#My words danced like fireflies in the darkness

[suparhythm]

A Tapestry of Dreams: A Wanderer's Tale of Beauty Across Worlds

Hark, gentle listener, and lend thine ear to a tale of love and wonder, a tale that spans the ages and traverses the realms of dreams. I am but a humble wanderer, a traveler through time and space, a witness to the ephemeral beauty that dances between the stars. My journey began in a world of ethereal hues, where the skies were painted with strokes of lavender and gold, and the air hummed with…

[jobean12-blog]

Claimed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Mob/Mafia AU)-Bookshop setting

Word Count: 3,513

Summary: Bucky has had his eyes on you for a long time and when he finally makes a move to claim you he's delighted at how easily you fall into his waiting arms.

Author's Note: Seb's new looks have just been so yummy, especially him in a bow tie. I LOVE! The look in the pic below is the end result of the story🫠It isn't really focused too much on his mob status but it's there and I couldn't resist a little bookshop AU in there too! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: flirting, tension, Bucky is pretty forward/dom and doesn't mince words- he goes for what he wants-light d-irty talk, fing-er-ing, o-ral (f rec), but he's sweet too :)

Your steps are slow and easy as you stroll through the aisle, perusing the titles and letting your fingers delicately slide across the bindings.

When you find one of interest you pull it from the shelf and before you read even one word you press the aged pages to your nose and inhale deeply.

The sound of a light chuckle pulls you from your aromatic reverie and you look up with a start, catching a man watching you with a lopsided smirk.

He nods a hello before disappearing down the next aisle. You stare at the space he just vacated and feel your skin heat.

Was he really that handsome or are you still recovering from the exquisite smell of the pages of the book? Only one way to find out.

With quiet movements you slip past the end of the fiction section and turn the corner, peeking around the next bookshelf. All you see is a young woman searching through the books.

Denying your disappointment you continue down the aisle but slow when you feel the weight of eyes at your back. Instead of turning around and looking too obvious you quickly glance over your shoulder and see the mystery man once again watching you.

He looks even more handsome than he did two minutes ago.

You almost walk into the woman who’s browsing and give her a startled apology before rushing off to hide in the rare book section.

Letting out a rush of breath you clutch a book to your chest and refocus on your surroundings.

“This is my favorite section.”

You spin on a gasp and blink.

“Excuse me?” you say quietly.

“This section,” he says again, “it’s my favorite. I love old books.”

“Oh,” you answer, backing away as he steps closer.

He stops advancing and looks at the shelf, studying the bindings until he finds one that interests him.

“Mine too,” you concede softly. “And they smell amazing.”

“As good as the books in the fiction section?” he asks, eyes dancing with amusement.

You let out a light huff of laughter, feeling warm embarrassment creep over your skin.

“Better,” you finally answer.

“I’d have to agree with you there,” he says before lifting the book he holds to his face and inhaling.

You can’t stop your small intake of air as you watch him savor the smell of the pages.

“So, do you come here often?” he asks, casting his gaze down to the words.

You let his question hang in the air as you take a moment to really look him over. His soft sweater does nothing to hide his broad shoulders and powerful build and his dark hair and beard frame a beautifully sculpted jaw.

Then he lifts his eyes, directing his steady gaze on you, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Um…I do. It’s my favorite book store. I can’t afford any of these books,” you say as you motion to the titles nearby, “but no one seems to mind that I come and spend the afternoon reading them.”

“I don’t see why anyone would,” he replies.

He places the book back on the shelf and slides his hands into his pants pockets, attempting another step closer.

This time you don’t move away and he smiles.

“I have quite the collection myself,” he informs you. “You should come see it.”

“Are you a collector?” you ask.

“Something like that doll.”

You school your features at the sound of the endearment falling from his perfect lips and smile.

He extends his hand.

“James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

“Hi Bucky.”

You give him your name and he takes your hand in his, bringing it to his mouth and lightly brushing his lips across your knuckles before kissing them.

As you stare at him through your lashes his lips linger and he seems unwilling to let go of your hand.

“I mean it you know. You’re welcome to come see my collection…anytime.”

He slowly releases your hand with a wink then turns on his heel toward the doorway.

“But…,” you start, not even sure why you’re calling after him to ask your next question, “how will I find you?”

He turns to face you, his eyes set with determination, and says, “don’t worry doll face. We’ll be seeing each other again very soon.”

With those parting words he vanishes into the maze of books, leaving you caught between feeling frazzled and turned on.

After several days of warm sunshine it finally ends in a wash of chilly rain and wind. But you’re warm and cozy in the back of the bookshop, curled up on one of the old leather chairs by the window, reading by the soft light of an antique tiffany lamp.

You’re so engrossed in your book that it takes you several minutes to recognize the familiar feeling of his stare and when you look up you find Bucky leaning against a nearby bookshelf, his arms crossed, watching you.

He looks just as good as he did the last time you saw him and you realize you’re staring back.

“Hey,” you whisper, clearing your throat.

“You must really be enjoying that book,” he says, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“I am. Have you read it?”

“Not this one,” he says as he steps closer and reads the title.

His nearness draws all of your attention from the book and for the first time you take notice of the small patches of gray hair that line his beard.

“It’s worth a read,” you tell him when your eyes meet his again.

“I’ll definitely check it out doll. I’m currently reading the first edition of ‘The Canterbury Tales’ by Geo…”

“Geoffery Chaucer,” you finish in a rushed breath. “Oh my god. You have a first edition!?”

Your eyes go wide with shock as you silently contemplate how much money that must have cost him.

“But…but…”

“I told you doll face, the old and rare books are my favorite.”

“I haven’t read that one yet but it’s on my list.”

“Well you’re welcome to my copy when I’m done,” he says, smiling widely when your mouth opens in shock. “But I have to warn you that when it comes to such treasures I’m a slow reader. There are some things I like to take my time with.”

As the last sentence leaves his mouth he unabashedly lets his eyes sweep over you. When your head dips to your book under his obvious perusal he presses his fingers under your chin to lift your gaze.

“Can I get you a coffee?”

“A coffee?” you repeat, all rational thought leaving your brain at the feel of his touch.

“They just put a fresh pot on up front.”

“Oh, right. That would be great thank you, let me just get my wallet.”

“No doll. I’ll pay.”

“Well, I don’t mind at all…”

“And I do,” he says definitively. “I offered and I’ll pay.”

“Thanks,” you whisper.

When he returns with two steaming cups of coffee you sigh in contentment.

“Are you always this much of a gentleman to the women you meet in bookshops?”

You ask the question with a playful smile but when his expression doesn’t match yours you instantly regret opening your mouth, your smile wavering.

“Despite my offering, I’m having a very difficult time remembering to be a gentleman around you doll.”

“Well maybe I shouldn’t be accepting this coffee then.”

Even though your voice is little more than a whisper you make no move to give him back the drink and instead you lean in closer.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” he murmurs.

Your breathing accelerates before you take a slow sip of the coffee.

“And maybe I like the coffee too much to give it back.”

“I just warned you that I’m having a difficult time being a gentleman. Are you provoking me doll?”

Your tongue darts out to trace the outline of your lips, the taste of coffee still lingering. “Is that what I’m doing?”

His eyes track the movement and he rubs the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip, looking pleased when you inhale sharply but don’t pull away.

“Let me be clear here doll, since it seems like you enjoy playing this little game with me. I want you underneath me in my bed. I want to be buried so deep inside you that you’ll feel me for days. And I want to mark you so every other man who walks this Earth knows you’re mine.”

Your eyes widen with every word he utters and you feel goosebumps crawl over your skin when he tilts his head and moves closer until his warm breath fans your cheek.

“I just want to be up-front with you. Enjoy the coffee.”

He forces himself away, removing his hand and stepping back. And once again leaves with nothing more that the sound of his retreating footsteps.

Life keeps you busy for the next two days but Bucky’s words are ever present, practically burned into your skin. So when you step back into the bookshop on Saturday evening you take solace in the familiar smells and sounds.

You wave hello to the barista and cashier, noticing their slight mischievous smiles as you pass by. You’re about to ask them what’s going on but then you see him and you know. Even among the shelves of beautiful books and warm lighting he stands out, his eyes boring into you.

The way he stands exudes a quiet confidence and a slow roll of heat eases it’s way through you when his unwavering stare moves over every inch of you.

Lifting your chin you hold his gaze and take your time getting your own eyeful. His button-down shirt is fitted just right with the top buttons open to reveal a gold chain and his long legs are clad in dark jeans.

He looks dangerous and sexy. And pissed.

You move toward him undeterred until you’re close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

“Are you here to give me more warnings?” you ask.

He keeps his gaze locked on you and licks his lips.

“No. I think I was perfectly clear the first-time doll.”

“Is something bothering you, Bucky?”

“Where have you been?”

You would laugh at his nonresponse if your irritation weren’t growing hotter by the second.

“I’ve been busy. You know…work, errands…life.”

“I’ve missed you.”

You’re taken aback by his blunt and unexpected answer and can’t find the words to respond.

“I was afraid you didn’t want to see me again after what I said.”

You think back on his words for only the millionth time since he said them. An involuntary shiver runs down your spine at the memory.

“Did you get me a coffee today?”

His eyes light up in victory before he reaches behind him and hands you a cup, the drink prepared just how you like it.

For the next couple of hours the two of you browse the bookshop, spending the majority of your time in the rare section pouring over the titles in excitement and awe. You ask about his work and how he gathered his collection of rare books. He’s vague but polite with his answers, focusing most of his attention on you.

While you do most of the talking Bucky listens contentedly and intently, his constant regard slowly building and burning a hole through your enthused focus.

After a bit, it’s difficult to concentrate on anything else but him and you start to become more aware of how your body shifts closer to his, shoulders pressed together, heads close and your hand reaching out to graze his bicep.

Finally, the bookshop employees begin to let customers know they are going to close. You reluctantly put your current read back on the shelf and turn to Bucky.

“Guess it’s time to go,” you say quietly.

“I’ll drive you home doll.”

“No, no. That’s ok. I can take the train.”

“I insist,” he answers, stepping into your space and crowding you against the shelf.

“Ok,” you breathe out. “Thanks.”

His eyes drop to your lips and his hands hover at your waist, his fingertips just brushing the fabric of your shirt when the barista comes by and ushers you out.

With a release of breath you skirt past Bucky and grab your bag, heading for the exit.

Wordlessly, he holds the door of his car open for you, allowing you minimal space to edge by him into the passenger seat.

He breaks the silence with the same question floating around in your own head.

“Am I taking to you home or are you coming to my place to see my collection of books.”

“It’s late but…”

“But?”

“I would love to see them.”

“But you’re still thinking about what I said the other day, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

When you don’t say anything more or give him your address he drives in the opposite direction of your apartment. You contemplate your sanity the whole ride there but you’re too far gone to even want to tell him to turn around and bring you home.

His brownstone is gorgeous. Everything from the ornate edifice of the building to the classic tile in foyer exudes luxury and when you step inside the actual space you have to cover your mouth to stop any sound from escaping.

“I’m glad you like it doll,” he says from behind you, his chest brushing your back.

His lips meet the shell of your ear in a whisper. “I can give you a tour if you like or I can give you what you really want first.”

You turn to face him, his gravelly tone bringing several other things into focus. His cheeks are lightly flushed and his breathing has roughened. You sway closer and he runs his finger along your arm.

“The books…?” you question weakly.

“They’re not going anywhere,” he assures you as his fingertips trace your jaw.

“You don’t even have my phone number,” you continue. “We haven’t even been on a date yet!”

He starts to walk, pushing you slowly backward until you enter another room. Without taking his eyes off you he flicks a switch on the wall and the space is bathed in a soft glow, illuminating the ceiling high shelves of dark wood that line every wall. Every space is filled with books.

Your eyes wander for mere seconds before he grabs your chin and directs your gaze back to his.

“I think our bookshop encounters can be considered dates, don’t you?” he says softly.

Just before your back hits one of the shelves his large hand cradles your body, gently pressing you into the books. He leans closer, moving his hands to rest on either side of your head.

“Maybe…”

“Do you ever have an answer other than ‘maybe’?” he asks.

Your lips part to speak but he stops you with the brush of his mouth. “Don’t. Say. Maybe.”

Even though your last two meetings were charged with tension, this is the first time he’s really touching you and it sends shock waves through your entire body.

You breathe out a strangled ‘yes’ and arch into him, inviting more of his touch.

His mouth comes down on yours hard and hungry and the initial contact steals your breath. When you slide your hands over his chest and up to his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin, he groans and pushes you against the shelf.

You break contact with his mouth, gasping at the hardness pressing against your stomach.

“I’ve been like this since the moment I saw you,” he growls. “Do you know what that’s been like?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer as his mouth moves to your neck and sucks the sensitive spot underneath your ear, causing you to whimper his name.

Your head rolls to the side, begging for more and you let out a sound of frustration when he rocks his hips and keeps his mouth hovering along your skin.

“Is this what you want?” he murmurs with another grind of his hips.

Your fingers slide into his hair, raking through the soft strands as your breath catches on a gasp.

“Answer me, doll,” he demands.

“Yes. Yes Bucky. I want it.”

His hands leave your body and grip the edge of the shelf behind you. He dips his head, trailing kisses upward along your neck until he meets your earlobe, growling low.

“You’re going to spread these pretty legs for me doll and I’m going to bury my face between them.”

His tone warns you not to protest and with a strangled breath you do as you’re told, your head thumping back against the books when he slides his hand down your stomach.

“Eyes on me doll.”

You look down as he slips his hand inside your leggings, slowly peeling them, along with your panties down to your ankles.

He finds your swollen clit and circles it with teasing strokes, giving you one last hard look before his tongue flattens and he tastes you from top to bottom.

You’re already so close and when he pushes a finger inside you your eyes start to glaze over, your hips rocking rhythmically onto his hand and face.

When he pushes a second finger inside you it sends you over the edge, his tongue working you until your legs are shaking and you’re chanting his name.

“Fuck doll. You coming apart for me is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You start to slump forward, your breathing still ragged and he runs a soft hand along your hip, holding you steady and biting gently into your skin with his fingers.

“I’m going to make you come over and over again,” he whispers as he stands and takes you in his arms, his lips caressing the shell of your ear. “With my fingers, my mouth, my cock.”

“Yes. Please,” you whimper.

He presses closer, his lips teasing along your jaw until your eyes meet. “But first we’re going to have a proper date.”

Your lips part with your objection and you’re ready to beg him for more but he presses a finger to your lips, smiling when you instantly quiet.

“If I get inside you now I’ll never be able to leave and I don’t have enough time tonight to worship you. I have business to deal with.”

 Your eyes drop to his mouth and your fingers climb up his chest.

“Ok,” you say, still breathless.

“You’re going to be my date for an auction event I have to attend tomorrow night…and then afterwards we’ll have the rest of the night. And the next morning…all day. You’ll be all mine.”

You nod, unable to find your voice again but squirm against him in desperation, your body still craving more.

“Sweet fucking hell, doll,” he hisses. “Don’t make me rush this.”

He grabs your waist so you stop moving, his eyes wandering over your face before he captures your lips in a kiss.

When he releases your mouth the set of his jaw is rigid and his fingers dig deeper into your skin.

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs. “Be ready by five.”

You stare at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your hands over your dress for the tenth time. Before leaving Bucky’s apartment you had exchanged numbers and several more kisses then he walked you to your door, wasting no time reminding you of his promises for tonight.

Your pulse quickens as his words threaten to consume you and you wonder how you’ll ever make it through the next few hours without throwing yourself at him. His touch was like nothing else you’d experienced. Not one of his movements were wasted and his objective was clear. He was going to absolutely ruin you. And you were ready.

The light knock on your door startles you but you check the clock and see he’s right on time.

“You’re punctual,” you say as you open the door.

He looks amazing and have to bite your lip to stop your satisfied moan.

“And you’re fucking stunning,” he says as his eyes rake over every inch of you.

He continues staring and steps inside.

“Do you plan on looking at me like that all night?” you ask.

“Like what?” he replies as he reaches out for you.

“Like you need to devour me.”

“It’s all I want,” he growls, sliding his hand along the curve of your back to bring you closer.

“Do we really need to go to this auction?” you purr against his lips.

His fingers splay against your back and he brushes his nose to yours. “I do doll face, but if you need my hand between your legs first, all you have to do is ask me.”

Before you can form the words for a weak protest, his hand dips between your bodies and starts to lift the hem of your dress.

“Say it doll. I want to hear you say the words."

“Please Bucky,” you gasp. “Give me your fingers. I need your fingers.”

 @randomfandompenguin @hiddles-rose @lizette50 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @littleseasiren @goldylions @kmc1989

[plutolovesyou]

heh.. okay, so you asked for different.. rubs hands together villaniously as i materialize from the bottomless shadows..

sub!vampire!ellie biting/bloodsucking denial.. reminding her how much of a good girl she needs to be even when your wrist is practically just brushing past her lips to cradle her face.. or when the weakest bead of blood is pricked from your finger.. flaunting it.. teasing.. goddess bless throw in whatever else you see fit freakmaster

TEMPTATION WAITS

before you read! ▪︎ my masterlist ☆: co-president...this is absolutely divine...shoulda seen the way i dropped everything for this im literally #TWEAKING. new fav thing i've ever written methinks. title song. (vibes aren't there but the title was too good.) ps: if you spot any typos i wrote this with one hand. KIDDING...or am i? divider creds—cafekitsune. ◇: not outright smut, but still suggestive!! and nsfw is described. fluffy end bc i think she earned it, lore sprinkled in because why nawt it's interesting, finger sucking (e! receiving), this is maybe a lil ooc idrc, she's described as looking quite ill in her vampiric form + begs like her century long life depends on it fr, (but also has a bit of an attitude, it issss ellie after all), mean!r, talk of blood/previous bite wounds. ++ 3.3k wc. doesn't need to be that long but atp? take it or leave it LOLL. filing under "oneshots" bc it's way more than usual reqs hehe.

“Please, baby. Just one taste. I'll do anything.” Desperate, shaky pleas spilled from Ellie, her voice noticeably tired from the effort. She's been at this for what felt like forever now, and you were getting tired of ignoring her. Or rather, a little bored.

She was kneeling on the wooden floor by your bed, fisting the creased sheets, trying to capture your attention. The shimmering moonlight was dancing on her features as if it was a sparkle of fireflies, making her oddly colored eyes appear to glow, and highlighting her sickly appearance.

In her vampiric form, her skin was tinted a ghostly—even chalky—white, barely a smidgen of blush dancing on the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes shifted from their original grassy green to a peculiar duochrome blend of emerald and ruby. She really looked unwell, but you knew it was merely a product of circumstance, her gloomy fate.

Ellie donned somber dark circles around her eyes, her lips withered, pale, and thin as a piece of tissue paper. Just behind them though, rested two deadly weapons of her very own—sizeable, razor-sharp, gleaming ivory canines reflecting the scarce lighting as if they were made of mirrored glass.

For the first time tonight, you met her gaze, assuming an unbreakable poker face. Her keen sight could pick out the most subtle of twitches, so you learned to defeat that. The moment you met her line of sight she perked up, her eyes widening in glee, you had finally acknowledged her existence after so long.

Scooting forward you placed yourself right in front of her still kneeling form, sitting so she was in between your legs, but she wasn't allowed to touch you until you said so. What torture.

She began again, “Can I do something to make you change your mind? I'll do anything. Anything in the world. I'll make you feel re-really good, and then I won't ask again…ever even, if that's what you want. Just please let me…I'm so thirsty.” She was rambling a million miles a minute, slurring her words and cutting herself off with hiccups, stuttering like was having a nervous breakdown.

Her chest heaving up and down was visible to you despite the dim surroundings, and you could just make out her facial expression—a pained grimace, as if she was experiencing all of humanity's greatest suffering. When you didn't reply but stayed observing her blankly, she sighed and hung her head in shame, you almost felt bad. Almost.

You extend a hand, twirling a strand of her hair—previously silky and vibrant, now as lifeless and dull as charred hay—and you feel her relax under your touch. You continue raking your fingers through her locks, scratching her scalp with your nails, and you hear her exhale forcefully. She's likely overwhelmed by your scent—it's invigorating, fresh, and full of life.

“Have you been good?” You pipe up with a voice colder than ice, softly caressing the flesh of her tense cheek, and letting your fingertips travel to the underside of her chin. You gently tilt her head up, noticing the way her eyelids flutter to a close. She's soaking up the heat radiating off of you, making sure to feel the sensations of your skin brush against hers as much as she can, commit them to memory for when she's apart from you.

Her lips part, allowing for hushed, woeful whimpers to pour out, and she instinctively bites her bottom lip to quiet herself. Only she forgets about the powerful daggers in her mouth, and almost pierces right through her own skin.

Taking notice, you tut at her, warning clicks of your tongue bouncing off the room’s walls, contrasting the dead of night’s eerie silence. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You push the pad of your thumb down on the plush of her lip, angling her jaw side to side, examining those killer gnashers she's got.

“You could hurt yourself with these y'know, be careful.” Her eyelids flicker open, she's staring up at you with the biggest doe eyes she could muster, somehow all while maintaining such a strong glare you feel as if she's trying to challenge you.

“I'll decide if you can have some, as long as you're good, and you let me have some fun first. Alright?” You explain in a neutral tone, earning a cute “mhm” of confirmation from the undead being before you. “Good girl.”

You slowly slip your thumb into her mouth, avoiding her fangs at all costs, and you let her wrap her slippery tongue around your digit, watching how her cheeks hollow and her eyes roll ever so slightly while she sucks, moaning as she takes in your taste—nothing more than just skin.

You chuckle at her desperation, revel in the power dynamic you have created. “Mmm, you taste so good, so sweet.” She mumbles, swirling her tongue around your thumb, coating the entirety of it in her spit. You allow it for now, but soon enough, to no surprise, she slyly tries to shift to the side in preparation to slice you and get her treat.

You sharply retract your hands from her, removing your finger from her mouth with a pop, disappointed by her greed, her audacity. She turns to the side and pouts, huffing and rolling her eyes with more attitude than a moody teen. “What did I say?” You calmly hiss at her. She whispers, almost inaudibly, “Sorry…taste so good, can't help m’self.” Her voice wavered, and the moonlight illuminated the faintest tinge of red across her features, it was nearly invisible.

But you could tell exactly what was up. She shifts uncomfortably in her spot, grunting with laughable, pitiful attempts to rub her thighs together, fingers toying with the cloth of her pants, putting her frustration on full display. You looked at her struggle, unable to contain your grin.

It was a different kind of high, seeing such a feared and fabled beast kneel before you in such a pathetic manner, but it turned you on like nothing else. It was also evident she enjoyed it as well, no matter how much she didn't want you to be aware of the fact. The extent to which she worships you and handles your body, the way she was willing to beg and let you order her around showed just how much you meant to her—it was beautiful in its own way, how devoted she was to you. You were her person.

The fact she couldn't stifle her desire anymore after all this time suggested a shift in the atmosphere of your wicked games, the tension in the air was getting impossibly thicker, and you were loving every second of it.

Ellie, you've got a short memory.” You tease, then gesture to the gauze wrapped around your forearm, protecting two puncture wounds left by none other than her just the previous night. She looks at it and cocks an eyebrow, grouching, “Yeah, I see that, what about it?” The husky edge to her voice had returned, the defiant attitude you loved to crack was back in full force.

“Hundreds of years old, you even have memories of wars, and you can't remember what happened, like, 24 hours ago? Wow…” Your voice is so patronizing, it's unpleasant and abrasive on the ears, even your own. She shrugs her shoulders, still kneeling on the cold, hard ground at your mercy. “Well let's have a refresher then, shall we?” Tearing the tan-colored bandage apart with a single rip, you reveal the puncture marks—they were still wet and irritated, the wounds reopening immediately at the slightest movement.

Ellie whines like an animal, a crude “ahh”, and she starts pleading harder than ever. “Please, baby, my pretty, my angel, please, please, pleasepleaseplease, just lemme have a drop, just one. That's all, I swear.” Her gaze darkens exponentially, if you didn't know her it would instill fear in your heart, but luckily you were well aware of all her tricks. She snarls, “Fuck you. I'm literally on my fucking knees right now. Why are you doing this?” Her voice breaks angrily, wobbling with great lust and need—the need to have you, the need to drink you and fondle you and taste you in all senses of the word, and at this point she didn't seem to care about preserving a morsel of her dignity, she was simply so drunk on you, you couldn't believe.

You reiterate the previously established explanation, “We have an agreement that says you're allowed to take my blood once a month, so you can have some more each time. Rather than taking a little bit but more often, you requested this yourself. And you already drank lots yesterday. Does that not ring a bell?”

She groans, a gravelly, guttural sound that had you coming back to your senses and realizing, this was technically, a monster who you loved so dearly.

It led you to wonder—to her kind, what was so special about the liquid coursing through your veins?

When you split your lip open as a kid, clumsily tumbling face-first onto the asphalt, or bit your tongue while eating something stubborn, the strange, metallic taste was purely disgusting. It had a certain heaviness to it, both physically with the way it sat in your mouth, but also mentally. Like a subconscious awareness you were not meant to consume it like she does, but to spit it out the millisecond it made contact with your taste buds. There were times where the thought made you queasy, the measly knowledge of just how much of this fluid was inside you, keeping you alive.

But to her, it was a completely different story. She lapped it up with such fervor, such thirst you've never seen before. A sloppy frenzy like there wasn't a single thing more delightfully flavorful.

Her teeth penetrating all the way through your epidermis, dermis, and hypodermis, and straight through the vein wall was a feeling you're likely never going to get used to. It stung, it really did, and you were quick to get all woozy from the blood volume loss, but Ellie knew your limits—even though hers were not even close. Her thirst was insatiable.

The intimacy of the act was a whole separate topic to think about too. It was such an erotic experience, and when probed about it she argues it's better than sex, somehow. When she drinks from you, Ellie is really messy with it, you noticed. Blood dribbles down her chin and stains her lips as if it's a designer lip oil, the distinct deep maroon color sometimes appearing clownish and too intense against her fair complexion.

She was really handsy as well, and you weren't sure if it was purposeful, but you didn't care to ask because you didn't really mind in the first place. It felt nice. Her muscular hands tend to trace your waist as she's suckling, hovering by your ass, and traveling north to knead the supple tissue of your breasts.

And how could you forget about the sheer proximity of it all, even when having sex normally, it didn't feel nearly as intimate or vulnerable as this. Her body would be tightly curled around yours, she couldn't bear to have one meager square inch of her not touching you.

When she drank from your neck, it was bordering on heavenly, you had to be honest with yourself. There was something about the combination of the light headed, dizzying feeling it brought you, her closeness, the licking sensations, and the hungry sounds she produced that all together mixed to form nothing short of a mind blowing, intoxicating concoction.

When you both were feeling it, she'd be able to draw breathy moans to fall from your lips, and would giggle into your skin before sucking harder, leaving bruised marks surrounding the punctures. You read in some folklore that vampires carried a sort of aphrodisiac in their fangs, or was it their saliva? Again, you didn't really know all the details, but the sessions made you both yearn for each other in a way that felt taboo to discuss—midnight feedings often turning into animalistic fucking, sometimes even simultaneously.

Like having Ellie latched onto the side of your neck while she grinds her dripping pussy onto yours, her pleasureful mewls filling your ears, or having her hold your wrist to her mouth while her other hand is pleasuring you into oblivion, prodding against your spongy walls, making your head spin.

The time you spent lost in thought, she had broken the rule of not touching you unless you said so, but all she had done was rest her head on your knee, zoning out, sulking like an injured puppy. Unfortunately for her, you weren't done torturing her just yet. You didn't move her off of you, she was just laying there, grumbling curses under her breath, saying how mean you were, how much she despised you and everything you stood for, although both of you knew the truth—she had said herself, “I've never tasted blood like yours,” and you felt intrinsically bound to her on a subconscious level, these were mere amusements you indulged in, that ended up beneficial for both.

She got her delicious elixir of life, at the cost of you having your way with her for a bit. You hear her sniffle, the little defenseless sound of defeat was able to break your act.

You resume stroking her hair, and she wraps trembling arms around your thigh. “Hmm?” You coo, putting on a sweet facade. “Don't talk to me like that, c'mon man.” She wails, the attempts to regain control over her voice proving unsuccessful.

You took your nails to the newly formed raspberry scabs on top of your bite wounds and picked them off, and she lunges to grab your arm with inhuman reflexes, but once again you emerge on top, having spent so much time memorizing every last one of her behavioral patterns, so much so you knew exactly how she was going to attempt catching you and moved out the way without thinking about it.

“Too slow, you've gotten predictable.” You ridicule her, embellishing your voice with the most fake, sickly sweet tone you could just to irritate her as much as you possibly could. Ellie lays her head on your thigh, sighing. It's like she's given everything up. Her own patience was running out, potentially entering unpredictable territory now.

You squeeze the sides of the hole in your skin to coax a bubble of bright red blood to ooze out, marveling, “It's such a nice color, I see why you like it so much.” You talk to her coolly, ignoring her tearful, yet terrifyingly rage-filled glares, her massive fangs bared as if you were a prey animal she caught herself and was preparing to rip apart.

“Want a taste, Ellie? Have you earned it?” You think out loud, comically tapping your chin to exaggerate the brainstorming act. “Whatever, it's not like I have anything left to say to you.” She sounded heartbroken, you've never seen someone have such sorrow, the sheer misery behind her eyes actually caught you off guard.

"Okay I think you have earned it, just need you to say one more thing.” She nods, a little too quickly, rushing to catch any tears that were planning an escape route down the sides of her pretty face. You cradle her cheek, brushing your thumb against her skin, “Aw, baby, don't cry.” This time however, your tone is sincere.

She doesn't wait for your request, and starts all over again, this is getting old. “I promise everything. I'll make you feel so good, I'll give you whatever you want, please …you're too sweet.” She huffs, “Well, except when you're not.”

She continues mumbling, burying her face in the meat of your thigh, occasionally stopping to lovingly peck where she was laying, quiet smooching sounds. That really melted your heart, you were ready to give her what she needs after so much cruelty. This went on much longer than you had planned, but you were having fun with it. So you decided to abandon whatever you would ask of her. But could anyone blame you?

She slowly reaches for your wounded arm, gauging your reactions, like in the situation you were planning to do something to prevent her, but you come up with a better idea. “I'll do you one even better, Els.” The grin that envelops her face could light up a thousand suns, and melt the coldest of souls. Make vampire hunters quit their careers even, that's how adorable she could be, on the occasion.

You lean back to take your shirt off in one swift motion, and lay back on the edge of the bed, tilting your neck to give her access to the sweet pulsating spot, finding the droplet of drool that falls from her agape mouth utterly hilarious. “Go ahead, I've had my fun.” She hesitates. “But our agreement, I don't wanna hurt you.” “Ellie it's fine, unless you don't want t-” “No I do I do, oh thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you so muchhhh.”

Her gratitude is silly, she's straddling you and kissing all over your neck, face, and collarbones with such care, and you inhale sharply once you feel the familiar sensation of her teeth piercing your sensitive skin.

She has one hand on the nape of your neck, holding you close to her so you couldn't move away, and the other one finds your fingers to intertwine with hers, loud gulping noises filling the room as she messily laps up all that flows from you.

Her bony hips are sat atop your pelvis, and soon enough you feel her start absentmindedly rocking back and forth on you, your breath hitching. You hold her waist to ground yourself, and aid her. She's whispering, mostly to herself, “Fuck that's so fucking good, needed this so bad, need you, fuck- shit. Ah, yes.”

The vertiginous feeling swirls in your head and you feel yourself fading, your grip on her sides loosening, but you don't feel one single ounce of panic, because you know she's got you. No matter what, until the end of time. Or at the very least, until the final bells tolled and you were lowered to your eternal resting place six feet underground.

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[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Missed You | Bucky x Reader | Mutually Beneficial AU | Drabble

You and Bucky have been dying for some alone time and there's a new thing he wants to try.

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, dom!Bucky, dirty talk, pet names & honourifics, daddy kink, oral sex, p in v, creampie, fingering, praise kink, bondage, spreader bar. S for smut and D for Daddy.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Mutually Beneficial Masterlist

Bucky held the flat silver tag between his metal thumb and forefinger, leading you towards your room as he stepped backwards.

"Missed you, Babydoll" he hushed.

"I've been right here, Sarge," you were aiming for even and controlled, but the way he leads you so gently, his dark eyes, you're already under his spell so your words are followed by a breathy gasp.

"No, you weren't, not really. And neither was I." He was right. It'd been such a long week. A mission gone horribly wrong led to an Agent in Bucky's squad getting shot. Not fatally, they were currently milking their wounded soldier status across the compound. But the guilt of it was burning through him. Between his mission, your reports, briefings and a mission of your own you hadn't had any time to be truly together.

"I know, Sarge. But I'm here now, whatever you want from me, I'm here," and you meant it. His need for some semblance of order, of control, to bring joy and not pain, you would always give that to him if he could. You leaned up, nudging your nose with this, planting a light kiss against his lips.

"Do you trust me?" He cooed, so close you could almost taste the sharp coldness of his minty toothpaste.

"Yes, Sarge," you can't help how quiet you become with him, barely a whisper.

"Good. Climb on the bed, Baby. Clothes off." You scramble onto your back, shedding your clothes in a pile on the floor. Eagerly you prop yourself up on your elbows, watching him watch you back, blue eyes blown dark.

He steps forwards slowly and reaches under the bed, pulling out a metal pole.

"I saw this, do you wanna play?" He holds it up in the dim light. Black metal with a soft cuff at either end.

"A spreader bar?" You thought you were wet before but this is nothing. Bucky researching on his own, buying sex toys while he thinks of you gives you such a rush you can barely contain yourself.

"God, yes, please!" You lay back again, legs spread waiting for him. Gently he cuffs one leg then the other, there's a little movement when you wiggle your ankle but you can't move your legs together or apart. Bucky looks down at you hungrily, watching as you test the limits of your bondage.

His hands danced up your legs, featherlight, "you look good like this, Babydoll, all spread out for me." His thumbs ran over you, teasing your drenched folds. Apart, a tentative swipe, and then together again. The ache worse than before, "you look beautiful. All mine. And you'll do as you're told, won't you, because you're a good girl." He tapped lightly with one finger against your clit illiciting a wanton desperate moan.

"I asked you a question, you'll be my good girl, won't you?" He tapped again, harder. You're not sure you've ever fallen so fast into subspace. You struggled for words, your brain fighting for coherent thoughts.

"Answer me, Babydoll, or have I got you wrong. Are you a bad girl after all?" He slapped the inside of your thigh, the damp of your own slick making it sting harder.

"I'll be good, Daddy," it slipped out before you could stop yourself but you're still reeling from his hands on you, too gone to notice.

"What did you call me?" He sat back, his patented stare in full effect, bringing you slowly back into the light.

"I'm sorry, Sarge, what did I say?" Heat suffused your cheeks, burning your skin.

"You called me Daddy." Bucky's voice was a low, rough growl that had your knees bending in.

It's not a word you'd used before with Bucky, once or twice with other partners and certainly in the porn you watch. But you haven't talked about it. This wasn't in your negotiations. Your blood runs cold and that single coherent thought that struggled so hard before floats to the surface 'you've ruined everything'.

"Sorry, Daddy, I mean, I said Daddy, sorry, Daddy, I mean Sarge, Daddy, Sir. Sorry."

Bucky smirked and licked his bottom lip before taking it between his teeth briefly.

"Are you angry, don't be angry, Daddy, Sarge, Sir, sorry. I, I can't think. I - please. Just punish me, I'm sorry. I-" he let's his lip drop, licking over the bite mark again. He knew exactly what that did to you, how it made you feel hot all over.

"You're not in trouble" His hand was gentle as it skimmed your cheek. "Didn't know you'd like that. Didn't know I liked that" His thumb rubbed over your lip, and you took the opportunity to lick the pad, pulling the digit into your mouth. Vibranium doesn't really taste of anything, but the action was soothing, a hint of your own arousal lingering.

"You keep calling me that, Baby, and you can have anything you want. Okay?" He popped his thumb out of your mouth and trailed it around your nipple before giving the nub a little tweak.

You squeaked in surprise, "Yes, Daddy," and he groaned back.

"I think it's been long enough. I need to feel you, Baby, you be good and still for me, okay." He tugged the bar between your legs, pulling you further down the bed before carefully flipping you over, ass in the air and face pressed into the blankets.

