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lust4lyf3 · 3 months

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Strangers (pt. 1)

Pairing: Lee (Bones and All) x fem reader

Prompt: On y/n’s long and winding journey to nowhere, she runs into someone mysterious. He reminds her of her past, something she’s unsure she should pursue, but is unable to fight the urge.

Warnings: mentions of cannibalism, death, blood, smoking

Word count: 6k

watched bones & all and couldn’t help myself !!!

i’m also an ethel cain fanatic so this is heavily inspired by her and her songs, specifically thoroughfare. highly recommend listening.

anyway timothee was so fine in b&a i was eating it up, no pun intended !

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Whoosh.

It's a humid, late afternoon. The sound of cars passing, insects buzzing, and my shoes consistently hitting the ground, one after the other, fill the air. The passing scenery is lush, and littered with deteriorating stores belittled to roadside stops that invade the town.

Indiana isn't where I live. And it won't be where I'm staying, either. I'm just the same as all the others, passing through and then I'm on my way. Though, I may be slightly different.

I keep on trudging, trying to find any place I can stop and get a drink, my sweat beaded around my forehead. I clutch onto the strap of my bag around me, my very few belongings steadily hitting against my leg as I walk.

I look down at my beaten to near death shoes. I couldn't begin to count the places they've taken me even if I tried. I focus again on what's in front of me, trying not to accidentally sway into oncoming traffic getting lost in my thoughts.

I feel tired, but I'm used to it. This is what my life is, now. Going from one place to the other, on my own. I somehow scraped up enough money to take the train, but I could only make it so far. And now I'm right back where I started. On my feet, and in a place I don't know.

It doesn't exactly phase me. I've never really had a place in my life that I called home. So, this is just what I do now. Anywhere but the place I was forced to call home.

Another few whooshes of passing cars, mostly trucks. A few looks from their drivers as well. The state of me isn't horrible, but definitely not the most presentable. But hell, why would I care? They might think I'm lost or something, walking around alone with torn up clothes and an old bag, I get that. But what they don't know is that I'm far from lost.

Finally, I see corner store, a few paces up the road. A type of place that I find a lot of solace in. I keep on, approaching the small, old building with its makeshift gravel parking lot infested with weeds and various litter.

I walk up, but stop before the entrance at the edge of the street. A break is needed to be had. I sit down abruptly, my ass on the road and my shoes in the dirt. I sigh a breathe of relief and take in the feeling of not relying on my feet before fishing into my bag. I poke around, and find my cigarettes, and eventually my lighter.

I pull them out and flick the box open. One left. Good thing I'm at the store. I put the box up to my lips and close them around the singular cigarette, pulling the box away and tossing it back in the bag. I lift the lighter and easily catch a light, no breeze in the way. Much to my discontent, though. I need a good breeze right now.

I take a drag as the light stays at the end, then flick the lighter closed and take it out of my mouth, exhaling. I close my eyes and lean back on one hand. A great feeling, this is. These are the moments I live for. The small ones, where I feel like if I just willed it, I might feel a little bit of heaven.

I open my eyes again, and take in my surroundings. I can smell the grass and car exhaust that add to the ambiance of the outdated building. A few figures pass by in the windows of the lit store. I peer far enough back to see that they have freezers at the end of the aisles. Jackpot. The thought of an ice cold Coke could keep me alive right now.

I take a few more drags of the cigarette and then leave it still in my mouth. I pull my bag onto my lap and rummage around some more, looking for my leftover cash. I find some loose bills and coins, and gather them all up in one hand. I shuffle through them quickly, counting. Not as much as I would like there to be, as per usual. I sigh again, this time not of relief.

It's enough to buy another pack of Marlboro Reds, but that's about it. I ponder what I know I might have to do. I've done it before, but I still don't like it every time.

It's easy to get scrappy when you're out here like I am, something I've noticed quite a bit. I've accepted it's just something you have to get used to. I justify it to myself as being better than what I escaped. I don't think anything tops that.

I finish the cigarette, fling the butt into the ground, and give it a good stomp. I worry that one day my shoes will be so worn that the soles will give out, and I might feel the cigarette on my foot next time. Irrational fear, I would notice before that.

I put the money neatly in my pocket and stand up, slinging my bag back around my shoulder. It's now closer to dusk, meaning I have to find a place to stay, and quickly.

I start walking up to the clear glass doors, and then push myself in. Instantly a wave of air conditioning hits my face and blows through my hair. Another small, heavenly moment. The aroma of the store came mostly from the direction of the freezers, sort of a cardboard-like smell, but comforting nonetheless.

Another curious smell entered my senses, but it almost wasn't a smell. It's more like a feeling, weirdly. But it's faint.

I brush it off, and look around. There's an older woman clerk behind the counter at a register, flipping through a magazine with long nails and chewing loudly on a piece of gum. She didn't look up when I came in. A good sign.

I walk in further under the harsh fluorescent lights and past an aisle. I keep on observing the store, on the lookout for things I want to take with me. I have to travel light, so I only allow myself the necessities.

I peer into an aisle and see a mother with her small daughter browsing the snacks. I peer into the next, a bigger looking man near the very end at the freezers in the back. It looks like he's looking at the alcohol.

I weave in through the aisle, carefully scanning its sides for things I might need. I see way too many things I want, that's for sure. It hurts my heart blowing right past the Twinkies. God, I haven't had one of those in a while.

The feeling I felt earlier comes on a little stronger. I can't help but feel that it is a sort of scent, but I can't really tell. I'm pretty sure I'm just dizzy from not eating, or something.

I move on from the aisle with nothing, proud of myself for refraining from grabbing something extraneous. I walk past the big guy, who definitely smells like he had already downed quite a few beers, and into the next aisle with the toiletries in it.

Near the end of the aisle is a younger looking guy, probably around my age, tall, sort of lanky. Immediately when I see him, I feel the weird sense again. I'm just hoping at this point that my stomach doesn't make some weird, worrying noise. But this time, it feels like it's coming from something external.

I keep walking closer the middle of the aisle, trying to focus on which stuff is on the shelves. The guy comes a little bit clearer into my peripheral view, and I can see that his dark brown hair is dyed red at the ends in the style of a mullet. He stays studying something hanging up in the row.

He seems like the type of person I would've liked to know. I always hung around the more alternative kids in school, and he seems like that type, with his overly ripped jeans and floral button-up shirt. But, I'm on the lonely road for now. I can't stick around anywhere.

I still feel the feeling, the sense, the smell. It worsens as I keep moving down, but it doesn't cloud my mind. I'm still clear-headed, but the scent is definitely present. I can't help but feel a sort of familiarity with it. Something kind of gross that reminds of me of my past. I try not to be reminded of what it is and keep on and on with my scanning.

And then, I spot it. The Holy Grail. Tampons. That is a necessity. I move immediately towards them low down on the shelf. I crouch down on the floor next to them and look for the right ones.

I keep looking, bluffing slightly by pretending to read the labels to get my bag open a little wider. I realize I'm lot closer to that guy now.

In a swift motion, I grab one of the boxes, and quickly swipe it into the bag. I try to think that maybe the guy didn't see it, but I'm not sure how he couldn't have. I reflexively and awkwardly turn my head up to look at him, checking to see if he was looking in my direction. Right as I turned, so did he.

We make eye contact, and the feeling I get is overwhelming. The smell is strong now. And I can definitely smell it. But that's not all that I'm sensing.

In the span of the few milliseconds I'd been looking at him, I somehow felt like there was some sort of energy field between us, an indescribable and sudden thing.

It's almost as if he read my mind, because the look he gives back to me is one of knowing, slightly bordering on confusion. He must be feeling something, too. He hums for a moment, and then nods a little, like he knows what I'm doing and is giving me the clear.

I'm still distracted by the whole interaction, and buffer for a moment before looking back down and swiping another box. How weird is this?

I'm still a little bit overtaken with my thoughts when the big, drunk guy walks into the aisle, holding a can in his hand. I look over his way as he leans down slightly, looking at a shelf a little ways away.

The mom with the kid from earlier then comes out from behind the other row, turning to come into the aisle. She's a little bit close to the drunk guy.

"Excuse me," she says to him, very politely.

"Woah, you tryin' to run me down?" he says loudly, unbalanced-ly turning towards her and getting awkwardly close in her space. She looks at him a little bit confused, and definitely scared, and keeps moving.

"I asked a question!" he rings again when she doesn't respond. She starts walking faster down the aisle. "Hear this, ya dumb hoe!-"

"Hey! Don't talk to her like that-," I quickly say, unable to keep it in.

"Hey!" the dark hair guy from before says behind me, directly after I speak up, almost cutting me off. "You're out of control, buddy."

I quickly turn around and look over at him. He's looking back down at the shelf already.

"Are you with the store, or something'?" drunk guy talks back, obviously perturbed.

"Nah, I'm not with the store, but I'm gonna escort you out of it," dark hair says back overconfidently, now standing up straight and starting to walk towards drunk guy.

"Fuckin' see what happens!" drunk guy shouts, coming closer.

What is this kid doing?, I think to myself. Drunk guy is probably 3 times the body mass of him. But he still approaches.

"See what happens? See what happens" dark hair mumbles tauntingly. "Is something bad gonna happen?" he turns to me and smirks while he says it, almost like a Watch this, and then turns back to the guy.

In one sudden, freak motion, dark hair comes up to drunk guy, and nearly head-butts him, making both me and drunk guy jump. He comes so close, and then moves away at the last second, like some sort of entrancing dance.

Dark hair moves around weirdly like a posturing animal in front of him, like nothing I've ever seen before. Drunk guy stands there for a second, extremely pissed off, before shouting Outside! and pointing out the store. Dark hair quickly runs away from him and out of the aisle, drunk guy hustling close behind.

I stand up from my crouch, trying to look over the row to see where they go.

"We're going outside!" he repeats, angrily.

"You enjoy hassling people, man? Is that what you do on Saturdays when you're done jerking off?" I hear dark hair say as he pushes open the door leading outside into the parking lot. Drunk guy keeps with him, looking more fuming than before.

They mumble something else to each other that I can't hear before fully exiting. I stand there for a second, trying to process what just happened. I luckily saw the mom and daughter checking out and about to leave, thankfully. I'll never understand jerks like that. What's their problem?

I then think about dark hair guy. I really hope he doesn't get beaten to a pulp out there, though I'm pretty sure that's what will happen. He was just trying to help.

I quickly remember what I'm doing in the store, and turn back to the shelf. Good thing is that whatever that was that just happened would definitely distract from the fact that I'm stealing.

Weirdly, I can still faintly smell the strange scent, but it mostly went away.

I lean back down to the tampons to grab one more box, and then, it hits me.

I gasp and drop the box I just grabbed on the ground. The scent. The knowing. I have felt it before.

A brief memory flashes in my mind of my older sister, someone I've tried to block from my memory altogether.

No matter how hard I try to forget about her and my family, I'll never forget what she did.

I shake my head, trying to clear my head. If I wasn't before, I was definitely dizzy now.

I know why I smelled what I did and felt what I did. It had to have been coming from the dark hair guy.

I recalled from the memory that it was when my sister came to me one day, her a teenager and I just a little bit younger. She told me something no kid should even know exists. She said she had urges to do terrible, terrible things.

Which, specifically, was eating people.

I was skeptical and didn't want to believe it for a long time, but that was before other things unfolded and everything went to shit, but it was real.

And the smell.

I had forgotten that there was a certain feeling that I got when I was around my sister, similar to experiencing an aroma, or an aura. I had picked up on it so sensitively from being around her often. And I also had a hunch it might be something genetic.

But still, I never felt that connection feeling.

But I tried so, so hard to convince myself all of that shit was just a dream. And I still am. And that's part of why I am where I am.

I come back to reality, still standing in the same place.

I quickly pick up the box that I dropped, and move out of the aisle to another one, trying to just continue on with my day. But I'm thinking too hard, all of these drudged up thoughts and repressed memories surfacing.

But mostly, I was thinking about dark hair guy, wishing I knew his name, and thinking about how he looked at me. His chiseled face and shadowy features, but he looked kind. I'm pretty sure his eyes were green. He was really good looking, now that I think about it. Why am I thinking that? Why am I thinking good things about someone who I just found out is a cannibal?

I fight away that thought, but I still can't help but feel like there was something that was strange between us. I recognized the aura, but the connected sensation that I felt was completely foreign to me. It felt otherworldly. And I can't help but think that he felt it, too. It was weirdly comforting.

All I wanted to do was to talk to him, or something. Maybe he would even let me tag along with him, wherever he's going. It's hard being alone out here sometimes, not to mention dangerous. Maybe he even has some money, or a car. I assume he's on the run, sort of like I am. For different reasons, obviously, but I understand his cause.

I at least just want know who he is. And then I'll move on with my life. I just can't stop thinking about what I felt. The connection.

Or, I could just be getting dehydration hallucinations. Honestly, I hope it's that. It would make things a lot less complicated.

Being reminded of how thirsty I am, I move back towards the freezers, and grab a freezing cold water bottle and a glass coke bottle. I slip them both in my bag, maybe a little bit too obviously. I can't really get myself to care much anymore.

I grab a couple random bags of something from the snack aisle, slip that in my bag too, and then move to the front counter. The lady looks up from her magazine.

"Just some Marlboro Reds, please," I say. She looks me up and down for a moment, probably trying to study if I'm old enough. If she doesn't think so, she doesn't say anything, and turns around and grabs the box of cigarettes off the wall, and slides them onto the counter.

"Two-fifty," she says, sounding very unimpressed. I fork the money out of my pocket and hand it over. I give her three dollars.

While she gets my change out of the register, I look out the glass doors that lead outside, hoping maybe I see dark hair guy. I have no idea what could've gone on between him and that guy.

She dings the register closed, and I start to feel the smell entering my senses again. I frantically try to focus my eyes around the scenery outside, searching for any sign of dark hair guy. There's an abandoned-looking building across the parking lot from the store.

"Ma'am."

I turn towards the clerk lady. She's holding out my change for me. Fifty cents.

"Sorry," I say flustered, putting out my hand for the change. She drops it in my palm, I shove it in my pocket, grab my cigarettes, and walk to the door.

I pause in front of the entrance, my hands resting on the push handle. I look out of the glass and try searching more, attempting to follow the scent. It's fully dusk now. Fading pink and purple hues fill the horizon.

Without thinking, I push my way out the door, unable to ignore the scent still closing in on me. The air is slightly brisk, but still thick with humidity. My gaze is fixated on the abandon building as I carefully stalk closer to it, the dusty gravel of the lot crunching beneath my shoes. It seems like it's coming from that general direction.

Before I can process it, the smell gets overwhelmingly strong, my head and lungs almost drowning in it. I pause for a moment, almost hyperventilating. He was close.

A sudden noise comes from the building, a sound like shoes scuffing on concrete. A person emerges from the shadows of a window-less hole in the side of the decrepit building.

Its him. He's not wearing a shirt, and there's blood all over him.

He's carrying a bag, which he quickly throws down once he jumps over the short wall. He crouches down and pulls something out of it, and then turns his head, eyes landing on me. All I can do is stare back.

We recognize each other for a moment, and then he turns his attention back down to whatever he pulled out of the bag, which was a water bottle. He unscrews the lid, places the bottle between his knees so the water comes spilling out, and splashes it on himself in efforts of cleaning the blood off.

I realize that he's now wearing a hat. The same one drunk guy was wearing in the store.

Did he...?

He screws the top back on the bottle, shoves it in his bag, and slings it over his shoulder. He turns in my direction, and stops, looking me dead in the eye. I stand still, the sound of my heart beating consuming my hearing. He slowly starts to stalk towards me, maintaining the menacing eye contact.

He pauses just slightly in his tracks, like he's trying to study me, smell me, maybe, before he keeps walking. I felt hot under his brief stare, like I was under a magnifying glass being angled to the sun.

He gets closer, and then turns abruptly to the right towards the cars in the lot, his gaze now averted down to his feet.

"He's over in there, like, 400 yards, if you want him," he says, breaking the silence. He points over to the building using his head, still walking.

I keep staring, not sure what to say. I shake my head no, slightly. I guess he did eat that guy. Oh God. Does he think I wanna eat him?

I should probably get far away from him, but I can't shake this weird feeling. I still feel like I need to talk to him, or something.

Before I know it, I'm moving to follow him, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"Could you tell anything? In the store?" I blurt out, not thinking before speaking. My question doesn't make much sense. What I meant to say more coherently was if he could tell that I sensed him, or if he felt the weird feeling that I felt, too.

Still, he pauses, and half-turns around to look at me. "I smelled you. In the store. I didn't know I could do that," I say again, trying to save myself. Trying to tell him I'm different, too.

Again, he just stares. The same menacing, yet studying, stare.

