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viennakarma · 1 year ago

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Everything I Wanted II.

LESTAPPEN X READER (PART 2)

Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

Word count: 8.9k

Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, angst, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read

Relationships: Lestappen x Reader

Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader

Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader

Notes: this is full of motorsport categories inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. This chapter is very angsty and none of it is an attack at the drivers nor their fans and personalities, please.

I know I KNOW, this got out of hand, AGAIN. I promise next part (and hopefully last) is more focused on the romance, and the happy ending reader deserves.

Find me on Twitter!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You spent Christmas with your mom, sharing a lot of presents and watching a bunch of stupid Christmas movies. New Year’s was now a tradition to spend with the Raikkonen Family, joined with the closest friends for a little get together. It was a good opportunity to reconnect with Kimi’s kids who missed you a lot during the season.

Charles never contacted you during winter break, which you were sure was the best after that mistake. You hated each other too much and the only thing that could come out of that was toxicity from the both of you. You refused to even acknowledge what had happened and its implications, that wouldn’t and couldn’t mean anything.

During the pre-season testing in Bahrain, you and Charles were back to whatever your relationship was before that one lapse in judgment months before.

Nobody noticed anything.

One day, Fernando pulled you aside for a little chat. You two sat side by side on big moving boxes, sipping on energy drinks.

“There’s something I have been wanting to talk to you about since last year,” he started, seemingly pensive, distant.

“Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, yeah. Remember after we first met when you asked me if I had advice for you regarding your career?” Fernando said, and you remembered.

Right after you had gotten close, you asked him for advice, you always did, especially about racing. But one day, you were chatting about his career, and you asked if had any lessons you should never forget. He had laughed joking about read all your contracts then asking if you were calling him old, but he said if he ever had any advice, he would tell you.

“Yes, have you got my answer yet?”

“Sí, Nena,” he paused, looking deep into your eyes, “enjoy.”

You frowned and he saw the confusion on your face.

“I see much of my younger self in you, you know? The same passion, this fiery desire to win, your goal for the championship, to conquer the world…” Fernando paused, looking up to the clear sky, the sunset coming around, “And I did. But I wish I had enjoyed it more. I should’ve gone to parties, I should’ve visited the countries we went to and tried the food, I should’ve made more friends, I should’ve had more lovers… I was so focused on winning, on getting my hands on that trophy of champion of the world, that I missed out on a lot.”

You felt your eyes tear up, and you wiped it before the tears came down. Putting your hand on his shoulder, you smiled at him.

“It’s such an honor race with you. And an even greater honor to have you as a friend, Nano” you whispered to him, you two laughed as his eyes watered too, and slapping his shoulder you laughed, “don’t make me cry, you old softie!”

You took his advice to your heart.

You went to the parties, you met new people, and that’s how after two entire seasons, you managed to befriend Lando, your teammate. You two had to open your hearts a little bit and meet in the middle. Which proved to be great, the whole team loved the change in your dynamic. You still weren’t besties, but you were close colleagues, and that was great. Everyone noticed the change and it reflected on how you started racing as a team instead of individually.

The car was even better than the year before, and the first race of the season you got a promising win.

That win, Lando’s pestering, and Fernando’s advice was how you ended up in a party after the Bahrain GP. Wearing a skimpy mini dress and 5 tequila shots deep, swaying your hips to the sound of Rihanna. You were dancing and singing with Lando and a few of his friends, loudly screaming the lyrics.

When it was way too hot for you, you grabbed a water bottle and beelined your way out of the crowded dance floor. You found a corner of the VIP section where the AC seemed to be working better, and as you stumbled inside the small space, you ran chest first into someone.

“Sorry,” you said, taking a step back and pressing your back against the cold wall.

“Enjoying your win?” Your head snapped up as you recognised Max’s voice. You had run into him.

Lando had mentioned inviting Max to the party, he had gotten a P2 in the race but you doubted he would go to a party he knew you would attend. You were obviously wrong.

“You know I am,” the victory was so good that nothing could ruin your mood.

“Well, then enjoy it. I’m coming for the win, again.” He warned you but his voice was devoid of anything, just sounded like he was casually telling you about the weather. But you knew that he was implying his championship the year before, rubbing it in your face.

“Don’t be so confident, Max,” you finished your water, smirking at him, “Enjoy the view of my rear!”

You flipped your hair, feeling his eyes on you the whole walk back to the dance floor.

And yet-

Somehow-

You ended up back at that small corner, dancing with your body pressed between Verstappen’s and the wall, his hand holding your jaw firmly, you rolled your hips against him, feeling the way his body responded to yours.

“We can’t-” he said to you, still, his eyes hadn’t left your lips, like he was so oh so tempted.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed. Sober you would never do that, but then, that was a problem for later. Checking to see if anyone was looking at you, you hooked a finger around his waistband and pulled him towards the bathroom.

As soon as the two of you were inside, you locked the door and Max pressed your back against the door, latching his lips to yours in a very desperate open mouthed kiss. You hugged his shoulders, opening your lips to him, his hands went down your sides and he grabbed your ass, pulling you into him. But that wasn’t enough, so he held your thighs and pulled up, carrying you. You locked your legs around his waist, and he stopped the kiss to walk, sitting you on the marble side of the sink, still between your legs, forcing his bulge against your panties, and eliciting a moan from you.

He took a half step back to hike your dress up, palming your cunt over your panties feeling the dampness of it, he tried to press his hand under your panties, but the lacy fabric didn’t leave much space, so he simply tore the bottom of them, exposing you to him. He just ran a finger over your slit, collecting your wetness for a brief moment before pushing a finger into you. Max watched your face with concentration, studying your body’s responses. Your hips shaking at the movement of his finger, and when the second one joined, you got louder. He curled his fingers up, his thumb pressing your clit, and you had to use both hands to hold onto him, your head lolling back against the mirror.

“Take it and shut the fuck up,” he grunted between clenched teeth.

He was pressing your insides so good, the slick sound of his fingers going in and out, his heavy breathing, the loud music outside and his laser focused fingers had you coming against his fingers in minutes. When he noticed you close, cunt spasming against his fingers, he pressed the other hand against your mouth, covering your moans when your toes curled and you orgasmed on his hand.

Max barely let you recover as he opened his jeans and stroked himself twice before pushing his cock into you in one swift move, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“That’s what you wanted, right? Fucking teasing me all night,” He pushed particularly hard, hitting your g-spot, making you see stars, “you’re a fucking menace, y’know that? Fucking insufferable,” then his words became a mumbling of something dutch you couldn’t quite catch anymore with the way his hips snapped against yours, taking all your focus away and turning you into a mess of moaning.

Max fucked like he raced, focused and relentless, brutal. He hugged you with one arm around your waist to keep you in place and the other held you face, tilting your head so he could kiss you, or whatever that mess of saliva, tongues and teeth was. Your orgasm crashed through you unexpectedly, and you only hugged him tighter, pressing your face against his chest, biting into his skin through the fabric of his T-shirt to silence yourself, your teeth sinking into him was enough to send him also over the edge, coming with moans against your ear.

That night, you went home with shaking legs and an incoming headache, as Max left with the scraps of your panties in his pocket and your lipstick stain on his shirt, above his chest.

It was the seventh race of the year, Monaco, and you absolutely hated that specific track since your years of F2. During your two first years in F1 you had awful experiences, the rookie year you DNF and the year prior you had barely managed a P7. You were trying to keep your head up, be hopeful that you could at least try for top 5.

But since you couldn’t catch a fucking break, an old video of your teenage years resurfaced.

You were walking to your first round of interviews when Amanda, your PR manager, started walking by your side.

“There’s something. An old video of a karting competition resurfaced, where Max and Charles pretty much call you stupid,” Amanda was always direct, you could give it to her.

“Let me see the video” you asked, offering your hand for her phone.

“We don’t have time, but everyone will ask you about it. I need you to be the bigger person and act like it isn’t important, yes? They will try to taunt you and get a bad reaction from you, I need you to dismiss everything they throw at you. Agreed?”

You sighed. You knew the stuff from your teens were pretty bad, you rarely badmouthed Max or Charles, but they always felt threatened by you, so there were lots of instances they attacked you. Honestly, you just didn’t want to come out of this victimized. So as you entered the first round of interviews, you decided you were going to downplay anything they asked you.

“Y/N, have you seen the footage of you, Max and Charles from your teenage years that resurfaced recently?”

“No, uh, I haven’t.”

Someone pushed an iPad in your hands because of course, they wanted a live reaction from you. You pressed play, reading the subtitles someone put on the video. It was an amateur recording like a post race interview made by another teenage guy. First as Max walked out of the track, the guy asked what he thought of your win.

“It was luck, she’s not bright enough to think of a strategy,” Max said, walking away, clearly pissed having lost to you.

There was a cut and the camera was turned on again when Charles walked toward the guy asking the question. He repeated exactly the same question he had asked Max.

“Y/N, I don’t worry about her long term. She’s not going very far in this sport anyway,” Charles shrugged, seemingly unbothered.

As the video cut again, it showed your face, you remembered when that was. You were 14, and your dad had dropped you a few months earlier, so you were working your ass off balancing school, work and karting.

“Hey, Y/N. What do you think of your result today?”

“Uh, I tried a new strategy I learned earlier this week, thankfully it worked in my favor,” teen-You dried your forehead with your coat’s sleeve.

“What are your plans for this competition?”

“Well, I hope to be good enough to get into F4 next year, and work my way up into Formula 1,” you smiled softly and walked away after a quick bye.

The video ended and you still spent a few seconds staring at the black screen of the iPad. This interview didn’t come to your mind in more than a decade, but it was nice seeing how you made your 14-year-old dream come true.

“So, what do you say?” The reporter extended his mic to you.

“I guess I proved them wrong, right?” You giggled a little, “don’t take it to heart, really. We were all hormonal teenagers, I’m sure if someone digs, they will find a video of me saying the same stuff about them,” you shrugged, despite that being a lie, sounded dismissive enough.

“So it doesn’t upset you?” The reporter insisted, and you knew he wanted a scandal you weren’t willing to give.

“Of course not. I’ve always known my worth, and I’m P1 in the driver’s championship as of right now. So I don’t really care.”

The interviewers soon let the video go, when they realized you didn’t care about it. You weren’t sure if anyone would also approach Charles or Max with questions about the same video, but you couldn’t care less, you wanted to avoid drama for the time being so you could focus on the championship instead of this bullshit.

On the morning of qualifying, you were in your room, trying to meditate and clear your mind, when a knock interrupted you.

“Guys, I asked for twenty minutes so I could-” you stop yourself when you realize it isn’t anyone from your team, but it’s Max and Charles, “what are you doing here?”

“We came to apologize about the video,” Max started.

“Did your PR teams send you here?” You looked around, trying to catch a camera or even a phone recording.

“No uh, we realized we were very immature with you, and this video is just proof of how silly that was,” Charles sighed, seemingly embarrassed.

“You don’t need to apologize, I mean- the two of you really had it out for me, you called me dumb a lot,” you pointed to Max, then Charles, “and you called me ugly countless times. I don’t know why it would make any difference now.”

You were just so used to being defensive, to protect yourself from hatred you found it hard to believe them, to give them a chance to apologize because you couldn’t believe it to be genuine.

“Even if you don’t take it, or believe it, I would like to apologize for that behavior. I was just a stupid kid.” Max looked deep into your eyes, which could’ve made you uncomfortable if he didn’t seem so honest.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. It was too idiotic to be like that to you, growing up. You were just a kid too.” Charles added.

You understood where that apology came from, it was stupid and embarrassing for all three of you this teenage rivalry when you all were barely mid racers back in the day. Sighing, you looked around, dropping your façade for a second, allowing yourself to display the same honesty they showed you.

It was hard and required some sort of deprogramming because you could only see them as rivals, like your dad had whispered in your brain so many times before, like their actions towards you had cemented dad’s words. They had said things that were on your mind for so long, that had made you defensive and deflective.

“Look, don’t worry about it. Whatever happened back then, it’s water under the bridge,” You shifted on your feet. As they started walking away, you added “this doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

They only nodded before leaving. Your routine went back to the same, and as the next scandal went on, people forgot about the silly video, but a very specific part of the fans started shipping you and both your rivals.

The rivalry never died down though.

Then, out of nowhere, Sebastian pulled you and Lewis aside to a conversation. Then he told you that he was going to retire by the end of the season. It was the first time the two of them saw you cry, and Sebastian hugged you tight, shushing your crying softly.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, petting your head.

“No, don’t apologize,” you let him go, drying your face, “I have listened to you talking countless times about how you missed the kids. Don’t apologize for choosing to be a great dad. I know Hanna and the kiddos will be ecstatic.”

“You two are my closest friends here, that’s why I wanted to tell you first, before my announcement.”

“Thank you, Seb,” you said, eyes still watering, “I’m going to miss having you around.”

“Thank you for telling us beforehand,” Lewis said, also visibly emotional.

The season was writing itself to be just as close as the year prior, but now you were slightly better at keeping the lead most.

That is until Zandvoort. This GP was always a nightmare to you, because it was full of Max’s fans, and they absolutely hated you for being his rival. You had been booed when you were on the podium the year before, so now, you and Amanda decided it was best to keep your head down during the whole week. Not out of shame, but more of a matter of safety, you didn’t know how far the crowd could go in antagonizing you. When you were booed the other year, Max had said it was part of the sport and dismissed the conversation.

The morning of free practice, you went into the paddock very low-key and kept to yourself. You arrived with a little cup of coffee and got mentally ready for a hostile environment the whole weekend. That, until you spotted a small group of people dressed with your color and wearing your number, waving wildly to you.

In a spur of the moment decision, you went there, getting close to the barrier to sign a few caps and take a few selfies. In retrospect, you knew you shouldn’t have done that, especially with only two bodyguards accompanying you.

You were finishing chatting with your fans when you felt something heavy hit the side of your head and the impact made you stumble backwards, you were confused as you heard the screams and felt one of the bodyguards pull you back, as the other jumped the barrier and started running. You patted your temple and something wet and sticky was dripping down the side of your face. You stared at the small group of fans who were looking at you horrified. Staring at the hand, you saw the red staining your fingers, and as the bodyguard kept pulling you away to somewhere safer, the thing flowed even more and got into your left eye.

You wondered if it was blood as you touched your temple but felt nothing, not a gash nor small cut. You covered your left eye as it started to sting from what you supposed smelt like paint.

“Hey, hey, what happened? You’re bleeding!” Max jogged up to you.

“Not blood, just paint” you muttered, trying to use your coat to clean your face.

“Someone threw a paint ball at her,” the bodyguard said.

“Fuck, it’s burning!” You exclaimed, feeling tears in your left eye.

“Come here, the RB hospitality is close,” Max said, holding your wrist, he stopped shortly pointing to your bodyguard, “and you, sort this and find the person who did it.”

You let yourself be taken by Max into the RB territory, the burning so annoying that you rather take whatever solution he was thinking of. He held your waist and placed you sitting on a sink, and then you felt water streaming down your face.

“Stay still,” Max commanded, holding a hose over your head, pouring water down your face, “now blink slowly, let the water wash it,” his voice soft as you did what he told you to. Slowly but surely, it washed the paint away, relieving your left eye from the stinging. Max held the hose up and held your chin, tilting your head up so he could check your eye, still letting the water stream down your face.

You took a few minutes, breathing and regulating your heartbeat from that scare, trying to come back to normal and understand fully what was going on. From what you gathered, you were chatting with fans when someone else came and threw something with paint at you.

“How does it feel?”

“It’s better, already stopped burning,” you told him, feeling your heart miss a beat at the close proximity you found yourself to him. You were sitting on a sink, Max standing between your legs pretty much like you two had done months before for entirely different reasons.

“Open your eye, let me see,” he asked, and you tried to blink it open, “can you see?”

“It’s a little blurry but I believe it will get better,” you explained, and he didn’t let go of your chin. Suddenly, he covered your right eye with the other hand, leaving you only with your left eye sight.

“How many fingers am I putting up?” He showed it to your left eye. The vision was a bit blurry but you still could make out the shapes very clearly.

“Four, Max. It’s just a little bit blurry, probably will get better in a few minutes” you sounded annoyed, you tried to move but he pressed a hand against your waist, keeping you in place.

“Now, what happened?” He asked finally. You ignored the proximity, and the hand still on your body.

“We’re in Zandvoort, that’s what happened,” you shrugged, really annoyed about it.

“What do you mean?” He was visibly confused. You scoffed because you knew it wasn’t something he didn’t know, since the year before he has dismissed the importance of how hostile people were to you.

“We’re massively surrounded by your fans, Max.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They hate me because you hate me, and they think because you hate me they’re justified in their hostility towards me,” You explained, with a sigh, you pushed away from Max, “this GP has been like this for me ever since Rookie year.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said, brows furrowed.

“You do. And they do too,” you pointed down at the paint that had also stained your shirt as proof.

“I don’t,” he insisted and you rolled your eyes, jumping off the sink, but he didn’t give you space, which made you stand chest to chest with him, “I promise.”

You stared at him, breathless. That wasn’t part of the game you played, being kind, sounding worried and making promises. None of that was part of this whole rivalry. Pushing his chest, you tried getting away but he caged you against the sink, body flush against yours.

“Do you believe me?” He asked and your eyes fell to his lips, and you allowed yourself to remember the desperate and chaotic kisses you had shared in a dimly lit bathroom, “I don’t support any of this behavior.”

You heard voices and steps approaching, which made you finally push him away, walking towards the door. Whatever little magic had been happening between those walls was undone the moment you remembered none of that would’ve happened if he had politely put a stop to it earlier.

“It’s part of the sport and I have to deal with it, right?” You returned the very same words he had said about you when you were booed by the crowd the year prior.

As you opened the door, you were faced with Sebastian. He stopped, taking you in and then pulling you in a hug.

“Are you ok? We just heard what happened!” He murmured, guiding you out of the bathroom. He held your shoulders and looked at your face, checking how your left eye was still a little red, “we should take you to see a doctor, come on.”

Lewis soon arrived at the entrance of the RBR station, he warned about the reporters crowding outside, waiting for a glimpse of you after the attack. The British man gave you a Mercedes coat so you put it over your head and avoid the cameras waiting outside. With the bodyguards and both Lewis and Sebastian leading you away, you ended up at the medical center, and after a quick examination, the doctor gave you eye drops to put throughout the day.

Your Principal suggested you sit the FP1 out, letting the reserve driver take your place while you recovered. By the middle of FP1, your eyesight was 100% and you went to get ready for FP2. The whole day you felt like everyone was being extra careful, tiptoeing around you. You hated feeling like you were being pitied, so when the inevitable round of interviews came, you knew what you had to do.

“We heard about your incident earlier today, how are you feeling about it?” Someone asked.

“I’m pretty upset, to be honest. Formula 1 is a sport loved around the whole world, and the paddock overall is supposed to be a safe place not only for the fans, but also the workers and drivers. What happened today is unacceptable and could’ve been much worse. I’m voicing my dissatisfaction and I intend to, through legal means, take this complaint to the FIA.”

Later that night, as you laid awake on your bed, scrolling through the repercussions of the day, you stopped when you saw a snippet of Max's interview.

“What happened today was dangerous and unacceptable, I don’t support this behavior and I stand with Y/N,” that was all he said, but Max usually was a man of few words, always knowing when it was enough.

You knew he should’ve voiced that much earlier in your career, specifically after the booing the year before, but still- He also could have opted to not say anything at all, and he didn’t.

Amanda also sent you the news that the fan who had attacked you was found and banned for life from Formula 1.

After calling Sebastian, you managed to get ahold of Max’s phone number and texted him a simple message.

Thank you. Twice. - Lioness

The text went to read almost immediately, and the three dots appeared from his side of the screen. You wait, and wait, and wait. And then the dots disappeared, and an answer never came.

After a solid P2 that weekend in Zandvoort, you went home for the summer break. You and your mom had planned to go to Monaco for a little while since you were planning on buying a place there. From there, you and your mom would go all around the French Riviera to enjoy the sea and spend a few days in a spa resort. Then, you would go back home and relax before going to Ibiza for a weekend to meet Lando and his friends to enjoy some partying.

Everything went according to plan, but one day when you came back home after the trip to the French Riviera, you found your mom passed out on the living room floor.

You called an ambulance, quickly taking her into the hospital. Everything was a blur, the tests and scans, your mom still unconscious on a hospital bed, and the results. The results that pulled the floor from under your feet.

Your brain couldn’t fully compute what was said. Cancer Stage 4. Surgery. Palliative care.

The world was muted around you as you sat on a chair in the waiting room, hands shaking when you tried to understand what was happening. You somehow ended up calling the one other person you trust.

“Y/N? What happened?”

“I don’t understand- she just- she just passed out and I thought- but- but they said- palliative care” you try to come up with words.

“Talk to me. Are you sick?” Kimi’s voice is so focused and a little soothing.

“It’s mom”

“Send your location, I’m going there,” that’s all he said.

Waiting for Kimi gave you some sense of purpose, because it’s Kimi. He could fix anything. He fixed your life when you were 14, he can do it again. He would get there and find a way to help. Your mind got so clouded when the word cancer was thrown in the conversation, that you probably missed the part about treatments and- and surgery and stuff.

In your mother’s room there was a comfortable couch where you tried to settle to sleep, but you only spent countless hours awake. You hoped to see the doctor again to try and get him to explain everything for a second time.

You wished you were smart and quick, but no, you just sat there holding onto the hope that Kimi had a way to fix this.

Kimi arrived early the next morning, knocking on the door before entering. You stood up, hugging him tight.

“What happened?”

“It’s pancreatic cancer, they said. We need to see more about surgery and- and treatments.”

You and Kimi found the doctor, who explained again, and in that moment you finally understood what he meant the first time around. She was in a late stage of pancreatic cancer, which was usually a very difficult illness to find before it is too late, due to the placement of the organ in the body and late symptoms. The only options were either to try a very risky surgery and chemo so she could extend her life for around 8 months to a year. Or she could go home to live her last few months the way she wanted.

You begged and cried and bribed and offered every single solution your brain could muster to try and save her. Kimi held you when you fell to the floor, sobbing.

When your mom woke up and you and Kimi told her the diagnosis, she cried too, sobbing in your arms as you tried to hold it together for her sake. It took a couple of days for her to choose to go home. The two of you spent the last days of summer break traveling around the world a bit more, visiting temples and statues, and seeing nature and everything good the world had to offer, going to places motorsport hadn’t taken you to.

Your mom went to every race week from there on, even when she felt especially weak, even when you had to hire a full time medical team for her.

Your focus on the season was solely on the moment between entering the car and leaving the car. You still managed to race like you’ve done before, calm and controlled, with the help of your engineers and team, you still could put the car where you wanted it, paving your way for a solid world championship that year. It was like your brain was seeing racing as the one thing in your life you had full control over, so sometimes you even felt like you and the car were one.

You didn’t tell anyone about her. Though every driver noticed how distant you were, even Charles and Max and the ones that weren’t very close to you noticed how you were only fulfilling your obligations and leaving, you weren’t even celebrating your wins, leaving the fastest you could after a race.

The Singapore GP was tough for you, having to leave your mom home alone with the medical staff and a couple of friends from her book club, since she wasn’t strong enough to travel anymore. Your attention was failing all throughout media day and free practices. Qualifying was shit compared to your performance the rest of the season.

In Q3 you did a reasonable sector 1 and 2 but you messed up sector 3 completely. It was a complete accident when you got in the way of a Ferrari when he was doing his fast lap, and you ended up messing his qualy too. Jace let you know it was none other than Charles Leclerc, who was setting the pace for a pole position. Out of 19 drivers, you had to ruin his lap. In the end, Max got pole, Charles qualified P3 and you qualified P5.

You went through the motions during the post qualifying press. You were about to leave after debriefing, when Charles Leclerc found you on the way to the parking lot. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself protectively as he walked up to you. You were hoping to escape his fury at least until after the race the next day. Before he could even get a word in, you started.

“Look, I know I messed up your pole. I know you won’t believe me, but it wasn’t intentional. I really thought there was no one doing fast laps on the track, I thought everyone was either still doing out laps or in the pits, so when you-”

“Calm down, breathe,” he interrupted you, “I’m not here to fight.”

“No?” You frowned, confused with the kindness in his eyes.

“We know you’re going through something, and I’m sure I’m the last person you want to hear this from, but you’re not alone. And you should really consider talking with someone on the grid. They’re all- we’re all worried about you.”

The words felt alien coming from his mouth, but the gentleness was so comforting you felt a lump in your throat.

“Why do you think I’m not ok?” You muttered trying to sound confident, but your voice failed, betraying you.

“You’re skinny and you look sleep deprived for a few weeks now,” Charles said directly.

“Damn, thanks.”

“I don’t mean it like that, you know it,” he paused, putting both hands on his pockets, “have you been eating?” Your lack of response made him press further, “have you eaten today?”

You pressed your lips together, not wanting to answer that.

“Let’s go, I’ll drive you to the hotel, we’ll stop on the way to grab some food,” Charles gestured to his car, a few meters away. You stood there, shocked as he started walking away, then he stopped looking over his shoulder, “come on, I don’t have all the time in the world.”

As you sat in his Ferrari, Charles put music on and you didn’t do much talking, but it was tranquil. He called the restaurant to order take out on the way, and 30 minutes later he dropped you off at the hotel with a bag full of food.

“Thank you, Charles.” You whispered before leaving the car.

You ate the food while on a video call with your mom.

You recovered well during the race, finishing P2, behind Max and ahead of Charles.

Your mom passed away a few days after the Japanese Grand Prix, the one you had won and dedicated it to her from the top step of the podium, even if she wasn’t there, just watching from home. You went home and stayed with her, holding her hands and hugging her as much as you could.

Some part of you knew she was somehow fighting, because she had promised you the year before she would be there when you became world champion. You could see she was hoping to make it to the end of the season, but you also knew she wouldn’t, and you rather she didn’t have to endure any more pain just for your sake.

“You don’t need to fight anymore, ma,” you whispered before she went to sleep, “you raised a strong woman, too. I will see you on the other side, ok? You can rest now, I love you.”

“I’m so proud of you, honey. I love you to the moon and back.”

You made it through her small funeral, following what she had written down before passing. An intimate funeral, full of flowers and a toast to her life. You cried the whole time, with Kimi and Minttu taking turns at comforting you as they could. Coming back to an empty home smelling of cleaning products made you almost lose your mind, and the sight of you in such despair was enough for Kimi to convince you to stay with them until you had to travel for the next race, in almost seven days.

The days passed in a crying blur, you let part of your team know about your mom’s passing. Only Amanda, Jace and your Principal. Jace tried to convince you to take a break and not go to the next race in Austin, but you quickly shut it off. Not only because racing was the one thing keeping you sane amidst the chaos, but because you were so close to the championship, and it was still close competition with Max and Charles, so you couldn’t afford to lose a race and the points that could come with it.

You had to honor your mom in some way.

That’s how you ended up on a plane to Austin with Kimi and Amanda. You knew Kimi had convinced you to let him go because he was sure you’d have a mental breakdown anytime along the weekend, but deep down you appreciated the company. Arriving there, Jace was the first to hug you and whisper his condolences, as well as your TP too.

You survived the entire weekend without breaking down crying in public, but that was your worst race in a few months, the first time out of a podium since Spa. You ended up P5, which luckily wasn’t too bad because Max finished P4 which you were grateful for as he was the one who was P2 in the driver’s championship close behind you.

After that week, you packed your stuff and moved to the new condo in Monaco you had bought during summer break. Despite loving your mom to pieces, you couldn’t manage to live alone in the house you bought for her a couple of years before, it was lonely and it hit you with overwhelming waves of sadness all the time. You distracted yourself a lot with buying furniture and decorations for the new place, and discovering Monte Carlo in a whole new way. The one comfort in all that, was knowing your mom wasn’t suffering anymore.

Then you went straight to Mexico for the next Grand Prix, this time, Kimi left you because he had to come home to Minttu and the kids. Amanda had been such a support for you, that you knew you had to give her something special for the holidays, out of gratitude.

Everything was going as expected until the press conference. You were there with Charles, Max, Sebastian and Lando. You suspected they were putting you always in the same group as Max and Charles because, as the season nearing the end, only three races left, they were your close competition.

While someone asked something of Charles, you were whispering with Sebastian, chatting about Mexican foods you wanted to try after the race. Then, something bizarre happened, and phones started to ping all around the room, between reporters, cameras and everyone else started checking their phones. It seemed like something out of a black mirror nightmare.

You reached for your phone but then remembered you left it to charge in your room.

“This question is for Y/N,” a reporter asked, reading something from his phone, “there’s a new article that just came out saying your mom passed away a couple of weeks ago, is that true?”

Your blood ran cold, and every sound felt like it was muted inside the room. Wide eyed, you searched for Amanda, who was somewhere on the opposite side of the room, and when you found her, she was pale. Then, there was a cacophony of voices and cameras and questions, that made you suddenly overwhelmed.

Swallowing, trying to reassess, you found Sebastian already standing, holding your shoulders. Looking around you noticed how the other three drivers had stood up, making some sort of shield around you, protecting you from the cameras and reporters swarming around.

“We can go, ok? Come on,” Sebastian was saying when Amanda caught up to you, leaning beside Sebastian.

“We can leave, right now,” she said, holding your hand.

Still a little confused, you nodded and let them both guide you back to your room.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sebastian hugged you, running his hands on your back for comfort.

“How- how did they find out?” You ask Amanda.

“An article came out, I’m not sure. Someone was probably digging into your life, but don’t worry, I put the team on it already.”

“How do- how we diffuse this? How do we proceed? We need to address this, right?” You started blabbering, trying to wrap your head around everything.

“That was very disrespectful of them to ask like that!” Sebastian exclaimed, making you two jolt.