"Yes, Daddy," you chanted again and Bucky was glad you couldn't see him, pressing his own face into the curve of your spine to hide his grin.

"Good girl," he pushed in as his praise made you flutter, griping your hips as he set a slow, firm pace, pressing against the soft secret spot inside that makes you see stars. His pace wasn't fast but Bucky was always relentless, no space to think, just him and you and the way he makes you feel.

"Feels good, I missed you so much, I needed this." You moaned out, whining before you could stop the pathetic noise from escaping. You were back to black, nothing but the feel of Bucky inside you, his hands on your body. He roamed further, pressing gently and tweaking at your clit, hard and aching under you. You rutted back trying to get some control to push you over the edge he had you dangling over.

"No, no, Babydoll, be a good girl." He grabbed the bar and slowly pushed it further up the bed, forcing your knees closer to your chest and bending you almost in half, "you can be good for me, right? All I need you to do is stay there," he punctuated his command with a slap to your ass, but you were already nodding your head as hard as you could, your hand under your forehead to keep you upright, "I knew you could be good for Daddy."

That did it, hearing him say it back was too much, electricity coiled up from your toes, a shock of lighting up your spine as you spasm and clutch at him however you can.

"Daddy!" You mewled as you came, your hand reaching back for his, fingers closing around your wrist and holding it down against the bed as he lost control, hips stuttering, bruising against your back. You both fell forward into the mattress as he filled you, deep and hot, painting ever inch of you.

"Jesus, fuck, baby," his nose rubbed against your back, hot kisses running down your spine, keeping you spread out, hands above your head.

The cuffs left your ankles but you stayed prone on the bed anyway, only turning enough to smile back at Bucky, his hair sticking up with sweat. You followed a droplet down his chest, gulping when you noticed he's still half hard.

"Let's take a minute," he kissed each ankle while he helped you turn onto your back, wrapping each leg around his waist and holding you against him as you come down from your high. "Oh baby, don't wanna waste anything," he chided, lifting your hips a little higher, leaning forwards and sliding a hand over you where his cum seeps down your leg. Two fingers swiped through it and meet your lips encouraging you to suck. His other hand palmed his seed back into you, fucking two fingers in and out slowly, gently curling and pulling another surprising orgasm past your lips. Silent and begging you gasp and writhe beneath him, too tired and fucked out to do more than take the pleasure he was giving you.

His kisses were back then, fluttering over your temple and your ear.

"Beautiful, Babydoll, beautiful," is the last thing you heared, floating into sleepy bliss.

"Thank you, Daddy."

[stylesispunk]

'You gave me something to lose'

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: Joel is afraid of losing you.

wc: 4k>

warnings: angst, mentions of panic attacks, fluff. Messy writing cause this is an old draft.

a/n: this was on my drafts for so long so I'm posting this as a gift because I'm going to London for the next two weeks and I won't be very active on here. So once I return, I promise I'll write the pendant things and requests I have. I hope you like this one. Happy reading 💌

dividerers by @/saradika-graphics

Joel didn’t fear anything, not dying nor being alone or even broke.

Not the clickers, not darkness, but you.

when his mission to take Ellie to the fireflies became into caring for the teen, he felt panicked.

And when he learned he had fallen deeply in love with you, you gave him something to lose.

And he was frightened.

Joel had always been a fortress, walls built high and strong to keep out the pain and loss he had endured. But now, those walls were crumbling. Each moment he spent with you, each secret you both had shared, each tender touch, chipped away at the defenses he had so meticulously constructed.

Since the day Joel met you at the QZ in Boston, you had stolen something from him. He didn’t decipher what back then, but every time you weren’t on his sight, a knot formed on his stomach. Every time he caught a glimpse of you, his blood rushed into his cheeks.

And God, every single time you smiled at him, he could find a reason to keep surviving in this world, again.

And that’s why when you had decided to go after him, when he and Tess took Ellie with them to the fireflies. He had made up his mind, between the anger and tinted loved was feeling for you right at that moment, he had decided he was going to protect you more than anything or anyone. Even when you got on his nerves.

The journey to the fireflies was grueling. The roads were treacherous, infested with clickers and hunters. Every step was a battle, every night a gamble. But Joel was relentless. He led the way with a grim determination, always keeping you and Ellie close. The tension was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the danger that lurked in every shadow.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the desolate landscape, you found a moment of respite. The group set up camp in an abandoned building, its crumbling walls offering a semblance of shelter. Joel, ever vigilant, took the first watch.

You approached him, the flickering firelight casting dancing shadows across his weathered face. He looked up as you neared, his eyes softening slightly. “You should get some rest,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

You shook your head, sitting down beside him. “I can’t sleep. Too much on my mind.”

Joel glanced at you, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I get that.” There was a pause, a comfortable silence settling between you. “You know,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “I never thought I’d feel this way again. Not after everything.”

You looked at him, searching his eyes. “What do you mean?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve…” he paused, “Never mind.”

You furrowed your brow, sensing the weight of his unspoken words. “Joel, you can talk to me. Whatever it is, I’m here.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “It’s just… it’s hard to explain.” He paused again, just a few seconds, lifting his gaze up to yours “Why did you followed us three?” he asked.

The question caught you off guard, but you didn’t hesitate in your response. “I didn’t follow all of you. I followed you.”

“Why?”

“Because back in the QZ there wasn’t a life after you” you confessed, “Life sucks in there, but without you it would be worse.”

Joel’s eyes widened slightly, the vulnerability of your words hitting him harder than he expected. He stared at you, trying to process the depth of your feelings. “I never knew…”

“Of course you didn’t,” you interrupted softly. “You’ve always been so focused on surviving, on protecting Tess and yourself, that you’ve never stopped to see how much you mean to people. How much you mean to me.”

He shook his head, struggling to find the right words. “Good to know it because I feel the same about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his admission filling you with warmth. "Joel..."

He took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “When I met you, I didn’t think I could care for anyone again. But you... you changed that.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, but you held them back, not wanting to break the cosmic moment “I’m glad. Because I can’t imagine going through this without you.”

Joel reached out, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear that had escaped. “Now can you, please go to sleep?”

“Can I sleep here?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel’s expression softened, and without hesitation, he nodded. “Yeah, you can.”

He shifted, making room for you to lie down beside him. As you settled in, the warmth of his body next to yours was both comforting and grounding. You felt his arm wrap around you, pulling you closer, and you snuggled into his embrace, feeling safe and protected.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his chest.

“For what?” he asked softly, his breath warm against your hair.

“For letting me in. For trusting me.”

Joel pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I trust you more than anyone. And I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smiled, the weight of the world feeling just a little bit lighter in his arms. “We’ll figure it out together. “As the night deepened, the sounds of the wilderness outside seemed distant, the crackling fire casting a gentle glow around you. Joel’s steady heartbeat and the rise and fall of his chest were the lullaby that finally coaxed you into sleep. In his arms, you found a peace you hadn’t known in a long time.

He felt his heart giving up for you.

That had happened a few months ago.

And Joel had become afraid. He found himself lying awake almost every night, staring at the sky and the stars, a storm of thoughts raging in his mind. What if something happened to you? What if he couldn't protect you? The thought of losing you, of seeing the light fade from your eyes, was a nightmare he couldn't bear. It was a fear far greater than anything he had ever faced; greater than the harsh realities of the post-apocalyptic world he had navigated for so long.

During the day, he tried to push these fears aside, trying to focus on the present. But it was impossible. Every smile you gave him reminded him of what he stood to lose. Every time you reached for his hand, his heart ached with the weight of his love for you and the dread of its potential loss.

He watched you with Ellie, how you cared for her, and how you brought joy and laughter into her bleak world. He saw how you made her feel safe and loved, and it only made his feelings for you deepen. Ellie, too, had become a part of this fragile, makeshift family, and his love for both of you intertwined, creating a web of vulnerability he couldn't escape.

The wind howled outside, carrying with it the bitter cold of the frozen winter night. Inside the small, dilapidated cabin, a fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow across the room. You, Joel, and Ellie huddled close to the fire, trying to fend off the chill that seemed to seep through the very walls.

Ellie poked at the fire with a stick, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames. "What do you think it’ll be like, Joel?" she asked, her voice filled with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

Joel looked up from the map he was studying, his eyes softening as he met Ellie’s gaze. "What do you mean?"

"After the cure," she said. "When this is all over. What do you think it’ll be like?"

Joel leaned back against the rough wooden wall, his mind drifting to a time long past. "I reckon things will be...different. Better, maybe. People could rebuild, start over. There might be schools again, towns with shops, places where kids can just be kids."

Ellie smiled at the thought, her imagination running wild with possibilities. "I want to learn to play guitar," she said. "Like you, Joel. You promised to teach me, remember?"

Joel chuckled softly, a rare sound in these harsh times. "Yeah, I remember. We'll find one, and I'll teach you. Maybe we can even have a little concert, you and me."

You watched the exchange, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. "What about you, Joel? What's something you’d want to do?"

Joel hesitated, his eyes flicking to you. "I... I’d like to have a place of our own. Somewhere safe. Maybe a little house with a garden. We could grow our own food, live a quiet life. Just...be together."

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. "That sounds nice," you said softly. "Really nice."

The conversation drifted into a comfortable silence, each of you lost in thoughts of a hopeful future. You leaned against Joel, the warmth of his body a comforting presence. His arm wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you closer.

Ellie yawned and stretched out on the floor next to the fire. "I think I'm going to get some sleep," she said, her voice already heavy with exhaustion.

"Good idea," Joel replied. "I’ll keep the watch."

Ellie nodded and pulled her blanket tightly around herself, quickly drifting off to sleep. You and Joel stayed by the fire, the quiet crackling of the flames the only sound in the room.

"Do you really think there’s hope for a cure?" you asked quietly, your head resting on his shoulder.

Joel sighed, his fingers gently stroking your arm. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I have to believe there is. For Ellie. For you."

You tilted your head up to look at him, your eyes searching his. "You’ve been through so much, Joel. Yet you still find it in you to hope. That’s incredible."

He shook his head slightly. "It's not hope," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's you.”

Joel’s panic attacks had become more frequent as the days passed. Every quiet moment seemed to stretch into an eternity of worry and fear. He could feel the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him, and the constant fear that he wouldn’t be able to protect you or Ellie gnawed at him relentlessly.

When the three of you had finally arrived at Jackson, Joel’s thoughts were a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Jackson was a sanctuary, a place where you could all be safe, but his fears didn’t dissipate. If anything, they grew stronger. The more secure the surroundings, the more he worried about what could go wrong.

Jackson was bustling with life, a stark contrast to the desolate landscapes they had traversed. Children played in the streets, people worked in gardens, and there was a sense of community and hope that was almost overwhelming. Joel watched it all with a heavy heart, his mind racing.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to die, that some unseen danger would take him away from you and Ellie. The thought of leaving you unprotected was unbearable. That’s when the idea started to form: maybe the best way to protect you was to leave you in Jackson, where you’d be safe. Where you could even find someone younger than him to kept you alive.

Joel sought out his brother. He found Tommy in the community hall, finishing up some late-night paperwork. The room was quiet, the only sound the scratch of Tommy’s pen against the paper.

"Tommy," Joel said, his voice low and strained.

Tommy looked up, immediately sensing the urgency in his brother’s tone. "Joel, what’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Joel took a deep breath, his hands trembling. He sat down across from Tommy, his eyes filled with anguish. "I need to talk to you. It’s about Ellie and... and my….my " He couldn’t find the words to describe you. Calling you his lover wasn’t a proper word to use, it felt so weak. There was not nickname that could make justice to what you meant to him.

“Your girlfriend?” Tommy asked.

Joel nodded.

Tommy set his pen down, giving Joel his full attention. "Alright, tell me what’s on your mind."

Joel’s voice cracked as he spoke. "I don’t know how much longer I can do this. The fear... it’s eating me alive. I’m so scared something’s going to happen to them, and I won’t be able to protect them."

Tommy’s expression softened. "Joel, you’re in Jackson now. It’s safe here. We’ve got walls, people who care about each other. You don’t have to do this alone."

Joel shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. "You don’t understand. I feel like I’m going to die, like something’s going to take me away from them. And then what? What happens to them if I’m gone?"

Tommy reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Joel’s shoulder. "We’ll take care of them, Joel. You’re not alone in this."

Joel’s tears began to fall, his voice choked with emotion. "I’m asking you to take Ellie with you. Keep her safe. And let my baby stay here in Jackson. She deserves a life that’s not filled with running and fear."

Tommy’s eyes widened in shock. "Joel, are you sure about this? You’re talking about leaving them behind."

"I’m not leaving them," Joel said, his voice trembling. "I’m trying to protect them. They’ll be safer without me."

Tommy sighed, his heart breaking for his brother. "And what about you, Joel? What happens to you if you leave?"

Joel wiped his tears, trying to steady himself. "I’ll find a way to keep going. I just need to know they’re safe. That’s all that matters."

Tommy nodded slowly, understanding the depth of Joel’s fear and love. "Alright, Joel. If this is what you think is best, I’ll take care of them. But you need to talk to them first. They deserve to know why you’re doing this."

Joel nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of his decision. "I will. Thank you, Tommy."

Tommy pulled Joel into a tight embrace; his voice filled with emotion. "We’re family, Joel. We take care of each other."

Joel clung to his brother, the tears flowing freely now. He knew the conversation with you and Ellie would be one of the hardest things he’d ever have to do, but he also knew it was necessary. The fear of losing you both was too great to ignore, and he hoped that, in time, you would understand why he had to make this choice.

Joel walked slowly to Ellie’s room, his heart heavy with the burden of what he was about to do. He knew this conversation would be one of the hardest of his life, but he also believed it was necessary. He took a deep breath and knocked softly on her door.

“Come in,” Ellie’s voice called from inside.

He opened the door and stepped into the room. Ellie was sitting on her bed, reading one of the books she had found in Jackson’s library. She looked up and smiled when she saw him, but her smile faded when she noticed the serious expression on his face.

“Joel, what’s wrong?” she asked, her brows furrowing with concern.

Joel closed the door behind him and sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked at Ellie, her young face full of life and determination, and it made his heart ache.

“Ellie, we need to talk,” he said softly, struggling to find the right words.

Ellie set her book aside and gave him her full attention. “What’s going on?”

Joel took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly. “Ellie, I’ve been thinking a lot about our journey, about everything we’ve been through. And... about what comes next.”

Ellie shook her head, her voice rising with emotion. “Joel, no. We’re supposed to stick together. We’re a team.”

Joel looked down, unable to meet her eyes. “Ellie, I’m not sure I can keep doing this. The fear... it’s too much. I’m scared something’s going to happen to you, and I won’t be able to protect you.”

Ellie reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “We protect each other, Joel. That’s how we’ve always done it.”

Joel swallowed hard, his voice breaking. “I’m asking Tommy to take you to the fireflies. He’ll keep you safe until you arrive to the hospital.”

Ellie’s eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head fiercely. “No, Joel. I’m not going without you. We’ve come this far together, and I’m not leaving you.”

Joel’s heart ached at her words, but he forced himself to continue. “Ellie, you need to understand. I’m not... I’m not your father. I can’t be the one to keep you safe forever.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and Ellie’s tears began to fall. “You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father, Joel. Don’t you get that? Fuck”

Joel’s own tears threatened to spill over, but he steeled himself. “But you’re not my daughter and I’m not your father.”

Ellie shook her head, her voice filled with desperation. “No, Joel. Please. Don’t do this. We need you.”

Joel reached out, cupping her face in his hands. “I need you to trust me, Ellie. This is the best way to keep you safe.”

Ellie pulled away from his touch, her face a mix of anger and heartbreak. “I don’t want to be safe if it means losing you. You and her are all I have, Joel.”

Joel stood up, his heart shattering at her words. “I’m sorry, Ellie. But this is how it has to be.”

He turned and walked toward the door, each step feeling like a lead weight. He paused at the doorway, looking back at Ellie one last time.

With that, he walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. He leaned against the wall, his heart breaking at the sound of Ellie’s muffled sobs. He knew this was one of the hardest decisions he had ever made, but he believed it was the right one.

As he stood there, trying to compose himself, he heard footsteps approaching. You appeared at the end of the hallway, having heard the conversation. Your eyes met his, and in that moment, he saw the same mix of anger, hurt, and confusion that Ellie had shown.

You approached Joel slowly, your face a mix of anger and hurt. He could see the questions in your eyes, the need for an explanation that would make sense of the pain he had caused.

"Joel," you said, your voice trembling. "What are you doing?"

Joel looked down, unable to meet your gaze. "I'm trying to keep you both safe. You and Ellie. This place, Jackson... it's where you can have a real life."

Your eyes narrowed, and you took a step closer. "And you think abandoning us is the way to do that? How could you even consider leaving us behind?"

Joel sighed, his shoulders slumping. "It's not abandoning you. It's making sure you're protected. If something happens to me—"

You cut him off, your voice rising with emotion. "Don't you get it, Joel? We need you. Ellie needs you. I need you. You're the reason we've made it this far. You can't just walk away."

Joel's eyes were filled with pain as he looked up at you. "I can't shake the fear that I'm going to die, that I won't be there when you need me most. I thought if I left, you'd be safer."

You stepped even closer, your anger giving way to desperation. "Safer? Joel, we've faced everything together. We protect each other. How can you think we'd be better off without you? How can you think I would be better off without you?""

Joel's voice was barely a whisper. "Because I can't bear the thought of losing you.”

Your heart ached at his words, but you knew you had to make him understand. You reached out, taking his hands in yours. "Joel, I love you. I need you with me, not just for protection, but because you're my love. Leaving me won't keep me safe; it'll break me."

Joel looked at you, tears welling in his eyes. "I don't know if I can do this. The fear is... it's too much."

You squeezed his hands, your voice gentle but firm. "We'll face it together, Joel. Just like we always have. You're not alone in this. Please, don't leave me."

Joel pulled you into a tight embrace, his tears finally spilling over. "I'm so scared," he admitted, his voice choked with emotion.

You held him close, your own tears falling. "I know, Joel. But we're stronger together. I need you. Ellie and I need you"

As you stood there, holding each other in the quiet of the hallway, Joel felt the weight of his fear begin to lift. The love and determination in your voice gave him the strength he needed to keep going. At least for a bit.

After a long moment, Joel pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I was trying to do the right thing.”

You nodded; your heart full of relief. "We'll figure it out, Joel. Together."

Joel took a deep breath, cupping your face in his hands. “I love you so much,” he said, pecking your lips.

Your heart swelled with emotion as you returned his kiss, a soft, reassuring touch. “I love you too, Joel,” you whispered, your voice steady with conviction.

Joel rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as if trying to etch this moment into his memory. “I just don’t want to lose you or Ellie. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to either of you.”

You stroked his cheek, your thumb brushing away a stray tear. “We’re not going anywhere, Joel. We’ve made it through so much already, and we’ll keep making it through. Together.”

He nodded, pulling you into a tighter embrace, the warmth of his body a comforting reminder of his presence. “Together,” he repeated, his voice more confident now.

You pulled back slightly from the embrace, looking up into Joel’s eyes. "Come on," you said softly, taking his hand. "Let’s get cleaned up. It’s been a long day."

He nodded, allowing you to lead him down the hall to the bathroom. The room was small, but it had a functioning shower—one of the many luxuries you had come to appreciate in this place. You turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until it was just right.

Joel stood there, watching you with an exhaustion and adoration. He started to undress, his movements were slow You did the same, your eyes meeting his with every piece of clothing that fell to the floor. There was an unspoken understanding between you. Both of you bared int front of each other, stealing glances of your bodies in display.

Once you were both undressed, you stepped into the shower together. The warm water cascaded over your bodies, washing away the grime and tension of the day. You reached for the soap, lathering it between your hands before gently running them over Joel’s shoulders and back.

He sighed, leaning into your touch. "You don’t have to do this," he murmured.

"I want to," you replied, your voice tender. "Let me take care of you." You said, pressing a kiss on his wet shoulder.

You continued to wash him, your hands moving in soothing, circular motions. The warmth of the water and the intimacy of the moment began to ease the tension in his muscles. When you reached his hair, you took the shampoo and began to work it into a lather, your fingers massaging his scalp.

Joel closed his eyes, a soft groan escaping his lips. "That feels nice," he admitted.

You smiled, continuing to wash his hair with gentle care. "Good. You deserve to relax."

After rinsing the shampoo from his hair, you handed him the soap. "Your turn," you said with a playful smile.

He took the soap, his hands surprisingly gentle as he began to wash your shoulders and back. The feel of his strong, calloused hands against your skin was comforting, a reminder of how much you meant to each other. He took his time, his touch tender and affectionate, showing the love he felt for you.

When he reached your hair, he repeated the process, his fingers working the shampoo through your locks with the same care you had shown him. You closed your eyes, savoring the sensation of his hands in your hair and the warmth of the water cascading over you.

For a while, the two of you stood there, simply enjoying the closeness and the rare moment of peace. The world outside might be filled with danger and uncertainty, but here, in this small bathroom, there was only love.

When you were both clean, you turned off the water and reached for a towel, wrapping it around Joel’s shoulders before taking another for yourself. You helped each other dry off, the intimacy of the moment deepening the existent bond between you.

Joel looked at you, his eyes filled with gratitude and love. "Thank you," he said softly.

You cupped his face in your hands, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "We’re in this together, Joel. Always."

He nodded, pulling you into a tight embrace. "Together," he echoed.

As you both stood there in the warmth of the bathroom, wrapped in towels and each other's embrace, the bond between you felt stronger than ever. The fear and uncertainty of the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the love and trust you had for each other.

Joel kissed the top of your head and took your hand, leading you back to the bedroom. The soft glow of the lamp illuminated the bedroom, casting a warm, golden hue over the room. You both moved slowly, savoring the peaceful moment.

You helped Joel into bed, making sure he was comfortable before slipping in beside him. He pulled you close, his arms wrapped protectively around you. The simple act of being in his arms felt like the safest place in the world.

Joel tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead as he spoke. "I love you so much," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "More than I can ever put into words."

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at the raw honesty in his eyes. "I love you too, Joel. So much."

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "I don't think I've ever felt this way before. I mean, caring this much for someone. Not since Sarah. And it's... it's scary. But it's also the most wonderful thing I’ve ever felt."

Your heart ached for him at the mention of Sarah, but you knew how important it was for Joel to express his feelings. You placed a gentle hand on his cheek, your thumb brushing against his stubble. "It's okay to be scared, Joel. But you're not alone in this. We’re in it together."

Joel nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You've given me something I thought I’d lost forever. Hope. A reason to keep fighting. And I want you to know that I’ll do everything I can to protect you, to make sure we have a future together."

You leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. "We’ll protect each other. And we’ll build that future, one day at a time."

He wrapped his arms around you tighter, holding you close as if trying to memorize the feeling of having you in his arms. "I promise you, I'll never let anything happen to you. You and Ellie mean everything to me."

You snuggled closer, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "And you mean everything to us, Joel. We're stronger together."

Joel sighed contentedly, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back. "Thank you for standing by me, for believing in me. I don't know what I’d do without you."

You smiled against his chest, feeling the warmth of his love envelop you. "You'll never have to find out, because I'm not going anywhere."

With that, you both drifted into a peaceful sleep, the worries of the world outside momentarily forgotten. In each other's arms, you found solace and strength, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead together.

Hours later, Joel woke up in the middle of the night, the room shrouded in darkness. He instinctively reached out for you, but his hand found only empty space. Panic surged through him, his heart pounding as he sat up, his eyes scanning the room.

"Baby, where are you?" he muttered, throwing the blankets aside as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He quickly pulled on his pants and a shirt, his movements hurried and frantic. The fear of losing you, so deeply ingrained in his mind, took hold as he rushed out of the bedroom.

He moved swiftly down the hallway, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Had something happened? Had someone taken you? The thoughts were unbearable. He reached the top of the stairs and bolted down them, nearly stumbling in his haste.

When he reached the bottom, he paused, his eyes darting around the living room. Relief washed over him as he saw you sitting on the couch, a cup of tea cradled in your hands. You looked up, startled by his sudden appearance.

"Joel, what’s wrong?" you asked, concern etching your features.

He let out a shaky breath, his heart still racing. "I woke up and you weren’t there," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I thought something had happened to you."

You set your tea down on the table and stood up, crossing the room to him. "I’m sorry," you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "I couldn’t sleep, so I came down to make some tea. I didn’t mean to scare you."

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you as if to reassure himself that you were really there. "It’s okay," he murmured into your hair. "I just...I can’t bear the thought of losing you."

You held him just as tightly, feeling the intensity of his emotions. "You won’t lose me, Joel. I promise."

He nodded, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. "I know. It’s just...sometimes the fear gets the better of me."

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over his cheeks. "I understand," you said gently. "But we’re safe here. We have each other."

He sighed, the tension slowly easing from his body. "Yeah, we do."

"Come on," you said, taking his hand and leading him to the couch. "Sit with me for a while. The tea is still warm."

He followed you, sitting down beside you on the couch. You picked up your cup and handed it to him. "Here, takes a sip. It’ll help you relax."

He took the cup, his hands still slightly trembling. He sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through him, helping to calm his nerves. "Thanks," he said, his voice steadier.

You leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder. "We’ll get through this, Joel. Together."

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. "Yeah, we will."

The two of you sat there in the quiet of the night, the warmth of the tea and the comfort of each other’s presence soothing the fears that had momentarily overwhelmed him. In that moment, Joel felt a renewed sense of peace, knowing that as long as you were by his side, he could face anything the future held.

As the minutes passed, the tension in Joel's body melted away. He looked down at you, your eyes closed, content and calm. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I love you," he whispered, the words carrying all the weight of his heart.

"I love you too," you replied softly, without opening your eyes.

Joel took another sip of the tea, its warmth soothing him from the inside out. The night was still and quiet, a rare tranquility enveloping your home. He gazed around the room, taking in the modest, yet comforting surroundings. This place, this sanctuary in Jackson, could become more than just a shelter. A home.

You snuggled closer to him, and Joel felt a profound sense of gratitude. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to truly believe in the possibility of a future filled with hope and love. The horrors of the past, the constant threats of the present, they all seemed a little more bearable with you by his side.

"We’ve been through so much," he said quietly, his fingers gently stroking your hair. "But sitting here with you, it makes it all worth it."

You opened your eyes and looked up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. "We’ve found something real, Joel. Something worth fighting for. And no matter what comes our way, we’ll face it together."

Joel nodded, feeling the truth of your words settle deep within him. "Together," he echoed, his voice filled with conviction. "Always."

The two of you sat there in the stillness, the warmth of each other's presence a balm for your souls. Joel felt a sense of peace he hadn't known in years. With you, he had found a reason to hope, to believe in a better tomorrow.

As the night wore on, the exhaustion of the day began to catch up with him. You noticed his eyelids growing heavy and gently took the cup from his hands, setting it on the table. "Come on," you whispered, standing up and offering your hand. "Let’s get some rest."

Joel took your hand and allowed you to lead him back to the bedroom. The room was still bathed in the soft glow of the lamp, casting a warm light over the bed. You both slipped under the covers, and Joel pulled you close, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

With you in his arms, the fear and anxiety that had plagued him earlier faded away. The rhythm of your breathing, the steady beat of your heart against his chest, all served as a reminder of the love and strength you shared.

"Goodnight, Joel," you murmured, your voice filled with tenderness. "Goodnight," he replied, pressing a final kiss to your forehead.

As he closed his eyes, Joel felt a deep sense of contentment. No matter what the future held, he knew that with you by his side, he could face it all. Together, you had built something beautiful amidst the chaos, and that was something worth holding on to.

In the quiet darkness, with you in his arms, Joel finally allowed himself to drift into a peaceful sleep, dreaming of the life you would continue to build together, one filled with love, hope, and endless possibilities.

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

In Every Life Time

Description: In every life time, you lost him. But in this one, each part of him you lost you find once more, staring back at you with a bit of each one you loved in each life time.

Percy has had many nightmares ever since he was young, especially since coming to camp Half Blood and being claimed as a son of Poseidon.

But he never liked any other dreams like these ones.

Percy would lay in bed, drift off only to end up somewhere else. Somewhere familiar. Somewhere he liked and somewhere he wasn't in a rush to leave.

Unlike the others before, this was different, but the same all at once.

Percy sat in a field, it was dark out, but the fireflies in the air lit up the sky unlike the stars did.

And Percy was breath taken once more as he stared at the same Goddess he saw every night sitting under the same willow rree, dressed in a white and gold trimmed Greek styled dress.

This time, the Goddess didn't look very...Goddes-Like. She looked younger, the same he always sees her as, but this time she felt it. Like in this dream, she wasn't a Goddess. The very first fifteen years of her life.

Like she was normal, younger, an actual teenager relaxing under a willow tree.

A boy in similar Greek clothing held his head in her lap, smiling up at the Goddess as if she had hung the sun up herself, hung the stars and painted the sky right before him.

Percy knew that look. He saw it every time in glimpses shared between the woman and all of the ones before, every single one different but the same all at once.

He looked a bit just like every one of them.

The same nose as the wood nymph from three dreams ago he had, the same green eyes as the Olympian from six dreams ago he had, black hair like the boy who ran around with a much younger goddess he had, the first dream he had of her.

“I would like to stay here.” Percy could make out the paint words, knowing what the man would say even before he spoke.

He saw the goddess speak, and like before, saw a look of sadness in her eyes as she smoothed her hand over the man's wild and messy hair. Hair just like Percys.

“I…I would like that as well…but we can't.” The goddess said, an almost distant look in her eyes before the warrior took her hand, kissing the back of it softly with a sigh.

“Why? You always say that like you're one step ahead. Why can I not?”

“I- I do not know. But...You will find out soon enough.”

And before Percy knew it, the all too well love scene before him faded in battle cries, swords clanging together and shouts of war.

Percy was in the middle of a battlefield, Gods and Goddess's fighting side by side and some against one another, fires roaring all around, he couldn't make out many faces, the ash burning in his lungs as he coughed.

Only thing he could see were her tears. Her tears as she held a limp, and very much so, dead and familiar man in her lap, brushing her thumbs against his cheeks as she said a silent prayer, her forehead to his almost as if it could bring him back.

She didn't sob, but he could hear her almost silent whispers.

"We should have stayed under our tree. I'm so sorry, my love. Please...find me when you are ready."

And just like that, Percy woke up with the bed shaken as Tyson woke him up, dragging him out of bed, to breakfast, and along the way to Annabeth and Grover with the goat boy he called his best friend, almost tap dancing in what seemed to be joy.

“Percy! I- we got chosen!”

“...What?”

Percy didn't expect for Grover to go on a rant about how the upcoming war was brewing, like he didn't already know.

Annabeth even had to cut in as Grover ran out of breath, giving the boy a moment before he started up again.

“Olympus needs all the warriors they can get. And they chose us to find the Goddess of (Create something you like bc idk)!” Grover fanboyed.

“Who?” Percy asked, confused at his friend's behavior and having never heard of that one. He's heard of, and fought, many gods and goddesses, but he's sure that one would've stuck if he crossed that bridge.

“The Goddess of (you choose).” Annabeth re-stated. “She used to be a mortal, but was captured during a really, really bad war and since the ones who captured her were fighting the gods, they punished her with immortality until-”

Annabeth cut herself off.

“Until what?” Percy probed with a frown, not wanting anyone to withhold information from him anymore.

“Until something. Her story doesn't go on from that, the ones that took her never said where she was. Even after they were sent to the Underworld and punished, she's been missing ever since!” Grover finished, almost shaking Percy by the shoulders.

Percy finally got it.

“So- we have to find her?”

“Yeah! Just like when we found Pan- but this can't be like that. This time, she is alive!” Grover insisted.

“We don't know that.” Annabeth sighed.

“Yes, we do!” Grover wasn't living this down and wasn't letting Annabeth either. “I know it, and we are gonna find her!”

And that's how Percy was dragged along the state, searching the skies, the gardens, underground, in every mythical and every sacred place he could think of.

Until, finally, Grover has led them to a garden of lights. For a seemingly prison, Percy has to admit, it didn't look like it.

Deers laid in the grass, birds chirped to their heart's desire, animals frolicking in the grass, koi and any other fish you could name in a waterfall so clear you could see to the bottom that glowed in the light.

It almost looked real. So surreal Percy didn't expect it. Especially when he leaned a bit too close, and a fish jumped up and scared him, falling back into the lake with a groan and his butt soaked.

He heard Annabeth and Grover yelp, their feet clashing with the water as they ran down after him.

He groaned as Annabeth and Grover dragged him to stand up, he almost barely noticed as both his friends froze in the middle of helping him, and a breeze went just past him.

No, not past him. It seemed to go over his entire body, around his arms, legs, messing up his already wild and black hair, feeling it on his nose, cheeks, lips and his eyes.

“Percy…”

Percy could barely make out Grovers whisper, his friend catching Percy's attention barely.

Percy looked between Annabeth and Grover, confused before he looked to see they were staring at a willow tree. Or, more like under the Willow tree.

Percy could feel his breath taken once more like in his dreams, seeing the same girl from them looking right back at him with the same look on her face

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Talk dirty to me

PAIRING | Iron Man!Tony Stark x Journalist!Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT | 5K

SUMMARY | You have been asked to interview and shadow Tony for a few months regarding his research in nanotechnology and his life as Iron Man. During this time, the sexual tension builds quickly between you two, and when you can't stop staring at him while he's working, the tension snaps, and you learn about a new kink you never knew you had.

RATING | Explicit (E)

WARNINGS/TAGS | Age gap, mutual pining, slight insecurities.

SMUT | Porn with plot, use of traffic light system, lots of dirty talk, praise kink, sir kink, size kink, hair pulling, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), squirting, cream pie, aftercare

A/N | This one-shot is written based on a request I received from a lovely Anon! From the moment this appeared in my asks, I could not stop thinking about it, and @ccbsrmsf1 and I have been drooling about this since that moment. So dear Anon, if you wish to reveal yourself (if not, I totally understand that too!) I'd love for you to send me a DM so I can thank you personally for your amazing ideas! 🩷

A/N 2.0 | This is proofread by my best friend and biggest supporter on this website, @ccbsrmsf1. I wouldn't be here without you today, and I cannot thank you enough! I love you 3000 🩷

EVENTS Masterlist | @anyfandomfluffbingo | Journalist!Reader Masterlist | @multifandom-flash | Grow Old With Me

Banners: Yours truly | Divider: @firefly-graphics | GIF: Source

Main Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist

The past three months have been interesting, to say the least. From being asked to interview none other than Iron Man himself about his research on nanotechnology to shadowing him for five months, it is a rollercoaster you never expected to get onto. Still, you do not want to get off because it's too much fun.

But that's not all because, during these months, you and Tony have also been building on the sexual tension that is palpable between the two of you. From semi-innocent flirting to not-so-innocent grinding on the dancefloor after a few drinks, it has all passed the revue, and it is like a rubber band that is about to snap. One more move, and it will snap, leaving both of you to lust after the other like never before.

Today, you're just observing Tony as he's working on his research, which would have been simple enough if it weren't for the fact that he's wearing a skintight shirt that exposes his broad shoulders, muscly, veiny, bulging biceps and forearms. His large, strong hands with long, skilled fingers have been the subject of your wet dreams. Your lip is pulled between your teeth as you look at him.

The shirt is pulled tight over his chest and abdomen, allowing you to drink in every inch of his muscles, which leads you to his narrow waist and thick legs covered in dark jeans that seem to hug his thick bulge and round butt perfectly, making you squeeze your legs together at the sight.

"Are you enjoying yourself over there, Sweets?" Tony asks with a quirked brow, and your eyes snap up to his as a flush appears on your cheeks at the fact you've been caught. You nod shyly, and a mischievous grin dances on Tony's lips as he walks over to where you're sitting on a table, which is the perfect spot to observe what he is doing.

"Did you like what you just saw? I'm sure you did because you've been clenching these delicious thighs and biting that perfect lip the entire time, huh? Don't think I haven't noticed it, Sweets; I can smell your arousal on the other side of the lab," he tells you in a low, rumbling voice that sends shivers down your spine.

"Y-yes, sir," you stammer out, the red color on your cheeks deepening when he stands before you. He moves forward as he places his hands on the table on either side of you, and you can't help but tremble as he's mere inches away from your face.