"I'm, uh, going west for awhile, and I got dumped here by the train. I just stole dinner because, well, I don't have any money," I drone on, attempting to fill the awkward silence, and maybe allude to us being some sort of alliance. "You're not local either, I guess?"

"Why does that matter?" he quickly responds, almost in a mumble.

I pause for a moment. He's defensive, and I'm not sure what to say. But, at least he said something. It's quiet before I speak again.

"That was nice, what you did for that mom in there," I say, changing the subject and attempting to be friendly, searching for any sort of camaraderie.

Silence, again. Staring, again. He looks confused more than anything. His expression clearly reads Why are you talking to me?

"I'm eighteen, if you're wondering," I add on. I need him to know I'm really on my own, and I'm an adult. I nervously fiddle with the hem of my shorts.

"I was gonna guess younger," he says, in his same mumble tone. Man of few words.

"Thanks," I reply, looking down at the ground, unsure of what to say again. He turns his head and spits on the ground in front of him.

"I don't usually talk to anyone after. I don't actually meet many others. Sorta glad not to," he speaks again, turning on his heel and approaching a blue pick-up truck. His words were so quiet, I almost didn't hear him. He's definitely on the run.

"Yeah, I get that," I say to his now turned back, my feet moving to catch up to him. He reaches into the truck through the open window and unlocks it, clicking open the door. "Except, I'm not really like you. I don't... eat."

He pauses, half-turning again. Staring, again, his puzzled look returning. I stop in my tracks in front of him.

"I can just, sorta, tell when someone does. I knew someone else who did. My sister. So, I'm cool. I understand."

"Huh," he huffs out, his jaw twinged a bit in curiosity. He thought that I was an eater. So, he did feel something. "Still, I'm just saying. I'm not an asshole."

He turns back around and fully opens the car door, starting to put his bag on the seat. We're both silent. He's running, and I'm not sure I can get him to take me with him. I do get it, really. There's not much I can do. Maybe I shouldn't get myself into this mess, anyway.

"You should probably go, anyway. Up close you can see blood," I say, half in defeat, and half in genuinely trying to help.

He turns his head again and gives me a scoff-like expression, almost like a smirk. Like he thinks I might be a little over the top.

"We're fine," he says, and then turns back around, shuffling through his bag.

I look down, and then around at the street and the store, hesitant of what to do. I realize that it's basically dark, and I still don't have a place to sleep. God.

"No, I'm really not sure I am," I respond, semi-absentmindedly, still looking around. I'm worried, now. I might have to sleep next to the dead guy in the building tonight.

He turns to me again. He's put on his shirt and is pulling on the floral one. He looks around for a moment, like he's thinking of saying something he doesn't really want to. There's a hint of sympathy on his face, but mostly reluctance.

"Do you want to get in? For a minute?" he says, his eyes on me now, his finger pointed at the truck.

I look up at him, surprised. He was definitely just trying to get me to get the hell away from him a minute ago. I nod at him slightly, appreciative. His expression is softer now, which I much prefer than the scary one. It looks more like the one he had back in the store.

He then hops into the driver's seat of the truck, and I quickly walk around to the passenger side. He shuts his door and leans his arm up on the edge, looking out the window. I get in next to him, shut the door, and look around the truck.

It's a nice Ford truck, with a bench seat and an FM radio. He averts his gaze from the window to inside, specifically at the glove compartment in front of me. He moves his arm to open it up, his other hand on the wheel. He cracks it open and it makes a loud noise, and his hand brushes up against my knee. He moves it quickly.

He shuffles through the small compartment and pulls out a few pieces of paper, and then holds them up in front of him.

"Barry Cook. 5278 Route 13. Centerville, Indiana. Hm," he reads. His registration?

"Wait, is this your car?" I ask, a little concerned.

"No. It's the guy's," he says, pointing again towards the building with his head. Jesus, stealing his car? I'm still getting used to the fact that he ate him.

"Well, this truck is his. You can't just take it," I say, turned towards him. There's a little bit of urgency in my tone. A little bit of worry, too.

"Everyone's got their rules. That's not one of my rules," he replies, still studying the paper.

I sit back in the seat, a little bit taken aback. I guess there's not much else you can do to that guy. He's gone now.

"What are you gonna do now?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Go to house, probably," he says, looking up from the paper and out at the road.

"His house?"

"Yeah, he didn't have any pictures in his wallet. I think I'll be alright."

"You took his wallet, too?"

"I didn't take his wallet, I took the money out of the wallet. Eight bucks," he says, doing the smirk-scoff again. "I chucked the wallet in the creek back there."

He shuffles some more in his bag. I look around again, still taken aback. I can't be judgmental. I live on the rocks, too. I knew how my sister was. It was something that she couldn't fight off doing. I'm surprised now, but I'd probably be doing some of the same bad things in a couple months time. I never thought I'd ever steal, and look where I'm at now.

I scan outside a little more, considering if I should take the risk and go with him. I mean, he is who he is and does what he does. I don't know if I'm safe. I don't even know his name. I should probably be really scared that he'll kidnap me and eat me, and normally I would be, but somehow, something inside of me is telling me that he won't. And I can't deny that feeling. I also really don't want to sleep outside.

"Do you feel it?" he asks abruptly, breaking me out of my thoughts. I whip my head towards him. Is he a mindreader too?

He's staring down at the steering wheel, jaw clenched, the red in his hair barely visible in the dark. I take in the question for a second, looking at him. He does.

"Yeah, I do. If you're talking about what I think you are."

He sucks on his teeth, and nods slightly. I search his face for some kind of resolution, like he might know what it is.

"I thought you were like me, but you're not. You're different," he says, still looking down, "I've never met anyone like that. Like you."

My heart flutters in my chest a little bit. He doesn't know. So, then what is it?

"I don't know what it is," I say, looking down at my lap now, suddenly a bit shy. Something about the conversation felt vulnerable, now. I remembered again that I still don't know his name. I look up at him once more. "I'm y/n."

He looks up at me. The shadow of his strong nose casts on his face.

"I'm Lee."

Lee. I like that name.

I felt the need to explain myself to him, why I was out here. I still feel weird at how little we know about each other. He's still looking over at me.

"I'm out here by choice. I ran away from home, in Florida," I say, looking out the windshield momentarily. "Just some fucked up family shit. Sort of has to do with my sister. It's a lot. But it's been a few weeks, and I'm already up here."

Lee looks down at his lap, nodding.

"I get that."

Its quiet again for a moment.

"I thought my sister was the only one," I say, breaking the silence, "Until now." Lee's gaze flickers over to me for a second. "I don't know if I should be surprised, or not."

"There's a lot of us," he says, sullenly. He picks his head up and looks outside again. I feel bad. I can't imagine being in his shoes. I knew what it was like for my sister, and I would never wish that on any being. Let alone 'a lot' of beings.

A wave of tiredness hits me, and I'm reminded again of sleep. I should probably ask Lee if I can stay with him before assuming I can. He's only agreed to let me sit in here with him.

"Hey, do you think you could help me?" I say, and his gaze shifts forward, out the windshield, like he's listening. "I'm new at all this, and, I'm all alone out here. Maybe, I could just, come with you for awhile. Wherever you go. I don't care."

I watch his reaction as his jaw twinges again, like he's thinking, but leaning towards no. But, he's still thinking.

"Look, I won't try to mess with you, I promise. I'll stay away and let you do, you know. I'm not gonna tell anyone or freak out or anything. I understand," I say, almost desperately.

He sighs, and then picks up the guy's hat from earlier off the seat, and puts it on. He turns the key in the ignition, and starts the car.

"You said west?" he asks, and my stomach leaps in relief. I can't help but let out a small smile. He looks over at me for just a moment and sees my expression.

"Thank you," I say, sincerely. I relax a little bit, and realize that I'd been tensed up for sometime. I have a place to sleep now.

"We're going to this guy's house first. And then I'm on the road," he says, starting to slowly pull out of the parking lot.

"Okay," I reply, nodding. I'm a little bit creeped that it's a dead guy's house, but I'm ready to get used to it. I already was at one point in my life. If I'm gonna stick around, I better do it again.

Lee stops at the street, looks both ways, and then turns right down the road. I look out the window. It's crazy the difference in scenery when you're walking versus driving. I'm appreciating it much more in the car. This truck definitely beats walking.

The windows are down, and a slight wind blows through my hair. Another small slice of heaven moment. I close my eyes, letting the cool air and street lamplight cascade over me.

I open them again, and then look over at Lee, his eyes concentrated on road ahead of him. I stare for a second, maybe a little bit longer than I intend to, and I start to see a smirk spread across his mouth. He laughs, just a little bit. He can tell I'm looking at him.

I can't help but smile slightly and laugh, too. I turn my attention back out the window. Maybe we will be friends. I hope we can be.

I shut my eyes again, seeing if I can doze off. The seat is comfortable, and car ride will probably be long. I listen to the summer breeze outside and crickets chirping, and it's enough to almost send me off.

I peek my eyes open one more time, and lean my head against the door. The side mirror is turned inward just enough so I can see Lee in the driver's seat. I watch for a second, and then see him turn his head towards me, once, twice, and then a third time.

He was looking at me. I don't think he knows I can see him.

I feel my cheeks getting hot slightly, and then close my eyes again. Another moment.

I think we might be friends.

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hope u enjoyed !! lmk if u want a part 2

#lee bones and all #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #lee bones and all fic #luca guadagnino #bones and all #taylor russell #lee bones and all x reader #timothee chalamet fic #imagine #movies #cinema #ethel cain #thoroughfare #mother cain #cannibalism as a metaphor for love #preacher’s daughter

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sebsxphia · 1 year

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ptolemaea. | the blood of christ.

preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: rhett suggests a solution that could soothe your cramps from your period.

￫ word count: 2K.

￫ c/w: heavy and dark religious themes, p in v, sex, mentions of periods, reader is on their period, fingering, kissing, swearing, corruption and innocence kink and daddy kink.

￫ a/n: this part of ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ but it can be read alone! it came to light after i made this post here. my main masterlist can be read here! 💌

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Rhett opened the front door of your Motel room with a creak to see your frame curled up on the bed. Your arms were wrapped tightly around yourself and you let out a muffled groan into the duvet, your body withering.

“You okay, sweet lamb?” He came round the side of the bed and you felt the weight of the mattress dip as he sat beside you, feeling his hand running soothingly up and down your arm.

“M’ on my period. Came just as you left.” You mumbled in defeat into the duvet. Your body was too exhausted to even lift your neck to look at him. Rhett cooed softly as your body shuddered again. Another cramp hit you and an even louder, more frustrated groan, sunk deep into the mattress.

Rhett offered what he could to help, but the cruel reality was that you didn’t have anything with you right now expect pads and tampons. You were in the middle of no where and the local gas station was an hours drive away. He ran his hand over the swell of your ass in your curled position and rested it on your bare thigh. He dipped his fingers ever so slightly in between where they pressed together and he squeezed gently.

“Let your Preacher help you.” Rhett offered, and you finally brought your head up to look at him, with your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. Doubtless of your expression, he continued. “Sex can help the pain you’re sufferin’ from.”

You sat up against the headboard with your knees tucked tightly into your chest.

“B— but, Rhett, I’m on my period.” You blinked at him. You were wildly unsure as to what he could possibly be suggesting here that would make this work. “There’ll be blood ‘nd stuff. It’ll get messy.” Your fingers played with each other as they rested on your knees, with you awkwardly avoiding eye contact for such a lewd topic of conversation.

“And? Why do you think we drink wine each communion? To bathe in the blood of Christ.”

You hummed in response to Rhett’s profound words and cocked your head to the side. You would never question your Preacher’s words. He had the word of God and he was always, right.

Rhett slinked his hand down to cup your covered cunt. His gaze softened momentarily. “And, I wan’ help soothe your aching womb.” He applied a deep pressure to your clit with the heel of his palm and a soft, barely audible, moan escaped your lips, your eyes fluttering shut. There was no denying that the momentary pleasure jolted through you and calmed the torrent of pain residing in your lower stomach.

You weighed out your options. The only doubt in your mind being that you had never touched yourself on your period, let alone had sex. You were simply told by your Mother that you couldn’t.

Rhett noticed the doubt registering behind your eyes and he pushed down again, firmly to your clit, and another, now louder moan, slipped passed your lips.

“Feels s’ good, Rhett.”

“It would honour me and the Lord if I got to bathe in the blood of Christ, through my pretty little cunt.”

You wasted no time in pressing your lips to Rhett’s and let him keenly rub the heel of his palm against your now aching, clit. Through the thick pad and material of your underwear, it provided a pressure, yet none at all at the same time. It was painfully dizzying. Your clothes were both shed in a flurry, your lips barely pulling apart from each other, only to gulp down air. Rhett pinched lightly at your nipples, knowing how sensitive they would be. It only heightened your ever growing arousal and you let out a breathy moan.

“Need you, Rhett, please.”

His large and calloused hands skimmed down to the hem of your underwear and paused.

“Hold on,” He mutterd against your lip, lightly biting down on your bottom lip as he parted. You whined out at the loss of touch from your Preacher and he chuckled quietly. “Patience, sweet thing. Let me take care of you.” Rhett disappeared to the bathroom and came back with two towels in hand.

“They’ll stain, Rhett!”

Your protests fell on silent ears and Rhett could only respond with a small smirk, pinching at the corners of his mouth.

“I’ll cover it. Don’t worry.”

No doubt with the money he stole from the Church.

He laid them out and you shuffled on top of them. You let your head fall to the scratchy Motel pillow and Rhett covered your body with his, hovering above you. His hands resumed their previous ministrations of cup and tweaking at your breasts with his mouth attached back to yours. His tongue dipped inside to run along your bottom lip and taste you, letting a groan get caught between you both at how sweet you were for him. You felt his hand trail down the soft flesh over your stomach and pull around the hem of your underwear.

“Y’ sure you want to do this, my sweet lamb? We can stop now, or ‘nytime.”

“M’ sure, Rhett. Need you s’ bad.”

“Needy, sweet thing.” Rhett mused back at you with featherlight kisses trailed over your jawline.

He sat back on his haunches and you noticed the prominent outline of his cock straining against his black underwear. You whined again at the loss of Rhett, but he wanted to do this properly. He came to understand how vulnerable this had you feeling. You were his responsibility since he took you out West and he wanted to treat you with the love and care that you deserved. Why, Rhett believed that God took extra time when creating you, and he should treat you as such. As though you were made of precious porcelain.

He peeled back your underwear inch by inch. The flow of cool air from the rattling air conditioning unit hit your bare cunt and it clenched around nothing, shortly followed by heat rising in your cheeks at the sudden embarrassment of Rhett seeing your pad in this state. He continued to hook your underwear off your legs with not a flash of grimace across his face. He was completely neutral as he peeled off your pad and threw it in the bin. His heavy gaze came back to you and he let out a guttural groan.

“Oh, darlin’. Fuck—”

His index finger gently traced around your lips before pressing to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You cried out at his final touch, no longer obstructed and you bucked your hips to follow him.

“—you’ve never looked more beautiful for me, my sweet lamb.”

You didn’t think your cheeks could get a darker shade of red at this point.

“You have nothin’ to hide. It’s me ‘nd you here. The Lord isn’t privy to such a beautiful sight.”

You tugged down on Rhett’s shoulders to pull him into another heated kiss. His sweet praises, mixed with the driving force of hormones flowing through you, went straight to your head and you couldn’t hold on any longer. Rhett made quick work of removing his boxers and giving his cock a few fistfuls before you felt his tip catch against your clit, earning another needy moan from yourself.

“May I, angel?”

“Pleas’, Daddy.” You mewled out in desperation, shifting your hips to try and catch his tip on your aching bundle again.

At the call of that name in particular and how your voice strained with desperation, Rhett understood how much you craved this. It was a name only ushered by yourself in moments of intensity. When your body craved nothing but his pin point accurate touch. When nothing could soothe the gnawing aches and pains in your body but him. Rhett was the medicine for your ailment.

He held back for not a moment longer and sunk into you. Your lips parted and a cry tore from your throat at feeling the stretch of his cock fill you up in a way you could never adjust to. Your walls were warm around him, warmer than he’d felt before. They hugged and drew him in closer with the crook of your heel digging into his back.

“Baby, baby, baby…” Rhett groaned with his head falling into the crook of your neck and inhaling your familiar scent. The feeling was all encompassing and all knowing to you both. “S’ fuckin’ tight, little lamb.”

“Daddy!” You whined. “Pleas’, move.”

At your instruction, Rhett swiftly moved his hips to meet yours, before pulling nearly all the way out. There was no need for the usual ferocious pacing of his hips. With every drawn out thrust, you squeezed at him tight and he knew he wouldn’t hold on for much longer. His tip ran over the sweet spot buried deep inside of you and with each thrust, you felt your cramps simmer away to nearly nothing. Your clit was throbbing by this point. It was desperate to feel some sort of friction, and once Rhett had developed a steady pace, his thumb pressed down. A string of pleasurable groans left your lips and in unison, Rhett responded with a quiet whimper. He could feel with each swipe of his thumb how your body was reacting to him. The heels of your feet dug in deeper to his flesh, to lock his hips in place with every thrust. Your fingertips were making outlines of crescent shapes on his toned shoulders.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, pleas’, Daddy. M’ so close.”