“We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with. Do you want me to release a note asking for privacy?” Amanda suggested.

“Can I write something and then run it by you?” You asked, she only nodded.

After a moment, both Amanda and Seb left you alone as you typed a note on your phone. You rewrote and deleted a few times before settling on something heartfelt and respectful but also, calling out the invasion of privacy.

My mom passed away a few days ago after battling with cancer for the past few months.

She had requested of me to keep it a secret until after the season was over, so I could mourn her without the weight of racing over my shoulders.

But obviously someone went digging and disrespected not only one of her last wishes but also disrespected my grief and my right to privacy. I love my mom but I’ll not be answering any more questions about her illness or death, please respect me and respect her memory.

All the love, Y/N

Nobody asked anything over the weekend, but again, it felt like everyone was tiptoeing around you. As soon as you first saw Nano the next day, he held you tight for almost a minute whispering his condolences, and it made you almost cry again. Lewis also spared you a hug, saying if you ever needed anything, to contact him.

You survived that weekend, and decided to go straight to Brazil for the next GP instead of going back to Monaco. In São Paulo you mostly slept your worries and fears away. You had promised yourself to try and focus on the season only, to make your dream come true, to fulfill your mom’s promise in some way.

With Ferrari’s bad strategy in Mexico, they had ruined Charles’ chance at the championship. Now your only competition was Max and the Red Bull rocketship.

You rewatched the race a couple of times as you usually did, to try and catch any mistakes you or your team may have made, to fix it for the next one. But also to try and notice any weaknesses of your rivals, if it was something you could use in your own favor.

You noticed right away in the FP1 that your car wasn’t adhering to the track, you were losing balance and needed more force than usual to keep yourself in place. By FP2, you managed to control your car better, but that caused your tyres to wear off way more quickly.

Quali was one of the shittiest you’ve ever done in your career, taking you out in Q2 for the first time that year, placing you for a start at P12.

“Listen, we’ll do better tomorrow, ok?” Jace told you as soon as you entered the garage, seeing Max still out with a shot at pole position.

“Give me a few minutes to unwind, please,” you asked, dropping your helmet, balaclava and gloves at a nearby table.

You went straight to your room, searching for your phone. Immediately calling Kimi, you waited for him to pick up.

“I watched it,” he said first and foremost.

“If I do bad in the race tomorrow, and Max does well, then I’m gonna lose the championship, Kimi,” saying that out loud made you shiver in horror, “FUCK!” You screamed, kicking a chair.

“First of all, even if you did bad tomorrow, you’d still have a chance to fight for the championship in Abu Dhabi. You know that,” Kimi warned you as if he was scolding a little kid, “second of all, I never taught you this loser mindset. You’ll have to find a way to work around the problems in your car tomorrow.”

“Shit, I’m so fucked! How? How could I even-”

“Remember when I first met you? Your kart was with almost this same problem, yeah? Remember you got P2? You went ahead and fixed it. That’s what I need you to do tomorrow, don’t focus on what you can’t do, only focus on what you can do.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“No trying. Do it.”

After spending the entire night crafting plan A, B, C and Z with you strategists and engineers, you barely got any sleep, but you forced yourself to rest. In the morning, you went to the track early to meet with your team again, to run your strategies one more time, when you had an idea. You’d still follow the plans you had carefully crafted with the team, but you decided to make a Plan Star, as you had called. Interlagos didn’t have any safety car in the last two years, so it was dangerous to fully count on one. But your plan star consisted in the case of a safety car in this one specific window of laps, you’d go to the pits for hards, counting on everyone else being on old softs or mediums at that specific point in the race. But for it to work, you had to be the first of the front field to go in.

As the lights went out and you accelerated, you got already three positions up, landing in P9, and luckily, the points zone. Jace was worried in your ears, talking about the car and the tyres management. With controlled calm and Kimi’s voice in your head, you managed a few more positions in the first 14 laps, landing P7. You lost a bit of time there, since Nando was P6 and everyone knew how tough it always is to overtake him. But you eventually managed to get the position. Unfortunately, it was the moment you had to go to your first pitstop. Due to the problems in your car wearing off your tyres, you would have to go for a two-stop, which ended up costing you three positions again. But you were patient and you were rewarded when the other cars had to pit, which gave you back the four places you had lost.

The race you went on and you barely moved up or down from your P5, but you managed to concentrate.

Jace, on the other hand was sounding more and more worried about your second pit stop, about the difficulty in get closer to P4, about the P6 trying to enter DRS zone behind you, with your tyres wearing off, with the-

“Jace, I love you but please shut the fuck up, I know what to do,” you were praying for a miracle when suddenly, there was a yellow flag, and the safety car went out during the perfect window of laps, “fuck, Jace, this is plan star.”

“Copy,” he paused, his voice sounding secure, “Box, box.”

You changed into hards, no one else went to the pits, and the race restarted after three more laps. The safety car had closed the gap between you and the P4, which made you overtake him easily.

Jace was still keeping quiet to help your concentration, he only interrupted to warn you about overheating your tyres, and your velocity per lap compared to the next position. You started overtaking like a madwoman as much as your tyres allowed.

“That’s P1, Lioness,” Jace told you.

“Copy that.” You said with your voice shaken.

As you managed your P1, you went back to be aware of your surroundings, seeing a Red Bull right behind you, trying to overtake but you managed to hold position.

When you took the checkered flag, you sighed with relief, Kimi was right.

“Congratulations, Y/N! That’s a brilliant, brilliant win!” Jace’s voice was sounding shaken too.

“You’re crying, Jace?” You laughed softly.

“It’s an honor to tell you that you, Y/N Y/L/N, are a Formula 1 world champion!” Jace shouts, and behind him you can hear more people screaming.

“What? Jace you’re fucking with me!”

“No, Lioness, you’re the 2022 champion of the world!”

“But- but how? There’s one race left? And Max was right behind me!”

“No, Verstappen DNFed during that one yellow flag. Behind you was Perez.”

You made the calculations quickly in your head. Max was P2 in the championship, but this DNF meant no points, and even if he managed to win the last race in Abu Dhabi, he wouldn’t be able to equal you in points. So-

“OH MY GOD, oh my god!” You screamed your lungs out, feeling the tears streaming down into your balaclava, “Fuck yes! I’m Formula 1 World Champion! Thank you, thank you so much guys! Jace, holy shit, I’m the champion!”

“You’re the champion!” Jace confirmed.

You felt joy in a way you hadn’t felt in a long, long time, as you stopped your car on the number one spot. Still a little dizzy from the thrill, you left the car, going straight to your team, heavily waiting for you. They all hugged you, hitting your helmet, saying congratulations and everything. You took a moment to hug Jace and Amanda, who had been of great support throughout the year.

After getting weighted and being congratulated by the other two on the podium, Perez and Hamilton, the latter hugging you tight as he took you off the floor, you drank water as you waited for the post race interview with Nico Rosberg.

You were giddy, barely holding yourself together with how happy you were feeling, how you wanted to hold the trophy, how grateful you were and more importantly, how you felt a great weight being lifted off your shoulders.

“Y/N, congratulations on becoming a World Champion! I have to say, as a girl dad, it is great to see you become the first woman ever to win this title. How do you feel? What do you want to say?” Nico offered, with a kind smile.

“To be honest, I can barely contain myself. It’s such an honor to be here and be the world champion. I look at the past and see my younger self who never thought would make it to Formula 1. It’s such a dream come true, after this year’s hardships, I’m glad to achieve the greatest dream of them all!” You said, kinda quickly, rambling as you tried to put into words all the emotions mixed with the happiness, “I’m sorry, I know I’m taking up all your time, I just want to dedicated this win, and this championship to three people who saved my life: Kimi, thank you for being the salvation of my career when we first met; And my mom, who’s not here anymore, thank you for being the light in my darkest days. And lastly, I want to thank myself for working my ass off and never giving up.”

You muttered a thank you as Nico only laughed at your rambling. Before you moved to the cooldown, you grabbed the mic back again.

“May I add one last thing?” You asked for Nico, who only nodded, pointing to the camera again, “This is to my father: I made it, you asshole.”

You wanted to send the middle finger too, but you knew you couldn’t because of the FIA’s guidelines, and you were already risking a penalty for cursing on live TV. In the cooldown room, you sat beside Lewis, watching a few highlights of the race on the screen. It showed a couple of your overtakes.

“Damn, you overtook like crazy,” Lewis muttered, seemingly amazed.

“I pulled a Lewis Hamilton in Interlagos last year,” you joked, and he laughed.

That podium felt like the culmination of everything you had worked for your whole life, felt like recovering your love for the sport for what it was, for the fast cars and the adrenaline. Being on that podium in Brazil as a World Champion shifted something inside you forever. During your anthem, you laughed, and when you got the trophy, you cried, pointing the trophy to the sunny sky with a silent prayer to your mom. You barely noticed, but you felt the champagne raining on you, and opened your arms to shower in it. Putting the trophy down, you splashed the other bottle, laughing and wetting everyone that was close to you, Lewis, Checo, Jace, who had gone up representing the team.

When the celebration ended, you stayed behind a little more, watching the crowd from the podium, and they started chanting. It took you a few seconds to realize they were chanting your name.

You raised your trophy at them, and they cheered even louder. Then you pointed it to the sky again.

“Look, ma, I made it” you whispered to yourself, feeling the tears streaming down your face.

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#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fic #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #lestappen #lestappen x reader #Spotify

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wileys-russo · 6 months ago

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mary earps, out shopping, “remind me why i agreed to have those two idiots as my other children?” (lessi and tooney)

part of the a date to remember universe m.earps II we don't know them

"do they really have to come?" mary groaned as she pulled up out front, sighing heavily as you nodded. "we've been away for nearly two weeks. they probably missed you!" you teased pinching her cheek as she mocked you under her breath.

"i missed aunty lessi and aunty tooney!" delilah piped up from the back, swinging her legs with a cheshire like grin plastered on her face. "so did I tiny. mama did too, she just thinks she's too cool to admit it." you patted your wifes shoulder who rolled her eyes.

"did you tell them we're here? we're going to be late!" mary checked her watch with a huff as you quirked an eye in amusement. "can't be late to do the shopping mama." delilah beat you to it with a giggle as you looked back proudly.

"watch it kid or you'll lose your trolley privileges." mary warned fixing your daughter with a look through the rear view mirror. "so dramatic mary!" delilah parroted your own words from this morning as you slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

though before the goalkeeper could say anything back there was knocks at her window and she jumped a half foot in the air, scowling at the smirking brunette who winked and climbed into the car.

"where's alessia? for god sakes!" mary groaned head thumping back against her headrest. "for god sakes!" delilah mocked doing the same thing as her head thumped against the back of her car seat and she only giggled as mary shot her a dirty look.

"we're still in the parrot phase." you explained to ella who nodded in understanding, a flash of blonde hair hurrying down the driveway and diving into the car. "sorry! couldn't find my other sock." alessia huffed wrestling on her shoe as mary rolled her eyes.

"see? i told you we could go away for two years and these idiots wouldn't change." mary mumbled under her breath as you squeezed her knee, the taller girl huffing and leaning across to kiss your cheek in a silent apology starting the car back up.

with the other two in the car now the time flew past as delilah caught them up on the adventures of your last two weeks away in mallorca on holiday, both girls listening attentively with oo's of wonder.

"hello children." you finally greeted them both with a hug and a smile as you arrived to the grocery store, jumping out of the car as mary ignored them both and unclipped delilah.

"whats up marys ass this mornin? she got blue balls or somethin?" ella whispered with a wink as alessia shoved her with a dissaproving shake of her head. "something like that." you chuckled, marys plans of a romantic night together now you weren't sharing a room with your daughter ruined by the daughter in question refusing to sleep in her own bed and you not making her.

"we can stop the co-sleeping tomorrow. come on baby, family cuddles!" you denied marys request to remove delilah who was already fast asleep curled into your side, your wife sighing heavily but knowing this wasn't something worth arguing.

but a restless night with little feet kicking into her ribs every ten minutes or a tiny hand smacking her cheek and wriggling around meant it was one without much sleep, meaning a very grumpy mary this morning.

"mary. baby come on, your nose is so long its almost hitting the ground." you poked at your wifes side as alessia and ella hurried off ahead, swinging delilah between them.

"only things on the list!" mary called warning the trio as alessia gave a thumbs up, handing the piece of paper to your daughter who was now happily sat in a trolley, the three of them disappearing into the aisles.

"come on earps, give us a smile." you jostled your wife as she grabbed a trolley for your own list. "not in the mood." the goalkeeper warned but made no move to let go as you slipped your hand into hers.

"well, maybe later you can get in the mood." you smiled suggestively, the taller girl looking down at you with a frown. "i didn't invite ella and less just for a catch up. if we buy them lunch and butter them up a little, i'm sure they'd love to take delilah for a sleepover tonight." you quirked an eyebrow, grinning as mary's face lit up.

"my god woman, you're a genius." mary grabbed your face, kissing all over it as you laughed. "yeah yeah tell me something i don't know. i'm offended you seem so surprised!" you poked her accusingly before starting off toward the fruit and vegetables, having given delilah all the 'fun' food knowing she'd whinge about the healthier things.

"mary!" you hissed as her hand caught your ass, your complaints swallowed by the kiss she stole with a charming smile. "it slipped." she winked, reaching over your head to grab a punnet of strawberries.

you were both almost done with your part of the list when you heard a horrendously loud crash the aisle over and winced, sharing a knowing look.

"please tell me that isn't ours." you mumbled, the pair of you slowly heading toward the source of the noise. "i can tell you but you can't get mad at me for lying." mary sighed at the sight which met you, a bright red alessia apologizing profusely to a store employee as ella wiped off delilah who was coated in flower, her own body caked with white as well.

you met alessia's eyes over the employee's shoulder, feeling mary slip her hand back into yours.

"remind me why i agreed to have those two idiots as my other children? "pretend we don't know them?" "darling you read my mind."

"oi you two get back here!"

#woso community #woso #mary earps x reader #mary earps #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso fanfics

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azriels-human · 7 months ago

Text

In Your Dreams: II ☁️🌙☁️

Azriel x Reader

A/n: Heyy😖 sorry for the long delay. Lowkey, I don’t like using Y/n but since it’s more Azriel’s POV we just have to put up with it. God gives his strongest battles to his strongest warriors😔✊🏽

Summary: Az isn’t very fond of the newest member of the Night Court so much so that you even plague his dreams.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI.

Part I

Azriel could help but let his mind wander to that dream. To the way you looked at his mercy and how his name sounded coming from your lips. Those lush rosy lips.

THUMP

Azriel hits the ground forcefully, his sword flying out of sight.

Cassian rolls his eyes and extends a hand to his brother. “What the hells is it? You’re distracted this morning.”

Azriel takes his hand, standing to his feet. “Nothing.”

Cassian tugs Azriel’s hand and gives him a knowing look. “Is it the stuff with Elain?”

Azriel’s brow pinches in confusion for just a second before he answers. “No. There is no ‘stuff’ with Elain.”

As Rhysand had made it very clear to him.

For a moment he’d forgotten of the incident he shared with the Archeron sister. Of course, he has thought of her many times since but she is not what plagued his thoughts this morning.

It was you, quite the opposite, in fact.

While Elain is the picture of innocent loveliness and blooming roses, you are the essence of grim allure. The thorns of those roses.

Shit, he even forgot that he promised to take Elain to her favorite bakery as soon as he returned from his mission. He’d been so focused on not focusing on you that he hadn’t even tried to find her at all yesterday.

Another thing he adds to the mental list of reasons not to like you.

“Then what is it?” Cassian asks, readying his blade for more action while Azriel picks up his own.

Though his distaste for you is apparent, he hasn’t spoken of you to anyone but Rhysand. The only reason he ever does is to get him to do something about you. What that something is, he’s not too sure but anything works at this point.

“I have to take…Y/N with me on a mission tomorrow.” Your name feels so foreign on his tongue, chilling, as if speaking it would summon you.

Cassian shrugs, gesturing for Azriel to strike him first in their new round of training and he does. The two begin to spar once more.

“What of it?” Cassian asks dodging Azriel’s attacks.

“Only that I cannot stand the sight or smell or idea of her.” Az grunts.

“Yeah, I kind of got that.” Cass chuckles between blows. “Remind me why? is it because she out sneaked you?”

“She did not out sneak me!” Azriel growls. “Something is just off about her.”

“Like?”

“Like how bleak and foreboding she is.”

Cassian laughs, “I can’t argue with that. She’s definitely intimidating at first.”

“At first?”

“Well once I got to know her, I discovered that’s she’s actually pretty interesting.” Cassian swings his sword.

“Got to know her?” Cassians attack misses.

“Yeah. Shes kind of like you in that sense.”

Az staggers back, not from Cassian’s attacks but from utter shock. The accusation of being anything like you. “What do you mean by that? I’m not like her at all.”

“Just that some people aren’t as scary as they look.” Cassian doesn’t bother to strike Azriel in his baffled state.

Azriel really didn’t know what to make of it all, couldn’t picture you smiling and chatting away with Cassian. You’re all but a stonewall whenever he’s seen you. But Cassian wouldn’t just lie for the fun of it. Unless…

“Did Rhysand tell you to say that?” Azriel runs his hands through his hair, wiping the sweat that drips from his curled tips.

He doesn’t wait for an answer before returning his training sword to its proper area, Cassian in suit.

“Why would he?”

“Well he seems quite adamant on me getting along with her.”

“Maybe you should. She’s-”

“I get it Cass. Shes your new best friend but that certainly does not mean she has to be mine.” Azriel rolls his eyes. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a promise to keep.”

.☁️🌙☁️.

Thankfully, Elain wasn’t upset with Azriel’s forgetfulness, allowing him to escort her to her favorite bakery and even stopping by a jewelry shop for some new earrings.

“What do you think of these?” Elain asks pointing to a pair of small pearls.

Azriel leans forward, inspecting the timeless jewelry. “They’re very nice.”

Elain nods at the shop owner who adds them to the small pile of jewels she’s picked. “Maybe one more pair?” Elain sheepishly smiles.

Azriel nods. “Take your time.”

“How about you pick them?” Elain suggests. “They’re all so beautiful, I can’t choose.”

The idea makes Azriel smile at the middle Archeron sister. That she might like to wear something he chose for her.

Azriel scratched his chin examining the rows of elegant and extravagant jewelry. Gold, silver, diamonds, all kinds of jewelry that he knows she would appreciate but there is one piece that calls to him.

A unique piece for sure, nothing like he’d ever seen before. A silver pair of earrings with a stone so black it’s like looking into a void and the tiniest diamonds scattered across it like stars.

However, Elain is not who came to mind upon seeing them. It’s you.

The earrings would go flawlessly with your usual pure black attire but it’s the way they make him feel like he’s looking right at you.

His chest tightens. Daunting yet fascinating.

He hates himself for letting you distract him from Elain again. You, who could not be anymore different, should be far from his thoughts right now.

You steal his siphon, his thoughts, his dreams and he detests it. He just wants to return to the life he had before he knew of your existence.

“You seem to like those.” Elain’s tranquil voice brings Azriel out of his thoughts. “I’ll take them.”

The shop owner reaches for the unnerving jewels but Azriel stops him. “No, not those. The ones next to it.”

Azriel hadn’t even taken notice in the plain, diamond studs beside them and mentally cursed you for keeping him from finding a beautiful pair for Elain.

Elain nods and the owner rings her up.

The walk back to the house is silent. Azriel’s thoughts consisting of half trying not to replay his dream of you grinding on his cock and half wondering where the tension between he and Elain is coming from.

Did she know he was thinking of you when he saw the earrings? Was she upset that he’d chosen something so boring for her?

Whatever the reason, it’s your fault for being a parasite in his brain.

“You seem distracted lately.” Elain breaks the silence between them.

Distracted. The same thing Cassian had said this morning and what he is trying so hard not to let you do to him.

“It’s nothing. Just thinking about my assignment tomorrow.” It wasn’t a lie. You are the most troubling part of his work now too.

“Right, you’re going to the Hewn City with Y/n.”

Azriel’s eyes almost leave his skull at Elain’s comment. You are not a topic he EVER needs to speak of with Elain.

Elain giggles, “She told me about it.”

“You…talk to her?” Azriel asks incredulously. It’s one thing to hear that Cassian has spoken to her but Elain? Sweet, sunshine Elain?

Elain nods, “Why wouldn’t I?”

Azriel shakes his head. It felt like worlds colliding. World’s he didn’t want to mix at all.

It was foolish of him to believe Elain wouldn’t talk to you though. Despite her months of casting everyone out, Elain is kind hearted.

Even before the cauldron, when she was afraid of him, she still did her best to be polite.

“I just assumed she didn’t speak to anyone.”

Again, Elain laughs. “She gets along quite well with everyone.”

Another piece of shocking information. “Everyone?”

Elain nods. “I won’t lie, she’s a bit scary when she’s quiet, but one day she asked to join me while baking and I got to know her a bit.”

You approached her? Azriel didn’t think he could be anymore shocked but there he was his jaw practically on the floor.

That isn’t at all like what he imagined you to be like. With your cold and strange disposition, he couldn’t even imagine you and Elain in the same room, let alone baking together.

Now, Azriel by no means believes Elain to be a liar but the thought of you actually getting along with his family is so…bizarre. He needs to know for himself to believe it. So he set forth on his own personal mission.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Upon his departure from Elain at the House, Azriel begins the search for his first witness, Mor.

He beelines for her room, knocking on her door a bit too urgently.

She’ll tell me him the truth.

Mor opens her door, brow pinched in slight annoyance. “Want to knock a bit louder?”

“Have you spoken to Y/n?” Azriel wastes no time on formalities or her mood.

“About?” Mor shrugs.

“Anything. Anything at all.” Azriel sighs, growing impatient. He needs answers now, before he’s stuck with you for Gods know how long tomorrow.

“Uh…yes?” Mor’s irritation turning into confusion.

“And?”

She shakes her head, her confusion only furthering. “And what? I don’t know what you’re asking me, Az.”

“What do you think of her? What did you talk about?” Azriel runs a hand through his hair trying to calm his edge as he realizes how frantic he is coming off.

Mor taps her finger against her chin. “She’s great! We talk about clothes, we talk about clubs, we talk about boys.” Mor wiggles her eyebrows.

Boys? He didn’t care about that. He wants to know what she knows about you.

Yet he couldn’t help himself.

“What ‘boys’?” Azriel glances down the hallway, as if you’d appear there, staring him down as you always do. “Anyone I should be concerned about?”

Mor chuckles and rolls her eyes. “None. Unless you’re concerned with who she may share a bed with.”

Something like nausea twist in his gut. He did not need to know that. He will absolutely never need to know that.

“I am most definitely not. I mean, is there anything suspicious about her? Anything I should know?” Azriel shakes the thought from his head.

“Nope. She seems alright to me. Anymore questions that you can find out for yourself?”

Azriel resists the urge to learn every detail she knows and shakes his head, bidding her a good evening and setting off to search for the next subject to his questions. If there’s anyone that will tell him what he wants to hear, it’s Nesta.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel finds Nesta lounging in the den, a book (that she obviously is very concentrated on) in hand.

Nesta isn’t fond of being interrupted while reading but this is important and time sensitive. He needs to know who it is he’s going to be stuck with.

Azriel clears his throat, stepping into the den. Nesta continues to read.

He clears his throat again, a bit louder this time.

“I’m busy.” Her eyes remain in the book.

“What do you think of Y/n.” Azriel decides it’s might be worse to try and ease her into conversation.

To his surprise, she actually looks up. A smirk stretches across her lips as she puts her book down and crosses her arms. “Why the sudden interest? I didn’t think you liked the poor girl.”

Poor girl? Nesta thinks you’re the victim here? He’s the one you stole from.

“That doesn’t matter. Do you like her or do you not?” Azriel asks, doubt begins to fill the hope he held out for anyone else to feel what he feels.

Nesta waves him off. “If you’re not going to tell me, then I’m not going to have answers.”

Azriel’s patience is worn thin at this point. He has a feeling he knows her answer. He just wants to rip the band aid off.

“My only interest is making sure she isn’t going to stab me in my sleep when I take her with me on my assignment tomorrow.” His hands rest on his hips, awaiting Nesta’s response.

Nesta scoffs. “I doubt that. Though it seems you might be the one doing the stabbing. You look like you’re going insane.”

“I feel like I am.” Azriel slumps onto the sofa across from Nesta and burries his face into his palms.

He doesn’t know what to think and he has yet to see any of this ‘great’ personality as Mor had described you. Anytime he has been around you, you’ve always been tucked away in a corner, languishing in your own mysterious presence.

“Stop being so stubborn and talk to her. Maybe then you won’t run away like a scared child when you see her.” Nesta pokes fun at him but he couldn’t deny that he mostly feels the need to flee when you are around.

Speaking to you does not sound appealing, not only because you seem as interesting as watching paint dry, but mostly because of how you make him feel.

Being face to face with you always results in his every nerve being on fire and a gripping ache in his abdomen that won’t go away. He’s on high alert, anxious that you’ll break from your spine chilling stillness and put your cunning skills to use.

You are a source of stress that he does not know how to relieve. Even after learning that you’ve earned his family’s affection, he can’t settle the unease that you stir in him.

But he’s afraid everyone is right. Maybe it’s best for him to grow a pair and face the discomfort to try and alleviate some it at least.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel hesitantly searches for you throughout the rest of the evening and night, occasionally gathering the courage to peak into a room to see if you are there.

He has faced beasts and armies and kings yet facing you is what terrifies him?

The walk to the library felt long in the dead silent house. Not even Cassian’s snores can be heard from here and it only makes Azriel more nervous.

Since he could not find you anywhere else, the library seems to be where you hide at night.

He silently creeps into the library. The illumination of moonlight from the back of the room proves him right as he slips past the row of bookcases until he reaches the now open balcony.

There you were lying on the bench, eyes closed, hands tucked tightly to your chest.

Now he’s sure you are insane. Sleeping on a hard bench in the cold night.

Azriel stalks towards you, unsure if he should wake you or let you freeze the death. Maybe that’ll solve this whole thing.

But once again he just can’t walk away.

Your skin seems to glow in the moonlight and each strand of your hair glitters in the gentle night breeze. Peace replaces your usual stone features.

Heat pulses through his veins and his every nerve begins to vibrate with alarm just as he knew they would. Except there was something more.

It’s not only that he can’t leave but its as if once he gets close enough to smell you, to notice the details of your being and to be able to reach out and touch you, he is lost to an unseen enchantment that only draws him closer.

Azriel looks down over your sleeping form. His eyes roam over your nightgown clad figure. The hem, riding dangerously up your thigh, would do absolutely nothing to cover your center if you move half an inch.

Visions of his degenerate dream flit through his mind, the lewd things he did to you. The sound of your breathless moans and the feeling of your tight pussy contracting around his fingers as you came.

Unwelcomed desire pinches deep in his stomach. Despite his best attempt to push down the carnal feeling, all is for not when his eyes lock onto your lips.

Pink and plump and parted in your slumber, he cannot look away, can’t stop the vulgar thoughts flooding his mind. Hypnotized, his fingers twitch with the need to touch, to feel, to know.

Cauldron, he needs to know.

“Do you enjoy watching people sleep?”

Azriel jumps back as his heartbeat sky rockets. What the hells is wrong with you!?

You look up at him through your lashes. “Well?”

What is he even supposed to say? There is no way to make staring at someone while they sleep sound normal.

Azriel swallows, “I was making sure you weren’t up to anything.” Turning the tables of accusations is one way.

Your brow quirks up. “Oh? And what exactly do you think I’d be up to?”

Azriel shakes his head as if it should be obvious. “Stealing.”

“Stealing? With my eyes closed?” You scratch your chin. “Though I probably could from you.”

Lightning strikes his pride. “You could not. Even the worst of the worst get lucky from time to time.”

The corner of your tempting lips curl into a smirk and a chuckle escapes them. You laughed. He made you laugh. Not at all intentional but still the sound weaves its way into the deepest corner of his mind, engraving its melody for what he knows will be eternity.

He wants to hear it again.

“Okay. So what would I be stealing?” You sit up. Azriel doesn’t miss the way your soft thighs glide against each other as you cross your legs.

“Whatever you can get your little hands on.” Azriel sneers, already regretting letting everyone influence him to speak with you.

“Hm. Well, I can get these ‘little hands’ wrapped around just about anything. Sounds like you’ve got trouble then.” The smirk on your lips turns devious, like a cat toying with a mouse.

Your choice of words incite that thrill in him again. The same one when he retrieved his siphon. The same one he felt fucking you with his fingers in his dream.

“Say I was stealing, what would you do to me?” You blink once, twice.

Azriel couldn’t ignore the thrum of his heart. Just as you had in his dream, you feign innocence. Chin tilted down as you watch him behind long fluttering lashes. “I’d…”

You did not want to know what he’d do to you. What he had done to you.

For stealing he’d send you somewhere as dark and cold as you. For your arrogant attitude, it would involve three fingers in your soaking cunt and your ass grinding on his throbbing cock.

“Rhysand would lock you away.” Azriel keeps himself out of the scenario completely. He’ll be damned if he shows you just how much your provocative choice of words affect him.

“He already didn’t do that.” You pout. His frown must be more apparent than he thought it to be because your vacant eyes fill with a devilish amusement.

It’s blow after blow at his dignity as a spy master. Azriel’s ego was never high to begin with but your words get under his skin. “Yeah, instead he decided to give a very important job to a less than impressive thief.”

You chuckle again.

Azriel scoffs. Why are you laughing at his jabs at you? Why aren’t you as annoyed and desperate to end this conversation as he is?

“I beg to differ. I did impress the High Lord.” You lean forward just an inch. An inch that seems like a mile to Azriel. “And I think I impressed you too.”

