampires so utterly predictable?” You said it with a laugh. He thought he was so clever.

He huffed like a child being caught red handed.

“If you can remain calm, and only come to me when you really need it then yes. I would be willing to help you. In exchange for my blood and hospitality you must promise to stay civil. Not just with me, with the whole village. No scandals Max I mean it. How often do you need to feed?” the look on his face was utterly transparent. He was so excited - you wanted to shake your head at this man. Aren’t vampires supposed to be scary?

“Splendid! Yes of course. I will keep to myself and leave the villagers alone in exchange for your blood. If I am to wait until I am at death's door - so to speak - it would be about once a fortnight. I would rather not wait that long, if I get too bloodthirsty I tend to forget my manners. I would say once a week should be sufficient, and as you already know, from you I don’t need much.” he couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice.

“From me? Do you mean to say that my blood is different?” That had stood out to you.

“If you were a regular human, I would be getting anxious to feed already. Your blood seems to be, I’m not sure fortified somehow? You’re the first witch I’ve ever fed from. We are equally informed in this.” He watched you as he spoke, his eyes flitting to your neck where it was exposed.

“I can live with this, I am trusting you Max. Please do not make me regret it.” A tiny part of your brain warned you, he is not to be trusted, he's a monster but another part screamed he won’t hurt you.

“Cross my heart.” his smile was still predatory, but you figured that couldn’t be helped- just his nature.

“Splendid.” Ambrose meowed and walked over, plopping himself comfortably in your lap and purring loudly. The three of you sat in silence for a while.

* * * * *

So it went, Max had stayed true to his word and the villagers were oblivious. He blended in well, after he fed of course.

He tended to zero in on you whenever you were at the market, you supported yourself by offering your services as a seamstress. You also provided cures and tinctures for the villagers - in secret. Not a single one of them would admit to receiving your help.

You also helped the women.

They knew to come to you when they did not want to conceive a child. It was a simple tea you brewed that had to be drunk within days of the coupling. That was even more of a secret. A secret every woman in the village seemed to know.

You would often feel him watching you from the shadows when you moved about, when people would approach you. When the men leered at you and whispered obscenities at you in passing.

I saw your lady wife not two days passed you’d think to yourself and brush it off.

Maybe I should let Max have his fill of all of you.

The thought always melted away.

* * * * *

“You’re exceptionally bad at that, you should know.” you spoke aloud as you made your way home with the articles of clothing you had to mend. You didn’t have to look in his direction to know he was just behind the trees.

“I’ll have you know, I have killed many people this way. They never hear me coming.” he was at your side in a flash. He moved faster than anything you’d ever seen in your life - that was good to know.

“Those people must have been deaf and blind. I saw you when I woke up, always mooning around my cottage. It’s rude, and careless.” you laughed at him, he frowned. You imagined you were the first person to ever laugh at him.

“You are...different. Are you really not afraid of me?” He seemed genuinely curious.

“Should I be? If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it already- and if you’re trying to scare me it’s not working.” you could see your home now, your flowers were blooming nicely.

“Most people can sense there’s something unnatural about me and that alone scares them. I supposed since you yourself are somewhat unnatural it would make you impervious to it.” he was trying to explain it to himself mostly it seemed.

“Right… or maybe you aren’t as terrifying as you think.” You picked a few of the roses to put them inside - a thorn you didn’t see pricked your finger. You snatched your hand back automatically but before you could stick it in your mouth like you usually would - Max had grabbed it in a flash. He licked the drop off your thumb before it could fall.

It shocked you how deeply erotic it was and made you blush slightly.

“Shouldn’t waste it.” he gave you a very different look then. No malice, no violence, but a very distinct sense of danger. The kind that made your undergarments dampen. You couldn’t help but imagine his tongue on other parts of your body. You shivered slightly and his smile widened.

Your thumb was healed as you pulled your hand away gently.

“Thank you.” you cleared your throat.

“Of course.” the smile remained. You realized then how broad he was, you still weren’t afraid, you were excited.

“Do you eat or drink anything besides blood?” You were genuinely curious then, your scientific brain scolding your more primitive one.

“I enjoy wine, and I can eat regular food, but I don’t enjoy it, I don’t need it for sustenance.” he looked to your cottage. “Are you going to invite me in again? You know I can’t come in.”

“Would you like some tea? I could bring it out, I’d rather not have you lurking around. You could also help me with some of the more substantial chores. Might as well make yourself useful. Take this and go chop me some wood, shouldn't take you too long with your strength.” He huffed and walked towards the trees with the axe you handed him.

All in all it was a pleasant day, the light was low now; the afternoon giving way to dusk. You sat in your garden with Max, drinking tea while having him do the manual labor you couldn’t do on your own. He cut you enough firewood to last the season, stacking it neatly against the outer wall. He removed some of the branches of the Willow that threatened to engulf the structure if left unattended. He did these things gracefully, but with a pout on his face. Obviously not accustomed to any sort of physical work except chasing down prey.

You even had him reinforce the roof, making sure it was sturdy and that it would not let in any rain. He hated it.

“I think I’m done for the day. I also expect some sort of recompense.” he frowned at you, he looked annoyed but no worse for wear, any other man would be dripping in sweat and red faced by now with the amount of work he’d done.

“Do you mean to say that my company and the tea I have been so generously providing is not reward enough?” you tried to look hurt but the face of pure incredulity he made had you laughing loudly. “Very well then, you can have a little bit.” you handed your wrist over to him good naturedly.

He made no move to take your outstretched wrist - he stared into your eyes.

“Since this is out of our normal arrangement, I’d like to choose where I bite you.” he watched your face intently and saw the flicker of fear and excitement you couldn’t control.

“I will not get naked Max.” You were flushed and your voice wavered slightly.

“No need - come, sit on my lap.” He sat on a little wooden bench you had in your garden. Those words did something to you, you felt the slick pooling at your opening, threatening to drip out.

“I really don’t think-” he raised a hand cutting you off.

“I did everything you asked of me, I can promise you this will not hurt. That is unless you want it to.” he opened his arms expectantly.

Fine you thought. I can do this - it’ll only be a few seconds, a minute at the most.

You approached and made to sit ‘side saddle’ as it were but he stopped you.

“I’d like you to face me - I would say I won’t bite but that’s not true is it?” He was enjoying this entirely too much.

You straddled him, your skirts bunching up and collecting much higher on your thighs than you would have liked. You were trying to keep as much distance as you could manage without falling off him but he wasn’t happy with that either. He brought his big hands to your ass and pulled you flush to him, making you put your palms on his chest.

“I don’t want you to slide off, I’m giving you the choice now, would you rather me bite you here-” he trailed a finger lightly across your neck right at your pulse point - which he could clearly feel was pounding. “Or here…” he dropped the finger down, to the swell of your breast just visible at the top of your dress. He looked you in the eye then, you could see the last light of the sun in them, the darkness falling around you a fitting backdrop to your current predicament.

“Um- which one will hurt less..?” you swallowed thickly, not wanting to make the choice yourself.

“There will always be a pinch, but you know I can make it feel good.” he brought his face close to your neck, his breath ghosting along your skin as he inhaled the scent of you. You could feel the sharp ache of arousal in your belly and in your cunt.

“I will choose for you, I know how much blood I can safely take from you, today - I will take my time.” He moved your hair to the side exposing the column of your neck to him, you shifted slightly and felt how hard he was underneath you. You were not the only one affected by the close proximity.

You felt him kiss your neck lightly before the bite and it was even better than your wrist.

He put more pressure in his jaw and you felt it deeper, you couldn’t help but moan at the pull - your hands automatically raising up to grab at his hair. Whether to pull him away or hold him closer you’d never be able to tell.

His hands skated along your ass, up towards your waist as you squeezed him with your thighs. It felt so good you couldn’t contain yourself and this is when the fear came. Not of him, but fear of what that bite could make you do. He stopped then, pulling away reluctantly to look into your eyes again.

“I can taste your fear - am I hurting you?” he licked the trail of blood that trickled toward your breast and you let out a gasp.

“No- I’m not afraid of you, more of myself…” Your brow furrowed and you realized you were clutching frantically as his hair. You loosened your grip.

“You are afraid of the feeling, I will not continue if you want me to stop - I can take a little more from your wrist and we can go back to our regular arrangement. Although you taste divine regardless, I like it better when you’re not afraid.” He trailed little kisses back up to the bite, licking the drops that dripped from the wound he hadn’t closed.

It was hard to focus.

You took a deep breath and decided to let yourself enjoy this. It had been far too long since you had any kind of sexual encounter and this felt too good to stop. You pushed his head into your neck signaling you were ready and he returned to it with vigor.

He took an age between pulls, drawing out the dark pleasure of it. You could feel him savoring you in his mouth and he hummed contentedly into your skin. You ran your fingers lovingly through his hair and he rewarded you with a growl when you ran your nails across his scalp.

You were soaked through your undergarments and you started grinding your hips against his, chasing a little bit of friction. He sensed this and brought his hand up to the front of your dress.

You felt him snap the string that held the corset together, pulling it open to reveal the loose blouse underneath. You gasped as he moved away from your neck, licking the wound closed while he pulled the shirt down. Your breasts spilled out and the look on his face was ravenous.

“I’m going to bite you once more, stop me now if you don’t want me to.” He left a trail of kisses from your neck down your chest, kissing the tops of your breasts. He dragged his fangs over the soft skin not quite hard enough to pierce it but just enough to feel it. You made no move to stop him - he saw your excitement and he licked one nipple, then the other. You waited for the bite, bracing yourself for the pinch, expecting it to be a little bit more painful here but it didn’t come.

He raised his lips a little, biting just above your nipple and letting the blood trickle down. You bit your lip at the expression on his face, he was enraptured - watching the drop adorn your nipple like a ruby.

He licked at it and you moaned. His hands returned to your waist and he steadily rocked your hips against his, giving you the delicious friction you’d been chasing before while he licked every drop of blood. It was intoxicating and you could feel the slippery glide of your undergarments against the engorged bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. He licked the wound closed and moved to your other neglected breast. The pressure was building and you could feel the release approaching - the feeling pooling in your belly.

“Max… I need…” your voice was breathy.

“Hmm?” he hummed around your nipple and it was almost enough. “What do you need, pretty girl?” he looked up at you. It was full dark now but his eyes had an unnatural glare to them. You knew he could see everything.

“I need more, please” you were desperate, not even knowing what it is you wanted him to do. He bit your nipple and that was it. You clenched painfully around nothing as you hit your peak.

Grinding against him wantonly as he drank from your breast. He licked at the wounds softly as you came down.

“I’ve tasted your pleasure, and it is intoxicating.” He kissed his way up, nipping playfully at your chin.

You were boneless. Absolutely spent. That was the best climax of your life and you were - for the most part - fully clothed. He pulled up your shirt to make you presentable.

“I apologize about your corset - I will replace the string.” He helped you up off his lap and walked you to your door. You were expecting him to ravish you but he was a perfect gentleman, all things considered.

“Goodnight.” he smiled as he walked into the darkness. You watched him go, feeling relaxed.

---------------------------------------------------------------

How will I ever go back to feeding from humans?

Max laid in the bed back at the inn, still as the dead as it were.

He replayed the whole interaction in his mind - could feel you sitting in his lap - could see the look of rapture on your face as you reached your peak.

There was no way he was leaving.

---------------------------------------------------------------

You laid in bed, watching the last embers of the fire glow in the hearth.

Have I made a mistake?

You thought about Max and the implications of what took place. You had enjoyed the act so much it scared you slightly, and knew that without question you’d let him do it again. You would let him do much more - hoped he would in fact.