You accidentally knock something off the table as you shift your body a little to be more comfortable, and the heat on your cheeks now spreads from the tips of your ears down your chest as the embarrassment takes over completely. However, before you can think about it too much, Tony has cupped your face in his large hand, feeling the warmth radiating onto his long, calloused fingers.

"It's okay, Sweets. Nothing to be embarrassed about," he whispers before leaning forward, his lips kissing softly on the corner of your mouth. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of the softness of his lips on your face, a shuddering breath leaving your lips.

"A-are you sure?" you ask, and he nods.

"I'm sure. Whatever it is that you broke is nothing that I cannot replace; otherwise, it wouldn't be lying out here on the table," he says, and you can feel yourself already becoming calmer, the tension you were feeling earlier slowly replacing with need at the close proximity between you two.

Tony's hand drops down from your face to your bare thigh as he trails the tips of his fingers to the edge of your skirt, teasing you a little as a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"You're perfect like this," he whispers in your ear, and you can't suppress the soft moan escaping your lips as he says those words. You have always enjoyed receiving praise, but hearing it from Tony does something to you that you have never considered. It only arouses you further.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice your skirt, Sweets? It barely covers your ass, so it's no wonder I could tell that you want me. You do want me, don't you?" Tony whispers between the kisses from your jaw to your throat until he reaches the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

You moan out a soft yes, and a small smile tugs at the corners of Tony's lips. Hearing that you want him just as much as he wants you has him twitching in his pants. He dares to move his fingers beneath the hem of your skirt. Just far enough to have a little taste of the skin hidden by the denim fabric, yet not enough to give you what you desperately want.

"Good girl," Tony tells you as you spread your thighs slightly, giving him the access you know he's been asking for without actually saying it. The flush on your cheeks returns as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to hide the fact that his praise is making your stomach flip and your skin feel like it's on fire.

Your breath hitches as you feel Tony's finger hook behind the elastic of your panties, allowing it to glide along the seam where your thigh meets your hip before moving away again just before he reaches the place you need him most. And once more, you're clenching around nothing because he loves being a tease.

A slight pout on your face has him chuckling before he leans in and kisses it away with a small peck, a smile taking its place instead when he pulls away. His hands slide under the hem of your shirt before pulling it off and over your head, revealing the light pink lingerie you're wearing underneath.

"This color looks beautiful on you, Sweets, but I know for sure it'll look even better on the floor," he says teasingly as he unclasps it, the fabric sliding down your arms and onto the floor effortlessly. His breath hitches in his throat as he sees what you've been hiding all this time, as two small, silver rings are adorning your nipples.

"Fuck," he whispers as he keeps staring for just a second too long, the blood in his body rushing to his cock at a rapid pace now that he notices them. Maybe you're not as innocent as he may have thought you to be, and he's practically drooling at the sight in front of him.

When he finally snaps back to reality, he grabs both your breasts, kneading them softly as he revels in the soft moans you let out. He cannot get enough of hearing them, though his ultimate goal is to have you screaming his name as loud as you possibly can, no matter who can hear it.

"Who would have thought that someone as sweet as you has her nipples pierced, hm? I bet they're nice and sensitive," he says as he softly tugs on the rings before playing with your nipples, your head falling back as the pleasure is increasingly growing. Tony takes the opportunity to suck some bruises onto your neck where it meets your shoulder, your fingers lacing into his hair.

Soft moans keep tumbling from your lips as the two of you stay like this for a while. Tony's lips on your neck have the arousal pooling in your panties again, and you're pretty sure there's a small puddle on the table where you're sitting at this point. From the teasing to the way he plays with your nipples and the praise he gives you, he is doing a damn good job of having you melt into a puddle.

"S-sir," you moan out eventually, the ache between your legs too much to handle at this point. Your clit is throbbing in anticipation as he pulls away, his gaze locking onto yours. The brown of his eyes is almost completely gone as lust has taken over.

"What's on your mind, Sweets?" Tony says sweetly, and you slip into the fuzzy headspace you always enjoy getting lost in.

"I need you," you whisper almost inaudibly, your eyes locked in a heated, lustful gaze.

"Yeah? Do you need Sir to play with that cute button between your legs? Or do you want me to slip my fingers in that undoubtedly tight, warm, and dripping pussy of yours?" he asks, and your eyes flutter closed at the thought of his fingers inside you, bringing you to your orgasm.

"Both," you tell him, and Tony can handle only so much before his restraint snaps. His fingers glide past your bare stomach down to your skirt, which has ridden up entirely from the rocking motions of your hips.

"What's your color, Sweets?" he asks, and your eyes slowly open before finding his. You may never have discussed the traffic light system with him before, but you still need to be aware of what he's talking about, and it gives you a warm sense of security.

"So, SO fucking green," you tell him with your eyes half-lidded, and Tony can't help but feel proud at the way you are already so fucked out, despite him barely touching you. It's a sight he knows he will never get enough of.

"Good girl," he says before pulling down your panties, the soaked fabric being put in the back pocket of his jeans to save for later. A soft moan slips past your lips again, and Tony can't stop reveling in the fact that you have a huge praise kink. He already knows he will make good use of that newfound knowledge.

"Does my girl like to be praised?" he asks, his fingers leisurely gliding through your folds to gather the slick between them, and he can tell you're increasingly getting wetter with his question. Your hands fly to his hair as he finds your clit, and you pull him close before moaning a yes into his ear.

His cock twitches in his pants at the way you're melting into a puddle under his touch, and he's reveling in every little moan and whimper slipping past your beautiful, soft, pink lips. The way the pad of his finger feels against your sensitive clit have you jolting each time they make contact, and you can't stop pulling on his dark brown locks as the pleasure inside you keeps building and building.

Almost as if he can sense it, Tony slips a finger into your pussy, being careful not to hurt you as he slides it in. Your head falls back as the pleasure takes over your body; the whimpers and moans from your lips only intensify when your orgasm creeps closer and closer until it washes over you with a scream of his name.

"That's it, Sweets, doing so well for me! You look fucking gorgeous when you cum," he groans out as you tremble, his fingers now making the filthiest, most delicious squelches as your arousal only grows. His fingers are like magic, and you only want more.

"Yeah?" you ask shyly when Tony's worked you through your orgasm, ensuring you don't crash from your high all of a sudden. A blush is adorning your face at the praise Tony has given you, and you can't stop yourself from wanting more of it and more of him.

"Fuck yes, 's the prettiest fuckin' sight I've ever seen, Sweets. Now I can't wait to see what you look like when you cum on my cock," he tells you, and the color on your cheeks deepens at the thought of Tony stretching you on his cock.

"Let's find out then, shall we?" you ask playfully, and Tony cannot say no to an offer like that. When you offer yourself up on a silver platter like that, he will definitely take his share of you. It would be stupid to deny himself something he so desperately wants, after all.

Before you know it, Tony is completely bare, and you can't stop staring at the monster of a cock that is standing at attention between his legs. The tip is already leaking pre-cum, and the blue veins running from the tip down his shaft don't go unnoticed by you, either. Finishing that with the way his balls look as they hang perfectly underneath it, and you know you're in love. With him. With his cock. With everything.

"Do you like what you see? If you want, you can give it a little touch first; it won't bite," Tony says as he steps closer, and you bite your lip as his cock bobs up and down with every step. You reach out on instinct, and you gasp at the way your hand can barely close around his girth.

"Hmm, look at that, Sweets. It's so big you can barely hold it all; are you sure it will all fit inside that tight pussy?" he teases you, and you nod immediately as you look up at him, your eyes torn away from his cock for the first time since he revealed it. Your hand moves up and down as he comes to stand between your legs, soft groans leaving his chest as you do so.

"God, you're perfect. Fuckin' perfect," he grits out as he thrusts carefully into your hand, trying not to stimulate himself too much before he cums without having even felt the warmth of your pussy yet. As he keeps praising you, your pussy clenches around nothing as you're aching for his cock to be put inside you, to slide home just the way you both want.

He can feel himself getting dangerously close to the edge, and before it's too late, he grips your wrist carefully, stopping your movements. You look up at him with concern, but he's quick to ease your mind.

"I was about to cum, Sweets, 'n' I don't want to yet," he tells you, and you nod. You let go of his cock, instead letting your hand dip down to play with his balls, which was a genius move as he moans loudly as you give them a gentle squeeze. He's very sensitive there, and you're dripping onto the table at the thought that it's you who does that to him.

"God, you're doin' so well for me, Sweets. Play with my balls like that; j-just roll 'em a bit," he whispers, and you do as he asks, pride swelling in your chest at his words. His cock throbs each time you squeeze them gently, rolling them in your hand, which barely fits around them. Even his balls are big in your hand, and Tony cannot get enough of the sight.

"That's enough for now," he tells you gently, and you let them go, already missing their weight in your hand. Despite their size, they were surprisingly comfortable in your hand, which is something you would never have thought.

As you wait for Tony to make the next move, he lifts his hand to tilt your head back a little, his finger touching your chin ever so slightly.

"I want you to know that if we continue, you can tell me to stop whenever you want. You can say yellow if you're uncomfortable and need to switch positions or red if you must stop altogether. Do you understand that?" Tony asks, and the care in his voice has your heart beat faster.

"Yes, sir," you whisper, and Tony rewards you with a small, soft kiss on your lips. It's not enough to get lost in, but enough to leave you wanting more, which is what he was going for.

"What's your color now?"

"Green, Sir. Very green," you tell him, and he nods. There are no signs of discomfort on your face, and Tony gives you a slight smirk as he grabs his cock this time, pumping it a few times before pulling you to the edge of the table and dragging his cock through your folds a few times. An obscenely loud moan escapes your lips as his tip rubs over your sensitive clit, and Tony feels himself throbbing in his hand.

"Lean back for me, Sweets," he tells you, and you do as he asks. The sight that unfolds has Tony squeezing himself at the base of his cock to ensure he doesn't cum yet. Your body looks like it's glowing, and your nipple piercings glisten beautifully in the lights of his lab, making him throb in his hand.

A groan escapes his lips as he lines himself up with your entrance, the warmth of your body already luring him in. The moment he pushes in, your soft, velvet walls envelop his tip, and he knows he's a goner, and he never wants to let you go. You're his.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me like a fuckin' slut; I can barely slide my cock in when you do that!" Tony groans out as you let out a string of broken moans at his words, your nails scratching his back to ground yourself as the pleasure builds quickly. He slowly rocks back and forth, your pussy stretching gradually around his girth.

"Oh, you like it when I talk dirty, don't you? When I call you out for what you are, just a slut who wants to be filled by my cock," Tony says with a mischievous smirk. As the words sink in with you, you let out a long, deep moan, unable to form a coherent thought at this point, but you're feeling so good that all you can do is let the pleasure take over now.

When he's about halfway in, he tears his gaze from his cock, sliding in and out of you to have a look at the way you're looking now. Eyes half-lidded and completely dark with lust, a flush on your cheeks, and your mouth slightly parted— a perfect sight for Tony to enjoy.

"Look at me, Sweets; look in my eyes and answer me. Does my filthy slut like it when Sir talks dirty to her? When I tell you that I'm about to fuck you dumb until you're nothing but a cockdrunk mess for me?" he asks you, and all you can do is nod right now. His words are nestling deep into your brain, and your nipples pebble at the thoughts he's planting.

"You're perfect for me, Sweets. Doin' so well for me right now," he then praises you, and a flush appears on your cheeks from the sudden change in tone. He keeps carefully sliding in deeper, ensuring you have enough time to adjust to his length and girth as he does.

"Color?" he asks when a soft whimper suddenly tumbles from your lips. The last thing he wants is to cause you discomfort, and he will ensure you are given the chance to speak up if needed. Even though it takes you quite a long moment to gather your thoughts, you finally manage to tell him you're good to go.

"M so fucking green," you tell him with a sudden boost of confidence, and his mouth curls into a knowing smile. Now that he's satisfied with your answer, he starts to thrust in deeper, and the second he hits your sweet spot, your head falls back, and you moan loudly, your nipples even perking up at the sensation.

"Hmm, does my girl like it when Sir is this fucking deep? I bet you do, huh?" he asks, and you nod in response. It feels incredible, and you want more of it. You want Tony to stretch you and fuck you until you can't walk anymore. You want all of that and more.

"Y-yes!" you tell him, and he almost pulls out before slamming his cock deep into you, pulling the most delicious scream for your chest as you can't hold it back.

"Scream for me, scream my fucking name as I fuck you," Tony says through gritted teeth. He thrusts his cock deeper into you, and you are sure you can almost feel him in your throat with how deep he fucks you. He hooks his hands behind your knees before lifting them and practically folding you in half on the table.

When you're comfortable in your new position, he leans in, pressing his chest against yours and placing your ankles on his shoulders. In this position, he can truly fuck you deep and hard, and your back arches against him as the pleasure inside you builds even higher this way.

"God, look at you; you like being bent in half, don't you? I can just put you in whichever position and fuck you however I want, can't I?" he says, but you're too far gone even to realize what he's saying. The moans that are coming out are practically endless. Despite that, he can feel you gripping onto his cock like a vice, sucking him deeper with each thrust.

"My little slut enjoys it when I fuck her stupid, huh? Yeah, that's why you're moaning for me. And here I thought you were just an innocent little girl. Oh no, you're a fucking slut who likes to be told what to do, aren't you?" he asks, the table now shaking and more items falling off from the intense rocking motions.

"Y-yes! M your slut!" is all you can bring out as he sets a pace that has you seeing stars. The way his balls smack against your ass makes a sound that has you blushing intensely, and the squelching sound your pussy makes with every thrust has you only getting wetter.

"Can't wait to stuff you full with my cum, then watch it drip out before I fuck it right back in with my cock," he tells you, and it makes you feel like you're floating as it sets your veins on fire at the same time, you have never felt this dirty yet so good at the same time.

"Yes! Please fuck your cum in me," you moan out before pulling him towards you by his hair, your lips colliding in a bruising kiss, your tongues fighting for dominance. The combination of everything together has you moaning into his mouth as he keeps fucking you, and before you know it, you're cumming hard.

With a scream of his name, you squirt all over his cock, legs, and the floor, your legs trembling uncontrollably and your vision going white around the edges for a moment. Tony keeps praising you as he fucks you through it, and you're clenching down on his cock as you cum, making him unable to hold out any longer as well.

"Yes, yes, YES! Oh god, you fucking squirted like a perfect girl! I can't believe how lucky I am right now, Sweets! Getting squirted on by my girl feels so fucking amazing!" he pants out, and it does not go unnoticed by you that he calls you his girl.

"M yours, m all yours, Tony," you say between ragged breaths, and with those words, he has reached his orgasm as well, as he shoots every last drop of his cum into your tight heat. He can't stop moaning your name over and over again as he nuzzles his face into your neck, needing to have you as close as physically possible.

"You're absolutely amazing, Sweets—an amazing woman, an amazing journalist, and, above all, my amazing girl. Because I'm not letting you go after this," he whispers against your neck, and you agree as you wrap your hands around his neck.

"All yours," you tell him. The two of you stay like that for a few more moments before Tony has to pull out, his cock too sensitive to remain inside you any longer.

"Shall we take a bath together?" he offers, and you nod. After throwing on Tony's t-shirt, which is about three or four sizes too large and practically a dress on you, he walks you to the elevator that goes right to his penthouse. He just pulled on his jeans without bothering to button them; he'll be pulling them off shortly anyway.

Thankfully, the bath doesn't take long to be drawn and ready. You let out a soft groan as you sink in the hot water, allowing your sore muscles to relax. Tony follows you soon after, having gotten two bottles of water and some fruit to enjoy while you're in the bath.

"Y'know, I was trying to be gentle with you, but as soon as I figured out you're just a filthy slut like me, I couldn't hold back," he whispers in your ear as you're straddling his lap, his cock trapped between your bodies. A lopsided grin lies on his lips as he looks at the blush developing on your cheeks, and he wants to make you blush even more because it has quickly become his favorite color. 

Instead of answering, you lean forward to capture his lips with yours as your fingers glide into his messy curls to pull him closer. The kiss starts slow as you discover the feeling of his lips sliding over yours, but as time goes on, your tongues begin to mingle, too. The taste of something exciting and new invades all your senses, and you're hooked, only wanting more of him and how he makes you feel.

When you finally pull away, there's a smile on your face, but Tony can tell it's not reaching your eyes. The smile he's been craving to see isn't fully there, and his brows are furrowed at the realization.

"What's on your mind, Sweet Girl?" Tony asks, and you drop your gaze as the embarrassment replaces the butterflies that were going crazy in your stomach.

"S nothing, Tony," you whisper, but he knows that's not true. If it has you feeling like this, there is probably something wrong, and he wants to learn all about it so he can fix it, no matter what he would have to do for you. He'd fly to the moon and back if that's what you wanted him to do, no questions asked.

"I may not have known you long, but your mood doesn't turn from one end to the other without a reason. I respect it if you don't want to talk about it, but I also think it will make you feel better if you do," Tony tells you before he gives a soft kiss on your forehead.

With a soft sigh, you plant your hands on both sides of his arc reactor, and the slight hum coming from it makes you feel a little more at ease. It's barely noticeable, but it's enough to calm your nerves, and you decide to tell him what's exactly on your mind. When your eyes lock onto him, you can feel tears burning at the corners of them, a bit afraid of what his response will be.

"I-Is this just a one-time thing? Because if it is, I'd like to know now so I can prepare myself for the heartbreak later," you whisper, the tears spilling over your cheeks. You've been through this too many times to count, and you do not want to be on the receiving end of yet another rejection.

"What? Of course not, Sweets. When I told you you're mine earlier, I meant it. I mean it! We've built a connection over the past three months that I have not felt with anyone in a long time, and I definitely do not consider this a one-time thing. I'm so fuckin' in love with you, I would be crazy to let you go now," he says, and your eyes grow wide as saucers at his confession.

"Y-you're in love with me?" you stammer, the butterflies in your stomach immediately returning at his confession.

"I am, Sweets. I've never met anyone as smart, caring, and sweet as you. And you're very easy on the eyes, too," he says with a wink, making you smile.

"I wouldn't have had sex with you if I didn't think it would go anywhere after today, Baby. You're too special for me to let go, and I want to explore whatever this is between us. But most of all, I'd like to kiss you right now because these lips have been calling my name the entire time," he says as he leans in, capturing your mouth with his.

When you pull away, you give him a soft smile before nuzzling your face into his neck, his arms wrapped around your waist as he pulls you closer until you doze off for a short nap. When you wake up, Tony wipes some hair out of your face, and you're met with a gentle smile on his face.

"How're you feeling, Sweets?" Tony asks before popping a raspberry in his mouth, the sweet yet tangy taste invading his mouth as he listens to what you have to say.

"Good. Tired- but good," you tell him with a dopey smile. You're fully relaxed as you sit in the bath with the man you've fallen in love with. And now that you're his, life couldn't be any better.

"I'm glad. And for the record, I meant what I said earlier. I'm not letting you go after this, especially after I've gotten my slice of heaven earlier," he tells you, and you let yourself melt against his body.

"I know, and I don't want to go, Tony. I want to stay in our slice of heaven for as long as you'll have me," you tell him, sealing the deal with a soft, gentle kiss. After that, you let out a small sigh of relief before Tony hand-feeds you more fruits, and you've never been happier in your life than you are now.

What started as nothing more than another job for you has developed into a new chapter of your life, and you're excited to see where this story will go from here on out.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

No Light In The Darkness

Male Moth Fae Yandere x Gender Neutral Firefly Fae Reader Word Count: 1.5k (CW: Noncon, stalking, fear, dissociation, general yandere behavior, kidnapping, mentally broken reader, dead dove: do not eat, biting, crying, dacryphilia)  (I marked this one as dead dove because despite there being no physical pain or violence I tried to make the mental anguish and the rape scene and depression that follows to be a bit more realistic than normal, idk if I succeeded but I hope readers still enjoy this work. Also thank you to the reader who suggested the name for the yandere.) (This was a request in my stack from a year ago. Oops. Sorry it took so long.)

A firefly fae with constantly moving antenna, a chitinous exoskeleton covering your feet, legs, hands, and arms, and a brightly glowing thorax that extended from your back and bobbed behind your bare ass. That was you. Overall, you were a pretty average firefly.

Sadly though, you were of a very rare breed. There were very few other firefly fae out in the world, at least not in the part of it that you inhabited. But that was okay, you still went out every warm night and took to the sky, flashing and signaling in the way that your kind did to show you were receptive to romantic advances. You did, actually, have a suitor or two, but they were unfit. They seemed nice, but they lacked a certain special something. They weren’t firefly fae like you were. They were illumination deficient. How could you possibly be a partner with someone who was utterly unable to communicate and woo you via light? Being able to express yourself via your light signals was just far too essential an aspect of a relationship to be with someone who you could not share it with. No, you would be happier single than you would be relegating yourself to a relationship with such a person. The non-firefly fae men that you had to reject were all respectful about it and seemed to understand. Or so you had thought. But there was one who always watched you, stealing glances at you whenever you were out and about during the day and completely unable to move his eyes off of you as he stealthily watched you every night from the shadows as you did your half of an unrequited mating ritual. Orion, the muscular moth man that could never manage to take his eyes off of you. How could he possibly be expected to when you illuminated the sky with your enticing little mating dance. Especially since, even if you didn’t want to acknowledge it yet, it was all for him. How could it be for anyone else? There was no one else even watching, and those that had tried to court you in the past never stuck around like he did after you denied them. They couldn’t pass your test to show dedication in earning you as a mate. You probably didn’t even realize you were doing it, were probably in denial telling yourself you had to have another firefly fae, but really you didn’t fool Orion even if you had managed to fool yourself. There were no others of your kind anywhere near there. So obviously you were dancing for Orion. But he was starting to get impatient waiting for you to realize it yourself. He needed to be your mate already. To have his roaming hands explore all over your body. Orion was a master of sticking to the shadows, but even so you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. You had this feeling in the past from time to time but over the past few weeks the sensation had become nearly unbearable. You could not shake, even for a moment, the sensation that you were being stalked. Hunted. Every breeze, every snapping twig, or rusting leaf was a potential assailant to you. It was especially bad in the woods. You surveyed all that was around you, constantly hyper-vigilant. But all you could see were shrubs, trees, soil, and flowers, nothing out of the ordinary. Even your little house, safe above the forest floor, hanging from the branches of a great tree, did not offer the sense of sanctuary that it should have. You even felt at times that you were being watched in your sleep. You even went so far as to get new thicker drapes to make sure no one could peep in. You tried to calm yourself down, tell yourself that you were being paranoid, but you just couldn’t. One day in the forest as you were searching for food things finally came to a head. You were walking along a gently used forest path, overgrown with grass and weeds, when you noticed a delicious looking clump of edible mushrooms at the base of a bush. You bent down and plucked them up, popping them into your basket when suddenly the bush rustled and shook. With a jolt of abject terror you dropped your basket and ran before taking off flying towards your home. You entered the door and slammed it shut and locked it, leaning against it as you caught your breath. Safe, you were safe and sound. An arm suddenly grabbed you from behind making you scream. The glowing red eyes of a mothy fae greeted you. “Are you okay, my love?” You shrieked and tried to get out of the door you had just slammed closed, shaky hands fumbling desperately at the lock. “If something is after you I will keep you safe!” He exclaimed in a voice that could only be described as eager and “trilling”. He pulled you close and held you tight against his abs. You tried to flail out of his grip, to kick and push but he was so strong, you could see and feel his muscles even beneath his lavender fur. One set of arms wrapped around you, squeezing uncomfortably tight, while the other two slowly made trails all over your body, feeling up your rear, gently touching your sides, and finally turning your head towards him as he kissed you deeply, making a sound not unlike a purr as he did so. You struggled against him, fighting the kiss, your pleas and screams muffled into it, but he did not seem to mind. You tasted so wonderful. “Calm down my little light, I am here for you. I know you might be in denial and nervous, but I know you need me.” He gently grinded against you from behind, his large warm erection slipping between your thighs and plainly visible from between your legs. Precum smeared your thighs as he continued thrusting really slowly, like he was afraid he might harm his tiny little victim. His words, obviously, did nothing to console you and his erection clearly showed his sexual intent with you, eliciting the only logical response. “L-let go of me you fucking psycho! Are you touched in the fucking head!? Get your nasty dick away from me you filthy pervert!!! What in the ever loving fuck is wrong with you?” As you said these words with all the anger and venom you had in you you were flashing angrily as well. “Ah you flash so prettily for me my little fire~ Someone’s just grouchy because they don’t know how to admit they want to be my mate and get my cock in them!” He completely twisted the intent of your words until they reinforced his skewed reality. His cock prodded your entrance, lovingly massaging precum into your hole to lube you up while one of his roaming hands found your chest and he began lightly pinching your nipple. “You don’t need to act all tough my sweet flame, I know you’re soft. You have a mate now, no use pretending otherwise,” he cooed. “You’re a goddamn maniaaaaah-” Orion stopped your words by biting into your sensitive neck just as he finally drove his cock into you. You moaned involuntarily and your legs probably would have given out had he not been holding onto you with his powerful arms. “See? I’ll make my mate feel so good~” You felt a growing heat in your stomach as your light started flashing like crazy, your body was betraying you completely but no part of you wanted this. Tears flooded your eyes and sobs broke up the gasps leaving your body. Of course Orion was oblivious to your plight. Another thing he completely misinterpreted. Your frantic light signals were a sign for him to continue, your tears were clearly of joy, and you couldn’t help but sob in pleasure because your big strong mothy mate was taking such good care of you. The overstimulation was way too much. The mouth all over your neck, sucking, biting, licking, and kissing. The fingers playing with your nipples. The arms holding you so tightly like you were the most important treasure on earth. You came hard. You went limp and your mind went blank, as if trying to spare you what was happening to you to some degree. It was, almost, like an out of body experience. He did not stop at your climax, he kept diving into you over and over, licking up your beautiful tears that he was so sure were caused by the pleasure he was giving you. At long last he finally planted one more passionate kiss to your unresponsive lips and filled you with his viscous seed. His antenna flitted over you and he held you even closer than before. He finally got to breed his darling. And when you next rejoined reality you would find yourself in an unfamiliar dwelling, the place he called home, leaning against him with your face buried in his chest, quietly sobbing, as he slowly made love to you again and again. 

[chronically-ghosted]

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

chapter rating: T

word count: ~25K

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

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

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

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

part ii:

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

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

crunch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just by the top drawer.

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

It’ll be small. Just a latch.

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

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

Joel.

“Joel!”

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Planning on getting wounded any time soon?”

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

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

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

Morphine. 

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

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

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

Would and wouldn’t.

Should and shouldn’t. 

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

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

“What else you got?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ellie!”

“Joel, look, it’s a radio!” 

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

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

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

“But I’ve got room in my pack –,”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

No other purpose at all. 

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

“Hey, Ellie, uh–,”

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

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

Luxor, the label reads. 

Hand cream. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She lifts her chin, hands curled at her side.

“How?”

“How what?”

“How do you make them afraid?” 

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

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

“It’s not. Not when it’s for her.” 

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

“Yeah, of course, she’s your kid.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just stares wide-eyed and inhales. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could hardly recognize the woman underneath it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whenever Joel gets back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie.

And Joel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sarah, are you –,”

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

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

At least crazy runs in the family. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? What was it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was fine. Did she mention anything?”

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

“Nothing out of the ordinary, at least.” 

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

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

“Joel? What is it?” 

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

“C’mere.” 

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

You go to him without question. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re welcome.”

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

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

You can’t deny this anymore.

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

One hand in the air.

“Yes?”

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

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

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

“Correct again.” 

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

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

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

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

Genus

Common name

Poisonous

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie merely sniffs hers. 

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, of course, I know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a kind of math –,”

“Advanced math,” you interject. 

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

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

“Sam? Who’s Sam?” 

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

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

Ellie, however, remains completely baffled.

“Yeah and? He’s just some guy.”

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

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

Sarah shakes her head no. 

“Not even with a group of people?”

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

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

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

“Oh – you mean like a date.”

“Who’s going on a date?” 

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

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

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

“We were talking about boys.”

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

“Oh.”

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

Joel nods, wiping his hands on his shirt. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s Sam?”

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

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

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

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

“That’s not funny, Dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel’s trust makes your heart soar. 

Only to come crashing down. 

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

Nurture. It’s not what you do. 

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

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

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

  “Alright, Joel. I’ll try.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think so.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until something sang out to it. 

“How?”

“How what?”

“How do you see the world?” 

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

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

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

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

“But I can’t leave him.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Sarah, do you know what rouge is?” 

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

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

“Have you ever worn it?” 

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

“Would you like to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hard to believe, right?”

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

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

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

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

“How so?”

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

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

“Have you seen him since he left?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Yes, please.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” Small. Hesitant. Hopeful. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know there isn’t much I can offer her all the way out here. But . . .” And maybe this is where you take it a step too far. All Joel asked of you was to make sure Sarah was alright. None of this had anything to do with the argument she had with her father. Maybe this is incredibly selfish on your part. But, whether you – or Joel – like it or not, you care for Sarah, in a way that was entirely different and exactly like how you cared for Ellie. You couldn’t help but want more than to make sure that Sarah is just alright. You pull away from the brush in her hand and hold her gaze. “I was wondering if you wanted to help me make her a cake.” 

Sarah’s face nearly shines with joy.

Cool. 

A sensation that draws heat, soothes aggravation, exhilarates that which is dry.

Water, fresh and clear, anoints your forehead and sinks into your hair. It pours off your shoulders, catching the soft skin near your hips, your calves. Droplets pepper your toes like embers from a fire. 

Another splash and the water spills over the crown of your head, through the thickness of your already damp hair, threatening to drip onto the back of your neck and send a flood of chills down your exposed skin – 

But a warm hand cups you near the base of your skull and a new sensation flutters awake, this time from within.

“Good?” His voice. You hear it more in your chest. It’s deep, rumbling. Patient. 

You can’t find enough of your body to tell him, yes, Joel, yes, feels so good.

His wide hand slides down your bare back, a warm stone against the river of your skin, and another spout of water drenches you again. 

A second hand joins the exploration of your body, massaging and squeezing all at once. Slow, steady fingers curl around the wings of your ribs, then where your skin thickens and swells, his nails scraping across the low curve of your breasts.

Oh. Oh, Joel. 

“Tell me you want this.”

That voice prickles your ears, the rough scrape of a beard nebulous on your shoulder, just as you had always hoped it would be. Water splashes you again and every inch of your shudders.

“I won’t stop.”

Don’t. Please. 

“I won’t stop. You just have to pick it up.” 

His hands are gone, his warmth evaporated. 

The water is suddenly slick, lichen-drenched, and stagnant. It lurks by your ankles.

Pick it up. 

The stone walls at the bottom of the well ring with coldness. You shiver, naked and alone. Afraid, as frozen as a block of salt. 

Don’t just stand there. You’ll never do it. Just pick it up. That voice. You hate that voice.

The barrel of the gun brushes against the edge of your foot, the head of a snake gliding in the water –

You grab wakefulness by the throat and use it to yank yourself out of the nightmare. 

The familiar silence of the early gray morning in the kitchen that had become comfortable as of late is decidedly – worryingly – not. Your shoulders are taut, straight as a board from end to end. Over the suds and the dishes your hands move mechanically, ignoring the clatter of knives and forks and the rush of water. But above everything else, it’s the expression on your face that concerns Joel the most.

Even when you’ve worked yourself to exhaustion, there’s normally a light in your eyes that settles something restless inside of him, even after hours of labor. A source of strength that he finds himself eager to chase, to let it flood him – but right now, as you stand at the kitchen sink, you’re gone. Elsewhere, disappeared into blackness where that brightness used to be. 

If he were a different man, a man capable of this sort of concern, he could ask you about it. At the very least get you to look at him. During breakfast, amidst the girls’ playful bickering, you hadn’t even noticed he, or anyone, was there. You had eaten as though your spine had been sealed to an iron rod – stiff, painful. Ellie and Sarah had run out a while ago, Sarah leaving to gather up the laundry and Ellie to let the animals out to pasture. He isn’t even sure if you noticed that he stayed behind, but that stirring behind his chest, one that’s become more insistent when you’re around, froze up to a painful knot at the thought of leaving you alone like this. Like you were caught someplace where you might not come back from. 

So, straddling this widening gap he fears slipping off of, Joel lands on the only thing he knows where there is some common ground:

“Don’t think I said anything before, but Ellie’s a pretty brave kid.” 

At her name, you blink. Slow the scrub of soap across the plate, then stop. You look at him and the darkness is not so deep in your gaze. He busies his hands with picking up a rag and beginning to dry the stack of plates to your right.

“Oh?” Recognition flickers over your face as if you’re suddenly aware of who you were talking to. A tender crease appears between your eyes. He dries off another plate and turns to face the sink, to hide the curve of his mouth from you. 

“You’re surprised.” 

You blink, glance down at his hands, and pick up the sponge again. 

“No – I’m not – I mean, I know she’s a good kid, but . . .” You swallow, brow furrowed again. “What did she say to you?”

“Hm, not so much said anything as just listened. Stayed close, kept quiet. Left no rock unturned.” The edges of his sleeves are damp. You have your dress sleeves pushed all the way up past your elbows; it’s Saturday, a brief respite from the cycle of labor in the fields. The skin over your forearm and wrist looked particularly delicate against the breakfast table, now hidden by the soap and the water. Joel dries the cup in his hand with a bit more force. “She’s smart too. Knew all about iodine and what it’s used for. Had some idea how to seal up a hot water bottle. I’s glad to have her with me.” 

You actually snort – without an ounce of respectability – and he stares at you, transfixed by a noise he’s fairly certain he’s never heard you make before. You duck your head as the small smile falls off your face, scrubbing the fork in your hand a bit rougher.

“Sorry. It’s just . . . Ellie doesn’t get along with most people, or . . . anyone for that matter. Sarah – well, Sarah could make friends with a feral cat so I’m not surprised they get along. But you . . .” You trail off and Joel shifts his weight back and forth, all the possibilities of what you meant reverberating in the spaces between his ribs. “I guess I’m just glad she didn’t piss you off.”

“Oh, it takes a lot to piss me off. ‘Cause I’m a casual and easy-going kinda guy, y’know.” 

You freeze again as if he had just tried to convince you the sky was green and you should be looking for some sort of head trauma. He lets a small grin spread over his mouth, even brighter as your eyes widen. A joke. He is teasing you. 

A soft, barely intimate gesture. 

You smile. He feels something shift in his chest. Whatever else happens today, he’ll keep that smile in his breast pocket. He clears his throat.

“Nah, she’s a good kid. Just needs an outlet, I think.” 

You stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him at the sink. The cream lace curtains drawn horizontally across the window block out the brightening horizon. An early morning breeze smooths across the pasture grass, the light weak with the sun still low in the sky. The silence that follows is easier, something he can stomach. In the sink, the water sloshes, silverware clatters, and the plates squeak when he dries them off. The faint curves of your mouth he sees out of the corner of his eyes embolden him further.

“She, hm, ever mentioned any interest in music?”

You shrug. “Ellie and her mother loved dancing to our neighbor’s radio in our apartment in Boston. Why do you ask?”

“She found a radio while we were in town the other day, and she was curious. But with no radio here, the best I can do is a guitar – I know’ve got one around here somewhere and I figured she might like to learn some chords. But I wanted – hm –,” that goddamn tickle in the back of his throat, “wanted to make sure it’d be alright with you if I showed her a couple of things.” 

Eyes wide, soft lips parted – he doesn’t know where to carry the look you’re giving him now. 

“Y-yeah, Joel, that’ll be fine. If you think that’ll make her happy, then . . . of course.”

He nods, slowly, the hot realization that he’ll now have to approach Ellie with an offer for guitar lessons pricking the back of his neck. Her bewildered expression probably won’t look much different from his own.

“‘Least I could do, after what you did with Sarah.” He means going to talk to her, not the immense relief you’ve provided her physically the last few months. He still hasn’t said thank you for that – or that you indulge in her every academic desire or curiosity. There’s no question too outrageous or problem too difficult that she brings to you – and curiously, you seem delighted every time. “She, uh, she’s getting older and I don’t always . . .” It’s an admission of his own shortcomings and it twists his gut. But then that radiant smile returns to your face and he thinks he feels that restrictive choke of guilt ease . . . just a bit.

“She’s very special, Joel. We had fun.” You finish laying out the last bits of damp silverware and a plate or two on the drying rack, your hands all white with soap bubbles. And then you pause. “She . . .”