“Impressed by a common thief from the slums of the Hewn City?” Azriel wanted to hit where it hurt, to knock you off your high horse.

“Where I’m from you’re either a thief or a whore.” You shrug, brushing your hair over your shoulder. “I chose thief.”

The persistent ache deepens within him as he recalls the noises you made in his dream. The way you begged to feel his fingers and make a mess of you. The way he had made you his whore.

“Maybe you would have been better at the latter.” Azriel steadies his breaths, unsure if he truly meant offense. He wanted to mean it that way but his crude memories begin to blur that line between hate and desire.

You stand from the bench, eyes never leaving his with their crushing weight. “You think I’d make a good whore?”

You take a step towards him only this time he did not step back. You tilt your chin up, a knowing look dances across your expression.

“More than a thief.”

“Why?” You ask.

Why not? Is what he wanted to say. How could you not when you made such tempting noises and felt so fucking good against him.

Upon his lack of response, your sultry smirk returns. “Is it my body? My face?”

Both. Your figure is one thing but your face is a whole other. Your darkened eyes stare into his soul, cheeks tinted pink from the pinch of the cold air and your pretty lips just waiting to be kissed.

Gods, you’re incredibly beautiful. Every time he sees you, he notices something new. More and more beautiful each time.

Azriel can’t help but stare, unable to say the words he wished to say. All he could focus on is how badly he wants your hand on his chest. For it to travel lower and lower until he stops you. For his all consuming dream to become a reality.

“Tell me what would make me a good whore.” You challenge.

He couldn’t think. With you standing so close he can feel the warmth of your skin through his leathers. He could touch you, the real you, only inches apart.

He could know how soft your kiss is in a split second.

His eyes flit to your lips then back to your magnetic eyes.

Suddenly you burst into laughter. Full blown laughter as you clutch your chest from the hysterics.

Azriel steps back in surprise.

“Don’t tell me you want a kiss, spy master?” Your lips curled back in a full grin, perfect teeth gleaming back at him.

A mix of humiliation and awe swirl through his every sense. Cruel splendor you are.

You chuckle once more and wink at him as you make your way out. “In your dreams.”

If only you knew. He doesn’t know if he’s furious or turned on but either way, he’ll make sure you pay for it tomorrow.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel plops down onto his bed, running his hands over his face, a deep sigh following.

What was he to do about you? That conversation went far worse than he anticipated. Instead of finding some kind of relief to his assumptions, he found that he wants to fuck you senseless. The attitude mixed with that silver tongue of yours is a lethal combination, cracking down on his hard exterior.

He only hopes you’ll stay silent so he can focus on the assignment instead of your lips.

His pants tighten at the thought of them. How your lips would look so good around him.

Azriel couldn’t help but squirm, the friction of his pants against his cock making him even harder inside them.

His hands don’t leave his face, embarrassment and desire flood his senses.

His hips move in slow, deep circles. The soft fabric of his briefs caressing him.

“Having fun by yourself, Shadowsinger?” Azriel silently gasps, sitting up to see you stood in the center of his bedroom. Nightgown clinging to your body, loose hair swaying at you tilt your head to the side.

“Get out.” Azriel growls. As much as he tries to avoid you, one conversation has you following him around like a lost puppy?

“That’s no way to talk to a lady.” You pout.

“Leave.” Azriel points to his door. Heart racing, from surprise or lust he doesn’t know.

You shake your head, silky thighs brushing against each other as you move towards him. “You don’t want me to leave.”

“Leave.” Azriel repeats hardly over a whisper, chest visibly rising and falling with each heavy breath.

“You don’t want me to leave.” You match his volume. Your condescending tone mocking his decaying self control as you come to a halt right between his thighs.

You look down at him with those dark eyes. Words, thoughts, air all elude him as you lower yourself.

Azriel’s eyes never leave yours, his lips part slightly in fascination at the sight you kneeled before him.

“Do you?” You ask virtuously.

Azriel subtly shakes his head

Your pouted lips morph into a wicked smirk. “Then tell me I’m better.”

Azriel blinks. Confusion trickling into his intoxicating lust. “What?”

“Tell me that I’m better.”

“A better what? Whore?”

You scoff a laugh. “Spy. Everyone thinks it already, just admit I’m better.”

The haze of infatuation decomposes into disdain. For only a second he forgot about that arrogance, that you aren’t this innocent, amazing person everyone thinks you to be. You’re rotten and he’ll make sure you know it. Tonight he’ll teach you.

Azriel roughly grips your jaw in his hand, jerking you closer to him. An inaudible squeak leaving your puckered lips as your eyes widen at the unexpected movement.

“You will never be a better spy than me. You’re hardly a good thief.” Azriel’s grip tightens, pushing your lips even more together. His index finger brushes over them before he presses it down hard to keep you silent. “I still think you’d make a better whore.”

Your muffled response is lost on him as he squeezes even harder. You flinch at the ache forming in your cheeks.

“You’re going to show me just how good of a whore you can be.” Azriel’s thumb caresses your jaw. You glare at him but it only earns you a wry smile. Seeing you start to become irate just as you make him every second of the day is so satisfying.

“Show me.” Azriel releases you with a shove of your face. He leans back slightly on his palm, it’s his turn to wear the arrogant smirk.

And it’s your turn to be speechless. You only sit there, jaw clenched and red with his finger prints, debating your next move. “Not until you give me what I want.”

Azriel’s smirk widens. “I don’t think you understand. You are going to give me everything that I want and you are going to take everything I give you. Every last inch.”

You sneer up at him, eye glaring with animosity. Yet you stay there on your knees for him.

“Come here.” He coos, gesturing you to lean closer. Hesitantly, you come closer. His eyes fixate on your mouth again as he brings his index and pointer finger to rest on your bottom lip. “Open.”

You don’t open. You only glare at him as his fingers play with your lips. Moving them side to side trying to find an entrance into your mouth.

“I said open.” Azriel growls growing impatient with your attitude.

You take a second, another before parting your lips slightly. Letting him slide his long jagged fingers into your mouth. They slide across your tongue, reaching even further until they touch the back of your throat. Knuckles pressed to your lips.

Your eyes squeeze shut holding back a gag, his fingers curling deep in your throat. “This is where I want my cock. All the way back here, baby.”

He pulls his drenched fingers from your throat, sending you into a coughing fit as you try catching your breath.

Azriel chuckles, completely taking pleasure in assaulting your pride. “Good whore. Now show me where it goes.”

Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as you glare up at him. “Fuck you.”

Azriel frees himself from the confinement of his pants. His throbbing member eaking with need. You bite the inside of your cheek, contemplation in your stare.

You roll your eyes with a grimace before sticking out your tongue and dragging in from his base to his cum beaded tip.

Azriel takes in a sharp breath.

You roll your eyes again, taking his head into your mouth. Lazily and indifferent you bob your head around his tip.

Azriel scoffs, lacing his fingers through your hair and tugging you off of him. He leers down at you. “Don’t be a fucking brat. Suck my cock.”

He pulls you back down into him. Your soft whimper duly noted.

You wrap your mouth around his shaft, slowly sinking, throat stretching as he guides you further.

A strangled moan leaves Azriel when his head hits the back of your throat. You gag around him, clamping his stiffness.

His stomach tightens at the euphoric feeling. He can’t imagine you anywhere but here with his cock down your throat forever.

You go to pull away but his hand holds you down tightly.

“Not yet. Stay right there.” Azriel moans, grinding his hips into your face, wanting every inch of himself to be covered in your warm saliva. “Stay right fucking there.”

You gag again, reaching up and digging your nails into his thighs as his cock pulses in your throat. He groans pulling off of him again.

Your coughs are replaced by whines as you struggle to regain your breath. “Asshole.”

Azriel laughs at the image before him. Your cheeks pink from the pressure, drool dripping from your lips and eyes glossy. He reaches out, swiping his thumb over your tantalizing lips, spreading your spit across them.

You turn your head away, glaring daggers he knows you wish to impale him with at this very second. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Bullshit.” Azriel smirks. You raise a brow in question. “I think you’re bullshitting. You want my cock in your mouth. You want me to stretch that little throat of yours.”

Azriel gently caresses your jaw. Your eyes fluttering shut. “You want me to fuck your face until you’re covered in my cum.”

You open your half lidded eyes, chewing on your bottom lip. Unadulterated lust filling your gaze.

He could cum at this sight alone.

Azriel pushes your loose strands behind your ear and his hand slides to the back of your head, cradling you with affection. “Now suck it and make it yours, angel.”

You waste no time, taking him as far as you can, bobbing your head up and down, sucking and twisting and drooling all over him.

“Oh shit.” Azriel’s eyes roll to the back of his head. He grips your hair, not needing to guide you anymore. You devour him with an insatiable hunger, gagging and choking around him.

Azriel brings both hands to cup your face and hold it still. “F-fuck, look at me.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, tears streaking your cheeks. His hips thrust up into your tight throat, wanting to be impossibly deeper in your warmth. “You look so good choking on my cock.”

Your nose crinkles as you smile and what he assumes is your muffled attempt at giggling vibrates around him. “So fucking beautiful.”

Azriel continues to drive himself into your mouth. Tension begins to build inside him, hips bucking as he starts to lose his pace in the heightening feeling.

“I’m close. Fuck!” Azriel pulls your mouth off of him. You whine at the sudden loss but quickly open wide and stick your tongue out with excitement.

Azriel groans taking his cock in his hand and stroking desperately as he tilts your head back. His tip brushing your tongue earning even more moans from the Shadowsinger.

Azriel lets out a long, breathy moan, feeling himself start to come undone. Shockwaves grip his entire body as hot white ribbons shoot across your tongue and face. A smile graces your lips as you hum in content.

Azriel gawks at his masterpiece in admiration.

You swipe your fingers over your cheek, gathering his seed and toying with it. You chuckle and he can’t help but do the same.

“I do make a good whore.” You smirk before leaning forward. Your eyes closing gently as you slowly tilt your head and come closer.

You were going to kiss him. Azriel’s heart beats even more rapidly. You were going to kiss him and he would finally know.

Azriel closes his own eyes, awaiting your lips.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel opens his eyes to see the ceiling. He sits up finding himself in the same position he had upon returning to his room last night.

Another dream? How? You were right there, making him cum.

Azriel sighs, making his way to the bathroom to clean up the mess he’d made of himself.

This is going to be the longest day ever.

Tag list:

@quinzzelx @mybestfriendmademe @quiettuba @kksbookstuff @bloodicka @lilah-asteria @honk4emoboyz

#a court of thorns and roses #azriel angst #azriel spymaster #azriel smut #azriel fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar smut #acotar

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alwaysahiccupandastrid · 1 month ago

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Gladiator II - Thoughts (SPOILERS)

I was fortunate enough to watch Gladiator II at the Royal Global premiere at Leicester Square last night (Wednesday 13th November) and I NEED to share some thoughts but there are definitely some spoilers, so…

I cannot stress this enough:

THERE ❗️ ARE ❗️ SPOILERS ❗️ BELOW ❗️ THE ❗️ CUT ❗️

Once again

⚠️ DO NOT CLICK THE READ MORE IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS FOR GLADIATOR II ⚠️

There’s probably things I’m missing/forgetting right off the top of my head, and I might be paraphrasing/summarising some dialogue. I definitely need to rewatch it when I’m NOT super close to an IMAX cinema screen because I spent the whole movie with my neck craned backwards and my eyes darting everywhere because I was trying to take it all in.

Anyway, without further ado:

The opening credits were very beautiful, it recounted the plot of the original film but kind of like in the style of the opening credits of Pillars of the Earth? I don’t know if that makes sense 😭

If I remember correctly, Joseph is billed third behind Paul and Pedro, and Fred is billed fourth 🥹♥️

The film opens with a huge battle where the Roman army, led by Marcus Acacius, conquering the last free city of Africa (I think?), which is what Lucius and his wife are trying to defend

I cannot for the life of me remember what Lucius’ wife was called but she seemed nice, we only had her for a few minutes though before she got killed 😭

Okay so I’m going to start right off the bat by talking about the Emperors as they were the ones I was most looking forward to seeing, and I want to give them their own section!

We NEED to talk about Fred as Caracalla - this isn’t even me being biased, I’m being as unbiased as I can when I say that he was AMAZING

By the way, for months I’ve seen people talk shit about Fred, complaining about how they wish it was Barry Keoghan, whinging because “we could have had Joe and Barry” - to those people I say, shut the fuck up ☺️ I will NOT tolerate any hate for my boy Fred!

Fred actually had a much meatier part than Joe which was pleasantly surprising. I’m not saying Joe wasn’t unhinged or good, but he was way more sane than Fred’s character and you got the feeling that he was trying to hold their rule together and keep his brother from bringing down the whole empire

Caracalla surprised me because he was so much more softly spoken than I anticipated; in so many scenes he was childlike and almost pitiful to watch. For example, there were times where you could see him pouting or fidgeting like a bored toddler, at one point he essentially threw a tantrum and Geta had to hold him back from killing Acacius and Lucilla (and then in the background you could see him playfully swing the sword about like a child would with a toy) He would grin and get excited like a child whenever there was fighting or bloodshed, bouncing in his seat, he looked surprised and excited in the beginning when Geta handed him wine etc.

In the last coliseum fight scene, this was literally Caracalla getting excited when the fighting started - a literal child 😭

Honestly it was just fascinating to watch Caracalla because you could never tell if he was going to be childlike and almost-innocent or if he was going to start screaming and get violent

So apparently the reason that Caracalla is unhinged is because (to quote Geta) “the disease from his loins has spread to his head” (to paraphrase) which makes me think he’s got syphilis or something.

Also both of the emperors are briefly seen with concubines (as in the trailer), and Caracalla has both male and female ones hanging around him 😭 we love a bisexual Emperor!

Caracalla seems to have memory problems (probably as a result of his STI) because he doesn’t remember seeing Lucius fighting in front of them from just a couple of days ago at their party (the scene with the concubines) and Geta tries to remind him, “it’s the poet” but Caracalla just sits down and says he doesn’t remember

There’s a scene where Marcus and Lucilla are brought to the emperors in the middle of the night after being caught in a conspiracy to overthrow them, and you’ve got Geta in that red robe from the trailer whilst Caracalla is basically just wearing a fucking bedsheet toga style 😭 you know that shot in White Lotus where Fred/Quinn has a duvet around himself? Kind of like that

Contrary to that Letterboxd review calling the twins “BJ brothers”, there is NO incest in this film, and no hint of incest between the twins. I know a screenshot is circulating of Joe in the red robe where you could see what looked like the top/side of Fred’s head as if he’s on his knees, but they were absolutely NOT doing that 💀 the scene shows them both entering the room (Geta in his robe, hastily put on) and Fred in his bedsheet toga thing. I definitely didn’t get the vibe of incest at all, I got the vibe of “it’s the middle of the night and they’ve both been woken up because these two traitors (Marcus and Lucilla) were caught plotting against them”

I love that Caracalla’s weakness is Dondas (or Dundas? Different magazines are using different names so I’m so confused), his pet monkey (WE FUCKING LOVE CHERRY AND SO DOES FRED 😭♥️) Like he’s got Dondas/Dundas wearing a fucking dress and on a little chain lead, eating sweets from a bowl, and I have to applaud Fred for being able to act with a straight face while he had the monkey crawling over his shoulders, touching his hair, and at one point when the monkey moved the chain lead literally went right around/over his face

While there’s riots going on outside the palace, Caracalla is freaking out and has Dondas/Dundas the monkey on his shoulder, and Geta straight up threw wine at both of them before saying that maybe Dondas (or Dundas, whatever the fucking name is) go and calm down in another room 💀

There’s a scene where Macrinus finds Caracalla hiding under a table with the monkey and it made me think they were almost playing hide and seek 😭 truthfully I think he was just under there crying and hiding

It’s the fact that Macrinus was able to manipulate Caracalla into killing Geta by using his love of Dondas/Dundas against him; the people of Rome protest against their emperors, and Macrinus basically tells Caracalla that Geta is going to throw him to the plebs outside to be killed - and Dondas/Dundas. “Think about what they might do to Dondas” (or Dundas) - and that’s what pushes him over the edge.

NOT CARACALLA AND MACRINUS SAWING GETA’S FUCKING HEAD OFF LIKE THAT 😭 IT WAS STRAIGHT UP LIKE A HORROR FILM WITH MACRINUS COMING UP BEHIND CARACALLA AND HELPING?!?

Also Caracalla made the monkey a fucking consul of state (I think) after he killed Geta?!?! 😭 Absolutely fucking UNHINGED I TELL YOU

“ALL HAIL DONDAS! 😃” (or Dundas - again, someone please tell me the fucking monkey’s confirmed name)

They showed Geta’s head for WAY too long 😭 and Macrinus just showing it around like that?!? NASTY

Reeling over the fact they airbrushed out Geta’s head for the trailer because in this shot in the film Geta’s head is clearly visible on the table behind Denzel 💀

Sorry but Fred looked damn fine in that purple outfit near the end 😋

I feel like Caracalla had a little bit of a soft spot for Lucilla but the two sides of his personality were warring with each other: the sadistic bloodthirsty side wanted to murder both her and Marcus right away, but then near the end he whispers to Macrinus “must we kill Lucilla?” and he sounded a little hesitant or unsure which was interesting

Seeing Fred as Caracalla without Geta in that last coliseum battle scene? I can’t help but love him, Fred is seriously too good in this role. The shouting, the childlike excitement when the fighting started (see gif above)

Fred was definitely playing up the childlike side of Caracalla in his last scene when the people started revolting, he was literally curling up in his seat, snivelling and crying like a baby until Macrinus killed him from behind (he put something in his ear, i think he stuck a pin in his ear to impale his brain?) Truly pitiful end for Caracalla.

Once again: Fred Hechinger for Best Supporting Actor at the 97th Academy Awards campaign!! 😊↕️

Okay so now I’ve talked about the Emperors, I can talk about the rest of the film:

Ridley Scott truly said fuck historical accuracy in this film 😭 which is not surprising to be fair if you know him and his movies

This film was, expectedly, VERY bloody and violent from start to finish

NOT LUCIUS TAKING A BITE OUT OF THE BABOON 🤯

At one point where they’re bringing the slaves into Rome, they show statues of a wolf feeding two human children from her teat and Lucius recounts the story - this is obviously a reference to Romulus and Remus, twins raised by a wolf mother. This is actually really fitting because from earth on, Ridley AND Fred and Joe have mentioned the idea of the twins being based on this Romulus/Remus story?

DAMN, Paul Mescal was super beefy in this film like holy fucking shit dude

Honestly I adore Pedro but his role was way smaller than I thought it would be. His role is essentially to be Lucilla’s decent and loyal husband who also happened to lead the invasion that killed Lucius’ wife in the beginning of the film, something he did not want to do, hence why Lucius wants to kill him so badly (family drama, eh? 😭) and who is part of a plot to dethrone the twins

MATT LUCAS AS THE MASTER OF CEREMONIES?!? 😭 I won’t lie, at first it distracted me because I was like “why the fuck is Matt Lucas here” but he got a few laughs out of the cinema screening so his tiny parts added a little bit of humour to the film when it got tense

As I said above, there’s no incest shown - there is a MENTION, however, of a rumour that Lucius’ real father wasn’t Lucius Verus(?) but rather Commodus (obviously Lucilla’s brother/Lucius’ uncle from the first film). However, it’s not true because they make it very clear that Lucius’ father is Maximus. They do however briefly mention that Lucilla was a child bride at the age of 14 which is a bit fucked up

I was probably the only person in my screening who noticed this but at one point I saw graffiti on one of the walls on the outside/entrance to the coliseum that said something like “Irrumbo Imperators” - according to Google, that translates as “I attack the emperors”. However, it could have also been “Irrumabo Imperatores”, and if you ask Google to give you the Latin word for “fuck”? It’s “Irrumabo”. So essentially there was graffiti in the film that either said “attack the emperors” or “fuck the emperors” 💀

I thought that maybe Lucius had somehow forgotten that Lucilla was his mother despite being 12 when she sent him away but nope, he’s fully aware of who he actually is and who his mother is, he’s just angry at her for sending him away and never seeing him again 😭

NOT THAT SERVANT TATTLING ON LUCILLA AND MARCUS?!? 😤

They killed Marcus off WAY earlier than I thought they would by the way. The trailers give the impression that the final battle is Lucius vs Marcus but it’s actually Lucius vs Macrinus which is WILD to me

You know that scene in LOTR where the orcs shoot Boromir full of arrows? That is basically what happened in this film to General Acacius but with about 20 more arrows 💀 I had major Boromir flashbacks watching this scene

I’m glad that Lucilla and Lucius got to reconcile before the ending, given what ended up happening

“Because Emperor Caracalla is generous, he will allow Lucilla to have one Gladiator to fight to defend her” - ONE. ONE AGAINST ABOUT 30 TRAINED GUARDS 💀

I’m still reeling over the fact Derek Jacobi spoiled his own character’s death on the red carpet a mere hour before the film screening in front of THOUSANDS of people 😭 that man did NOT give a fuck quite frankly and I think that’s kind of hilarious of him

THE GASP THAT EVERYONE IN THE SCREENING COLLECTIVELY LET OUT WHEN MACRINUS KILLED LUCILLA BY SHOOTING HER IN THE CHEST?!? HE KILLED CARACALLA AND LUCILLA IN 60 SECONDS FLAT 😭

That said, this shot from the behind the scenes featurette about Ridley Scott is ten times funnier to me after watching the film and realising that not only is Ridley showing Denzel how to shoot the arrow that kills Lucilla, but Fred is also supposed to be dead in the chair at this point since Macrinus takes the bow and fires the arrow straight after killing Caracalla 😭

Poor Lucius has now seen his father, his mother, his uncle and his wife all die right in front of him, the man CANNOT catch a break 😫

That final battle between Lucius and Macrinus was GRUESOME 😳 Lucius cut off his hand and slashed him - I’m not sure if he actually cut him in half or if Macrinus just crumpled in the river in a heap but DAMN

This film used footage from the first Gladiator film so they gave the actor who played Lucius in the first film a credit which was nice!

That said, I know obviously it’s been 24 years since the original film so of course the child actor from the original is no longer 12 and so could not be in the flashback scenes showing young Lucius, but damn the difference was a little jarring to be honest, especially when it went from footage of the original film to new footage with the new child actor

Ridley Scott spoiled the ending of this fucking movie by saying he wanted to have Paul back to play Lucius again as the main character in Gladiator III 💀 so yeah, I already knew Lucius was surviving this film

Some final summary thoughts:

Let’s be honest, it would be impossible to top the first Gladiator and so while I loved Gladiator II and think it was amazing, it was obviously never going to quite reach the same level as the original

I know I just made the comment about nominating Fred for Best Supporting Actor but I have to be honest, I truly think Denzel deserves the nomination - if there’s only one actor from this film who gets that nomination, it has to be Denzel because he was by far the standout of the whole film. If I had to rank it personally I’d say Denzel and then Fred is a close second, then maybe Joseph and Pedro?

^ This isn’t me saying Joe and Pedro were bad at all, they were all really amazing, but this film just had so many characters and quite frankly Fred, Joe and Pedro had WAY less screentime than Denzel so they didn’t have nearly as much to work with as he did.

Again; I’m biased because I went in the most excited to see the Emperors, but I wish we’d had more of Caracalla and Geta. Fred and Joe did their best to work with what they were given, but they didn’t have that much and pretty much all of their scenes were shown in trailers or TV spots etc.

GIVE CHERRY THE MONKEY A FUCKING OSCAR

I obviously wasn’t expecting Paul Mescal to fight real baboons, rhinos and sharks but the CGI was… not great. It was quite obvious that it was CGI for the baboons and sharks, I think the rhino was slightly better though (Fred mentioned in an interview his first day involved “the mechanical rhino” so it was somewhat partly practical as well I suppose)

The pacing of this film was a little all over the place, if I’m being honest. I want to rewatch soon, from further back in the screen because, as I said, I was craning my head back the whole time and it ended up giving me a neck and headache so that probably added to me being uncomfortable (plus I’d had a long day and was thoroughly burned out by the time the screening started), but there were times where I was like “oh… we’re back here then 😐”

^ What I’m trying to say is that some of the storylines happened so fast and had very little build up (eg. The emperors in general) whilst other plots were so slow burn in comparison.

The music was so good! I know people are going to compare it unfavourable to Hans Zimmer’s original score from the first film, but I LOVE Harry Gregson-Williams (he did the soundtrack for the first two Narnia films so I’m biased 😅) and I thought he did a great job with the score here. The fact he had Hans Zimmer’s approval and praise made me confident the score would be great anyway

I feel like people are obviously going to compare Paul Mescal to Russell Crowe which… let’s be honest, has gotta suck for him because how the fuck do you live up to Russell Crowe?!? Some people have already said that they didn’t like Paul in this film, which… okay, fair enough. I honestly don’t think comparing him to Russell Crowe does him any favours. I enjoyed watching him personally, and I think given that this whole film rests on him, he did great. Not quite Russell Crowe but I have no complaints about his performance personally.

People are also going to compare Joe and Fred to Joaquin Phoenix’s Commodus, and I think they both did a great job given that they didn’t actually have nearly as much screen-time as Joaquin did in the original film. It’s almost unfair to compare them because in the first Gladiator, Commodus was the main antagonist - in this film, Macrinus is the main antagonist overall whilst the Emperors are more secondary antagonists that serve as obstacles for Macrinus’ rise to power. But they both did great with what they had.

Overall, my opinion of the film?

This film NEEDS to be seen on a big screen at the cinema! Go and watch it!

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baby-yongbok · 1 year ago

Text

Boyfriend!Hwang Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

⇝ Genre: Angst then Smut then angst again. Dirty Drama.

⇝ Summary: We all have that one toxic person that we can’t let go of.

⇝ Warnings: Cheating , Arguing/Yelling, Dry Humping, Crying, Hyunjin is toxic - the manipulative type. (I think that's all, let me know if I missed anything!)

⇝ Word Count: 2.9k

⇝ A/N: I'm sorry in advance. I live for the drama, I'm so so sorry. My depresso has been prompting me to write angst and this is what I came up with today. It might be intense? I don't know honestly. All I know is that writing angst makes me happy lol + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ I hope that you enjoy! Please don't hate me 💕

✧ Part II ✧ Masterlist ✧

It started with him forgetting coffee dates. The small chunks of time that the two of you carved out of your day to spend with each other quickly turned into bottled Starbucks drinks and ignored texts while you made your way to work. He said that it was because of his schedule and Hyunjin would never lie to you.

Next were your nightly video calls. The two hours that you’d spend talking about your days and making future plans morphed into double and triple texting him until he replies with a lackluster night time send off and a declaration of love that you have no choice but to imagine leaving his lips. You haven’t heard from him in forever but it’s okay, you can fix this.

You’re an artist, a digital artist for a living but a painter as a hobby. This trait is one of the many things that you and Hyunjin bonded over so when you proposed that the two of you do Paint and Sip dates on Friday nights he was all in. Everything was fine for a couple of weeks, you’d pick the picture and you’d both get to painting while you listen to your shared Spotify playlist. You’d talk and laugh while sipping whatever wine he brought with him, everything was finally feeling normal again but there was one thing that kept bothering you.

His phone.

It kept blowing up, vibrating, dinging and lighting up throughout the night. You’ve always understood that Hyunjin is a busy guy and his friends may need to reach him at odd hours of the night but there was something more to what you saw. He would ignore a message or two from Jeongin or even decline Chan’s calls from time to time but whenever his phone lit up with that damned flower icon he’d drop his brush like his life depended on it.

You figured that as long as he’s here with you everything is fine. You never liked to micro manage and you're not the jealous type so snooping around wasn’t something that you were very into, until he canceled on you. Again. This is the third week that he’s said that something has come up and that he’ll be over at your place late. When you read his text you were already staring at his laptop wondering if it was really necessary to snoop through his cloud and read his texts. Surely he had a reasonable explanation for this right? Hyunjin would never lie to you. Right? You wanted to be right so badly and when you opened the computer, put in his password and clicked on the cloud you found out that you couldn’t be more wrong.

“What are you still doing up?” Hyunjin asked as he tiptoed into your bedroom. You were sitting at your desk with your phone in your hand, staring at your screen.

“How was your night?” You ask as you swipe on your phone, your eyes never leave the screen but Hyunjin doesn’t seem to notice.

“It was fine, got a lot done.” He turns towards your closet door but stops when he processes the mess around him. “Are these my clothes?”

“Yeah, you’re going to pack all of that along with whatever else you have around here and you’re going to leave.” He stares at you with pinched brows and then he takes in his scattered belongings again.

“What?”

“You’re going to pack your shit.” You stand from your chair, glaring at him with narrow eyes. “And you’re going to go stay with her.”

You can practically hear him choke on his inhale once your words hit his ear. “Who are you talking about?”

“I can always make time for you just give me the date and the place.” You read from the screenshots illuminating your screen as you stalk towards him. “I hate when you ignore me, you know how much your attention means to me.”

“Stop it.” He turns to face you completely, watching you with worried eyes glazed with guilt.

“It doesn’t matter who I’m seeing, you know that you come first.” You project your voice so that it echoes off of every surface, he doesn’t get to avoid this. “Call me, I need to hear my baby.”

“How did you find those, you -” He sighs as you cut him off, practically yelling the next message.

“You left too many hickies to cover this time, I’ll return the favor on Friday.”

“Enough of that, enough.” His tone tries to match yours but it fails, falling off into a pitiful whisper at the end. “You went through my computer?”

He looks over at you with a cocktail of disbelief and disgust smeared over his features but you’re more than sure that the look on your face has got him beat. “ You’re fucking your ex.”

“It’s not like that, it's -” You cut him off, taking a wide step towards him.

“It’s not like that? You’re begging her for her time. You’re texting her every minute of every day. You’re fucking her and then coming here and fucking me, Hyunjin.”