You had no qualms about morality or propriety, your attitude towards sex was very progressive in terms of the villagers. All of the ridiculous rules about courting and marriage and being unclean, it was all hypocrisy. Everything said out loud under the pretense of being “godly”, but they still came to you in secret for the tea. Tea which wouldn’t definitely not be needed if they practiced what they preached.

You had let him expose you and taste you in such an intimate and erotic way out in the middle of your garden, not caring who could have come upon you in that moment- and you knew that you would do it again.

You thought about it for a long time as Ambrose purred contentedly curled up against you.

* * * * *

“Hello Max.” You were hanging your clothes and linens to dry when you heard him creeping up.

“It still surprises me that you always hear me coming, you’re the first person to surprise me in a long time.” you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Must be strange, how long have you been this way?” You hung the last of the clothes and turned to face him. He hadn’t come in a few days and you suspected that once again he was thirsty. You tried to ignore the excitement that bubbled up.

“I was turned just under two hundred years ago, give or take a few decades - I stopped counting a long time ago.” He smiled pleasantly as he watched you going about your duties.

“I’m exceedingly curious, you’re the first of your kind I’ve ever met.” You were dying to ask him a million questions.

“Ask away - we can trade questions, I’m equally as curious about you.” He came over to help you with your tasks.

“Who turned you?” you were pulling up weeds as he fixed a post in your fence.

“It was a drifter, she came into town and I was completely enamoured with her. I knew there was something different about her and I think I was terrified of her. I don’t really remember to be honest - all I know is after a particularly wild evening I woke up different.” He came over to help you with the weeds. His face was not as pouty as the last time he helped you around your cottage.

“What happened to her?” You tried to ask it as naturally as you could, he gave you a little smile.

“She was killed as far as I know. She didn’t stick around, she turned me - taught me a few things and then took off. I heard about her being killed years later. Have you always known you were a witch?” he watched you now.

“Yes - my mother was a witch and she taught me everything I know. How many people have you turned?” You gathered all of the weeds and threw them into the compost pile at the edge of the garden. The day was sweltering, you had to figure out how to get him into the cottage.

“Only one. Why do you protect the villagers? I’ve heard the way they speak about you.” You noticed he didn't elaborate on your question - you didn’t press it.

“It’s not for the villagers, it’s for me. I love my home and I don’t want to be driven out. They spout their garbage but they don’t bother me for the most part. They aren’t all bad.” You sat in the shade - trying to cool yourself off. “Do you ever get lonely? Traveling by yourself for so many years?” he looked at you then.

“Sometimes - most of the time though I don’t think about it. Do you? Seems to me you don’t get very many suitors out here, with the way the people here are.” again - he didn’t elaborate on his answer.

“To be quite honest - I never really thought about it, I enjoy being alone for the most part. Would be nice to have someone around sometimes though.” You were more honest than you should have been but he made no comment.

You were enjoying the conversation and the company when you heard a commotion on the path to your house. You heard the voices of a few of the more aggressive townspeople.

“That’s where the witch lives!” they hadn’t seen you sitting in the doorway of your home, you tried your hardest to ignore it. Max frowned. You gave him a look that said leave it alone and tried to continue your conversation with him.

“We should just burn this stupid old cottage down and then she can leave, she’s not wanted here anyway.” they were young and stupid - a couple of boys and girls barely entering into adulthood.

“I would caution against that.” Max's voice rang out loudly and with a tinge of anger. You heard the laughter die suddenly.

“Who are you?” one of the braver boys asked him confrontationally.

“Someone with manners.” he walked over to the edge of the property, technically it was walking yes - but it was more like stalking. He slinked over. It made you think of Ambrose when he hunted mice outside.

You could see the fear in their faces.

“Did your parents not teach you any manners? Perhaps I should teach you.” You saw the look of terror on their faces at his expression. You would never know what he looked like in that moment, his back facing you. They ran screaming.

When he turned to face you his expression could only be described as a friendly smile.

“You didn’t need to do that - they’re silly children.” you had your arms crossed, your expression was playful though.

“Silly children can grow up to be violent adults.” He seemed nonplussed.

You didn’t need him to protect you, but it was nice that he wanted to.

What are we doing here?

He left later on, he did not ask to feed.

* * * * *

You found yourself thinking about Max more often than not, you wanted to sit and talk to him, spend time with him, that- among other things.

You knew he watched you, you could always feel it. Sometimes he approached and sometimes he didn’t. You briefly thought it should have scared you but it never did. He watched you in your garden, he watched you as you tended to your washing, whether you were hanging your linens or you were washing in the creek close to your home.

He was your shadow. It made you feel safe funnily enough.

This went on for months.

He started coming at night. The days were too long and you suspected that as much as he tried he hated being out in the sun too often. It didn’t stop him and he still made an appearance but kept his feedings limited to night time.

It would be a prickle on the back of your neck as you prepared your meals, or boiled water to bathe. You’d know he was outside, you could almost feel his eyes on you through the walls.

You’d check the little window and see him smiling, waiting patiently for you.

His feedings would excite you more and more each time - no matter where he bit you. Whether it was your wrist, your neck, your chest. It felt wonderful and you always hated the moment he pulled away. Wanting to keep him close regardless of the danger. He always took just enough to satisfy him, never enough to hurt you or make you feel faint. Any feelings of faintness on your end had nothing to do with loss of blood.

He never took it further than the day in the garden. More often than not you would end up pushed up against your door, breasts out for his mouth and his leg pressing up between your legs. He was driving you mad.

You suspected he was trying to break you, make you beg for him. You knew in your heart that if this kept happening, you would.

* * * * *

It had been two weeks since you’d seen or felt Max.

After a week you thought he might be pushing it to make you desperate and you laughed about it but now you were well and truly worried. You knew that he was seriously pushing it and that by now he would be ravenous.

You tried to listen out for any news while in the market - it scared you more than you thought that you couldn’t sense him. Couldn’t feel the shadow you’d become so accustomed to.

No one said anything about him - you were starting to think the townspeople didn’t even know him. It made sense all things considered, he wasn’t a big fan of the day time and he had only stayed in the inn that first week.

I never even asked him where he was staying.

Your fear was now tinged with guilt, you were so curious about what he was but you never bothered to find out where he was living so to speak. The feeling compounded as the day dragged on.

“I heard they were torn to shreds.” You heard two ladies gossiping as they picked produce off a cart in the market place and you held your breath.

“Well, as you know my son went over there for his lessons and there were scratches in the door, it seems some wild animal got in and mauled the poor man.” Your heart was in your throat, there was no way, Max wouldn’t do this. He gave you his word. You had to find him.

* * * * *

It was another two days before he showed up at your door. Ambrose hissed loudly as you opened it - he looked terrible. He had deep scratches on his face, his clothes were ragged, he looked gaunt and dead. His eyes were sunken in, his skin was waxy and pale and you could see his bones poking sharply through. This is the first time you’ve ever been genuinely scared of Max.

“I’m sorry - I’m so weak - I cannot heal…” he looked ashamed of himself, he looked like a ghoul.

He looked like a nightmare.

“What happened?” You didn’t come out of the cottage.

“Another one of my kind came, he killed a villager - I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it. I tried to stop him before he came close but I hadn’t fed, I managed to kill him but he had left me injured and it took me forever to drag myself over here. I need your help.” You could hear the struggle in his voice and see the way he was barely standing, leaning against your door valiantly. You moved to step out but his arm came up weakly.

“No, don’t come out here, I won’t be able to stop myself and I don’t want to hurt you.” His eyes were terrible to look upon.

“How do I help?” You didn’t want him to be in pain.

“As much as I hate causing you pain, I need you to cut your hand, and put some of your blood into a glass, a jar, a vessel of some kind and very carefully put it outside the threshold when I close my eyes. I will close up the wound when I am myself. You have no idea how thankful I am for your protection right now my love.” You could see how sincere he was. His pet name squeezed your heart in a way you could get accustomed to.

You turned to grab a tea cup from the cupboard and your sharpest knife. You sliced open the palm of your hand without hesitation and you heard a snarl from the door. He could smell the blood and he was trying his hardest to stay calm. His eyes looked feral. The blood collected in the cup about halfway before the trickle started slowing down. You turned to him holding your palm against your chest.

“Close your eyes.” you were careful to stay inside. He slowly stepped back a few paces, giving you as much space as he could and closed his eyes. You quickly put the cup just outside the protection.

He was at the cup before you could blink, you had just managed to snatch your hand back. He drank the blood in a flash. Even in his state he didn’t let a drop spill. Going so far as to crack the teacup in half to lick it clean. The pieces were pristine when he dropped them on the ground.

He moved into the shadows then, just outside your field of vision and you thought it best to wait until he came back. You didn’t have to wait long.

He came back and the creature he had been previously was nowhere to be found. He didn’t look completely back to his usually ruddy health but that would soon change. You hesitated momentarily.

“Are you okay now? Can I come out?” You wanted to be sure, for his sake as much as yours.

“Yes you can come out, I am myself again, let me see your hand - it must hurt.” He held out his hand for you. You wanted more than his hand.

You practically leapt into his arms, had he been a regular man you would have knocked him over but he barely budged. You wrapped yourself around him tightly and he didn’t hesitate.

“I was so scared Max, I was terrified that something had happened to you.” You spoke into the cool skin of his neck, pressing yourself into him as tightly as you could. You hear him chuckle but he held onto you just as tightly.

“I’m sorry I worried you, I wanted to see you the whole time. I was scared you’d forget about me, I’m sure I’ve made an impression now though. Hopefully I didn’t scare you too badly.” he lifted your bleeding palm and licked the wound closed. The relief was instant and you felt the wound closing up.

“I won’t lie, you did startle me.” You pulled away and led the two of you back towards the threshold.

“Can you promise me you’ll never let yourself get to that point again?” you asked him as you moved inside.

“I give you my word, I hate looking like that.” You laughed at his vanity.

“Perfect. Help me with this.” You grabbed the axe and handed it to him." I know you cannot reach in or touch the wood in any way, can you try to shave off some of it? Just enough to get rid of the protection?” If he couldn’t you’d have to try to do it, it would just take you longer.

He looked at you with his eyebrows raised.

“I come to you in the middle of the night, looking for all intents and purposes like a monster. Snarling and feral for your blood, and you want to get rid of the only protection you have against me? Are you insane, woman?” he looked incredulous.

“Is that any way to speak to me, my love?” you put an emphasis on the words, watching the slow smile spread across his face. You thought he might have hoped you hadn’t noticed.

“I can try.” The smile didn’t leave his face as he went to work.

It took very little time to pry up the piece of wood at your threshold - you tossed it into the hearth. No use in wasting a good piece of wood.

Ambrose wound his way through Maxs legs when he walked through your cottage. It was strange to see him amongst your things.

Deliciously domestic.

You couldn’t help but feel self conscious as he leisurely walked through your home - stopping to inspect everything he saw. You’d lived alone for so long, all you saw now is how untidy and cramped it was.

There was clear curiosity written across his face and a sort of quiet wonder as he took everything in. You fiddled with your skirts as he continued his exploration.

“Can I get you anything?” you asked as he picked up a particularly large jar to read the label.

“No thank you, I’m sorry - I’m very curious.” You could see him scanning every surface, trying to take everything in at once. It wasn’t the same judgemental curiosity you saw from some of the villagers who came to you for help. You let him have his fill.

“Someone is here.” His head snapped up, you both heard the crunch of twigs a few seconds before there was a soft knock at the door. Ambrose perked his head up.

You walked over to the door and opened it slightly, Max was on the other side ready to jump out in case there was trouble. You shook your head.