“Me too, sweet lamb— oh, fuck.” A drawn out moan was swallowed whole as Rhett pressed his lips to yours, heat radiating off you both and eliciting the first beads of sweat. With your cramps now almost fully dissolved, all you could feel growing was your ever impending orgasm. It was the precision work of Rhett’s thumb rubbing calculated circles over your clit and his cock hitting you so deep, that each time it jolted a spark alight in your lower stomach and you felt yourself crashing closer.

“Yesyesyes—” Your thighs squeezed around Rhett tightly and your back arched off the towels to push yourself impossibly closer to Rhett as he worked you through the wave of your orgasm that overtook your body whole. Your walls were squeezing him so tight and milking him dry for all that he had, that he wasn’t far behind. He came with a shudder of his body and an elongated groan into your shoulder, followed by your name.

“That’s it, good girl. Shit, you did ‘s good for me.”

Your foreheads were stuck together with the glistening slick of sweat. Rhett pressed flurries of kisses along your jaw and underneath your earlobe, gently encouraging you as you caught your breath back. You grimaced when he eventually pulled his softening cock out. You could feel the string of multiple bodily fluids fall from your cunt, but Rhett shushed you softly and told you to wait there. He came back with a damp washcloth, lukewarm in temperature as to not enrage your cunt any further. He cleaned you up gently, stuck a new pad on a clean pair of underwear and dressed you in his tattered religious Youth Camp t-shirt.

More of Rhett’s praiseful kisses were placed to your forehead as you rested in his arms before he spoke up. “Y’ want food? Shower? Watch somethin’?” The beat up television in the corner of the Motel room hadn’t looked appealing at first, but there was something about mindless television to match with the relief your body currently felt, that didn’t seem too bad.

Something was eventually playing on the television, but you couldn’t remember what. The quiet hum of the television static, Rhett’s rhythmic breathing under your ear and the gentle swipe of his fingertips over your arms was lulling you. The agitating throb of your cramps were gone and your body felt as though it was sinking deep into the mattress. Your eyes were falling shut, but quickly blinking back to life as to continue to fixate on the screen.

Rhett took a look down at you fighting to stay awake and he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. He tucked a stray strand of your hair away from your face and behind your ear.

“Sleep, little lamb. I’ll be here when y’ wake up, we can shower then. Jus’, rest.” Rhett’s voice was low, with his Southern drawl making a heavier appearance. It was the final push you needed to be completely pulled under.

taglist: @beachbabey @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @unmistakablyunknown @iloveprettyboysblog @wkndwlff @flames-thebitch

tagging those who were interested: @lewmagoo @peachystenbrough @sugarcoated-lame @sylviebell @fridamoss @canarysposts @ouralcohol @hangmanapologist @withahappyrefrain @roostersrooster

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rebelpeas · 6 months

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THIS FIC IS SO FUN HELLO. i’m only part of the way into it because it is 25k but it’s SO FUN. karlnapity cosmic horror inspired by shrimp colors (!!!!!!!!!!) GO READ YAYAYAYAY

#dee talks #fic #dsmp #fic rec #karlnapity #badboyhalo is a weed growing preacher and that’s the line where i stopped to send out rec messages #because that made me grin with such delight i need it to be shared with others

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ughtoomanyfandoms · 10 months

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Preacher's Daughter (The Last of Us - Joel Miller): Thoroughfare

PREACHER’S DAUGHTER Thoroughfare

series masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x OC

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI

Series Warnings: unprotected sex, religious trauma, gore, violence, swearing, explicit content, sexual violence.

Word Count: 8.9k

Read on AO3 and Wattpad

Tommy was gone. Tess was gone. Bill and Frank were gone. Lianne was gone.

Lianne was gone.

Joel is alone. Alone with a fourteen year old girl, tasked with trekking her across the country for the “fucking Fireflies.” The one thing he had hated about his brother. The one thing he prayed Lianne wouldn’t fall in with. And it had sucked him right into it.

Joel and Ellie had spent the night nestled in the woods a few miles from Bill and Frank’s house. Joel sipped on the coffee that was promised by Lianne.

How long had it been since Lianne was at Bill and Frank’s before Joel found them? Did she know already? Had she stayed with them until the end? How close behind her were Joel and Ellie?

Ellie had stuck her nose into the percolator to take a strong whiff, turning pale in a recoil at the smell. She let out a wretched noise, contorting her face in disgust as she quickly closed the lid to the coffee percolator, pulling Joel’s attention back to her.

He twists to look over his shoulder, brows shooting up as he examines her scrunched face.

“You don’t like coffee?” Joel asks the young girl, voice gravely in a gentle surprise.

“Is this that shit they used to sell at Starbucks in the QZs?” She had asked him, face still scrunched in a pained grimace.

“It was a lot fresher than this, but yeah,” Joel had responded, voice barely above a gruff grunt.

“You ever go there?” Ellie continued quizzically. “Before?”

“Not really to Starbucks, but to smaller coffee shops,” Joel answered, voice becoming softer. “My wife liked the local-”

“Your wife?” Ellie perks up, face contorting into a whole new expression of surprise. “You? Married? Dude, why haven’t you said anything?”

Her words fall upon deaf ears, Joel turning from her with a grunt.

A memory of her floats across his vision. The golden rays of the morning sun seeped through the cafe window to cast a warm glow around her. Her cheeks were pulled into a smile, full and rosy, laughing at something Joel had said. His thumb had traced the swell of her soft cheeks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her warm and forgetless eyes shined bright, crinkled in the corners.

The thought of her made his stomach turn.

“Forget it,” he chides in Ellie’s direction. He’d let it slip, the mention of Lianne. He had wanted to bring her up earlier, when he and Tess first met Ellie and she had asked if the two of them were together, or when they first reached Bill and Frank’s. He especially wanted to talk about her when he didn’t know what the fuck to do, and knew that she would have the answer. Wanted to bring her up just to keep the memory of her fresh in his mouth. But he had kept his tongue bit, wanting to keep her separate from this journey, as much as his body and soul ached in longing for her to be beside him. She would know what to do. She would know where to go. As much as she would keep him on his toes, she would be there to keep him grounded and his mind level.

—-

Weeks had turned into months of radio silence. The group that Lianne had left with all that time ago no longer existed; people giving up the fight and dying off. And still no sound of Joel.

Lianne had made it to that safe house in Nebraska about a week ago. In the beginning, she cleared out the town of any infected, ensuring her safety and isolation. Evening passed and morning came - that was the first day.

She spent what was left of the few remaining candles the first night. After a night of cold darkness with no electricity, Lianne had found some more candles in an old store down the road. The main floor of the house glowed warm, dozens of candles lighting the windowsills, climbing the way up the staircase, and above the fireplace mantle.

“Let there be light,” she had whispered to herself, a bitter chuckle escaping in harsh breath. She watched the stars that night, just like she had all those years before. And like those years before, a single satellite traced its endless orbit across the sky. And again, it was a beacon of something that was never changing in an ever changing world. And she wished for Joel.

Evening passed and the morning came - that was the second day.

The walls had begun cramping around her. The boarded up windows seemed to pound at her skull. So she’d found an old hammer and began ripping the boards from the window panes, letting the white sunshine flood the first floor.

The breeze chilled her skin as the sun soaked her bones, and she let herself lay on the wooden floor to bask in the sun. She wanted to find window panes in the old store down the road to replace the no-longer-windows, but installing them wasn’t in her skill set.

That’s a job for Joel, she had thought to herself.

Joel.

And it hit her like a freight car, a tsunami wave crashing over her and pulling her to the bottom. Grief and guilt and pain and sorrow and frustration and guilt and grief and guilt. It ate at her, gnawed at her soul, clean through to her marrow. And she let it eat her, at first. He never left her mind, not for a moment, not for a second. She bargained with herself, any attempt to convince herself that she made the right decision. Joel was still at the QZ, safe and alive and helping Tess.

And then she began to pray. To pray for Joel to be there, to be anywhere. To be there in Nebraska with her, or at the QZ in Boston. Just to be alive, anywhere. She prayed for the will to go back to Boston and find Joel in their apartment, to beg him for forgiveness for letting herself leave without him. To beg him for forgiveness for leaving him.

Evening passed and morning came - that was the third day.

Curtains made from mis-matched and discarded sheets waved in the windowsills, the breeze becoming colder as the winter truly set in. A fire burned constantly under the mantle, and Lianne kept bundled in wool sweaters and a blue suede jacket. She had built a home in the safehouse in Nebraska, a home she often thought that Joel would like to share with her, if they had ever gotten the chance. She sits on the porch, cheeks red from the cold air. Her stomach is full and she is safe.

When she slept at night, she thought of him so hard she swore she could feel his arms wrapped around her, reaching for her through the wall.

And she thought of Sarah. A cavern formed in her chest daring to rip itself in pieces with the emptiness. Longing for those moments in time where the only feared bite was that of a mosquito.

Evening passed and morning came - that was a countless day.

It was the middle of the night when one of them broke in, snarling and rotten and climbing up her with rotten teeth. A hoard had followed, swiftly overtaking the house. The curtains were pulled from the windows with ragged fingernails.

She had tipped the bottles of kerosene over in the fight, drawing the hoard to the center of the house, before making a break to dash outside. She lit the end of a rag soaked in a liquor bottle and threw it to the house. The few that followed her outside were slain in a moment, but she knew more would come. She stood still for a moment, becoming a witness and watching the fire before her. Her feet pushed her tired body through the snow, sprinting westward through the night at an unstoppable pace, her lungs burning and threatening to burst.

Evening passed and morning came - that was the last day.

—

It was the smell he noticed first, nose crinkling at its harshness as he and Ellie walked through the woods. There’s this smell, like rainwater, burnt grass, burning plastic and, rotting wood, rotting… something. The smoke from a burning fire had been wafted through the air and into the woods where the two of them were.

“What’s that smell?” Ellie said, nose turned up in equal disruption. “Is something on fire?”

“Yeah,” Joel responds, a brief cloud of smoke catching his eye above the treeline. It doesn’t hit him at first, a sense of nervousness slowly washing its way over him. It breeches upon him like a warm wave, begging to drag him under. The forceful movement of his legs is the only thing keeping himself from sinking into the feeling.

They break from forest, the treeline receding from them in the background, as they further themselves into a clearing that has since been overgrown with brush. Joel comes to a halt, Ellie almost bumping into his backside with her lack of attention, before she stands right outside his peripheral.

A feeling Joel hasn’t felt in many years overwhelms him. It creeps through him at first, an icy cold freezing its way through the veins of his arms. Paralyzed and eyes wide, his heart thumps heavily in his chest. His eyes scan the doubly deserted town in front of him, the town in the middle-of-nowhere Nebraska that he, Tommy, and Lianne had built a safe house in. The safe house that lingered at the edge of the town, just far enough away and just close enough. The safe house that was now a smoldering ash, the roof of it collapsed in on itself, smoke from past flames lingered in a plume.

Joel begins to break through the brushed clearing, Ellie instinctually following him as he pushes his thick legs through the tangled vegetation. She only fell still when Joel’s pacing became incessant, his face locked in a scowl as his brows folded over his eyes, but the whites of his eyes still showed in panic. She stood there watching, helpless, as Joel’s racing mind materialized into endless, pacing circles around the crumbling house.

Charred, black bodies littered the foundation of the exposed house. Joel’s gut began to churn at his inability to tell if they had been infected or not. Or if she could be one of them.

Ellie’s incessant badgering of unrelenting questions barely registered to Joel, her words brushing over him as his ears rang.

“Was your wife supposed to be here?” Ellie called to Joel, and he finally stood still.

His haunched hackles pulled back as he squared his chest, lifting his head taller, as her words finally hit him. His glowered lifelessly into the distance, vision focusing on nothing as the edges of it fuzzed black, before he turned around to march back to Ellie. His shoulder brushed hers, and at his closeness Ellie could finally see the blacks of his eyes.

“We’re done here,” he growled as he pushed past her. And she’s right on his tail again, questions picking back up from where they left off, even though she knew she’d only be answered with silence. But still, she persists.

He continues to march them westward into the dipping sun, not stopping when Ellie begs for him to let them rest for the night. He’s silent, the crunch of dried leaves and feet on hard snow drowning out Ellie’s voice to his deaf ears.

It elicits something in Ellie, the smallest prick of fear not about Joel, but for Joel. When they’d lost Tess, Joel had remained silent until Ellie confronted him, urging him to work out his shit. But now was different; the air around him was hostile, walls never seen before barricading him from her. There was no key to unlock Joel, no way to break down that wall he unknowingly forced back up. The strongest of flames couldn’t lick away at his walls.

With Joel pushing them as far into the night as he can, Ellie fears he might not make it back from this one. It doesn’t get him until the next day, a fearsome grip clasping around his heart and squeezing with a vice so strong it has him gasping for breaths. He’s doubled over, hand resting on a tree as he grips at his jacket in an attempt to relieve his lungs. Ellie’s panicked words are drowned out by the sudden ringing of his ears.

I’m okay, he mumbles repeatedly, trying to convince himself as he levels his breathing.

“But are you okay?” Ellie asks, her voice finally breaking through to him. “Because just a reminder that if you’re dead, I’m fucked.”

Joel only grumbles a response, something that sounds like he’s okay, that it was just the cold air all of a sudden. Ellie watches him rise from the tree, her heart pounding just as quickly as Joel’s. It created a fear in her, one that sparked as a tiny flame in her chest, and she wouldn’t let it grow further than that, not wanting it to burn the whole forest down and take the two of them with it.

—

Joel held his brother in his arms. When Tommy was born, Joel was one of the first to hold him. The immediate sense of protecting and belonging overtook him then, holding his tiny brother in his arms. The world gave Tommy to Joel to protect and to save, and Joel will kill to succeed.

He held his brother in his arms now, again, decades later in the middle-of-nowhere Wyoming. A hug like the first, of love and disbelief, and of never knowing of the chance to do it again. Joel had found his brother, after months of on-foot travel across the country, he found his brother, and the hope that came with it glistened brightly in his eyes.

And now, Tommy was taking care of Joel. Filling his stomach with warm food, welcoming the young girl Joel traveled with with generous hospitality, and letting him relax in the protection of Jackson.

“How ‘bout a tour?” Tommy asks, finally, the question gnawing at him since his brother arrived. Tommy’s wife, Maria, had sat rigid next to him, eyes staring Joel down. The tension rose in him gradually as he watched his brother and Ellie scoop copious amounts of food into their mouths. “Somethin’ I think you’re gonna wanna see.”

Tommy and Maria led the way down the main street of Jackson, Joel and Ellie lingering a few paces behind them as they followed. Dozens of people lined the street, shop owners leaning against the entrances to their stores as they lazily waited for customers. Shouts of children down the street were cheery and free. Joel’s senses were in overdrive, vision becoming tunnel-like as he tried to focus on what Maria was saying.

“So are you, like, in charge?” Ellie speaks up as they pass what Maria told them was a church of multifaith.

“No one person’s in charge,” Maria begins to explain. “I’m on the council. Democratically elected, serving 300 people, including children. Everyone pitches in. We rotate patrols, food prep, repairs, hunting, harvesting. Everything you see in our town… the greenhouses, livestock, is all shared. Collective ownership.”

“So, uh,” Joel chirps up. “Communism.”

“Nah,” Tommy lets out with a scoff. “Nah, it ain’t like that.”

“It is that,” Maria interjects matter-of-factly. “Literally. This is a commune. We’re communists.”

Tommy hesitantly looks back at Joel, casting a dejected gaze towards the ground. Joel’s eyes glint with amusement, casting a smirk towards his grimacing brother.

“Tommy!” A voice calls from somewhere behind them. “Wait up a second!”

Joel swears he’s made it up, the voice calling for Tommy only in his head. It’s a voice Joel would know anywhere. Even in death he would have the melodic voice memorized, praying it would be the last sound he heard. It sounded foreign at first, like a long lost memory that lingered on the tip of his tongue leaving a heavenly aftertaste. Only, he heard this voice in his dreams, kept it with him daily in fear of ever forgetting.

Tommy was the first to turn to face the calling of his name, and Joel the second, eyes scanning the town square to see where the possible voice came from.

A woman stands on the other side of the square, hand raised in the air in a wave. Her cheeks are rosy and full, pulled up into a smile, and her eyes twinkle in the sunshine. When she knows Tommy sees her, she turns to quickly finish a conversation with a man next to her before making her way towards them.

When her gaze shifts from Tommy to his brother, she freezes in her tracks, the small smile fading quickly as her face goes pale.