“I know, okay I get that you’re mad, I’m sorry I just can’t let her go yet. It’s like there’s a piece of me that only she has possession of and no matter how much I try to ignore it I just can’t.” He runs his hands through his hair, his eyes taking in the way that your gaze cuts into him.

“It’s been a year. I’ve been with you for an entire year. When did you have time to start this? How long have you been fucking her?” He shakes his head, turning towards the bedroom door to escape the situation in front of him. You follow hot on his trail, repeating your question. “How long?” You ask over and over until he finally snaps, yelling his answer in the middle of the living room.

“A couple of months, I don’t know five or six? Maybe even seven I don’t fucking know.” You scoff as rage floods through your veins and you pick up the nearest object and chuck it at him with all of the force you can muster. He dodges it easily but he doesn’t have as much luck with the remote that follows the path of the last item. “ Yara, stop it.”

The hiss in his voice turns into a loud gasp once he realizes his mistake. “Excuse me?” He called you by her name. His ex's name.

“Fuck, I- I didn’t mean to call you that, angel, I swear it’s because we’re talking about her. That’s all. You’re not her, you’re so much better I swear. Let’s just - just talk about this okay?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I want you out of my house, now. I’m done, Hyunjin. I’ve been begging for your attention for months and you’re off giving it to someone who’s using you for sex and attention. I did so much, I’ve done everything, but clearly you love fucking so much that you fucked me over. Are you proud of that shit? Are you happy?” He takes a couple of slow steps over to you as you stand there, chest heaving and heart heavy with the sadness that has allowed your burning anger to be the star of the show until now. Maybe if he shows you that he wants you, maybe if he says that you two can fix this you’ll consider believing him.

We all have that one toxic person that we can’t let go of. He’s not at fault for being bound to her so tightly, even if he broke your heart in the process.

“Listen, angel, I love you so much. I want to be with you, I really do, no one else has fought for me and my time like you have. I don’t want to lose that, please let’s just talk about this. I’ll do anything for you, I swear.” Your glare softens, call it wishful thinking or maybe you’re blinded by the desperate burn of love in your chest but you believe him. You believe him just enough to let him splay his long fingers over the curve of your hip and pull you closer to him.

“Why do you need me if you have her?” You stare at the middle of his chest, watching it rise and fall.

“Because you love me in a way that she never could and never will.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple as he brings his other hand to your waist. “She doesn’t see me like you do.”

He kisses over the shell of your ear, making his way down your neck. Your body is pressed against his as his hand kneads at the swell of your ass and he runs his tongue over the sensitive skin of your neck. You exhale heavily, bringing your hands up to rest on his biceps. You want to push him away, you want to get to the bottom of this and talk to him, so why are you pulling him closer? Why are you allowing small moans to leave your lips as he hypnotizes you into forgetting what he’s been doing to you.

“Hyunjin, stop it.” Your voice falters on the last word, giving way to the whimper fighting to escape your throat.

“Push me away.” He whispers into your ear, his soft lips brushing against the shell of it and setting your nerves on fire. “If you mean it then push me away.”

He stops everything, he doesn’t kiss you or squeeze you, you can hear the soft sound of his breathing and feel the gentle beating of his heart as his chest is pressed against your own. You can’t do this, you shouldn’t do this, your brain is screaming at you. You know better than to fall for this, push him away, now. Do it.

“Don’t stop.” Your eyes flutter shut when he squeezes your ass again, pressing your hips into his so that the bulge in his pants pokes your belly button as it twitches in anticipation.

“Say it again.” He plants a whisper of a kiss over your temple. “Say it again, angel, say my name.”

“Don’t stop, Hyunjin, please.” His kisses get sloppier as he gets closer to your lips, he plants a sloppy kiss to the corner of your mouth before catching your lips with his plump ones. You sigh into him, your hands fisting his shirt as your tongue tangles with his. He moans into your mouth, his hands tracing your hips as he takes some steps back, leading you both to the couch.

“Tell me that you forgive me, baby.” He sits once the frame of the couch hits the back of his legs, dragging you down with him so that you're straddling his hips. His bulge pressed firmly into your dripping heat and you can’t help but to grind against him. Before you can settle into a steady rhythm Hyunjin grips your hips, holding you still against him. “Tell me.”

“I forgive you.” You mumble, the words sound just fine when they roll off of your tongue. They taste sweet as you lick your lips, staring into your lover's eyes defeatedly. You’re too deep into the brain fog, too desperate to feel the love that you’ve been chasing for months. You’d say anything just to feel Hyunjin touch you. You’d do anything to keep him here.

“I knew you would.” He smiles up at you, starting to guide your hips against him. You throw your head back, your face contorting into a mask of pleasure. Hyunjin's fingers trace your jawline, sending chills down your spine. You close your eyes, allowing him access to any part of you he desires. “You need me too. Just like I need you, don’t you?”

You nod your head, picking up the rhythm of your hips as he starts to roll into you, matching your pace flawlessly. “I do, oh my god, I missed you.” You babble into the hot air as your hands find purchase on his shoulders. You can feel the night scarf covering your hair slip over the crown of your head and fall to the floor, your unruly hair frames your face and Hyunjin can’t help but to moan at the sight.

“I missed my pretty baby too.” He grunts, eyebrows pinching together as he watches where your clothed cores press into each other. “Oh, fuck, I missed you so much.”

His hands are all over you as you move against him like he’s trying to memorize the pattern of your skin. He’s reintroducing himself with every pulse point that he can reach, lighting every inch of your skin aflame with desire. “Tell me your mine. Tell me you love me, please, please say it.”

“I’m all yours, angel. All fucking yours.” His hips buck up into you as your movements become more sloppy, your climax is dangling right in front of your face. It’s burning in the pit of your stomach, a strangled moan drags from your lips as you get closer to it.

“Again p-please, please, so close ‘s so close Jinnie, again.” Your nails dig into his shoulder, whimpers following your fucked out sentence as your eyes watch Hyunjin. You watch how he bites the tip of his tongue as he gets lost in this bubble of pleasure with you. Your own perfect shield of hot desire.

“I love you.” He moans, throwing his head back against the couch, his grip on your hip tightens. The strength of his grasp is brushing yet delicious. “I’m yours. I’m all -”

The melodic sound of Hyunjin’s phone ringing cut him off before he could finish his sentence. His head snaps up as his eyes widen and he stops moving against you. “Get off.”

You whimper, confused eyes staring down at him through your fucked out fog. “Angel, move.” He pushes you to the side much rougher than he intended and you watch him as he stands quickly, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and swiping the green button immediately.

“Hey.” He clears his throat trying his best to not sound like he was seconds away from coming in his pants. “Yeah I can do that, just give me like twenty minutes, okay?”

You listen, coming out of your haze just enough to process the situation. That ringtone sounded familiar, it’s the one that he always answers… It's her.

“Hyunjin.” You reach forward, grabbing his wrist but he pulls away, glancing back at you for just a second before turning his attention back to the phone call.

“Nothing, that’s no one, I’m on my way.” You scoff, watching as he ends the call and starts to frantically fix his clothes. “I have to go something um - something came up.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Hyunjin ignores you, making his way over to your bedroom with you following close behind, a mirror image of what happened minutes ago. “You’re going to her?

“She said that she needs me and I don’t -”

“You just told me that you were mine. You just said that, Hyunjin.” You grab his wrist, prompting him to turn to you. He stares down at you with furrowed brows and glassy eyes like he’s in a fog, like he’s been hypnotized to follow a specific instruction.

“And you said that you forgive me.” He reaches up to cup your cheek and your body melts into his touch before you can even fully process it. “I’ll be back tomorrow, angel. I’ll be yours tomorrow.”

His touch is gone just as fast as it came, leaving you with an empty ache in your chest as you watch him grab his bag and jacket. You stay rooted in place, feeling like your heart has been ripped out of your chest. “Hyunjin.”

There’s a tremble in your voice as you say his name but he doesn’t seem to mind, it’s like he didn’t even hear you. “I love you.” He leans in to kiss your temple but misses completely, planting a half hearted peck against your hair as he rushes towards the door. You watch as he leaves, quiet and stunned. There are a million thoughts going through your head but you still feel unable to process what had just happened. The sound of the front door closing is what draws you out of your thoughts.

The silence surrounding you allows room for the reality of the situation to echo around you, bouncing off of the walls and drowning you in this painfully unfamiliar feeling in your chest. You take a sharp inhale as tears start to prick at the back of your eyes. What was supposed to be a stable step towards your bed leaves sinking against its frame. You find yourself grasping one of Hyunjin’s shirts on the floor beneath you, your eyes trail from that garment to the next frantically. He’s everywhere. You can smell him, the soft cotton of the shirt makes you feel like you can feel the beating of his heart beneath it. Tears blur your vision as you sob into the fabric, clutching onto it like it’s all that you have left of him. Maybe it is. You gasp, a choked sob struggling past your lips as the true weight of the moment finally settles on your shoulders.

We all have that one toxic person that we can’t let go of.

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pitchsidestories · 9 months ago

Text

Just a little crush II Kim Little x Beattie!Reader

masterlist I word count: 3192

a/n: sorry, It's a lengthy one, but we hope you still enjoy it. ❤️

“Lee, who’s that girl talking to Jen?”, Kim Little asked Arsenal’s vice-captain while licking her lips nervously. They and some other family and friends gathered for a party to send Jen Beattie off who was going to California to join Bay FC.

There was something about that young woman standing next to her friend which was making her feel and think things the midfielder never did before, but she didn’t want to dwell on them any further as it would lead to much more questions and less clear answers.

Amused Leah Williamson raised her eyebrows:” Oh Kimmy, you don’t recognize her? It’s Jennis baby sister, she’s fresh out of Edinburgh University!”

“That’s not Jen’s sister! She looked so much younger last time.”, the Scottish woman shook her head in disbelief.

Still smiling the England captain replied: “Yes, it’s, she’s 25 now.”

“Oh wow.”, Kim muttered.

Noisily Beth Mead took part in their conversation:” Who are you two gossiping about? I want to know.”

“Jens little sis.”, Leah answered with a smug smile on her face.

“She turned into a real beauty, right?”, the blonde forward winked watching Kim turning red.

Much to her dismay the defender noticed it:” think our captain would agree with you.”

“Stop it.. I’m not.”, Kim explained slightly embarrassed.

“Having a little crush?”, Beth teased her teammate grinning.

Tuning in Steph Catley chirmed:” Oh Kim, that’s so cute.”

“I don’t have a crush.”, their captain disagreed. She felt relived when Jen came along distracting from the gossiping football players.

“Hi guys, remember my little sister?”, the tall Scottish defender asked.

Cheerful you greeted them:” Hi, everyone.”

“Hello great to see you again. Even though the reason is kind of sad.”, Beth responded with a sad smile.

Empathetically you nodded:” No, I agree but shamefully can’t wait to visit her soon in Cali.”

“You all act like I’m disappearing forever.”, your big sister laughed. Even though you knew the farewell felt equally as bittersweet to her.

Quickly Lia Wälti hugged her: “We can’t help how we’re feeling, Jen. It’s a big loss for us and a big win for Bay FC.”

“You girls are the sweetest.”, Jen whispered, she was so grateful for the friendships she made during her time at Arsenal.

Big eyed Steph Catley responded:” I’ll miss my favourite neighbour.”

“I’ll miss living next to you too, Steph.”, the defender answered truthfully.

This was the moment you found the time to talk to Kim directly to express your gratitude towards her:” Thanks for letting me stay at your place for a few weeks, Kim.”

“You’re welcome. Now that your sister can’t let you stay anymore.”, the older woman waved it off.

“I really appreciate it.”

With a small smile the midfielder told you in a reassuring tone:” You can stay as long as you want. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a great time together.”, Jen intervened confidently.

You gave your sister a nod: “I’m sure we’ll.“

As the evening progressed, the atmosphere became more and more relaxed. You felt right at home with your sisters teammates who happily shared stories about Jen with and made sure your glass was never empty.

It was only after midnight that Kim appeared right in front of you, reaching out a hand towards you: “Come, I’ll get you home.“

“Now?“, you asked, surprised by how drunk you sounded already.

Kim just raised an eyebrow but did not comment on it: “Yes, it’s late.“

“Bye, Jen!“, you shouted across the room to your sister while Kim helped you into your coat.

With one swift motion, Jen came over and pulled you into a tight hug: “Bye, you two.“

Luckily, the way home in Kims car was short. You were by sleep and found it difficult to keep your eyes open. Once Kim led you into the guest room of her apartment, you let yourself fall onto the bed with a relieved sigh. Kims dog curled into a ball at your feet.

“This is really cozy.“, you mumbled, burying your face into the soft pillows.

Kim watched you from the doorway: “Glad you feel at home here.“

“Good night, Kim.“

The corners of her mouth quirked up as she closed the door behind her and you fell into a dreamless sleep.

You woke up early the next morning and decided to make coffee for yourself and Kim. The coffee was just done brewing as Kim came back from walking her dog. Beaming, you handed her a mug: “Morning, this one is for you.“

She gave you a surprised look first but then took the coffee from you: “Oh. Thank you.“

“You’re welcome. Also I hope I didn’t say anything weird when we went home last night.“, you said as you sat down at the kitchen table together. You took a sip of coffee to hide your reddening cheeks behind the cup.

“No. Like what?“, Kim asked inquiringly.

You decidedly ignored her question and only reacted to the first part: “Oh good.“

“You almost immediately fell asleep.“, she explained plainly.

Changing the topic, you suggested: “Do you like Pizza? When I’m done with my interview, I could get some on the way back.“

Finally, a small smile appeared on the football players face: “Sure, why not?“

“Okay, great.“

With a glance toward the kitchen clock, Kim announced: “I have to leave for training now. So, see you later?“

“Yes, see you.“, you smiled at her.

Just before Kim walked out, she paused for a moment: “Oh, wait.“

“Uhm, yes?“, you patiently looked at her as she walked back into the kitchen.

“I forgot to give you the keys.“, she said, carefully tossing them in you direction.

You caught them with a grin: “Right. Thank you, Kim.“

“See you later. Good luck with your interview.”, Kim replied.

You were almost at the door when you turned around to face her beaming with hopefulness: “Thanks. Have fun in training!”

During training Kim warmed up with Cloé Lacasse. The Canadian striker asked her curiously:” So you got yourself a roommate, Kim?”

“I was more or less assigned a roommate, Cloé. She was supposed to stay with Jen, but she decided to leave us.”, the Arsenal captain explained with a deep sigh.

With a mischievous smile on her lips Leah came to a stop right next to the older women: “The most important part is though that Kim has a Girl crush on said roommate.”

Annoyed by her comment Kim rolled her eyes at the defender:” I don’t have a girl crush, Leah.”

“Kim is straight too.”, the Canadian forward added.

“Right.”, the Scottish midfielder nodded. Although deep inside of her something didn’t sit right with it although it has been true for so many years at this point. Why did your presence make her question things she thought she knew about herself.

This didn’t impress Leah in the least: “You should have been there Cloé when they met at Jens Farewell Party.”

“Well, I can’t wait to hopefully meet her soon.”, Cloé answered politely.

Frustrated Kim intervened:” You guys are making a way too big deal out of it.”

“If you need to chat though we’re here for you, Kim.”, Beth offered warmly.

Stubbornly the Scottish woman shook her head: “I don’t need to chat. She’s just staring at my place.”

“Alright, just saying.”, the England forward mumbled.

“It’s not a big deal.”, her captain repeated in a serious tone which made obvious that she was done with talking for now.

Reading the signs Leah decided:” Let’s get back to training.”

Finally, Kim thought relieved as they started to move again, distracting from the whirlwind, which was currently inside of her, giving her a peace of mind for the moment.

In the early evening you returned to Kim’s place announcing cheerfully:” Hi, I got the pizza.”

“Thanks. How did your interview go?”, she wanted to know from you.

As you were setting up the table for dinner, you told her about it:” Not too bad, actually. They said my writing is promising but they asked me if I really want to stay focused on women’s football.”

Interested the Scottish woman looked up to you:” What did you say to them?”

“That I don’t want to change my focus, I love writing about women’s football and the culture surrounding it.”, you responded.

Proudly Kim remarked:” Your sister would have done the same in your position.”

“She would’ve, right?”, you asked her cautiously.

Kim nodded once with conviction: “Absolutely.“

“There’s still such a long way to go… although the recent success helped a bit.“, you thought out loud, a sad smile tugging on your lips.

“You don’t have to tell me.“, Kim replied with her gaze trained on the kitchen table.

You could sense that the football player felt a similar way about the topic. Your curiosity was piqued so you continued: “For you and Jen it must have been an amazing progress to live through.“

“Yes. We’re lucky to be part of this generation. Selling out stadiums is something that a few years ago we thought was impossible.“, she explained calmly.

You were reminded of your sisters first football games. She was not getting paid to play yet and the number of fans was ridiculously low compared to this season. You bit your lip: “Yes, I remember that too.“

“I appreciate that you want to keep focusing on womens football.“

Hearing her say that made your heart flutter for a brief moment. But you were also reminded how quickly the atmosphere had changed. You sighed and with all the enthusiasm you could muster, said: “We should eat the pizzas now before they get too cold.“

“You’re right.“

As you both sat down, taking the first slices of the pizza, you admitted: “But I do love talking about football with you.“

“We can continue at another time if you want.“, Kim suggested a little more relaxed.

“Yes, I’d like that very much.“

“Me too.“

“Great.“

Kim put her slice of pizza down and looked at you thoughtfully: “We’re playing at home on the weekend. You should come watch.“

“Yes, I’ll be there.“, you politely smiled back at her.

Kims focus had already shifted back to her pizza: “Great.“

The stadium was starting to fill on the following Sunday while players walked out to warm up. You were engrossed in a conversation with your friend Emily who after a long time of convincing had finally agreed to come to the game with you. You completely missed that Cloe Lacasse walked out on the pitch with Kim and curiously nodded in your direction: “So that’s her?“

“Yes, that’s her.“, Kim replied, a frown on her face as she spotted you close to the field.

“Is that her girlfriend? The one who’s standing next to her?“, the Canadian wanted to know.

Kim shrugged and shook her head: “She didn’t say anything about a girlfriend.“

Still, her gaze lingered on the two of you for a little longer.

The game ended with an easy win for Arsenal. Apart from the goals of Cloe and Alessia Russo, Kim also converted a penalty. The atmosphere in the stadium after the game was great and you immediately felt at home. However, the mood between the players on the pitch was less elated.

Leah Williamson bumped her captain with her shoulder: “Kim? You’re even quieter than usual.“

“What? I’m just focused.“, the midfielder replied, pulling away from her teammate.

The younger player couldn’t ask any further as you hugged the Scottish woman and sung:” Kim, you had a fantastic game, Kim!” Seeing the England captain you added blushing:”Hi Lee.”

Smiling Leah couldn’t help but to notice the height difference between you two, you were almost as tall as Jen while your roommate was fairly small: “Our skipper was great, right?”

“Yes, she definitely was.”, with that said you let Kim down.

Much to your surprise she didn’t look happy despite the comfortable win:”Thanks.”

The midfielder didn’t say anything further instead she left the room and left you clueless. Puzzled you turned around to look at her teammate: “Well, that was a bit strange do you know what’s going on, Leah?”

“I think she’s a bit jealous.”, the blonde replied seriously.

Baffled by that you let out a shaky laugh:” Jealous? Kim?”

Leah grinned: “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because you brought your girlfriend.”, the defender replied, crossing her arms in front of her.

“My girlfriend? Emily is just a friend!”, you corrected her, shaking your head in disbelief.

Sceptical Leah rose an eyebrow at you:” Oh, is she?”

“Yes, wait, did Kim think that Em was my girlfriend?”, you questioned her.

Thoughtfully Leah responded:” Maybe.”

“I need to talk to her.”, you decided.

With an empathetic smile on her lips the blonde held you back: “Maybe not now.”

You listened to her advice, so you went back to Emily and brought her home before making your way slowly to Kim’s home. In your mind it already was yours too.

On her car ride home Jen phone called the Arsenal captain:” Hi mate, great game!”

“Thanks, Jen. How’s California?”, Kim asked her.

“It’s been really great so far., the defender sounded happily before turning more serious, but you texted that you needed to talk?”

Earnestly Kim told her: “Yes. About your sister. Did you know that she’s dating someone?”

“What? No, she’s single.”, she mumbled convinced.

“What do you mean? She brought someone to our game today?”, the midfielder frowned.

Quickly Jen explained: “Yes Emily, she’s just a friend of her, Kimmy.”

“Are you sure? They seemed close?”, Kim almost felt something like relief by her former teammates reply. Although she didn’t dare to trust the news yet.

“Kim, I’m sure of that besides Emily has a boyfriend.”, Jen chuckled.

“If you say so.”

“But you can ask my sister again. Kim are you jealous?”, the defender wanted to know from her friend.

Offended Kim scoffed at her:” Why would I be jealous? I was just wondering why she’d stay with me when she’s got a girlfriend here.”

“Now you know. I need to go to training, hope to hear from you soon, mate?” After a few goodbyes they ended the phone call and the Arsenal captain tried to focus on the drive instead of the turmoil which was inside her.

When the door closed behind Kim, you looked up from the food you were cooking. While the Arsenal players showered and debriefed at the stadium, you had hurried to get home and surprise your housemate with a freshly cooked dinner. “Kim? Hi, I started cooking…“, you greeted her.

The football player raised her eyebrows in surprise: “You’re already here?“

You nodded: “Yes, Emily had to go back to her boyfriend who has a bit of a cold. Otherwise we might have gone to a pub. Do you want a drink to celebrate the win?“

“No, thanks. I usually don’t drink after games.“, Kim answered plainly, putting her bag down next to the kitchen table.

You grimaced: “Oh, right. Sorry. So water?“

“Sure. What are you cooking?“, Kim asked, looking over your shoulder at the food while you poured two glasses of water.

You smiled while handing her one of the glasses: “Some pasta dish. It’s one of the few things I can cook.“

The football player nodded impressed and smirked slightly: “That’s more than your sister can cook.“

“That’s true.“

You both sat down to enjoy your home-cooked meal, talking about the game again even though Kim kept her answers short. You took the empty plates and set them down at the sink: “I guess I’ll let you sleep now.“

“You don’t have to. I can’t sleep yet anyway.“, Kim replied to your surprise.

You slowly turned back to her, biting down a nervous smile: “Okay but you know you can just ask me on a date instead of running away and sulking after the match, right?“

Her eyes widened in shock: “Wait, what are you talking about?“

“Leah said you were jealous because of Emily and you really don’t need to be.“, you shrugged, trying to keep the nonchalance in your voice.

“I wasn’t jealous.“, she protested.

You looked back at the dishes in the sink, waiting: “Good.“

“That’s ridiculous.“

“Kim…“, you started but when you looked back to her, she had already bridged the gap between you two and pressed her lips to yours. You gasped into the kiss: “What?“

“That was a mistake. I’m sorry.“, she sighed, shaking her head in a mix of confusion and guilt.

She wanted to turn away from you but you grabbed her wrist: “No, please, do it again.“

There was an urgency in your voice that made Kim search for your eyes: “Are you sure?“

“Yes.“

“But… okay.“

She kissed you again, more patiently now. This time you could savour the taste of her lips on yours and only then you realized that she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach you. You were so charmed by this that you could not stop yourself from smiling.

As you both pulled away, you could see an uncertainty in Kims eyes. It was definitely not the kiss, you could feel that you both enjoyed it. Another thougth raced through your head: “Am I your first woman? Don’t worry, we have time. When is your next free day? Maybe we could go to a restaurant.“

“I have tomorrow off.”, she told you straight away.

A relieved sigh escaped your mouth:” Perfect, with a smirk you continued, also, you’re not a bad kisser, captain.”

“I never said I was.”, Kim laughed, you could tell some weight fell off her shoulders.

“No just saying.”, you shrugged.

The midfielder put a loose string of hair behind her ear:” Thanks.”

A month later Kim and you had a video call with your sister. The first thing you told her was that you two became a couple. “You two are dating?! You better take good care of her little sis!”, Jen warned you in a jokingly tone.

“What?! Me?!”, you huffed.

Grinning the defender nodded: “Yes, you heard me.”

“Wow.”, you ran a free hand through your hair.

Meanwhile your girlfriend seemed to have ignored that part of the conversation as she reassured Jen:” Don’t worry, I’m taking good care of your sister.”

“I can already see that.”, your big sister observed amused.

“Jen, you’re a terrible big sister.”, you teased her.

“I’m the best big sister.”, she countered quickly.

“Sure.”, you rolled your eyes at her.

“Stop it you two.”, Kim demanded in her captain voice.

Smiling Jen answered:” No, get used to it, Kimmy. You’re part of the Beattie family now.”

“Oh yes.”, you added, while giving the midfielder a kiss on her blushing cheek.

Coming to London to move in with one of your sister’s oldest friends was one of the best things that could had happen to you.

As for Kim she never knew she could fall for a woman until you came into her life, but the midfielder was very happy to have let her change her mind about that. Turned out you were more than just a little crush.

#kim little #kim little x reader #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #woso one shot #woso community #arsenal wfc #arsenal wfc x reader #leah williamson #jen beattie #beth mead #lia walti #arsenal women

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 9 months ago

Note

Can you please do a azrielxreader,where she is from winter court and they are mated and elain is jealous and tries to hurt reader and just azriel being protective with lots of fluff?I am begging you

Part II

Never again

Azriel never imagined finding her. It was never meant to happen in his books. Azriel was convinced that he wasn’t built for love. That he was destined to share his bed with females that came and went. They warned him for a night or two and then rushed back to their lovers or found their mates.

But then you had stormed into his life. You two met on frozen river in the winter court. Azriel had noticed you first. Twirling around the ice like a snowflake. The air seemed to seize at the power you radiated. Never had he seen such a mix of elegance and power. And then your gaze had met his and the world truly had stopped. In the blink of an eye, he knew. Felt it. Deep within him. That it was you. Had always been you.

But Azriel respected your wish to keep it slow. To get to know each other. To not jump head first, to cherish the little blossom of feelings that clicked into place without a word.

So he had dropped most of his priorities in Night court. Had only agreed to do the most necessary of things. Just so he could be making trips back and forth to winter. He was thrilled. For the first time in what felt like forever, Azriel woke with a slight smile on his face. What he failed to notice however was that Elain had grown frustrated with him. Her cunning gaze following Azriel.

And yes, the spymaster had been pinning after her for some time. Azriel had called it helping her adjust. What Elain thought he didn’t know. Never asked. Assuming that she two knew that this would never go anywhere far. But he was wrong. So wrong.

Azriel had brought you for your first-ever proper dinner in the night court. The house of wind had been buzzing from the early hours. Everyone was so happy for him. Happy for you two. But the cold eyes had met you across the room. Sending a shiver down your back, making you instantly hold onto Azriel tighter.

“It’s so good to finally see you”, Rhys had cut in, stepping closer and blocking the view of the girl. “We all had been so excited to meet you, Azriel just turned into a caveman and forgot all his manners”, a light chuckling sounded around at the high lord's words. Azriel let out an annoyed grunt, “You do not need to scare her away with your fussing”. More laughter echoed.

Your eyes darted to your lover. His shoulders weren’t tight there wasn’t a sight of worry. Meaning that you were imagining things. “It’s truly an honor to finally meet you all”, you smiled at the happy face in front of you. “Now would be a part where you say he told you so much about us but it’s Azriel, so…”, Cassian chirped, making you chuckle as Azriel launched forward to pull his brother in a headlock. “Welcome to the family”, Feyre linked your arms through hers, leading you closer to the table.

The night had been nothing but beautiful. Getting to know Azriel’s family was lovely. You leaned back, pressing a kiss to your lover's neck before muttering, “I’ll go to the restroom”, Azriel turned to you, “Want me to go with you?”, he was already pushing back his chair, “No, silly, I’ve got this. Stay with your family. I won’t be long”, you cupped his cheek. “I already miss you”, he sighed, before flashing you one of his killer's smiles.

You had been heading back when you noticed the door to the backside balcony. Your skin instantly itching to feel the cold of the night. There had always been something so special about it. The view of the Velaris only made it more beautiful. You were about to turn back when a hand wrapped around your throat, forcing you forward.

You let out a gasp, grabbing onto the railing for support. “He was mine first”, a voice sounded, one that you hadn’t heard tonight. “I had him, he was in my bed and he was happy”, she hissed, you had turned slightly to see the side of her hair flouting in the wind. The girl with the same cold eyes.

“He’s my mate”, you argued back, trying to push her back, only to feel a sharp end of a blade against your back. “He will be mine soon”, Elain mussed, pulling you closer to the edge, before shoving you forward. You let out a scream, nails digging into the metal. “You were never meant to be here”, she breathed, you could feel your fingers slipping slightly, the black void that looked straight at you made your stomach turn.

“Elain”, a sharp voice cut into her snarling. Her body seized. She must have turned back to see who had come. Then panicked. Shoving you firmly forward as if she was discarding the evidence. You shrieked, legs scraping against the rocks as your body shifted into the free fall. Eyes burning as your lungs emptied with a scream. Azriel. Your mind was full of him. The fear of him having to deal with this. A warm embrace found you next and for a second you were convinced that it was death claiming you, until a familiar scent of your mate filled your soul. Your hands wrap around his shoulder tightly. “I’ve got you”, Azriel muttered, “You’re safe now. No one with harm you”. And you trusted him.

The muffled noise from the balcony found you soon. The screaming. The arguing. “Get Madje”, Azriel cut through it all. “There’s no need”, you muttered under your breath. “Get Madja, she needs to look at YN's leg”, but this time it wasn’t him asking if was a demand, and from the sounds around someone had taken the demand seriously.