The only trouble here is you. You couldn’t help but think to yourself.

“Good evening - I’m sorry to bother you so late, I need your help.” She was a young slip of a thing. Her eyes were wild and you could smell the desperation on her.

“Come in” You smiled - trying to make her feel welcome. She hesitated when she saw Max, you realized how terrifying he must look to others, his clothes were still tattered and shredded and he wasn’t fully back to normal yet.

“Don’t mind him - he’s fine. He won’t hurt you I promise.” you gave him a look that said play nice and he smiled warmly at her. He slinked away to fade into the background of your cottage. He picked up Ambrose on the way and when the girl heard the cat purring loudly she relaxed slightly.

“I- I desperately need your help, I- I did something I shouldn’t have. I’m so ashamed of myself and I am so scared. I don’t want to be disowned…I heard you- that you can help. Can you help me please?” She was on the verge of tears and shaking violently. You shushed her quietly - leading her towards your little table.

“Did you lay with a boy? How long has it been?” You spoke to her in soothing tones. You felt so bad for this girl, no one to turn to, nowhere to go except to the witch most people despised.

“It happened two nights past… did-did I wait too long?” The colour drained from her face at the aspect of being too late. You held her hand softly in yours and gave her a small smile.

“No dear, you came just in time - another day and I would not have been able to help.” You pat her hand softly as you move to gather your things.

“Max, could you please take that big pot near the hearth and fill it with water from the well outside?” You hadn’t had a chance to get some, what with Max showing up half dead- so to speak. He silently did as you asked.

You carefully measured out some dried herbs and flowers, a spoonful of honey and put it all into a teacup and placed it in front of her.

“What is it exactly? What will I have to do?” She was trying to distract herself - she was just as nervous about what you might do to her.

“It’s just tea. That’s all you have to do, drink a cup of tea.” She looked at the cup, you could tell she was nervous about what it was.

“It’s very special, the measurements have to be precise. Some Tansy, some Pennyroyal among other things and some honey because the flavour can be a little unpleasant. You mustn't try to make this on your own. You could really hurt yourself. Do you understand?” You looked her square in the eye. She nodded frantically.

Max came in then with the heavy pot full of water and at your nod he placed it over the fire to boil. She watched him warily and you sensed her fear, you placed your hand over hers again.

“I promise, he will not hurt you. He’s harmless.” you saw him give you a hurt look and it was hard to suppress the laughter.

“What will happen?” She asked you, her eyes wide and shining - she was just a child.

“You will sit here and you will drink your cup of tea. Within the next few days you will bleed, and then it will be over.” You grabbed a tiny burlap pouch and started filling it with more herbs and flowers- lavender and chamomile. Adding a few pinches of more exotic ingredients from your garden as you went and tying it closed with string.

“I will warn you though, the bleeding will hurt. You will cramp up and it will feel very intense. It will last a day or so and the blood will be heavy. When you feel the pain getting to be too much - take a bath with water as hot as you can stand it. Soak in it for as long as you can with this. Place it in the water with you and it should help you a little bit.” You smiled sympathetically as you carefully ladled some of the boiling water into the cup you prepared.

“I understand, thank you for helping me - what can I do to repay you?” she asked as she took the cup from you, careful so as not to spill a drop.

“You can suggest my name next time you hear someone needs a seamstress. Maybe a friendly smile when you see me at the market?” You smiled at her warmly. She returned it shyly.

Her face scrunched up at the flavour but you urged her to drink the whole thing. You sat with her quietly as she finished it, taking the cup from her.

“Perfect, now - hurry home and make sure you’re careful. Take this - It’s willow-bark, if the pain gets too much even after your bath, chew a bit of this and it will help.” You guided her to your door and she suddenly turned to hug you fiercely.

“Thank you, I don’t know what I would have done.” You saw the tears shining in her eyes and you sent her off with a smile.

Max was at your side in an instant, the both of you watching her make her way through the woods. He could sense your worry over her being out in the dark so late.

“Would you like me to make sure she makes it home safely?” He placed his hand around your waist and spoke into your temple - kissing you there softly. Your heart floated, how had you ever lived without him.

“Yes please - make sure you don’t scare her.” you kissed the hollow of his throat before he disappeared.

---------------------------------------

The girl walked home quickly, Max could sense her fear. It was normal.

Most humans are afraid of the dark and this one was no different. Normally she should have been afraid of Max.

I’m following a girl home to keep her safe. This is definitely a first.

Max thought about you the whole time, he thought about your kindness towards these people. He had met a lot of people in his life and he thought he’d seen it all, but you still managed to surprise him. These people didn’t deserve you.

You were so patient with her, so sweet. You wanted her to feel safe, warned her to be careful. You were more than he deserved, but he wanted to change that, he wanted to be worthy of you.

He thought back to how he had been when he was a human, to when he first turned.To how he had been just before he got here. He was a monster.

He had been born into a modest family, not wealthy but not lacking in anything important. Although he had always had a good work ethic, he had a horrible mindset. Towards people - he was less than gentlemanly.

Towards women even more so.

He knew he’d been handsome in his youth, and he used it viciously. He’d left a trail of broken hearts throughout his early years.

After he turned he was worse, much worse.

He ran rampant, he killed indiscriminately - feeding to the point of gluttony. It passed. If there was anything Max had learned it was that eventually, everything passed.

He didn’t want to think about his past, ever since he met you he found himself wanting to be different. You brought out a tenderness in him he didn’t know he had and he wanted you to want him, but it was more than that. He wanted you to respect him. To think highly of him.

He wanted you to love him.

When he got back to your cottage you were asleep, curled up with the cat. You looked so peaceful, so content. He couldn’t wake you up.

He slipped into the bed with you as quietly as he could and wrapped you up in his arms.

——————————————-

After that night Max barely left your cottage. He had made himself at home and it felt like a missing piece of the puzzle was finally in place.

Ambrose loved him. He plopped himself onto Max’s lap whenever he could and purred loudly against him.

You opened up the door to find a basket with flowers, a pretty shawl and a note. It had been a week since the young girl came.

“Thank you for your help, I’ll never forget it xo”

You smiled as you brought it in, Max raised an eyebrow.

“I take it everything worked out?” He poked around in the basket, Ambrose perched on his shoulder.

“Yes. She’s so sweet, I’m glad she’s okay.” You tucked the letter away and smiled at him.

“I guess some of the villagers aren’t so bad.” He conceded.

———————————————

The two of you had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, he slept throughout most of the day while you worked or toiled in the garden. You didn’t have to ask him for help, when he woke up he would always ask what he could do. A far cry from the first time you’d asked him to help you with manual tasks.

He still fed from you, but to your surprise he hadn’t tried to take things further with you. That encounter in the garden was the furthest you’d gone. It wasn’t due to lack of enthusiasm, you could feel his excitement each time he bit you.

You thought about it when he kissed the inside of your wrist a few days later, he always did this when he wanted blood. He would kiss your wrist and wait.

“Yes Max you can bite.” You turned to look at him. He wasted no time. He liked to spread his bites out, take his time. He’d turned his feedings into a ritual.

You decided to push things a little further and when he bit your wrist you started undoing your corset. He watched you with his mouth still on you and his eyes flashed with something that screamed predator.

He has his fangs in your skin of course he’s a predator.

You continued to stare as he licked your wound closed, he was curious to see what you would do - he didn’t let go of your wrist.

You pulled it away and slowly took off the blouse and the skirts you were wearing, pulled off every article of clothing you wore until you were stark naked. You laid beside him in silence and stared up at him, taking his hand softly and putting it on your breast. You could not be more clear on what you wanted.

He was on you in a flash, one second it was sitting beside you the next he was on top of you.

“I’ve wanted to see you like this for a long time.” He kissed his way down your chest, placing kisses along your sternum, biting into your skin just enough to draw a bead of blood, then licking the wound closed.

It was mesmerizing, seeing him pierce your skin over and over. It hurt a little bit each time but it was so erotic - the pain added to the pleasure of anticipation.

You ran your fingers through his hair softly, he loved physical touch and he made sure you knew it.

“I’m going to bite you somewhere I’ve wanted since I laid eyes on you.” He kissed his way down, over the soft skin of your belly, over the curve of your hip, going lower still. Your heart was racing and your arousal was dripping onto your blankets.

He made himself comfortable between your thighs, bringing them up onto his shoulders. You could feel him taking in your scent and he looked ravenous. You vaguely wondered if he would bite your mound and that excited you more than you cared to admit.

He gently placed kisses around your mound, bringing his fingers to spread open your lower lips. You were breathing hard, praying silently that he was going to do what you thought he might.

He licked a long stripe from your opening up to the little bundle of nerves, you let out a moan at the act. No man had ever done this to you before. It was overwhelming.

He focused his tongue on the pearl of your sex and kept at it in a steady rhythm. A rhythm that had you slowly grinding your hips onto his face.

This was euphoria, this was heaven.

“Max, what are you doing to me? It’s so good…”

He looked up at you through his long lashes, humming into your skin as you got more and more desperate. Your arousal was leaking out of you steadily at his actions.

You felt fingers probing your entrance and you thought you were going to faint, the pleasure was so great, his fingers curling inside you, touching something that felt forbidden in its intensity. You whimpered as he set a fast rhythm with his fingers, the sound of them pumping in and out was wet and obscene and it made you ever wetter.

“Max… Max I’m going to… Oh god…” you were staring into the vast abyss that was the little death, you were careening into it when he pulled away from you and bit harshly into your inner thigh at the crease.

The pleasure was blinding.

His fingers pumping into you as you hit your peak while he fed, he kept going, until you begged him to stop. Only then did he pull his fingers out. Licking the wound closed as he did. He looked feral.

“I could feast on you forever my love.” Be sucked his fingers clean and your body clenched involuntarily.

You pulled him towards you and kissed him desperately, licking along the seam of his lips to ask permission. He opened up and licked into your mouth with the same enthusiasm. You could taste the coppery taste of your blood in his mouth, it didn’t bother you.

You hastily pulled his clothes off, needing him to sink into you. He obliged and was naked quickly, pulling you up to sit in his lap on the edge of your bed.

“I want you like this, I want you to take your pleasure from me my love, use me, take what you need.” He kissed your neck, your chin, your collar bones.

His cock was thick, gorgeous and intimidating. You tentatively grasped it in your hand and guided it to your entrance. You were wet enough that your body put up no resistance but the stretch was still there. It was delicious and you moaned as you lowered yourself onto him fully.

“You’re the tightest, wettest thing I’ve ever felt, how does my cock feel?” He kissed your neck and bit your ear, licking the wound as fast as he’d made it. His hands held your hips as you grinded in his lap, rolling them wantonly.

“It feels so good Max, you feel so good, bite me again.” You felt unhinged, this was not your first time but the other times had felt hasty and unfulfilling, clumsy and they left you wanting. This was not clumsy. This was everything it should be.

“Where do you want my bite, tell me and I’ll do it, I’ll do anything for you..” he was losing control now, bucking up into you, making you bounce on him. You felt the edge of the abyss again, opening its mouth to swallow you whole. You were going to let it.

“Here..” you held your breast in your hand and pulled his head down by his hair roughly, he moaned and bit you. Your body exploded into a million tiny pieces and you clenched around him. He moaned at the feeling and spilled into you. Seizing up with his mouth on your breast.

You both sat there, holding each other closely. You’d never felt more connected to anyone in your life.

“Max…” You breathed his name onto his skin, you didn’t know how to properly express how you felt in that moment. He held you tightly, running his nose along your skin, mapping it out so to speak.

“Yes my love? Did you enjoy that?” He skimmed every inch of you he could reach, his big warm hands holding onto your hips, squeezing your flesh reassuringly.