Joel’s heart thuds loudly in his ear and his tunnel vision returns, locking on her. He blinks, convinced she’s a mirage, a hallucination, an angel appearing before him. But she stays planted, and Joel feels faint. A blush creeps along the tips of his cheek, turning him crimson and his neck begins to burn.

He remembers her, all those years ago, an unknowingly frightened thing in the road, eyes glistening as her hands shook with her emptied pistol. How she had been a complete shell of any part of her that used to be.

She stands there, now, put together, and from a distance is seemingly untouched. Her cream, knitted turtleneck stands out compared to the navy canvas jacket that blends in with the darkened buildings of Jackson. Her dark hair curls around her shoulders as if she’s taken the time to put a curling iron to it, scarce strands of silver wisp their way through it.

Her breath had hitched in her throat, before becoming almost ragged as she took small, stuttered gasps.

Their hearts stutter in their chests like two doves in two cages, screaming to be let out. The rhythm pushes against their chests, pulling at their ribs to finally move their feet forward. Joel doesn’t move until she takes her first steps, and his knees buckle under him as he finally steps towards her. His feet land heavily on the ground below, but he feels as if he’s walking on air.

Two waves crash against each other, tectonic plates shifting in the core of the earth, as the two of them finally collide. Limbs wrapping around them, hands latching into place to hold each other close.

“The house-” Joel starts, pulling back to let his eyes desperately search hers as he holds her face in his hands.

“I know,” Lianne gasps. “The radio- You stopped-”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Joel whispers, only to her, hands desperately brushing the hair out of her face to make sure she’s still real. “I left a message…”

“It doesn’t matter,” she smiles the smallest, most gentle smile, and oh, how his world spins. A smile not seen in years, a smile that shines bright, a smile that pulls at her cheeks and pulls the corners of her eyes into crinkles. A smile that has Joel’s eyes shining with the beginning of unfalling tears.

He knew he had no right to touch her, crave her like air, but he did both. And when he put his mouth on hers, he recognized the taste of her, like she’d been made just for him. And he kissed her. He kissed her with all the power he could muster, making up for the months, weeks, days, minutes, seconds their lips hadn’t been touching. And finally, finally, it felt like her world was no longer burning around her. The forest fire within her subdued in his arms.

“Why didn’t you tell me about her as soon as we got here?” Joel asks Tommy, brows furrowing in mock-frustration, but the curl at the corners of his lips says otherwise.

“Figured we should get some food in ya first,” Tommy says with a slight smile. “Didn’t want the old man collapsin’ on us.”

“We can give you two some time to catch up,” Maria says, her smile friendly but her gaze still hesitant towards Joel. “Make that man get a shower. I’ll take Ellie to our place where she can freshen up, get some warm clothes.”

Joel’s focus remains solely on Lianne, he doesn’t hear Ellie’s quiet and confused protest when she calls out his name.

“You’ll be fine,” he says softly, finally turning his gaze to the young girl. She still stands there, frozen, with Maria gesturing for her to follow. “Go on, you’ll be fine.”

“Wait,” Lianne murmurs, barely above a whisper as her eyes finally connect on Ellie’s hunched figure. Lianne’s eyes gleam in interest as they gauge from the young girl and then back to Joel. She nods to Ellie as she asks, “Who’s this?”

Joel turns, almost too quickly, to look at Ellie. Her face is pale with nervousness, cheeks rosy from the chilled air. She’s looking at Joel with pleading eyes, silently begging him for some kind of reprieve as her thumb picks at her ratted glove.

“Ellie,” Joel says softly, the whisper of a smile in his voice. “Lianne… This is Ellie. Ellie…” Joel’s voice falls short, head turning as he looks back to Lianne to make sure she’s still there. “This is Lianne… my wife.”

“Oh…” Ellie murmurs, brows raising in realization. “Well, shit. You didn’t say she was-”

“Ellie-” Joel grunts at her in disapproval, but the sweetening sound of the laugh from the woman next to him has his gaze pulling to her again. Lianne gently brushes past him, a faint but warm smile radiant on her lips, and gently sticks her hand out as she reaches the young girl.

“Hi, Ellie,” Lianne says gently. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Ellie’s voice is barely above a murmur as she greets Lianne in response, eyes casting down towards where their hands meet.

“How’d you get on Joel’s good side?” Lianne asks the young girl, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Ellie only smiles awkwardly, eyes shifting past Lianne towards Joel.

“I’ll explain,” Joel says. “Later.”

Maria approaches Ellie again, continuing to lead her away from Joel and Lianne. Joel only gives Ellie a nod, reassuring her that she’s safe with Maria. Lianne quietly leads Joel back to her house, a house that she can’t help thinking of the possibility of becoming a home with Joel.

“So,” Lianne finally says, a gleam in her eyes as she turns in Joel’s direction. “Who’s Ellie?”

Joel rubs at his hands, thinking of a response to give her. So, he tells her that Ellie’s cargo, some Firefly big-wig’s daughter he’s taking out west. He lies to her, and she knows it. It will have to do, for now.

“Surprised Tess ain’t with y’all,” Lianne responds simply. She teases him by adding, “Before I left, told her to keep you in check while I was gone.”

Joel slows his steps before finally coming to a stop. Lianne continues a few paces before turning back to check on Joel. Her smile fades when she clocks his expression. His brows are furrowed again, eyes not willing to meet hers as he casts them away to his feet. When he finally meets her gaze, his dark eyes are soft and somber, pools of regret swimming through a current to beg for forgiveness. A grip takes its place around his throat, tightening until it choked him.

When his eyes meet hers, she knows Tess is gone. And all she can do is nod.

“How?” She asks.

“Got bit,” Joel finally pulls the words from himself. “Saved me and the kid, though.”

“Good,” Lianne responds again with a nod. “That she saved you.”

Joel nods, too.

“Bill and Frank, too,” Joel says. “Got your message ‘bout you stayin’ there, thought I’d stop by too with the kid after… Tess. See if you’d maybe be there. Bill left a letter.”

Lianne stands quietly for a moment, grinding her teeth and chewing the inside of her lip.

“I’m sorry,” Joel offers, quietly.

“Me too,” is all she says as she nods again, before turning to lead him further down the street to her house. “Frank was in pretty bad shape when I was there.”

It’s a two-story house, like the one in Austin. Unlike the house in Nebraska, the porch doesn’t wrap all the way around the four sides of the structure. Instead, the dark fencing of the wooden porch is shortened to cover half of the front of the house, stopping where it connects with gray paneling. Another porch matches this one on the back of the house, facing a well-sized backyard and renovated garage. A white picket fence outlines the perimeter of the property, and Lianne had chuckled when she first moved in at the idea of that cherry-pie kind of life.

Lianne leads Joel in through the front door and the smallest hint of clean laundry mixed with old coffee wafts through the air to soak into Joel. It could make him breathless, the trigger of a memory of their home in Austin flashing briefly before him, only to be replaced by the dim surroundings of this unfamiliar structure.

“Do you, uh, wanna shower or anything?” Lianne finally speaks, scratching mindlessly at a spot on her cheek. “Not sayin’ you need one or anything.”

“‘S a good idea,” he replies quietly. “I’d appreciate that.”

Lianne only nods and leads him up the staircase to the second floor. She pushes a door open on the right, and a sunlit room with a simple spread is on the other side. A bed with linen sheets and a blue patterned quilt, a pile of worn clothes tossed over a chair in the corner.

Her bed is made, only one side sloped in and the edges ruffled, while the other side lay perfectly neat and barren. A side saved for him.

“I feel like all this ain’t really mine,” she says, almost as if she’s explaining her tidiness. “Gotta keep it lookin’ nice for Maria.”

Joel chuckles softly, a whisper of a laugh, watching her sweep a hand over the quilt to soothe out a wrinkle, before she’s back in front of him.

“So,” she starts again. “Who really is Ellie?”

“She’s immune,” the words are out of his mouth before he can even think to hold them in. His eyes widen in panic, while Lianne’s stay calm and curious.

“To what?” She asks, just a breath away from a confused chuckle.

But Joel stays silent, and her brow furrows.

“She’s immune,” she repeats his words slowly back to him.

“It was Marlene,” Joel starts, mouth moving faster than his braind. “She hired us to smuggle her to some Fireflies. I’ve seen the bite on her arm. I’ve seen her get bitten. And that was months ago. She’s immune.”

Lianne only stares at him, his words rolling through her head like a pearl. He can see the gears turning behind her eyes, the scale of judgment of belief or disbelief. His heart pounds in his chest, that fear coming over him again in an icy grip.

“Okay,” Lianne replies. Her voice is soft, eyes warm again as she looks up at Joel. “So what’s next?”

“I don’t know,” Joel breathes, the words falling from him on a gasp.

“Okay,” she says again.

She reaches instinctively to help Joel from his canvas jacket, fingers gently pulling the fabric from him as if the slightest move would spook him like a wounded animal. His gaze follows her movements, soft eyes never blinking her away as he continues to track her. She finally slips the sleeves off his wrists, and the broad expanse of his shoulders takes her breath away. When she finally looks up to meet his eyes, they reflect that same longing and lonesome she’s found herself in since September. The softness of his dark eyes remind her of October, of a chill that can only be subdued by the warmth of him.

She puts her hands on either side of his face, and the room falls away. Joel had always gotten lost in the kisses shared between them, but never quite like this, like a fever taking its grip. And then, the space between them explodes. His heart keeps missing beats and his hands cannot bring her close enough to him. He tastes her and realizes he’s been starving and it burns him alive.

Maybe it lasts a minute, maybe it’s an hour. Joel only knows this kiss, how soft her skin is when it brushes against his, and that even if he did not know it until now, he had been and would continue waiting for her forever.

“I should shower first,” Joel whispers as he forces himself away from her lips. His forehead remains pressed heavily against hers, just as his fingers dig into her hips.

“I don’t care,” she whispers back, latching herself onto him once more before he can pull further away.

His hands are back on her, cupping her face to hold her closer, breathing her in, trying to clear away the fear that she’s not real. She maneuvers them closer to the bed, Joel shoving off her blue suede jacket as her hands push and pull and search across his flannel. Her hands only leave him to pull her turtleneck off and throw it to the floor, revealing a haphazardly buttoned white blouse.

Closer to the bed, she’s pushing him gently to sit, and he obliges. In quick timing, but not quick enough for Joel, she straddles him. His hands immediately land on her waist, strong and heavy, and he pulls her closer on his lap. His hands lose themselves in her hair, entwining themselves with it to pull her into his mouth.

She kisses him ravenously, the want of each other in the way of flesh wanting to knit itself together over a wound.

She wondered if he had hated her, when she first left Boston. If he hated her for leaving him there alone, no family but Tess, without the only thing to keep fighting for. If he hated her for her short and shitty messages she left him, or the shitty excuse she gave when she left. She wondered if he hated her, and prayed that she’d never know the answer.

She pulls the white button-up tauntingly slowly from her shoulders, the warm sun illuminating her exposed chest as he watches her. A stab of hunger came over him, and he found nourishment in the very sight of her. The blouse drops to the floor behind her, and her chest expands with a pull of wanton air.

His fingers reach up, ghosting along the skin of her chest to leave goosebumps in their wake. He has to drag his eyes to meet hers, and when she sees them they’re black and hungry. His hands wrap around her waist, eyes never leaving hers, as he grips her close to him and flips her over onto her back. She’s pinned between him and the mattress like a flower pressed in a book.

His lips are on her chest, hungry, wet kisses covering the skin there. He loved her like a rotten dog, drooling and painting and messy. Loved her like his canines were falling out of his gums; like a monster, like a beast.

She’s wrestled him out of his clothes, the tip of his throbbing cock nudging against the inside of her thigh. He had rocked himself into her hundreds of times, thousands even. Each time different from the last, and just as good as the first. It presses into her wetness, and he holds back from sinking his teeth into her. He could let go right now, just having her underneath him again. She keens for him, hips begging to be split.

Their bones whisper to each other: Where have you been?

I’ve been lost but I’m here now. You’re the only person who has ever been able to find me.

His body is on fire, a fever taking over him as he finds himself nestled within her. The tip of him kisses the deepest part of her, over and over, and she’s panting beneath him. Her hands latch themselves in his hair, grounding herself to him as he loses himself in her.

The air is hot and sticky, suffocating in the small space between them. The airway is narrow, any breath reaching their lungs a soothing relief.

She says his name, over and over, like it’s the only word written on the pages. Three more heavy thrusts and she’s undone, unbinding herself as she comes around him. Her hand claws into his shoulder, pushing him away and holding him close. Sharp gasps are pushed from her chest, and he breathes them into himself as he rests his cheek against her own. Her back arches, breasts pushing further into his chest. Her pussy squeezes his cock, and the haze in her eyes has him coming inside her.

He nestles his cheek against her chest, hips coming to a slow still as he stays inside her. A lazy hand runs through his hair, the sweat-damp strands cooling to her rough fingers. They let each other rest, soaking each other in, leaving mindless kisses on each other’s skin.

He finally pushes himself off of her, taking the weight off her chest. He rolls to his side away from her and runs a hand down his face. A soft chuckle comes from her behind him, and he looks over his shoulder to see her flushed state. A smirk grows across his face, and she runs her hand down the length of his back. When her hand leaves him, she pulls her arm back to herself, a solemn look overtaking her features.

Joel’s smirk drops, a slight frown creasing his brows.

“What?” He calls to her softly.

“I just want to forget,” she says quietly, arms crossing over her stomach.

“What do you want to forget?” he asks, voice soft as he still looks at her over his shoulder, fingers reaching out to trace the edge of her face.

Everything. She wants to forget ever leaving Joel, every moment that had passed without him near her. She only wanted to know Joel, to breathe Joel, to feel Joel.

He watches her eyes, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her swollen lips, eyes never leaving her face.

“How can you even forgive me?” She whispers, and he pulls away from her only to look in her eyes, nose bumping gently against hers, and her chin tips up achingly for the return of his lips. He drags his lips to her forehead, planting a kiss on her damp skin.

“Because I thought about you,” Joel responds. “Every day and every night. You know there’s nothing you could do that I wouldn’t forgive you for.”

His lips return to her skin, nipping gently at the skin of her jaw. She was his darling, never to be unloved by him, too well tangled with his soul.

And they make love again - Lianne used to say as she would tease Joel in fake mockery at his use of the term - until the room became golden and the sun hung lower in the sky, hot tears slipping from the edges of her eyes down to her ears to make their home on the pillow. Until she was able to forget.

—

Tommy had been the one to interrupt their brief bubble of paradise, his fists knocking on the front door and luring the two of them down the staircase. That’s how Joel found himself sitting in a bar, the Tipsy Bison, running his hands over the wooden counter, his girl sat at his side while his brother poured him a drink, for the first time in since who knows when.

“Been a long time,” Joel murmurs, mostly to himself, as he continues to admire the handiwork of the bar top.

“So, what’s up with the kid?” Tommy asks, unable to hold in his curiosity.

Joel takes a sip from the glass in front of him, the bite of it burning down his throat with a wince.

“Tryna find her family somewhere out here,” another lie. “I was headin’ in this direction anyway, so…”

“Really?” Tommy asks, brows raising in surprise. “Goodness of your heart?”

Joel stares aimlessly into his glass, and Lianne shifts in her seat next to him before swallowing her drink.

“There’s a payment,” Joel says gruffly. “So, you know where they might be? These Fireflies?”

Tommy shakes his head slightly at his older brother, the smallest hint of disbelief laced across his face.

“Well,” Tommy starts with a sigh. “Heard they got a base down at the University of Eastern Colorado. It’s a week’s ride south. But it is severely fucked up between here and there. Infected… Raiders… It’s not exactly an easy trip.”

“It’ll be easy for us,” Joel says immediately, looking between Lianne and his brother who remains behind the bar. “Seeing as how you can headshot infected from half a mile away. Which is a bunch of bullshit, by the way.”

Tommy finally takes a slow, long sip of his drink, gulping it down harshly with gritted teeth. He slowly shakes his head.

“Yeah, I can’t go,” he says slowly, eyes peering up through his lashes at his brother, afraid of his reaction.

“Oh, come on,” Joel persists. “I made it across the country. The three of us can make it from here to Colorado.”

Tommy only sighs, looking briefly at Lianne with eyes pleading for help.

“Hey,” Joel says harshly, getting Tommy’s attention back on her. “What, cause your wife won’t let you?”

“Joel,” Lianne’s voice calls to him from his side, a warning in her voice to cool it down.

“She the one that kept you off the radio? Is that why you stopped messaging me back?” Joel presses.

“They’re good people,” Tommy finally interjects. “Didn’t have to take me in, but they did. All they ask is that we follow their rules. They’re very protective of this place, is all. And for good fuckin’ reason.”

“No, I heard,” Joel bites. “Wrong people might show up… Is that what I am? Am I the wrong people?”