“You held me like that once”, that same desperate voice reached you making you flinch. Azriel’s arms only held onto you tighter. “I’m sorry Feyre but she’s going into the dungeons”, was all he had said. A quiet cry followed suit. Before the trashing and filthy remarks filled the air and then it all stopped within seconds. “I’m so sorry”, Azriel breathed, kissing the side of your head. But you didn’t have it in you to even talk about it. The rush of adrenaline that had ripped through you had drained your body fully. So you simply nodded, “Just stay with me”, “Not leaving you for even a second ever again”, he promised, stepping into the warm corridor.

#azriel acotar x reader #azriel acotar imagine #azriel x you #azriel x oc #azriel spymaster #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you

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ginnsbaker · 8 months ago

Text

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (8/?)

Part summary: Leigh heads off to Palm Springs with Danny, while you grapple with what to do about your feelings for her.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader, temporary Leigh x Danny | Word count for this part: 5.000+ | Warnings : Slight angst | Author's Note: No, I did not forget about Danny still not being honest with Leigh and R not tattling on Danny. Just let these loose ends dangle for a while. Anyway, enjoy! :)

The morning after you gave Leigh a puppy for her birthday, your phone is flooded with texts from her, filled with questions ranging from vaccine schedules to the best chew toys. She shares a story about how Rogue, their previous dog, had always been Matt’s, and how she often felt left out of his care. Now, with Logan, she feels a full sense of ownership and is eager to get everything right.

You still flinch slightly whenever she mentions her late husband. It’s as if she forgets that you and Matt had something significant too, as if you weren't once the secret he kept close. Sometimes, you wish you could just erase his presence, simplify everything about your relationship with Leigh.

But you recognize that it’s selfish to wish him away, because Matt was a significant part of Leigh’s life, a major influence on who she has become. And who she is today is a lovely person—someone you've come to admire very deeply.

[6:20 AM] Leigh: Logan’s an angel, slept through the night.

[6:35 AM] Leigh: So, house training... how do I make sure Logan doesn’t turn my bed into his personal bathroom like he did five seconds ago?

You grimace at the message, picturing the hassle of laundering the sheets and possibly needing to call a cleaning service for the mattress.

[6:54 AM] Leigh: And shots? Rogue was all up to date because Matt was on it, but I’m clueless. Where do I start?

As you work your espresso machine, a grin spreads across your face, the kind that makes you feel like a complete fool but in the best possible way.

[6:56 AM] You: Good morning! You’re lucky I don’t bill for text consultations 😆

You typically charge $18 for a twenty-minute chat with a client.

[6:58 AM] Leigh: Oh. How much do I owe you? I want to pay.

Your smile falters a little at her missing your joke.

[6:58 AM] You: I was just kidding. Your texts are more than welcome, Leigh.

Feeling bold, you follow that up with something you've been wanting to make clear since last night.

[6:59 AM] You: This is what friends are for, right?

Waiting for Leigh’s reply feels like an eternity, and you're about to send another text to walk back your hint at friendship when your phone vibrates.

[7:00 AM] Leigh: I’d feel better paying. Can I drop by the clinic later?

Reading her message, you're hit with a rush—excited at the thought of seeing her, yet downhearted she's talking about paying, as if that's what's between you. But then, those little typing dots appear. You're practically holding your breath.

[7:00 AM] Leigh: We’re friends, which is why I’m paying.

It's a good thing you don't have a roommate, or else you'd never get away with grinning like an idiot at your phone. It's a bit ridiculous, you think, how high school this all feels—waiting for a glimpse, a moment, anything.

[7:01 AM] You: Absolutely, come by anytime. Looking forward to it 🙂

You hit send and lean back, trying to act like you didn't just have a mini celebration over a text.

And then, spurred by Leigh texting you first thing in the morning, you decide to add her on your social media accounts. You spend an extra fifteen minutes getting ready that morning, simply because you lingered longer in the shower, listening to songs that remind you of Leigh and how this crush is dangerously close to becoming something uncontainable.

[10:13 AM] Notification: Leigh accepted your friend request.

As it turns out, Leigh is a serial texter.

It’s odd, really. For someone who might come across as reclusive and somewhat untouchable, she is surprisingly talkative over text. The messages start coming in more frequently after this morning's exchange, just moments after you've finally left home to drive to your clinic. What's even more interesting is that this time, they're not about Logan.

And they’re all unusually random and unrelated to one another: memes that make you laugh out loud, articles on topics ranging from the philosophical implications of artificial intelligence to the best way to juicing recipes. You find yourself waiting for these messages, eager to see what tangent Leigh's mind has wandered off to now. You get into it, dissecting the articles she sends over with the seriousness of a scholar. You type back your thoughts, trying to sound as insightful as possible, maybe even a bit witty, hoping to impress her. You imagine this might be her way of initiating deeper, intellectual conversations between you two.

So, when you send back a paragraph or two analyzing the latest article she's shared, maybe touching on its impacts on modern society or offering a counterpoint to the author's thesis, Leigh's responses aren’t what you expect. Instead of engaging with the discussion, she sends a simple thumbs-up emoji or, even more baffling, a random factoid about her day, like her opinion on the Kani salad from a sushi bar near the Beautiful Beast gym.

[12:15 PM] Leigh: [sent a photo] Just some store-bought crab sticks and diluted mayo. Don’t try it. Their saké though is 👌👌👌

You wonder why she’s having Japanese rice wine this early in the day.

[12:22 PM] You: Thanks for the heads up. I know a place for authentic Japanese food. You want to check it out with me some time?

Your text remains unseen for the rest of the afternoon.

You find yourself staring intently at the wall clock in your clinic, keenly aware of each minute slipping by, and with it, the dwindling chance of Leigh arriving before the doors lock for the day. As it nears 8 in the evening, Suzie is already wrapped up in her end-of-day tasks across the lobby. Leaning your cheek on your palm, you watch blankly as she meticulously arranges her desk, perfectly aligning each item, then moves on to gently pull the blinds closed on each window.

Suzie’s not blind. She throws you these knowing glances every time you let out one of your heavy sighs. Finally, after you've probably sighed loud enough to be heard next door, she stops what she's doing and plants herself in front of you.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

You try to look puzzled. “Nothing. Why?”

Suzie rolls her eyes. “Please, you’ve been mooning over that clock and sighing like you’re carrying the world on your shoulders. What’s up?”

You crack a smile, partly at her description, partly from being caught moping like a lovesick teenager. “It’s just… I thought maybe Leigh would come by. She said she would,” you say, wincing at yourself when the last part comes out a bit whiny.

Without missing a beat, Suzie pivots from her closing duties and makes her way over to you.

She’s not delicate with you this time. “You’re doing that thing again. Waiting around for something that’s probably not gonna happen. It’s not doing you any good.”

You know she's hitting the nail on the head, but it's tough to swallow.

Suzie continues, “You're young, you're attractive, and it's honestly weird that you're pining over your ex's ex. At first, I thought it was kind of adorable, in a bizarre, romantic-comedy kind of way. But now, it's like you're always hung up and disappointed.”

“Thanks for saying I’m young when I’m five years older than you,” you say with a sheepish smile, hiding your disappointment that she isn’t saying the things you want to hear, such as the possibility that Leigh just got busy.

Suzie shakes her head in disapproval. She's fed up, and her next words aren't going to be sugar-coated. “Snap out of it!” she barks, the command hitting you like a cold splash of water, and you jerk back in your chair, wide-eyed. Seeing you shrink back, quivering, she softens a bit and shifts back to the harmless receptionist you’re used to.

“Look at me, Y/N,” Suzie says, ensuring she has your full attention. You manage to meet her gaze, even though your eyelids feel heavy. “It's not fair to Leigh, either. You're giving meaning to everything she does—or doesn't do. It's putting her in an impossible situation. And honestly, it's not fair to you. You're missing out on your own life, waiting for someone who... well, who might never show up the way you want her to.”

Suzie knows she’s being tough, but sometimes love means being the friend who won’t let you settle for anything less than you deserve.

“I hear you, okay? It’s just… it’s the way I’m wired. I latch onto a person like a leech, refusing to let go until I see it through,” you mutter, shielding your face with your hands, a bit ashamed to even say it out loud. You get so tunnel-visioned, missing out on maybe better things and experiences because you're stuck on one track. You fall hard for your choices, never by chance.

“Good. You know what’s wrong with you,” Suzie says softly.

You let out a weak chuckle, the sound tinged with a bit of self-mockery. You're half-hidden behind your hands, peeking out at Suzie as if she's got all the answers. Suzie pries your fingers away from your face and then pinches your cheek so hard, you start to whine a bit.

“Ow! What was that for?” you protest, rubbing your assaulted cheek.

“That's for being a pathetic little bitch.”

“Excuse me, I'm still the one signing your paychecks,” you shoot back, trying to sound offended but it’s hard to keep a straight face.

“Sure thing, boss,” she laughs, and you join in.

“Okay, so what do you suggest I do then?” you ask as the last of your chuckles die down.

“Go on a date,” comes her swift response. “All that stuff they say about love finding you when you're not looking? Biggest lie ever.”

You look at her curiously, assessing her physical features. “W-With you?”

“Dude, no! Not with me!” Suzie exclaims, laughing nervously. “I mean, sure, I'd take you out if you weren't my boss, but I don't see that happening anytime soon unless you fire me.”

“Got it, got it,” you say, still chuckling. Suzie realizes too late that you were just teasing her and huffs. “Not with you. But seriously, go on a date? Just like that?”

“Yeah. Just meet someone.”

“You make it sound like it’s easy.”

“Because it is,” she says with a shrug. “Here. Give me your phone.”

Leigh doesn’t know what to do with the fact that you may or may not have feelings for her.

So, she does what she does best: Pretend.

Leigh pretends you’re not EspressoEyes. In her mind, it could just be a coincidence, and you might not be the person who wrote to her advice column. Without any concrete evidence, she holds onto this notion, using it as a shield to fend off the uncertainties and doubts that would follow if she believed otherwise.

Leigh pretends because she needs your help to figure out how to care for Logan. Because maybe she wants to be friends. When you join her for a run, you don’t press for conversation, a rare companion who's not afraid of silence. Having you around feels like having Matt around, in a way that she's reminded of him when you talk about the same things you like, the same books you've read, and the same music you listen to.

Leigh pretends it doesn’t bother her in case you are EspressoEyes. She’s no stranger to turning heads as she walks down the street, accustomed to the attention. There's a certain power in being desired, and Leigh revels in it. But the idea of you liking her doesn't quite make sense to her; it's like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. It’s not because you’re a woman—she’s been with women before. What Leigh can't wrap her head around is that you, of all people, could actually be into her. After all, she hasn’t exactly been her most charming self since you two met. Even her best friend is keeping a cautious distance. She’s been wearing down the people closest to her, those who are supposed to like her the most.

And this bewilderment doesn't sit well with Leigh. She is someone who thrives on understanding, on knowing where she stands with people and why. So, when pretending isn’t enough, she does what she does second-best: Avoid.

She must have been waiting in her car outside your clinic for the better part of the evening, debating with herself about what to do next. She's parked just out of view, positioned so she can see the clinic entrance without being too conspicuous. She hasn't eaten dinner yet, her stomach growling, but she remains glued to her spot across from where she knows you're waiting for her.

Ever since you subtly asked her out through text, she’s been on edge, second-guessing her actions (texting and sharing posts on the internet with you all morning, what was she thinking?) and wondering what they might have meant to you. Leigh didn’t mean to leave you hanging—she did come to your clinic, sort of. She remembers typing out a response to you, something witty and non-committal, but her finger hovered over the ‘send’ button before pulling back. It felt like too much, too soon. She needed time to think, to figure out why the idea of checking out authentic Japanese food with you left her feeling so conflicted inside.

Leigh's guilt gnaws at her as she sits there, wrestling with how to extricate herself without causing further confusion—or worse, hurt. Eventually, it all comes to a head. She finally gives in, typing out a message to you on her phone with a shaky urgency.

[7:53 PM] Leigh: I'm so sorry, something came up. I can't make it to the clinic after all.

Your reply comes quickly, much to her astonishment, especially since she hadn't opened your message all afternoon.

[7:54 PM] You: It's fine, don't worry about it. I can have Logan's supplies delivered to your place if that works better for you.

Reading your text, Leigh bites her lip, another surge of guilt washing over her. Your kindness, your willingness to accommodate her, only complicates this predicament further.

[7:54 PM] Leigh: Yes, that would be great, thank you.

[7:54 PM] Leigh: How much do I owe you?

As she starts nibbling at her cuticle, Leigh is eager to resolve at least the financial aspect of her obligation. Though she knows she owes you so much more than just Logan’s supplies.

[7:56 PM] You: Like I said, it's on the house. But just this time ☺️

It’s still too generous. But Leigh knows better than to argue further, concerned that insisting might hurt your feelings.

[7:56 PM] Leigh: Thank you. I won’t forget this.

[7:57 PM] You: 😊😊😊

Leigh sighs, remembering her promise that you could visit Logan anytime. She hopes you won’t take her up on that offer too soon, at least not until she has a chance to sort herself out.

Danny isn’t too bad once you get to know him. That's what Leigh learns after more than two months of dating him.

Initially, Leigh wasn't sure what to make of Danny. Their shared wit and sarcasm often put them at odds, like two alphas vying for the upper hand, each one not willing to back down, always aiming for the last word. Yet, in their calmer moments, when the competitive edge fades and they're just enjoying each other's company, Leigh finds something unexpectedly comforting about being with him. He has this confidence about himself that Matt never had, knowing exactly what he wants—and that's her. His straightforward approach makes everything about being with him feel predictable. And lately, she's starting to see predictability as a good thing, a sign of stability. This is a welcome change from the uncertainty that often left her anxious about the future. Plus, all these traits spill over into the bedroom, making the sex between them feel effortless and satisfying in a way she’s never experienced before.

Despite all this, there are days when Leigh finds herself merely tolerating Danny's affections. A part of her remains tightly locked, still bruised from losing Matt, and she's not sure if those doors should—or even can—open again. To compensate, she often says yes when she can, whenever her mood permits her to be giving and amenable.

And it is exactly why she says yes when Danny asks her to go to Palm Springs with him this weekend.

The getaway feels like an extended lazy morning where the concept of time blurs into insignificance. They drift from one hotel restaurant to another, luxuriating in the art of doing absolutely nothing. This routine isn't new to them; it’s the same one they slip into whether they’re at Danny’s apartment or Leigh’s place—only now, the scenery is different, and the sheets they tangle in are expensively soft, boasting a thread count far beyond anything either of them owns at home.

They're lounging by the pool, sipping Margaritas—Leigh with a book in hand and Danny absorbed in his phone—when your name comes up in conversation.

“So, how are things between you and Y/N?” Danny asks, not looking up from his phone.

Leigh stiffens slightly. She carefully moderates her tone, her face schooled into an expression of indifference as she marks her page and looks over at him. “What about me and Y/N?”

“I don't know... are you guys friends now?”

If Leigh weren’t so preoccupied with her own personal concerns about you, she might have recognized the underlying worry his question poses. What he's actually trying to figure out is whether you've come clean to Leigh about his role in Matt’s secret affair with you.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” she says. To say otherwise would be a lie, because you’ve been nothing but good to her. Danny seems satisfied with this answer, nodding before returning his attention to his phone.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering,” he mumbles. He's back to mindless scrolling, but Leigh can sense the tension from two feet away.

“No, tell me,” Leigh insists, placing her book on the side table between them with a definitive thud. Danny mirrors her actions, setting his phone face down and turning to her with a seriousness that clashes with their otherwise relaxed afternoon.

“I just don't get why you'd be friends with Matt's mistress,” he blurts out suddenly.

Leigh is taken aback. They've never fully discussed what transpired between you and Matt, so she hadn't realized he was paying such close attention to her interactions with you. Believing that he wasn't privy to all the details, she quickly jumps to your defense.

“Y/N didn’t even know Matt was married to me,” she explains, trying to clarify the misunderstanding and protect your integrity.

“Yeah? And you just took her word for it?” Danny doesn’t bother to hide his skepticism, and it irks Leigh more than usual. She doesn't understand why every conversation with Danny has to turn into a challenge or an argument.

“There’s no evidence to suggest otherwise,” Leigh replies, her voice tightening as she struggles to keep her frustration in check. “I mean, I even went through your phone to see what Matt had been saying to you, and there was nothing there indicating that Y/N knew he was married.”

Danny feels a lump form in his throat. Fortunately for him, Matt hadn't mentioned anything in their texts about Danny being Nick either. He has been debating whether to disclose his role in everything to Leigh. But things between them have gotten serious, and Danny's not so sure he should come clean. Part of him wants to delay—perhaps until they are married with kids, when he's more certain that Leigh won't leave him over a past mistake.

“Look, I'm not saying don’t trust her, but... she used to be in love with Matt, right? You don't think there's a chance she resents you even a little?”

Leigh stops for a second, Danny's words prompting her to consider aspects she hadn't really thought about before. Wrapped up in her own insecurities, jealousy, and pain when she discovered the truth about you, she had never stopped to consider your perspective—how you might have felt learning that the man you had feelings for was married. Did you feel just as fooled and stung as she did? The thought bounces around her head for a moment. From what she can recall, nothing in your behavior has ever suggested that you're a bitter ex. But then, what if you're just exceptionally good at masking your feelings?

Do you really like her, or is it all an act—a scheme?

But then, she remembers the night you gave her Logan, how your smile was nothing but warm, your eyes bright with something that, looking back, Leigh realizes might have been admiration. Not even Danny looks at her like that, whose gaze is always bridling yearning and a desire to possess. Leigh shakes her head, almost laughing at the thought of Danny being right about you.

“Danny, honestly,” Leigh finally says, trying to put an end to the discussion, “if what you're saying is true, I can handle it myself.” It seems the quickest way to close this topic, knowing that debating it could easily consume their entire afternoon and completely derail the purpose of their vacation.

“But doesn't it hurt, having her around? Like a reminder that Matt went for someone else?” He's playing on a different fear now, not questioning your integrity, but poking at the scars Leigh's tried so hard to heal.

Leigh wants to admit the pain never went away. She’s merely learned to co-exist with it. It's like the weather for her: on some days, her mind is a landscape of clear skies, but when the storm hits, it's relentless. For now, she chooses to keep this pain private, unwilling to give anyone the leverage to use it against her or even attempt to fix her. It's her burden to bear, and hers alone.

“No,” Leigh answers, reaching for her book again. “I don’t see it that way anymore.”

Leigh ends her nearly year-long social media hiatus by posting a series of photos from her Palm Springs vacation with Danny. Sharing such personal moments publicly is uncharacteristic for her, especially given her minimal online presence over the past months. Maybe it felt like sending a message to everyone that she’s doing okay. That they can go back to seeing her as just Leigh again—a single, actively dating woman in her early thirties—not as the young widow she was in her late twenties.

Danny's friends are the first to swarm the comments. They tag Danny, peppering the feed with teasing remarks, their comments ranging from jokes about the desert heat to compliments on the couple's sun-drenched physique. It's all typical, light-hearted friend banter, until one comment sharply disrupts the mood:

“Yo, isn't that your brother's wife?”

Leigh deletes the comment within seconds of seeing it.

A few hours later, you ‘like’ her post. Leigh's eyes fix unblinkingly on the notification. She's been idly wondering if you'd seen the post, and now, you’ve confirmed it yourself. But what does that ‘like’ mean?

Is it a nod of approval, a silent indication that you're happy for her? Regardless of what it means, Leigh discovers she was sending another message—one that’s exclusively for you. It tells you that whether you're EspressoEyes, whether you harbor any feelings for her or not, it no longer matters.

She's with Danny now.

Returning from Palm Springs, Leigh feels different—like she’s turned a corner or something. She feels refreshed, and she wants to take on something, such as Drew’s grievances about her advice column. She picks one to start with, something about anniversary ideas, and she's got the perfect story for this.

It was one of those anniversaries with Matt, the kind that stands out from the rest of his surprises because it's so quintessentially him—albeit a little nerdy. He took her away from the city's glare to a secluded spot where the sky was a blanket of stars, untainted by artificial light. After laying out a rug for them to both settle on, he began the painstaking process of setting up a rather complex telescope. It took him nearly an hour, but the wait just made the moment even more special. With the telescope finally ready, Matt pulled out this old, crinkly constellation map and started hunting for one specific star. It was one of the last times Leigh remembered them being truly happy—deeply in love, free from the shadows of Matt’s depression, Leigh’s instinct to fix things, and the small lies that slowly eroded their relationship.

When he finally located it, he excitedly guided her to peer through the telescope. There it is—a tiny speck of light, but it's theirs. Matt turned to her with a bashful smile and revealed that he had 'bought' that star for her.

Leigh shares this story with her reader, emphasizing that it's about understanding what truly moves your partner. For her, it was that star—simple, unexpected, and insanely romantic. She tells her reader to find that one-of-a-kind thing, that personal touch that says “I love you” in a way that can only come from them. Just like Matt did with a star and a starry night.

It's only after she closes her laptop that Leigh realizes tears have been streaming down her face.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

It takes a moment to recognize who you've just bumped into. This encounter isn't as jarring as the last; it’s merely a brush of shoulders as you both maneuver to avoid incoming traffic. That ‘incoming traffic’ turns out to be none other than Leigh Shaw.

She's beaming up at you, and it looks genuine despite the sparse interactions since she last canceled on you. You’re still catching your breath, your heart racing from the speed of your run and something else entirely.

“At least I didn’t make you crash on the pavement this time. I'd say that’s significant progress,” you quip, drawing a soft laugh from Leigh. Last week, you made the firm decision to compartmentalize your feelings for Leigh, resolving to see her strictly as a friend. Yet, when faced with reality, such resolutions seem trivial, particularly when that reality includes Leigh smiling at you with her effortlessly charming grin—a smile that, despite your best efforts, still sends a familiar flutter through your stomach and makes your knees feel like they're made of something much less solid than bone.

“Speaking of progress, Logan’s due for his vaccines this week, right?” You remember the schedule clearly, not just because you’re good with dates, but because Logan has become somewhat of a shared responsibility between the two of you—or at least that’s how you still see it.

“Oh, right. I promise I'll swing by. No bailing this time,” she says, chuckling, but there’s a serious undertone that tells you she’s committed to making good on her word this time.

“You better not,” you tease, “Can’t have Logan missing his shots. He’s still very young, and it’s critical we build up his protection against—”

“I won’t, Doctor,” Leigh cuts in, giving you a playful salute that makes you blush. “So, where are you off to after this? I was actually about to grab some donuts for breakfast—”

Leigh pauses mid-sentence as a woman appears at your side. She’s stunning—slightly taller than Leigh, clad in a sports bra and tight yoga pants, with sneakers on her feet. An absolute goddess; even Leigh can’t resist a quick, appreciative glance.

“Who's this?” the woman asks with a British accent, adding the perfect touch to her 5-foot-7 frame.

“This is Leigh,” you introduce quickly, noting the surprise in Leigh's expression. “Leigh, this is Sara.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Sara says warmly, extending her hand. Leigh shakes it, though her movements are somewhat mechanical. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh?” Leigh’s smile is strained. “Nice to meet you, too.”

You quickly steer the topic back to Leigh's breakfast plan, asking where the donut place is. “It's just down that street,” Leigh points vaguely, but then stops short. Almost as an afterthought, she adds, “Actually, I just remembered I've got to pick up something from the laundromat.”

You frown, thrown by her sudden change of tune. “Are you sure? We could grab a bite after the run.”

“No, really, I should get going. Maybe next time!” Leigh replies hastily, already stepping back, her exit swift and decisive. As she hurries away, you're left there, watching her leave, trying to figure out what flipped her mood from happy to wanting to escape so quickly.

“Shall we?” Sara nudges you gently, already jogging in place.

You give Sara a nod, but as you start running, you can't help but sneak one last look back. Leigh is quick to put distance between herself and the park. With a sigh, you turn your full attention back to Sara, who’s already picking up the pace, chatting about a new trail she wants to try next weekend.

“Let's go,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, as you push your legs to match her pace.

Meanwhile, Leigh walks briskly to a different restaurant, forsaking her initial craving for donuts. She can’t quite explain why she fabricated an errand; all she knows is that she needed to get away from you and Sara. Earlier, she couldn't help but notice how close Sara was standing to you, assessing you with a look that seemed a bit too interested. Leigh keeps turning over Sara's words in her mind, puzzling over what she meant by saying she'd heard a lot about her from you.

Why were you talking about her with Sara? Who exactly is Sara to you? Just a friend, or something more?

And what Leigh finds even more perplexing is why she's so troubled by needing to know the answers.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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chronically-ghosted · 6 months ago

Text

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

chapter rating: T

word count: ~25K

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

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

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

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

part ii:

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

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

crunch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just by the top drawer.

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

It’ll be small. Just a latch.

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

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

Joel.

“Joel!”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Planning on getting wounded any time soon?”

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

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

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

Morphine.

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

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

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

Would and wouldn’t.

Should and shouldn’t.

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

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

“What else you got?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ellie!”

“Joel, look, it’s a radio!”

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

“But I’ve got room in my pack –,”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

No other purpose at all.

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

“Hey, Ellie, uh–,”

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

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

Luxor, the label reads.

Hand cream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She lifts her chin, hands curled at her side.

“How?”

“How what?��

“How do you make them afraid?”

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

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

“It’s not. Not when it’s for her.”

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

“Yeah, of course, she’s your kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just stares wide-eyed and inhales.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could hardly recognize the woman underneath it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whenever Joel gets back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie.

And Joel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sarah, are you –,”

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

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

At least crazy runs in the family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? What was it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was fine. Did she mention anything?”

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

“Nothing out of the ordinary, at least.”

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

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

“Joel? What is it?”

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

“C’mere.”

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

You go to him without question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re welcome.”

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

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

You can’t deny this anymore.

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

One hand in the air.

“Yes?”

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

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

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

“Correct again.”

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

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

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

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

Genus

Common name

Poisonous

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie merely sniffs hers.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, of course, I know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a kind of math –,”

“Advanced math,” you interject.

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

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

“Sam? Who’s Sam?”

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

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

Ellie, however, remains completely baffled.

“Yeah and? He’s just some guy.”

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

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

Sarah shakes her head no.

“Not even with a group of people?”

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

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

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

“Oh – you mean like a date.”

“Who’s going on a date?”

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

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

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

“We were talking about boys.”

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

“Oh.”

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

Joel nods, wiping his hands on his shirt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s Sam?”

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

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

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

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

“That’s not funny, Dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel’s trust makes your heart soar.

Only to come crashing down.

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

Nurture. It’s not what you do.

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

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

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

“Alright, Joel. I’ll try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until something sang out to it.

“How?”

“How what?”

“How do you see the world?”

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

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

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

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

“But I can’t leave him.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sarah, do you know what rouge is?”

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

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

“Have you ever worn it?”

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

“Would you like to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hard to believe, right?”

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

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

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

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

“How so?”

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

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

“Have you seen him since he left?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Yes, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” Small. Hesitant. Hopeful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know there isn’t much I can offer her all the way out here. But . . .” And maybe this is where you take it a step too far. All Joel asked of you was to make sure Sarah was alright. None of this had anything to do with the argument she had with her father. Maybe this is incredibly selfish on your part. But, whether you – or Joel – like it or not, you care for Sarah, in a way that was entirely different and exactly like how you cared for Ellie. You couldn’t help but want more than to make sure that Sarah is just alright. You pull away from the brush in her hand and hold her gaze. “I was wondering if you wanted to help me make her a cake.”

Sarah’s face nearly shines with joy.

Cool.

A sensation that draws heat, soothes aggravation, exhilarates that which is dry.

Water, fresh and clear, anoints your forehead and sinks into your hair. It pours off your shoulders, catching the soft skin near your hips, your calves. Droplets pepper your toes like embers from a fire.

Another splash and the water spills over the crown of your head, through the thickness of your already damp hair, threatening to drip onto the back of your neck and send a flood of chills down your exposed skin –

But a warm hand cups you near the base of your skull and a new sensation flutters awake, this time from within.

“Good?” His voice. You hear it more in your chest. It’s deep, rumbling. Patient.

You can’t find enough of your body to tell him, yes, Joel, yes, feels so good.

His wide hand slides down your bare back, a warm stone against the river of your skin, and another spout of water drenches you again.

A second hand joins the exploration of your body, massaging and squeezing all at once. Slow, steady fingers curl around the wings of your ribs, then where your skin thickens and swells, his nails scraping across the low curve of your breasts.

Oh. Oh, Joel.

“Tell me you want this.”

That voice prickles your ears, the rough scrape of a beard nebulous on your shoulder, just as you had always hoped it would be. Water splashes you again and every inch of your shudders.

“I won’t stop.”

Don’t. Please.

“I won’t stop. You just have to pick it up.”

His hands are gone, his warmth evaporated.

The water is suddenly slick, lichen-drenched, and stagnant. It lurks by your ankles.

Pick it up.

The stone walls at the bottom of the well ring with coldness. You shiver, naked and alone. Afraid, as frozen as a block of salt.

Don’t just stand there. You’ll never do it. Just pick it up. That voice. You hate that voice.

The barrel of the gun brushes against the edge of your foot, the head of a snake gliding in the water –

You grab wakefulness by the throat and use it to yank yourself out of the nightmare.

The familiar silence of the early gray morning in the kitchen that had become comfortable as of late is decidedly – worryingly – not. Your shoulders are taut, straight as a board from end to end. Over the suds and the dishes your hands move mechanically, ignoring the clatter of knives and forks and the rush of water. But above everything else, it’s the expression on your face that concerns Joel the most.

Even when you’ve worked yourself to exhaustion, there’s normally a light in your eyes that settles something restless inside of him, even after hours of labor. A source of strength that he finds himself eager to chase, to let it flood him – but right now, as you stand at the kitchen sink, you’re gone. Elsewhere, disappeared into blackness where that brightness used to be.