“Yes - I-I’ve never enjoyed it like that before, I want to do it again.” You were momentarily self conscious but you had no reason to. He smiled warmly and guided you to the bed to lay in between your legs.

“We can do whatever you want, whenever you want. I am yours.” he kissed you then, and kept his word.

---------------------------------

*Adding everyone in my tag-list, if you don't want to be in everything Pedro related just let me know!*

Tag-list: @foli-vora @frannyzooey (Thanks for your help with this one, brainstorming with you really helped me put this together <3) @danniburgh @sambucky21 @greeneyedblondie44 @mouthymandalorian @221bshrlocked @supernaturalgirl @sleep-tight1 @softdindjxrin @freak-nasty-thick-dick-mando @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @lori-tovar @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs

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itsbrandy · 4 months

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AN: The gif of this man as a sheriff, sent my ass into a SPIRAL and this is what happened. I originally wanted to post this for my birthday, but with Canadian Thanksgiving falling on the same weekend there was no way I would have been able to finish lol. I am still trying to post more often, please be patient with me, hopefully this makes up for the lack of posting for the last few weeks. Special thanks to @wheresarizona for betaing and just general wonderfulness, to @just-here-for-the-moment for screaming at me through comments and in whatsapp over this, and to @frannyzooey for screaming at me through discord lol (And for making me some super awesome edits that I will post after!) Hope you enjoy xox.

(PS, I have an idea for a part 2, let me know if you’d want to read it!)

Pairing; Sheriff Frankie Morales x f!reader (Blue / Bluebell as a nickname)

Warnings; sweet, lovestruck Frankie needs his own warning I think-piv sex (wrap it up), swearing, dirty talk, Frankie eats pussy like the champion he is, a non-consensual creampie, angst, longing, yearning, some violence (involving guns / war, accurate for the time period-I tried not to let it get too gory or graphic) brothel mentions - let me know if I missed anything.

Word count; 13k 😅

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

Dust swirled around him as he made his way into town from the train station, the sun beating down on his every step, and although he hadn’t been home in over a decade, he still knew the way just as well as if he’d never left. Difference was he’d left practically a boy, and now he’d come back a man.

People he both did and didn’t recognize passed him as he carried his suitcase down the sunny high street, some of them smiled, most of them ignored him. It made no difference to him. He would be their new sheriff just the same. Besides, there was only one person he cared to see again. There would be time enough for that later, though. First, he had to get settled.

The brothel was busy, a surefire sign of the town’s growth evident in the number of horses tied up in front.

“Well, hey there, sugar–” He tipped his hat and smiled at the young lady calling out to him, smiling as she leaned against one of the columns flanking the entrance, “-you coming to make a woman out of me?” She batted her big eyes at him.

“Don’t count on it.” His tone was polite, his smile in place. She tsked, giggling at his manners before being called away by someone inside.

Sweat was starting to collect on his brow with the effort of lugging his suitcase all the way from the train station, and he let out a relieved sigh when he finally stepped through the doors of the sheriff's office. It was somehow even hotter on the inside.

“Can I help you?” A kid no older than he’d been when he’d left greeted him from one of the two desks in the small room.

“I’m Francisco Morales, I’m here to see–”

“He’s here to see me, he’s my replacement.” A grizzled but familiar voice sounded from behind him, “You’re early.” The older man walked past him on his way to the second, bigger desk, where he put his cowboy hat down before turning to face him once more. “I was under the impression you’d be here by the end of this month. You in that much of a hurry to retire me, boy?”

He set the suitcase down before wiping at the back of his neck with his handkerchief.

“No sir, just wanted to get settled in, have some time to reacquaint myself.” He put the cloth away. “Fix up the house before starting. Thought I’d check in with you first, though.” He’d gotten in plenty of trouble growing up, and most of the time, this man had been the one to pull him by his ear and make him smarten up. It was a novelty to be in this office and not be in trouble.

“Well, you’ve checked. Go on and get settled. The desk and the badge will still be here in a week.” Sheriff Carson had always been one to speak plainly, and he did so now.

“Yes, sir.” Francisco picked the suitcase back up and braced himself for the glaring rays that would greet him just outside.

“Son,” He turned at the sound of the old man’s voice, “I was sorry to hear about your folks. They were good people.” He nodded back at the old man once and made his way back out the door.

—

“Try again.” You crossed your arms, “We both know I’m not paying that much.” You kept both your voice and expression as neutral as you could, keeping your real interest in the supplies he had close to your chest. Interest and necessity always cost more.

He narrowed his eyes, and you raised your eyebrows in return, holding your ground.

“Price is an even one hundred dollars; had to ride halfway around the world to get most of it-” You curled your lip in disgust.

“Bullshit, Dale! You rode to the nearest town, and that’s only a day's ride at the most. I’ll pay fifty, and that’s twice what it’s worth.”

“You tryna rob me, woman?” He crossed his arms, mirroring you, “I’ll go down to eighty, but that’s final.” He rose to his full height, his posture making him look like some giant, petulant child.

“Seventy-five. And I want some tobacco.”

“Goddamn, you drive a hard bargain. Fine.” He extended his hand, and you shook it with a satisfied smile.

“Good man. Pleasure doin’ business with you.”

“Yeah, yeah, robbin’ me more like.” He grumbled good-naturedly and unloaded the supplies while you counted out the money to pay him with. “Goin’ back in a couple weeks, make sure you let me know what you’ll be needin’ before I go.” He tucked the money away and left. The rest of the morning was spent restocking the various bottles and cabinets with your new stock.

It was therapeutic, sitting behind the big mahogany counter to take inventory of your shop. The shop that had taken you years to finally acquire. Every so often, you took stock of all the work you’d put into it and felt a significant amount of pride in what you’d accomplished. All of it done on your own.

The customers came and went throughout the day, buying tinctures and tonics, and you helped them all to the best of your ability until the end of the day eventually found you, and you locked up the shop. With a final sweep to ensure everything was in its right place before closing up for the night.

The sun was blessedly low as you made your way home, but the streets were busy. Ethel, the youngest and friendliest of the girls who worked in the brothel a few doors down from your shop, was smoking her pipe on the porch, waving and smiling as you passed.

“Hey Ethel, how you keeping?” You called out to her, “Fall in love again today?” She laughed, a plume of smoke wreathing around the halo of her hair.

“Of course, saw a tall drink of water today. Think I’m gonna marry him.” She winked, a devilish smile on her pretty face.

“Uh oh, sounds like he’s in trouble.” You laughed, waving as you passed by the house.

“He will be if he ever comes in here, bye Honey, see you later.”

The buildings thinned as you moved further and further away from the main street, giving you a clearer view of the surrounding ranches and houses scattered throughout the plains. Your own house came into view, and you smiled to see it. The view of it had the pride swelling again; it had been run down and ragged when you’d purchased it, but money wasn’t the only thing you’d invested. That house was the result of your blood, sweat, and tears. Hours and hours of elbow grease, blisters, and bruises, cuts, and had you not been very careful, it would have cost you a few broken bones as well.

There was another house on the way to yours though, one that wiped the smile right off your face as you passed it. It was a house that drew your eye no matter how many times you walked past, no matter how many times you tried to ignore it. It was empty now, but years ago, it had been full of life, full of love and mischief and happiness. It had been full of hope and promises. It was empty now, one of the windows broken, much like the promises had been.

You couldn’t help but watch it as you passed; something flashed in the window, but you ignored it. There hadn’t been anyone there for years.

Wish it would just burn down or sell. Wish the ground would open up and swallow it whole.

Your feet ache when you finally make it to your house, eager to unlace the boots imprisoning them. You did your best to hurry through all your chores and feed yourself, the promise of a hot bath and sweet-smelling soap carrying you through.

—

The house was so much worse than he’d thought it would be, and he’d thought it’d be bad. A couple of windows had broken, and half a town's worth of dirt and dust had blown in through them. He sighed at the state of it, knowing his mother would never have let it get this bad, and for once, he was grateful she wasn’t around to see it.

He set his suitcase down and made a mental list of what needed to be done. First thing first, he needed a few things.

With a wagon full of supplies and considerably less money in his pocket, he began the long process of making it habitable. With a stiff brush and an even stiffer broom, the dirt was returned to its rightful place outside the house. The windows that weren’t broken were opened to let in fresh air, and floors and counters were washed. Food and supplies were put away; the bed was made with new, expensive sheets and linens.

He worked his fingers to the bone throughout the day and most of the night until he’d done as much as he could. There was nothing to be done about the windows; the glass had been ordered, but it would be a few days, possibly even weeks, until he could fix those.

By the time he’d boiled water to bathe himself with, he could barely keep his eyes open, and once clean, he dropped into bed and into the sweet abyss of sleep.

It was strange for him to wake up in the same house he’d grown up in, even stranger for him to wake up in the bedroom his parents had owned. He’d been so dead tired that he’d forgotten to close the shutters, and the room was flooded with the golden light of dawn, chasing away any and all hope for a few extra hours of rest.

Those earlier years were vivid in his mind now that he was here, in this house. He could practically hear the younger, wilder version of himself climbing out his window to go find her. Could still taste the stolen kisses in his mouth, could still hear her delighted laugh when he’d wrap her up in his arms and declare his undying love.

He rose, trying and failing to leave the memories of her behind, and got ready for the day. The coffee he’d bought from the general store wasn’t half bad, and he drank the whole pot with gusto, making a mental note to make sure he picked up some more before he ran out.

The current sheriff didn’t want him underfoot while he settled his affairs, and he didn’t plan on making Carson’s life harder, but he did want to reacquaint himself with the town he’d soon be the law in. He figured the best way to do that would be to go into the businesses and talk to the people, and make his presence known.

You should be looking for her, give her an explanation–demand one in return.

He shook his head, ignoring the rational part of his brain. After all, he didn’t even know if she was still here. He thought about her as he left his house, imagining he could see the two of them as they’d been before. He, in his transition into manhood, her in the bloom of her youth, the two of them inseparable. The ghosts caught up to him though, and then he saw her–the real her, standing just outside the apothecary, waving someone away.

She saw him too, and his heart raced. She was even more beautiful to him than he remembered; it was as though for a brief moment, all of the years between them melted away.

A very brief moment.

The look of shock and hurt, and what he hoped had been love on her face was replaced with a look that, thankfully, could not hurt him. It was pure and unadulterated anger, no–fury.

His legs moved, bringing him towards her. This was definitely not how he wanted this meeting to go. He just hoped she’d listen, but judging by the way she stuck up her middle finger at him, it didn’t look good.

–

The nerve of him. The unmitigated gall!

“Wait–” His voice sounded as you turned to make your way back inside the shop.

“No!” You yelled back over your shoulder, not even bothering to face him, even as your heart raced to see him again.

“Goddamnit, woman, wait! Let me talk to you–” He was closer than you thought, barely managing to avoid you slamming the door in his face.

“Don’t you ‘woman’ me, Francisco Morales!” you yelled up into his handsome face, hating how gorgeous he looked, how his neck- one of your favourite parts of him- stared you in the face. “Do me a favour and take off for another fifteen years. Leave me be.”

“Come on, Bluebell, you gotta let me explain.” He managed to slip through the doors before you had a chance to lock them, but it didn’t matter, the pet name he called you stopped you in your tracks and rocketed the fury to new heights.

“Bluebell?” You couldn’t hide the edge of violence in your voice, “How dare you call me that? I am nothing but a stranger to you at this point. You lost any and all privileges to call me anything at all when you left.” He was taller than when he left, but his eyes still burned into yours the way they’d done when you were young and in love.