He catches the brush of your gaze as you look away, shoulders suddenly rigid. You were about to say something, something you assume that he doesn’t already know about Sarah. You have something precious of Sarah’s and you don’t look willing to share.

“What?” It comes out a bit rougher than he means, but his heart rate is up a tick and the corners of his mouth are dry. “She, what?”

You unplug the drain, your movements slow, hesitant.

“She has dreams, Joel, just like every other teenage girl.” 

“Of course she does. I know that.”

The murky water swirls low with a gurgle. You follow it with your eyes, the timbre of your voice low, but firm. “If you want to go out there and ask her what they are, then by all means, go talk to her. But she trusted me to keep her confidence.” 

He swallows, as much as your words burn him – deeper and hotter than he expected – you’re right, of course. But now, for the first time, there is a visible crack between him and his daughter. A wet slippery feeling snakes around the bottom of his spine, tying a knot in his stomach and grinding his voice down to a growl. 

“That is not your decision to make.” 

Your mouth is set firm, but the brightness of your eyes has faded, more distance between you and reality. More space, on the edge of a protective cavern. You step back, about two arm lengths away. 

“Joel,” you begin. “She is entitled to her privacy.” 

The knot in his stomach expands up into his ribs. His heart beats faster, attempting to stretch away from the hot iron in his gut but he can’t escape it. “What did you two talk about?”

“School. Makeup. Clothes. Her life here. ” 

His hands sweat. “What about her life? Is she unhappy?” 

“Oh, God, no, Joel, she loves you and she loves being here with you. She just wants –,”

“What? What does she want?” You stiffly turn to put away the dishes, to close him off, but he steps closer, over the already blurring lines. “Look, I took you and Ellie in off the streets – I hired you – to come here and look out for her – act as her nurse, her teacher – to keep her safe. Not to keep secrets from me.” 

Your spine goes rigid, just like it was at breakfast, as you gingerly put the plates down on the counter. 

“And we’re enormously grateful for your kindness. You know that.” Hands pressed flat onto your hips, you turn and look at him, blank-eyed and drawn thin. You stare at him like he’s a stranger. Something completely foreign and unfamiliar – he hates that look. “Are you asking me as my employer?”

What else are you to me? 

Someone at least worth the weight of a jar of hand cream. 

He shoves back that thought as the fog of a dozen others crowd in to take its place.

“I am. I appreciate your help earlier, but this is the line. Is Sarah alright or not?”

You glance away from him, as if he might find the truth in your eyes. “What she’s experiencing is perfectly normal for a girl her age. You wouldn’t understand.” 

The ground trembles, unsteady, beneath him. Where had he gone wrong? He didn’t feel the earthquake but now can see the broken faultline, the great maw opening its jaws beneath his feet. Fear, so dark and deep – it threatens to swallow him whole, but he gets his hands around it, by the throat, and snaps it clean in two. Joel narrows his eyes. 

“Somethin’ I do understand is Ellie’s been eyein’ my gun since day one. What kind of fourteen year old girl s’after that? ” 

At that, you blanch. It’s like he can see the bile rise up in the back of your throat, sit on your tongue and stay there. You’ve gone totally still, barely breathing. Joel isn’t sure if he’s satisfied or not that the remark landed its blow so thoroughly. 

“She’s just a c-child who wants to pretend she’s an adult. Just like S-Sarah.”

His fist curls around the damp rag in his hand, desperate for something to hold onto, to squeeze until the ground feels solid, but his anger isn’t fortifying him anymore. The next words out of his mouth are disgustingly desperate. 

“Is that what this is about? Did Ellie say something to her?” 

“Ellie? What? No! No, this has n-nothing to do with Ellie.” You look at him, something tender and wounded flashing there and it chills the heat rising in his chest just for an instant. “I would tell you if it was something serious. Don’t you trust me?” 

But you can’t come between him and Sarah. Nothing should.

The black chasm that he feels compelled to claw back against breeches open again. Edges crumbling beneath his fingers. Sarah, Sarah –  is the only one who matters. 

The muzzle runs its clammy tongue up the back of his spine, releasing a landslide of heavy dread across his body. His anxiety peaks in a wave and as it crests, he slams his hand on the counter, a blown fuse. 

“No, goddamn it, I don’t!” 

Jaw locked, he whips his head up. Whatever sits sour on his tongue, when he looks at you, it turns to a block of ice.

Where it bubbles up like black tar behind his chest, a thing that possesses him, you watch him with horror. Eyes wide, lips drawn so tight they’re practically nonexistent, hand around your throat as if to protect it preventively.

The bracing skeleton of indignant rage melts from his body so fast his brain goes fuzzy. He wasn’t thinking – wasn’t thinking about how you flinched, tears in your silver-dollar eyes, at the loud sound that time he accidentally knocked a pot to the floor. He had never seen you so bewildered and terrified – until now.

“Look, I’m–I’m not . . .” he swallows, “I didn’t mean it.” 

He watches your eyes drop to his hand curled around the edge of the counter and he intentionally relaxes the muscle. He stands up right, but leans back from you, giving you space. The tension in your shoulders eases only a fraction. “She doesn’t . . . doesn’t have to tell me everything, but I just wanna make sure that she’s safe, and happy. Can you at least give me that?”

You’re breathing rapidly, eyes watching his hand at his side as if anticipating it curling into a fist. He turns his palms up in supplication – he really, really didn’t mean to lose control like that –  and he steps back until he’s up against the door leading to the cellar down below. The wood is warm against his back, but his shoulder bumps into the hinge and it pinches his skin.  

Your hands are no longer wrapped up in tight fists. With a deep inhale, you close your eyes, as if steadying yourself against a torrential wind. When you breathe out, it’s unsteady and shaky. 

“Physically and m-mentally, she’s fine. She’s j-just . . . just growing up.”

All this time, bits of you have been growing towards the light as the days and weeks pass. He’s watched you transform, can’t take his eyes off you some days, into this woman where before he had seen you as just a tool, another a rake or a trowel. Now you’ve curled back into yourself like nothing had ever happened between you and him – all it took was too-sharp a snap. Sarah always said his bark was worse than his bite. 

Joel takes a half a step forward and you take three steps back. Your hand is over your heart, fingers curling into the fabric, eyes still as wide as they had been the night in the general store, facing down those rangers entirely by yourself. Shit. 

He wants to ask you why you fear loud noises, wants to know who did this to you and why.

He’s not that kind of man who does this sort of thing, someone who scares women.

But he’s also not that kind of man who knows how to navigate the aftermath. He doesn’t know how to be anything other than a father and a worker. Hasn’t cared to be anything else for a long, long time, and the muscle has atrophied. Can’t be a friend. Not a companion. Not whatever paints his dreams with streaks the color of your eyes. 

“‘M gonna go find Sarah, talk to her, like you said,” he mutters, shuffling towards the back door. “If you – need – if you want –,”

His throat finally closes, shame making his gaze slippery and it slides away from your face. He doesn’t stay long enough to hear if your breathing has settled as he shuffles out the door and towards the barn.

The metal of the iron flares to an ugly, angry red, and you wipe your forehead before the sweat can drop onto the stove top and sizzle. With your teeth mashed together so tightly your jaw aches, you lift up the six-pound metal wedge up off the stove, shake it free of as much ash as possible, and then press it down onto Ellie’s collar shirt on the floor. Immediately you sweep up and down the length of the shirt, careful not to linger too long on any one spot, but sure to flatten the wrinkles.

Sad irons, is what Anna called them one day after taking in the laundry from the washing line outside. She had heard a few of the neighborhood bitties tittering about them and found the term hilariously apt. Sad irons because they’re more work than they’re good for. 

Truth be told, you liked ironing, only in certain instances though. Moments when you wanted physical exhaustion to serve as a numbing agent to the battle of emotions building between your ribs. Sweat drips down your neck, your knees aching from pushing into the hardwood floors, your arms and shoulders burning from lifting the hot iron up and down, as you rock back and forth to clear away every last wrinkle. 

Joel’s hand smacking against the counter echoes in your mind again and again and again, as the kitchen and the homestead and reality bends away from you as you tumble through memory after memory – distracted, the iron brushes up against your flesh and bites in.

You yelp, sucking the flat back of your thumb into your mouth to ease the sizzling burn, and you sit back onto your heels. 

Yes, the pain is bright and it stings, but not enough to draw tears to your eyes, and yet they well up all the same.

A single image breaks through the numbing barrier of pain: the jar of Luxor in your room. You want nothing more than to sink your scalded thumb into its cool gel, but instead the image alone threatens to crack a sob out of your chest. 

He wouldn’t have done anything. Nothing like your husband.

You know that, and you hate yourself a little bit that you reacted like that, even after all this time. Why couldn’t you stand your ground, even for Sarah? God, if you had cried in front of Joel – the mere thought of that embarrassment burns hotter than the sting on your thumb. 

He had gotten so close. Too close to the truth. What had Ellie told him about the gun, even by accident? Joel didn’t seem intent on calling the police, but he’d left so fast. He must have been so angry just to leave like that. 

As you open your eyes, a thought occurs to you and the strength of it nearly disconnects you from your body: what if you left?

Your gaze darts to the blue sky just outside the window, too low to see the gold ground but you know it’s there – just as wide and open as it had been that first night in Dalhart. 

What if you gathered up Ellie right now and ran? It had worked before, and this time you didn’t leave the evidence in the bottom of a well. He couldn’t prove anything, just the ramblings of a fourteen year old girl. 

Shit, what the hell did he know?

“Hiya!” Sarah skips in through the back door, arms full of fresh herbs in her basket.

“Be careful!” You snap at her, your thumb throbbing, tears and hasty decisions receding. “Don’t track in dirt – I just mopped.”

She freezes, catches sight of the iron and Elllie’s shirt. You haven’t looked up at her. Slowly she unlaces her boots at the door and steps gingerly onto the wooden floor. You can feel her eyes track you as she walks to the kitchen counter and drops off her basket. The anxiety pulsing beneath your skin ratchets up your heart rate, hot blood pounding in your ears. 

“So, um, anyway, I was wondering if we could talk about Ellie’s birthday. I know she loves chocolate, but Dalhart hasn’t had that in years. But I think we might have a bit of vanilla in the cellar. Do you want me to go look?” You don’t miss the way her eyes flit over her shoulder to you, the question posed as if she was sticking a tree branch through the bars of a tiger’s cage on a dare.

“Um, yeah, that’ll be fine.”

Ellie never had the language to find the source of your anxiety and over the years learned either to leave you to your physical work or silently help you with it. Joel evidently – obviously – was a better parent than that:

“Are you okay?” Sarah asks.

You stop, in daze, then slide the iron off the clothes and onto its side. It seems ridiculous but you can’t remember the last time anyone asked you that. Ellie, your only connection to family, knew exactly what you had to do to keep you both safe, so the question was always irrelevant. So when did you let another person in enough for them to care that much to ask?

“Just, uhm, busy. Need to get this done.” 

Sarah narrows her eyes at you. “‘Cause you don’t sound like you’re okay. In fact, you actually sound really bad. What’s wrong?”

“I’m . . . I just didn’t sleep well. Had a bad dream. That’s all.” 

The lies knot in your throat; it’s insufficient to call it bad – it’s insufficient to call it a dream, the thing that had scared you so badly, even Joel picked up on it. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

You glance up, still on your aching hands and pinched knees. She watches you with those same endless brown eyes as her father’s but immeasurably softer, arms wrapped over themselves, eyebrows furrowed with concern. You had snapped at her when she didn’t deserve it and she just . . . moved on.

“No, Sarah, I-I don’t want to burden you . . . it’s nothing, honestly, I’m just being silly.” 

She rolls her eyes, that wise stare cracking in half. “Fine. Don’t talk to me, but you should talk to someone. Talk to my dad. I know he doesn’t look like it but he’s a really good listener.”

Your cheeks go as warm as the iron beside you, making it impossible to keep looking at her. “Sarah, please, I am his employee. That is entirely inappropriate.” 

“Oh, please.” She swats away your concern and turns back to the herbs. She pulls out canning jars from below the sink and begins to organize by food or medicine. “Fine. Don’t tell me. When do you want to start working on Ellie’s cake?” 

The iron is no longer nearly hot enough to be effective but you run it up the shirt again, to smooth the uneven threads of your own feelings.

“Maybe tomorrow morning, when she’s out with the cows.” You pause. “No, wait, we’re spraying pesticides tomorrow. I can’t.”

Again, in that flippant teenager way, she shakes her head. “Dad’ll let you have a morning off if you tell him what is for.”

Joel’s anger, the smack of his palm – they reverberate in your head again as if someone had struck you with a bell. Your chest tight, you say,

“I don’t think your father wants anything to do with me right now.”

The excited buzz that always follows after Sarah like floating dandelion seeds settles eerily. You bite your lip – why did you say anything? – and watch her back stiffen, rosemary in one hand and a jar in the other. 

She is the daughter of your employer; you cannot forget that, but you had – you had forgotten, and so easily too. She was well within her rights to –

“What did he do?”

You blink. “What?”

She lets out a frustrated groan. “God, I swear that man likes the taste of his foot in his mouth!” Sarah turns around, rosemary and jar back on the counter, her hands on her hips and you feel like you’re the one about to be scolded. “What did he say to you to make you upset?”

“Nothing, Sarah, I swear.” She raises an eyebrow. You break instantly. “We just had a disagreement. He wasn’t . . . pleased with my work, and he told me so. Which is perfectly fine, given that I am his employee.” 

She shoves her palms into her brow, groaning. “But that’s not all –,” she shakes her head. “That’s it. I’m gonna go talk to him.” 

“Sarah, don’t –,”

You struggle to your feet, your knees stiff and popping, hand outstretched after her, but she’s too fast. She opens the back door and lets it slam shut behind her, leaving you blinking on the floor. 

He’s been staring at the back wall of the wooden shed for twenty minutes. Hadn’t made a move to grab a single tool, or pick up a bag of feed. Behind him, the wind dives into the fields, scuttles apart the branches of the oak tree by the river in a soft crackle. In the barn, one of the cows lets out a loud groan.

The back of his neck is starting to grow hot from the sun. Sweat peaks at his brow. His hand on the door, the other by his side, his fingers ceaselessly twitching, taking on physical shapes of his anxiety. But he can’t move away. If he moves, he’ll make the wrong choice again.

He’s angry. He’s still angry.

But that anger is fueled by a churning ball of fear that sits right on top of his chest and lashes at his skin like steel wool. It itches like hell and he can scratch at it all he wants, but it never goes away.

This was all a mistake. He sees that now. He could have handled another season on his own. He didn’t need another farm hand – he’d done it before and could do it again. Sarah was smart enough to read the right books all on her own and if she didn’t have the ones she needed, he’d go get them – wherever they might be. 

Sarah didn’t need anyone either. She’d make friends with kids soon enough, in town or whenever the school reopened. She was smart, always had been. They’d figure it out, together. 

He could have lived the rest of his life without another living soul crossing the boundary onto the Miller lands. 

And yet he hadn’t. 

He’d let someone in. 

As a general rule, he tried not to think of you in any capacity outside of work, education, and medical treatments, but he found that he had no defenses against the presence of someone who lives in his house also taking up residence in his mind. Against someone who cooks his meals and makes his daughter laugh. Who has a fraught relationship with her niece and yet would quite literally kill for her. 

That he understood, even if you and him seemed determined to prevent yourself from relating to one another in any capacity - which was fine with him. But he saw it in you, even if he didn’t recognize it at first in that bar in Dalhart. And then he saw it again the morning you and Ellie saved Sarah. The instinct to protect, to secure. It had been years since he’d seen it on someone else, and had never seen it that strong. 

And that’s what had gotten him into trouble today. That instinct he’d had all his life suddenly butting up against a tender feeling that is so foreign to him he doesn’t know what to do with it. Doesn’t know how to hold it, carry it, so it goes everywhere, soaks him down to the bone. 

All his life, he’s only ever enjoyed the company of two people, now one. He knew that if he took care of the land, it would take care of him and his family, so he never needed anyone else. But Sarah had a caretaker and a friend and nurturer but still clearly wanted more. Something he couldn’t give her. Something that never would have come to her otherwise if he hadn’t taken in you and Ellie. 

In his hardest of hearts, he both highly praised and deeply, deeply resented you for that. 

For coming here and upsetting everything. 

Fuck. 

His thumb catches on a splinter from the doorframe, tearing his eyes away from the blank wall, the brief pain causing his anger to flare brightly, the slice of wood embedded deep in his skin. His eyes snap to the back wall, looking for pliers to yank the damn splinter out – but his gaze catches something on the back wall first. 

Your work gloves, on the shelf. As broken in and soft as his. Taking up space beside his own as if they had belonged there all along.

In direct conflict with everything he thought he wanted, everything that he understood about himself and his daughter and the land he protects, you and Ellie had become embedded in the homestead such that now he's not quite sure he could picture it without your presence. It's a permanence that, he could tell, you all had sorely needed.

You, unlike him, did need someone else to survive in this world, one that isn't built for or kind to or willing to value women like you – and yet he got the impression that you never had a soft spot for people either. Been on the receiving end of harassment and cruelty too much and too long to find anyone or anything meaningful outside your family. It was narrow-minded and perhaps selfish, but not a perspective he would ever disagree with.

Ellie, unlike Sarah, had a caretaker but lacked a friend, someone to nurture her emotionally, tenderly, despite her vocal protests. He can see in the dark well of her eyes every time she watches him out of the corner of her eye when he cocks his gun or saddles up the horse. Like you, the ability to share a burden had been beaten out of her.

Now, what does he do with –

“Dad!” 

He jumps, the bark of her voice so loud and brash it rattles his heart for a second. Christ, is that what he sounded like?

He looks over his shoulder to see Sarah striding over to him, fists clenched, eyes blazing, dark hair turned light in the harsh glare of the sun. Sometimes – oftentimes –  he was surprised that a tempest like her came from him. 

“Dad!” Sarah barks again, the smack of her boots in the dirt launching puffs of earth by her ankles. She grinds to a halt in front of him, hands on her hips. “She’s my friend! What did you say to her?” 

“I haven’t seen Ellie since breakfast –,”

“No. Not Ellie.” The pitch of anxiety plummets into his stomach. He knows what she’s going to say before she opens her mouth. “Her aunt. You said something to her that made her upset, and I want to know what it is.” 

Where her fists lock onto her hips, one hand curls onto his hip as it juts to the side. With a sigh, Joel wipes his eyes with his fingers.

“Sarah . . .” 

“Oh, don’t Sarah me! And don’t act like I’m too young to understand, either! You raised me better than that.” Her footing shifts slightly and Joel sees an opening, small, flickering. He sees her pouting at five years old, wanting to stay up past her bedtime not for the sake of being disagreeable, but merely to spend more time with him. 

He tilts his head. “I don’t think you’re too young to understand, Sarah. Come to think of it, I’ve probably let you see and hear too much. Put too much on you.”

Her boiling anger simmers and the frown on her face softens. 

“That’s not . . . that’s not it at all, Dad.” 

With half a sigh, he extends his hand towards her, a peace offering as much as he was capable of. “C’mere, let’s get outta the heat. You and I gotta talk.” 

Her eyes fall to his outstretched hand, lip bitten between her teeth, as if under some obligation not to take it. He lets it fall, as much as it stings a very delicate part of him, and turns back towards the cellar doors. Attached to the house near the water pump, they face west, spending most of the day in the shade. Where he would sit to catch his breath after laboring in the fields all day and she brought him water and they would talk – about anything and everything. 

Joel slides down into the dirt, dust clinging to his shirt, his pants. He looks up at her, waiting, holding his will silently against hers without demand, and with a huff, Sarah drops down next to him. They sit in the shade, like they’ve always done. 

This place has always been a place of safety for him. Not just this land, but this spot, this shaded seat next to her. Joel looks at her, his smile wan. “So, if that’s not it, what is it, baby? ‘Cause I clearly haven’t got a fuckin’ clue what I’m doing. I’m sorry I made you so angry. I promise you, I was just teasin’.”

She always liked it when he spoke softly to her, maybe bringing back memories of when she was small and slept for hours on his bare chest. He turns his gaze to the yellow land, the distant dirt roads, and the sprawling emptiness beyond them. This land, that is his responsibility to keep safe. 

“I know, Dad.” He listens to her scrape the heel of her boot back and forth over a pebble. She feels warm against his side. “I’m not mad about that. I mean, I was, but not anymore.”

“But you’re mad about somethin’?” 

She’s not ready to meet his eye, he knows. That’s okay. He can wait. 

He smells lavender as her hair flutters again, her gaze joining his to watch their fields, the fields held by their family for three generations. The memories of her illness –of so many nights spent in fear, in anguish nearly as painful as death itself, as she cried and cried and cried and he could do nothing to stop it – overwhelm him out of nowhere and, like a fist has settled around his throat, he can’t breathe right for a moment. His hands flex and strain where they hang over his knees.

Air returns to him when she rests her head against his shoulder, and he is suddenly more grateful to you for bringing back his little girl than he’s ever felt towards anyone in his life. But the taste of his words he said to you lingers on his tongue. He had been so terrible.

“I like learning.” Sarah says. The wind tugs on her hair, the hemline of his pants. He resists the urge to press his face into her curls and instead settles for breathing in her scent, her warmth. He closes his eyes. She is his whole world. 

The heat of the sun toasts the air around them as the wind settles. He opens his eyes to the solar star far beyond this planet. Another world entirely. It feels particularly close today.

“I know you do. You’re good at it, always make me proud.”

Sarah lifts her head and he feels the traction of her gaze. His stomach knots, but not as heavily as his heart swells. Her eyes are older than he’s ever remembered seeing when he finally looks at her, and he’s felt a lot of his years recently. Her hands curl around his elbow, like she used to do when she begged him for a new book or a new dress. Pleading with him, to make him see her.

“But I think I’ve learned all I can . . . here.”

Joel breathes through the gaping wound and surge of pride in his chest. She watches him, brown eyes wide, mouth set. The same little girl he’s always known, and nothing like her at all. How had he missed it, this fundamental and irrevocable change? Where had the time gone? 

“I know, baby. You have to go.” 

He expects something like a girlish squeal, maybe little dance, a yelp of joy – throwing her arms around his neck, making promises to be on her very best behavior – 

But instead –

“But not right now.” Her eyes fill with tears, voice small, uncertain. Vulnerable in a way only a child’s can be.

He puts his arm around her shoulder, between her and the dirt-crusted house on the land that is now his, was his father’s, and his father’s before that, and hides his own wet eyes from her by burying his face in her hair. Her arms are wrapped so tightly around his chest, his heart nearly stops.

“No, not right now. But some day.” 

They who have been alone together all their lives sit and hold their other half for a long, long time.

The sun hovers in the late afternoon sky, unwilling to let time march forward, but it always does. It always has to. 

With a gruff grunt, Joel pulls away and wipes at his eyes with the palm of his hand. Sarah sits up more, sniffing, her delicate fingers smearing away the dampness on her cheeks. He clears his throat again. 

“C’mon, enough out here. Ellie’s probably out lookin’ for you, and I need to help, um –,”

“Dad.” He drops back down the half inch he pulled himself up. Suddenly, with a grin and a mischievous light in her still-wet eyes, she looks as young as she is supposed to be. “We haven’t talked about everything yet.”

“What do you mean?”

Her dark eyes flit back to the house, a pointed look. A knowing look. He doesn’t know why but it makes his stomach churn and his heart rate speed up, ever so slightly. That grin on her lips evolves into a full fledged smirk. 

“You were a jerk. Now you have to make it up to her. How are you gonna do that?” 

Joel’s mouth twitches. “I’m out of ideas.” 

“Good. ‘Cause I’m not.” Sarah heaves herself onto her feet, then stands, and dusts the back of her skirt with a few good thwaps. “It’s Ellie’s birthday tomorrow. Me and her aunt are gonna make a cake, so you’re gonna get her a present. You’re also in charge of distracting her while we get everything ready.”

Joel chuckles lightly as he stares up at her, one eye squinting against the sunlight. “Yeah? And what am I supposed to get her?”

She extends her hand and he takes it. Together, they get him on his feet. She dusts off his sleeve, then grins up at him, her smile wide and full and loaded with secrets he knows he didn’t tell her. “I can’t give you all the answers, old man.” 

It’s nerves. 

It’s nerves and that’s why you can’t find the vanilla you know is down here. For the fourth time, you get on your toes and look at the far back of the top row of cellar shelves. Joel had organized the cellar by least perishable to most, and vanilla beans stayed intact for years if kept out of the sun or moisture. Sarah was distinctly confident that they had at least a handful, far more than enough to flavor a cake, and this was Ellie’s cake. You owed it to her and Sarah –and shit, since he’ll be eating it, Joel – to not give up the search. 

But by the time your line of sight got to the second shelf, your mind was already wandering. 

He had taken Ellie out onto the front porch for a guitar lesson. 

After the terrible things he had said to you this morning.

After you acted like he was a cruel man whose viciousness knows no bounds.

He wanted to teach Ellie something, after he had asked you first. 

Came out of the hall closet with it in his hand, and while his dark expression was distressingly unreadable, his voice was light when he offered to teach her some cords. Ellie, who was nose deep in another Space Family Robinson, nearly launched herself off the couch: “HELL YEAH!”

Standing at just an angle that allowed you to see the living room from the kitchen, you could have sworn he smiled. A muffled thing, but it drew up the corners of his cupid’s bow in a beautiful twist, the long expanse of his throat looking warm as he turned his head to give Ellie the guitar, his hair curled in reckless waves at the nape of his neck. He smiled at Ellie and offered her a lesson – 

And you haven’t been able to focus since. 

You stop halfway on your fifth search, press your forehead to the wooden post, and sigh. 

The silence in the cellar is different from other silences on the homestead. More compact, more dense. You suppose that has something to do with it being buried several feet underground, but the strength of it is comforting in a way you’ve never experienced. Since you were sixteen years old, you’ve worked a full time job, sometimes two, sometimes three, for just enough money to eat and keep your sister housed. You often have trouble sleeping because you can still hear the noise of all those people, gears in your mind churning, despite the physical exhaustion of your body, always thinking about tomorrow’s to-dos and where your next meal might come from. You’ve been going so hard and so fast – barely surviving – you forgot what true, thick silence sounded like. How much easier it was to breathe and smother that runaway train of thought. 

Despite your initial apprehension, the cellar had become your most favorite place on the entire homestead. The silence was almost friendly, protective; you could whisper your secrets to it and know they’d be safe forever. Surrounded by abundant food, lovingly grown and cared for, you too sometimes feel as if you too had been raised, had been grown to ripeness, on this earthen floor. 

For the first time in hours, your heartbeat slows. With a grin, you lean into the wooden shelf, its corner sticking into your shoulder like a hand would press into your skin. 

“I’m trying to do something nice for Ellie. You know she deserves it,” you grumble into the silence. The wood is soft, gently carved. If you try hard enough, you think you can still smell the wood grain. “Having some vanilla flavoring would really make her happy, and that kid needs a win.” You shuffle, standing up right, and the toe of your boot kicks the post. It shudders slightly. “I –,”

In the momentum, something falls off the shelf and plops into the dirt to your right.

Vanilla beans.

You grin as you pick them up, trying half-heartedly to find that watchful eye. Just before you click off the light, you affectionately rub the corner of the wall.

“Thanks.” 

If talking to animals is the first step in going crazy, talking to holes in the ground must be a pretty bad sign. 

“‘kay, it’s real easy.” He clears his throat again, shifting, and the wood panel squeaks beneath him. Crickets echo in the shadows beyond the light of the porch. “This is gonna be your C – your A – your G, and your D. There’s only twelve you really gotta know. From there you’ll get the basics and can start to –,”

“Where’d you learn to play?” Ellie asks abruptly. She sits with her back against the wooden post outlining the porch, her knees tucked up to her chest. Joel is reminded of the look Sarah once gave him after he silently helped her chop the rest of the wood before a rainstorm came – he had told her she couldn’t do all of it by herself, and she had adamantly refused, but he didn’t rub it in her face when he came to help. They narrowly avoided the downpour but had enough firewood to last them a week. 

Grateful, was the expression he remembers. 

The heat of the day still lingers in the air, the sun just beneath the horizon. Flies and gnats swarm and tangle around the exposed bulb over the porch, thickening the shadows of his hands over the neck of the guitar and beneath the porch steps. 

Joel’s fingers still, the music of fluttering wings and electrical zaps taking over. “My dad taught me. He taught me . . . and my brother.”

Maybe it was the talk with Sarah that had loosened something, at least temporarily. He doesn’t feel like he’s been torn open, spilling his guts, when he tells her about Tommy. He wonders briefly if Sarah had ever mentioned her uncle and if she didn’t, why. He can see the question build behind her eyes, thoughts shuffling, looking for a memory if he had ever mentioned a brother before. 

“We got pretty good for a time. Played at school, church. Had a guy come through town once and tell us we could really be something.”

“Like a Hank Williams kinda something?” 

Joel eyes her, impressed she knows one of the greatest artists who’s ever lived.

“I dunno what he meant,” he says. “But that’s never why I did it anyway. Just wanted something to do with my little brother. He had some good lyrics too. He was always talented that way, with his head, you know? I think sometimes that’s where Sarah gets it. ‘Cause i'snot from me.” 

Joel smiles and Ellie grins back, an inside joke they didn’t know about yet. He strums quietly.

“I think he wanted to be that Hank Williams kinda somethin'. But it’s hard when you’re no one from nowhere. And I think him leavin’ would’ve broken our mama’s heart.”

“Tommy . . . right?” Joel glances up at her, the name so foreign on someone else’s tongue she could have meant someone else entirely. “Sarah – she, um – she mentioned him, once. And that he left for California – a while ago.” 

Joel nods, again in search of that anger to wield as a weapon, but the guitar digs into the place in his chest where it hurts the most. 

“Is that why the guitar was in the trunk? ‘Cause you’re pissed at him?”

It’s almost funny, the way she needles through to the center of things. He could lie, but what’s the point?

He hums. “I stopped playing this thing long before Tommy left. No time. Even with his help, you gotta fight with this land to grow anything. Then Sarah got sick, and now there’s all this fuckin’ dust . . .” 

He puts a hand on the belly of the guitar to stop the vibrations. He looks up at the stars, blinking into existence as night falls like a dropped curtain, and shakes his head. It felt like an excavation of something haunted, when he pulled the guitar from a trunk in his bedroom closet. Truly, he hadn’t thought about this guitar in months and taking it out again was just asking for something dangerous to befall him. Maybe something already had, given how much he had started to care for the girl who carries a pocket knife in her sock. 

Joel’s gaze drops to that girl now, her wiry little fingers wrapped around her ankles as she stares right back. He had forgotten they still made people like her.

“But it’s good. It’s good to remember.” Joel slides the guitar off his lap and onto the wood step between them. This guitar is older than Ellie and he hands it to her. “Now let’s see if you’ve been paying attention.”

She stares a second after he leans in to point out the chords before she tries to match his fingers on the strings. But then Sarah opens the screen door, out of breath and the tip of her nose pink as if she’d been standing over a fire. 

“Dinner’s ready.” 

Joel stifles the urge to roll his eyes; his girl was many things, but subtle was not one of them. As she disappears back inside, Ellie hands him back the guitar and meets his eyes with a confused look on her face – what’s up with her? Joel shrugs, then tries not to groan as he stands up, his knee acting up again. Odd, given that it only used to ache when a storm was coming, like a warning. But the skies had been clear for weeks.

“Good first lesson, kid. I’ll put this up, you go see what they got cooked up.” 

“You sure?” Her gaze drops to his knee, observant as her aunt. 

“ ‘M fine. Go on.” He knows there’s more affection than gruff in his voice, but at least Ellie doesn’t seem to register that. 

He follows her inside, the air warmer in here due to the oven and a lack of a breeze. When she moves towards the kitchen, he goes to the closet beneath the stairs and opens up the trunk at the back. 

He isn’t entirely sure he can forgive Tommy for what he did, but at least he understands it. Beneath where the guitar laid, there’s a scrap of crumpled paper – a telegram he thought about tossing in the fire when it first arrived. Instead, he is glad he just wanted it out of his sight. 

It is blank except for a few letters and numbers: a forwarding address. 

He can’t pick it up and look at it, not right now, but maybe. Maybe someday, when he needs his brother.

“Holy shit!”

Joel smiles as he shuts the trunk lid and stands. Not today.

When he finally makes it to the kitchen, Ellie stands at the head of the table, her shoulders by her ears, arms out, as if preparing to be tackled to the ground. Her eyes are bigger than he’s ever seen them.

“Happy Birthday, Ellie!” Sarah yells from the other side of the table, the words bursting out of her. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? I . . .” Wordlessly, she slides into the chair, her face glowing in the light of the candle sunken deep into the top of the cake. The shadows, thick and heavy around her mouth and under her eyes, blur the emotions on her face. 

“Ellie?” You say, tentative. That crease is back between your eyes and Joel wants to press his thumb to it until it goes away. “Is this okay?”

Slowly, she lifts her eyes. The shadows cannot hide the wet shine there. Joel has to look away, something hot expanding under his ribs. 

“Uh, yea-ahh . . . this is fucking okay.” He hears the slight chuckle in her voice and he looks back. Her smile is stretched from ear to ear. “And this is dinner too, right? We get to eat cake. For dinner?”

You smile, relief and excitement giving your own face a special glow. And then, your eyes fall to him and that hot band in his chest thickens to his throat. He’ll dream of your eyes again tonight, he knows it.

“Mr. Miller has extra storages of flour in the cellar,” you say, gaze slipping away before he can hold onto it. The band in his throat hardens when you refer to him so distantly. “We used just a bit of cream and milk –”

“And sugar!” Sarah blurts out. She is practically vibrating next to you. “We have to really conserve sugar, only for special occasions, and what’s more special than a birthday?”

Ellie tears her gaze up from the candle and, for a second, she looks very small. 

“You used it for my birthday?” 

While Sarah nods vigorously next to you, he watches as your face falls. He knows that look, felt it screw up his face too – you feel like you’ve failed Ellie somehow.

“Of course, Ellie.” You say quietly, your hands knotted in front of you. He watches as the words get caught in your throat, all the right ones and the wrong ones. “You . . .”

“You’re a good kid.” Your eyes jump to him, wide, as he steps closer to the kitchen table. He puts a hand around the knot on the back of Ellie’s chair. “Is what your aunt means to say. Happy birthday, from all of us.”

Ellie’s gaze is so gentle, she looks timid. She glances between Joel, you, then Sarah, and back to you. 

“Um, thanks, guys. I guess.” 

In the soft silence, she takes a brief moment, her eyes closed, and then leans forward over the candle and promptly blows out the flame. The kitchen falls into darkness, a second before you reach for the light. 

Sarah claps her hands, the amber electrical light softening her already smooth skin. “What did you wish for?”

Ellie’s smirk returns, her hard edges returning. “Can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

Sarah rolls her eyes as you gather the plates you and Joel had cleaned just this morning. “I always thought that rule was so stupid. It’s no fun.”

You grin at her as you hand Ellie a plate and then Sarah herself. 

“It’s the secret that gives the wish its magic. All the good things are best kept secret.”

Your hand extends a plate out towards him, but it’s your gaze that meets him first. Mouth slightly parted, you watch him from beneath your long lashes. The light that softens Sarah emboldens the curves of your cheeks, the slope of your nose, the entanglement of your hair against the nape of your neck. A table between you, he hasn’t been this close to you in what feels like days, when it had only been this morning. This morning, when he had never felt further from you, when his own fear had gotten the better of him. 

For so long, the circle of his love ended at the property lines and he had spent years of his life etching in that demarcation, digging in and digging in until the wet earth swallowed him whole. There was nothing else but Sarah and this land because he could not afford to lose either of them, so he held on tight and burrowed deep.

But this deep down, the earth he loved might as well have been a coffin. A tomb. In order to stabilize his daughter, the land, and himself, there had to be less of him. Less to carry. Less to burden. 

Less of him to share. 

He thought – maybe hoped – that those bits of him that had fallen away would always stay gone, another sacrifice in addition to his blood and his sweat into the soil. It was easier to mourn a loss if you never had it in the first place.

But, as he looked at you from across the table in the low light, as your fingers touched his beneath the plate – even for a fraction of a second – the pieces he’d left behind roared to life once again. 

Heat warms him up his arm, down into his chest – and it keeps going. The smell of you, of sweat and sugar and honey and sunlight, invades his head like a dirty wind and the fire inside scorches him as it flushes down his ribs, through his stomach, and right into his groin.