If he were a different man, a man capable of this sort of concern, he could ask you about it. At the very least get you to look at him. During breakfast, amidst the girls’ playful bickering, you hadn’t even noticed he, or anyone, was there. You had eaten as though your spine had been sealed to an iron rod – stiff, painful. Ellie and Sarah had run out a while ago, Sarah leaving to gather up the laundry and Ellie to let the animals out to pasture. He isn’t even sure if you noticed that he stayed behind, but that stirring behind his chest, one that’s become more insistent when you’re around, froze up to a painful knot at the thought of leaving you alone like this. Like you were caught someplace where you might not come back from.

So, straddling this widening gap he fears slipping off of, Joel lands on the only thing he knows where there is some common ground:

“Don’t think I said anything before, but Ellie’s a pretty brave kid.”

At her name, you blink. Slow the scrub of soap across the plate, then stop. You look at him and the darkness is not so deep in your gaze. He busies his hands with picking up a rag and beginning to dry the stack of plates to your right.

“Oh?” Recognition flickers over your face as if you’re suddenly aware of who you were talking to. A tender crease appears between your eyes. He dries off another plate and turns to face the sink, to hide the curve of his mouth from you.

“You’re surprised.”

You blink, glance down at his hands, and pick up the sponge again.

“No – I’m not – I mean, I know she’s a good kid, but . . .” You swallow, brow furrowed again. “What did she say to you?”

“Hm, not so much said anything as just listened. Stayed close, kept quiet. Left no rock unturned.” The edges of his sleeves are damp. You have your dress sleeves pushed all the way up past your elbows; it’s Saturday, a brief respite from the cycle of labor in the fields. The skin over your forearm and wrist looked particularly delicate against the breakfast table, now hidden by the soap and the water. Joel dries the cup in his hand with a bit more force. “She’s smart too. Knew all about iodine and what it’s used for. Had some idea how to seal up a hot water bottle. I’s glad to have her with me.”

You actually snort – without an ounce of respectability – and he stares at you, transfixed by a noise he’s fairly certain he’s never heard you make before. You duck your head as the small smile falls off your face, scrubbing the fork in your hand a bit rougher.

“Sorry. It’s just . . . Ellie doesn’t get along with most people, or . . . anyone for that matter. Sarah – well, Sarah could make friends with a feral cat so I’m not surprised they get along. But you . . .” You trail off and Joel shifts his weight back and forth, all the possibilities of what you meant reverberating in the spaces between his ribs. “I guess I’m just glad she didn’t piss you off.”

“Oh, it takes a lot to piss me off. ‘Cause I’m a casual and easy-going kinda guy, y’know.”

You freeze again as if he had just tried to convince you the sky was green and you should be looking for some sort of head trauma. He lets a small grin spread over his mouth, even brighter as your eyes widen. A joke. He is teasing you.

A soft, barely intimate gesture.

You smile. He feels something shift in his chest. Whatever else happens today, he’ll keep that smile in his breast pocket. He clears his throat.

“Nah, she’s a good kid. Just needs an outlet, I think.”

You stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him at the sink. The cream lace curtains drawn horizontally across the window block out the brightening horizon. An early morning breeze smooths across the pasture grass, the light weak with the sun still low in the sky. The silence that follows is easier, something he can stomach. In the sink, the water sloshes, silverware clatters, and the plates squeak when he dries them off. The faint curves of your mouth he sees out of the corner of his eyes embolden him further.

“She, hm, ever mentioned any interest in music?”

You shrug. “Ellie and her mother loved dancing to our neighbor’s radio in our apartment in Boston. Why do you ask?”

“She found a radio while we were in town the other day, and she was curious. But with no radio here, the best I can do is a guitar – I know’ve got one around here somewhere and I figured she might like to learn some chords. But I wanted – hm –,” that goddamn tickle in the back of his throat, “wanted to make sure it’d be alright with you if I showed her a couple of things.”

Eyes wide, soft lips parted – he doesn’t know where to carry the look you’re giving him now.

“Y-yeah, Joel, that’ll be fine. If you think that’ll make her happy, then . . . of course.”

He nods, slowly, the hot realization that he’ll now have to approach Ellie with an offer for guitar lessons pricking the back of his neck. Her bewildered expression probably won’t look much different from his own.

“‘Least I could do, after what you did with Sarah.” He means going to talk to her, not the immense relief you’ve provided her physically the last few months. He still hasn’t said thank you for that – or that you indulge in her every academic desire or curiosity. There’s no question too outrageous or problem too difficult that she brings to you – and curiously, you seem delighted every time. “She, uh, she’s getting older and I don’t always . . .” It’s an admission of his own shortcomings and it twists his gut. But then that radiant smile returns to your face and he thinks he feels that restrictive choke of guilt ease . . . just a bit.

“She’s very special, Joel. We had fun.” You finish laying out the last bits of damp silverware and a plate or two on the drying rack, your hands all white with soap bubbles. And then you pause. “She . . .”

He catches the brush of your gaze as you look away, shoulders suddenly rigid. You were about to say something, something you assume that he doesn’t already know about Sarah. You have something precious of Sarah’s and you don’t look willing to share.

“What?” It comes out a bit rougher than he means, but his heart rate is up a tick and the corners of his mouth are dry. “She, what?”

You unplug the drain, your movements slow, hesitant.

“She has dreams, Joel, just like every other teenage girl.”

“Of course she does. I know that.”

The murky water swirls low with a gurgle. You follow it with your eyes, the timbre of your voice low, but firm. “If you want to go out there and ask her what they are, then by all means, go talk to her. But she trusted me to keep her confidence.”

He swallows, as much as your words burn him – deeper and hotter than he expected – you’re right, of course. But now, for the first time, there is a visible crack between him and his daughter. A wet slippery feeling snakes around the bottom of his spine, tying a knot in his stomach and grinding his voice down to a growl.

“That is not your decision to make.”

Your mouth is set firm, but the brightness of your eyes has faded, more distance between you and reality. More space, on the edge of a protective cavern. You step back, about two arm lengths away.

“Joel,” you begin. “She is entitled to her privacy.”

The knot in his stomach expands up into his ribs. His heart beats faster, attempting to stretch away from the hot iron in his gut but he can’t escape it. “What did you two talk about?”

“School. Makeup. Clothes. Her life here. ”

His hands sweat. “What about her life? Is she unhappy?”

“Oh, God, no, Joel, she loves you and she loves being here with you. She just wants –,”

“What? What does she want?” You stiffly turn to put away the dishes, to close him off, but he steps closer, over the already blurring lines. “Look, I took you and Ellie in off the streets – I hired you – to come here and look out for her – act as her nurse, her teacher – to keep her safe. Not to keep secrets from me.”

Your spine goes rigid, just like it was at breakfast, as you gingerly put the plates down on the counter.

“And we’re enormously grateful for your kindness. You know that.” Hands pressed flat onto your hips, you turn and look at him, blank-eyed and drawn thin. You stare at him like he’s a stranger. Something completely foreign and unfamiliar – he hates that look. “Are you asking me as my employer?”

What else are you to me?

Someone at least worth the weight of a jar of hand cream.

He shoves back that thought as the fog of a dozen others crowd in to take its place.

“I am. I appreciate your help earlier, but this is the line. Is Sarah alright or not?”

You glance away from him, as if he might find the truth in your eyes. “What she’s experiencing is perfectly normal for a girl her age. You wouldn’t understand.”

The ground trembles, unsteady, beneath him. Where had he gone wrong? He didn’t feel the earthquake but now can see the broken faultline, the great maw opening its jaws beneath his feet. Fear, so dark and deep – it threatens to swallow him whole, but he gets his hands around it, by the throat, and snaps it clean in two. Joel narrows his eyes.

“Somethin’ I do understand is Ellie’s been eyein’ my gun since day one. What kind of fourteen year old girl s’after that? ”

At that, you blanch. It’s like he can see the bile rise up in the back of your throat, sit on your tongue and stay there. You’ve gone totally still, barely breathing. Joel isn’t sure if he’s satisfied or not that the remark landed its blow so thoroughly.

“She’s just a c-child who wants to pretend she’s an adult. Just like S-Sarah.”

His fist curls around the damp rag in his hand, desperate for something to hold onto, to squeeze until the ground feels solid, but his anger isn’t fortifying him anymore. The next words out of his mouth are disgustingly desperate.

“Is that what this is about? Did Ellie say something to her?”

“Ellie? What? No! No, this has n-nothing to do with Ellie.” You look at him, something tender and wounded flashing there and it chills the heat rising in his chest just for an instant. “I would tell you if it was something serious. Don’t you trust me?”

But you can’t come between him and Sarah. Nothing should.

The black chasm that he feels compelled to claw back against breeches open again. Edges crumbling beneath his fingers. Sarah, Sarah – is the only one who matters.

The muzzle runs its clammy tongue up the back of his spine, releasing a landslide of heavy dread across his body. His anxiety peaks in a wave and as it crests, he slams his hand on the counter, a blown fuse.

“No, goddamn it, I don’t!”

Jaw locked, he whips his head up. Whatever sits sour on his tongue, when he looks at you, it turns to a block of ice.

Where it bubbles up like black tar behind his chest, a thing that possesses him, you watch him with horror. Eyes wide, lips drawn so tight they’re practically nonexistent, hand around your throat as if to protect it preventively.

The bracing skeleton of indignant rage melts from his body so fast his brain goes fuzzy. He wasn’t thinking – wasn’t thinking about how you flinched, tears in your silver-dollar eyes, at the loud sound that time he accidentally knocked a pot to the floor. He had never seen you so bewildered and terrified – until now.

“Look, I’m–I’m not . . .” he swallows, “I didn’t mean it.”

He watches your eyes drop to his hand curled around the edge of the counter and he intentionally relaxes the muscle. He stands up right, but leans back from you, giving you space. The tension in your shoulders eases only a fraction. “She doesn’t . . . doesn’t have to tell me everything, but I just wanna make sure that she’s safe, and happy. Can you at least give me that?”

You’re breathing rapidly, eyes watching his hand at his side as if anticipating it curling into a fist. He turns his palms up in supplication – he really, really didn’t mean to lose control like that – and he steps back until he’s up against the door leading to the cellar down below. The wood is warm against his back, but his shoulder bumps into the hinge and it pinches his skin.

Your hands are no longer wrapped up in tight fists. With a deep inhale, you close your eyes, as if steadying yourself against a torrential wind. When you breathe out, it’s unsteady and shaky.

“Physically and m-mentally, she’s fine. She’s j-just . . . just growing up.”

All this time, bits of you have been growing towards the light as the days and weeks pass. He’s watched you transform, can’t take his eyes off you some days, into this woman where before he had seen you as just a tool, another a rake or a trowel. Now you’ve curled back into yourself like nothing had ever happened between you and him – all it took was too-sharp a snap. Sarah always said his bark was worse than his bite.

Joel takes a half a step forward and you take three steps back. Your hand is over your heart, fingers curling into the fabric, eyes still as wide as they had been the night in the general store, facing down those rangers entirely by yourself. Shit.

He wants to ask you why you fear loud noises, wants to know who did this to you and why.

He’s not that kind of man who does this sort of thing, someone who scares women.

But he’s also not that kind of man who knows how to navigate the aftermath. He doesn’t know how to be anything other than a father and a worker. Hasn’t cared to be anything else for a long, long time, and the muscle has atrophied. Can’t be a friend. Not a companion. Not whatever paints his dreams with streaks the color of your eyes.

“‘M gonna go find Sarah, talk to her, like you said,” he mutters, shuffling towards the back door. “If you – need – if you want –,”

His throat finally closes, shame making his gaze slippery and it slides away from your face. He doesn’t stay long enough to hear if your breathing has settled as he shuffles out the door and towards the barn.

The metal of the iron flares to an ugly, angry red, and you wipe your forehead before the sweat can drop onto the stove top and sizzle. With your teeth mashed together so tightly your jaw aches, you lift up the six-pound metal wedge up off the stove, shake it free of as much ash as possible, and then press it down onto Ellie’s collar shirt on the floor. Immediately you sweep up and down the length of the shirt, careful not to linger too long on any one spot, but sure to flatten the wrinkles.

Sad irons, is what Anna called them one day after taking in the laundry from the washing line outside. She had heard a few of the neighborhood bitties tittering about them and found the term hilariously apt. Sad irons because they’re more work than they’re good for.

Truth be told, you liked ironing, only in certain instances though. Moments when you wanted physical exhaustion to serve as a numbing agent to the battle of emotions building between your ribs. Sweat drips down your neck, your knees aching from pushing into the hardwood floors, your arms and shoulders burning from lifting the hot iron up and down, as you rock back and forth to clear away every last wrinkle.

Joel’s hand smacking against the counter echoes in your mind again and again and again, as the kitchen and the homestead and reality bends away from you as you tumble through memory after memory – distracted, the iron brushes up against your flesh and bites in.

You yelp, sucking the flat back of your thumb into your mouth to ease the sizzling burn, and you sit back onto your heels.

Yes, the pain is bright and it stings, but not enough to draw tears to your eyes, and yet they well up all the same.

A single image breaks through the numbing barrier of pain: the jar of Luxor in your room. You want nothing more than to sink your scalded thumb into its cool gel, but instead the image alone threatens to crack a sob out of your chest.

He wouldn’t have done anything. Nothing like your husband.

You know that, and you hate yourself a little bit that you reacted like that, even after all this time. Why couldn’t you stand your ground, even for Sarah? God, if you had cried in front of Joel – the mere thought of that embarrassment burns hotter than the sting on your thumb.

He had gotten so close. Too close to the truth. What had Ellie told him about the gun, even by accident? Joel didn’t seem intent on calling the police, but he’d left so fast. He must have been so angry just to leave like that.

As you open your eyes, a thought occurs to you and the strength of it nearly disconnects you from your body: what if you left?

Your gaze darts to the blue sky just outside the window, too low to see the gold ground but you know it’s there – just as wide and open as it had been that first night in Dalhart.

What if you gathered up Ellie right now and ran? It had worked before, and this time you didn’t leave the evidence in the bottom of a well. He couldn’t prove anything, just the ramblings of a fourteen year old girl.

Shit, what the hell did he know?

“Hiya!” Sarah skips in through the back door, arms full of fresh herbs in her basket.

“Be careful!” You snap at her, your thumb throbbing, tears and hasty decisions receding. “Don’t track in dirt – I just mopped.”

She freezes, catches sight of the iron and Elllie’s shirt. You haven’t looked up at her. Slowly she unlaces her boots at the door and steps gingerly onto the wooden floor. You can feel her eyes track you as she walks to the kitchen counter and drops off her basket. The anxiety pulsing beneath your skin ratchets up your heart rate, hot blood pounding in your ears.

“So, um, anyway, I was wondering if we could talk about Ellie’s birthday. I know she loves chocolate, but Dalhart hasn’t had that in years. But I think we might have a bit of vanilla in the cellar. Do you want me to go look?” You don’t miss the way her eyes flit over her shoulder to you, the question posed as if she was sticking a tree branch through the bars of a tiger’s cage on a dare.

“Um, yeah, that’ll be fine.”

Ellie never had the language to find the source of your anxiety and over the years learned either to leave you to your physical work or silently help you with it. Joel evidently – obviously – was a better parent than that:

“Are you okay?” Sarah asks.

You stop, in daze, then slide the iron off the clothes and onto its side. It seems ridiculous but you can’t remember the last time anyone asked you that. Ellie, your only connection to family, knew exactly what you had to do to keep you both safe, so the question was always irrelevant. So when did you let another person in enough for them to care that much to ask?

“Just, uhm, busy. Need to get this done.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at you. “‘Cause you don’t sound like you’re okay. In fact, you actually sound really bad. What’s wrong?”

“I’m . . . I just didn’t sleep well. Had a bad dream. That’s all.”

The lies knot in your throat; it’s insufficient to call it bad – it’s insufficient to call it a dream, the thing that had scared you so badly, even Joel picked up on it.

“Wanna talk about it?”

You glance up, still on your aching hands and pinched knees. She watches you with those same endless brown eyes as her father’s but immeasurably softer, arms wrapped over themselves, eyebrows furrowed with concern. You had snapped at her when she didn’t deserve it and she just . . . moved on.

“No, Sarah, I-I don’t want to burden you . . . it’s nothing, honestly, I’m just being silly.”

She rolls her eyes, that wise stare cracking in half. “Fine. Don’t talk to me, but you should talk to someone. Talk to my dad. I know he doesn’t look like it but he’s a really good listener.”

Your cheeks go as warm as the iron beside you, making it impossible to keep looking at her. “Sarah, please, I am his employee. That is entirely inappropriate.”

“Oh, please.” She swats away your concern and turns back to the herbs. She pulls out canning jars from below the sink and begins to organize by food or medicine. “Fine. Don’t tell me. When do you want to start working on Ellie’s cake?”

The iron is no longer nearly hot enough to be effective but you run it up the shirt again, to smooth the uneven threads of your own feelings.

“Maybe tomorrow morning, when she’s out with the cows.” You pause. “No, wait, we’re spraying pesticides tomorrow. I can’t.”

Again, in that flippant teenager way, she shakes her head. “Dad’ll let you have a morning off if you tell him what is for.”

Joel’s anger, the smack of his palm – they reverberate in your head again as if someone had struck you with a bell. Your chest tight, you say,

“I don’t think your father wants anything to do with me right now.”

The excited buzz that always follows after Sarah like floating dandelion seeds settles eerily. You bite your lip – why did you say anything? – and watch her back stiffen, rosemary in one hand and a jar in the other.

She is the daughter of your employer; you cannot forget that, but you had – you had forgotten, and so easily too. She was well within her rights to –

“What did he do?”

You blink. “What?”

She lets out a frustrated groan. “God, I swear that man likes the taste of his foot in his mouth!” Sarah turns around, rosemary and jar back on the counter, her hands on her hips and you feel like you’re the one about to be scolded. “What did he say to you to make you upset?”

“Nothing, Sarah, I swear.” She raises an eyebrow. You break instantly. “We just had a disagreement. He wasn’t . . . pleased with my work, and he told me so. Which is perfectly fine, given that I am his employee.”

She shoves her palms into her brow, groaning. “But that’s not all –,” she shakes her head. “That’s it. I’m gonna go talk to him.”

“Sarah, don’t –,”

You struggle to your feet, your knees stiff and popping, hand outstretched after her, but she’s too fast. She opens the back door and lets it slam shut behind her, leaving you blinking on the floor.

He’s been staring at the back wall of the wooden shed for twenty minutes. Hadn’t made a move to grab a single tool, or pick up a bag of feed. Behind him, the wind dives into the fields, scuttles apart the branches of the oak tree by the river in a soft crackle. In the barn, one of the cows lets out a loud groan.

The back of his neck is starting to grow hot from the sun. Sweat peaks at his brow. His hand on the door, the other by his side, his fingers ceaselessly twitching, taking on physical shapes of his anxiety. But he can’t move away. If he moves, he’ll make the wrong choice again.

He’s angry. He’s still angry.

But that anger is fueled by a churning ball of fear that sits right on top of his chest and lashes at his skin like steel wool. It itches like hell and he can scratch at it all he wants, but it never goes away.

This was all a mistake. He sees that now. He could have handled another season on his own. He didn’t need another farm hand – he’d done it before and could do it again. Sarah was smart enough to read the right books all on her own and if she didn’t have the ones she needed, he’d go get them – wherever they might be.

Sarah didn’t need anyone either. She’d make friends with kids soon enough, in town or whenever the school reopened. She was smart, always had been. They’d figure it out, together.

He could have lived the rest of his life without another living soul crossing the boundary onto the Miller lands.

And yet he hadn’t.

He’d let someone in.

As a general rule, he tried not to think of you in any capacity outside of work, education, and medical treatments, but he found that he had no defenses against the presence of someone who lives in his house also taking up residence in his mind. Against someone who cooks his meals and makes his daughter laugh. Who has a fraught relationship with her niece and yet would quite literally kill for her.

That he understood, even if you and him seemed determined to prevent yourself from relating to one another in any capacity - which was fine with him. But he saw it in you, even if he didn’t recognize it at first in that bar in Dalhart. And then he saw it again the morning you and Ellie saved Sarah. The instinct to protect, to secure. It had been years since he’d seen it on someone else, and had never seen it that strong.

And that’s what had gotten him into trouble today. That instinct he’d had all his life suddenly butting up against a tender feeling that is so foreign to him he doesn’t know what to do with it. Doesn’t know how to hold it, carry it, so it goes everywhere, soaks him down to the bone.

All his life, he’s only ever enjoyed the company of two people, now one. He knew that if he took care of the land, it would take care of him and his family, so he never needed anyone else. But Sarah had a caretaker and a friend and nurturer but still clearly wanted more. Something he couldn’t give her. Something that never would have come to her otherwise if he hadn’t taken in you and Ellie.

In his hardest of hearts, he both highly praised and deeply, deeply resented you for that.

For coming here and upsetting everything.

Fuck.

His thumb catches on a splinter from the doorframe, tearing his eyes away from the blank wall, the brief pain causing his anger to flare brightly, the slice of wood embedded deep in his skin. His eyes snap to the back wall, looking for pliers to yank the damn splinter out – but his gaze catches something on the back wall first.

Your work gloves, on the shelf. As broken in and soft as his. Taking up space beside his own as if they had belonged there all along.

In direct conflict with everything he thought he wanted, everything that he understood about himself and his daughter and the land he protects, you and Ellie had become embedded in the homestead such that now he's not quite sure he could picture it without your presence. It's a permanence that, he could tell, you all had sorely needed.

You, unlike him, did need someone else to survive in this world, one that isn't built for or kind to or willing to value women like you – and yet he got the impression that you never had a soft spot for people either. Been on the receiving end of harassment and cruelty too much and too long to find anyone or anything meaningful outside your family. It was narrow-minded and perhaps selfish, but not a perspective he would ever disagree with.

Ellie, unlike Sarah, had a caretaker but lacked a friend, someone to nurture her emotionally, tenderly, despite her vocal protests. He can see in the dark well of her eyes every time she watches him out of the corner of her eye when he cocks his gun or saddles up the horse. Like you, the ability to share a burden had been beaten out of her.

Now, what does he do with –

“Dad!”

He jumps, the bark of her voice so loud and brash it rattles his heart for a second. Christ, is that what he sounded like?

He looks over his shoulder to see Sarah striding over to him, fists clenched, eyes blazing, dark hair turned light in the harsh glare of the sun. Sometimes – oftentimes – he was surprised that a tempest like her came from him.

“Dad!” Sarah barks again, the smack of her boots in the dirt launching puffs of earth by her ankles. She grinds to a halt in front of him, hands on her hips. “She’s my friend! What did you say to her?”

“I haven’t seen Ellie since breakfast –,”

“No. Not Ellie.” The pitch of anxiety plummets into his stomach. He knows what she’s going to say before she opens her mouth. “Her aunt. You said something to her that made her upset, and I want to know what it is.”

Where her fists lock onto her hips, one hand curls onto his hip as it juts to the side. With a sigh, Joel wipes his eyes with his fingers.

“Sarah . . .”

“Oh, don’t Sarah me! And don’t act like I’m too young to understand, either! You raised me better than that.” Her footing shifts slightly and Joel sees an opening, small, flickering. He sees her pouting at five years old, wanting to stay up past her bedtime not for the sake of being disagreeable, but merely to spend more time with him.

He tilts his head. “I don’t think you’re too young to understand, Sarah. Come to think of it, I’ve probably let you see and hear too much. Put too much on you.”

Her boiling anger simmers and the frown on her face softens.

“That’s not . . . that’s not it at all, Dad.”

With half a sigh, he extends his hand towards her, a peace offering as much as he was capable of. “C’mere, let’s get outta the heat. You and I gotta talk.”

Her eyes fall to his outstretched hand, lip bitten between her teeth, as if under some obligation not to take it. He lets it fall, as much as it stings a very delicate part of him, and turns back towards the cellar doors. Attached to the house near the water pump, they face west, spending most of the day in the shade. Where he would sit to catch his breath after laboring in the fields all day and she brought him water and they would talk – about anything and everything.

Joel slides down into the dirt, dust clinging to his shirt, his pants. He looks up at her, waiting, holding his will silently against hers without demand, and with a huff, Sarah drops down next to him. They sit in the shade, like they’ve always done.

This place has always been a place of safety for him. Not just this land, but this spot, this shaded seat next to her. Joel looks at her, his smile wan. “So, if that’s not it, what is it, baby? ‘Cause I clearly haven’t got a fuckin’ clue what I’m doing. I’m sorry I made you so angry. I promise you, I was just teasin’.”

She always liked it when he spoke softly to her, maybe bringing back memories of when she was small and slept for hours on his bare chest. He turns his gaze to the yellow land, the distant dirt roads, and the sprawling emptiness beyond them. This land, that is his responsibility to keep safe.

“I know, Dad.” He listens to her scrape the heel of her boot back and forth over a pebble. She feels warm against his side. “I’m not mad about that. I mean, I was, but not anymore.”

“But you’re mad about somethin’?”

She’s not ready to meet his eye, he knows. That’s okay. He can wait.

He smells lavender as her hair flutters again, her gaze joining his to watch their fields, the fields held by their family for three generations. The memories of her illness –of so many nights spent in fear, in anguish nearly as painful as death itself, as she cried and cried and cried and he could do nothing to stop it – overwhelm him out of nowhere and, like a fist has settled around his throat, he can’t breathe right for a moment. His hands flex and strain where they hang over his knees.

Air returns to him when she rests her head against his shoulder, and he is suddenly more grateful to you for bringing back his little girl than he’s ever felt towards anyone in his life. But the taste of his words he said to you lingers on his tongue. He had been so terrible.

“I like learning.” Sarah says. The wind tugs on her hair, the hemline of his pants. He resists the urge to press his face into her curls and instead settles for breathing in her scent, her warmth. He closes his eyes. She is his whole world.

The heat of the sun toasts the air around them as the wind settles. He opens his eyes to the solar star far beyond this planet. Another world entirely. It feels particularly close today.

“I know you do. You’re good at it, always make me proud.”

Sarah lifts her head and he feels the traction of her gaze. His stomach knots, but not as heavily as his heart swells. Her eyes are older than he’s ever remembered seeing when he finally looks at her, and he’s felt a lot of his years recently. Her hands curl around his elbow, like she used to do when she begged him for a new book or a new dress. Pleading with him, to make him see her.

“But I think I’ve learned all I can . . . here.”

Joel breathes through the gaping wound and surge of pride in his chest. She watches him, brown eyes wide, mouth set. The same little girl he’s always known, and nothing like her at all. How had he missed it, this fundamental and irrevocable change? Where had the time gone?

“I know, baby. You have to go.”

He expects something like a girlish squeal, maybe little dance, a yelp of joy – throwing her arms around his neck, making promises to be on her very best behavior –

But instead –

“But not right now.” Her eyes fill with tears, voice small, uncertain. Vulnerable in a way only a child’s can be.

He puts his arm around her shoulder, between her and the dirt-crusted house on the land that is now his, was his father’s, and his father’s before that, and hides his own wet eyes from her by burying his face in her hair. Her arms are wrapped so tightly around his chest, his heart nearly stops.

“No, not right now. But some day.”

They who have been alone together all their lives sit and hold their other half for a long, long time.

The sun hovers in the late afternoon sky, unwilling to let time march forward, but it always does. It always has to.

With a gruff grunt, Joel pulls away and wipes at his eyes with the palm of his hand. Sarah sits up more, sniffing, her delicate fingers smearing away the dampness on her cheeks. He clears his throat again.

“C’mon, enough out here. Ellie’s probably out lookin’ for you, and I need to help, um –,”

“Dad.” He drops back down the half inch he pulled himself up. Suddenly, with a grin and a mischievous light in her still-wet eyes, she looks as young as she is supposed to be. “We haven’t talked about everything yet.”

“What do you mean?”

Her dark eyes flit back to the house, a pointed look. A knowing look. He doesn’t know why but it makes his stomach churn and his heart rate speed up, ever so slightly. That grin on her lips evolves into a full fledged smirk.

“You were a jerk. Now you have to make it up to her. How are you gonna do that?”

Joel’s mouth twitches. “I’m out of ideas.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’m not.” Sarah heaves herself onto her feet, then stands, and dusts the back of her skirt with a few good thwaps. “It’s Ellie’s birthday tomorrow. Me and her aunt are gonna make a cake, so you’re gonna get her a present. You’re also in charge of distracting her while we get everything ready.”

Joel chuckles lightly as he stares up at her, one eye squinting against the sunlight. “Yeah? And what am I supposed to get her?”

She extends her hand and he takes it. Together, they get him on his feet. She dusts off his sleeve, then grins up at him, her smile wide and full and loaded with secrets he knows he didn’t tell her. “I can’t give you all the answers, old man.”

It’s nerves.

It’s nerves and that’s why you can’t find the vanilla you know is down here. For the fourth time, you get on your toes and look at the far back of the top row of cellar shelves. Joel had organized the cellar by least perishable to most, and vanilla beans stayed intact for years if kept out of the sun or moisture. Sarah was distinctly confident that they had at least a handful, far more than enough to flavor a cake, and this was Ellie’s cake. You owed it to her and Sarah –and shit, since he’ll be eating it, Joel – to not give up the search.

But by the time your line of sight got to the second shelf, your mind was already wandering.

He had taken Ellie out onto the front porch for a guitar lesson.

After the terrible things he had said to you this morning.

After you acted like he was a cruel man whose viciousness knows no bounds.

He wanted to teach Ellie something, after he had asked you first.

Came out of the hall closet with it in his hand, and while his dark expression was distressingly unreadable, his voice was light when he offered to teach her some cords. Ellie, who was nose deep in another Space Family Robinson, nearly launched herself off the couch: “HELL YEAH!”