It would make you laugh if you weren’t still so hurt about how everything had gone down. The way he was standing in front of you, hands on his hips, frustrated frown in place. You didn’t give him an inch, but it hurt to admit just how badly you’d missed him. You shooed the swirl of feelings for him away, focusing on the one easiest to deal with: anger.

“Will you listen to me at least?”

“Why should I?” You turned from him, busying yourself with putting a few of your jars back in their place.

“Well, because I owe you an explanation–” You let out a bark of cruel laughter.

“That’s an understatement.”

“-I know, I always intended on coming back for you. You have to know that.”

“Do I? Do I just have to know that Francisco?” You all but slammed the jar into its slot on the big cabinet, taking up the whole wall behind the counter. “You know, you have some goddamn nerve–” the little bell above the door jingled when the Sheriff walked in, his bushy, white eyebrows raised into his hairline as the look on your face. It didn’t take an overly in-depth investigation to see that Francisco wasn’t exactly in your good books.

“You never could stay out of trouble, could you, son?” He moved past him to stand at the counter before you, “You want me to come back later, sweetheart?”

You sighed, doing your best to smile at the older man.

“Not at all. I have the tonic ready; give me just a moment to wrap it up for you.” You did your best to smile and ignore the big, aggravatingly effective puppy dog eyes shining at you from your peripheral. “Here you are, Sherriff, that’ll be thirty-five cents.” He dug into his pocket, counting out the right amount and handing it over before thanking you and turning to leave.

“You make sure you let me know if you need anything–” He gave Francisco a frown, “-and I mean anything.”

“Yes sir, thank you.” With another jingle, he was gone, but other customers made their way inside, and Francisco sighed.

“You can go ahead and leave. I am at my place of business.”

“I will come and find you later. Then we can actually talk.” He took a few steps back, his hand on the door handle.

“I won’t hold my breath.”

—

Much to his annoyance, the sheriff was waiting for him outside of the apothecary.

“Can I help you with something, sir?” He spoke the words through a tired sigh.

“Boy, I do believe that woman hates you.”

“No sir, that woman loves me. If she hated me, she would have shot me.” He moved away from the sheriff, ignoring the raucous laughter that followed his every step. He ignored it and set about doing what he needed to do, telling himself that he’d be able to deal with it later when she let him explain himself. It made no matter what he told himself, though, his mind wouldn’t let her go.

Instead of using the time productively, he found himself counting the hours until she closed up the shop, loitering around the door like some lovestruck teenager. He scoffed to himself, ignoring the cloying heat of the sun. Isn’t that all he was? Just some lovestruck fool? She couldn’t know that, though, not with the way things had gone down.

Any hope he had of her cooling down throughout the day died at the narrowing of her eyes, her expression now as she locked the apothecary door so different from the one that had kept him going throughout the years he’d spent away.

“Still here, shocking.” She waltzed past him, “Just leave me be.”

“I can’t do that., I need you to listen to me.” It took him a few long strides to catch up with her, “Can I please just explain?”

“Why? What does it matter at this point? I don’t want to hear you–” He stood in her way, blocking her path on the dusty sidewalk.

“Listen! Please!” He held onto her arms, keeping her still so he could look into her eyes. “I know you aren’t happy with me–” She scoffed, and he spoke over her, “I know, but you have to know that I missed you all this time. I didn’t want it to happen like this, but I can’t help that now.” She shrugged out of his grip, crossing her arms.

“You okay, Honey? This man botherin’ you?” An older woman shouted from the porch of the brothel, her hand on the gun at her hip.

“No, Ma’am, I’m fine. I know him–well, I knew him.” She turned towards the madam and smiled, “I got it under control.” She sighed and walked around him, turning to him after a few steps. “You have until I get home.”

He rushed behind her and kept the smile to himself.

“I see you’ve done really well for yourself. It makes me really happy to see how you’ve been–”

“This isn’t an explanation. You’re wasting your time with flattery I won’t respond to.”

“Right, I’m sorry.” He frowned, trying to keep pace with her. “I sent you letters–”

“You sent me a few letters, all of which I responded to.” She spoke loudly, cutting him off. “A few letters in almost fifteen years–”

“I sent you dozens of letters.” It was his turn to frown and her turn to slow down, “I wrote to you as often as I could, even after I stopped getting your responses.” He knew he wasn’t exactly the kind of man her parents had wanted her to end up with. He remembered the sour looks on their faces when he’d come calling.

“I got a few letters the first year and then nothing else.” Her expression was wary, her eyes narrowed. “Did you really write to me? Or are you saying that so I’ll forgive you?” She crossed her arms, stopping to gauge the truth in his words.

“I wrote to you for years, figured I would have to come and talk to you in person, but then I thought maybe you’d met someone else, or moved away, or worse. Then I told myself I’d come and find you, but life is the way it is, and things got in the way. When I heard they needed a new sheriff, I sent word to Carson to see if he’d consider hiring me–I was shocked when he responded yes.” She stared at him, eyes bright but mistrustful. “I swear on my mother's grave.” He took her hand, holding it to his heart. “I should have come sooner-” She pulled her hand away gently, fire still burning in her gaze, but now it was coloured with sadness as well as fury.

“Yes, yes, you should have.” She sighed and continued walking towards their homes, “I am so angry at you, Francisco. I am angry you left and angry you came back.” She looked away from him, her hands flying to her face momentarily before facing forward again.

“I know.” His house came into view, and he fought the urge to invite her in. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.” She didn’t respond, only kept her eyes forward. “What time do you leave in the morning?”

“What?” She frowned.

“What time do you usually leave? I’m not sure what time the Apothecary opens–”

“It opens at eight, but I like to get there early. Why?”

“May I accompany you? I would like to walk with you if I could.” He knew she wouldn’t forgive him so quickly. Her fiery temper was one of the things he’d always loved about her.

“You want to walk me? I am fully capable-”

“I never said you weren’t. I would still like to walk with you. I’ve missed talking to you, it would be a nice way to…reconnect.” He chanced a smile, hoping it would still have the effect it used to.

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t smile in return. Her house was closer now, his time with her coming to an end for the day.

“I suppose I cannot stop you.” It wasn’t a yes, but it definitely wasn’t a no.

“See you tomorrow then, goodnight Bluebell.” He stopped a few yards from her door, waiting until she was safely tucked inside before turning and going home.

The moon was high when you finally dug out the letters you’d hidden away deep in the chest at the end of your bed. The paper had yellowed, and you didn’t even bother getting up off the floor. With shaky hands, you untied the little bundle and spread them out in front of you, trying your hardest not to tear up at the little hearts and flowers he’d drawn in the curled-up corners.

My Dearest Bluebell,

I cannot even begin to tell you how much I miss you. Things here move so quickly, but I’m doing so much, making more money than I’ve ever seen! More than enough for us to start our lives together–

You pushed the letter away, finally letting go of the sob that had been squatting in your throat since seeing him earlier that morning. The love he’d had was so evident in his scratchy script, and the pain of his apparent silence reared its head in your soul to see it again after all of the years you’d survived without him. The last letter he’d sent held no clue as to why he’d ever stop writing, and now a nagging suspicion filled the corners of your mind.

Your mother had made it more than clear that Francisco wasn’t her first choice for you. She’d treated him less than kindly whenever he came calling, would turn up her nose at him whenever she’d seen the two of you together, and had smiled a big, cruel smile at the news that he’d be leaving. Would she have gone so far as to hide letters from him? Something in your heart said yes.

Suddenly, it was too much to see his words surrounding you, and you gathered them up hastily, tossing them back into the chest before surrendering to the exhaustion in your heart and in your bones and getting into bed. You tried to think about something else as you lay there, anything else–but he kept popping up, making you wonder–against your will–whether or not he’d actually be there in the morning.

He didn’t let you wonder.

His heavy knock made you practically jump out of your skin as you did your best to tie the laces of your corset. You chewed on your bottom lip, annoyed with how you rushed to throw on your dressing robe, sighing at the speed with which you made it to the door.

He smiled as you opened the door, testing every measure of self-control you’d built up in his absence with a single dimple.

“You’re here.”

“Yes, just like I said–I figured it would be best to be early.” His gaze raked over you in your half-dressed state, “You look lovely.”

“Sure I do.” You scoffed, “I need more time. I usually leave a little later.” He scratched at the back of his neck, unsure what to say, and you had to work extra hard to keep from laughing at him. “Come in then. You can wait in the kitchen while I finish getting dressed.” You turned and left then, leaving him to close the door.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You kept the door slightly ajar in your bedroom, your heart racing to know that after all this time–he was in the same house as you. You shook your head, shooing away the novelty of his presence to call up the anger and the fury that had kept you from falling apart in his absence.

“The house looks great!” He called from the kitchen, “You shoulda seen the state of mine when I got here.”

You bit your lip, relishing the deep tones of his voice as they filled the house.

“Still haven’t been able to fix the windows–had half a desert's worth of sand in the house. Took me forever to clean it.” He continued speaking as you finished dressing, completely unaware of the way you contemplated whether or not to use some of your very pricey, very precious perfume. You ignored the disappointed little voice in your head as you dabbed a few drops behind your ears and on the inside of your wrists.

“-hopefully, they'll come in by the end of the week-” He was still speaking when you made your way back into the kitchen where he sat at your little table, the long lines of him entirely too big and too wonderful for the tiny space.

“Have you eaten?” You cut off his speech, pulling down the cast iron pan from the rack above the woodfire stove.

“I, uh, I had some coffee.”

“So, no?” You shoved some kindling into the open door of the oven, striking a match to light it.

“Well, no–”

“Okay then.” There was enough time, and you got to work.

“Can I help?”

“No–actually, yes. You can go fetch some water from the well out back.” You shoved the big kettle into his hands and sent him on his way, where he went without comment.

Soon enough, you had biscuits baking and coffee brewing, and the house smelled better than any perfume you could buy. You once again ignored the little voice, the one that curiously sounded like your mother when you put out both the butter and the jam.

When they were out of the oven and steaming, you couldn’t help but smile at how well they'd turned out.

“It smells like heaven in here.” You could practically hear him drooling, and it was with a great sense of both satisfaction and pride that you watched him throw caution to the wind and eat one without waiting for it to cool down. He moaned at the first bite, making your heart soar and silencing the mean little voice.

“You like them?” You had to hear it, had to hear the words in his voice.

“Like them? Honey, I’d kill for them.” You narrowed your eyes at him but let the endearment go without comment. Already, you were softening up for him. “I could eat this whole goddamn plate.” He pulled another one open, no doubt burning the tips of his fingers but continuing on just the same, slathering it with both butter and jam before taking a huge, steam-filled bite.

You ate yours slower, unsure what you liked best, the biscuit or watching him eat.

He poured you a cup of coffee before pouring one for himself, and for a moment, your heart shattered at how right it felt to have him here. For the first time since he’d left, you let yourself feel just how lonely you’d been without him.

“I know you’re angry with me.” He put the remnants of his biscuit down, “I know you think I abandoned you, picked up and found a new life outside of this place, but you have to know–” He reached over, taking your hand in his, “I never stopped thinking about you.” The tears flowed without your permission, what felt like years worth of them dripping steadily onto the bodice of your dress. “I have loved you since I was a boy, and I should have come back the second I thought something was wrong. I’ll never forgive myself for letting you worry or letting you imagine for a single moment that you weren’t everything to me. I know it’ll take time for you to trust me again, but I’ll work as hard as I can.”