You all but drop the plate into his hand, pulling your fingers away from his touch, gaze diving away. But he can see your nervous swallow, the way your hand shakes when you pick up the knife to cut the cake. 

“Let’s eat.” You smile at the girls, but it’s as weak as your voice, crackling, trembling, overwhelmed. As if you too had been consumed by years of dormant want out of nowhere and now couldn’t possibly put those feelings back into hiding even if you wanted to.

Even if you begged.

The cake is gone in a matter of minutes. 

Ellie lets out a groan, leaning back in her chair, her hands resting over her full stomach. “That was so goddamn good.” 

“It’s inappropriate to lick the plate, right?” Sarah asked, sponging up crumbs with her finger. 

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Ellie grins. She snatches up her plate and with her tongue flat against her chin, licks up every last morsel. Sarah snorts, laughter bursting out of her, before doing the exact same thing. It’s not long until both of them are making grotesque noises. 

“You girls act like you haven’t had a proper meal in weeks.” Joel sits across from you, his arms folded across his chest, a faint glint in his eye as he glances back and forth between them. He sits low in his chair and his shoulders look especially broad across the back of it. “Y’all are gonna eat me out of house and home.” 

Sarah giggles and wipes her spit-covered chin. “Ellie said she found a really good spot out back to look at the Milky Way. Can we go look?” 

You expect him to ask that they clean up the table first, at least put the dishes in the sink, and not to stay too far into the dark. He’s watching Sarah for a beat too long before he opens his mouth again.

“But then when will Ellie get her present?”

His eyes lock onto you.

“THERE’S MORE?!” Ellie screeches.

The heat in his gaze sends a tangible shock down your throat, across every single one of your ribs, right into your nipples. Your faint gasp is overshadowed by Sarah and Ellie’s yelling – oh my god you didn’t tell me about this what’s wrong with you – please please please can I see it I’ll clean the bathrooms if you just lemme have it please –  but the look is gone a second later when he stands up and jerks his chin over his shoulder to the living room. The girls sprint into the room before he can take his first step. He doesn’t look at you as he follows them, slow, confident, teasing them just a bit.

“What is it?!”

“Is it more comics?”

“More marbles?”

“New clothes?”

“Ew, that would suck.” 

As if deaf to their pleas, Joel slowly walks over to the chest in the corner of the room and just as the girls are about to burst from excitement, he bends down and picks something up from behind it.

A radio. 

The radio.

The same one they had found in town. 

Ellie and Sarah’s eyes widen to the size of the dinner plates sitting on the kitchen table, covered in spit and cake crumbs. They drop to their knees, fingers outstretched like they approached a feral kitten.

“Now, it doesn’t work right.” Joel says, his arms crossed again. “But I thought it might be a good project for you girls. Something to work on together. Maybe learn about magnets and electricity n’shit.” 

His eyes fall on you again, as if you knew all about “magnets and electricity n’shit.” Joel grins again, this time just for you, and something inside of you snaps in half, melts, sparks open; some great weight, one you didn’t even know was there, has been lifted off your shoulders, your heart, and you can breathe properly again. You sink into the blue sofa, hands in your lap to keep them from trembling. 

The idea that you would ever willingly leave this place is laughable.

The idea that you would take Ellie away from this, from Sarah, is agonizing. 

They’re both fiddling with the buttons and twisting the jobs, the novelty of it perhaps the most fascinating. They are silent, more reverent than if they are on hallowed ground. 

“I’ve got some pliers and a screwdriver if you wanna –,”

Perhaps it was the witchcraft of the sisterhood. 

Perhaps they had managed to work out some secret code.

Perhaps they were just lucky. 

The radio lights up and the tear of a trumpet whines out of the speakers. Their yelp of delight is muffled beneath the white-hot music of a jazz band. 

Joel watches with what can only be considered bemusement as the girls leap to their feet and start dancing like no one had ever taught them about rhythm. 

The sofa squeaks, the cushion under your butt tilting up, as he sits down next to you. 

“Not likely to win any competitions any time soon,” he mutters quietly, presumably to you, as you both watch Ellie’s jerky knees and Sarah’s dizzying twirls. You sit, hands in your lap, perched on the edge of the cushion, while he leans into the sofa, arms back in place over his chest. With the way you are positioned towards the radio and him facing straight on, your knees almost touch. 

You wonder if he’s as aware of that chance as you are. 

“Listen, I wanted to say I’m sorry.” His voice is deep enough to be heard over the music. He glances at your hands, and then your face. The sincere regret in his eyes makes the blood in your wrists pound. “You didn’t deserve all of those things I said to you this morning. Both you and Ellie have been . . .” he struggles for the word, his bottom lip moving with the swipe of his tongue, “a good change in our lives, and I regret saying the contrary.” His gaze falls back to your hands, your thumb tucked into the hole made by your other fingers. You wouldn’t look away from his face if it was the sun itself. “The fields have been well taken care of . . . and I know Sarah’s grateful for everything you’ve done for her. You’ve changed her life for the better. You’ve changed m–,”

It’s like his voice crumbles and slips off a cliff. His broad shoulders sag forward and then he looks up at you, a desperate sort of hope in eyes. Hope that you understand what he’s trying to say, and hope that you don’t make him say it. 

Oh, but you want him to say it. You want it so badly. 

You nod, this crumb sweeter than anything on the kitchen plates. On some heady sugar high, you smile at him.

“Well, I meant what I said.” He frowns and your grin widens, but then teeters and topples over. Your wrists ache. You have to lose his gaze for what you’re going to say next. “We are very, very grateful you took us in. I know it wasn’t a decision you made lightly, risking so much of you and Sarah for two complete strangers.” You shake your head with disbelief. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that you made the right choice, if I have to.”

You glance up at him – and immediately wish you hadn’t. 

It’s that same look he gave you when you handed him his plate over the kitchen table. Lips pursed, brow slightly furrowed, with a wary uneasiness in his eyes. Like he’s finally figured out what kind of woman you are, and he can’t quite tell what to do with you.

“C’mon you two!” Sarah yells and that hazy bubble that envelopes you bursts. He blinks, as if not remembering where he is. “You gotta dance!”

“Yeah, you old farts!” Ellie pants, red-faced and nearly out of breath. “It’s my birthday so you have to do what I say and I say, let’s boogie!”

You lunge at the chance to be distracted; you turn away from Joel and arch your eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re dancing? Is that what you’re doing? Can hardly tell.” 

Ellie sticks out her tongue while Sarah starts kicking with one foot then bounces to the other, flicking her wrists. “I saw this move on the school’s television!”

Ellie immediately stops the flailing of her limbs and watches her moves. “Teach me!”

Sarah slows it down until Ellie gets the hang of the bounce. Sarah looks much more natural in the rhythm, but at least Ellie is partially on beat. 

“And then I think you do this–,”

Her foot dangling in the air, she loops her ankle around Ellie’s and starts hopping in a circle. Ellie lets out a giggle.

“No way this is a real thing!”

“It is, I swear!”

“You got any moves like that?” Joel asks quietly, but still ensnaring your attention completely. He sunken completely into the sofa, hips low, legs wide. His thumb taps the beat on his thigh. Something about the way he has completely relaxed allows you to unclench your fists and loosen your foot tucked behind your ankle.

“Me?” You chuckle, leaning back on the arm rest. “I never had the time to go to the dancehalls, much less learn complicated moves such as the – Sarah, what is that dance called?”

“Hell if I know!” They’ve switched feet, trying to go counterclockwise this time.

“Complicated moves such as The Hell-if-I-know.” He rewards your terrible joke with a low chuckle. 

“Me neither. I can’t dance for shit.” 

As though he had called her name, Sarah stamps down her foot and rolls her eyes at her father, Ellie trying to follow along with the instructions the singer is giving over the speakers.

“Yes, you can. You taught me The Dip.” 

“That’s not a real move, Sarah–,”

“You can teach her!” Sarah’s brilliant smile extends to her eyes as if she had just announced the best idea in the history of ideas. “Then she’ll know at least one!”

Your fingers return to their fists. Joel stiffens beside you.

“Yeah, you should.” Ellie yells over her shoulder distractedly, one arm raised and the other leg straight out – in complete opposition to what the lyrics said. “Can’t have her embarrassing me in public.”

“C’mon, Dad, just one dance!” Her brown eyes flicker to Ellie and sweat-damp shirt. “It’s Ellie’s birthday!” 

“And for the party, we – must – dance!” Ellie strikes a dramatic pose and Sarah, giggling, swishes her dress with a flourish. With a brief glance at you, she rejoins Ellie, her skirt twirling.

The sofa squeaks as if he’s moving, a soft hand comes to rest high on your back, and panic leaps into your throat.

“Mr. Miller – Joel – you don’t have to – Sarah is just being silly –,”

“Well, it's not like I’m going up there by myself.” 

That rough palm slides over your scapula, then your shoulders, and down your arm. Tugging gently, a soft pinch around the bone of your elbow nearly pulls you to your feet, but sense-memory has you folding your arm back up towards your chest, your knees locked and heels heavy. Immediately he senses your rejection and stops. 

The warm light above threads gold through strands of his silver hair, the ends of his curls long enough to disappear into nothingness, into the halo around him. 

Joel Miller would never, ever hurt you.

Joel Miller is not your husband.

Joel Miller could be your friend.

His light touch releases and just as his fingers drop from your sleeve, your arm unfurls towards him, taking him by the bicep. His eyebrows lift slowly, watching as your fingers curl around his arm. Drawn towards his light like a sunflower, you stand, closer to him than ever before, and smile up at him. Friends go dancing together all the time, right? 

But all the standards and regulations of propriety and social mores were flung out the window the second you, an unmarried woman, stepped foot onto the land of an unmarried man. Nothing about this, about any of this, could be considered conventional.

A step or two away from the sofa, he holds your waist in one hand and yours aloft in the other, fingers interconnected. Respectful. Decent. A good man. No boundary crossing here. 

“Ready for your next lesson?” he asks, a little breathless. Maybe he forgot the steps and he is simply nervous to perform – hm, teach. He does a bit of adjusting, watches his own feet adjust as you stand still in front of him, waiting to be moved.

So, you open your stupid mouth and say,

“See, teaching isn’t so easy, is it?”

You grin and finally his eyes meet yours. Soft as leather, warm as a saddle in sunlight. It’s your turn for necessary air to be drained from your lungs and he decides then to move.

“Gotta lead up to it,” he grumbles, the corner of his mouth lifted. “Can’t just dive right in.” The way he leads is completely out of sync with the music, but you see that it’s intentional, a choice to slow things down. Not quite what you’d expect at the Boston dancehalls, but something far more precious and memorable. He sways with you, as supple as a blade of prairie grass in a warm wind. 

The curve of his shoulder is warm beneath your fingers, your thumb inches from his collar. He is more solid than any other person you’ve ever touched – including Anna. He could stand at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and never be washed away. You cannot imagine what that stability feels like, but you crave it all the same. 

There’s a respectable distance between your hips and his, but you can still smell the sweetness of the cake on his breath, the hot earth he tends to so lovingly, and the tang of sweat. 

“I know you’re a fast learner.” You turn your head towards him, but he gazes straight on. For a moment his face is so stoic you start to wonder if he actually said anything, but then a smile, a small one, flickers across his face. He turns his head towards you, his nose brushing yours, and suddenly you are too close together. Instinctively you pull away – your head, your shoulders, your hands – then find yourself frustrated that this is how you still react. You don’t even mean it. You don’t even want it, this temporary separation. But still Joel stands. He waits for you and sure enough, you sink back into his arms, your palms separating for only a second. “We made a regular farmhand out of you in a handful of weeks. Could get you to a full Dip in days.” 

He’s talking too softly to be easily heard over the banging percussion, the scream of trumpets, the boozy warble of the singer, so you bend closer. Over his shoulder, Ellie and Sarah take turns curtseying and bowing and then locking their elbows together and spinning each other in circles, giggling. 

“They’re alright.” The words hum in your ear, heat warming the air after a flash of lightning, and you fight a full body shudder. You tear your gaze back to him and his smile. His hand hasn’t moved an inch on your back. You worry your palm is getting sweaty. “Just focus on me.” You nod. 

From the radio, the song ends and the band slows to a discordant crash, as exhausted as the ones who danced to their rhythms. Men raucously laugh over the airwaves at their own created chaos and the two girls collapse onto the couch, red-faced and sweaty and laughing. 

“You trust me?” His eyes are brown and dark and smoky, firewood kindling. He really intends to teach you something. You nod slowly. The memory of his hand smacking into the counter breaks apart when his palm slips further down your back, his leg shifting in between yours, and he leans forward to lean you back. Back, back, back, off the edge of the earth. Hair slips off your shoulders as you hang, suspended above the floorboards, cradled by his hand and his thigh, the other hand holding yours to his chest. The world is upside down – in more ways than one. 

When you lift your head, he blocks out the light above for just a moment. Joel, for a moment, is all you can see. He holds you like you weigh nothing, gravity a suggestion to a force of nature like him — and a moment later, he pulls you both upright. 

Your cheeks are burning, your heart roars in your chest, in your ears, and there is no other way this would have ended: you glance at his mouth. He looks at yours. The fingers entwined with yours tighten. 

And then the radio dies. No preamble. No warning. Just ringing silence.

“Welp, it was fun while it lasted.” Ellie huffs, out of breath, smacking her hands against her thighs. 

Sarah wipes away sweat from her forehead with her arm. “Nah, we’ll get it back. I know we can fix it. Right, Dad?”

Joel Miller is still staring at your mouth. 

He’s quiet too long before he drops his gaze and clears his throat. Caught in a daze, you blink and suddenly his warmth is gone. Your hand floats in the air, empty. Joel pulls on the waistline of his pants and turns back to the sofa, nodding.

“Course, we can fix it. But not tonight. Get to bed, both of you.” The gravel of his voice makes his words harsher than they need to be, but Ellie just rolls her eyes and Sarah throws herself onto her feet. 

“C’mon, teenie bopper, I found a mouse skull the other day I forgot to show you.”

Ellie’s eyes widen as she follows Sarah up the stairs. “Like a skull skull? No meat, just bones? Was the rest of the skeleton there?”

Her interrogation continues as they move around the second floor and you can almost hear every word of it. A stark and abrupt reminder that this house echoes – any noises or sounds made can be heard anywhere, in any room, by anyone. 

Your gaze drops to Joel like a stone and with the added weight of whatever he was thinking, it all becomes too much for him. He turns away, denim shoulders nearly up to his ears.

“I’ll clean up.” He waves his hand vaguely to the kitchen. Cake. Plates. Flour on the counter. Oh, that’s right. “You cooked.”

A trade, a sharing of responsibilities between two equal partners. There’s some part of you that knows you should argue, cleaning was what he hired you for, but this is not him telling you as your employer. 

This is . . .

“You did good today,” he says, quickly, his hands on his waist, a step forward, as if he remembered something mid-stride. “It meant a lot, to the both of ‘em. I know you don’t think much of it, but you’re good at this.”

Your face heats, a familiar zing from his words racing down your spine into the bowl of your hips. The next breath you take is a shaky one. “Thanks, Joel. I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

He swallows, then nods. “Night, then.”

“Good night.” 

You might have let yourself believe you had imagined the whole thing, as you walk down the long wood floor to your bedroom, the girls’ chatter now just noise in your head. You might have believed that, after half a decade of being unwanted and undesired, abandoned at the edge of civilization, you extrapolated sentimentality from the first man who looked at you. All your life you doubted yourself; doubted your ability to keep Anna safe, doubted that you’d ever be something more than a pathetic replacement for Ellie’s mother, doubted your own sanity at times when you sat in that dark, dank dug out and listened to the scratchy winds tear apart your husband’s finances. 

But this – this you did not doubt. You did not mistake, or dream up, or lie to yourself. 

Before he let you go, Joel had squeezed your hip, rubbed his thumb against the waistband of your skirt. Let his fingers snag and catch in your blouse.

Whether it was trust or companionship or something ultimately more terrifying, he felt some kind of way about you. 

What kind of way you felt about him, you couldn’t answer honestly. 

And yet for a moment, for a brief moment, you had stepped into his light and, goddamn it, you were right. 

It was warm.

END OF PART II

series masterlist | AO3 Link | part i | part iii

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [6]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why. 

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

Word Count: 3,776

A/N: whew. okay. we’re back, we’re updating, and we’re getting back on track. i think the motivation behind the madness is becoming a little clearer. or at least, more clear. i hope you all enjoy, and as always, comments and especially reblogs are always appreciated. ❤️ divider by @firefly-graphics​

It’s your wedding day, again. 

  You remember the soft white satin of your dress like it was yesterday—only it’s today, isn’t it? How can something happen again if it hasn’t happened yet? You look down at your hands, where the lacy sleeves of your wedding dress loop gracefully around your thumbs—your nails are picked raw and bleeding. You look back up at the mirror, and your own distraught face stares back at you. 

  I don’t want to get married. 

  No, that isn’t right—this is a good day, a happy day, why don’t you want it anymore? There is knowledge that dances just out of touch as you stare fuzzily at the mirror in your bridal suite. Something is wrong, but you don’t remember what it is. The mirror fragments, each component folding away as the world tilts on it’s axis, wood flooring becoming red carpet strewn with rose petals. 

  You stand at the altar, the priest beaming at you. 

  You will take him won’t you? As husband, husband and wife—Ransom splits in two like a cell, and both of them hold your hands so tight the bones creak and hurt and—

  “I love you, Princess, Sweetheart, Darling, Mine—” One voice, two mouths, one person, two bodies. You don’t realize they’re pulling until you tear, splitting right down the middle  like you’re made of tissue paper. too. Pulling you to bloody pieces as they repeat oaths of husbandly devotion. 

  My wife.

  MY  WIFE.

  You wake up in darkness, your heart pounding in your chest. It disorients you, and you blink, expecting the cloud to clear from your eyes but it doesn’t. Immediately your hand goes to your stomach, and your frantic heartbeat calms just a fraction as you rest a hand on the gentle swell. The thoughts in your head are still an anxious jumble. Ransom, Lloyd, the party—

  God, the party. 

  Your stomach churns as you recall Lloyd’s cruel smile. 

  Tell him. Tell me what he says. 

  You clap a hand to your mouth as an anguished sob threatens to escape. Ransom, Lloyd… where had they taken you? You frantically feel your way to the edge of the bed, your feet slipping a little on the cool tile as you stand. 

  “H-hello?” You call out into the darkness, but there’s no response. Trembling, you begin taking short, halting steps forward, your hands outstretched. “P-please, someone—fuck!” You curse loudly as your foot catches the edge of something, a table, a chair, you can’t tell. “Answer me!” 

  No one does. 

  You wander forward blindly until you reach a wall, and, feeling along it, you feel plaster turn to glass. You gasp, frantically dragging your hands along the surface until feel something—a switch. You flick it up, and there’s a sound like whirring gears. The lights don’t come on, but something else happens instead: the blackout shades on the other side of the thick pane of glass begin to lift, light creeping in underneath the edge. It’s blinding at first, spots dancing in your eyes as you throw a hand up to shield them, but after a moment, they adjust. 

  You see… a beach. 

  An empty beach. 

  The clear blue water comes straight up to the window like an aquarium. There are no people on the pristine, white sand—no one to hear you as you frantically beat your palm against the glass. Frantically, you turn around to take stock of the room, grabbing for a nearby chair. You knock over the little coffee table in the sitting area next to you, but you don’t care. It takes all your strength to heft it above your head, screaming as you slam it into the glass—

  But nothing happens. It connects with a dull thud, the treated wood splintering as it cracks. The window is unharmed, barely even scratched. An anguished wail tears from your chest as you throw everything within reach that you can lift, beating everything into splinters until you’re left panting and sobbing in the wreckage. 

  “Sweetheart you know that really isn’t good for the baby.” You whirl around frantically, grabbing for the leg of a chair you’d broken into kindling against the indestructible-fucking-window, brandishing it threateningly. You hadn’t even heard the sound of a door opening—in fact, as you stare, wide-eyed around the room, trying to pin down his point of entry, you can’t seem to find a door at all in the lavishly decorated suite. 

  “Fuck you!” You snarl at him, your lip curling. “Let—let me out of here!” Ransom clucks his tongue at you like you’re an errant child.

  “You’re a smart girl, Love. You know I’m not going to do that.” 

  “You can’t fucking keep me in here—” Ransom shakes his head. 

  “I can, Sweetheart. And I’m going to. We’re going to.” He casts a disparaging look down at the ruined chairs and table by your feet. “Lloyd did tell me not to put the good stuff in first—I underestimated your temper.” The casual remark makes you want to swing your makeshift bat at his head. “He designed it for you, you know. I thought we could just lock you in the basement, but now that I see it, I think this is better.” 

  “You’re a monster.” You’re crying, hard, hysterical sobs that leave your throat raw and aching. He actually has the gall to look hurt by your insult, his face crumpling as his mouth presses into a thin, angry line. 

  “A monster that loves you. That would do anything to protect you—even from yourself.” Your body seizes with fear as he crosses the room in a few easy strides, gripping your shoulders with furious hands. You whine as he squeezes, pressing harder and harder until you drop the scrap of wood you’re holding. You don’t know this Ransom, this maniacal, cruel man wearing your husband’s face, your husband’s ring. 

  “Do you remember what it was like when we got together?” He asks. Ransom shakes you a little, like he’s trying to jog your memory. “Living at home with your parents, helping them with every single bill because you were terrified your sister was going to graduate high-school on the streets—”

  “So what?” You spit back. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” 

  “I gave you everything.” For the first time you see the same possessive madness in his eyes you’d seen in Lloyd’s. “And you think you can just walk away? Take from me until you’ve gotten your fill? That’s not how this works, Sweetheart.” He releases you and you stumble away, clutching yourself. He straightens his shirt, smoothing back the errant hairs that have fallen into his face. 

  “We’re going to give you such a good life, Sweetheart. You just have to trust us.” 

  “I will never trust you again.” You growl the words at him like a threat. “I hate you.” And then, inexplicably, he’s your Ransom again, his blue eyes soft as he looks at you, like he knows something you haven’t yet come to accept. Like an adult admonishing a child for fears they’ll soon leave behind as they grow to accept the way things are—the way they always will be. 

  “You won’t always.” His eyes flick down to the destruction you’ve wrought, and he clucks his tongue. “Maybe I’ll talk to Lloyd about bringing in some new furniture for you, if you’re good.” Ransom’s handsome mouth curves up into an amused smile. “Maybe something a little heavier.” He kicks at a piece of the table, before making his way back over to the other side of the room. A door the same color as the wall opens at his touch. 

“Lunch in an hour.” 

—

   True to his word Ransom returns with Lloyd in tow, a tray held in his large hands. You’d waited for this moment with a dark sort of anticipation, and for a brief moment, their stunned, angry expressions as the door panel slides open fill you with a sense of profound pride.

   You’d done your level best to destroy everything that wasn’t nailed down,  methodically and systematically taking apart everything you could get your hand on. Even the mattress lies ruined, feathers and wood splinters littering the torn cover. Though the mirror had refused to break—and indeed proved too heavy for you to lift—you feel a smug satisfaction in seeing what you had been able to accomplish with jagged pieces of plywood.  

  Fuck you. 

  Lloyd steps in first, squatting down to inspect a piece of the smashed coffee table. 

  “I told you we shouldn’t have put this stuff in here first. Empty room, Ransom. You always have to start with an empty room.” His eyes flick up to yours, and he smiles softly—affectionately. “Hi, Princess.”

  “Go to hell, Lloyd.” Ransom steps fully into your room then, shutting the door gently behind him before setting the tray on the windowsill. He sighs. 

  “I know it was stupid to hope your attitude had improved in an hour, but stranger things have happened.” He glances back at the tray. “You should eat something, Love. It’s been four days of—” His words become a static drone as the panic begins to set in. Four days? I’ve been out for four days? The questions fill your head almost faster than you can process them. Where are you? Your parents, your sister? What happened? 

  “What is this? What is this fucking place?” 

  The pride in Ransom’s eyes makes you want to vomit. “We made it for you. Just for you. It took—how long, Lloyd?” 

  “A year, give or take.” He rubs his fingers along the growing stubble on his upper lip. “And then finding staff…” He pauses. “The hotel, or just the Room?” The way Lloyd says room makes it sound singular, important. You cannot help but gape at them

  “You’re sick—both of you. Y-you—what you did to me—” You shake your head. “A-all of this.” You gesture at the room around you. “For what?” Lloyd threads his fingers together, and you can hear the soft metal click of his rings tapping against each other as he does. 

  “I know you’re not deaf, Princess. It’s for you.” 

  Cold trickles down your spine. You’ve been doing it ever since you woke up, running through each moment in the past four, five and cataloguing each one you couldn’t make make sense. You’re doing it again now,  thumbing back through the index cards of your memories and finding empty slots. Thanksgivings, Christmases, Easters—Ransom had told you it had been a year, but you can’t trust that, you can’t believe him, not after everything.

  “My family won’t let you do this sick fucking shit, you know that.” You spit. “They’re not going to let you kidnap me—”

  “How much is Nathalie’s school, Sweetheart?” Ransom asks, cocking his head. “Per year.”

  “What?” The question throws you off, the freight train of words in your throat piling up messily on your tongue. “What are you—”

  “How much is her tuition?” He repeats it slowly like you’re having trouble understanding him. You bare your teeth at Ransom as you grimace. 

  “I don’t know. She has a scholarship. What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

  “It’s $63,000.” Ransom gives you the figure so matter-of-factly it’s like he rehearsed it. “Per year.” Your stomach sinks, like your body knows before your head. “What, you didn’t know? No one ever reads the paperwork, do they, Lloyd?” He glances at his brother over his shoulder. “What’s it say on the checks? T. H. B. Inc., doesn’t it?” He licks his lips. “The T stands for Thrombey, Sweetheart.” 

  You almost want to laugh for the insanity of it all—you even try, but no sound escapes your tight, dry throat. Lloyd nods. 

  “Same as the ones your father gets. Funny how his company’s picked up these last few years, isn’t it?” 

  Your fists clench and unclench as you sit there on the floor, staring up at them. There’s nothing left to destroy, nothing left to break except the two of them—and you already know how that ends. Instead, you’re forced to sit there, hot rage coiling in your chest as the realization dawns cold and cutting—

  Your family is already bought and paid for, even if they don’t know it. 

  “I never asked you for this.” You spit, nails biting into the meat of your palms as you press angry fists against the cool tile. “I didn’t ask you for fucking any of this!” 

  “I promised to make a home for you, didn’t I, Sweetheart?” He squats down in front of you, his hand out like he wants you to take it. “A good husband provides.” It isn’t supposed to feel like being cut into a thousand pieces to hear his wedding vows regurgitated like this. His gaze drops to the ring still on your finger. You hadn’t noticed it until he did, and as he watches, you rip it from your finger with a violent twist, and throw it at him. He actually looks upset at this, a hint of his earlier rage passing over his features like a cloud. 

  You hate the way it makes your gut wrench because you want him to fucking hurt. It’s like your body hasn’t realized yet just who he is—who they are, and it makes you even angrier. You turn away, loose nightgown bunching under your thighs as you turn to face the wall instead. 

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Not until you eat something.” You aren’t sure if it’s Ransom that speaks, or Lloyd. You press your eyes shut and bite your lips to shutter the angry, frustrated wail that threatens to leap from your throat. “That’s not good for the baby.” 

  Good for the baby.

  Good for the baby.

  Good for the fucking baby.

  You want to hate it now; the child growing inside of you, even if only to spite the men standing behind you. But you cannot bring yourself to—and you hate that too. 

  Shame is not a new feeling, not for you, but it feels new today as you pick apart the plain chicken salad sandwich they had brought for you. Assume it’s drugged. You hate yourself as you tear off chunks with stiff fingers, forcing your mouth open and swallowing it down with a grimace. Assume everything is drugged. When you’re finished, you drag the back of your hand across your mouth roughly, tossing the tray at Lloyd’s feet. 

  He doesn’t pick it up. 

  “Good girl.” You shiver. It’s involuntary, and you know he sees it, the way his mouth twitches with the urge to lift into the smug smile you know so well. “Your wish is our command, Princess.”

  Ransom bends to pick up the ring wordlessly, and follows his brother out of your room. 

  —

  They don’t come back that night.

  You watch the sky outside the glass wall of your prison turn dark, and then brighten again with stars as you sit huddled against it, hugging your knees to your chest. You’re exhausted, but you can’t sleep. Your body won’t let you, jerking you back to wakefulness as soon as your eyelids start to droop. The thoughts won’t stop coming either, cycling through on a loop you can’t seem to stop. 

  I wonder what Nat’s doing. 

  I wonder if they’re worried about me.

  I wonder what Ransom told them.

  You want to pinpoint the time your life went off the rails but you can’t, you don’t know it. College, perhaps? 

  When you’d met Ransom? Lloyd?

  You drag yourself away from the window after a few hours of staring bleakly out at the empty beach. It feels like too much to hope for that someone would happen by, not with the lengths they had clearly taken to secure you. The comforter bleeds feathers as you drag it to the floor beside the bed, wedging yourself between it and the wall. You know you aren’t safe—you’ve little control over that—but the solid press of concrete behind you makes you feel more secure. 

  It’s what allows you to finally fall asleep, though it is not restful. It feels like you wake every few minutes at every imagined sound, jolting back to consciousness and scanning the still empty room before quickly passing out again. You half expect Lloyd and Ransom to be back, waiting for you to open your eyes but when you finally do, you are still blessedly alone, but for the fresh tray in front of the door. 

  You wait for a few minutes, just to see if they emerge from your peripheral vision, the places in the room you can’t see from your vantage point—but they don’t. Everything is as it was before, the destruction from your earlier rampage still strewn across the floor. It feels surreal. Slowly, you pick your way across the debris and grasp the tray in your trembling hands. You don’t want to eat it, not really, but your stomach clenches and rumbles at the sight of food as you peek beneath the tray cover. 

  It isn’t anything special—another sandwich, a bag of chips, and a bottle of water. You check beneath the styrofoam plate just to be sure, there’s no note, no nothing, and you cannot help but wonder when they’ll be back. They’re messing with your head, you know they are—and you hate that it’s working. You’re rattled, upset, anxious—just how they want you. 

  The urge comes again to pick up the largest piece of anything you can find and smash it against the window until it breaks. 

  We made it for you.

  Your stomach churns with disgust even as you take a greedy bite out of your sandwich. How hadn’t you seen yourself and your family waltzing right into the palms of their hands? How hadn’t you noticed? Lloyd had always been overly interested, overly gracious, even after you’d rejected him, and started dating his brother. You’re reminded of Linda’s curt smile and her slickly delivered barb. You tore them apart without even thinking about it. And Lloyd’s admission…

  It was more than a little crush.

  You don’t know how to reconcile the madness simmering behind your husbands eyes with the man who’d held your hands and said his vows. As he’d griped your wrists, staring into your eyes with his own fever-bright, you could barely recognize him. 

  You clean your plate, washing it down with the water before casting another look around the room. It’s blank, empty beyond the few pieces of furniture you hadn’t been able to destroy. No books, no television—nothing. You search the walls near the door panel, looking for something, anything that might make it open, but you find little. The smooth white keyboard does not respond when you push your thumb against the rubbery buttons, and the seam is so narrow you can barely wedge your fingernails into it to try and pry it open. 

  For hours you walk the perimeter of the room, running your hands along the walls, feeling no breaks in the smooth, cool surface. You have to get out of here—but you don’t even know where here is. How far you are from the resort, if you’re even on the same island. As the room darkens, you realize you’ve been pacing for hours like a caged animal, and neither Ransom nor Lloyd has come to check on you all day. Somehow, the thought fill you with apprehension. Not knowing when they might appear is unnerving, and you suspect they mean it to be. 

  You thread your fingers through your hair, tugging on it as you watch the sun sink into the sea, a panicked, claustrophobic feeling rising in your chest until you realize you aren’t breathing. You can’t stay here like this, you can’t—

  Before you realize it you’re running for the door, beating your fists wildly against the panel. 

  “Let me out! Let me the fuck out of here!” Your frenzied wailing rings in your own ears. It’s like you’re numb to the pain as you swing with all your might. You’re aware-even if only dimly—of the fact that your fists will be sore and aching later, bruised and beat to a pulp but you don’t care. Not if it gets you out—not if it gets you away from them. 

  “Ransom! Ransom let me out! You can’t fucking keep me here! You can’t!” 

  Nothing happens. The door doesn’t budge, and there is no answer to your increasingly panicked demands. You scream for hours. Until you’re hoarse, and your trembling fists ache to raise above your shoulders. Still, you bang your open palms against the panel as your firm insistence becomes a stream of nonsense pleas. 

  “Please, please don’t do this, if you l-loved me y-you wouldn’t do this!” Tears and snot run down your face as you collapse to your knees, exhausted. “Please.” You mumble, curling in on yourself in front of the door. The tears come again, and you don’t even try to stop them, sobbing open-mouthed on the cold tile, your hands fisting in your nightgown. 

  “Please.” 

  You lay there until the room goes dark. 

  —

  “I hate seeing her like this.” The cameras are good—too good. He can see the pain on your face too clearly, hear the betrayal in your voice just a bit too well through the speakers. 

  “You think I like it?” Lloyd asks irritatedly, and Ransom sighs. “She’ll even out soon. If not, you can up the mood stabilizer. She’s cleared for it until the second trimester.” Ransom knows his brother, knows that’s his version of comforting reassurance. “Besides, you’re the one that decided to play keep-away.” 

  Ransom looks at the camera again, at your softly moving shoulders. He’s both thankful and irritated at the hair covering your pretty face—but at least it blocks the sight of your tears. As he watches, you shudder—like you’re still crying, even in your sleep. 

  “I know. We have to make her grateful. For us.” He says, still looking at the screen. And he does. He understands the necessity of it—it was his plan, almost more than Lloyd’s. “I still hate it.” 

  “I don’t anticipate she’ll keep it up more than a week. Two, tops.” For the most part, Ransom has seldom ever found himself envious of his twin, but now he felt his lip curl with irritated jealousy at Lloyd’s confidence. “Don’t worry little brother,” he grins. “Our Princess will love us again.” He turns back to the cameras. “I’m sure of it.” 

To be continued…

next chapter

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[naeverse]

Divine Touch

Requested by: Anon! Request: That would be so good if there would be kink series(some aren't tho)! Good thing someone asked for it l'm shy I have a list on mind Imao: Roleplay, breeding kink, Exhibitionism, scene play, age play or ddig, praise kink?, cockwarm?, threesome with peter b parker prob, lactation kink, phone sex?, mirror sex?, dacryphilia, oh maybe like an au where the reader is pregnant n Miguel just get turned on by that LMAO

A/N: I completely adore this request, it's literally the inspiration for the kink series so thank you so much anon! I hope you enjoy the first one! ❤🧡

🧡staring: Deity!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Maiden Reader

      🏺preview:  

“I must keep the balance in Nueva Yorkhaven or chaos would go rampant upon our lands.” He said, keeping his crimson eyes on you. “So if I take a life…

 I must replace it…”

⚔️summary: After being coerced by your mother into a marriage with a man you didn't love, who treated you poorly, you believed your life was over. It wasn't until you remembered one last divine solution that could possibly help alleviate your wretched situation.

🥟tw/cw: Big Dick Miguel, Breeding Kink, Clit Stimulation, Doggystyle, Grinding, Historical Era, Mythology-Based, Orgasms, P in V, Power Difference, Praising, Unprotected Sex, etc…

🍵Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Pequeñita (Little one), Querida (Dear)

     ⛩️Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

 🧡 Word Count: 12.3k

(I do not own any of the photos used! All credit goes to the original artist!)

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

(This oneshot contains Breeding do not read, if you are not comfortable)

Breeding kink - The sexual desire to be impregnated or to impregnant another.

**YOU'VE BEEN WARNED**

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the beautiful village of Nueva Yorkhaven and bringing upon the covering of night, you, a fair maiden of the town, traversed during the dark hours down the cobblestone pathways. The gentle glow of lanterns that adorned every trail served as a guide towards your desired destination.

You clenched your black cloak tightly to your body, attempting to hide all traces of your being and the basket that you carried. With frantic, cautious eyes, you swiftly flicked them around, trying to detect any lingering presence in your path; but upon finding none, you quickened your pace.