Standing at just an angle that allowed you to see the living room from the kitchen, you could have sworn he smiled. A muffled thing, but it drew up the corners of his cupid’s bow in a beautiful twist, the long expanse of his throat looking warm as he turned his head to give Ellie the guitar, his hair curled in reckless waves at the nape of his neck. He smiled at Ellie and offered her a lesson –

And you haven’t been able to focus since.

You stop halfway on your fifth search, press your forehead to the wooden post, and sigh.

The silence in the cellar is different from other silences on the homestead. More compact, more dense. You suppose that has something to do with it being buried several feet underground, but the strength of it is comforting in a way you’ve never experienced. Since you were sixteen years old, you’ve worked a full time job, sometimes two, sometimes three, for just enough money to eat and keep your sister housed. You often have trouble sleeping because you can still hear the noise of all those people, gears in your mind churning, despite the physical exhaustion of your body, always thinking about tomorrow’s to-dos and where your next meal might come from. You’ve been going so hard and so fast – barely surviving – you forgot what true, thick silence sounded like. How much easier it was to breathe and smother that runaway train of thought.

Despite your initial apprehension, the cellar had become your most favorite place on the entire homestead. The silence was almost friendly, protective; you could whisper your secrets to it and know they’d be safe forever. Surrounded by abundant food, lovingly grown and cared for, you too sometimes feel as if you too had been raised, had been grown to ripeness, on this earthen floor.

For the first time in hours, your heartbeat slows. With a grin, you lean into the wooden shelf, its corner sticking into your shoulder like a hand would press into your skin.

“I’m trying to do something nice for Ellie. You know she deserves it,” you grumble into the silence. The wood is soft, gently carved. If you try hard enough, you think you can still smell the wood grain. “Having some vanilla flavoring would really make her happy, and that kid needs a win.” You shuffle, standing up right, and the toe of your boot kicks the post. It shudders slightly. “I –,”

In the momentum, something falls off the shelf and plops into the dirt to your right.

Vanilla beans.

You grin as you pick them up, trying half-heartedly to find that watchful eye. Just before you click off the light, you affectionately rub the corner of the wall.

“Thanks.”

If talking to animals is the first step in going crazy, talking to holes in the ground must be a pretty bad sign.

“‘kay, it’s real easy.” He clears his throat again, shifting, and the wood panel squeaks beneath him. Crickets echo in the shadows beyond the light of the porch. “This is gonna be your C – your A – your G, and your D. There’s only twelve you really gotta know. From there you’ll get the basics and can start to –,”

“Where’d you learn to play?” Ellie asks abruptly. She sits with her back against the wooden post outlining the porch, her knees tucked up to her chest. Joel is reminded of the look Sarah once gave him after he silently helped her chop the rest of the wood before a rainstorm came – he had told her she couldn’t do all of it by herself, and she had adamantly refused, but he didn’t rub it in her face when he came to help. They narrowly avoided the downpour but had enough firewood to last them a week.

Grateful, was the expression he remembers.

The heat of the day still lingers in the air, the sun just beneath the horizon. Flies and gnats swarm and tangle around the exposed bulb over the porch, thickening the shadows of his hands over the neck of the guitar and beneath the porch steps.

Joel’s fingers still, the music of fluttering wings and electrical zaps taking over. “My dad taught me. He taught me . . . and my brother.”

Maybe it was the talk with Sarah that had loosened something, at least temporarily. He doesn’t feel like he’s been torn open, spilling his guts, when he tells her about Tommy. He wonders briefly if Sarah had ever mentioned her uncle and if she didn’t, why. He can see the question build behind her eyes, thoughts shuffling, looking for a memory if he had ever mentioned a brother before.

“We got pretty good for a time. Played at school, church. Had a guy come through town once and tell us we could really be something.”

“Like a Hank Williams kinda something?”

Joel eyes her, impressed she knows one of the greatest artists who’s ever lived.

“I dunno what he meant,” he says. “But that’s never why I did it anyway. Just wanted something to do with my little brother. He had some good lyrics too. He was always talented that way, with his head, you know? I think sometimes that’s where Sarah gets it. ‘Cause i'snot from me.”

Joel smiles and Ellie grins back, an inside joke they didn’t know about yet. He strums quietly.

“I think he wanted to be that Hank Williams kinda somethin'. But it’s hard when you’re no one from nowhere. And I think him leavin’ would’ve broken our mama’s heart.”

“Tommy . . . right?” Joel glances up at her, the name so foreign on someone else’s tongue she could have meant someone else entirely. “Sarah – she, um – she mentioned him, once. And that he left for California – a while ago.”

Joel nods, again in search of that anger to wield as a weapon, but the guitar digs into the place in his chest where it hurts the most.

“Is that why the guitar was in the trunk? ‘Cause you’re pissed at him?”

It’s almost funny, the way she needles through to the center of things. He could lie, but what’s the point?

He hums. “I stopped playing this thing long before Tommy left. No time. Even with his help, you gotta fight with this land to grow anything. Then Sarah got sick, and now there’s all this fuckin’ dust . . .”

He puts a hand on the belly of the guitar to stop the vibrations. He looks up at the stars, blinking into existence as night falls like a dropped curtain, and shakes his head. It felt like an excavation of something haunted, when he pulled the guitar from a trunk in his bedroom closet. Truly, he hadn’t thought about this guitar in months and taking it out again was just asking for something dangerous to befall him. Maybe something already had, given how much he had started to care for the girl who carries a pocket knife in her sock.

Joel’s gaze drops to that girl now, her wiry little fingers wrapped around her ankles as she stares right back. He had forgotten they still made people like her.

“But it’s good. It’s good to remember.” Joel slides the guitar off his lap and onto the wood step between them. This guitar is older than Ellie and he hands it to her. “Now let’s see if you’ve been paying attention.”

She stares a second after he leans in to point out the chords before she tries to match his fingers on the strings. But then Sarah opens the screen door, out of breath and the tip of her nose pink as if she’d been standing over a fire.

“Dinner’s ready.”

Joel stifles the urge to roll his eyes; his girl was many things, but subtle was not one of them. As she disappears back inside, Ellie hands him back the guitar and meets his eyes with a confused look on her face – what’s up with her? Joel shrugs, then tries not to groan as he stands up, his knee acting up again. Odd, given that it only used to ache when a storm was coming, like a warning. But the skies had been clear for weeks.

“Good first lesson, kid. I’ll put this up, you go see what they got cooked up.”

“You sure?” Her gaze drops to his knee, observant as her aunt.

“ ‘M fine. Go on.” He knows there’s more affection than gruff in his voice, but at least Ellie doesn’t seem to register that.

He follows her inside, the air warmer in here due to the oven and a lack of a breeze. When she moves towards the kitchen, he goes to the closet beneath the stairs and opens up the trunk at the back.

He isn’t entirely sure he can forgive Tommy for what he did, but at least he understands it. Beneath where the guitar laid, there’s a scrap of crumpled paper – a telegram he thought about tossing in the fire when it first arrived. Instead, he is glad he just wanted it out of his sight.

It is blank except for a few letters and numbers: a forwarding address.

He can’t pick it up and look at it, not right now, but maybe. Maybe someday, when he needs his brother.

“Holy shit!”

Joel smiles as he shuts the trunk lid and stands. Not today.

When he finally makes it to the kitchen, Ellie stands at the head of the table, her shoulders by her ears, arms out, as if preparing to be tackled to the ground. Her eyes are bigger than he’s ever seen them.

“Happy Birthday, Ellie!” Sarah yells from the other side of the table, the words bursting out of her. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? I . . .” Wordlessly, she slides into the chair, her face glowing in the light of the candle sunken deep into the top of the cake. The shadows, thick and heavy around her mouth and under her eyes, blur the emotions on her face.

“Ellie?” You say, tentative. That crease is back between your eyes and Joel wants to press his thumb to it until it goes away. “Is this okay?”

Slowly, she lifts her eyes. The shadows cannot hide the wet shine there. Joel has to look away, something hot expanding under his ribs.

“Uh, yea-ahh . . . this is fucking okay.” He hears the slight chuckle in her voice and he looks back. Her smile is stretched from ear to ear. “And this is dinner too, right? We get to eat cake. For dinner?”

You smile, relief and excitement giving your own face a special glow. And then, your eyes fall to him and that hot band in his chest thickens to his throat. He’ll dream of your eyes again tonight, he knows it.

“Mr. Miller has extra storages of flour in the cellar,” you say, gaze slipping away before he can hold onto it. The band in his throat hardens when you refer to him so distantly. “We used just a bit of cream and milk –”

“And sugar!” Sarah blurts out. She is practically vibrating next to you. “We have to really conserve sugar, only for special occasions, and what’s more special than a birthday?”

Ellie tears her gaze up from the candle and, for a second, she looks very small.

“You used it for my birthday?”

While Sarah nods vigorously next to you, he watches as your face falls. He knows that look, felt it screw up his face too – you feel like you’ve failed Ellie somehow.

“Of course, Ellie.” You say quietly, your hands knotted in front of you. He watches as the words get caught in your throat, all the right ones and the wrong ones. “You . . .”

“You’re a good kid.” Your eyes jump to him, wide, as he steps closer to the kitchen table. He puts a hand around the knot on the back of Ellie’s chair. “Is what your aunt means to say. Happy birthday, from all of us.”

Ellie’s gaze is so gentle, she looks timid. She glances between Joel, you, then Sarah, and back to you.

“Um, thanks, guys. I guess.”

In the soft silence, she takes a brief moment, her eyes closed, and then leans forward over the candle and promptly blows out the flame. The kitchen falls into darkness, a second before you reach for the light.

Sarah claps her hands, the amber electrical light softening her already smooth skin. “What did you wish for?”

Ellie’s smirk returns, her hard edges returning. “Can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

Sarah rolls her eyes as you gather the plates you and Joel had cleaned just this morning. “I always thought that rule was so stupid. It’s no fun.”

You grin at her as you hand Ellie a plate and then Sarah herself.

“It’s the secret that gives the wish its magic. All the good things are best kept secret.”

Your hand extends a plate out towards him, but it’s your gaze that meets him first. Mouth slightly parted, you watch him from beneath your long lashes. The light that softens Sarah emboldens the curves of your cheeks, the slope of your nose, the entanglement of your hair against the nape of your neck. A table between you, he hasn’t been this close to you in what feels like days, when it had only been this morning. This morning, when he had never felt further from you, when his own fear had gotten the better of him.

For so long, the circle of his love ended at the property lines and he had spent years of his life etching in that demarcation, digging in and digging in until the wet earth swallowed him whole. There was nothing else but Sarah and this land because he could not afford to lose either of them, so he held on tight and burrowed deep.

But this deep down, the earth he loved might as well have been a coffin. A tomb. In order to stabilize his daughter, the land, and himself, there had to be less of him. Less to carry. Less to burden.

Less of him to share.

He thought – maybe hoped – that those bits of him that had fallen away would always stay gone, another sacrifice in addition to his blood and his sweat into the soil. It was easier to mourn a loss if you never had it in the first place.

But, as he looked at you from across the table in the low light, as your fingers touched his beneath the plate – even for a fraction of a second – the pieces he’d left behind roared to life once again.

Heat warms him up his arm, down into his chest – and it keeps going. The smell of you, of sweat and sugar and honey and sunlight, invades his head like a dirty wind and the fire inside scorches him as it flushes down his ribs, through his stomach, and right into his groin.

You all but drop the plate into his hand, pulling your fingers away from his touch, gaze diving away. But he can see your nervous swallow, the way your hand shakes when you pick up the knife to cut the cake.

“Let’s eat.” You smile at the girls, but it’s as weak as your voice, crackling, trembling, overwhelmed. As if you too had been consumed by years of dormant want out of nowhere and now couldn’t possibly put those feelings back into hiding even if you wanted to.

Even if you begged.

The cake is gone in a matter of minutes.

Ellie lets out a groan, leaning back in her chair, her hands resting over her full stomach. “That was so goddamn good.”

“It’s inappropriate to lick the plate, right?” Sarah asked, sponging up crumbs with her finger.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Ellie grins. She snatches up her plate and with her tongue flat against her chin, licks up every last morsel. Sarah snorts, laughter bursting out of her, before doing the exact same thing. It’s not long until both of them are making grotesque noises.

“You girls act like you haven’t had a proper meal in weeks.” Joel sits across from you, his arms folded across his chest, a faint glint in his eye as he glances back and forth between them. He sits low in his chair and his shoulders look especially broad across the back of it. “Y’all are gonna eat me out of house and home.”

Sarah giggles and wipes her spit-covered chin. “Ellie said she found a really good spot out back to look at the Milky Way. Can we go look?”

You expect him to ask that they clean up the table first, at least put the dishes in the sink, and not to stay too far into the dark. He’s watching Sarah for a beat too long before he opens his mouth again.

“But then when will Ellie get her present?”

His eyes lock onto you.

“THERE’S MORE?!” Ellie screeches.

The heat in his gaze sends a tangible shock down your throat, across every single one of your ribs, right into your nipples. Your faint gasp is overshadowed by Sarah and Ellie’s yelling – oh my god you didn’t tell me about this what’s wrong with you – please please please can I see it I’ll clean the bathrooms if you just lemme have it please – but the look is gone a second later when he stands up and jerks his chin over his shoulder to the living room. The girls sprint into the room before he can take his first step. He doesn’t look at you as he follows them, slow, confident, teasing them just a bit.

“What is it?!”

“Is it more comics?”

“More marbles?”

“New clothes?”

“Ew, that would suck.”

As if deaf to their pleas, Joel slowly walks over to the chest in the corner of the room and just as the girls are about to burst from excitement, he bends down and picks something up from behind it.

A radio.

The radio.

The same one they had found in town.

Ellie and Sarah’s eyes widen to the size of the dinner plates sitting on the kitchen table, covered in spit and cake crumbs. They drop to their knees, fingers outstretched like they approached a feral kitten.

“Now, it doesn’t work right.” Joel says, his arms crossed again. “But I thought it might be a good project for you girls. Something to work on together. Maybe learn about magnets and electricity n’shit.”

His eyes fall on you again, as if you knew all about “magnets and electricity n’shit.” Joel grins again, this time just for you, and something inside of you snaps in half, melts, sparks open; some great weight, one you didn’t even know was there, has been lifted off your shoulders, your heart, and you can breathe properly again. You sink into the blue sofa, hands in your lap to keep them from trembling.

The idea that you would ever willingly leave this place is laughable.

The idea that you would take Ellie away from this, from Sarah, is agonizing.

They’re both fiddling with the buttons and twisting the jobs, the novelty of it perhaps the most fascinating. They are silent, more reverent than if they are on hallowed ground.

“I’ve got some pliers and a screwdriver if you wanna –,”

Perhaps it was the witchcraft of the sisterhood.

Perhaps they had managed to work out some secret code.

Perhaps they were just lucky.

The radio lights up and the tear of a trumpet whines out of the speakers. Their yelp of delight is muffled beneath the white-hot music of a jazz band.

Joel watches with what can only be considered bemusement as the girls leap to their feet and start dancing like no one had ever taught them about rhythm.

The sofa squeaks, the cushion under your butt tilting up, as he sits down next to you.

“Not likely to win any competitions any time soon,” he mutters quietly, presumably to you, as you both watch Ellie’s jerky knees and Sarah’s dizzying twirls. You sit, hands in your lap, perched on the edge of the cushion, while he leans into the sofa, arms back in place over his chest. With the way you are positioned towards the radio and him facing straight on, your knees almost touch.

You wonder if he’s as aware of that chance as you are.

“Listen, I wanted to say I’m sorry.” His voice is deep enough to be heard over the music. He glances at your hands, and then your face. The sincere regret in his eyes makes the blood in your wrists pound. “You didn’t deserve all of those things I said to you this morning. Both you and Ellie have been . . .” he struggles for the word, his bottom lip moving with the swipe of his tongue, “a good change in our lives, and I regret saying the contrary.” His gaze falls back to your hands, your thumb tucked into the hole made by your other fingers. You wouldn’t look away from his face if it was the sun itself. “The fields have been well taken care of . . . and I know Sarah’s grateful for everything you’ve done for her. You’ve changed her life for the better. You’ve changed m–,”

It’s like his voice crumbles and slips off a cliff. His broad shoulders sag forward and then he looks up at you, a desperate sort of hope in eyes. Hope that you understand what he’s trying to say, and hope that you don’t make him say it.

Oh, but you want him to say it. You want it so badly.

You nod, this crumb sweeter than anything on the kitchen plates. On some heady sugar high, you smile at him.

“Well, I meant what I said.” He frowns and your grin widens, but then teeters and topples over. Your wrists ache. You have to lose his gaze for what you’re going to say next. “We are very, very grateful you took us in. I know it wasn’t a decision you made lightly, risking so much of you and Sarah for two complete strangers.” You shake your head with disbelief. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that you made the right choice, if I have to.”

You glance up at him – and immediately wish you hadn’t.

It’s that same look he gave you when you handed him his plate over the kitchen table. Lips pursed, brow slightly furrowed, with a wary uneasiness in his eyes. Like he’s finally figured out what kind of woman you are, and he can’t quite tell what to do with you.

“C’mon you two!” Sarah yells and that hazy bubble that envelopes you bursts. He blinks, as if not remembering where he is. “You gotta dance!”

“Yeah, you old farts!” Ellie pants, red-faced and nearly out of breath. “It’s my birthday so you have to do what I say and I say, let’s boogie!”

You lunge at the chance to be distracted; you turn away from Joel and arch your eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re dancing? Is that what you’re doing? Can hardly tell.”

Ellie sticks out her tongue while Sarah starts kicking with one foot then bounces to the other, flicking her wrists. “I saw this move on the school’s television!”

Ellie immediately stops the flailing of her limbs and watches her moves. “Teach me!”

Sarah slows it down until Ellie gets the hang of the bounce. Sarah looks much more natural in the rhythm, but at least Ellie is partially on beat.

“And then I think you do this–,”

Her foot dangling in the air, she loops her ankle around Ellie’s and starts hopping in a circle. Ellie lets out a giggle.

“No way this is a real thing!”

“It is, I swear!”

“You got any moves like that?” Joel asks quietly, but still ensnaring your attention completely. He sunken completely into the sofa, hips low, legs wide. His thumb taps the beat on his thigh. Something about the way he has completely relaxed allows you to unclench your fists and loosen your foot tucked behind your ankle.

“Me?” You chuckle, leaning back on the arm rest. “I never had the time to go to the dancehalls, much less learn complicated moves such as the – Sarah, what is that dance called?”

“Hell if I know!” They’ve switched feet, trying to go counterclockwise this time.

“Complicated moves such as The Hell-if-I-know.” He rewards your terrible joke with a low chuckle.

“Me neither. I can’t dance for shit.”

As though he had called her name, Sarah stamps down her foot and rolls her eyes at her father, Ellie trying to follow along with the instructions the singer is giving over the speakers.

“Yes, you can. You taught me The Dip.”

“That’s not a real move, Sarah–,”

“You can teach her!” Sarah’s brilliant smile extends to her eyes as if she had just announced the best idea in the history of ideas. “Then she’ll know at least one!”

Your fingers return to their fists. Joel stiffens beside you.

“Yeah, you should.” Ellie yells over her shoulder distractedly, one arm raised and the other leg straight out – in complete opposition to what the lyrics said. “Can’t have her embarrassing me in public.”

“C’mon, Dad, just one dance!” Her brown eyes flicker to Ellie and sweat-damp shirt. “It’s Ellie’s birthday!”

“And for the party, we – must – dance!” Ellie strikes a dramatic pose and Sarah, giggling, swishes her dress with a flourish. With a brief glance at you, she rejoins Ellie, her skirt twirling.

The sofa squeaks as if he’s moving, a soft hand comes to rest high on your back, and panic leaps into your throat.

“Mr. Miller – Joel – you don’t have to – Sarah is just being silly –,”

“Well, it's not like I’m going up there by myself.”

That rough palm slides over your scapula, then your shoulders, and down your arm. Tugging gently, a soft pinch around the bone of your elbow nearly pulls you to your feet, but sense-memory has you folding your arm back up towards your chest, your knees locked and heels heavy. Immediately he senses your rejection and stops.

The warm light above threads gold through strands of his silver hair, the ends of his curls long enough to disappear into nothingness, into the halo around him.

Joel Miller would never, ever hurt you.

Joel Miller is not your husband.

Joel Miller could be your friend.

His light touch releases and just as his fingers drop from your sleeve, your arm unfurls towards him, taking him by the bicep. His eyebrows lift slowly, watching as your fingers curl around his arm. Drawn towards his light like a sunflower, you stand, closer to him than ever before, and smile up at him. Friends go dancing together all the time, right?

But all the standards and regulations of propriety and social mores were flung out the window the second you, an unmarried woman, stepped foot onto the land of an unmarried man. Nothing about this, about any of this, could be considered conventional.

A step or two away from the sofa, he holds your waist in one hand and yours aloft in the other, fingers interconnected. Respectful. Decent. A good man. No boundary crossing here.

“Ready for your next lesson?” he asks, a little breathless. Maybe he forgot the steps and he is simply nervous to perform – hm, teach. He does a bit of adjusting, watches his own feet adjust as you stand still in front of him, waiting to be moved.

So, you open your stupid mouth and say,

“See, teaching isn’t so easy, is it?”

You grin and finally his eyes meet yours. Soft as leather, warm as a saddle in sunlight. It’s your turn for necessary air to be drained from your lungs and he decides then to move.

“Gotta lead up to it,” he grumbles, the corner of his mouth lifted. “Can’t just dive right in.” The way he leads is completely out of sync with the music, but you see that it’s intentional, a choice to slow things down. Not quite what you’d expect at the Boston dancehalls, but something far more precious and memorable. He sways with you, as supple as a blade of prairie grass in a warm wind.

The curve of his shoulder is warm beneath your fingers, your thumb inches from his collar. He is more solid than any other person you’ve ever touched – including Anna. He could stand at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and never be washed away. You cannot imagine what that stability feels like, but you crave it all the same.

There’s a respectable distance between your hips and his, but you can still smell the sweetness of the cake on his breath, the hot earth he tends to so lovingly, and the tang of sweat.

“I know you’re a fast learner.” You turn your head towards him, but he gazes straight on. For a moment his face is so stoic you start to wonder if he actually said anything, but then a smile, a small one, flickers across his face. He turns his head towards you, his nose brushing yours, and suddenly you are too close together. Instinctively you pull away – your head, your shoulders, your hands – then find yourself frustrated that this is how you still react. You don’t even mean it. You don’t even want it, this temporary separation. But still Joel stands. He waits for you and sure enough, you sink back into his arms, your palms separating for only a second. “We made a regular farmhand out of you in a handful of weeks. Could get you to a full Dip in days.”

He’s talking too softly to be easily heard over the banging percussion, the scream of trumpets, the boozy warble of the singer, so you bend closer. Over his shoulder, Ellie and Sarah take turns curtseying and bowing and then locking their elbows together and spinning each other in circles, giggling.

“They’re alright.” The words hum in your ear, heat warming the air after a flash of lightning, and you fight a full body shudder. You tear your gaze back to him and his smile. His hand hasn’t moved an inch on your back. You worry your palm is getting sweaty. “Just focus on me.” You nod.

From the radio, the song ends and the band slows to a discordant crash, as exhausted as the ones who danced to their rhythms. Men raucously laugh over the airwaves at their own created chaos and the two girls collapse onto the couch, red-faced and sweaty and laughing.

“You trust me?” His eyes are brown and dark and smoky, firewood kindling. He really intends to teach you something. You nod slowly. The memory of his hand smacking into the counter breaks apart when his palm slips further down your back, his leg shifting in between yours, and he leans forward to lean you back. Back, back, back, off the edge of the earth. Hair slips off your shoulders as you hang, suspended above the floorboards, cradled by his hand and his thigh, the other hand holding yours to his chest. The world is upside down – in more ways than one.

When you lift your head, he blocks out the light above for just a moment. Joel, for a moment, is all you can see. He holds you like you weigh nothing, gravity a suggestion to a force of nature like him — and a moment later, he pulls you both upright.

Your cheeks are burning, your heart roars in your chest, in your ears, and there is no other way this would have ended: you glance at his mouth. He looks at yours. The fingers entwined with yours tighten.

And then the radio dies. No preamble. No warning. Just ringing silence.

“Welp, it was fun while it lasted.” Ellie huffs, out of breath, smacking her hands against her thighs.

Sarah wipes away sweat from her forehead with her arm. “Nah, we’ll get it back. I know we can fix it. Right, Dad?”

Joel Miller is still staring at your mouth.

He’s quiet too long before he drops his gaze and clears his throat. Caught in a daze, you blink and suddenly his warmth is gone. Your hand floats in the air, empty. Joel pulls on the waistline of his pants and turns back to the sofa, nodding.

“Course, we can fix it. But not tonight. Get to bed, both of you.” The gravel of his voice makes his words harsher than they need to be, but Ellie just rolls her eyes and Sarah throws herself onto her feet.

“C’mon, teenie bopper, I found a mouse skull the other day I forgot to show you.”

Ellie’s eyes widen as she follows Sarah up the stairs. “Like a skull skull? No meat, just bones? Was the rest of the skeleton there?”

Her interrogation continues as they move around the second floor and you can almost hear every word of it. A stark and abrupt reminder that this house echoes – any noises or sounds made can be heard anywhere, in any room, by anyone.

Your gaze drops to Joel like a stone and with the added weight of whatever he was thinking, it all becomes too much for him. He turns away, denim shoulders nearly up to his ears.

“I’ll clean up.” He waves his hand vaguely to the kitchen. Cake. Plates. Flour on the counter. Oh, that’s right. “You cooked.”

A trade, a sharing of responsibilities between two equal partners. There’s some part of you that knows you should argue, cleaning was what he hired you for, but this is not him telling you as your employer.

This is . . .

“You did good today,” he says, quickly, his hands on his waist, a step forward, as if he remembered something mid-stride. “It meant a lot, to the both of ‘em. I know you don’t think much of it, but you’re good at this.”

Your face heats, a familiar zing from his words racing down your spine into the bowl of your hips. The next breath you take is a shaky one. “Thanks, Joel. I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

He swallows, then nods. “Night, then.”

“Good night.”

You might have let yourself believe you had imagined the whole thing, as you walk down the long wood floor to your bedroom, the girls’ chatter now just noise in your head. You might have believed that, after half a decade of being unwanted and undesired, abandoned at the edge of civilization, you extrapolated sentimentality from the first man who looked at you. All your life you doubted yourself; doubted your ability to keep Anna safe, doubted that you’d ever be something more than a pathetic replacement for Ellie’s mother, doubted your own sanity at times when you sat in that dark, dank dug out and listened to the scratchy winds tear apart your husband’s finances.

But this – this you did not doubt. You did not mistake, or dream up, or lie to yourself.

Before he let you go, Joel had squeezed your hip, rubbed his thumb against the waistband of your skirt. Let his fingers snag and catch in your blouse.

Whether it was trust or companionship or something ultimately more terrifying, he felt some kind of way about you.

What kind of way you felt about him, you couldn’t answer honestly.

And yet for a moment, for a brief moment, you had stepped into his light and, goddamn it, you were right.

It was warm.

END OF PART II

series masterlist | AO3 Link | part i | part iii

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muxshwriting · 6 months ago

Text

you and i (pt. ii)

Simon Basset x bridgerton!reader

summary: as Daphne's twin, you were always second to her. but then you meet someone who is only yours, completely devoted to you. nothing will come between the two of you, it is just you and him || warnings: pre-marital kissing (how scandalous), fuck old man Hastings || word count: 1072 || masterlist

PART ONE

You rushed into your sister's room that evening, needing to talk with her. "Daphne!"

She was sat at her window, already in nightclothes. "What is it?"

"I know about you and the Duke." You confessed. "I know it was all a ruse and I know he doesn't love you."

Daphne smiled knowingly, pulling you to it beside her. "He told you everything? Even-"

"He loves me Daphne! He said he wants to marry me but needs to court me properly first." Your practically giddy with excitement. "Oh Daphne, I'm going to be a Duchess and you a Princess!"

Now it was Daphne's turn to blush as she thought of her beloved Prince.

"When do you think the Prince will propose?"

She thought for a moment. "Soon, I suppose. He is returning to Prussia at the end of the season and we shall have to be married by July. I am going be a Princess, can you imagine? Me, in a palace, raising children of my own. I will miss you all terribly though."

You smile at her happiness. "You'll be a perfect princess Daph, trust me. Besides, you can always come back and visit or we can come and visit you. I'm sure Colin can stop by Prussia on his tours." The two of your giggle, spending the waning evening discussing your futures together and what they might hold.

The Duke courts you perfectly, charming each and every time. The season has quietened slightly as proposals are accepted and honeymoons begin. Simon joins your family at the park for a promenade, conversation flowing easily between the two of you as you tour the park before making your way back to your family.

"What do you want for the future Simon?"

He sighs, realising what he must confess. "I do not know. But there is something I must tell you. It could change everything and I understand if afterwards, you do not wish to marry me-"

"Simon, what is it?"

"I can’t give you children." Simon says the half-truth.

"Children are not the end of the world." You quickly reply. "If we cannot have children of our own, I shall spoil all my nieces and nephews from my siblings." You pause, resting a hand on his. "It does not make me love you any less."

"Truly?"

"Truly."

You want to say more but your youngest siblings are running over, begging you and Simon to entertain them. Simon watched on as you attempted to chase your youngest siblings around the grounds. They were much more agile than you and you soon fell behind, catching your breath. A look passed between Hyacinth and Gregory and they both leapt towards you, pushing you to the ground and climbing on top. They shrieked with laughter as you rolled them both over and began tickling them, squirming to get away from your hands.