You wanted to rip your hand away, to scream in his face and tell him to give you peace, but you couldn’t. Instead, you let the tears fall, let him stand and tentatively pull you towards him, let him crush you in the first hug you’ve had in years. For a moment, it’s as though you cannot get close enough, your hands like claws digging into the fabric of his overcoat, knuckles cramping from the force of your grip, and he sighs into your hair. The relief of the painfully familiar smell of him is so great that it almost knocks you off your feet.

When you finally push him away, you know your eyes are puffy.

“I believe you–” He smiles through his own tears, “-but I am still angry. I cannot just let go of my hurt. Not so quickly.” It takes everything in you, but you untangle yourself from him softly. “I have been living in this for so long, I don’t even know how to stop feeling this way.” The handkerchief that usually lived in your pocket made itself useful now. “I don’t even know where to begin. I loved you so much–” His face contorted in pain, the use of the word in the past tense like a stab to his heart. “-I don’t think I ever stopped. It’s the reason it hurts so much.” He let out a shaky breath, smiling a watery smile.

“I know, I’ll work for it, I promise.”

“I know.”

–

He felt like he was flying. His steps were so light, surely he’d grown wings. He knew it was going to be a long road for them, but for the first time in years, he had hope.

He couldn’t keep the smile off his face throughout the day, the feel of her in his arms, the smell of her in his nose, all of it made him feel like any errant puff of wind would blow him away. He had a skip in his step as he made his way over to the Sheriff's office, uncaring whether the man wanted him there or not. He had to keep his time away from her occupied with something, and learning what it took to do his job effectively was the next best thing.

“I haven’t seen that look on your face in years, it meant trouble back then, and I doubt it’s changed.” Sheriff Carson frowned at him, “Your house all fixed up then?” He didn’t stop what he was doing, instead continuing as he spoke.

“As fixed as it can be, sir, until the replacement window panes come in.” He sat in the chair in front of Carson without invitation. The man only grunted in response.

“I want to start early, get a feel for what you do so I can do it properly.” At this, the older man looked up.

“I know I wasn’t the easiest kid–” The older man scoffed at that but let him continue. “-Yes, yes, I know. I was a helion. I’m a man now, and I’ve grown up. I just want to keep this town safe, want to do my job.” The older man's eyes narrowed, and Francisco frowned. “Why did you say yes when I applied?”

“Part curiosity, part hope, I guess.” He set the pen down, leaning back in his chair, his arms coming to rest crossed on his belly. “You’ve always been a smart kid, Frank, and if you really are as grown up as I think you are, I think you got the makings to be a great sheriff. Especially if you’re anything like your daddy.” It was probably the nicest thing Carson had ever said to him. He didn’t know how to respond.

“I just don’t want you to hurt that girl–” He raised his hands to forestall any response, “I know what you felt for her was real, but she was a shell when you left, and I don’t want to see her like that again. We clear?”

“Yes, sir. I’m here. I’m home for good.”

“Good, now let's get to work.”

Francisco was no stranger to hard work, but Carson seemed determined to make him jump through every single hoop in order to prove he could do this job. It didn’t deter him in the slightest, not with the promise of the life he’d always wanted so close on the horizon. Instead, he took notes, followed Carson, did everything he asked, and paid as much attention as he could, but secretly counted the hours until he would see her again.

He heard the gunshots as he organized the disaster that was Carson’s filing system.

“Suppose you oughta come with.” Carson slipped his holster on, handing a gun to him before leading the way toward the sound.

A half-naked man was rolling around on the ground just outside the brothel, clutching at a blood-soaked arm. His eyes were wild with pain and anger, and he only seemed to get more frantic at the sight of the two of them approaching.

“Sheriff! Arrest that woman!” He pointed with his good hand at the young woman on the porch. “Crazy bitch shot my damn arm-”

“You put your hands on me, and you lose your hand! Them’s my rules!” She was screaming mad, a painful-looking shiner blooming on her pale face.

“Enough!” Carson’s voice rang out loud enough to silence everyone within earshot, “Now–Who’s gonna tell me what happened? I can listen, or I can arrest the lot of you and be done with it.” He rested his weight on one leg, hand resting on the gun at his hip.

The madame stepped out from behind the younger woman, her face austere.

“I think it’s pretty obvious; he took a liberty, smacked my girl around, and he got bit.” She put her arm around the younger woman's shoulder. “Ethel is one of my best. Now she’s got this to deal with. He’s lucky she didn’t shoot his pecker off.” The man scoffed, pulling his shirt on as best he could before moving towards the women.

“I don’t think so, pal,” Francisco spoke directly to him, pulling his own gun and holding it at his side in warning.

“I got witnesses, Carson. Lock this fucker up, and let us get back to work.”

“I’ll need to come in and get some statements, Mabel. You know that as well as I do. Frank, take this moron over to get patched up.”

“So I’m just gonna lose my fuckin’ hand!?” He was incensed.

“Lucky you didn’t lose your life. Now get out of my sight. I’m gonna give you until sundown to be out of here; if not, you can spend an undetermined amount of time in my jailhouse.” Carson’s voice held no room for anything but complete obedience, and after a tense moment, all of the air went out of him, and he let Francisco lead him toward the town physician.

You tried not to be upset when he wasn’t waiting for you outside the apothecary at the end of the day; after all, he hadn’t said he would be. Instead, you locked up as usual and set about making your way home.

“Bluebell!” His voice rang out from behind you, making your head whip around. Your frown turned from annoyance to worry at the sight of dried blood on the white of his shirt. Your hands clutched at the collar of his shirt before you had a chance to catch yourself.

“What happened?” Any and all propriety went right out the window with how frantically you pulled at his layers to see where the blood had come from. “Did you get hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine–it’s not mine.” there was something in his voice that brought you back to your senses, a tenderness that pierced the very heart of you. His hands held onto yours for a moment before you pulled them away slowly.

“Oh. I’m glad.”

“There was some trouble at the brothel. One of the girls shot some idiot who got handsy. I had to bring him to the physician.” The thought of him anywhere near the brothel made your hackles rise. You stamped the feeling away and continued your walk back home. He fell into step beside you. “What was that?” His smile was big now.

“What was what?”

“That look you just gave me.” He bumped his shoulder into yours, and you frowned.

“What are you talking about? I didn't give you any look.”

“You gave me a look, Blue, when I said the word brothel, a jealous look.” His smile was so wide you wanted to smack him.

“I did not. You are free to do as you please. We aren’t married.” You kept your eyes on the horizon and did your best to ignore the bark of laughter he let out beside you.

“Fine, I’ll drop it. I got no business in a brothel anyway. Even if I’m not married, yet.”

You sighed, ignoring just how right he was.

There was a man with a wagon waiting just outside his house as you passed it.

“Can I help you?” He called out to the man outside his house. You can’t help but notice how he put himself between you and the stranger.

“I have some window panes to deliver.” He walked around to the back of the wagon, uncovering it to show the cargo

“Oh! Yes, I’ll take those.” He jogged over to the man, helping to bring the glass inside. You followed him despite yourself, unable to keep the frown off your face at the state of his home. You were still looking around when everything had been brought inside, and the man had been sent away. “It still needs work, but at least the windows will be intact.” You could see how he surveyed his home, his eye just as critical if not more than yours.

You set down your things.

“Need to boil some water.” You hauled out the biggest pot you could find.

“What?” He came over and took the pot from you, putting it onto the stove for you.

“We need to boil water to clean these floors, and we should wash these windows too.”

“Yes, but I can do it–”

“Francisco. Go get water so we can boil it and get this place in order.” You raised your eyebrows at him and relished the way he watched you. He’d always liked it when you were assertive.

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled before heading out to his own well.

Once the water was boiled, you got to work with a stiff brush while he set about replacing the broken windows. It wasn’t easy work, getting down on your knees to scrub the years worth of dirt and dust out of every nook and cranny embedded in the floorboards. It was worth it, though, to look up every so often and see the hard lines of him working, both his jacket and waistcoat shed and thrown onto a chair; his shirtsleeves rolled up.

He’d always been beautiful to you, with his big brown eyes and his golden skin, the maddening dimple, even the curve in his nose. He was even more gorgeous now, with age and experience etched on his face, even hardened, he could still make you swoon.

You gasped at the sting, snatching your hand back cat-quick. Blood beaded on your finger and dripped down onto the freshly washed floor, an errant piece of broken glass sitting on the floor. It was a few seconds before he was gathering you up from off the floor and guiding you to one of the chairs.

“I’m okay, just a little cut.” He moved away for a moment, moving towards the back of the house. “Really, Frankie, I’m fine.” He came back with a few pieces of clean linen and a little jar of something clear; you can only imagine what it is.

“I know. I still want to clean and wrap it, though.” He set his things down, moving to the remaining boiled water on the stove to dampen one of the pieces of cloth, using it to clean the wound before opening the little jar. His eyes found yours then– ”You gonna be brave for me?” He held it over the cut, waiting for you to answer. “It’s going to hurt, but I know you’re gonna be good for me.” He winked and then splashed a little bit of the moonshine onto it. He may as well have stuck a hot poker into your hand. “There there, Blue, almost done.”

By the time the stinging abates, your finger is wrapped up, and any evidence of injury is gone.

“Thank you.” You held your hand close to your chest, ignoring the way it shook a bit.

“Of course, I think we’re done for today. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I would like for you to eat something.” He pulled out what looked like some crusty bread and some dry meat. “It’s not much, but it’s what I have for right now.” He set it down in front of you, giving you everything he had to offer, and for the first time in years, you smiled at him.

“Are you done with the windows?”

“Yes, I just need to get rid of these broken pieces.” He gestured to the pile on the counter.

“Okay, let's go back to my place. I can make us dinner.” You stood to move, and he followed you, protesting for a moment.

“But your hand–”

“My hand is fine. Let’s go.” You moved to pick up your things, but he stopped you, gently knocking your hand aside to carry them for you.

The stew came together as quickly as it could with the way your hand throbbed. The bread, too, and soon enough, you were both sitting at the table eating the steaming food quietly. He ate with gusto, and you wondered briefly if he’d been eating well in his time away. He looked strong, but then again, he’d always been broad.

He pushed his bowl away with a dreamy smile, his hands coming to rest on his belly.

“That was the best thing I’ve eaten since I left. Aside from the biscuits this morning, I mean.”

“I’m glad.” You finished eating as he sat there, enjoying his company far more than you’d ever admit. Once you were done, he grabbed your bowl and put it into the sink, pouring some of the leftover well water to begin cleaning up. “You don’t have to do that–”

“I know. You don’t have to feed me either. I’ll just clean these and then get out of your hair.” You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t convince him otherwise.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you, you’ve fed me better today than in the whole time I was gone.” You smiled to yourself, half exhilarated, half annoyed at just how much your anger at him had crumbled. “Okay-” He set the last plate on the drying rack before drying his hands, “-I desperately need a bath. I’ll get out of your way. See you tomorrow morning?”

“If you want.” You followed behind him, trying your hardest to keep the hope out of your voice.

“Of course, I want to see you tomorrow.” He moved in quickly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you had time to protest. “Goodnight Blue.” With a smile and a wink, he’s gone.

Weeks passed, and it could not be said that Francisco Morales wasn’t a persistent man. No matter how hard you tried to hang onto that anger, he excelled in chipping away at it. He was true to his word about working on building back the trust that had been lost, spending any time away from his work with Carson split between you, and working on his house.

He’d become quite the handyman in his time away, and he showcased that in the work he did in both his house and yours. He’d noticed your laundry line had broken and fixed it aggravatingly quickly. He spotted a few leaky spots in your roof and had them fixed at no cost to you, making you wonder just how much money he’d made while away. Aside from the windows and the cleaning you’d both done at his place, he’d replaced the more rundown furniture, and while it was missing some of the personal touches of his mother–it was definitely comfortable and livable once again.