On your covert journey, you passed cottages with ivy-covered walls and huge trees with dew-kissed leaves that danced in the moonlight, welcoming the night.

Your feet, adorned in black Astrids, carried you through the winding routes of the village, leading out into the quiet meadow that surrounded it. You left behind the dreamscape facade of your village to tread warily into the forest.

Following a dirt path that looked to be used before by countless others, it led you deeper into the meadow. Fireflies wove trails of light along the dark road, while the distant hooting of an owl echoed through the woods, making you jump. Your hand landed on your chest, feeling how harshly your heart was pounding.

You knew the consequences if you were caught, but it didn’t matter.

Things had gone too far, and you needed assistance.-

Divine assistance.

The forest was painstakingly quiet. Every rustling of leaves, cracking of wood, along with your timid footsteps, seemed to reverberate through the trees. A gentle breeze brushed past you, filled with the scent of pine and wildflowers, yet a subtle unease clung to the air like sticky sap on tree bark.

With every step, a voice in your mind told you to turn back, to stop.

You soon realized it to be your mother’s.

Her pestering and nagging words clouded your head the deeper you entered the woods.

‘You know traversing the forest in the dead of night isn’t fit for a young lady. Turn back now!’

‘What would Sir Hawthorne think of you?’

‘Turn back now or you would be seen as a disgrace to your father!!’

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, a shaky exhale passing your lips. Even though it was your own head, your mother’s pestering sounded almost too real; it shook you to your very core and even had you contemplating returning back the way you came when the silhouette of an ancient structure emerged in the distance, causing your worried thoughts to halt.

With a soft gasp, the idea of leaving left you as you hurried along, a sense of relief washing over you. You left behind the unsettling forest and looked upon the worn, yet sturdy stones that held up the quiet sanctuary of your town’s guardian. The large entrance was framed by weathered gray columns, adorned with two flickering torches that casted a soft glow of red-orange into the dark space. The air carried a new sense of otherworldly, different from the feeling of unease you felt before.

You gazed up at the olden engraving of letters, etched into the stone above the massive doors, reading under your breath:

Sanctuary Of Miguel O’Hara Guardian of Nueva Yorkhaven

Just uttering the deity’s name felt ancient and heavy upon your tongue. A huge grin spread across your lips, reading the name of the divine structure once more.

You did it. You actually did it.

You were here…

The harsh grip you had on your basket loosened; anxiety and fear that clung to your being like leeches faded away. You felt an overwhelming sensation of safety and security as you approached the ancient doors.

Despite the feeling of disbelief at your success, you set down your basket and placed both hands onto the ringed doorknobs. The doors were heavy, and it took all of your strength to hear the satisfying creak and soon feel the stone doors move out of their rooted place. You were only able to open them a little, but it was big enough for you to slip through, entering into the sanctuary of your village's infamous guardian.

Instantly a rush of cool air brushed along your body, making you hug your black cloak closer to you. The room was dimly lit with torches and candles as your feet walked along cool ancient stone, guiding you to the heart of the shrine. Respectfully, you drew down the hood of your black cloak, your eyes unable to take in the magnificent sights before you due to astonishment.

You had always heard stories and legends about the great Miguel O’Hara. How he saved your village from many horrific storms, dreadful winters, and blazing droughts. How, with his divine might, he crumbled armies and men who dared to harm his people.

Miguel protected your town and watched over every villager. He was there to pick you and your people up when you fell, whether that was with love, wealth, or glory.

The villagers of Nueva Yorkhaven looked to Miguel for needed support, and he was known to answer your calls of need every time…

Standing and gazing upon your protector's sanctuary, it resembled the great deity perfectly.

The room was styled lavishly in warm reds and muted yellows and oranges, granting a sense of protection to those who entered. Tall pillars rose at each corner, stabilizing the grand building, and the walls were decorated with sacred symbols—images of laurel leaves and celestial patterns that showed Miguel’s guardianship and lasting connection between the divine and mortal realm.

As you move further into the sanctuary, your eyes instantly are drawn to what lies in the center. On an elevated platform adorned with laurel wreaths and symbols of protection was your Guardian’s majestic stone throne, and in front of the throne was an intricately designed altar. The sacred surface was covered with offerings of fruits, flowers, prepared dishes, and tokens of gratitude that were carefully arranged. Candles flickered softly around the tributes as your feet led you towards it.

Nervously, you bit your lip.

You couldn't remember the last time you’d done this.

Before, your family would visit your great deity’s sanctuary once a month, dress his altar with beautiful gifts, and pray for protection until the next month when you’d return once more.

After your arranged marriage to Alden Hawthorne, a man who traveled to your village in search of a wife to betroth, your family stopped visiting.

Sir Hawthorne lacked all youthfulness in his appearance. His facial features showed his age, and he wasn’t a suitor who set hearts aflutter either; instead of his looks doing the speaking for him, his wealth did.

His stature and wealth led many fair maidens of your village to toss themselves at the older male in his late 40s in an attempt to get a grab at his riches.

Of course, without seeking consent, your mother had already given your hand to the salt and pepper-haired male, who, with one glance at you, agreed almost immediately.

You were the most beautiful in your village. A rose that bloomed gloriously amongst ordinary flowers. Due to the poor conditions of your household, your mother sought for more. After your father’s death, she became adamant on finding a living, so she used you to do so.

With the betrothal to Sir Hawthorne in place, from then on, only pesters and nags left the lips of your mother, demanding perfection and a great image. “You will be the wife of Sir Hawthorne, after all. You’ll have to act like it as well, dear," she'll tell you countless times until that dreadful day.

Vows that weren’t written by your hand and said by your heart were read aloud, expensive, lavish rings were exchanged, and the most atrocious kiss was shared.

You didn’t think your life could get any worse until after your wedding when your mother pulled you to the side. With a huge grin and beaming face, she told you what was to occur during your honeymoon.

Something so very abysmal it almost made you retch.

“During that time, the breeding of children will be had. You remember the drawings I’ve done for you—that is to occur.” She said with a smile. “All you must worry about is laying back, spreading your legs, and not being a little pest to him. Got it!?” She spat harshly, proceeding to speak of being a grandmother and having grandchildren to take care of and fill her day, not at all concerned for her daughter who was real and right before her.

And as you anticipated, that night was horrific and excruciating…

It was laden with weeps of sorrow and agony. The booming voice of your mother, that told you repeatedly to not be a pest and to not protest, filled your head while a pain that struck you like a hammer upon a nail hit you over and over again…

It’s a memory you try to efface from your mind.

After the dreadful honeymoon, you, sadly, had to live with him. Sir Hawthorne had a house built in your village, Nueva Yorkhaven, one so grand and modernized that it contrasted greatly with the usual dreamscape cottages.

You hated your life there as every day in the lavish halls of your new home, you were worried about only one thing.

Did Alden’s advances work? 

Would you bear him a child?

You would weep every time the idea crossed your mind. After two months had passed, Sir Hawthorne hired doctors to come to your home. You weren't showing any signs of pregnancy and that worried your ‘husband’ to death.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you breathed a sigh of relief for the first time in your marriage when the doctors told the two of you about the failure of Sir Hawthorne's advances. It appeared to have been a failed impregnation, but one on Sir Hawthorne’s part.

Your ‘husband's’ inability to produce an heir angered him immensely.

After the doctor visit, the facade of your marriage crumbled, and Sir Hawthorne revealed a side of himself that you had feared—he turned abusive—mentally and emotionally.

Every word that left your mouth was seen as an irritation. He demeaned and belittled you and constantly criticized your appearance.

Sir Hawthorne isolated you from villagers, housekeepers, your mother, and forbade you from having friends. He even halted your use and access to his riches—although it wasn't like you used it anyway.

As a sign of punishment, he forced you to assist in keeping up the house. He had housekeepers that worked alongside you, but he purposely gave you higher expectations than the normal help.

Despite the stress of your new job, you found solace in it.

It reminded you of the peaceful times back in your home cottage when things were right.

A time when your father and mother were together, your mother wasn't so cruel, and where you were loved.

It was a memory that always came when hanging clothes to dry or harvesting produce.

It wasn't until Sir Hawthorne discovered your contentment with your punishment that he made things even worse for you. He gave you harsher tasks, such as washing every window of his grand house to sparkle in the sun, redecorating rooms over and over again to his liking, and being made to work even in the dead of night.

The physical labor had become too much as he even denied you access to necessities like food and proper clothing.

You felt trapped.

Stuck in this cycle of degrading and forced labor that felt endless.

Many times you thought of running away, but to where? You didn’t have anywhere to go.

You didn’t have friends; he forbade it.

Your neighbors in Nueva Yorkhaven adored Alden. They’ll think you were the crazy one if you came to them with your troubles.

And you definitely couldn't go back to your mother; she’ll send you back.

It felt hopeless…

Like a blossomed well-kept garden, suddenly, an idea came to mind. One that after all these years, you've completely forgotten was the solution to any villager of Nueva Yorkhaven's debacles.

Miguel O’Hara.

The protector of your village, the guardian of every mortal being born and raised in Nueva Yorkhaven.

He was your refuge, your solution to this mess.

But standing before his altar, inside of his sanctuary, you’ve never felt so disconnected from him.

With shaky hands, you set your basket down upon the stone tiles and untied the black cloak from around your body, laying it down gently onto the stone floor to create a small cushion. You descended upon your knees, a neutral-colored bodice with short sleeves adorning your figure. Aimlessly, your eyes wandered the altar, trying to remember how your family did it before.

When you were all together… 

Father, Mother, and you…

It felt so long ago.

You pushed back the urge to cry as your gaze landed on the throne, a feeling of strength overwhelming you. You lowered your head, closed your eyes, and began to speak and recollect the words your father uttered all those years ago.

“‘O’ Mighty deity of protector and strength. I…I call upon you on this night to ask for your presence.”

You declared with a shaky voice. After a moment, only silence followed and filled the quiet sanctuary.

Fear and worry filled your being. After your father said those words, you remembered feeling a warmth, a rush, a feeling, something!

The only thing you felt was the heat from the candles and the excruciating silence that seemed to span on forever. Your lips trembled, tears beginning to slide down your cheeks.

Did your deity turn his back on you?

Was that why he wasn’t listening?

The thought only made you sob even harder. You lowered your head to the ground, placing your forehead against your cloak.

P-Please…Miguel. I-I need you.”

You cried, the sound of your weeping being the only thing heard after your desperate words.

It felt hopeless… 

It felt like you could feel his presence, but he just wasn’t answering.

Like he was just…

There…

Watching…

In the midst of your sobs, a strong hand cupped your chin, lifting it up.

In alarm, your eyes snapped open coming face-to-face with what you deemed utterly impossible.

“Lift your head mortal. You have shed enough tears.”

The booming voice of your deity said, his crimson eyes holding its divine blend of stoicness and softness as he gazed down at you.

You were unable to speak, only capable of staring back in shock.

Your mighty protector smirked, stroking your tear-stained cheek with his thumb before pulling away. The mere action sent a wave of heat throughout your body, the urge to cry and the sensation of sadness melted from your being.

Unable to keep your eyes off his mighty figure, you watched him walk away from you, his majestic scarlet robe trailing behind him whilst he walked up the steps of the stone platform to take a seat in his throne.

You still couldn’t believe he was here, blinking once, twice, thrice to make sure you weren't mistaking the sight.

Miguel O’Hara, your town’s powerful and divine guardian was, indeed, before you. Your eyes traveled to his seated being, taking in every part of him.

In the dimly lit sanctuary, the great deity sat on his throne. His tanned muscular frame exuded strength, a declaration of his divine might. His dark hair cascaded in waves, framed a chiseled face of stoicness. Crimson eyes stared down at you, the dancing fire of candles and torches reflecting off his red orbs.

Draped in celestial attire, Miguel wore a flowing robe of deep scarlet, adorned with intricate golden patterns. Atop his head, a circlet of gold laurel leaves styled his thick brow and around his neck hung a pendant, both signifying guardianship. To complete the divine being's attire, golden sandals that were crafted with celestial elegance dressed his feet.

Despite the times you came here with your family, Miguel’s appearance was a first.

There were legends and rumors that drifted through the village of his presence gracing the eyes of mortals, but many believed it untrue—but here he was, before you, sitting in his throne with a posture so perfectly regal and straight it was astonishing.

You didn’t know what to do or what to say; his previous touch seemed to be burned into your cheek. With a stunned expression, you stared up at the mighty deity who returned your shocked look with a stern gaze that shook you to your very core.

He then raised a thick eyebrow, his eyes still locked on you. “You appear surprised, yet you summoned me, mortal.” His deep voice seemed to echo inside the small space. You exhaled, breathing out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Y-Yes, mighty deity. I-I did call upon you.” You stammered, not knowing what to do and hastily lowering your head in a bow while remaining in your kneeled position.

You thought you were dreaming. That this was all just a moment occurring in your time of slumber, but the thunderous voice heard before you said otherwise.

“Lift your head and state your reasoning for summoning me, mortal.” He said in a gravelly tone, one that contrasted greatly with his previous touch and soft gaze.

Like the mighty being ordered, you lifted your head, meeting eyes with the deity once more, and instantly you lost the ability to speak. All thoughts escaped your mind as you gazed up at him.

He was majestic just like he was described, painted, and sculpted by mortals; yet, standing before him in the flesh surpassed every interpretation drawn by man.

His tanned skin seemed so radiant and flawless, and his body looked taut and perfect. It didn’t help your stunned state that he was very attractive, despite his face being completely hardened and cold.

“Human. State your reason.”

He repeated, knocking you from your trance. Your lips quivered, trying to find the words, and when you did, you held onto them tightly, not letting them go.

“M-My name is Y/N. I’ve resided in Nueva Yorkhaven since my birth and I-I need your divine assistance, great deity.” You muttered with a voice of little confidence. Deep down, you were still shaken up at the fact that he was here before you, in all of his greatness.

Although the belief of him making an appearance to villagers was thought to be untrue in Nueva Yorkhaven, it was said if he did appear, you were special.

So were you…

Special?

You didn’t feel like it.

The celestial being grunted in disapproval at your words. “Y/N…it’s been ages since I’ve seen you here at my sanctuary, yet you ask for my assistance.” He stated in a rumbling voice that unsettled you like an earthquake.

Your lips trembled, shame visible upon your facial features. “Y-Yes. I-It’s, indeed, been a while since I’ve come to g-glorify you, mighty protector.” You said, tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes due to worry about how this interaction would go.

“I see…” He uttered, his piercing crimson eyes still trained on your small being before his altar and throne. “I hope you have brought a tribute along with your presence, Pequeñita.”

Hastily you nodded, opening the case of your basket and taking out the many offerings you had brought for your divine protector— apples picked from Sir Hawthorne’s garden, a woven beaded necklace made by your mother from your youth, cooked empanadas that you knew were the deity’s favorite, and something that you cherished deeply— the last letter written by your deceased father.

You placed each item in a neat arrangement upon the surface of the altar. “I hope you accept my offerings, ‘O’ great one.” You whispered, your voice carrying a blend of hope and reverence.

Miguel’s eyes lingered upon the sacred surface, taking in your tributes from his throne to settle his gaze upon the cooked meal. “Hmm, empanadas.” He uttered, his voice holding satisfaction at the sight of the delicacies. “You know your deity.” He chuckled, giving you a brief glimpse of his sharp fangs that gave a formidable aura before he turned his gaze back onto you.

“Wonderful choice of offerings, Cariño. I'm deeply pleased.” The great being said, filling you with relief. “As well, I am happy that you have come back to me after all this time.” He said, a comforting smile spreading across his tanned lips that brought a sense of warmth inside.

You placed a hand on your heart, giving your deity a deep bow once more. “I am grateful for your comforting words, mighty deity.” You said, a satisfied grunt leaving your protector’s lips at your appreciation.

“Now, tell me, mortal. How can I assist you?” He asked, his crimson eyes seeming to draw you in as well as his fanged smirk. You gulped, apprehension filling your being at his anticipated question.

You were aware of the reason you sought the great deity, but you didn’t know what other way for your life to be fixed if not for the dreadful request you were about to utter.

“Great deity, I…I need you to…

Get rid of my husband.”

You said in a trembling voice. A deafening silence filled the sanctuary after your shocking request, one that even seemed to surprise the great being.

His thick eyebrows rose on his face, his regal posture faltering upon his seat. “You want me to…get rid of your husband?” He inquired, his powerful voice demanding clarification and certainty, bringing you to nod.

You’ve heard of the great being ridding your village of bad people, of individuals like murderers, thieves, and outlawed criminals who came to seek refuge, but he’d done it of his own free will.

There wasn’t a story where a villager asked for the assistance of the protector to eradicate anyone, so it felt odd and a little scary to be the first.

Miguel hummed, his crimson eyes roaming over your being before returning to your face. “Pequeñita, I cannot lie - your request surprises me.” He said, studying you as he spoke. “Your husband is Alden Hawthorne, is that correct?”

Your eyes widened at your mighty protector’s knowledge of your husband, but you should have known - he watched over the villagers of Nueva Yorkhaven, after all.

“Y-Yes, protector. Alden Hawthorne is my…husband.” You replied, finding it hard to prevent yourself from speaking in disdain at the role the horrible male had in your life. While you spoke you kept your head lowered in a way that still showed respect but attentiveness to your great deity.

Miguel hummed at your agreement, shifting to rest his elbow on the armrest of his stone throne and placing his chin onto the knuckles of his divine hand that was covered with golden bands. The change caused his scarlet robe to ripple with his movement and the light to bounce off his circlet golden laurel leaves that sat upon his head.

“Alden Hawthorne.” He scoffed. “The foreigner who has entered my lands and who hasn’t even come to meet me?” He asked in disdain—it seemed Sir Hawthorne hasn’t made a good impression with your villager’s mighty guardian.

“Great deity, y-you are correct. Sir Hawthorne, i-isn’t from Nueva Yorkhaven. He comes from New England.” You said. “Sir Hawthorne also doesn't know of your divine presence upon our lands.” You explained to him in a shaky voice. A surprising fanged smirk spread across his tanned lips at your explanation. “You do not have to be formal when it comes to him, Pequeñita.

It’s just you and me.”

His words made your heart flutter. At your guardian’s request, you realized what you’ve been saying. Alden and your mother had taught you to always speak of your ‘husband’ in such a way—to always address him formally. It had become such a normal thing for you that despite despising your husband, you still did it.

Even now before your great deity, you were speaking such a foul name.

You bowed your head once more in appreciation. “O-Of course. I-I will not be formal when addressing him, ‘O’ great one.” You said, a little too delighted at the thought of deserting such a name that gave you a sense of freedom from your dreadful husband.

“As well as me.”

The divine being added with a small smile. Your eyebrows furrowed, not believing what your great deity just said. You looked up at him to see his crimson eyes gazing back at you, still holding their sternness but now a hint of tenderness was found.

It felt odd for him to ask you, a mere mortal, to abandon the formal names that were meant to be used to glorify and show his divinity. It was hard to abide by such a surprising request, but for your great protector, you would attempt to.

“I-I will try my best, M-Miguel.” You whispered, his name still holding the same weight when you read it upon the sanctuary entrance.

Miguel smirked proudly, leaning back in his seat and resting both of his hands on the armrests, using his thick finger to trace patterns into the stone of his throne as his scarlet eyes never left you. “Good mortal. Now, this…Alden.” The divine being said, returning back to your request at hand.

“I knew of him to be a problem when he first stepped into the village of Nueva Yorkhaven.” He said with a disapproving head shake. “No good comes from mortals who think of themselves as gods.” He growled, his lips turning up into a scowl. He looked at you once more, his crimson eyes settling on your kneeled being before him. “Tell me, what problems has this mortal caused in my lands?” Miguel inquired, his face hardening.

You wetted your lips, preparing the words that you were to tell to your mighty guardian. “Alden Hawthorne shows little interest in knowing your divine greatness upon our lands.” You began. “He…built a home by taking down the sacred trees of the village, and he uses others to serve him… l-like a deity.” At your words, Miguel’s thick eyebrows narrowed, his crimson eyes seeming to darken. “This mortal is living off the backs of people - My people?”

“Y-Yes, Miguel.” You confirmed causing him to snarl, his eyes wandering the room in rage before settling on you.

He looked to be sensing something, his crimson orbs glowing for a second, while his finger tapped the armrest of his throne in steady, thunderous beats, all the while keeping his intense gaze on you.

It was rather unnerving…

“But that isn’t why you want him gone…Is that right, Y/N?”

His surprising question struck you right in the heart. Every cutthroat word, demand, and task that Alden had given to you came rushing back in an instant.

“Y-You are right. T-The words I previously spoke i-isn’t the reason I want Alden gone.” You sniffled, trying to hold back tears that threatened to fall down your cheeks. Miguel’s eyes softened, his attention drawn to your trembling being. “Speak to me, pequeñita. What has this…foreigner done to you?”

His question only made the harsh memories flood back to you like a tidal wave. You shakingly exhaled, blinking back tears. “Frankly, if I were to recollect every wrongdoing that Alden has ever done to me, I’m afraid, you’ll be here forever, Miguel.” You confessed sadly, just remembering everything Alden had done to you was like an endless web of thorns, each holding a prickling reminder of the pain he has caused; some greater than others.

“Then forever, I shall be.”

Miguel’s deep voice filled your ears, brimming with comfort and warmth that instantly soothed your broken heart. Meeting his eyes, you found his enchanting red orbs holding love. “Tell me, Cariño,” he urged. “I might already know what you will say, but I want to hear it from your beautiful lips—if you may, my dear.” Your heart fluttered at your deity’s compliments and endearing names.

You knew speaking of this would only make you more emotional, but you knew you must.

For your deity you’ll do anything…

Before you spoke, Miguel gave you a small smile. “And if you may, will you come closer? I want to see you before me.” He asked, his request leaving you stunned once again. No one was ever to transverse further than the altar, but at your divine protector’s wishes, you rose to your feet.

Your bodice trailed behind you as you walked up the stone steps of his platform to step directly in front of him. His divinity seemed to radiate from him. One could instantly feel Miguel’s superiority and it made you want to kneel and glorify him.

You kept your eyes on your feet as even when he was sitting, Miguel still towered over you. A small chuckle passed his lips when you felt his divine fingers take hold of your chin, lifting it up to meet his gaze.

“Are you ready to begin, pequeñita?” He inquired, his intense gaze causing your legs to tremble slightly. You wet your lips, nodding slowly. “Y-Yes, Miguel.” You whispered. He gave you a fanged smile and released you to settle his hands on his armrest, giving you a nod to begin. You took a deep breath before starting from the beginning.

“M-My mother married me off t-to Alden two years ago.” You said, trying to hold back the agonizing desire to burst into tears. “I never liked Alden, ever since I casted my eyes upon him for the first time - he was prideful, egotistical, and a womanizer.” You explained.

“O-Our marriage wasn’t consensual from the start and as time passed I felt like I was losing control of everything. M-My mother led my life like it was her own, driving me to seal my dreadful fate with Alden in the spring.” You said in a trembling voice, a tear beginning to stream down your cheek at the recollection.

You couldn’t meet your great deity’s eyes, certain you’ll break down into a fit of tears; so you pressed on without casting him a glance. “A-After the wedding, t-the honeymoon occurred…” You trailed off, that horrific night coming back to you. A shaky exhale passed your lips, the trembling of your body only intensifying.

A large, rough hand was placed on your waist, the tremors instantly coming to a halt. “You do not have to dwell on details if it pains you so.” Miguel voiced calmly, stroking your waist with his mighty thumb.

With a small sniffle, you nodded slowly, deciding to continue, bypassing that painful night. “I-I was forced to live with him afterward, a-and he was hoping that I would bear a child for him.” Your voice quivering as you spoke. Miguel’s face remained unshaken, but the subtle tightening of his fingers against your waist revealed his inner turmoil.

Once you caught your bearings you continued. “I-I couldn’t help but be a little relieved when I discovered that I-I wouldn’t. T-The doctors were trying to be modest when they spoke to us, but we discovered that Alden couldn’t bear himself a child even if tried.” You said.

“H-His body couldn’t will it.”

To your surprise, a small smirk spread across Miguel’s lips at your words. “Ah, you see everything must be balanced, Cariño.” Miguel uttered. “Alden constantly took from the world, in turn, his ability to reproduce was taken from him.” He said so wisely with a voice of might. A greater burst of relief and satisfaction filled your being at your deity’s words.

“I-I’m grateful for that occurrence, Miguel. Very much.” You said very appreciative, recalling the many days and nights you spent stressing and worrying. Miguel caressed your skin through your beige and black bodice, the mere touch making your body burn up. “You are welcome, pequeñita, and you may continue.”

With a nod, you proceeded. “Because of his inability to create, Alden became angry at everyone and everything, but especially me.” You sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “He began to treat me unwell, such as demeaning and speaking vulgarly to me in such a ridiculing manner.” You tried to explain in a stable voice, but failed miserably. Miguel listened intently, his mythical eyes never leaving your being as you spoke.

“Alden Hawthorne made me into his personal servant, and when he saw that wasn’t a harsh enough punishment; h-he made things worse by giving me impossible tasks to complete and dehumanizing me.” Your lips trembling horribly as you recalled the terrible memories. “A-And for two years, I've lived this horrific cycle of degradation a-and harsh labor and…

 I just wish to be free…” 

You said sadly, allowing your final words to fill the air. When you looked up at your great protector, he was fuming. Miguel’s eyes were darkened and anger could clearly be seen in his facial features despite his attempt to keep a hardened face. 

You’ve never seen your deity so furious, even the flames upon the candles and torches inside of the sanctuary seemed to intensify with his growing rage. “He’s really done these things to you, pequeñita?” He inquired through gritted teeth and sadly, you nodded. 

He growled, baring his fangs in fury. “So this useless leech believes he can come to my lands, live upon it and use and hurt my people?” Miguel hissed, his hand continuing to caress your waist in a soothing manner despite his palpable rage. 

You didn’t know if to be scared or appreciative of his shared disdain for Alden. Your divine protector’s anger was causing the entire room to heat up, the flames of the lights to burn larger with his rising fury. His narrowed crimson eyes moved in thought, his large hand lifting from your waist to settle on the armrest of his stone chair. 

Miguel's stern gaze landed on you, a deep exhale passing his tanned lips, causing the raging fire of the torches to settle.

“Allow me to consider your request…” 

He said as you hastily lowered to your knees before him, casting your eyes to the ground. 

During judgment, the great being would go into a state of complete thought. Like you've read in your youth, during this time, he'll become knowledgeable of the outcomes of his choices and if the human before him is worthy to be graced with their request…

And depending on their request, they could be struck down by Miguel himself in the place they stand…

You chewed your shaky lip, anxiety overwhelming you like an overflowing well. Being the first villager with the request of eradicating a human, it could be seen as murder, a disruption in the land of Nueva Yorkhaven. 

Your mind raced of what would occur. 

Would Miguel deny you your request, send you back to your life of torment and anguish by Alden, or strike you dead where you stand?

But there could be a possibility he does neither…

That he'll grant your request and you could finally be graced with the peace and freedom that you've yearned for…

However, you didn't want to get your hopes up…

If living by your mother's cruel words and residing with Alden Hawthrone has taught you anything is that hope strikes the heart deeper than any weapon when used carelessly.

And right now, you couldn't be careless to believe you'll reach the light at the end of the dark path. 

It'll only wound you even more if you do…

So, with a pounding heart, you awaited your great deity's next words, chewing your bottom lip raw and clenching your bodice so tightly that your knuckles turned white as you waited…

…

..

.

“I've come to a decision, mortal.”  

Your heart dropped, harshly gulping. Shakingly, you looked up to meet your deity's piercing crimson eyes, his face completely devoid of emotion. Giving him a curt nod to show your attentiveness, you prepared yourself for the worse—that he would reject your request and even worse, punish you for asking him such a thing. 

You were shaking in fear, full of anxiousness of what he decided that your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“With the request that you've traveled to ask me Y/N, I've come to the decision to…

Complete it…” 

Your eyes widened, everything seeming to have come to a stop. You were certain you had stopped breathing. “W-what?” You stammered breathlessly, looking up at Miguel’s stoic face in surprise. “I’ll rid the world of your husband, like you asked.” He said, your heart skipping a beat at his clarification. 

But before you can utter your astonished appreciation, his next words made you freeze.

“But, you must do something for me in return.” 

With furrowed eyebrows, your shock face turned into full of worry as you gazed up at your deity. You wanted Alden gone, but you were a little concerned at what the price you’ll have to pay to do so; 

However, your desire outweighed your fear. 

Hastily, you bowed your head once more, pressing your forehead onto the stone tile before his mighty feet. “W-whatever you need, Miguel. I-I’ll satisfy it.” You declared in a voice full of desperation. 

A hum left Miguel’s lips, before he ran his fingers through your hair, the action causing you to look at him. His piercing crimson eyes instantly meeting your poignant ones. 

“Don’t agree until you know my terms, Cariño.” 

He uttered mysteriously causing a knot of anxiety to build inside of your belly. You nodded slowly, chewing your bottom lip. Miguel leaned back in his seat, his eyes still on your kneeled being before him. “I spoke previously about a balance. You do remember that, right pequeñita?” He inquired, causing you to nod. “Y-Yes, I remember.” You told him, a little worried about how the balance of life was important when it came to your request; it didn’t help that Miguel’s face gave no hints on what he could possibly mean, making you even more nervous.

“I’ve never had one of my people request to take the life of the living. Due to this wish being from a mortal, I must demand something in return.” He explained, tapping his finger against his stone armrest. You wet your lips, looking from his large hands that were decorated with gold rings to up at his mighty tanned face. “And…w-what do you require, Miguel?” You asked, feeling your heart quicken. Your great deity’s eyes narrowed, his face turning completely stern. 

“I must keep the balance in Nueva Yorkhaven or chaos would go rampant upon our lands.” He said, keeping his crimson eyes on you. “So if I take a life…

 I must replace it…”

Miguel trailed off, his words repeating themselves over and over in your mind, yet you were still puzzled about what he needed in return. “Miguel…I-I do not understand.” You honestly said to your great deity, and Miguel didn’t hesitate to tell you. 

“If I am to kill Alden Hawthorne, you must bear me a child to replace the life taken, Y/N.” 

His voice seemed to echo and bounce off the walls of your mind, repeating itself for eternity, but you still couldn't believe what your great deity needed from you.

“Y-you want me to bear a child for you? In return for Alden being…gone?” You asked in astonishment. Miguel grunted in agreement, only making you even more baffled.

“But…a-a deity mating with a human is forbidden.” You reminded the great being even though you already knew his knowledge of the ancient laws. Miguel nodded at your words. “Indeed, but when it comes to…circumstances such as this, the laws are allowed to be bent.” He stated, his words causing a wave of heat to fill your being.

“So, Y/N…will you accept my terms in exchange for Alden Hawthorne to be eradicated or leave my sanctuary without my divine assistance?” The great deity inquired, his crimson eyes trained on your kneeled being before him. You could feel his gaze traveling along your body as you pondered your decision.

‘If I agree, Alden will be gone, things can go back to the way they were before his appearance into my life…but I'll have to bear the child of my great protector — and not just any child, a demigod!’ You thought in disbelief, chewing your bottom lip.

‘But if I do not, I'll return back to my dreadful life of sorrow being a mere servant to a man who I'm to call my ‘husband.’’ You pondered, trying to discover which choice would be better.

The thought of returning back to Alden was a nightmare, but you couldn't help the uncertainty that was bubbling inside your stomach like a potion being brewed by the village doctor at the thought of bearing such a mighty being. It felt like a huge responsibility, one that you weren't confident you would be able to handle.

You lowered your head in respect, gripping the fabric of your neutral-colored bodice in your fists. “M-Miguel, I…do not believe I-I’m the right person for this task.” Sincerely you told him in a trembling voice. “I-I want A-Alden gone, but I’m afraid of disappointing you.” Your words of ambiguity reverberating off the walls of the ancient sanctuary before fading into silence.

The feeling of Miguel’s piercing gaze upon you was intense as he grunted in understanding. “I comprehend your reluctance to agree to my terms, but without me, your fate will be jeopardized, my dear.” The divine being said, his deep voice causing you to lift your head and meet his perfectly chiseled facial features once more. His face still held its stoicness, but his eyes, like before, held a look of tenderness that made you warm inside.

Miguel leaned towards you, the scarlet robe shifting slightly to give you a glimpse of his toned pec underneath as he cupped your face in his mighty hand. “With my child, you would grow stronger.” He said, his eyes wandering your face whilst his fingers held your cheek with such gentleness. “This child shall heal all the wounds of your heart and return the joy you’ve lost back into your life, Cariño.” He explained, his expressions full of love and compassion, the most emotion you’ve seen since his appearance.

“This baby is your refuge— your solution if you wish to live in peace and happiness once more, Y/N.” He cajoled, the more he spoke, the more enticing his deal was…

Miguel, of course, was right…

The thought of having a demigod, a mighty being, a child would, indeed, help everything…

Before departing from your dreadful mother, she spoke heavily about you bearing a child—one that she could care for and love.

During that time, you didn’t understand her reasoning, only seeing it as her not loving you anymore and wishing to replace you, but it wasn’t that at all. 

Your mother was wishing for something to fill the hole in her heart that was created when her husband, your father, passed away. She yearned for a grandchild that could help her mend her sadness and grief, which her desires blinded her from the pain she was causing you. This revelation changed your view of your mother. Over the years, you’ve grown to despise her when really, she was broken just like you.

Perhaps, like your great protector has said, this child could fix everything. With their mere divine presence, they can restore the good in your life and return it to how it was before…

Your mother, back to her happy and loving self.

Alden Hawthorne gone.

And lastly, peace and joy being restored to your life.

If this child was to impact your life this greatly, you couldn’t help but want to agree to these terms.

It seemed as if it was your last hope.

Your last chance to make things right…

Miguel stroked your cheek with his thumb, drawing you from your thoughts and back to the grand decision beforehand. “So what will it be, Cariño?” The divine being asked, his eyes seemed to glow with hope and reverence, the look rather foreign on the great protector. After thinking it over, you knew your answer, causing you to give him a hesitant nod.

“I-I agree…” You uttered sincerely. “I’ll bear your child and bestow upon it the love that I could only have wished for in my years of being with Alden.” You affirmed, keeping your eyes on the deity and holding the confidence in your voice.

At your declaration, Miguel gave you a warm, fanged smile. “I’m delighted to hear your acceptance of my terms, querida.” He said, caressing your cheek with his mighty fingers before pulling away.

"But may I confess something in return?" 

He inquired, returning to his regal posture with his arms positioning themselves upon the stoned rests of his throne. You were intrigued, yet worried about what his confession could be.

Was it about the child? 

Your fate? 

What secrets could possibly be shared from a divine being to a mere mortal? 

It was a troubling thought...

Giving him your approval with a nod, you shifted on your knees into a comfortable position, awaiting the deity’s confession.

Miguel smiled, keeping his crimson eyes on you. "I’m known as a being of protection, a divinity that is to guard the people of Nueva Yorkhaven, but that is my only role— it’s what I was created to do." His deep voice echoed off the walls of the sanctuary and blended well with the flickering of candles and torches inside; but to your surprise, the deity’s usual stern expression suddenly saddened.

"But recently I’ve grown to want more…"

He uttered, silence following his words. You were stunned at his confession, never wondering from the great protector’s perspective that possibly he could desire something other than being a guardian.

You felt sympathy for him…

"What is it that you want?" You asked with a compassionate voice, one that seemed to be new to the great being. His thick eyebrows furrowed and his posture faltered. Miguel tilted his head at you, confusion found in his usually stoic facial features. "I’ve…never had someone ask me such a thing." Miguel admitted, a soft and uncertain chuckle passing his lips. The mere question of his desires seemed to cause him to be unsettled.

"M-My apologies." You began. "It’s just…humans always come to you with requests and desires, and you consult them each and every time." The words being pulled from your being as your mouth continued to move. "Yes, we bring you offerings and tributes to thank you, but what is it that you truly want, Miguel? What is it that you seek but believe it’s too far away that even you cannot seem to grasp?" You sincerely asked. 

Miguel’s crimson eyes widened,  his defined Adam's apple moving with a hesitant gulp "What I desire sounds rather silly, but it’s a mortal want, something as a deity I find to be impossible to obtain." He said with a small laugh, the riddle troubling you. Miguel smirked, taking in your confused expression.

"I desire love, little one."

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession. You weren’t expecting that to be what he wanted from the world. Like he had stated, it sounded like a human desire rather than from a great being that has lived upon the world for many, many years.