“Joel,” Lianne warns again, this time with a sigh.

“Those things I did,” Joel can’t help the river of relentless words that spill from him. “Tommy, those things that you judge me for, I did those things to keep us alive.”

“We did those things,” Tommy agrees. “But they weren’t ‘things.’ We murdered people. And I don’t judge you for it. We survived the only way we knew how, but there were other ways. We just weren’t any good at ‘em.”

Joel rubs a hand down his face, rubbing the gruff hair that lines his jaw. When he opens his mouth to respond, Tommy interjects.

“I’m gonna be a father,” Tommy says, letting it out as if he had been holding his breath.

And Joel freezes. He lets his head drop, letting it shake back and forth as he lets out a scoff. Tommy’s face turns red, and his jaw clicks as he squints his eyes at Joel.

“You know what?” Tommy says harshly. “Just because life stopped for you… Doesn’t mean it has to stop for me.”

Lianne snaps her attention towards Tommy, mirroring him in a squint of disbelief. Joel only remains silent. His eyes go cold as he swallows the rest of his drink, the glass landing heavily back onto the countertop as he pushes himself up from his stool.

“We’ll grab some supplies and be outta your hair in the mornin’,” he grunts before pushing his way to the door of the bar.

Lianne stays planted, gaze remaining piercing on Tommy. His head is hung lowly in instant regret, eyes peering up to meet Lianne’s gaze. Neither of them say anything, and Lianne has to steady herself from flaring smoke from her ears. She pushes herself from her spot at the bar, making her way to follow Joel.

“Lianne,” Tommy calls after her.

“Don’t,” she stops him, boots heavy on the wooden floorboards as she continues her way outside.

Joel isn’t far from the entrance of the bar when she finds him. He’s bent over, hand gripping the wooden post of a street light right outside the bar. Lianne’s pace quickens as she approaches him, her heart dropping to her stomach when she sees the pale state of him. He’s breathing heavily, fast and gasping breaths fogging in the Jackson sunlight.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Lianne murmurs, immediately resting her hand on his back. “Joel, what’s going on?”

Joel’s hand that’s gripping his chest latches on to her, finding the nearest part of her to bring her closer and hold himself steady. His eyes were glazed, but the tears from the stinging cold kept them sparkling in the sun. He can’t hear her ask if he’s okay, the panic slicing through her voice, his ears ringing again as they did in the woods. Her hand replaces where his was pressed on his chest as she begins to rub soothing circles, trying to get him to stand upright to better get breath in his lungs. She watches his eyes, noticing their locked on something further away, so she follows his gaze. When his breathing finally steadies, Lianne catches a glimpse of a head of dark curly hair amongst a group of people further down the way, and her breath hitches for a moment. The woman in the town center bends down, handing something to a little girl with the same hair. Lianne’s heart breaks when she turns back to Joel.

“I thought the same thing when I first got here,” she says softly, watching Joel take full breaths. “But she really doesn’t look anything like her.”

“She could’ve, though,” Joel finally says, and it breaks Lianne further.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” she whispers.

“I’m okay,” he says, trying to reassure himself. “It’s okay.”

—

Later in the night, the two of them found themselves in a tiny storefront, renovated into a shoe repair shop that was almost always empty. Joel had wanted to fix his torn boots himself, the soul of them peeling from the bottom to reveal his toes. Lianne had insisted she could trade something for a better pair for him, but he refused and refused, insisting he could fix them himself. Joel hadn’t seen Ellie all day, accidentally allowing her to get scooped up by Maria and roped in to a community movie night at the town’s center.

A swift breeze of the cold night air swept through the store as the door opened, a bell jingling as Tommy appeared through the threshold. He smiled awkwardly as he approached the couple, his shoulders tense as he kept them close to his ears and his hands in his pockets. Lianne turned to return his smile before resuming her watchful position on Joel.

“The guys said I might find you here,” Tommy says as he continues his way over to them, steps slow with caution as he approaches his brother.

Joel looks up to look at his brother, but quickly resumes the work on his boots.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” Tommy continues with a sigh. “I don’t even believe it. It’s complicated for you… And I’m sorry.”

Joel stays silent, this time giving a look to Lianne who quirks an eyebrow at him in return.

“So you gonna let me off the hook, or what?” Tommy presses.

“This ride to the university,” Joel speaks up suddenly. “Is it a suicide mission?”

Tommy doesn’t answer right away. He looks to Lianne, his composure slightly taken aback in the shift of conversational direction.

“No…” Tommy starts slowly. “It’s dangerous, but it’s nothin’ you can’t handle. Just prepare and do what you do.”

“You’ve had people go that way and come back?” Joel asks again.

Tommy nods. “All of ‘em,” he responds, crossing his hands over his chest. “What is this?”

And Joel tells him, from the beginning. That the leader of the Fireflies hired him and Tess to smuggle her out. After Tess, it was just the two of them. And in Kansas City, Ellie had to save Joel. His face fell suddenly, paling at the memory, eyes growing glassy with tears. He froze then, words coming to a halt, just as he did that afternoon. Just as he did in Kansas City.

“I was so afraid,” he mutters. “I’m not who I was. I’m weak.”

It takes everything in Lianne to not break at the sight, to hold his sweet face in her hands and kiss away the worries. Her heart thrums loudly in her chest, drowning out the sounds of Joel’s words as he continues.

“You want me to take her,” Tommy says, face soft in understanding.

“I’m just gonna get her killed,” Joel says, voice breaking as he forces the words from his mouth. “I know it. I have to leave her.”

Tommy and Lianne share a knowing look, the conversation having gone in a direction they are too familiar with.

“This is your chance to bring your kid into a better world,” Joel continues, eyes pleading and voice begging. “You’re younger than me, still strong. You said it yourself, you’ll come back. You have to take her.”

Tommy sighs, looking around the room before his eyes fall to the floor.

“Tommy, you’re the only one I trust. It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask of you, I swear.”

Tommy looks back to his brother, then to his brother’s wife. She looks equally as broken as Joel, her gaze never leaving him, with her lips turned in a hard frown.

“I’ll take her out at dawn,” Tommy replies.

Back in the house, voices are raised behind the walls, anger laced and spitting with venom. And all Lianne can do is pace her bedroom. She chews on the nail of her thumb, heart pounding as she waits for Joel to return to the room. The voices grow louder, until they’re finally silent.

A door slams, and heavy footsteps grow louder as they step down the hallway.

The door to Lianne’s room swings open, Joel’s gaze falling on her as her pacing comes to a stop. He slowly closes the door, latching it softly behind him.

He slowly brushes past her, squeezing her hand in passing, before planting himself on the edge of the bed. His head hangs, his hands rubbing circles into his eyes as he rests them on his knees.

“Joel,” she says quietly, kneeling in front of him. Her hands rest on his knees before coming up to rub along the length of his arms.

“I have you,” Joel says suddenly, his eyes pleading to her, his voice trying to convince himself. “That’s all I need.”

“I don’t think that’s as true anymore, Joel,” she says softly, a knowing gleam in her eyes, and his gaze falls to his lap. “You need that little girl, Joel. Just as much as she needs you. You gotta see this through with her.”

“I just got you back,” Joel replies, voice cracking under the weight of his words. “I can’t leave you again. Ain’t lettin’ you outta my sight.”

Her crumpled face mirrors his own, eyes glossy and brows furrowed, as she takes his face in her hands. The rough pad of her thumb ghosts over the dry skin of his cheek, and he can’t help but close his eyes at the feeling.

“Then I’ll come with you,” Lianne says, her words definitive. “If you’re sure that’s what you’d need, I’ll go with you.”

He takes her hands from his face, running over the lines of her palm that etch across her skin before softly planting his lips onto her calloused palms.

Lianne laid on her stomach, head fuzzy with sleep. Joel’s hand was splayed on her back, resting lightly above her hip. But he was ridgid next to her. The quiet of Jackson made his head buzz, the ceiling above him swirled in his vision.

She rolled her head towards him, a soft hum radiating from her as she pulled herself closer to his warm body.

“Sleep,” she mumbled, pulling him into her. “It’s safe here.”

She knew what he was feeling, a bit all too well. Like the walls would fall away and they would be back in the middle of the woods, exposed to the elements and the Infected, one twig snap away from a nearing death.

“You can sleep,” she says. “Sleep in my arms.”

He felt warm and familiar. He felt solid and safe. But there was something different about him after all their time apart. A man changed, a man who now had less anger in his heart. An anger that had festered for so long, entwining itself with him, that had now been replaced by something all together different. She wanted to cling to his shirt, bury her face into the warm curve of his neck, and never let go. She kissed his neck and shoulders, feeling faint from loving him so much.

Lianne woke up while it was still dark. Joel had only stirred briefly as she left the bed, quickly falling back asleep once he heard the running water of the shower, the smell of her lingering on her pillow lulling him to sleep.

It was the toss of her towel on her empty spot in the bed that jerked him awake, eyes snapping wide as he remained frozen. His side of the bed dipped behind his back as her fingers ran softly down his arm. He turned with a groan, reaching out to land his hand on her waist.

“Get a groove on, Miller,” she said softly, hand now brushing the hair from his face.

“‘Time is it?” He groaned again. “‘S still dark.”

“Almost dawn,” Lianne replies in the quiet of the dark. “So get up, get dressed. We’re goin’ to the stables.”

That was half an hour ago. The golden sunrise had begun to creep over the snow-capped mountains. Joel’s breath lingered in the morning air as he contemplated Lianne’s decision.

“I just ain’t sure about this,” he says, hands still adjusting the straps of the saddle.

“At least give her the choice,” Lianne tries to persuade.

Only another moment of silent shuffling passes before the crunches of footfall approach the stable. Tommy and Ellie round the corner, and the young girl stops in her tracks when she sees Joel, a look of disdain weaved over her.

“You came here to say goodbye, or something?” Ellie tosses sharp words in Joel’s direction.

“No,” Joel says as he grinds the toe of his boot into the dirt. “We came here to steal these horses and go.”

“I would’ve given you one,” Tommy chirps with a soft shrug.

“I know,” Joel says, still keeping his eyes to the ground. “Anyway, that was thirty minutes ago, and I guess…”

His voice trails off when he finally raises his eyes to Ellie. Her glare is sharp and her jaw is set.

“You deserve a choice,” he finally says. “I still think you’d be better off with Tommy-”

His words are cut off as Ellie shoves her sleeping bag into his arms.

“Let’s go,” she says bluntly.

Joel nods slowly, a soft and assured okay leaving his lips. He helps Ellie up onto his horse, letting her take the reins as he leads them out of the stable. Lianne follows behind on a horse of her own as they head to Jackson’s main gate.

Tommy gives the three of them directions to the interstate, a small yet knowing smile on his face as he says goodbye to his brother.

Lianne travels quietly alongside Joel and Ellie, taking in the rambling conversations of the young girl and Joel’s short but giving answers to her. Ellie’s convinced him to teach her how to shoot the rifle Tommy gave them, and to Lianne’s unsurprised surprise, Joel has given in to the young girl.

The three of them find themselves in a small, grassy opening off the side of the road. Joel’s set up a target a few dozen yards away with some old socks stuffed with grass, the word ASSHOLE written on it for encouragement. Ellie complains and complains, saying the target’s too small, or the rifle doesn’t aim right. Joel rolls his eyes, arching his brow in discontempt at Lianne who gives him an amused smile. Joel takes the rifle from Ellie, willing to prove it’s just a skill issue. He talks her through the process, words slow and heavy as he readies himself.

“You gonna shoot this thing or get it pregnant?” Ellie asks with a smug smirk, and Lianne can’t help but chuckle quietly from the otherside of Joel. Again, Joel raises his glance to Lianne, a look of disappointment that can’t be wiped from him as Lianne nudges him knowingly with her elbow.

Joel readies himself behind the rifle again, and not a second later has a hole blasted through ASSHOLE. Ellie drops the binoculars she was holding in disbelief, the smug smirk once on her face completely gone and transferred to Joel.

“You dick,” she hisses slowly.

The three continue on horseback, the sun lowering in the sky. Ellie had braved enough to ask Lianne about herself, who she was before the outbreak, how she met Joel (which Joel changed topics immediately), which Ellie followed up with asking Lianne what her role was in the Boston QZ.

Lianne found herself happy to answer Ellie’s questions, giving as much of herself to her as she could. The feeling of making up for lost time had taken hold of her thoughts, feeling she needed to be on the same level of Joel in connection to the young girl.

A warm yellow silhouetted the three, riding over rolling hills and dipping into shallow valleys. Lianne rode ahead of them, stopping atop a high mound of land to take in the sunset. Joel stopped next to her, crinkled eyes softening as he watched her. She sat content on her horse, warm sun dripping off her like honey. She turned to him, cheeks pulling into an equally warm smile as her cheeks rosened. Joel couldn’t help but mirror her smile, and when Ellie peeked out to Lianne from behind Joel, the young girl joined them in a toothy smile.

Ellie could be the hope for all humanity, hope for the future of the world. But the three of them right here, in this sunset, was all the hope Lianne found she needed.

#pd fic #preacher's daughter #Joel miller #Joel miller x female oc #the last of us #Joel miller fic #Joel miller fanfiction #Joel miller smut #Pedro pascal characters #Pedro pascal #Joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #Joel miller angst #Joel miller fluff #Ellie williams #Sarah miller #Tommy miller #Joel miller x reader

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cherrycola27 · 1 year

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Father, Forgive Me

Warnings: Religious AU! Preacher Jake. Cult activities and dark religious themes. Blood, gore, violence, language. Minors DNI. 18+

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Prologue: For I have Sinned

There are a few defining characteristics that one must have to be considered a good leader.

Kind eyes, a bright smile, quick wit, a firm handshake, a charming personality, and a silver tongue that could sell ice to a polar bear. Most people only needed a few of these to be convincing enough for someone to blindly follow them.

But, if someone possessed all of these qualities and topped it off with a southern drawl and movie star face and the wrong intentions, well—they could be downright— deadly.

That's exactly what happened to the good people of Ginger Ridge, North Carolina. A devilishly handsome young reverend rolled into their town. Reverend Smith. He was young, mysterious, —different.

He fixed up the old white church at the top of Ridge Hill. He came to town and invited the people to hear his sermons. At first, he seemed amazing. Charming, caring, sweet. Everyone loved him. No— they adored him—especially the younger folks who seemed lost in their faith.

Soon, he started hosting "special" prayer groups for the lost teens and young adults of Ginger Ridge. Many of the older folks stopped attending after this. They felt like Father Smith wasn't preaching the word to them anymore. They felt like he had changed. His teachings became— darker. They townspeople tried to keep They young folks away from him, but it was no use.

The lost youth continued to flock to him like moths to flame. Blindly holding on to every word he said. In their mind, Father Jonas Smith was the mouthpiece of God, and they would do anything to please them. Maybe that's why after his disappearance, there were over dozen blonde haired, green eyed babes born to some unwed mothers in Ginger Ridge.

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The full moon hung high in the sky that night in the sleepy mountain town of Ginger Ridge. It was peaceful as a warm summer wind blew in through the open windows of the townspeople's homes. That peace would soon be disturbed by the sound screams and cries for mercy as Reverend Smith's "lost youth" carried out his sinister plan.

When the local law enforcement from the next town over was tipped off, they immediately contacted the FBI. Agents came into the small mountain community and couldn't believe their eyes. Blood and bodies of men and women filled the streets and homes. The youth and children were nowhere to be found. Upon further investigation, they were found in the white church at the top of Ridge Hill.

All of them were clothed and singing a sermon in white robes that had been stained and splattered with the crimson red blood of their family and friends.

When they were taken in for questioning, each one said the same thing. "Reverend Smith preached the good word to us. He is truly a prophet of God. Our souls will be welcomed in the Great Hereafter now that the sacrifice has been given." What was even more disturbing than that were the roughly fifteen or so girls between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four who all claimed that they had been extra blessed because they had been selected by God himself to carry the child of Reverend Smith and raise the next generations of prophets.

The FBI attempted to locate Reverend Jonas Smith after that night, only to find that he never existed.

After months of searching for him, the trail went cold, and the case was given to you, Agent Y/N Walters. After a few weeks of digging you did stumble upon a similar case from Massachusetts, except the man believed to be behind it was someone named Father Jackson Simmons and a case from Texas but the person of interests name in that one was James Simon.

You read each file and realized that Jonas, Jackson, and James all had to be the same man. You just had to figure out who he really was and stop him before the events of Ginger Ridge were repeated.

..........

The windows were down on his beat up late eighties model pickup truck as Jake Seresin drove down the highway. He fiddled with the radio station landing on a Beach Boys song as he drove past the "Welcome to California" sign.

The sun was just setting as he pulled into the small seaside motel in the town of Del Angelo. He adjusted his tie and grabbed his duffle bag before exiting his vehicle.