The intense loneliness and craving for intimacy had also hit you full force with his return. You found yourself thinking back to how things had been when you’d been young and wildly in love with each other. How his mouth had always found yours, how he seemed to need to be close to you, his arm often around your shoulder, his hand always finding a way to clasp yours.

It was worse at night when other memories floated out of the isthmus of your mind, filling it with the visions of him above you, his tongue in your mouth, and his cock deep inside. You’d been young but eager to explore one another, and he had been nothing if not resourceful in finding any and all opportunities to get you out of your clothing. Now, the days were filled with new tortures, and you found yourself feeling jealous of the beads of sweat that rolled down his back, envious of the way his shirts seemed to hold him so tightly.

The way his eyes tracked you didn’t help the situation; they were just as wild, just as beautiful, and just as open and honest as they’d always been. His desire for you shining out at you through their honeyed gaze.

He’d been busy that morning, well and truly the sheriff now, and with that came more time away, giving you, in turn, more time alone. Or so you’d thought. The knock was loud, solid, and instantly, you knew it was him. You groaned, staring at the perfectly steaming water of the tub surrounding you.

“Not now, Frankie!” You called out to him from the back of the house–hoping for a moment he’d let you enjoy the sweet steam surrounding you. His knock came again, and you huffed, stepping out of the oasis and wrapping yourself up in your dressing gown. “Frankie, I’m kind of in the middle of something–” You opened the door to him, and instantly, his gaze raked over you, no doubt seeing the way the damp fabric clung to your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. The dumbstruck look on his face filled you with such satisfaction that you let him look his fill before moving your eyes to bring his attention back up. “Can I help you with something?”

“Uh–” He stumbled for a moment, his eyes moving back down to where the gown split, to where your leg and most of your thigh peeked through. “Um–I uh…”

“...You…?”

“Um…Sorry. I brought you a gift.” He shook his head for a minute before decidedly looking you in the eye. “I remember I took your copy; brought you a new one.” He held the book out to you, and for a moment, you forgot to be alluring.

“Jane Eyre?” You grabbed the book, opening it up quickly.

“I remember you reading it to me; thought maybe I could read it to you sometime.” His dimple shined, and you couldn’t help but leap into his arms.

“Oh, Frankie, I love it! I have been looking for a copy forever!” You pressed your face into his neck and relished how tightly he held onto you in return, relished the feeling of his nose buried in the crook of your neck.

“God, Blue, you smell good enough to eat.” His words, his voice, they ran down your spine like a drop of ice on a hot day, hardening your nipples and making you ache for him. You pulled away, biting your lip as you stared at his mouth.

“You could come in… and read to me?” He smiled and closed the door. “I was just in the bath. I could get in and cover myself with a cloth. You could read to me while I bathe.” He nodded slowly, gulping before following you, making sure to grab a chair on his way.

“Give me one minute to get in.” You closed the door, heart thumping at how the colour had gone out of his eyes, leaving them blown black. Within a few tense moments, you were back in the tub with the hangover of the lining cloth covering you under the milky, soapy water. “Okay–come in.”

He looked almost pained as he pulled up the chair beside you, his eyes once again greedy in their quest to map whatever part of you he could see, which admittedly is more than you planned to show him with how transparent the lining is.

“Shall I start at the beginning?” He flipped open the book, but his eyes were still locked on you.

“Yes, please.”

“Very well.” He took a deep breath, and began, his deep, soothing voice the perfect accompaniment to the steaming water.

“Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear November day–Oh, sorry, I already read that.” You smiled to yourself, enjoying the way he couldn’t seem to focus, the way he kept losing his place, and admittedly, it took everything in you not to pull him into the tub with you.

“That’s okay. Can you help me with this?” You offered him the soapy washcloth, “My back? It’s so hard to get it on my own.” You batted your eyes at him, smiling the smile he’d never been able to resist, hoping it still worked its magic on him.

“Let me rinse my hands first. I don’t want to muddy up this paradise.” He knocked the chair over in his haste to reach the washbasin you had on the counter. By the time he was finished and righting his seat, he had shed his topmost layers and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his biceps.

You leaned forward, giving him access to the skin of your back and sighing at the closeness of him when he pressed the soapy cloth to it.

“God, I missed you, Blue.” He rubbed at your shoulders slowly, his other hand slipping around to hold the top of your chest, just beneath the dip at the bottom of your throat. “Missed touching you, feeling you, kissing you.”

Your eyes closed, and you thought surely he must feel the way your heart raced just under your skin when his fingers curled softly around your neck.

“Been dying to kiss you for years.” You felt then how the cloth had been discarded, and his bare hand spanned the smooth skin of your back, massaging at your shoulders and the top of your spine. “You ever miss me like that?” His voice was a soft rasp now, lulling you up and back into his hand, letting the linen go and looking up into his eyes.

“Yes–I do, Frankie–all the time.” You bit your lip, staring at his mouth as he spoke.

“Can I kiss you?” He moved forward an inch, leaning in as his hands worked their spell against your skin.

“Yes-” You barely whispered the word before he pressed his mouth to yours softly. It was tender and oh so familiar, the way his lips moved against yours, his tongue seeking entrance and gaining it just like he’d done so many times before. Your kiss was a dance, the steps of which neither of you had ever forgotten. It ached, the way his mouth claimed yours, and you couldn’t help but lean into him, to reach up and hold onto him as he groaned into the kiss.

“I have been dreaming about this since I left–” He spoke between kisses, pressing them to your face, before licking into your mouth once more, “Can I touch you?”

You nodded, chasing his mouth again. His hand slipped down, slick with soap, and then he held onto your breast, kneading one and then the other, his thumb strumming against the sensitive buds while your cunt leaked for him. His eyes moved, watching himself touch you, his lip caught between his teeth,and all of a sudden, it was too much, and you move, pulling away and standing, naked as the day you were born.

“Take me to bed, Frankie.” He stared up at you from his place on the chair, and from the look on his face, you’d think he was looking at an angel. It didn’t last, though; within seconds, he was up and pulling you out of the tub, practically dragging you towards your bedroom.

Your breath came out in a huff when you landed on your back, smiling breathlessly at the look of pure hunger on his face. He chewed his lip as he pulled off his layers, going through them quick enough that you genuinely worried he’d rip them. The water that had clung to your skin from the bath, now seeped into the sheets underneath you as you watched him undress.

“I’m so fucking hard for you, Blue.” He kicked his denim off, tossing everything every which way, “So hard it hurts.” His cock bobbed as he finally crawled his way over to you, and it was then that you saw it, a significant scar on his side, like a starburst. Your hand reached out, and you pressed your fingers to it, looking into his eyes for an explanation.

He pulled your hand up and kissed the tips of your fingers, “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He continued his pilgrimage across your body, stopping only to kiss your sternum, your hip, and the soft skin of your belly. “I missed seeing you like this so much-“ he opened your legs, groaning at the way your cunt glistened for him. “-I missed how fucking wet you get, how good you taste-“ he barely finished speaking before he dove in, his tongue parting you further, gliding over your clit with desperation.

“I missed you-oh-“ his hands clutched at your thighs, pulling you closer to his mouth, pulling the strings of your arousal to pool for his tongue. “That feels so fucking good, Frankie—“ Your hands found the short crop of his hair, unsure of whether you wanted to pull him up or grind against him. He huffed a cocky laugh into your skin, doubling his efforts and tightening his grip on your thighs, his fingers indented into the skin. The steady glide of his tongue against your clit, up and down, up and down, has you falling over the edge of the cliff and your thighs clamping around his head.

It didn't stop him; his tongue kept moving, slower as you rode out your high. He bit at the plump of your inner thigh as you relaxed, smiling and shiny with your arousal.

“I missed that too.” He moved, pressing his lips to your belly again, moving up and licking a hot stripe between your breasts before slotting his hips between your legs. His skin was so warm, so welcome, that you couldn’t help but sigh and pull him close, your fingers curling into his hair.

“I wanted you to come back so badly-“ You covered every inch of his face in kisses, “Wanted you to stay with me, love me like this.” You licked into his mouth, tasting yourself in the kiss.

“I’m here, Honey, I’ll never leave you again-“ You can feel just how hard his cock is as it pressed into your belly, the two of you clinging to one another in the dying light of the day.

“Promise me, promise me you won’t leave me.” You reached down and wrapped your hand around the sizable heft of him, stroking slowly while positioning him at your entrance.

“Fuck-I promise baby, I promise you-“ His sentence ended in a filthy moan as you pulled him in with your heels, pressing into the meat of his ass, finally having him inside you again after everything.

You moaned at the way he filled you.

The last fifteen years melted away, the long stretch of loneliness feeling more and more like a dream with every deep stroke of his cock.

There were no more words, only whimpers from you and deep groans from him. There was the rhythmic rocking of your bed and the slick sounds of him moving between your legs. His hips snapped faster and faster as he chased his release, burying his face into the crook of your neck to feed all the delicious sounds he made directly into your ear.

“I’m so close, touch yourself—“ his voice sounded wrecked, moving his hips like a piston, his cock kissing that one spot only he ever found. You obey and reach down to swirl your fingers around your clit, rocketing yourself closer to another, more intense orgasm.

He moved his face down, holding onto your breast to suck on your nipple, and then the dam broke, and you clenched around him, moaning his name as you reached your peak.

“Fuck, that’s it, that’s so good, oh god—I’m gonna come-“ his hips sped up, the wet sounds of his thrusts louder after your second climax. You opened your legs wide, giving him space to move, but he stayed put.

“Frankie-“ You started to speak, trying to guide him to spill on your belly; still, he didn’t move. Instead, he pushed in deep, groaning loudly, and it was with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you felt him twitch inside.

You were frozen in place, momentarily shocked into silence.

“God—I’ve been dreaming of that for years.” He sounded drunk, pulling out of you with a hiss to take a good look at his handiwork.

“Francisco, did you just do what I think you did?” Your tone was devoid of any sweetness. “Did you just spill inside me?”

“Yes—“ he frowned, confusion colouring his face along with the flush of his exertion, “—I thought you’d forgiven me? We’re together again-“

“And me forgiving you means risking a baby?” You pulled away, wiggling out from under him to grab a linen shift from your drawer.

“Wait, Blue, come back.” He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, “I’m sorry I didn’t think. It just felt right.”

“Of course it felt right to you. You have no regard for how I might feel.” Your anger burned through you, where once there had been passion, it was now replaced with fear. A deep fear that the next time he decided to up and leave, it might not just be you waiting for him.

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart, that’s not true-“

“I’d like you to leave.” Hot tears flowed down your face at the thought of being pregnant with his child, and alone, waiting to see how long it took him to return the second time.

“Baby, please—don’t make me leave, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that—“

“Leave! I want to be alone. Please just–just go home.” You wiped at your eyes before crossing your arms, doing your absolute best to avoid his gaze. He sighed loudly, moving slowly to gather his things, stopping only to put on his pants and his shirt before tucking tail and heading home.

He’d fucking blown it.

By some miracle, he’d managed to get into her good books, his persistence and determination to show her just how madly in love with her he was–how in love with her he’d always been–weeks worth of it, and he’d messed up in a few minutes. A few glorious, amazing minutes.

He couldn’t help but groan in annoyance with himself every time he remembered it, the euphoria of being with her again, being inside her, of having her wet and needy and so eager for him only to get lost in it and risk a baby they hadn’t yet discussed. Hadn’t even really discussed getting married, not since he’d come back.