Miguel took in your face as he shook his head, a snicker passing his tanned lips. "I know, a silly desire from a great being as myself, but I want to love like you, humans." He said once more, his expression turning into one of deep thought.

"I do not mean love as in worship, but intimacy and connection…I want to experience what it is that causes mortals, such as your mother, to not be able to live on without the presence of their loved one." Miguel said, looking off whilst he spoke.

"I want to feel the beating of the heart and the flutter of the stomach that you humans write of in stories and tales. I desire a love that drives and strengthens me; one that courses through my being and is the reason I breathe." He admitted so vividly that it could be seen as he turned his red orbs back to you. His eyes seemed to slightly glow a bright red hue.

"But that isn’t what I wish to confess to you, Cariño."

You were even more surprised than you were before at his words. "W-What is it that you'll l-like to share, Miguel?" You muttered with a voice stained with anxiousness. You were nervous to ask what he really wished to reveal that was even more shocking than what he stated before.

Miguel’s entire face hardened, his stern eyes trailing along your being, taking in every part of you—the aged bodice that framed your figure perfectly, the dark circles under your beautiful eyes, and the failed effort of taming the unkempt hair upon your head.

Even in this state, something was happening and it troubled the great being immensely.

"You’ve…done something to me."

He simply stated, causing your breath to become stuck in your throat. "W-what?" You asked in confusion and fear, not understanding what he could mean. "You’ve done something to me, human." He repeated, his piercing gaze never faltering from your kneeled being.

Your eyebrows furrowed in perplexity, his statement leaving you completely bewildered. Despite how troubled you were by his words, you kept silent, looking down at your lap as Miguel's thunderous voice filled the sanctuary once more.

"When you arrived and called out to me in tears, I couldn’t stop myself from appearing before you," he stated. "When you told me your request of wanting your husband gone and your reasoning, it made my heart behave…oddly, especially when you did what no human has ever done and asked me what I desired." He tried to explain; however, his gravelly voice was laced with rigor and disarray.

Your heart dropped at his explanation of these "odd" feelings he was experiencing.

‘He’s not feeling what I think he’s feeling, is he?”

You pondered, biting your lip and rising slowly to your feet. “M-Miguel, I do not wish to speak out of turn or assume incorrectly, but is it perhaps that you are experiencing what you desire…? 

Love?”

As if a lantern was sparked inside of a dark forest, Miguel’s eyes widened. “It…It’s possible.” He replied in a suspicious voice while his gaze roamed along your figure once more before settling on your face. “To be honest, I’ve found you captivating since I first saw you in my sanctuary, Y/N.” He confessed with a small smile. “But it did sadden me to hear the debacles in your life. 

I would’ve eradicated Alden sooner to prevent them.”

His tone was completely cold and serious as he looked at you, but your heart fluttered at his natural protectiveness, something you wished you had alongside you in the years of being Alden’s wife-servant. “But…with your help, we can fix them now.” You whispered, remembering the terms of your agreement with the great being that brought a smile to his lips.

“Indeed…” He replied in a tone that he, perhaps, didn’t mean to sound erotic but made your cheeks burn nonetheless. You gulped, trying to regain your composure. “And…how would this be done?” You inquired, believing it to be a divine touch of his hands upon your belly would magically create a baby into your womb.

But this was far from a fairy tale…

“To seal our terms, we must perform it in connection to one another.” He explained.

“As one.”

You suddenly felt like fainting. The thought of experiencing that, with the great protector, shocked you more than anything you’ve heard in your time in the sanctuary.

Completely stunned, you could only look at him with an agape mouth and widened eyes. Miguel laughed. “Don’t be so surprised, human.” He chuckled, suddenly taking your hand and pulling you onto his lap.

With a gasp, you found yourself upon his thick thighs, your legs resting upon the taut muscles. Your cheeks reddened as instantly you were aware of how close the two of you were—the divine silk of his scarlet robe and your bodice being the only obstacles between the two of you.

You gulped, the action not helping your rapidly beating heart like you hoped. Snapping you out of your thoughts, Miguel cupped your cheek in his large hand, caressing your skin with his thumb as his crimson eyes roamed along your face.

“I know your first time was…painful,” He said sympathetically, continuing to stroke your cheek soothingly.

“But I’ll be sure to replace that memory to be something truly wonderful.”

He promised, his other hand moving along your side, feeling your body through your bodice. A shaky exhale passed your lips, eyes fluttering at the sudden intensity of sensations that were coursing through your being. You believed that due to his divinity, it was causing everything to be more heightened, every touch seeming to linger and burn into the surface of your skin despite fabric blocking his bare touch.

You couldn’t help but nod in approval, craving his divine touch. Miguel smiled, drifting his hands down to run along your legs, disappearing under your bodice to bring your housekeeper dress up and over your head. He dropped the neutral colored bodice on the ground beside his throne, revealing the white chemise that covered your bare body underneath.

He sucked in a breath at the sight, caressing your thighs and rear. “So beautiful, little one.” He purred, placing a hand to the back of your head and pulling you in for a kiss. You instantly gasped as he kissed you passionately, massaging your chewed lips with his tongue before entering your mouth to taste you.

You’ve never experienced intimacy in this manner, allowing him to take the lead and bashfully returning the kiss. Miguel’s arms wrapped around your body, pulling you flush against him whilst he continued to kiss you. Every part of his being wasn't left unnoticed. 

It was impossible.

It was hard to ignore how his pecs pressed into your peaked chest through both of your clothing, his burly arms and muscles that held you snug against him, and his thick thighs that flexed underneath your legs; even the intensity of his body heat was causing your core to throb in desire, a feeling you’ve never felt before. Everything about your deity was slowly blinding you, like a heavy fog was briskly clouding your mind with the only light source being him.

You wanted him, needed him to be able to see clearly again, and Miguel, like always, was there to cure your debacle.

He pulled away from your lips, the lingering buzz and taste of him still on your tongue and mouth. “Are you ready?” He asked, caressing your bare thighs soothingly, his suggestive question causing a pit of uncertainty and fear to fill your being. The memory of your dreadful honeymoon with Alden rushed to the surface along with the excruciating pain, sorrow, and the suffocating feeling of helplessness that followed.

Miguel instantly saw the fear that grew upon your face, bringing him to take your chin in his powerful fingers, his eye contact with you, unshakeable. “What occurred with Alden will never happen again,” he sternly said, his crimson eyes roaming your face, taking in every expression.

“If you are worried, the pain will not exist with me; your body will be too consumed with…other feelings that it will not allow it.” Miguel reassured, stroking your cheek. “And if, by chance, the pain does occur, don’t hesitate to speak—to tell me to cease, and I will. Do you understand me, querida?” The great protector inquired.

With trembling lips, you couldn’t help but nod, wholeheartedly believing his words of assurance. In Miguel’s arms, you’ve never felt safer, and you trusted that he would make this intimate experience with you enjoyable.

The deity gave you a smile, reaching down to undo his robe and drawing back the scarlet fabric to reveal his perfectly defined olive pecs, abs, stomach, and thighs; but what instantly got your attention was the enormity that sprung up from the red fabric to rest against your belly.

In all of your life, you’ve only seen the male’s intimate part once, and it was with Alden; but his was nothing compared to the great being’s.

Miguel’s tanned member was large and thick with a bulging vein and an angry mahogany tip. It pointed up to the ceiling, perfectly erect and hard. The sight intimidated and aroused you as you looked up at Miguel with stunned eyes. Miguel chuckled at your astonished expression, running his fingers through your hair. “We will take it slow,” he said, consoling you once more.

You bit your lip, looking back down at the size of his length, trying to imagine how it’ll possibly fit.

It seemed incredulous.

Your eyes snapped up at Miguel at the feeling of his hand beginning to draw your white chemise up, revealing your bare rear underneath. A heavy blush spread across your cheeks at being exposed in front of your mighty protector, drawing a laugh to rumble from his chest at your flustered state.

His crimson eyes looked down at your exposed crotch and up at you. “Do you mind if I touch it?” He asked, his tone sweet and not wanting to overstep. “I just need to see if you are…

Ready.”

Miguel explained, but you didn’t understand what he meant. Your mother had never gone into thorough detail when it came to intimacy, only stating this was how babies were born and what occurred, other than that, you were lost.

Nevertheless, you placed your trust into your mighty protector, giving him a nod. You assisted him by lifting your chemise to your stomach, allowing him more access to your sensitive area whilst you nervously awaited for his touch.

Miguel looked pleased at your approval, moving his ringed fingers between your thighs to run the pads of them along your folds. You sucked in a breath, eyes instantly becoming hazy at his divine touch. Miguel clicked his tongue at your lack of saturation before pulling away. He looked up at you, meeting your flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes. “You aren’t…wet enough.” He stated, causing your eyebrows to furrow as he continued. “We’ll have to get there before we begin.”

Despite your perplexity, you followed his every word absentmindedly. Miguel placed his hands on your waist and slightly lifted you upon the girth of his cock. He groaned softly, his length laying against his stomach while your folds rested on the base of it. You moaned softly at the feeling of his warmth and hardness in between your folds.

Miguel looked up at you, a fanged smirk on his lips as he rocked you against him. The most unlady-like sounds began to be pulled from your throat at the sudden bursts of pleasure; his cock sliding between your folds and pressing into your sensitive bud with each push and pull of your hips upon him.

The great being grunted and groaned, his crimson eyes looking between the grinding of your pussy along his cock and up at you. “How does it feel?” He inquired, but you were unable to speak.

The pleasure was so intense and foreign, a tingling sensation seeming to sprout from your core and throughout your body. With clouded ears and dazed eyes, you noticed the divine being snicker softly, satisfied that you were enjoying it.

He gripped your hips tightly with his large hands, grinding your body along his cock with much force and speed causing your heavy gasps to change to loud moans in an instant. A wetness began to spill from your core, coating your thighs and his cock with each nudge of his base and tip into your swollen bud.

In all of your life, you’ve never felt this blissful. Naturally, you overheard the many housekeepers at Alden’s mansion speak of this type of intimacy with their husbands and lovers—of euphoric feelings that were so addicting, one could become entranced by the activity.

At the time, you couldn’t understand…

Your time with Alden Hawthorne was anything but enjoyable and euphoric as the ladies spoke of, but now…

You understood what they meant…

Everything about this moment was what they described—euphoric, blissful, and most of all, addicting.

Your hands landed upon his broad shoulders, a heat pooling at your stomach as you took control, sliding your hips forward and pressing your core along his base with each grind. Miguel’s large hand held your lower back to steady you, but his attempt in holding in his groans was intensifying the feeling. 

“Just like that, pequeñita.” Miguel moaned softly, meeting your dazed gaze. “You know how to please me.” He chuckled between his heavy breathing, the praise only making your stomach tighten like the thread of a spinning wheel about to snap.

“M-Miguel…” His name fell from your lips in a whine as your thighs began to tremble and still. You were feeling like you were about to burst with each ongoing friction upon your sensitive bud. 

“I can’t…Something’s c-coming.” You whimpered, gripping his shoulders tightly, blunt nails piercing the skin, but it didn’t seem to bother the divine being. At your words, you felt Miguel’s massive length twitch against your core, and a soft groan to escape his lips. “Can you hold it for me, pequeñita?” He inquired in a stable voice, despite being so aroused. The tension in your belly only heightened at his request, however, you bit your lip, nodding. 

Miguel grinned at your willingness and obedience, soon effortlessly lifting your body and standing from his throne. You gasped at his suddenness, his large hands holding your bare thighs and pressing you closely to his muscular body. Your arms wrapped around his neck as your white chemise fell down your body to cover his large hands that rested upon your legs. 

When you met the great being’s face, the look he held was different and very unexpected. His crimson eyes were brimming with love and affection, but something that you’ve only hoped your true lover would cast upon you. The sight made your heart skip a beat and your stomach flutter. 

The thought of a great being such as him feeling this way towards you, despite all that you’ve been through, made you feel profoundly grateful and touched. Everything about him felt heavenly, like this moment was the world apologizing for what it had put you through, and you couldn’t have been more thankful…

He walked to the side of his throne, lowering you to the floor without breaking eye contact with you. Your white chemise covered your figure once more, whilst Miguel’s hands were placed upon your waist to turn you around. You followed along with his wishes, giving him full control. He gently laid you across the armrest of his stone throne and pulled your chemise up to rest on your hips once more, revealing your bare bottom.

You bit your lip in anticipation, feeling a wetness sliding down your thighs at the longing for the addicting pleasure he could bestow upon you. A contented groan left the lips of your protector at the sight of your rear, his massive, ringed hands moving to roam the soft skin of your bottom. You moaned softly, the need to release was still evident in your belly, but only intensified with every divine touch of his hands upon your body.

You suddenly became aware of how massive and close the deity of protection was. His body heat was like a furnace on a cold winter night, his mere presence being able to warm you in an instant. His toned pecs and abs were palpable against your back through your chemise as he leaned over your body. The great protector’s hard cock poked against the back of your thigh causing your wet core to drip along your legs. Miguel’s lips grazed along your ear, the feeling sending a wave of heat to sprout through your body. 

“Are you ready for me, Querida?” 

He asked, seeking clarification in case of you regretting your decision; but you could sense he hoped you didn’t.

The many fearful and anxious thoughts overwhelmed your senses once more, but his sweet kisses along your ear and cheek were causing them to fade. “Y-Yes.” You replied hesitantly, still nervous about performing such intimacy that always terrified you after Alden. 

Miguel was relieved but still sensed your hesitance. His large hand caressed your stomach through your white chemise and continued his soothing kisses in hopes of calming you. “Trust me.” He whispered into your ear. “I promise, it would not feel how it was with Alden. It’ll be better.

I’ll make sure of it…” 

You always found the traits of the great beings fascinating, one of them being their inability to deceive. The deities could only speak the truth which only made you believe his words even more. 

“O-Okay.” You replied, taking the hem of your chemise in your hands to cope with your anxiousness but to also grant him better access. The sight only made Miguel smile, thankful that his words were able to settle your troubled thoughts. He pressed a final kiss to your cheek before pulling away. 

Your heart was beating rapidly against your chest as you felt him slide his tip along your soppy folds, the squelching filling the room. “Take a deep breath for me,” Miguel told you, stroking your hips. 

You took a deep breath, inhaling deeply, and upon exhaling, he pushed his length inside. A loud moan erupted from your throat, fingers gripping the chair at the intensity of your stretched core. 

“G-Goodness, you are…so tight.” Miguel groaned into your ear, his grip tightening on your waist. His enormity filled you up completely, and to your surprise, you didn’t feel pain as you thought, only pleasure that only heightened when he bottomed out. He groaned, kissing along your neck. “How do you feel?” He asked, his voice full of lust and desire, his hips stilled to allow you to adjust to his massive length. 

You could only frantically nod, your stuffed core quivering in delight at how wonderful the sensations felt. Miguel smirked, pulling out to the tip before slamming back in, causing you to release a choked moan. It was as if an avalanche of pleasure crashed into you and overwhelmed your every sense with the suffocating emotion. At your wonderous response, the great deity began to slowly thrust into you, dragging his massive length into you and sliding out. 

In all of your life, you’ve never felt something so good and addicting. Your unkempt hair spilled over his throne whilst the most unladylike sounds were pulled from your lips with every smack of his hips against your rear. “Such pretty sounds you are making for me, Cariño.” Miguel cooed behind you, wrapping an arm around your stomach to hold you close. 

The great protector kissed along your neck, nipping softly and grazing his fangs along the skin. It wasn’t long before the tension in your stomach returned. You whimpered and moaned, the improper sounds of skin and squelching bouncing off the walls of his sanctuary as the divine being took you to your blissful end. 

“M-Miguel, I- something’s coming.” You whined through body tremors and the clenching of your walls. “You may let go, querida. Give it to me.” Miguel moaned breathlessly into your ear, aiming his rhythmic thrusts to attack your sensitive spot over and over. 

Unable to hold it any longer, with a loud cry, you released the pent-up pleasure that was building in your stomach. Your eyes rolled, body shaking horribly in Miguel’s arms. Suddenly a rush of euphoria overcame you, making you weightless, like a feather being drifted off into the wind.

Miguel’s hips never ceased their movement, rutting into you as his grunts louden against your ear. "Are you ready to be mine, querida? To bear our child?" He asked, his pace quickening. 

The blood rushing to your ears and the pounding of your own heart made his words faint, but nevertheless, you heard him. Frantically you nodded. "Y-Yes. I'm...ready." You told him through breathless gasps and the slapping of his hips against your rear. 

At your final approval, a guttural groan escaped his lips as he burrowed his length deep inside you and released his warm, hot essence into your womb. You could feel his thighs tensing up against your legs and his toned chest heaving on your back whilst he filled you; granting you a child and fulfilling the terms...

The sanctuary was now laden with both of your heavy pants and the small flickering of fire upon the torches and candles. A comfortable silence fell upon the two of you as Miguel slowly pulled out, leaving you empty and longing for him once more. 

The great being kept you in his arms, seeming to not be able to let you go…

Not like you wanted him to anyway. 

It felt like forever since you were loved, and in Miguel’s arms was where you were cherished. 

But like all good things, they must come to an end…

“Your request will be completed, Y/N,” Miguel promised against your backside, caressing your stomach through your white chemise. In your moment of pure bliss, you’ve forgotten the reasoning behind the shared passion between the great being and yourself. 

His words brought you back to the harsh reality that you’ll have to eventually leave him…

He pulled away, fixing the scarlet robe upon his mighty, chiseled body whilst you also got dressed, drawing down your chemise and adorning your neutral-colored bodice once more. When you were finished, you turned to look at Miguel to see he was already staring back at you, his crimson eyes holding adoration in them.

He walked up to you, his divine body towering over your form. “Y/N…” He said your name upon his mighty tongue, making your heart flutter. You looked up at him, trying to calm the desire to avert your eyes due to how intense his gaze was. “Y-Yes?” The inquiry leaves your lips in a timid voice. Miguel gave you a small smile, cupping your face in his large hand and stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I need you to promise me something.” The great being uttered, his words greatly intriguing you. “W-what is it?” You asked, willing to do anything for him. 

The divine being’s eyes roamed over your face, taking in your every facial feature. “In all of my years that I’ve traversed this world, I’ve never experienced something like this.” He confessed, tracing his fingers along your jaw. “You’ve done something that no human has ever done, Cariño.” He whispered, leaning closer to you, so close that his breath fanned against your lips. 

“You’ve fulfilled the wish of a deity and have set my heart ablaze.” 

You sharply inhaled, staring at the great being with widened eyes. You wanted to believe that his words were false, that the great protector of Nueva Yorkhaven had mistaken his feelings of love for you as something else; but the truth of the most alluring trait about the deities continuously filled your head. 

He couldn’t lie. 

He was created unable to…

His words of adoration and affection were all real. The great being loved you out of all mortals and that thought only made you even more confounded. 

You wet your lips, meeting the red-eyed protector, and taking in everything about him: his morals, values, greatness, natural will to protect his people, and even his physical appearance with his perfectly sculpted body, chiseled face, dark wavy hair, and beautiful, scarlet eyes. 

In all your life, you’ve never fallen deeply in love, you were never given the chance to—being forced into marriage with Alden severed your ability to find love for yourself, however, after all this time, you believed you’ve succeeded. 

You’ve fallen in love with your divine protector...

“I…love you too.” You said, the words leaving your mouth before you could even think about it. Miguel’s thick eyebrows rose briefly in shock to soon settle once more. He hastily pulled you into a kiss, his plush lips interlocking with your own in a passionate entanglement that seemed to go on forever. 

When he finally pulled away, he kept you snug against him, his arms protectively wrapped around your body. “I want you to promise me you’ll never love another—that your heart will always burn for me as mine does for you,” he uttered, his deep voice filling the small space between you and adding to the tender moment even more. 

Unbeknownst to him, his promise was an easy one...

In the pit of your stomach, you knew from this moment onward, things would never be the same, and you were content with that. 

When you first pressed your lips against the great protector’s, it was as if you were being reborn, your wretched life leaving you as a new one welcomed you. 

Once you leave this sanctuary, Alden Hawthorne would be like a terrible nightmare that never occurred. Your mother and yourself could mend the relationship between the two of you, and you would always have a piece of Miguel with you even if he wasn’t there physically, holding you in his mighty arms. 

And you were satisfied with that…

Like the sun emerging to dispel away the shadows from a long, dark night and bring light across the lands, goodness was being revived into your life all because of the might of Nueva Yorkhaven’s great protector—Miguel O'Hara. 

Looking up at Miguel with glossy eyes, you smiled at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him into a loving embrace. 

“I promise. 

I’ll love you till my last breath.” 

A/N: Thanks so much for reading my oneshot! Shoutout to the wonderful anon who gave me the request, there is still more to come for you, but I hope you enjoyed it!

Make sure to like, comment, reblog and follow! If you would like to add a request to the kink series or have an idea in general, just message me or submit an ask! ❤️

<3 Taglist:

@oscarissac2099 @powerful-niya @szapizzapanda @mcmiracles @mreowmoreww @thedevax @jadeloverxd @lazyotakuofficial @migueloharacumslut @nattywattyy @homewreckingwreck @kinkybandages @prazinos @huniedeux @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak @anniee-mr @crimin4llyins4ne

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

[jobean12-blog]

At First Sight

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (maybe he's a Mafia/Mob boss, maybe CEO- either way he's too delicious to ignore)

Word Count: 2,248

Summary: You're out to celebrate with friends when something unexpected happens.

Author's Note: We all know I love Mob/CEO Bucky and skirting that mystery line so you can use your imagination here! Honestly, if he approached me like this I'd just be putty in his hands haha 😏thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: flirting, Bucky is pretty forward, fun, drinking and mentions of alcohol but everyone is coherent and able to make clear choices, fingering, semi-public sex, curses

“I’m not sure…?”

You look between your two friends, Sadie, and Nia, and blink several times. “Too much?”

They look at each other then back at you.

“Definitely not!” Sadie squeals.

“And besides,” Nia adds, “the limo’s here. Too late to change!”

The space is dark, loud, and filled with moving bodies. You shove your way up to the bar and shout, “excuse me!” hoping to get the bartender’s attention.

With the music so turned up and so many other people slamming the bar, the bartender doesn’t even look in your direction.

“Heyyyy!” you shout with a slap on the bar.

“I’m not sure he heard you.”

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, you look up at the man pressed close to you at the crowded bar.

He’s tall. And sexy. And gorgeous. And wearing a smirk that screams trouble…in the best way.

“Yelling won’t work doll,” the man says, motioning to the bartender. “It’s just too damn loud.”

You purse your lips as you try to think of a witty comeback but before you can he continues.

“But lucky for you, he’s my friend so I’ll help you order another round of those shots you seem to love.”

“How do you know what I love to drink?” you start, batting your lashes. “Maybe it’s a Whiskey neat.”

You lift your chin and smile sweetly, waiting for his reply.

“You’ve been ordering the same blue shots all night beautiful.”

Your mouth falls open to respond but nothing comes out.

Has he been watching you all night? Creepy or…amazing?

Instead, you stare and take in his features. Perfection.

The bartender comes over and looks at the man beside you expectantly.

“Three fingers of Whiskey, Steve and whatever the beautiful woman is having. She’s been waiting a bit.”

He turns to you, wearing a lopsided smile. “Will you be having Whiskey too?”

“I think I just might,” you tell your new friend.

“And how many fingers would you like doll?”

He watches you with an innocent expression as he spreads his long fingers out on the bar.

“Did you just…?” you stammer.

“Maybe just start with two,” he says.

A playful smile teases his lips, and you can’t help but stare at them.

“Fine, two fingers,” you say the bartender, “of whiskey…,” and then you give the man beside you a demure smile, “and more shots please.”  

“First time here?” the man asks, his gaze sweeping over you.

“How did you know?”

“I’d remember seeing you angel.”  

Even with his flirty forwardness you can’t seem to find anything that makes you uncomfortable. His eyes are friendly, and he’s standing close but not too close, just enough so you know he wants to be there to talk to you and only you.

You glance back to search for your friends but can’t find them anywhere.

“What are you celebrating tonight?” he asks when your eyes find his again.

“What makes you think I’m here celebrating anything?”

You raise an eyebrow and hold his stare.

“Do you ever just answer a question?” he counters.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth to stop your smile and fire back with, “do you ever stop asking questions?”

He laughs, the action lighting up his face and making his eyes crinkle flawlessly at the corners. It makes your stomach flutter.

You hold each other’s gaze for a beat before he continues.

“All the dancing and drinks…seems like a good time…a celebration.”

“Well, you’re right. My friend just got an amazing promotion at work.”

He smiles triumphantly and you smile back.

“So, there’s no chance you’ll be leaving here with me tonight.”

The bartender sets your drinks down in front of you just as your new eye candy finishes the sentence and you grab for your glass, downing as much as you can before you start to choke.

With a laugh the man takes a long and slow sip of his Whiskey, watching you. You put your half empty glass down on the bar with a dramatic bang and exhale.

“I…what? No!”

“That’s too bad,” he replies.

“You just met me,” you argue.

“And since the moment you walked in you’ve had my full attention,” he admits.

The shots seem to hit you all at once and you sway on your feet. He steadies you with a gentle but strong hand on your arm.

“Easy doll.”

“Ok…stop being so charming. The smiling and the touching… I like it way too much. It makes me want things…and we’ve only just met.”

“What kinds of things?” he asks, voice smooth like silk and deep.

You swallow hard and he tracks the movement of your throat before his eyes linger on your lips.

You gather up the shots for the girls. “We’re going to do these.”

He nods, slowly, his smile growing.

“So…um. I’ll see you later…?”

You wait, hoping he’ll give you his name.

“James, but you can call me Bucky.”

“Ok then, see you later Bucky.”

“I sure hope so angel.”

You find your friends at a table, catching their breath, and set down the shots.

“I met the hottest guy.”

Both friends pause with the drinks halfway to their mouths.

“What the hell are you doing here then?” Sadie asks.

“Girl’s night, we’re celebrating,” you say. “Duh.”

“Fuck that, go dance with the hot guy!” Nia shouts.

You lift your glass to your lips and shake your head. “No way, I’m here to dance with you all! Let’s go!”

You polish off the shot, wait for them to do the same then hold out your hands to pull them onto the dance floor.

The beat of the music surrounds you and you let go, forgetting routine and responsibility and just enjoying the moment.

Sadie yells something to you about the song that just started but you don’t quite catch it. Just behind her, set in the shadows off the side of the bar stands Bucky.

Your eyes meet and neither of you look away.

He doesn’t seem the least bit surprised to be caught staring at you. Every inch of your skin heats and when he lifts his glass, takes a sip, and smiles, you smile back…and start to move…just for him.

The hem of your dress inches higher as you lift your arms above your head, swaying your body to the rhythm of the music and getting lost in it. Your friends move closer and lean in.

“You’ve attracted an audience,” Sadie chuckles.

She whips her head to the side to point out the group of guys moving closer. You ignore the group and search the shadows for Bucky but he’s nowhere to be seen.

With unexpected disappointment you grab Sadie and tell her you need to use the ladies room, weaving your way though the crowd and off the dance floor. You follow the signs to the second floor, which is essentially a balcony overlooking the rest of the space.

After freshening up you walk out of the door and right into something hard. Bucky grips your biceps lightly, holding you close.

“You ok?” he asks.

You were standing close to him at the bar, but not this close, not close enough to smell his skin and feel the rise and fall of his chest. It makes you heady, but you manage a nod.

“Hi angel,” he smiles.

“Hi.”

“I was enjoying watching you dance.”

“I noticed.”

You hold his gaze, unable to look away. Down at the bar it was hard to tell the color of his eyes, but here, hidden away, even in the low light you can see they’re beautiful. The blue is like the ocean on a sparkling sunny day. Mesmerizing.

“Do you know what watching you does to me?”

You blink, trying your hardest to keep up with his directness.

He reaches down to take your hand, his grip loose and his movements tentative, waiting for you to tell him to stop.

When you don’t he presses it firmly to where he’s hard and aching.

“All this?” you ask in a breathy whisper. “Just from watching me?”

“Come home with me.”

You let out a little giggle.

“No. I can’t.”

“Come to my car then.”

“I’m not leaving this club with you.”

Even as you hear yourself say the words you know they aren’t holding the force you want them to.

He bends and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“But I’m dying to touch you.”

It’s impossible to pretend you don’t want the same thing and you place your palms on his chest and push him backward into the darkness.

“Is that a yes?” he asks as he runs a long finger over the curve of your shoulder.

“You aren’t some psycho are you?”

With a chuckle he moves closer, brushing his lips along your cheek. “You make me feel a bit crazy doll, but no, I’m not.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and tilt your head, whispering against his lips, “something tells me I can trust you.”

He moves willingly, and meets you with a smile, pressing his lips to yours.

“You taste as good as you look angel. What’s your name?”

“My name?” you whisper, so caught up in the feel of him you almost forgot.

“You know my name, so you’ll know what to call me when you’re about to come. It’s only fair I do the same.”

You let out a little gasp and hold onto his shoulders more tightly.

“I…,”

You feel his smile against your mouth before he turns you and presses your front to the edge of the balcony overlooking everything below.

He takes your chin between his fingers to turn your head and steal another kiss, lingering until you whisper your name against his lips.

With a satisfied smile his fingers tease the edge of your dress and then he lifts it, sliding his hands down between your legs to rub along your panties.

“You’re so wet. And all for me angel.”

You moan loudly when he slides a long finger inside you and presses a kiss to the back of your neck.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs into your ear as he presses the pad of his thumb to your clit.

You turn and look at him. His eyes are wide open and clear. He teases you more, watching your every reaction then turns you to face him and drags you against the wall, bending to kiss you, hard and hungry.

“Someone could come down here,” he reminds you, meeting your eyes, giving you one last out.

You don’t care. He’s too perfect. He feels too good.

When you don’t protest he kneels at your feet and carefully pushes up your dress, hooking his thumbs into your panties to slowly drag them down.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, standing and lifting your leg to spread you open.

Reaching between your bodies, you open his jeans and push them down along with his boxers. You grab for him, rubbing him through your arousal.

“Fuck doll, wait. I need to put this on.”

He reaches behind him and fumbles for the back pocket of his jeans, pulling a condom free.

“You’re big,” you whisper, loving the feel of his warm, silky skin.

His grin is wolfish. “That’s the best thing you could say to me.”

You run your closed hand along the length of him again, letting the tip just bump your clit.

“Fuck, keep that up and I’ll be coming all over your hand.”

His fingers are unsteady as he works to slip the condom on.

“Have you done this before?” you ask, unable to keep your eyes off his cock.

“Have sex with a beautiful woman in a public space?”

He starts to push into you, achingly slowly. “No angel, I’ve never done this before…but with you, I’ll take what I can get.”

His words die away when he’s fully inside you, rubbing against your clit with each stroke and filling you so completely. You grip his shoulders as his thrusts grow faster.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

He leans back and looks down between your bodies, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief second before he starts to move faster.

When he leans down to kiss you he slows his movements, pulling out almost all the way before sinking back in. The slow pace doesn’t last long, and he hitches your leg higher to go deeper.

You feel your release building in your stomach and it’s only a few seconds more before a cry falls from your parted lips.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps, his hips moving jaggedly and rough before he comes with a deep groan.

He leans heavily against you, pressing his lips to your neck. “You’ve wrecked me angel.”

His hand is gentle when it smooths along your leg, and he pulls out. You straighten your dress as he rolls off the condom.

“That was perfect Bucky,” you hum, meeting him for a kiss.

He nods, dazed. “You’re ok?”

“Better than ok,” you answer. “And I think I’m ready for another dance.”

His lips twitch with a surprised grin and you turn away before he can respond, leaving him standing with his pants still unbuttoned.

A few minutes later you find Sadie and Nia, both ready to head home. And it isn’t until you’re sitting in the quiet of the limo, reliving every second of what happened with Bucky, that you realize you’d left your panties on the floor at his feet.

[weaveandwood]

Distraction

Another smutty one-shot. Happy Thirsty Thursday! Pairing: Gale x Female Tav Words: 2.3K

Summary: Gale offers an alternative to Tav spending the night alone pondering plans and strategies for battles ahead.

warnings: NSFW, fingering, vaginal sex

Tav lay in her pitch black tent, going over the day's events as she always did before going to sleep at night - what went wrong, what worked well, what the party needed to work on before the next battle. The Shadow Cursed Lands were exhausting, and she was beginning to sense everyone’s motivation flagging as the list of things they needed to do kept going on, and on, and on. 

Her tent flap opened, startling her, but no one was there. Please don’t say ghosts are now part of this adventure, she groaned internally, her brow furrowed as she got up and peeked her head outside. 

A faint glow caught her attention out of the corner of her eye - a mage hand beckoning her to a certain tent. She laughed to herself and rolled her eyes - of course he couldn’t just ask her, he had to lure her with magic tricks. Wizards. 

As she walked across the campsite to Gale’s tent, she could see the faint illumination from what she assumed was candles through the seam of his tent flap. It appeared he hadn’t even attempted to go to sleep yet. She wondered what he could possibly want from her at this hour, when they both were weary to their bones and desperately needed to rest. 

“Come in, Tav,” he said from inside, as if he sensed her presence. The mage hand pulled back the tent flap for her as she entered, suddenly in a wonderland of glowing lights dancing around the tent, swirling around her. She couldn’t help but smile as they circled her body, floating between her and Gale like magical fireflies. 

She didn’t have a moment to speak before she felt his lips on hers, desperately kissing her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him.

“Gale, what is all this?” She laughed. “I’m not complaining, but it’s so late, we should be asleep. We have to get up so early in the morning to -”

“I know,” he interrupted. “I simply thought you could use a small distraction.”

He led her to his bedroll, really two bedrolls next to each other, a permanent fixture in his tent for all the evenings they stayed together after the fire died down. Tav usually spent her nights here, but needed the last three nights to contemplate and prepare for the next part of their plan. She thought better alone, the darkness and solitude clearing her mind. Besides, how could one concentrate when Gale was next to them, whispering about his practiced tongue and desire to use his mouth for any purpose she required?

“You’ve been so in your head the last few days, I can see it on your face. In your movements when we battle.” He sat behind her, kissing her neck as she tilted her head to the side. Tav closed her eyes, the light brush of his lips on her skin and his warm breath sending a pleasant heat through her veins. “You are much more effective when you think on the fly, when you are creative with your fighting. You do things no one expects, my love - I worry you’re trying to be too rigid in your plans.”

She hadn’t taken the time to lace the neckline of her tunic before leaving her tent, and he easily slid it off one shoulder, his featherlight kisses trailing down, from the curve of her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder. His hands found themselves on her waist as she sighed deeply. The dancing lights hovered around them, floating lazily through the tent, casting everything in a warm glow.

“Hmmm, I really believe this is all to distract me from getting too in my head and not at all to do with the fact that it’s been three days since I last visited your bedroll,” she smiled, teasing him. 

He laughed against her shoulder, a puff of hot air igniting her skin further. “It may have crossed my mind for a split second,” he said as his hands slipped under the thin linen of her tunic. His fingertips lightly danced across the soft skin of her stomach, causing her to gasp softly. His fingers dipped below the waistband of her loose pants, and she felt him smile against her skin when he discovered she wasn’t wearing any undergarments. 

“Tav, how scandalous,” he joked, one hand sliding down while the other pressed against her stomach, making her lean back against him. She settled between his legs, her back against his chest. When his fingers finally found their destination, she gasped again, a small jolt running through her as they slid down her center, parting her, already finding her wet and wanting.

She sighed as he touched her, her legs parting. He easily found the part of her she wanted him to touch most, and she let out a soft moan as his fingers circled her, her blood roaring through her veins. 

“That’s it,” Gale whispered in her ear as his finger traced her entrance, dipping in and out before moving back up to circle her again. She reached up, her hand grasping his shoulder behind her for leverage as she arched her back against him and began to rock her hips slightly. Her breaths became deeper and heavier as his fingers teased her the way only he seemed to know how to do. No other lover had been able to coax such pleasure from her so quickly, so effortlessly. She could feel him growing hard behind her as she moved against him, quiet groans of his own joining hers.