"Good evening." The older woman at the desk greeted him.

"Evening Ma'am." Jake said as he walked up to the counter. He dropped his bag by his feet and set his worn Bible and keys on the counter.

"How can I help you?" She asked him.

"I called yesterday. I have a reservation for the next few weeks under the name Saunders." He said before giving her a wide smile.

"Ah, yes, I remember. Jason Sauders. I have the reservation right here. A room on the third floor, end of the hall, just as you requested." She smiled at him before handing him the key. Jake handed her a large stack of bills and gave her a wink.

"My name is Ethel if you need anything, and if I'm not around, you can ask my husband David or my daughter Mary-Ann." She told him.

"Thank you, Miss Ethel. You know there actually is something you might be able to help me with." He said.

"What's that?" Ethel asked him.

"When I was driving in town, I noticed an old boarded up church. Any idea who I could talk to about fixing it up?" Jake asked her.

"You'd probably need to talk to Mayor Andrews about that. Is there any reason you want to fix up that old place?" She asked him.

"Well, Ethel, my full name is Reverend Jason Sauders, and I was hoping to fix up that church so I could bring the word of God to the people of Del Angelo." Jake told her.

"A preacher? My word, we haven't had one of those here in years. Lord knows we need one. You might be just what we need around here, Reverend Sauders." Ethel beamed.

"I hope so. I know that after I'm finished, Del Angelo will never be the same." Jake smirked at her before grabbing his things and heading to his room. He chuckled to himself, knowing that the first part of his plan had already been put in motion.

Tagging some who might be interested: @thedroneranger @roosterscock @shanimallina87 @desert-fern @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @lovinglyeternal @lovingbradshawafterdark @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @blueoorchid @milestellerlover @katieshook02 @mak-32 @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @ohgodnotagainn @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @potato-girl99981 @djs8891 @roosterbruiser @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @roostette

Hope yall enjoyed my unmedicated ADHD filled dumpster fire

#preacher!jake seresin #cult leader!jake seresin #jake seresin au #cherrycola27 #top gun maverick #top gun #lt. jake seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin smut #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman top gun #tgm smut #tgm fic #tgm #top gun 2

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necramoreux · 1 month

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♱ take me alive. — ch i.: icarus ✶ vampyre!frerard ; (born, not made) — iwtv ; picture of dorian gray ; hannibal ; ethel cain inspired

"frank moan-snarls, pupils flaring to ochre-night, presses his mouth the back of gerard's offered thigh; splits beneath the weight of her foot slipping against the nape of his neck, bends and breaks and breathes; yours, in all things —" ☼

#i hate it i love it i hate it i love it #frerard #mychem #iwtv #mcr #vampire mcr #vampire gerard #vampire frank iero #vampire frerard #it's been so long. be unkind #unholyverse #frerard fic #frerard smut #hannibal #non binary gerard #transfem gerard #lev st. valentine #preacher's daughter

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devourable · 11 months

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im super close to hitting 2k followers n i wanna do smn special for it ! soo :

#preacher’s speak ;; non fic posts #im gonna have this scheduled to rb every day or so till i hit 2k so everyone has a chance to see it #yandere writer #yandere artist

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starzzmissthesun · 3 months

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Guys should write a starkiller fanfic vaguely based on preacher's daughter???

#ethel cain #preachers daughter #starkiller #bartylus #marauders #my fic

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hotchocolatefanfics · 1 day

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Remember my Planet of The Disney Apes fanfic/series from a few years ago? Well, here’s some thoughts that have been roaming around rent-free in my head lately!

Colonel McCullough:

- Still mad that Disney now owns the franchise but shows it by making fun of Disney and Mickey Mouse (referring to him as ‘exaggerated rat’).

- Still resentful at living with and around the very apes he fought, killed or enslaved, but loves to troll and pester them.

- Mostly just an a$$hole who won’t shut up about what happened in War or that Kingdom better not ‘f*ck anything up’.

- Hates Caesar but also wants to impress him…Yeah, he’s obsessed.

- We don’t talk about the ‘party incident’…(go check out @klushund’s Disney Apes fic series on AO3!)

Caesar:

- Tired, numb, doesn’t give a sh!t anymore, just goes with the flow

- But first, coffee.

- Nothing surprises him anymore…Except maybe the lengths McCullough will go to annoy the apes or the times when Preacher accidentally roasts the Colonel.

- Legit doesn’t care that Kingdom exists “I’m dead anyway”.

- Reluctant peacekeeper but still a force to be reckon with!

Preacher:

- Still follows the Colonel but has moved on since War.

- Is more than happy to just have cookies with apes for eternity if it means no more fighting or chaos.

- Stuck in the middle when Caesar and McCullough fight. Old habits die hard.

- He both fears and respects McCullough. It’s very complicated!

- Mostly clueless. He’s more naive than evil.

- Somehow always knows where to find the tv remote ‘check the fridge/microwave/laundry room!’

- All he wants to do is build a pillow fort. He never got to do that before. Just once would be enough!

Red:

- Eye roll.

- Petty. Blunt. Smarta$$ jerk.

- Ignores the Colonel’s rants but will watch him and Caesar argue.

- Heavy metal, still has his gun somewhere in his room. Spray paints various ‘I hate Caesar’ and ‘Donkey was here’ on the walls.

- The ape you call when you watch a scary movie to get ideas for how to get back at your enemies or (according to Winter) to kill a spider or creepy crawly in your room.

- Loves stirring the pot by making the Colonel and Caesar sound like fools to the other.

Bonus! Bad Ape:

- ‘Best Day Ever’ song from SpongeBob.

- Has created a whole lore with his plush alligator and the various toys in his toy chest.

- Rocket bakes the cookies for Bad Ape’s tea parties. They’re buddies now!

- ‘Oh no!’ Is still his go-to phrase whenever anything goes wrong.

- Sometimes takes things a little too literally.

- Bad Ape somehow has the power to befriend or be on good terms with everyone around him-even McCullough tolerates him to some degree!

One more thing: I don’t know why it’s Caesar, Red, Preacher and McCullough my brain goes to now when thinking about this AU but I think it has something to do with that scene of them together in the Colonel’s office(?).

Like imagine The Odd Couple but with Caesar and McCullough, mixed with Drake and Josh but with Preacher and Red lol.

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del-stars · 2 months

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i'm just a child, but i'm not above violence // my mama raised me better than that // when the preacher talks, that man demands his silence // and daddy said "shoot first, then run and don't look back"

chapters one and two of the preacher's daughter au have arrived !

#eeeeek #so happy to have released her #chapter two is my magnum opus #fic: preacher's dog #marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #james potter #regulus black #jegulus #marauders fic #mwpp #dead gay wizards #hp #ethel cain

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gothcsz · 5 months

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𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter VII.

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Our main character gets further involved with her other love interest. Javier gets jealous.

WORD COUNT: ~9k

RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: Mentions of religion, i'll say it once and i'll say it again: slow burn, officer!Javi P because i think that's like really hot, Jealous!Javi too, some lore is explained, love triangle, mutual pining, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: hiiiii here's this week's chapter! i just love love LOVE this world and these characters, i rlly hope you all feel the same (: if u see any typos... uhhh... pretend u didn't :p anyways feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰ read on ao3. ♰

♰ playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

True to her word, Paloma fulfills her promise and chauffeurs Sloane home the following afternoon. Their journey is smooth sailing, filled with belting out songs and animated chatter, so much so it seems as though they reach their destination in the blink of an eye.

Nestled far into the horizon, the house resides amidst a vast expanse of parched grassland. Its isolation strikes her immediately, as if it’s purposefully distanced from any signs of civilization. The last notable landmark has faded into the rearview mirror, easily twenty minutes behind them.

“It’s so far from everythin’, how did August know this woman again?” As they draw nearer, she casts her gaze upon the home, curiosity guiding her observations.

Initially, the house appears unassuming, boasting a generous Southern size. Yet as her eyes trace its silhouette, the subtle hints of antiquity emerge, revealing its longstanding presence in the landscape. The intricate detailing, weathered by time, whispering tales of decades past.

Amidst her admiration, a wave of relief washes over her; it’s a stark improvement from the dreary confines of the motel where her friend was staying at.

“He looked after her way back when she lived in Fayette.” Slo answers plainly, releasing her seatbelt as the car halts, its engine settling into a quiet then nonexistent hum. With a fluid motion, she swings the door open and gracefully steps out onto the gravel, stretching her limbs.

Paloma mirrors Slo’s action, sliding on her sunglasses as the sun casts its unyielding rays upon them. The sky stretches endlessly, devoid of any clouds to offer respite. Already, the heat sears against her skin causing beads of sweat to form, clinging to her like a damp embrace.

Immersed in her surroundings, she takes in the scenery when August’s familiar voice draws near. Her attention shifts and a radiant smile illuminates her face as he closes the distance and envelops her in a heartfelt embrace.

“Looks like you hit the jackpot.” She tells him once they pull away, banking on her sunglasses to conceal her admiring gaze as it traces the intricate tattoos adorning his bare arms. His thin undershirt offers a canvas for her to wander, inviting her eyes to linger on the myriad designs. A glimmer of gold catches her attention—a simple chain draping from his neck, the pendant dangling with a symbol unfamiliar to her.

“I keep thinkin’ they made a mistake. M’waitin’ for the other shoe to drop.” He remarks, his head subtly shaking as his blond hair catches the sunlight, casting a radiant glow around him.

“Just enjoy it while it lasts then,” She teases, her hands enfolding his arm as he guides her towards the house. “But seriously, this is a blessin’. Now y’all can all be together again.” He’s told her about the struggles his group has faced. Constantly displaced and unable to be together for months.

Their unconventional religious beliefs had made them outcasts in many narrow-minded towns, branded as some sort of demonic cult by most. It’s quite ridiculous.

“M’gonna go take a shower. You good?” Sloane asks Paloma once they’re inside, a hint of a smirk on her face at her friend’s growing closeness with August.

“I’m fine and in very capable hands.” She jests, playfully nudging him.

With a gracious sweep of his hand, August leads her on the grand tour, showing her all around the property. The outward appearance of this home is deceiving, as its interior dimensions far exceed expectations. It’s fully furnished, with the majority of bedrooms already claimed by members of August’s collective.

She still doesn’t know much about them, only acquainted with the sparse details he’s disclosed to her.

Seeking purpose, these wandering spirits have weathered the scrutiny of their communities for deviating from societal norms. Many among them are runaways or troubled youth, adrift with nowhere else to turn.

August possessed a unique talent for uniting fragmented souls. He wielded his philosophies and unconventional perspectives like a beacon, illuminating pathways to security and a profound sense of belonging for those who agreed to walk alongside him.

Not quite family, but a bond akin to it— a group of individuals capable of rescuing one another.

“Were you and the woman who owned this related?” She inquires with a curious tilt of her head as they descend the large staircase, her hand still encircling his bicep.

“Nah. I used to work at the grocery store back home and she would come in all the time needin’ a lotta help. After a few visits, she asked if I wanted a side gig. Basically just mowin’ her lawn, fixin’ things around her house and what not. I agreed and did that for a few years ‘til she moved away. Hadn’t heard from from her ‘til recently when I was passin’ through Fayette. Her lawyer tracked me down ‘n told me she left all this,” gestures to everything around them, “To me. With a small fortune, too. Turns out she had no other family so she wrote me into her will shortly after I started workin’ for her.”

Paloma absorbs all this information, engrossed entirely. “That’s quite the story. Crazy how an act of kindness years ago ended up in all this. There’s a lesson in there somewhere.” She remarks as they step into the spacious central area of the house, offering a panoramic view of both the front and back yards.

“What goes around comes around, yeah?” A beguiling smile plays across his face as he leads her into the backyard, and her eyes widen in astonishment.

The landscape is strikingly manicured, adorned with tastefully arranged outdoor furniture and a meticulously crafted stone fountain serving as its centerpiece. Not far off lies a sprawling garden, brimming with an array of crops and vegetables. Adjacent to it stands a quaint barn, completing the picturesque scene.

“This is beautiful. Add a few farm animals and this place could be self-sustaining.” She understands the immense effort required to maintain a place like this, but judging by its current state, it seems to have been well cared for. Now that they’re here, she’s confident that August harbors ambitious aspirations to elevate this space into something remarkable.

“We got some pigs, a cow and a few chickens in the barn.” He reveals to her, as if reading her mind, and she’s itching to get a look. She wishes she and her father had the time and resources to have farm animals of their own. Hell they have the land for it.

Just then, a young girl, her demeanor hesitant, approaches August and tells him he’s needed inside.

Paloma’s gaze holds onto her, her appearance suggesting late adolescence. A slight ache grips her heart as she recalls the weighty traumas that drew these individuals together. The realization that someone so youthful has endured immense suffering tugs at Paloma’s sentimentality.

“Be right back. Feel free to look around.” She nods as he separates from her, following the soft spoken girl inside the house.

Driven by curiosity, Paloma wanders about, stooping down to scrutinize the garden’s burgeoning offerings. The sight of the fresh produce ignites a twinge of envy within her. Vegetables have never been her forte, explaining why her home garden mainly boasts an array of flowers.

Suddenly, a flicker of motion catches her attention nearby. Behind her sunglasses, her eyes narrow in curiosity before widening with delight as she discovers a playful kitten leisurely exploring its surroundings.

A large, goofy smile tugs at her lips as she attempts to scoop the animal into her arms to no avail. It scurries away before she can even reach for it.

“C’mere little kitty…” Her voice trails after it as she chases it around, weaving through the area until it darts towards the cellar of the house. Paloma nearly grasps it, but the kitten slips away into the thicket of bushes. Just as she resigns herself to letting it go, a faint voice drifts from behind the weighty cellar doors.

“Hello? Is someone there? Please help me…”

Her brows crease in confusion, struggling to decipher the person’s muffled words. She leans in closer, on the verge of speaking, when the touch on her forearm interrupts her impending words.

A sound of surprise pushes past Paloma’s lips as she swiftly turns her head, her eyes locking onto August. His brows knit together in a puzzled frown as he regards her, then his gaze flicks toward the cellar.

“Whatcha doin’, sweetheart?” He asks, loosening his grip on her arm and she pulls it to her side, straightening her posture.

“I thought I heard, uh, someone askin’ for help.” She stammers, gesturing towards the basement, a sudden unease settling at the base of her spine.

He hums in acknowledgement, eyes not leaving hers. “S’probably someone workin’ on the busted pipe this place came with. Gabriel!” He calls for his friend, who appears seemingly out of nowhere. “Go see if they need anythin’. Paloma heard someone callin’ for help.”

The two men share a silent exchange, their eyes conveying a conversation of their own. Then, with a nod from Gabe, he departs as swiftly as he arrived.

“There’s somethin’ special I wanna show you.” August starts to speak, drawing her focus away from the imposing cellar doors and extending his hand toward her.

She nods in agreement, no longer feeling that pesky unease, intertwining their fingers as he guides her back toward the backyard, but this time leading her to a sprawling greenhouse.

A soft gasp escapes her as the structure comes into view, its presence previously unnoticed. He chuckles softly at her surprised reaction, enjoying her astonishment.

“You like?” He queries as they step inside, and her response is an eager nod, her gaze sweeping across the diverse assortment of plants and flowers with fascination.

Paloma finds herself unable to contain her excitement, delving into a torrent of facts and anecdotes about his greenery. It’s only when she’s passionately discussing azaleas and the challenges she’s facing nurturing the ones she planted earlier in the season that she abruptly pauses, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she realizes she’s been carried away, “Sorry, I didn’t mean t’get all rambly….”

“Don’t apologize little dove. You look so cute like this.” As his fingertips delicately tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she instinctively leans into his tender touch. The endearment he uses makes her heart flutter, her thoughts briefly flickering to Javi as she nervously nibbles on the inside of her cheek.

Not now, Paloma.

“Let me take you out one night baby.” He suddenly says and her eyes widen in surprise.

“You want to go out with me?”

“Of course. Thought I had made it obvious with the way I’ve been throwin’ myself at you.”

Her bottom lip finds itself caught between her teeth, not oblivious to the way he has been coming on to her. Since she had someone else on her mind, she hadn’t really reciprocated any of his advances.

But after the kiss that never happened and the silence that followed, she figures this is exactly what she needs to get over the sting of Javier’s wordless rejection.

“I would love to but everyone in town talks too much and if my dad got word that I was out on a date…”

An undertone of irritation seeps into her words, noticeable even to him, and something flickers in his eyes as he catches onto it.

“Don’t worry about that, okay? I’ll handle it. You just worry about gettin’ all pretty for me, which won’t take much considerin’ how perfect you are.”

A flutter of warmth dances in her stomach at his sweet words.

“Okay… then yes, I’d love to go out with you.”

A handsome expression takes over his countenance, “Perfect. Gotta get some stuff straightened out around here but I’ll call you. Hope I can talk to you before then, though?”