He didn’t even know why he’d thought it’d be okay. It had been purely instinctual but also irresponsible and disrespectful. It shamed him that he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop craving it. He ignored it, though, continued on with showing her his reliability and hoped she understood that she was all he wanted.

Sleep eluded you for days, refusing to find you until the blood came. It wasn’t much better when it finally did, though. There was the initial relief, of course, there would be no child born out of wedlock, and you would not be treated like a pariah, but where did that leave you? He apologized for it, constantly. He groveled, he begged for your time and for your love and forgiveness, and it was his. It was there–ready for him, but the fear hid it away.

No matter how consistent he’d been in his time back, no matter how much he’d assured and explained that he wasn’t going to leave, it still felt like there was a clock ticking somewhere you couldn’t see, counting down the seconds until you’d be alone again.

You tried to focus on other things, filling your days with organizing your home, with clearing out things that no longer served you, things that you had brought over from when your mother died and had actively ignored or hidden away until genuinely forgotten. There were old, moth-eaten rags that had once been her clothes, a few books, and an old hairbrush. Amongst her things, though, was a bundle of paper, a fat wad of it.

Confused, you pulled it apart and very quickly realized that they were letters and they were addressed to you. It was jarring to see your name in Frankie’s script and harrowing to realize that you’d had them the whole time without knowing.

With shaking hands, you opened them one by one, and by the third, the tears obscured your vision.

My Dearest Bluebell,

I know you must be angry with me, things aren’t moving as quickly as they should, but this changes nothing–I’m still coming home to you–

He talked about his time in the war, about how differently they did things where he was, and about how much money he was saving, but between all that was the same promise of return. It was everywhere, that–and his pleas for a response from you.

Please sweetheart, I need to hear from you, please let me know you’re okay, and that you don’t hate me–

You sobbed into them. The words were like wounds, the pain of being alone for so long is even sharper now than it had been before. He had been true to his word, writing letter after letter without a single word from you, and despite the pain of knowing that fact, you read every single one. The dates were consistent, every week, almost like clockwork, except for once–when there were a few months between two letters.

Bluebell, my love,

I am okay–but I was hurt. I barely remember what happened, but one minute I’m in the middle of it, fighting, and the next minute I was screaming and then blackness, until I woke up in a hospital. Nurse says I’m lucky to be alive and that I’m going to be okay–

It was too much, all of it, and despite the fact that it was late and he was most certainly asleep, you had to see him.

The moon followed you on your walk towards his house, lighting the path and keeping you company. There was a soft glow shining out from one of his windows, and it inspired hope, making it easier to knock on the door despite the hour.

There was movement on the other side of the door, his heavy footsteps padding across the old floorboards.

“Who’s there?” Suspicion threaded thickly through his words, and you couldn’t blame him; this was no hour for anyone to come calling.

“I need to talk to you. Can I come in?” Your voice was shaky, the tears had abated while you made your way over, but the worried look on his face when he opened the door threatened to let them flow once more.

“What’s the matter? What happened?” He was shirtless, holding his pistol at his side while he looked beyond you to inspect the horizon. “Come in, come in—“ He closed the door behind you, setting the pistol down with a frown. “What’s the matter, Blue? Why are you out at this hour?”

“I—“ you choked on the word, clutching at his letters, “Frankie, I found them, my mother—“ you sobbed out words, choking on them before he sighed.

“Oh Honey, please don’t cry.” He gathered you up, pulling you into the strong cage of his arms, and it was like the floodgates cracked open wide. One palm held the back of your head, and the other was wrapped around your waist. “You didn’t know, it’s okay.”

“I, I don’t even know what to say. I’m sorry,” your voice cracked with the agony of all of the lost years, “you wrote so many letters, and I never answered any of them, and you got hurt—oh god, you could have died!” It was hard to tell if you were screaming or sobbing anymore.

“Hey! Hey! Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” he rubbed your back, a soothing gesture, “Hey, stop, stop, take a deep breath, I’m fine. I survived. There was nothing you could have done. I know you would have written to me if you’d gotten my letters, if you knew.” He pressed his lips to your temple. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner. I shouldn’t have left without you.”

“I should have known she’d do something like this. I–” You pulled away to look up into his eyes, “I am so angry at her. She let you carry on, just hid them without a care–even though she knew I was heartbroken.” You brushed his hair back before hugging him again.

“She never did like me. It was pretty cruel of her to do that to both of us.” He was being much more gracious about it than he should have, a testament to his love for you that he didn’t want to bash your mother despite the damage she’d done.

“Miserable old bitch.” You had no qualms about calling her what she was.

“Forget about her. It’s okay now. Thankfully, we’re together again.” He grabbed his pistol and led you further into the house.

Your fingers drew the shapeless pattern onto the warm skin of his chest for what must have been the hundredth time since the both of you tumbled into his bed an hour ago. It was still pitch black outside, the only light being a candle on his bedside. The sun would creep in soon enough, though, and when it did, it would find the two of you clinging to one another.

“I hate that you went through this alone.” Your fingers migrated down to the starburst on the side of his lower stomach, tracing the edges of it softly.

“I’m lucky, I made a full recovery.” His voice was soft, “I saw others get much worse.”

“That doesn’t minimize this, Francisco, you could have died out there, and I never would have known.” You squeezed your eyes together for a moment, ignoring the implications, “Can you ever forgive me? For not writing?”

“Only if you can find it in you to forgive me for being away so long and for what happened.” He pulled your hand up, pressing your knuckles to his lips.

“You’re forgiven for everything.” You frowned, “We hadn’t discussed our future, everything was still so up in the air, and I was terrified to get pregnant. Not because I don’t want to have your children, I was just terrified you'd leave me again and then I'd be here, alone and with a baby.” His face fell, guilt swirling around his features. “That was before. I believe you when you say you won’t and that you’re here for good.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, then to his lips.

“I understand why that would have scared you. I shouldn’t have done it without permission, though. It was careless of me.” He pulled you closer, relishing in the contact just like he had in the early days. There was a beat, a comfortable silence, and it stretched on for a while, the two of you content to lay there until the stiffness of your dress pulled you away. He helped you take it off until you were in your simple shift, and then you took your place beside him once more.

“Francisco?” You murmured, wondering if he’d fallen asleep.

“Yes?”

“I never said, but I’m sorry about your parents.” He’d been gone for years when they passed.

“Me too.” He didn’t say more, and you didn’t press. “You should get some rest. Will you stay with me?”

“Yes, I don’t want to go.” He got up for a moment, pulling the rest of his layers off before blowing out the candle.

“Good, I didn’t want you to leave.” He slipped into the bed, pulling his sheet over the both of you before pulling you in close. “Goodnight, Honey.”

“Goodnight, Frankie.”

The sun shone bright enough to shoo the last vestiges of sleep away. It found you warm and comfortable under the comforting weight of his arm over your belly and his leg tangled with yours. He looked younger, asleep and you could almost see him just as he was when he’d left, fresh-faced and eager to see and do as much as he could. That fire for life and all it entailed, burning brightly in every expression.

Your thumb traced the line of his jaw first, sweeping up his chin to glide across his pursed lower lip. He twitched but didn’t wake, only tightened his grip on you. Your thumb slid up, following the curve of his nose, up to smooth across his brow.

He stirred again, humming softly before pressing closer still, burying his face into the crook of your neck and tickling you with his moustache.

“Is it morning already?” His voice was sleepy but laced with pure joy.

“Yes, it is. How did you sleep?” Your tone matched his, his joy was contagious, hope and happiness swirling in the air much like the dustmotes that danced in each shaft of light. Your hands had migrated down, fingers flitting across his broad back, relishing every inch, every errant freckle.

“Better than I have in years. How about you?” His lips made their own pilgrimage, from just below your ear, down the column of your neck, and down to your shoulder; each press of his lips widening the smile on yours.

“I slept really well. I forgot how warm you get when you sleep.” He laughed at this, good-hearted.

“Good, means you don’t need to wear this–” His hands slid under your shift, grabbing greedily at your thighs, then your backside.

“Very clever. Don’t you need to get up and go to work, Sheriff? Or am I under arrest?” There was no real bite behind your words.

“Hmm, I don’t know, are you? Are you here to confess to a crime? Aside from stealing my heart, that is.” You let out a bark of laughter, rising slightly to let him take the shift off of you despite the game.

“Is that what I’ve done? Stolen your heart?”

“Oh yes, years ago. First day you smiled at me, come to think of it.” He nodded sagely for a moment before pressing his lips to yours softly, making you both melt and drip for him.

“Well then, I guess I deserve my punishment.” You reached down, shimmying out of your underthings to bare yourself to him. He bit his lip before dipping low to lick at the stiff peak of your breast, soft as his kiss, before taking your nipple into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks. You moaned, watching him enraptured.

“I’ll be just and fair.” He smiled, after letting go with a pop, moving to the next one to give it the same treatment. Your fingers curled into his short crop while your thighs pressed together to alleviate the aching at your core. He sucked harder, frantically, and then there was the edge of pain when he bit softly, making you gasp for a second before he once again soothed with his tongue.

“God, woman, you make me crazy.” His eyes were wild for a moment before he claimed your mouth again, his tongue plundering without mercy.

“I want you, Frankie–give it to me.” You reached down to grasp him in hand, but he moved away, denying you.

“I want to make you feel good. Let me taste you again.” He moved down, his lips mapping a course down to where you wanted him most.

“I want you, though, Frankie, want you to make me sore. You can use your mouth later.” You held your arms out to him, and although he stared at your mound with hunger, he obeyed.

You spread your legs for him, and he slots his hips, pulling your legs high onto his thighs for a moment before sheathing himself in you with one brutal, delicious stroke.

“God, Frankie, you’re splitting me open.” You moaned the words into his ear, and his head dropped into your neck, groaning at your words.

You reach down to hold onto his ass, grabbing onto it as he thrusts.

“You want me like this? Or you want me on my knees like you used to like?” You whispered, and he moaned, his hips stuttering for a moment before pulling out. It was the only answer you needed before you moved to get into position, presenting yourself to him.

His thighs pressed against the backs of yours, his hand landing heavy on one ass cheek before he entered you from behind. He felt deeper this way, hitting something otherworldly with each press.

“That’s my girl, you gonna take my big dick Honey?” You moaned into your forearm, arousal burning bright as a coal in the pit of your belly from his words, from the slick sounds of your joining, from the way your nipples grazed against his bedding.

He bent forward, pulling at your arms to hold them behind your back, and once he did, his efforts doubled. He was a piston, ramming into you hard enough to make your breasts bounce, hard enough to make you scream for him.

He moved you again, pulling you up to meet the solid wall of his chest, his chin hooking over your shoulder, one hand holding onto your breast, the other sliding down to swirl around your clit, shoving you headlong into a blinding climax.

“That’s it, baby, God, I can feel you squeezing my cock. Where do you want me to come? Can I come on your ass?” His words sounded frantic, and you nodded, barely whispering the words.

“Yes, Frankie–” He let you go, and you pressed your face into the mattress once more, spreading your legs a little wider before you felt him pull out, feeling the way his hand grabbed and spread you open while the other one pumped between your legs. You felt the hot spurt of him on the cheeks of your ass and the small of your back just as you heard the filthy groan he let out.

You both caught your breath for a moment, riding the wave of release before he moved and within a few minutes, he passed a cool, wet cloth across your skin, cleaning his mess off before discarding it and falling into bed beside you.

There was sweat on his brow, there was sweat on yours, too, but it didn’t matter, the euphoria was rich and sweet as fresh cider.

“I missed you so much, Frankie.” You turned to face him fully, the two of you naked and comfortable.

“I missed you too, Honey.” He pulled you close, wrapping you up in his arms, where you belonged.

–

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