She lifted her hips, allowing him to get a better angle as he entered her again with one finger, then added a second. She held onto him tightly as he worked her, sending her closer and closer to her own peak with each movement of his talented fingers. She especially loved when he hit that one spot that - 

“Ohhh gods, Gale,” she panted as he hit it as if on cue. Her nails dug into his thighs as he kept rubbing, his fingers curling inside her. She could feel herself tightening up against him, her release so close. “Just like that, please,” she whispered.

“Come for me,” he said softly, knowing that if he kept a steady rhythm it would be no time at all until she came undone for him. “I want to be inside you,” he said as he kissed the back of her neck, applying just the right amount of pressure inside her to feel her reach her peak, throwing her head back and crying out his name to the heavens between heavy pants and moans. 

“Take your clothes off, Tav,” he whispered in her ear after a few moments of her writhing against him, sending a shiver through her.

“Only if you take yours off, too,” she smiled and pressed her hips back into him, feeling how impossibly hard he was against her.

“You don’t have to ask me twice." She could hear the smile in this voice before he placed another kiss on her neck and felt his tongue move across her sensitive skin.

She heard a rustle behind her as Gale removed his clothing, and she made easy work of slipping out of her loose fitting sleeping clothes before turning to face him. The dancing lights were nearing the end of their spell, growing more dim by the moment, but provided just enough light to make out the contours of his body, the lean muscle of his chest and stomach, the gentle curve of his thighs, the outline of his desire for her. She bit her lip, still in disbelief of what lay under the robes that concealed his form so well. 

She saw his eyes trace down her own body - over the curve of her full breasts, nipples already hard from the permanent chill in the shadow-cursed air, down the soft planes of her stomach and hips, marked lightly with scars from their adventure, down to the center of her desire. His eyes darted back up to hers, dark with lust and hunger for her. He reached out, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. Their tongues slid together as they kissed like they hadn’t kissed each other in months, though it had only been mere minutes since she entered his tent. 

“Gods, Tav,” he groaned as she ran her fingernails down his back, scratching lightly as they traced the line of his spine and then back up again. He placed a finger on her collarbone, tracing around her shoulder as he slowly stepped around her so he was behind her again, her skin buzzing underneath his finger's path. He wrapped his arms around her, grasping her breasts, feeling her nipples get even harder under his touch. “I am finding it quite enjoyable back here tonight, I do hope you’ll indulge me further,” he said softly into her ear. Her skin was on fire, every nerve felt like it was ignited. 

A pause.

“On your knees,” he whispered again. An instant flood of desire coursed through her as she slowly dropped down with him, his hand on her hip, maintaining constant contact as if the spell between them would be broken the moment they separated. He took his other hand to her shoulder, pushing her forward, pressing kisses down her spine as she bent and rested her weight on her forearms, baring herself completely to him. 

“Gods I love seeing you like this,” he said, pressing up against her and running his hands over her body. He was hard and ready for her, and felt like he could burst into flames. He grasped himself at the base, sliding the tip slowly up and down, her entrance now slick with desire and her previous release. “Do you want me inside you, Tav? Or do you want to return to your tent?” She could hear the devious smile in his voice as she felt him toying with her.

She would remember to pay him back for this next time, of that there was no doubt.

“Gale, I swear to the gods above if you don’t fuck me right now -” She moaned as she was interrupted by him pressing himself fully into her, slowly, inch by glorious inch. He moaned as she gave around him, her warm heat enveloping him. He stopped once he was fully inside her, their bodies completely joined. He traced her spine delicately with his fingertip, barely touching the surface before pulling almost completely out and pushing back in fully in one stroke. 

“Is this what you wanted, my love?” He smiled, repeating his hard, slow thrusts coupled with featherlight touches. Each one making her moan with increasing volume. 

“Yes…gods…just like that,” she panted. 

“Gladly,” he said as placed both hands on her waist. He drove into her, maintaining a slow pace that ended with a snap of his hips against hers. The sound of their bodies hitting together drove him wild. “Gods you feel so good, Tav,” he said as he closed his eyes, tilting his head back as he savored how her muscles felt as she shifted beneath his hands, how her sweet moans the filled the tent with music would put the best choirs in Waterdeep to shame, how tight and hot she was around him. 

“Faster Gale, please,” she whispered, lowering her head to rest on her forearms. 

“As you wish,” he smiled. He grabbed her hips tightly, his fingers digging in to her soft skin as he pulled her back to him with each hard thrust to get as deep as possible within her. He thrust into her relentlessly - harder, faster, losing himself as he fucked her just as he had longed to these past few days when he was left with nothing but his own hand for company. He was addicted to her, how she sounded, how she felt when he was inside her - like she was made for him. He wanted her to feel like one night apart was too long, just as he did. She lifted her head back up and he grabbed her hair, pulling it gently and causing her to arch her back. He reached around her with his free hand, his fingers finding her most sensitive area, tracing in light circles as he continued his pace. He heard her gasp and felt her body jolt beneath him, sending a surge of electricity through his own body that settled in his abdomen. He could feel her tensing, tightening around him as he worked her both inside and out. His own release was so close, he was near the precipice. 

“I’m…going..to-” she moaned.

“Yes, Tav, do it, please,” he panted, needing to feel her finish. 

She cried out again as she came hard around him, her body shuddering and collapsing as her orgasm shot through her, waves of pleasure washing over her. The feeling of her pulsing around him sent him crashing over the edge, and he let go of her hair to grab her hips and roughly thrust into her again and again, spilling deeply inside her as he called out her name. 

He pulled out of her as she fell onto her stomach, breathing heavily and laughing. He moved to lay beside her on his back, joining her in her good mood.

“Fucking hells, Gale,” she smiled, looking over at him. 

“Sufficiently distracted?” he asked, flashing her a wide smile while he caught his breath and brushed a small bead of sweat from his forehead. 

“I’m not even sure I remember my own name at this point, let alone any plans I had made for tomorrow!” she laughed. 

He looked over at her lovingly, smiling as he pressed a gentle kiss against her lips. “Then my work here is done, a rousing success. I love you, Tav.” 

“I love you too, Gale,” she replied.

The very last of the dancing lights flickered out as the two fell asleep, the worries of the days ahead the farthest things from their minds.

[gloryofroses19]

It was Inevitable

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x mate!reader

T/W: Sexual themes and allusions to sex

Amidst the ball, the Summer fae’s voice was white noise. She supposed she could figure out his name if she thought hard enough but she felt no need. She had heard enough to know that she was receiving a backhanded compliment about the treaty she helped foster between their courts. That despite the all nighters and negotiating, she was just a pretty puppet at the hands of another. 

The white noise was becoming deafening, but [y/n] supposed she should be thankful for something to focus on. Something that wasn’t the tide of fear pulling her back to the cage Under the Mountain. To the time where she was forced to be a spectacle. A time where some fae chose to revel in it all and how some haven’t forgotten it. 

“I need the emissary.” With such an assertive tone and a high status, there is no room to question. The Autumn Court heir only needed to draw her into his embrace and the interaction was over. 

[y/n] didn’t realize she was shivering until his arms folded around her shoulders, didn’t realize how cold she had become until she felt the heat of him. 

Eris doesn't talk as he guides her from the main ballroom. And for all her tenacity, she does not ask or care where they are going, so long as it was somewhere else.  

Eris had started the evening eager to push her buttons, he had grown to love to ruffle her pristine feathers. Grown hungry for the challenging fire in her [e/c] and the teasing tilt of her words. 

Because Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn court, had wanted to be the one to break her. Break her pretty mask of polite perfection. Break her with his mouth and hands. Break her and make her realize how this was a losing battle, that they were inevitable. Just like she broke him. 

But he did not want it like this, not by the hands of a lesser fae and not with the fear that kept her up at night. Not with a panic that left her trembling and unfocused. 

“What do you need?” His deep voice asked softly, breaking the silence between them and the stillness of the empty room.  “Firefly, answer or I will think you are purposely trying my patience.” 

“I…I think I'm going to have a panic attack.” She whispered, tucking herself into Eris’ arms. Arms that she had never allowed herself to rest in more than the length of a kiss on the hand or the duration of a dance. 

Eris didn’t need verbal confirmation of something he felt in his bones. She had been panicking from the moment that Summer fae approached her. He didn’t need their bond, their fragile yet persistent bond, to carry her fear to him. He knew it from the moment he gazed upon her and saw a fear he knew well.   

“Tell me, I’m okay, tell me they can’t touch me, remind me that I'm safe.” Speaking in shallow  breaths, [y/n] leaned further into Eris’ embrace. The smell of pine and ash never felt like home until their bond snapped and [y/n] was never more thankful for it than in that very moment. 

Their bodies pressed together, one shaped to fit the other perfectly.  

“Breath, Firefly.” The sharp command was softened by his touch. Slipping his hands under the opening in the back, Eris smoothed warm lines down her back. “Nobody will hurt you, I will ensure that.” 

Later, he will recall her shuddering breath and the way her body arched into his touch. In the darkness, he will recall how her cheek was molded for his shoulder and his hands for her waist. 

There were just so many questions to be answered, she thought breathing in the calm Eris brought. Would he come looking for her? Would she ever overcome this? Was this all a game? Why did being in his arms feel right? Would this be their downfall?  

Gripping her chin, Eris guided her gaze back to his.  “What do you need, Firefly?”  

Later, she will recall the way he felt safe and willing to burn the world for her. Willing to make the world nothing but smoke and ash to allow her some warmth. But in that moment, peering into his amber, all she wanted was to be enveloped in his fire. 

And so she did. 

She kisses him with a bruising force. The kiss is sharp and deep, stealing air and thoughts of nothing but each other. 

Eris is there, pressing her forward, until her back hits the nearest wall. And she is there, drawing him in until there is no space between their bodies. Letting him know that he is what she wants, that he is what she needs. 

He tastes like faint traces of woodsmoke, of a fire dying in the dark. He tastes like the forest and somehow, of destiny. 

She tastes like morning dew, of the new dawns and beginnings. She tastes like the first light in the morning and somehow, of home.

The kiss had been a long time coming, they had been testing the confines of their bond for months now. Many sleepless nights of denying their bond had given way to ghosting of hands that they wished were the others. Of touching themselves and allowing the other to know the ways to make them sing with pleasure. 

She had broken the kiss to breath but Eris stole it away. Stole it by searing a line of kisses down the column of her throat. He was an enticement, so willing and eager. She didn’t fully understand why he was doing this now, she had to understand why. 

“Why are you doing this?” she asked breathlessly, moaning loudly as he bit the space where her shoulder and collar bone met. 

“Because you are mine.” He slurs softly, muffled against her skin. Drunk off the intoxication of her, of the elation of how her dreams taught him so much, he lavishes the spot with nips and kitten licks. Marveling at the sounds he can pull from her, he thinks of his foolishness. He had thought that his father’s throne was power but she was power itself. 

Cradling his jaw, [y/n] guides his gaze to hers. Despite centuries of knowing each other and hours of being at the same party, they regard each other as if for the first time. 

“If I am yours, then you are mine.” She says, letting the possessive nature bleed into each syllable. He had once promised her Under the Mountain that she would never be anyone’s toy again and she hadn’t forgotten it. Hadn’t forgotten how his promise had become tattooed on her heart and guided her toward seeking an equal, even unaware that it was to become him. 

“I am yours, [full name],” was the earnest reply. 

Was it true? Was this their breaking? Will they finally learn that some bonds, even when not accepted, couldn't be controlled? That in the darkness of dreams and in the faelight of their teasing, theirs devolved into a passion the more they attempted to deny. As if the Cauldron was warning them that it was a futile attempt. 

And there in the faelight, she sees that peculiar shade of amber. The shade she has begun to learn was associated with her. Was it love? She didn’t know but the care of his gaze was enough for her to close the gap again. 

When their lips meet, it leaves only a burning desire to consume. There is no caution or pulling back, only hunger. They each have kissed many faes over the centuries, but none will ever compare. They know they have ruined each other. 

Grasping her left thigh, he guides it to wrap around his waist. Groaning, he bucks into the intimacy of their sexes meeting. Matching her moans with his own, Eris doesn't remember the last time he was ready to come apart so easily and so willingly. 

It was said that the Autumn fae had fire in their blood and fucked like it too and [y/n] never consider those words until this moment. She felt like she was stifling under the heat of him. The gossamer gown in her court colors resulted in too much fabric between them. His clothes had to go, she decided. Eager to see how deep the fire ran, she began unbuttoning his formal jacket and shirt. 

“If I knew it would only take a well placed bite, I would have bit you centuries ago, girl.”  A feminine lithe voice mused, halting the frenzy before her. 

“Amren.” Despite her hair spilling and bite on her shoulder aching pleasantly contrasting the ache between her legs, she was thankful her voice held strong. She wondered why she felt no shame, she should, this was her family. 

“Run along little fox,” Amren teased, tilting her glass of champagne towards the door. “The adults need to talk.” 

Eris lifts his chin, offering a cruel smile. “I prefer the monsters in my bed rather under them, care to come join us, Oh Ancient One?” 

Matching his cruel grin, Amren regards Eris, a study in disdain. “I can smell the possessive desire for her rolling off you in waves, we both know you wouldn’t share.” 

His own smile stretched and it offered no denial, his claim had been staked. For pure carnal desire or deeper bond, it did not tell. 

With a wave of a hand, Eris’ magic returned himself back to the pristine mask of an heir. “Let us play again, Emissary.” Emissary, her title, a ploy to write this off merely as a game and leave her with the explanation. 

With a deep breath, [y/n] arranged herself looking at Amren’s back as the creature watched Eris swagger off.  “I thought you would have given in to Helion before you touched that fire.” 

“It was just a kiss.” She replied coldly, attempting to use the ice to douse the lava burning inside her. 

“To that dog Cassian, yes.” Amren turned her calculating gaze at her, as if sensing the depth of their desire. “But to you? When is a kiss ever just a kiss?”

With a sigh, [y/n] knew she should have taken a page from Rhys, Az and Cass’ book and slept her way through her youth. Ignoring Amren’s pointed question, [y/n] instead focuses on glamoring the mark on her neck.  “You reek of arousal and him, you do realize? Your magic won’t hide that.” 

With a final check that she was presentable, [y/n] walked toward the door. 

Amren was a creature of nightmares and nightmares didn’t like to be ignored. “I see the ways his eyes follow you!”

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated! Special thanks to Bridgette @thedeviltohisangel who is always providing the best inspiration.

[blissfullsvn]

under the glow

pairing. yeonjun x reader genre. fluff, established relationship word count. 0.6k warnings. n/a (just disgustingly fluffy. and they kiss a lil but ntg suggestive) masterlist

yeonjun shines on stage.

his body sways with the music, movements clear and precise. his voice melts into the instrumental and delivers the melody to curious ears, dripping with honey. his eyes twinkle when he looks at the audience; smile brightens when he sees looks of joy from them. on stage, yeonjun shines the brightest.

but in times like this, yeonjun shines differently.

in times like an early sunday morning, rays of light peeking through the curtains and casting a halo on the half-awake boy, yeonjun shines just like the premature sunlight. like the glow of a firefly under the summer heat. like the moonlight glossing over rippling waves and dark roads.

yeonjun doesn’t shine so brightly that it hurts the eyes, but he shines softly. comfortably. not enough to blind, but enough to grasp attention, that you can’t help but keep your eyes on him.

as yeonjun lets out a quiet groan and stretches with all limbs, then looks around like he’s processing every stimuli that he takes in, you only watch him silently. admire him silently.

when he turns to face you, the recognition in his eyes is instant. you truthfully can’t remember the last time his eyes weren’t this warm to you, scrunching into crescents whenever he so much as glances at you, even from miles away. so before he can greet you in his raspy, morning voice, you find yourself reaching forward to press onto his plush lips.

yeonjun’s eyes widen in surprise, and he looks a little confused, but fond all the same. his lips stretch across his face, and then it falters slightly, transitioning into a soft smile that translates all the adoration in his eyes. he taps your nose, asks you if anything's up, and stares at you with honey all the while.

your heart is full. so, so, full. this man, who has way too much love to give, is wholeheartedly ready to give all of that to you, and more. you stare at him, eyes dancing across his every feature, from the mole under his eye to the perpetual pout in his lips, and find yourself reaching for his lips again.

this time, when you try to pull back again, yeonjun frames your face and holds it there, thumb rubbing gently across your cheekbone. he smiles, then leans over to connect your lips once more. and again. and again. and a few more times more. it’s all quick, chaste pecks, until he pulls away again for longer, and he just stares at you. like he’s fascinated. like he can’t believe he has you under him (which happened in the midst of attacking you with love), one hand supporting his weight and the other carefully wrapped around your jaw, fingers trapped behind your ear.

and slowly, he tilts your head upwards, lowers himself, and closes the gap between you. slow and soft, but meaningful. in perfect rhythm, as if dancing for the birds singing their repertoire. with each movement, love seeps out from heart to heart, captured from mouth to mouth, until your entire body is so full of love that it’s about to explode and you have to place a hand on the stopper.

for a few moments, you look at each other, take in the sight of your heaving chests in sync, breaths echoing around the room, and the rays of sunlight bathing the room in a golden glow. it’s silent, but so many words are exchanged. 

then the sunlight grows stronger and shines directly on yeonjun, and he immediately yells at the blinding rays before rolling over and burying his face in his pillow, grumbling about how the sun is annoyingly bright for a sunday. 

the atmosphere vanishes with your laugh, but the love is always there.

that’s how it always is with yeonjun.

a/n. am i aware that this is incredibly self-indulgent (again)? yes. do i care? no.

also super unnecessary tmi no one asked: i wrote this while i was charging my phone bcs it was dying but then it ended up overheating (don't use your phone when it's charging) so i almost d worded . stay safe guys (no one)

© blissfullsvn 2024. All Rights Reserved.

[dee-writes-smut]

SNAPDRAGONS (Chapter Four)

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x pregnant!reader

SUMMARY Eris returns from a council meeting angry and hurt. Something has to give, will it be you or your friendship?

CONTENT WARNINGS angst, verbal abuse, physical abuse, toxic parents, children being forced to parent siblings, grief, loss, kissing, pregnancy, murder, and guilt.

AUTHORS NOTE this is probably one of my favorite and hardest chapters that I’ve had to write so far. The experiences described in this chapter were some I relate to, please, please be careful proceeding. Your mental health is more important!! I love you all, please take care of yourselves and enjoy.

SERIES MASTERLIST

As the evening settled into night, the sky transformed into a tapestry of celestial wonders, a breathtaking display of twinkling stars set against the backdrop of an endless expanse of indigo. The moon, a luminous crescent hanging low on the horizon, cast a soft silver glow over the landscape, bathing the forest in an ethereal light.

Above, the stars shimmered like scattered diamonds strewn across a velvet canvas, their brilliance piercing the darkness with an otherworldly beauty. Constellations danced across the heavens, their intricate patterns weaving tales of ancient lore and forgotten legends.

A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the surrounding trees, their rustling whispers a melodic accompaniment to the symphony of the night. The air was alive with the chorus of nocturnal creatures, their calls and cries echoing through the stillness, a reminder of the vibrant world that thrived beneath the canopy of branches.

In the distance, the faint flicker of fireflies danced among the foliage, their luminous trails tracing intricate patterns in the night air. And overhead, the Milky Way stretched like a river of stardust, its milky glow a celestial highway leading to worlds beyond imagination.

As you looked out at the vast expanse of the night sky, a sense of awe and wonder washed over you, the beauty of the universe unfolding before your eyes like a timeless symphony. And in that moment, as you gazed up at the heavens with reverence and awe, you felt a profound connection to the world around you.

At 29 weeks pregnant, your movements were slow and deliberate, your swollen belly serving as a gentle reminder of the life growing within you. With each step, you waddled slightly, the weight of your burgeoning bump shifting with every movement.

As you paced the room, a sense of restless anticipation gnawed at your insides, your heart racing with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Eris had been gone for what felt like an eternity, his absence leaving a void in the room that seemed to echo with his presence.

With each passing moment, the babe within you seemed to share in your impatience, their movements growing increasingly restless as if in anticipation of Eris's return. Tiny kicks and flutters rippled across your abdomen, the sensation both exhilarating and comforting as you waited for him to come back.

You couldn't help but smile at the thought of Eris's reaction when he finally returned, imagining the look of awe and wonder that would cross his face as he felt the baby's kicks for himself.

The minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, the anticipation of Eris's return weighed heavily on your mind. You paused mid-step, your heart skipping a beat as the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall outside, signaling his imminent arrival.

With bated breath, you turned towards the door, your pulse quickening with each passing moment. The anticipation hung thick in the air, a tangible presence that seemed to fill the room with electric energy.

And then, suddenly, he was there.

The footsteps grew louder, closer, until finally, the door swung open, revealing Eris's tall, imposing figure framed in the doorway. But before you could utter a word of greeting, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of the red mark marring his cheek, a vivid reminder of the altercation he had undoubtedly faced.

You watched in stunned silence as he stormed past you, his expression darkened with anger and frustration. The weight of his emotions hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the room that seemed to suffocate the very air around you.

With a sharp motion, he reached for the door to his own chambers, slamming it shut with a resounding thud that reverberated through the walls. The sound echoed in the silence, a stark reminder of the tension that lingered between you.

The suddenness of his actions left you reeling, a knot of worry forming in the pit of your stomach. What had happened to provoke such a reaction? What could have caused him to lash out in such a manner?

But even as the questions swirled in your mind, you knew that now was not the time for answers. With a heavy sigh, you turned back towards the room, the sense of unease lingering in the air like a dark cloud on the horizon.

With a surge of determination, you approached Eris's door, the weight of concern heavy in your chest. Despite the tension that hung thick in the air, you refused to let him shut you out. With each step, you could feel the baby's kicks growing more insistent, as if urging you on in your quest to reach him.

Gathering your resolve, you raised your hand to knock, but before your knuckles could connect with the wood, you hesitated. The memory of his anger, the red mark on his cheek still vivid in your mind, gave you pause. But then, with a deep breath, you steeled yourself and rapped firmly on the door.

"Eris," you called out, your voice steady but laced with concern. "Please, let me in. We need to talk."

No response.

"Please, Eris," you implored, your voice gentle but firm. "Let me in. Whatever happened, we can face it together. You don't have to carry this burden alone."

Nothing.

“You have been so kind and welcoming to me, so accepting of me, and I only wish to do the same for you," you begin, your voice soft but unwavering, the sincerity of your words echoing through the door and into the room beyond. "I won’t judge, I won’t get angry, I just want to listen to you, to let you air out your burdens as you have let me air out mine.”

The warmth of your breath fogs the cool air around you as you continue, the words tumbling from your lips like a gentle stream. “You made this babe fall in love with you and now she won’t leave me alone,” you say with a fond smile, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you recall the playful arguments you and Eris had shared about the baby's gender.

Memories of warmer afternoons spent amidst the beauty of nature flood your mind, the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle caress of the breeze a soothing backdrop to your conversation. “She’s been kicking the crap out of me all evening, so excited to hear you, to feel you near.”

You pause for a moment, the weight of the words hanging heavy in the air between you. The silence that follows is palpable, filled with the unspoken hope and longing that binds you together. As you stand there, your hand resting gently on your swollen belly, you can't help but feel a sense of peace and utter gratitude for the bond that exists between the three of you.

There was a moment of silence, the only sound the soft rustle of leaves outside the window. But then, after what felt like an eternity, you heard the click of the lock, and the door creaked open ever so slightly.

Peering inside, you could see Eris standing just beyond the threshold, his expression guarded but softened slightly by the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. You met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down, your determination unwavering.

“You should leave. Get out while you can,” he snaps, his voice sharp and cutting as his expression shifted to one of cold indifference. The words hit you like a physical blow, his tone laced with bitterness and venom.

Your heart sinks as you stand before him, the weight of his rejection heavy in the air between you. The babe in your stomach seems to sense the tension, their movements stilling as if in response to the palpable anger that fills the room.

“Eris, you know that we only want to help,” you plead, your voice trembling with emotion as you rub circles over your bump, your other hand instinctively supporting your sore back. But his response is like a dagger to the heart, his dismissiveness cutting deep.

“Please don’t shut me out,” you whisper sadly, the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you implore him to let you in. But he only scoffs in response, his laughter harsh and mocking, echoing through the room like a dark cloud.

The cruelty of his words leaves you reeling, the pain of his rejection twisting in your chest like a knife. You feel as though you’re standing on the precipice of a vast abyss, the chasm between you widening with each passing moment.

“Why not? Why not just do what you do, run away when things get tough, push my burdens onto other people instead of dealing with them myself?” Eris’s voice is filled with bitterness and resentment, his anger boiling over like a storm on the horizon.

But even as he turns away from you with a dismissive wave of his hand, you refuse to give up hope. The love you feel for him burns bright within you, a beacon of light in the darkness that threatens to consume him.

"I'm done talking about this," he declares, retreating into the depths of his chambers and slamming the door shut behind him with a resounding thud. The sound echoes through the empty hallway, a stark reminder of the rift that now lies between you.

Alone in the silence, tears streaming down your cheeks, you vow to fight for him, to break through the walls he has erected and bring him back into the light. Because deep down, you know that your love is stronger than the anger and resentment that threaten to tear you apart. And no matter how dark the night may seem; you refuse to let it extinguish the flame of hope that burns within you.

So, you slink down onto the floor outside his door, stretching your legs out in front of you and continuing to rub soothing circles over your belly.

“My mother wasn’t a kind woman,” you began, the words heavy with the weight of memories long buried. Closing your eyes, you allow the story to unfold before you, the scenes of your past playing out like a haunting melody in the recesses of your mind.

You’re transported back to that cursed cottage, the air thick with the scent of herbs and potions, the walls adorned with strange symbols and trinkets of unknown origin. Your family moves through the dimly lit rooms like shadows, their presence both familiar and suffocating.

But even from a young age, you knew you were different. More emotional, more vulnerable than the rest of your family. While they seemed to thrive in the harsh environment of your home, you struggled to find your place, to fit into the mold they had carved out for you.

“She ruled with an iron fist, demanding obedience and loyalty above all else,” you continue, the memories flooding back with painful clarity. “But no matter how hard I tried, I could never quite meet her expectations.”

The sound of her voice echoed in your ears, sharp and cutting like the crack of a whip. You could feel the weight of her disapproval bearing down on you like a suffocating blanket, her words a constant reminder of your perceived inadequacies.

And so, you forced yourself to become hard, to close yourself off from the pain and hurt that threatened to consume you. You built walls around your heart, steeling yourself against the onslaught of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you at every turn.

“But despite her cruelty, there were moments of tenderness,” you admit, the memories bittersweet in their complexity. “Moments when she would let her guard down, if only for a fleeting instant.”

But those moments were fleeting, like rays of sunlight breaking through the clouds before disappearing once more. And in their absence, you found yourself retreating further into yourself, hiding behind a mask of indifference and stoicism in order to survive.

Yet amidst the chaos and cruelty of your upbringing, there was one duty that fell squarely on your shoulders: the responsibility of raising your two younger siblings. Forced into the role of caregiver at a young age, you bore the weight of their well-being as if it were your own.

The memory of those days weighs heavily on your heart, the burden of caring for your siblings a constant reminder of the sacrifices you made to keep them safe. But even as you carry the scars of your past, you refuse to let them define you, finding strength in the resilience that has carried you through the darkest of times.

As tears welled in your eyes, you can’t help but feel a swell of emotion for the child you once were, forced to grow up too soon in a world that offered little solace or comfort. But even as you grieve for the innocence lost, you find solace in the knowledge that your love for your siblings has endured, a beacon of light in the darkness that has shrouded your past.

“I loved my siblings, fought for those boys that I had raised into good, kind men until their last breaths,” you choke up, the memories of their untimely demise flooding your mind like a torrential downpour. Images of their eviscerated bodies, piled high among others lost in the war against Hybern, haunt your every thought. “And when I lost them, it was the worst pain I had ever felt in my life.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you recall the anguish of that moment, the gut-wrenching agony of knowing that you had failed to protect the ones you loved most. It felt as if your heart was being ripped from your chest, like you were being torn apart slowly from the inside out.

“I had lost my purpose, the only thing in life I knew how to do other than kill,” you continue, your voice trembling with emotion. “That is until I found purpose in trying to save my home court, to save its people more than anything.”

The memories of your journey flooded back with startling clarity, the trials and tribulations that led you to where you are now. And then, almost hesitantly, you speak of the man who changed everything.

“It’s what led me into Lu- into a man's arms, to where I am,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I never thought I would be able to love again, not like I had loved my brothers, so unconditionally.”

But then, like a ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds, you found out you were pregnant. And in that moment, amidst the fear and uncertainty, you felt a rush of total, complete love, unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

“That same night I swore I’d do anything for her, kill, be anything for her,” you confess, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. “And then I met you, and I realized there were two people I would do anything for, be anything for.”

The door clicked and moved inward behind you, swinging open gently, and you scrambled to your feet to meet him head on. Eris stood in the doorway, his figure bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, casting long shadows across the floor. His features were drawn tight with tension, his eyes a stormy mix of emotions you couldn't quite decipher.

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the threshold of his chambers. The weight of the unspoken words hung heavy in the air, a tangible force pressing down on you both. But then, with a resigned sigh, he stepped back, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were navigating treacherous terrain.

As you crossed the threshold, you couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation wash over you. The atmosphere within his chambers was charged with electricity, every corner of the room crackling with untamed emotion. It was as if the very walls were alive, pulsing with the raw intensity of the moment.

You took a hesitant step forward, the floorboards creaking beneath your feet, echoing in the silence that enveloped you. The air seemed to thicken around you, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. It was a delicate dance, navigating the fragile boundary between you and Eris, each movement fraught with uncertainty and longing.

“It’s from my father,” Eris whispers ever so softly, his voice barely audible above the crackle of the fire. He avoided your gaze, his eyes fixed on the warm-colored floors beneath you, as if unable to meet your gaze while he divulged the painful truth.

You felt your heart clench at his words, a surge of anger and sorrow rising within you like a tidal wave. It was a side of Eris you had never seen before, vulnerable and wounded, stripped of the facade of strength and indifference he so often wore like armor.

“I disagreed with him on something during a council meeting,” Eris continues, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words aloud made them all too real. “And he slapped me right in front of everyone, called me a worthless piece of shit, said he wished I had died in my mother's womb so he could have had a better chance at a proper heir.”

The words hung heavy in the air, a bitter reminder of the cruelty that had shaped Eris's life since childhood. You could see the pain etched into every line of his face, the weight of his father's words bearing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

Eris's throat bobbed as he spoke, his voice choked with emotion, as if afraid to give voice to the depths of his suffering. It was a vulnerability you had never seen from him before, a crack in the facade of strength he had always presented to the world.

Eris paused, his words catching in his throat as he summoned the strength to speak of the pain that had shaped his past. His gaze remained fixed on the floor, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, as if grappling with the memories that threatened to consume him.

"I raised all my brothers too," he finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "But Lucien… Lucien was different. He was the one I was closest to, the one I swore to protect with my life."

You could hear the raw emotion in his voice, the ache of loss and betrayal that lingered in every word. It was clear that the wounds of the past ran deep, leaving scars that would never fully heal.

"And then…," Eris falters, his voice breaking as he struggles to continue. "And then my father… he forced me to hold Lucien down while he… while he slaughtered Lucien's lover."

The words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the horrors Eris had endured at the hands of his own flesh and blood. You could see the pain etched into every line of his face, the weight of his father's cruelty bearing down on him like a crushing weight.

Memories of Jesminda flooded back with painful clarity, and Eris struggled through his words. "Her name was Jesminda," he whispers, his words heavy with sorrow. "A beautiful lesser Faerie, who had a gentle heart."

You could hear the ache in his voice as he spoke of her, the memory of her kindness a bittersweet reminder of all that had been lost. It was clear that she had left a lasting impression on him, her presence a beacon of light in the darkness that had surrounded him for so long.

"I had met her once," Eris continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "She had kissed my cheek and thanked me for taking care of Lucien. She recognized my work, and it… it shocked me."

The words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the kindness that had been so rare in his life. You could see the turmoil etched into every line of his face, the weight of his past bearing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

"I had never even considered deserving praise for doing my duty," Eris admits, his voice choked with emotion. "That's when I started realizing that it maybe wasn't supposed to be my job, when I started to disobey my father in small ways."

As you listened to his confession, your heart ached for him, for the years of pain and suffering he had endured in silence. And in that moment, you knew that you would do anything to help him find the healing and solace he so desperately needed, to show him that he was worthy of love and kindness, despite the darkness that had once consumed him.

Eris's voice cracked with emotion as he spoke, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the air. "That's when my father found out about her," he whispers, his words tinged with sorrow. "And as punishment to both me and Lucien… that's why he did that."

The pain in his voice was palpable, his anguish laid bare for you to see. It was clear that the memory of that fateful day still haunted him, the cruelty of his father's actions etched into his soul like a scar that would never fully fade.

You reached out to him, your hand trembling as you brushed a strand of hair from his face. "I'm so sorry, Eris," you whisper, your voice thick with tears. "No one should ever have to endure such cruelty."

Eris's voice trembled like a leaf caught in an autumn breeze as he poured out his fears. His words were heavy with the weight of his past, his pain, and his insecurities laid bare before you. It was as if he had opened a door to the darkest corners of his soul, allowing you to glimpse the shadows that haunted him.

"I'm scared to love again," he breathes, his voice barely above a breath, yet resonating with the depth of his emotion. His eyes, usually ablaze with determination, were now pools of vulnerability, reflecting the turmoil within his heart. "Scared to let anyone close. Especially you."

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at your heartstrings, stirring a mixture of empathy and tenderness within you. You longed to reach out to him, to wrap him in the warmth of your embrace and chase away the shadows that threatened to engulf him.

"I don't want you to get hurt," Eris confesses, his words laced with anguish as he lays a trembling hand on your bump, feeling the fluttering movements of your unborn child beneath his touch. "Or him."

The tenderness in his gesture, combined with the weight of his words, threatened to bring tears to your eyes. You could feel the raw intensity of his fear, his desperate need to protect both you and your child from the pain he had endured.

"I know it's scary," you murmur, your voice soft and soothing as you reach out to brush away the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, your other hand meeting his on your bump. "But trust me. I love you. There is no choice, no deciding. You are my home; you always will be."

The tension in the room was palpable, a tangible force that seemed to wrap around you both as you stood facing each other. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across Eris's face, accentuating the chiseled lines of his features and the intensity of his gaze as he looked at you, his eyes dark with unwavering love and desire.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the blood rushing in your ears as you waited for him to make a move. Every nerve in your body was on edge, every sense heightened as you drank in the sight of him standing before you, so close yet still tantalizingly out of reach.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Eris reached out a trembling hand, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a feather-light touch. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire deep within your soul as you leaned into his touch, craving more of his warmth.

With a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, Eris closed the distance between you, his lips hovering just inches from yours. The anticipation hung heavy in the air; a tangible force that seemed to draw you inexorably closer together.

And then, in a moment that felt like an eternity, his lips finally met yours in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was as if time stood still, the world falling away around you as you melted into each other's embrace.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle exploration of each other's lips, but soon it deepened, becoming more urgent, more passionate. It was as if a floodgate had been opened, releasing a torrent of pent-up emotion that had been building between you for far too long.

You lost yourself in the kiss, losing track of time and space as you surrendered to the heat of the moment. Every touch, every caress, sent sparks flying through your veins, igniting a firestorm of desire that threatened to consume you both.

Eris's hands roamed over your body, tracing the curves of your form with a reverence that sent shivers down your spine. His touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you arched into him, your lips meeting his with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, the kiss ended, leaving you both breathless and dazed, the echoes of your passion reverberating through the air.

"I love you too," Eris pants, his breath warm against your skin, carrying with it the scent of cool autumn air. It was the kind of scent that would drift through an open window on lazy mornings spent bundled up in bed, the crispness of the air mingling with the warmth of the blankets.

The weight of his confession washed over you like a wave, filling you with a sense of warmth and belonging that you had never known before. In that moment, you felt as if you were floating on air, carried away by the sheer intensity of your emotions.

But it was his next words that truly took your breath away, sending a shiver down your spine and causing your heart to swell with love and gratitude.

"Both of you," he murmurs, his voice soft and tender as he places a gentle hand on your bump. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes, conveying a depth of love and devotion that left you feeling humbled and grateful beyond words.

As you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, you knew that this was where you were meant to be. In the arms of the man you loved, with your unborn child nestled safely between you, you felt as if you had finally found your home. And as you looked into Eris's eyes, you knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, you would face them together, united in a love that was as enduring as the stars themselves.

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