“Slo has my number… if you call and daddy answers just hang up and try again later. Don’t want him goin’ on one of his little tangents.”

A smirk dances on August’s lips, his mischievous urge to test the limits and provoke the sheriff evident. Yet, despite his inclination, he restrains himself, recognizing the strides he’s making with her and unwilling to jeopardize the progress.

“Yes ma’am, anythin’ else I need t’be made aware of? I like my manhood and would like to keep it attached to my person.” He jokes about being castrated by her father and she snorts, rolling her eyes.

“S’all. Don’t take too long ‘straightening things out’. If not I might lose interest.”

His eyes darken at her words despite her playful tone, “You won’t.” August says with a conviction that has her rubbing her thighs together.

“Then it’s a date.” She nods, and they exchange an amorous stare, “I should probably head back. Got some chores I gotta get done but I appreciate you showin’ me around. This is a beautiful place, you’ve really been blessed, August. It’s only up from here.”

“Any time. M’glad you came by today... Oh, and Paloma?” He begins and she shoots him a puzzlingly look.

“Yeah?”

“I think it’s best if we keep this visit a secret between us. We’ve finally got some peace and quiet to be ourselves without being ostracized by the community and we’d like to keep it that way. Many of us ain’t ever had a place to call home so losing this… feeling uncomfortable here would negate all we’ve been working towards.”

She nods, fully understanding how big of a deal this is to all of them and she wasn’t going to be the one to ruin their solace.

“Of course. I won’t tell a soul. The only person I’d consider tellin’ already lives here.” She giggles and his lip quirks up into a small smile.

He leads her back to her car, his hand resting gently on the small of her back, sending a wave of warmth through her. They bid farewell, and as August leans in to place a tender kiss on her cheek, she can’t help but become flustered in response, gazing up at him with a hint of playful affection.

“Don’t forget to call.” She tells him, sliding into the driver’s seat.

He closes the door, leaning down to talk to her through the rolled down window, “I won’t. Just make sure you’re around to answer.” He winks at her, slapping his palm against the top of her car. “Drive safe, little dove.”

Departing from the house, she carries a blend of excitement and nervousness. It’ll be her first genuine date in years, igniting both giddiness and apprehension within her. Throughout the entire ride home, her mind swirls with fantasies about his plans for the evening and the possible outcomes of their time together. Javier pushed to the back of her mind entirely.

When she gets home, she is determined to make the most of the remainder of her day. However, her plans are momentarily halted as she notices a bright colored piece of paper taped to the front door.

POWER OUTAGE IN IMMEDIATE AREA.

RESTORATION APPROX. 9PM.

Well shit, that’s still hours away, and Paloma refuses to suffer through this heat at home with no air conditioning. So, she gathers all the laundry from the house and loads it into her car, making sure to grab her CD player, a book and her journal to stave off boredom. She’ll hang out at the laundromat until tonight, maybe even stop by to visit her father at the station in order to kill time.

The mere thought of encountering Javier sends a whirlwind of thoughts swirling through her mind, momentarily disrupting her focus. Despite the anticipation of potential awkwardness, Paloma resolves to maintain her composure. She makes a silent vow to herself to hold an air of nonchalance, determined to act as if nothing had transpired between them and she wasn’t the least bit affected by their days of silence.

She pulls into the small parking lot of the laundromat, doing her best to haul everything inside in one trip. She struggles at first, her progress hindered by a persistent strand of hair that’s fallen loose from her ponytail. Despite her efforts to brush it aside, the unruly strand stubbornly resettles in front of her face each time. Frustration mounts, prompting a colorful stream of curses to escape her lips.

Using her ass to nudge the door open, she stumbles inside, careful not to topple over entirely and make a fool out of herself.

Once she’s in the small building, a refreshing wave of cool air washes over her, causing goosebumps to form on her skin despite the perspiration from the scorching weather outside.

Turning around, she doesn’t anticipate encountering anyone and nearly loses her grip on everything she’s carrying when she locks eyes with a familiar pair of deep, brown eyes staring back at her.

Javier. Of-fucking-course.

She maintains her silence, averting her gaze swiftly and busies herself with locating a spot on the opposite side from where he stands, this time managing to move her belongings without difficulty.

The gentle hum of the washing machines and dryers in operation fills the space, accompanied by the soft murmur of a soap opera emanating from the small, boxy television perched high in the corner.

Despite the distractions, a palpable tension lingers in the air, accentuated by the weight of his gaze boring into her back as she starts loading one of the machines.

“It’s rude to stare, y’know.” She finally speaks up, unable to resist addressing his intense scrutiny. Turning to face him after finishing her task, she meets his gaze head-on.

Javier knew better than to openly gawk at her the moment she entered, but her unexpected presence caught him off guard. Their lack of interaction since that night at the fair only added to the uneasy atmosphere.

He threw himself into overhauling the department. With Romeo preoccupied by the missing persons case and other matters, he took it upon himself to revamp everything. Implementing a new filing system, acquiring better equipment, and updating certain procedures are just a few tasks amongst the many that became his primary focus. It was a deliberate effort to keep from pursuing her, however he found himself thoroughly enjoying the reorganization because he is good at it.

He had convinced himself that distancing from Paloma was the wisest choice. Initially, the flirtation had been manageable, but as their connection deepened and the lines of intimacy blurred, it became overwhelming.

While it was the rational decision, it wasn’t without its challenges. Despite having plenty to occupy his mind, there remained a palpable void in the absence of her presence. Javier found himself yearning for their casual conversations and lighthearted banter, missing everything about their relationship beyond its romantic aspect.

Amidst his conflicted emotions, Javier grapples with a sense of guilt for harboring feelings towards the daughter of a man he now considers a friend. He witnesses firsthand the toll that the unsolved cases have taken on the sheriff, observing the weariness and frustration. Javier dreads the possible fallout if his involvement with Paloma were ever to come to light; it would undoubtedly wreak havoc.

Yet as he stands there, charmed by the sight of her in her denim shorts and tied-up blouse, he finds himself unable to look away. Despite the weight of his conscience, he can’t help but admire her.

“You’re right. Sorry querida.”

She feels a flutter in her chest as he speaks to her, frustrated that she still reacts like a smitten teenager.

“I’m surprised you even remember me. Figured we were strangers again.” Her words drip with sarcasm, a tinge of bitterness creeping in. That little vow she’d made to herself to keep things nonchalant now swiftly tossed out the window.

“I’ve been tied up at the station.” He begins to explain, which isn’t a lie but also not the entire truth.

Paloma’s soft hum fills the air as her eyes traces his figure, from the crown of his head to the tips of his boots, and a sigh as delicate as a whisper falls from her. The sight of him clad in the effortless ensemble of a plain t-shirt and denim jeans stirs a faint pulse between her legs. Goddamnit.

How ridiculous it is for her to have vowed to keep her distance, agreeing to a date with another man just hours before; only to find herself standing here, unable to resist Javier’s magnetic pull and being drawn back to him by the sheer force of his irresistible attractiveness.

“So you’re not avoidin’ me ‘cause we almost kissed?” Subtly be damned, she allows her words to linger, floating like weightless clouds in the space that separates them. Across the compact room, they share a gaze, locked in a suspended moment pregnant with anticipation where unspoken sentiments hover like whispers.

She can practically hear Sloane fussing at her, their last conversation about him still fresh on her mind.

“It’s obvious what typa man he is. Flirty, handsome, charismatic. Sex on legs— a long trail of broken hearts follow that man.”

A subtle twitch dances along his jawline as she acknowledges the awkward moment, “S’that what all this is about? You think I’m ignoring you because we almost kissed?” Despite that being the case, he maintains a composed facade, a humorless chuckle vibrating through his chest as he shakes his head. “If you missed me, you can just say that.” He teases, testing the waters in attempts to lighten the mood.

Paloma emits a soft snort, a reflex to mask the warmth flooding her cheeks as she averts her gaze, ensuring he doesn’t catch sight of the gentle blush coloring the apples of her cheeks. “As if. Just kinda rude to be a part of a friend’s big moment then ice ‘em out after a heat of the moment mishap.”

His tongue glides over his teeth, a simple gesture as his gaze remains fixed on hers, unwavering. “I wasn’t icin’ you out, princesa.” Javier states smoothly, his words flowing effortlessly despite it still being a lie, “I’ve genuinely been busy as hell. Redoin’ the infrastructure of the department, helping your pops out with the cases. Shitty timing but I’m not dodging you on purpose.”

Paloma contemplates his words, her gaze fixed on his features, searching for any telltale signs of deception. A growing sense of embarrassment floods over her as she reflects on how wrongly she had interpreted his silence. It dawns on her that Javier had merely been occupied with his responsibilities— it was his job, after all. Considering her father’s recent transition to overnight shifts, she can envision how deeply absorbed Javier must be in the process of reevaluating everything.

She conceals her humility. Though inwardly, she chastises herself for allowing her emotions to cloud her judgment, berating her heart for leading the way instead of her (sometimes not so) rational mind.

“So things aren’t weird between us?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Water under the bridge?”

“Water under the bridge.”

A smile curves her lips as she pushes herself away from the running washing machine, slipping her hands into the back pockets of her denim shorts. She saunters over to him, each step purposeful, exuding a quiet yet growing confidence.

“Okay. I guess I mighta jumped the gun a bit…” She admits and he flashes her a knowing smile.

“Just a little.”

It’s unexpectedly simple for them to lie to themselves and each other about the nature of their connection. Whatever manner it takes to get them to this fragile sense of peace; he’ll take.

Finally, Javier can free himself from dwelling on the petty dysfunction between them, self-conscious about his recognition of how much he’s missed having her around.

It was only a week of silence. Can they be any more pathetic?

As she approaches him, however, he can’t help but let those pesky explicit thoughts infiltrate his mind. How he’d love to pull her flush against him, cover her mouth with his and kiss her until they’re both breathless. Grab a handful of her plump ass and perch her on top of one of these machines, feeling her fingers run through his hair as his dug into her hips.

He’d be content with just that, feeling her inviting lips, tasting her lip gloss and nipping at the soft skin until the flesh is swollen due to the passionate exchange.

It’s thoughts like these that make it hard for him to conceal his feelings. Why he initially sought to create space between them, only to find that maintaining distance was more challenging than simply being in her presence.

“Y’know, I actually missed makin’ fun of you.”

“Is that all I am to you? Someone to poke fun at solely for your entertainment?”

“Uh, yeah. I thought that was a mutual understandin’?” She snickers and the tension dissolves entirely as they fall back into their usual limbo.

Javier reassures himself that he can handle this situation with normalcy as he engages in conversation with her while they attend to their laundry. He convinces himself that he can exercise self-restraint and maintain a romantic distance while remaining close to her in a platonic sense. Recognizing their mutual maturity, he sees no reason to let something as trivial as a crush disrupt the budding friendship they both clearly cherish.

He can totally just be friends with a bewitching and irresistible woman like her. He can shed his reputation as a womanizer. Think with something other than his dick for once.

“Do you dance, cowboy?” She inquires, her voice carrying a playful lilt as she presses play on the CD player, flooding the room with the twang of a country song.

“Yeah, why?” He responds, his gaze fixed on her as she gracefully maneuvers in the confined, open area at the rear of the shop.

“‘Cause they’re havin’ a little line dance event on Saturday before I play. Figured you’d swing by and join in on the fun.” She explains, her movements syncing with the rhythm of the song as she executes a simple two-step before spinning. Javier finds himself unknowingly grinning as his thumb brushes against the corner of his lip after gliding over his mustache.

“I dance but not line dancing. S’not my thing.” He admits, though he’ll make an exception, just to watch her have fun.

“Well it can be your thing for one night. Get that stick outta your ass, viejo.” She giggles softly, her feet effortlessly finding the beat as she kicks them out in perfect rhythm. With a fluid motion, she sways her hips, his attention drawn to the exposed skin of her midriff, tracing her scar, before looking back up at her.

“You gotta teach me then, ‘cause I don’t know a single fucking one of those dances.” This has her halting her movements entirely, extending her arms outward and motioning for him to join her.

He approaches her with deliberate steps, and she guides him to stand where she pleases, her touch on his bicep igniting volts of sparks to flash through him.

“It’s very easy. I’ll make sure to request one of the beginner songs just for you. They usually reserve those for the kiddos.” She jests, licking her lips.

Javier chuckles, releasing a breath through his nose and shaking his head in amusement.

She takes the lead, gently leading him through each step of the country dance, her giggles tinkle like music when he stumbles. Their occasional collisions only deepen their shared laughter, weaving a tender bond between them with each clumsy misstep.

Her presence has a revitalizing effect on Javier, coaxing forth a lighter, more carefree aspect of his personality that had become obscured during his years in Colombia. Once cynical and self-centered, he had morphed into a man driven by ambition, his reputation tainted by arrogance and a propensity for hedonism. He was known as a whore and a volatile agent, his temper often preceding him like a dark cloud.

Despite his notorious reputation, he made unparalleled strides, surpassing all others in his field. Though he grew increasingly daring toward the end, it was the sacrifice of his character and morals that enabled the DEA to take out Escobar and propel their efforts towards dismantling the Cali cartel.

With the turmoil behind him, he stands at a crossroad, presented with the opportunity to reconstruct himself anew. He’s determined to chart a different course for his future, to discern how he desires to navigate the remainder of his life. Aspiring to become the man he knows he is capable of being.

It’s going to take a lot of fucking work, requiring him to confront the discomfort of self-reflection head-on. Yet, he realizes that the initial stride involves acknowledging the imperative need for change. Without it, he risks being ensnared in a future filled with cynicism and dread.

Inadvertently, she aids him in this rediscovery journey of his; finding and polishing all the good aspects of his character, valiantly putting them on display.

She evokes feelings of joy and normalcy within him, a stark contrast to his usual reserved nature. It’s why he finds it challenging to suppress his feelings for her, why his heart and mind become entwined in a beautiful chaos whenever she crosses his path.

“Peña! Over here!” She exclaims the moment she spots him, beckoning him eagerly from her position by the pool table

In the midst of the crowd, Paloma effortlessly commands attention. Her hair is elegantly tousled into a stylish updo with wisps of hair gracefully framing her face, her oversized hoop earrings glisten in the soft glow of the bar lights. Adorned in a snug denim jumpsuit, it shows off every curve of her tight body, accentuating her figure. As he draws nearer, he finds his gaze irresistibly drawn to her silhouette, particularly to the curve of her ass like it always does.

His eyes quickly shift as he notices her father poised over the velvet-covered table, cue in hand, striking the white ball amidst a chaotic scattering of others.

Fortunately, he hadn’t caught Javier openly eye-fucking his daughter. That would have undoubtedly led to an uncomfortable conversation.

“Wasn’t aware you’d be here, Romeo.” Javi says as the two men greet each other in a friendly handshake.

“First weekend off in ages and this one convinced me I needed to get out and relieve some stress.”

Paloma leans over, her concentration evident as she assesses her next move, closing one eye to refine her aim. With a confident swing, she propels the cue ball forward, skillfully sinking two of her own colored balls into separate pockets. She celebrates her achievement with cheerful exuberance.

“Though ain’t no stress bein’ relieved with the way she’s whoopin’ my ass.” The older man grunts.

“You literally taught me how to play.” She retorts with a playful roll of her eyes, chalking her pool stick.

“Maybe he’ll have better luck at it then me. M’goin’ to get somethin’ drink. Y’all want anythin’?” He asks, handing the cue stick over to Javier.

Paloma orders her usual mocktail and Javier orders a plain beer, deviating from his typical whiskey neat.

He casually removes his leather jacket, revealing a red button-up shirt with the top buttons left undone, a habitual style choice. She quickly averts her gaze, preempting any chance of him catching her admiring stare and sporting that smug grin on his devilishly attractive face.

“Don’t get your hopes up, I’ll probably beat you at it too.” She rounds the table, nearing him as he takes his turn, just barely missing the corner pocket.

He blames her close proximity.

“Oh, so close.” She teases, patronizingly nudging him aside to take her position. As she leans forward, she brushes against him, and he takes a lengthy step back before his hand instinctively comes down to grab at her waist.

Paloma purposefully arches her back as she’s bent over the table, feeling his gaze on her. It’s fun riling men up because it’s so easy— as if she hadn’t just been on the verge of drooling when he shrugged his jacket off.

Another success as her balls fall into the pockets, she flashes him a victorious grin over her shoulder.

“Told you.” She repeats his words back to him, remembering how smug he’d gotten after knocking down all the bottles with the baseball at the fair.

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game here princesa.” They gravitate closer, as if entering a trance that keeps them from remembering that this is what they’re both trying to avoid.

“Am I?” She challenges, gazing up at him with a playful glint in her eyes, framed by her thick lashes.

Romeo reappears, distributing drinks as they settle into the rhythm of their evening. The first part of their night unfolds amidst friendly competition, with Paloma emerging victorious in nearly every game against the two men. However, there’s a solitary exception when she graciously allows them a victory. A mercy win of sorts

By this point, the bar begins to buzz with activity. When the familiar strains of country music fill the air, her face lights up with a wide smile as she beckons Javier to join her with an inviting gesture.

“Alright now, cowboy, hope you’ve been practicin’ those moves I showed ya.” He exchanges a look with the sheriff, an amused expression on his face.

“She’s roped you into it, huh? Feels good to no longer be her only victim,” The sheriff jokes which prompts her to roll her eyes and for Javier to genuinely laugh.

“Both of you are no fun, but I reckon this one here has no choice but to join me.”

He allows her to pull him towards the open area of the dance floor, a crowd gathering around them but he’s only focused on her.

They synchronize their movements, the steps simple enough for him to have retained in the days that followed her little lesson at the laundromat. He acknowledges internally the genuine effort he’s putting into dancing with her, despite his initial reluctance.

The radiant smile on her face makes every effort worthwhile.

Across the bar, Sloane observes the affectionate scene with interest, prompting her to excuse herself momentarily to make a phone call.

When the song ends, Paloma turns to him. “See? That wasn’t so bad. You did really good!”

“Well, I did have a great dance instructor.” He quips, and she suppresses a grin by biting her lip. She’s probably beaming like the damn Cheshire Cat right now.

Upon rejoining Romeo, he’s teasing Javier about his dancing.

“Oh daddy, don’t be such a bully.” Though her attention is diverted by the fresh tray of loaded fries resting on the edge of their pool table, and she takes a forkful; practically scarfing them down.

“Slow down, they’re not goin’ anywhere.” Her father comments as she devours the entirety of the appetizer.

“I haven’t eaten all day and loaded fries are the best thing to ever be invented.”

“Just like fried oreos?” Javier can’t resist the opportunity to tease her, shooting her a playful glance over the brim of his beer glass as he takes a sip.

She shoots him a sharp look, “Don’t.” Though she smiles softly, part of her wishing she could relive the entirety of that night. Sans the ferris wheel ride.

Shortly after finishing, Paloma heads off to prepare for her gig.

“Been meanin’ to ask…” The older man begins as they make their way to the usual table they sit at, “How was the trip to Dallas? You got back damn near the next mornin’.”

Javier tenses briefly but recovers, reaching for his trusty pack of cigarettes so he can puff on one while he does his best to recount that night without incriminating himself.

“It was great. She had a lotta fun… would have been back earlier but she insisted on staying to enjoy the fair. She can be very persistent.” He lights the stick, inhaling deeply before blowing the smoke out through his nose.

“Tell me about it. M’just glad she enjoyed herself. She deserves it, my sweet girl.” The adoration on his eyes is clear as day, that guilt Javi feels for pining after his daughter intensifies in the moment but it’s quickly dispersed as Paloma joins the stage.

The night unfolds in its usual manner, with her infectious energy and unmatched talent captivating the audience. Amidst a break between songs, she takes a sip of water, her gaze drifting across the crowd until it lands on August. A smile tugs at her lips as she realizes that he’s never seen her perform before. With her heart racing at the thought, she caps her water bottle and steps up to the microphone, clearing her throat in preparation.

“This next song has become one of my favorites after bein’ introduced to it by a very special friend.” Her eyes meet August’s and they twinkle underneath the stage lights. He raises his hand in a subtle wave as they acknowledge one another. “This is Creep by Radiohead.”

♫

As expected, she delivers the song perfectly. Javier becomes utterly entranced by her, mesmerized by the power of her voice. He’s so absorbed in her presence that he barely notices when the sheriff and some of his friends step outside, leaving him alone at the table with a fresh cigarette nestled between his lips.

Whatever makes you happy. Whatever you want. You’re so very special. I wish I was special.

In the midst of the crowd, a man emerges, clutching a vibrant bouquet of flowers that he carefully places on the stage near Paloma. Their eyes meet, and a surge of butterflies fills her stomach as she realizes he’s brought her azaleas, recalling her disappointment since her own hadn’t bloomed properly.

A trace of her excitement seeps into her singing, a gentle giggle interwoven with the lyrics as August winks at her before departing.

Javier finds himself frowning as he observes the exchange, a dangerous wave of jealousy sweeping over him. It’s only when the man begins to depart that he recognizes him.

Augustus fucking Dixon.

For the remainder of the night and well into the following morning, Javier’s mind is consumed by that interaction. He replays it over and over again— Paloma’s mention of August as a ‘special friend,’ the bouquet of flowers he had left for her.

The memory of her smile, her laughter directed at him, and the song she sang, seemingly just for him, echoes relentlessly in his thoughts.

Javier can’t shake the pinched feeling in his chest. He berates himself for his irrational jealousy. After all, he has no claim over her in any way, shape, or form. She’s a young, beautiful, and talented woman, free to be with anyone she damn pleases.

But to get involved with August? He can’t help but feel a surge of frustration. He’s pored over the guy’s file, seen the litany of petty crimes and the years he’s spent behind bars as a result. In Javier’s eyes, she deserves better, so much better. Someone who will treat her with the respect and admiration she deserves.

It’s unfair of him to react this way, he knows. Yet, try as he might to quell the rising tide of envy, he finds himself struggling against the tumultuous waves of the emotion.

She needs to be adored like the shining star she is, to be with someone who’ll kiss the ground she walks on and and treat her like fucking royalty.

What she doesn’t need is to be entangled with a petty criminal adorned in tattoos, sporting a questionable haircut, and roaring around on a motorcycle.

What— was Javier going to be the one to treat her as well as she deserves? The man with a jaded past and inability to commit? Yeah, right. He’s delusional for even letting that thought cross his mind.

He lets out a soft scoff, exhaling a stream of smoke through the cracked window of his cruiser. He sits parked in front of the church building where mass is currently being held.

He’s here after finding out that Gabriel Torres is employed as a groundskeeper for the property. It gives reason as to why he was around the day of Nina Thorton’s funeral, but doesn’t quite explain why he paused to stare at her picture in deep thought before leaving.

A nagging sense of intrigue gnaws at Javier as he considers the situation. There’s an underlying connection here, he senses it, yet he struggles to pinpoint exactly what it might be. Nina and Gabriel come from different towns, and his nomadic lifestyle suggests he’s been traversing the state for a while. From what Javi has gleaned about the deceased girl, Nina wasn’t one to associate with the ‘wrong crowd’. Still, he acknowledges the disparity between stating she wasn’t that type and the possibility that appearances can be deceiving.

Driven by his spark of jealousy, he intends to delve deeper into the group that includes Gabriel, August, and Sloane. Returning to his place last night, he went over their records and any other pertinent information he could find at that moment.

With sparse details at his disposal, he relies on the hearsay from the locals and a single notable arrest involving the trio. In this incident, they were apprehended for setting a cross ablaze in the heart of the woods. The resulting fire grew out of control, warranting all three of them to serve two years in jail.

Driven by a fierce determination, Javier resolves to unearth more information, to transform the whispers and rumors into concrete knowledge. He wants to unravel the enigma of August, to understand why someone as riveting as Paloma would choose to align herself with someone like him.

Javier remains steadfast in his pursuit, refusing to relent until he can definitively eliminate this group from his (almost nonexistent) roster of suspects. He won’t dismiss them entirely until he’s thoroughly convinced of their innocence. Moreover, he harbors no intention of divulging his personal investigation to the sheriff. After all, he had dismissed them months ago without a second thought, and Javier sees no reason to involve him now.

Unless he finds something of use, that is.

He gets out of his cruiser in his full work getup, snubbing out the finished cigarette with the bottom of his boot. Javier readjusts the gun that’s tucked against his lower back, plucking out a piece of spearmint gum to rid him of the nicotine taste that lingers in his mouth.

He rounds the building until he’s at the graveyard nestled on the grounds, approaching the younger male who is in the midst of digging a hole into the ground.

“Gabriel Torres?” Javier announces himself, lazily chewing on his gum as the guy turns to face him with a skeptical look on his face.

No words are exchanged, but Javi catches the subtle nod of acknowledgment directed his way.

“Javier Peña with Seminary’s Sheriff’s Department. Got a second to answer some questions.” He states, his gaze focused intently on the man’s face, searching for any subtle clues in his expression. After a beat of silence, he continues, “You’re not in any kind of trouble or anythin’. I’m just curious about the things I’ve been hearin’ about this group you’re part of.” Another analytical look follows, his amber-tinted shades not obscuring the intent behind his gaze.

Gabe drives the sharp end of the shovel deep into the soft earth, using it as a support as he leans against it. His gaze shifts to the officer before him, his expression thoughtful as he weighs the decision of whether speaking to him is wise or not.

“What is it?”

Javier’s hands fall to his waist, resting atop of his utility belt that has all his equipment on it.

“You’re not really sacrificin’ goats and eating newborns, right?” He chuckles dryly. As absurd as it may sound, it was verbatim to what a group of elderly woman had told him not long ago. Obviously, Javier treated it with a healthy dose of skepticism, but he realizes the importance of approaching this conversation with an open mind, not wanting to intimidate Gabriel into clamming up.

Given the number of arrests involving Gabriel and his two companions, Javier is acutely aware that they may not have the best relationship with authority. Consequently, he opts to adopt a more amicable approach, aiming to play the role of the ‘good cop’.

Gabriel dismisses the notion with a shake of his head. “Nah, man, we ain’t doing all that.” He replies. August had practically drilled everyone in their group on how to handle police interactions. Normally, he would stay silent and brush off an officer altogether, but he’s aware of Javier’s significance, especially regarding August’s interest in Paloma.

Sloane has kept them informed about her growing feelings for the older man and how that can be a hindrance to the overarching goal the group has.

“Kinda fuckin’ annoyin’ that people spew that bullshit without knowin’ how we actually operate. S’like the second they can’t wrap their narrow-minded brains around somethin’— the first thing they do is shout devil and other obscenities. Pointin’ fingers and grabbin’ their torches and pitchforks.”

Javier remains silent, allowing Gabriel to voice his thoughts without interruption. Yet, behind his outward calmness, his mind is sharp, absorbing every syllable uttered and analyzing the subtle nuances of Gabe’s demeanor. Observation is a skill honed over years of experience, and Javier excels in deciphering the unspoken language of body cues.

As Gabriel speaks, frustration emanates from him like a palpable force, evident in the tension of his posture and the earnestness in his voice. Javier takes note of every detail, recognizing the authenticity behind the words.

“It’s why we move around so damn much. Each time we think we found a place to settle in at, they’re runnin’ us off… Y’know, for claiming to be such compassionate people— they sure are hateful.”

Javier finds resonance in his sentiment. Hypocrisy often cloaks itself in the guise of piety, a facade worn by many he has encountered. The irony is not lost on him as he reflects on the dichotomy between professed faith and heinous deeds.

In his mind’s eye, he recalls the sanctimonious cartels in Colombia, adorned with religious iconography that belied their nefarious activities. Their clandestine operations, stained with bloodshed and violence, stood in stark contradiction to the sanctity they purportedly revered.

“Pretty shitty that you all have had to go through that… Has anyone ever attempted to retaliate? Some kind of revenge for constantly being pushed away?” Javi probes, earning a narrowed gaze from Gabe before their conversation is interrupted by another figure joining in.

“Chattin’ up a narc?” The insult rolls off August’s tongue with purpose as he approaches and his jaw ticks at the sound of his voice.

The two of them size each other up. August is a few inches taller than Javier though the discrepancy hardly matters given his hardened demeanor and inability to appear weak.

Now that he’s got a closer look at the guy, he really can’t fathom what it is that Paloma sees in him.

“He was just askin’ about the group. Tryin’ to discern if we’re actually killin’ babies ‘round here.” They share a laugh but Javier remains stone faced, annoyed at August’s interference.

“Ah, well, officer, I can assure you that none of that is happenin’. We’re a peaceful bunch... don’t bother no one. Keep to ourselves. Sure we’ve all done some pretty fucked up things but that’s all behind us. I created the Paragons of the Sacrificed with one goal: to unite and rehabilitate broken souls without the influence of organized religion. S’been workin’ so far— most of our members have stayed outta trouble, others following through with their sobriety.”

Javier remains skeptical of August’s supposed rehabilitation, a sentiment perhaps colored by his personal dislike for the man. With little else to say, he simply grunts in acknowledgment. The name of the group now revealed and stored away in his mind.

“Sounds like a good thing, then. Wonder why everyone is so insistent that you’re all trouble.”

“‘Cause of the childish shit we used to do. S’quite simple. They also feel threatened by the worship of something that isn’t their precious God.”

“So what is it that you devote yourself to then?” Javier maintains unwavering eye contact with August as he poses the question, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Amid the tense silence, Javier’s attention is diverted by a sudden commotion emanating from inside the church.

“Seems like you’re needed elsewhere, Officer Peña.” August remarks with a tilt of his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. Javier feels the temptation to reply with a snarky comment, but he restrains himself.

He’s determined to maintain the fragile rapport he’s building with Gabriel. He senses that he might be the one to provide the answers he seeks. Javier isn’t confident in Sloane’s ability to keep his sleuthing quiet around Paloma, and he certainly doesn’t trust August.

With a pointed glance at both of them, Javi excuses himself, now determined to investigate the unfolding disturbance.

Upon entering the stuffy church, his stomach sinks as he witnesses the chaotic scene unfolding in the tranquil atmosphere of the Sunday mass.

Mr. Thorton, his face contorted with grief and fueled by alcohol, stumbles down the aisle, his slurred words echoing through the hallowed space. The congregation shifts uncomfortably in their seats as he spews venomous words about his deceased daughter, casting blame upon the town for its perceived failure to bring her justice.

With practiced calm, Javier steps forward, his authoritative presence attempting to quell the rising tension. He approaches the man, who sways unsteadily on his feet, his sorrow morphing into rage. Despite his inebriated state, his words cut through the air like knives, each one laced with pain and bitterness.

As Javier attempts to diffuse the situation, Mr. Thorton’s desperation reaches a fever pitch. In a moment of reckless anguish, he lunges towards Paloma, his grip fierce and unyielding. The gasps of the onlookers mingle with Paloma’s startled cry as Javier moves swiftly to intervene, his strong arms encircling then pulling him back with firm force.

The sheriff looks like he might kill the man for putting his hands on his daughter.

In that fraught moment, Javier feels for the broken man before him, his own frustration mirrored in Mr. Thorton’s anguished cries. But duty compels him to maintain order. And so, with resolve in his eyes and compassion in his heart, he guides his wrists behind his back to cuff him and redirect him away from the congregation.

His steps are heavy with the burden of sorrow that hangs in the air. “Alright, let’s go.” Javier murmurs, dragging the babbling man down the aisle and out the door.

Concerned whispers fill the room as a few people gather around Paloma, their eyes reflecting worry and sympathy. She offers them a reassuring smile, her hand absently rubbing at her sore forearm where Mr. Thorton’s grip had been firm and unforgiving. Beneath the surface, she can feel the faint stirrings of pain, a precursor to the bruises that will inevitably bloom in the days to come.

Her focus remained fixed on Javier through the entirety of the situation. When their eyes met, she felt a rush of gratitude wash over her as he handled the outburst.

Because it’s his job, Paloma. Stop overthinking every little interaction you have with him!

Despite the chaos of the moment, she couldn’t help but be entranced by his presence. There’s something undeniably sexy about him in his uniform, the way he rushed to her side with a sense of protective urgency that set her heart racing.

As he strides out of the church, his silhouette framed by the dim light filtering through the stained-glass windows, her gaze lingers on the gun tucked into the back of his pants.

For a brief, exhilarating moment, she’s overwhelmed by a rush of emotions. The sight of him, strong and resolute in the face of conflict, stirs the yearning that she struggles to contain. But then reality comes crashing back in, reminding her of the solemn setting of the church and the prying eyes of the congregation.

With a rueful shake of her head, she pushes aside her fleeting infatuation, burying it beneath a veil of composure. She knows that now is not the time nor the place for such thoughts. And so, with a determined resolve, she squares her shoulders and turns her attention back to the proceedings, pushing aside her wayward emotions in favor of the solemnity of the moment.

The Thorton family’s sorrow weighs heavily on Paloma’s heart in the aftermath of their tragic loss. It’s evident that the death of their daughter has left them shattered, each member of the family bearing the scars of grief in their own way. Mr. Thorton’s descent into alcoholism and his wife’s spiral into depression paint a poignant picture of their collective anguish.

She finds herself contemplating whether she should reach out to them, offering a small gesture of solace in the face of their immense pain. The idea of stopping by their house, perhaps with a comforting dish in hand, crosses her mind as she ponders ways to alleviate their suffering, even if only for a fleeting moment. Yet, she knows deep down that no amount of well-intentioned gestures can ever fully mend the brokenness that has consumed their family.

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