You were a natural, bringing your siblings joy without much effort and sharing their joy on your face. In that moment, Simon was willing to cast aside all hatred he held for his father. To see you happy, surrounded by your family was magical. If Simon could give you your own family to raise, he would. He would be happy to spite his father, not live unhappily as his father wanted him to.

He makes his decision and takes the journey that very night, calling on the Bridgerton house in the early evening and heading straight to Anthony's office.

"Simon!" He calls, "What brings you here?"

"I am not here as a friend Anthony, there is something I must ask."

Anthony leans back in his chair, some idea of the question forming in his head. He nods for Simon to continue and watches as he wrings his hands together and stutters out a response.

"I love Y/N. I know our marriage is not your favourite idea but I willing to do anything for her. I'll do whatever I need to." He takes a deep breath. "Therefore, I am asking your permission for her hand in marriage. I intend to propose with my mother's ring and have no need for Y/N's dowry."

Anthony nodded slowly. "I am not blind, nor an idiot. Anyone can see that my sister would not be happier with anyone else. However, to reject her dowry is an insult to this family. I do not care if you have enough money to support her. Take the money, put it in a trust for your future children, let Y/N use it to buy whatever she pleases, but take it."

"I have you blessing?" Simon couldn't quite believe it was that easy.

"You have my blessing." Anthony pauses as he stands to shake Simon's hand. "But if you ever hurt her, you'll have me and my brothers coming for you."

"I'd never."

He appears in the Bridgerton House drawing room the very next morning, a bunch of flowers for you and Mama as he fiddled with the box in his pocket.

"There is a question I must ask you."

Your quietly hopeful as you stand to meet him. "Yes?"

"Marry me Miss Bridgerton." He begs. "It would do me no greater pleasure than to call you my wife."

"Yes." The brightest of smiles covers your face. "I would love to marry you."

Simon's smile matches yours as he slipped the ring onto your finger.

"This ring is beautiful."

Simon smiles wistfully. "It was my mothers. Lady Danbury kept it safe, hoping that I would find love of my own one day."

"Perhaps I should thank Lady Danbury then."

"Please do not, she will take it to her head and never let us forget it."

Your mother silently leaves the room, calling your sisters and servants out with her. Both of you are silent for a minute, revelling in your private moment and your recent engagement. "You know," You begin. "No one would know if I were to kiss you in this moment... That is why Mama called all the servants out."

Simon matches your smirk and steps even closer to you, feeling your breath on his face. You're breathing the same air, hearts beating in unison. His lips brush against yours as he speaks, "No one would know..."

You close the distance, threading your hands into the lapels of his jacket to pull his even closer as your lips melt together in perfect harmony.

All was perfect in the world, everything would be alright.

hope you enjoyed! part two had me giggling and kicking my feet ngl

#simon basset x reader #simon basset #the duke #bridgerton!reader #bridgerton #muxsh #muxshwriting

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lipglossanon · 2 years ago

Text

With Devils Inside Me

꒰ ͜͡➸ ꒰ ͜͡➸ ꒰ ͜͡➸ ꒰ ͜͡➸ ꒰ ͜͡➸ ꒰ ͜͡➸ ꒰ ͜͡➸ ꒰ ͜͡➸

Dark Stepdad!Leon S. Kennedy x Virgin fem!reader

For the anon who asked for virgin reader! Leon is very dark in this compared to my others so I hope you like it!! 🫣

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, dark Leon, stepcest, creeper Leon, mean Leon, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (f receiving), Leon has a dark breeding kink, unwanted pregnancy kink ? not sure how to label it lmao

Not proofread ✌️

Title from Christmas Kids by Roar

part ii

꒰ ͜͡➸ ꒰ ͜͡➸ ꒰ ͜͡➸ ꒰ ͜͡➸ ꒰ ͜͡➸ ꒰ ͜͡➸ ꒰ ͜͡➸ ꒰ ͜͡➸

The new husband your mom acquired while you were gone over the summer is a huge surprise to you. You stayed with your dad over the course of few weeks since he’ll be gone on a business trip during your birthday. So here you are now, standing at the arrival bay in the airport closest to home waiting for your mom. You wave when you see her, but you also notice the tall, muscular man standing directly behind her.

“Honey!” She smiles and pulls you into a hug, “oh it’s so good to see you again! I have some big news to share.”

You smile confusedly as she grabs the man’s hand. Your gaze moves from their clasped hands to his face, feeling a thrill of surprise at his dark blue eyes staring straight at you.

“This is Leon! We eloped a few weeks ago,” she gushes, showing you the new ring on her finger, “he moved in with us so no worries on having a new room,” she titters, completely missing the heated way his eyes drag down your body.

You smile awkwardly, “Oh uh that’s great, um, congrats mom. A-and it’s nice to meet you, Leon.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, sweetheart,” his low voice gives you goosebumps, “your mom talks about you nonstop.”

“Oh, stop, I do not,” she giggles, patting his wide chest, “can you grab her bags, Leon?”

Your mom links your arms together as Leon brushes past you to grab your luggage. You catch a whiff of his cologne then your mom is tugging you along, chattering about her summer and why she wanted to keep her new marriage a surprise for you.

“I hope you had fun with your dad, honey,” she sighs happily, “I know how much you miss him.”

You smile softly, “Yeah, we had a great time. He said when he gets back from this trip that I can come stay for a while again.”

“Oh that’ll be nice,” your mom coos, patting your cheek.

She leans in a little closer, “I know it’s not the same, but Leon’s around now so—“

“Mom,” you cringe a little, “I don’t even know him that well and—“

“But you will,” she states firmly, “all I’m saying is he’s so excited to have a daughter in his life. He said he’s always wanted someone to take care of.”

Your eyes cut back behind you to see Leon scanning the airport as you three walk out; feeling your gaze on him, his eyes snap over to you. He tilts his head and gives you a strange smile. Hurriedly, you drop his intense gaze and face the airport exit. You feel anxiousness fizzing in your chest at his behavior.

“C’mon, once we get home and you get settled, you’ll see how nice it can be.”

After that first day back home, you make sure to avoid being with Leon—alone or otherwise. His vibes are off as your friends would say. He’s always staring at you, no matter what you’re doing. You’ve subtly brought it up to your mom, not wanting to make things weird cause Leon hasn’t actually said or done anything to you. Well, outside the niceties of things like ‘how was your day?’ or ‘dinner’s ready’. He’s perfectly normal, but something about him just squicks you out.

Unfortunately, you can’t avoid him forever. Your mom rarely travels for work, but there was an emergency at a satellite branch in the next state and so she packed up her bags, kissed you on the cheek, and bid Leon goodbye at the door with a hug and a kiss. The door closing felt like the lid on a coffin snapping shut. You felt small and alone.

Leon watches your mom pull out of the drive and then turns to face you, “Guess it’s just us, huh sweetheart.”

You laugh nervously, “Guess so.”

His unnerving blue eyes just watch you with that strange smile hovering over his mouth.

“Well, I’ll go get started on dinner. I’ll call you when it’s finished,” he walks past you to the kitchen, brushing his fingers along your arm, “don’t be late, sweetheart.”

You hold your breath until he’s out of sight and then let it go in a shudder. Walking over into the living room, you curl up on the couch and put some mindless show on the tv. You scroll through your phone, browsing through your friend’s updates and random news until the hair on the back of your neck raises. You jerkily turn your head to look behind you and see Leon leaning in the doorframe, staring—always staring—at you.

“Was just about to let you know dinner’s ready,” he smiles crookedly, eyes empty, “wanna go wash up while I set the table?”

“S-sure,” you clear your throat and shakily stand on your legs, “I’ll be there in sec.”

He hums and turns back into the kitchen leaving you to anxiously make your way to the bathroom to wash your hands. You gaze into the mirror and see your wide eyes peering back, anxiousness written all over your features. You pat some cold water on our cheeks and dry them off. Cutting off the light, you head back over to the dining room.

You frown as you see your normal seat is empty; Leon has you sitting beside him, where your mom would usually be. You walk over to the seating arrangement and jump when Leon brushes your arm.

“Here,” he murmurs next to your ear as he pulls the seat out for you.

“Uh, t-thanks,” your voice shakes as you sit down.

His fingertips graze the back of your neck as he situates your chair. You shiver and lean forward, pretending to fiddle with your glass. Glancing from the corner of your eye, you see a smirk flicker over Leon’s face before he schools his expression. You can feel your heart in your throat.

“I hope we can get along the few days your mom will be gone, sweetheart,” he speaks, his voice low as he sits down next to you.

You give him a weak smile, “I-I’m sure we will.”

He hums noncommittally, ignoring the food on his plate to take the hand you have closest to him.

“You’re trembling, pretty girl, you feeling okay?” His voice is all rough concern but his eyes are wicked.

You softly try to tug your hand back, but he has it in a firm grip.

“Oh uh, yeah, I-I haven’t been f-feeling too well. Think I got a headache,” you wince a little as he squeezes your fingers, “maybe I should go lay down or something.”

You watch with sick fascination as you see his demeanor shift from lax to alert. His eyes are dark and his lips twitch into a smile.

“I think that would be best, sweetheart. C’mon let me take you to bed.”

You stand up quickly, nearly tripping over your chair, “Ahh, no I’m fine really.”

You laugh but it sounds a little manic even to your ears, “I uh I’ll be just fine, but thanks.”

He frowns at you and stands from his chair too. You feel cornered but try your absolute best not to show it.

“I really think I should help you, sweetheart,” he looks at you with hungry eyes, “you know, I’ve always wanted a babygirl to take care of.”

“O-oh? Mom m-mentioned you always wanting t-to have a d-daughter to take care of,” you smile shakily, swallowing at the way he’s tracking your every move.

The smile is slow to overtake his features, but it makes your heart rabbit in your chest.

“She did? Well, I did say babygirl. I guess you could infer daughter from that,” he chuckles, no mirth in the sound, “always wanted a pretty girl of my own, a sweet babygirl who just needs daddy to take care of her.”

You can’t hold back the gasp as you push away from the table and back into the living room, not taking your eyes off of Leon.

“Aw, don’t be that way sweetheart,” he coos, slowly stalking forward, “you can’t imagine how lucky I feel at finding your mom; I almost dumped her, but then she springs your picture on me. Such a sweet little thing, but sadly wouldn’t be back til the end of the summer.”

He continues to slowly follow you as you make your way to the front door, afraid if you turn around and run that he’ll grab you.

“So I bid my time til that sweet looking girl comes home. And if I fix it to where I’m more of a permanent figure in her life, all the better,” he smirks, “no offense, sweetheart, but your mom is only a means to an end.”

Your eyes are wide and panicked, darting to the couch you can see where you left your phone not thinking anything of it.

“Well as much fun as this is, think it’s time to wrap it up,” he pauses and rolls his shoulders back.

You turn and run for the door, but Leon catches you in next to no time. Wrapping his bulky arms around you, he easily lifts you from the ground. You scream but it’s cut short as he moves one hand to cover your mouth.

“Nuh uh, sweetheart,” he clicks his tongue, “I’m afraid none of that.”

He scents your hair and groans, “So fucking sweet. Now I’m going to ask you something and you better answer me honestly cause it can get very nasty very quick.”

You nod your head, tears leaking from your eyes blurring your vision.

He chuckles, “Good girl, god I knew you’d be perfect. You a virgin, baby? Daddy needs to know how to treat you.”

Sobbing harder, you nod.

You feel his hold tighten around you, “Fuck. I’m just the luckiest daddy in the whole world, huh.”

Your legs kick as you feel yourself hyperventilating. Twisting your head you try to move his hand, nostrils flaring as your breath quickens.

“Shh, shh, baby, it’s okay,” he soothes you, “I’m going to move my hand but if you try to yell, I’m gonna be very upset.”

Nodding you agree, tears and snot running down your face. He moves his palm away but doesn’t let up on the hold he has on your waist. You breathe in a deep, gasping wheeze trying to calm your racing heart.

“There’s my good girl,” he pets your hair away from your face, “now we’re gonna go upstairs. I’ll put you down once we make it to the bedroom.”

A sob slips past your lips but you don’t do anything to fight his hold as he carries you upstairs to his room—the room he shares with your mom. A whole new slew of tears stream from your eyes, breath hitching on every exhale. He enters the room, shuts and locks the door behind him with an actual lock and key. You feel defeated looking at the heavy ornate lock.

He walks over to the bed and sets you down on it carefully. He tucks the key away in the nightstand, eyes watching you watch him.

“Don’t even think about it, sweetheart,” he pats your cheek softly, a hard look in his eyes, “it won’t end well.”

Sniffling, you nod yes.

“Good girl,” he purrs, eyes glinting, “really such a sweet, perfect girl for daddy.”

He slips off his shirt and jeans leaving him bare chested in a pair of briefs. You hate yourself for gawking, but you’ve never seen him in such a state of undress. His abs flex as he shifts his jeans down his thick thighs; you drag your gaze down further and see the outline of his cock filling out his briefs. God he wasn’t even hard and he’s already so big. A sick thrill of arousal pulses in your clit. Flushing, you can’t stop staring at his muscles flexing as he folds his clothes and sets them aside.

“C’mon, baby, let’s lay down to help with that headache,” the low timbre of his voice makes your nipples tighten.

You use your palm to wipe your nose and then dry the tears off of your face, feeling disgust war with your arousal as you lay down with Leon pressed along your side.

He doesn’t do anything more than hold you, running his fingertips over the bridge of your nose, across your cheekbones, then lightly across your lips. After a few minutes, your muscles start to relax in his hold, the heat from his body seeping into your thin shirt and shorts.

He tugs you closer until you’re tucking your face under his chin. His hands now running up and down your back, broad palms soothing you.

Without consciously realizing it, you sigh and press closer to him, nuzzling into his neck.

“Such a sweet girl,” he rumbles, chest vibrating against yours, “gonna take good care of you, sweetheart.”

You’ve cried all the tears you can and numb acceptance has taken its place. You don’t want to make things worse for yourself so you nod.

“Okay,” your quiet voice mumbles in his neck.

Surprisingly, this is the most he does to you for the rest of the evening. Just pets you softly and murmurs praise into your hair, dropping a kiss every now and then to the crown of your head. In some dark, messed up part of your brain, you’re preening under the attention.

You’ve always shied away from attention that boys gave you; always told they’re only ever out for one thing. Your friends have come to you with tales of heartbreak or horror stories of how their boyfriends treat them. To have this older man so obsessed with you, wanting to take care of you, makes you ache with want at the same time it frightens and disturbs you.

The argument that dark part of you has put forth is what can it hurt? Your mom will eventually come home and this whole thing is going to fall apart for Leon. Why not indulge in this sick fantasy while it lasts? Let him take care of you just to see what it feels like.

You fall asleep on him like this, pulled under from the thoughts swirling in your head and Leon’s steady heartbeat in your ears. A loud buzzing sounds in the quiet and the warmth surrounding you disappears. You reach out and only touch empty space.

Groggily, you raise up on your elbows to look around. Leon is talking softy on the phone on the other side of the room. You shiver, missing the warmth of his arms. Rubbing at your eyes, you stand up from the bed. Leon’s eyes narrow at you and he walks back over to your side.

He pauses for a second as he sees you pull back the covers and then climb back into bed.

“‘m cold,” you whisper to him, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

“Let me call you back, okay? Yeah, you too. Bye.”

Setting the phone down on the nightstand, he tugs the covers up and slips underneath to lay next to you.

“Sorry, baby, had to take a call,” he smooths a thumb under your tired eyes, “didn’t know you’d get cold.”

“S’okay,” you mumble, letting him wrap his arms around you again, enjoying the warmth they bring.

“Such a good girl,” he praises, “I wonder if you can do me a little favor?”

You hum in reply.

“Can you call me daddy, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitches and that dark part you keep hidden is excited at the prospect.

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper, a hot flush of arousal making your toes curl under the covers.

“Good girl,” he kisses your forehead, “such a good girl.”

He continues to kiss you, pressing one on each cheek, on one of your ears, across your jaw, and lastly on the corner of your lips.

“Daddy,” you whine, eyes fluttering in embarrassment as you squirm from the attention.

“Shh, babygirl,” he coos at you, kissing the other corner of your lips, “let daddy treat you for being such a good girl.”

Your hands press against his pecs, not pushing or pulling him away, as he kisses across your face again. His lips move closer and closer until he’s ghosting them across your own. With your bottom lip trembling, he presses your mouths together softly.

You mewl and lightly scratch at his chest. This time he kisses you heatedly, tongue dragging across the seam of your lips. You pull back, eyes widened in surprise.

“Uh uh, sweetheart, don’t be rude,” he tsks at you, eyes narrowed in disdain.

“I’ve n-never kissed anyone,” you duck your head, “I h-haven’t done anything.”

“Baby,” he croons, hand coming up to cradle your jaw, making you look back up, “I’ll show you, teach you what daddy likes best.”

You clench your thighs together, “Okay daddy.”

The side of his mouth ticks up in a grin, “We’ll go slow, don’t want to scare my sweet girl.”

Warmth pools low in your stomach.

You’ve already decided on letting this thing happen between you two, so steeling yourself you whisper, “I’m not scared, daddy. We don’t have to go slow.”

“Oh?” his hands drag down your body until they settle on your lower back, “such a brave girl huh?”

You nod, biting your lower lip, “I can handle it.”

His cold, blue eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles crookedly, “You will one way or another, sweetheart.”

Expecting him to push for more, you’re surprised when he just goes back to kissing you. This time you let him slip his tongue inside your mouth; it’s so hot and wet, it makes you whine, rubbing your thighs together. He lets his hands drift from your lower back down to cup your ass and pull you flush against him. He pulls back for a second then greedily licks back into your mouth when you chase after his lips.

You pant against his mouth, trying to copy what he’s doing, letting your own tongue slide against his into his mouth. He coaxes you to taste him, stroking your tongues together before pushing yours back into your mouth, chasing after you to eagerly plunder your mouth. A low whine builds in your throat and his grip on your ass tightens, his hips rolling into yours.

He grabs your leg and hikes it over his hip, pressing up against you more intimately. You pull your lips away and moan at feeling his half hard cock pressed against your cunt, feeling the heat even through your thin shorts.

“Like that, babygirl?” He grins at you, swiping his thumb over your swollen lips, “we’ll get there, don’t worry.”

Your eyes flutter as he rolls his hips into you again, grinding against your damp center.

“Got you so wet already, sweetheart,” his eyes drop down to your splayed thighs, “already soaked through your cute little shorts.”

You feel embarrassment clawing in your chest, “S-sorry, daddy.”

“Don’t apologize, honey,” he coos, “just means daddy’s taking good care of you.”

He rolls you over onto your back while he raises up, “Let’s get you out of those clothes. You can’t be feeling too comfortable with it rubbing against that sweet little cunt.”

You gasp and press you palms to your face as more wetness fills your panties.

“Oh I know,” he chuckles, low timbre making your clit pulse, “take off your shirt too so daddy can see your tits, babygirl.”

You whine but do as you’re told, hands shaking as you pull your shirt off and fumble with your bra. While you’re doing that, Leon’s slowly tugging your shorts and panties down your legs. Your thighs are wet with slick, pussy throbbing and leaking.

“Mmm, good girl,” he praises, dark eyes taking in your trembling thighs and wet cunt, “got a juicy little pussy don’t ya, sweetheart?”

“Daddy,” you whimper, closing your thighs as you put your hands down to cover yourself.

“Uh uh,” his eyes narrow down at you, pulling your hands back with one hand while opening your legs with the other, “daddy’s looking at your hot little cunt, so behave and sit there, baby.”

You feel more slick dribble from your hole at his mean look and dirty words. He lets go of your hands and you tangle them in the sheets. Your hips jump when he strokes his broad palms across your legs and up your thighs, pinning them down.

“Daddy just wants a little taste, sweetheart,” he hums, dipping his head down and kissing your hip bones, “wanna see if you’re as sweet as you look.”

When he swipes his tongues through your wet folds and across your clit, stars spark behind your eyes as you cry out.

“Sorry, baby, didn’t get a good enough taste so I’ll have to do it again,” his dark eyes watch you hungrily.

Even though you know what to expect this time, it still sends white hot pleasure pulsing throughout your cunt as he laps at your slick hole and throbbing clit. You moan and thrash your head, fingers gripping the sheets tightly.

“Mmm, you taste so good baby, knew you would,” his slick shiny lips hover over your clit, breath teasing across the sensitive bud, “want daddy to keep kissing your pretty pussy?”

“Y-yes, daddy,” you choke out, hips arching against the hold he has on your thighs.

“Good, so good for me, honey. This virgin cunt hasn’t been touched has she?” He thumbs across your clit, “you ever play with your cute pussy, baby?”

“No, I don’t— it’s embarrassing,” you whisper, eyes watering.

He groans, pressing a sloppy kiss to the hood of your clit, “Don’t worry, daddy’s gonna show you how to feel so good.”

He kisses your pussy lips, running his tongue through your wet folds until he’s pressing his face fully into your cunt. His tongue thrusts in and out of your leaking hole as his nose rubs against your clit. Feeling so much at once has you moaning loudly, heels digging into the bedding not able to move from the firm grip Leon has on your thighs.

He groans, the sound vibrating in your cunt making you scratch at the sheets before shakily grabbing onto his hair. His eyes flicker open and stare at you, pupils blown so wide you can barely see the blue. He greedily laps up the slick dribbling from your clenching heat. He presses his nose firmer against your clit and moves his face back and forth, rubbing his chin against your spread pussy lips while his nose bumps and grinds against your sensitive clit.

“Daddy,” you mewl, petting through his blonde strands, “feels good.”

The whispered praise makes your heart race with anticipation and nerves. Leon pulls away from your pussy, face wet with your slick.

“Yeah?” his gravelly voice makes you shiver, “seems like this juicy pussy needed some attention.”

You whine, hips bucking, “Y-yeah, daddy, needed your attention.”

“Mm,” he hums, eyes dropping back to your throbbing clit, “she sure does. Gonna taste you some more, babygirl. Then we’ll see if daddy can fit some fingers in you.”

Gasping, your back arches.

“Then he’s gonna taste those pretty nipples that are so hard for me,” he rumbles, “think I’ll give’em some love while I finger this tight kitty.”

“Daddy!” you feel slick gush from your hole, wetting the sheets, arousal burning hot in your blood.

“Baby did you cum?” His dark eyes look back down at your thighs, a mean chuckle leaving his mouth, “god, you’re so easy sweet girl.”

With a groan, he goes back to shoving his face into your cunt, tongue eagerly lapping into your fluttering walls. It feels like your orgasm never wanes, only continues to climb higher and higher until you’re crying out and cumming a second time against Leon’s tongue.

When he finally pulls away from your oversensitive pussy, his lower jaw and chin are coated in your slick.

He runs a thumb across his lips, tongue licking the excess slick off, “Taste so good, babygirl. But as much as I wanna stay down here, I really need to feel you cream your virgin pussy on my cock.”

Dread and elation make you feel dizzy with nerves, hands shakily running through your hair, “I-I’m nervous, daddy.”

He smiles at you, all sharp teeth and hard edges, not even trying to instill any comfort in you, “It’s okay, baby, daddy’s gonna make you feel so good. You’re gonna want my dick all the time.”

He moves up to lay between your spread thighs, mouth eagerly latching onto a hard nipple. He slips a finger inside your tight cunt and slowly thrusts it in and out. You cry out and scratch at his back. He swaps to suckle at the other nipple as he continues to loosen up your clenching hole.

“Open up for me, baby,” he murmurs against your breasts, lazily sucking marks into your skin, “just relax and feel good.”

You squirm, but settle against the bed with a low moan; Leon takes a moment but then slips another finger into your pussy, using both to gently stretch your hole. He pulls his fingers out to spread your pussy open, mouth suckling at your puffy nipples.

“D-daddy,” you gasp, eyes wide as you look down at him.

Leon slowly circles your swollen clit, teasingly dragging his first and middle finger down to your leaking hole. He slips them in just a little and then drags the wetness back up to slide over your pulsing clit. You whine and buck into the feeling, guilt and arousal swirling through your thoughts.

“Your mom called earlier,” Leon’s voice pulls your attention down to his serious gaze, “said she’ll be gone all week, baby. That I need to take care of you.”

He presses a kiss on your areola, lips dragging against your hard nipple. Your pussy leaks more slick out onto his fingers, dizzy with the thought of being trapped in this house with Leon for a whole week.

“Told her it would be my pleasure,” he smirks at you, feeling your walls clench down on him, “daddy’s going to take very good care of you, sweetheart.”

Too many thoughts and images of Leon and you at home, all alone, flitter through your hazy mind. You’re sick excited at the prospect—all the things he’s going to do to you, things you want him to do to you— it leaves you dizzy and breathless.

“Daddy,” you sigh, eyes drooping, “so good to me.”

His eyes narrow at you before a slow smile spreads across his handsome face, almost gleeful at your new tone, “Of course, baby. You’re my sweet, sweet girl.”

The tension in your body melts as his fingers continue to thrust and rub against a spongy spot in your cunt that makes you whine and roll your hips down into his hand. Leon notices and his fingers speed up from their slow, steady movements to rough strokes until he slips his fingers out to rub against your wet, swollen clit. He pinches lightly before tapping his fingers wetly against the bundle of nerves then goes back to rubbing your clit softly.

You mewl when he stops fingering you only for Leon to dip his fingers back into your pussy and scissor you open. Moaning, you lift your hips off the bed to angle your pussy to fit his fingers better. Having Leon take you apart across his marriage bed is making you feel dirty and desperate.

“Good girl,” he whispers to you, eyes watching your blissed out face, “almost there, sweetheart.”

Leon goes back to mouthing and sucking at your breasts, his other hand moving down to rub and flick your clit as he stretches you open. He fucks his fingers into your soppy cunt a few times then takes his hand away.

“Noo,” you whimper, eyes watering in frustration, “daddy, please.”

“Shhh, babygirl,” he soothes, lifting himself up until he’s kneeling over your naked body, “daddy’s about to make you feel so good.”

You watch as he slides his underwear off and tosses them to her floor. He then grabs his dick in one hand and presses the head to your leaking hole. Tears slip from your eyes as he pushes more of his fat cock into your virgin pussy. He groans, stilling to give you time to adjust and stretch around his dick.

He brings a hand to wipe the tears away from your cheeks, “Doing so good for daddy. So wet and tight. Gonna love popping this cherry, baby.”

You whine up at him, head feeling cottony from the arousal swallowing your thoughts. He presses more and more of his cock inside your tight cunt, making you hiss from the pinching displeasure when he breaks your hymen.

Your nails break skin, digging your fingers into the muscles of his biceps.

“God, that’s it,” he murmurs down at you, stormy blue eyes practically black with want, “this virgin pussy’s all mine now, sweet girl. Gonna stay that way too.”

You only gasp and pant, eyes rolling back in your head as he keeps bullying his cock deeper and deeper into your cunt.

“That’s right, baby,” he coos mockingly at you, “just need me to take care of you, show you what you need.”

He grinds his cock deep into your spasming walls, the fat leaky tip kissing the opening to your womb. You whine, static filling your brain at the pain the head of his dick causes as he keeps pressing against your cervix.

“Daddy, h-hurts,” you wheeze, voice thin and reedy, “too much.”

“Hush,” he growls, a low rumble in his chest, “you just have to get used to it. Daddy’s gotta be this deep to feel good.”

Your legs kick out and he settles his weight down on you more, pressing your body firmly into the mattress. His pelvis pushes onto your swollen clit making you buck upwards with a low cry.

“There you go,” he praises, slotting his fingers with yours so he can press your hands above your head and hold them down, “just gotta train this cute pussy to take daddy’s cock.”

He chuckles as he noses along your hairline and drops a kiss to your forehead, “And look at that, you take daddy so well.”

You blearily look down your body and see the bulge in your lower belly; you watch as Leon pulls out halfway and the bulge disappears before reappearing when he pushes back into your cunt.

Your head drops back down to the bed as you moan loudly, tears streaming from your eyes as the pain and pleasure blend into a kaleidoscope of feelings.

“Daddy,” you hiccup, “daddy, d-daddy.”

“I know,” he purrs in your ear, smoky and dark, “daddy’s going to cum in you, baby. Give you a little brother or sister. Wouldn’t you like that, sweetheart?”

At those words, your pussy spasms around his throbbing cock; you hiccup a sob as tears slip down your face, “C-can’t, that’s w-wrong, daddy.”

He licks the salty trail of tears on your cheeks as buries his cock into your pussy again making you squeal at the sharp pleasure.

“Aww my stupid sweet girl,” he huffs a mean laugh into your ear, pressing his dick as deep as he can inside you, grinding it harshly against your cervix, “just so fucking dumb. Daddy does whatever he wants.”

With a throaty growl he presses all the way into you, bottoming out in your wet, silky heat, “And you’re not even on birth control, sweetheart. So if I want to give you a baby, it’ll be easy for it to take.”

His thick cock splits you open, pussy greedily sucking him into your body as you cry harder because of Leon’s treatment. That dark part of you loves how he’s treating you—using you, breeding your pussy how he wants.

You draw a deep shuddering breath, hands clawing at his biceps, “Noo, daddy, can’t—“

He’s thrusting into you still, making you feel split open. Your cunt feels raw and overstretched, his cock bullying deep into you on every thrust to the point it feels like your cervix will be bruised later.

“Knocking you up would be perfect, baby,” he growls burying himself balls deep and stilling, “keep you tied to daddy for the rest of your life.”

You keen high in your throat, a broken moan slipping from your lips as your walls flutter and grip Leon’s cock. Clit throbbing with wanton disgust at how hot that makes you feel.

He goes back to slow deep thrusts, dragging his cock all the way out until his fat tip is spreading your hole open then rocking deep into your cunt; you can barely breathe with how deep he’s fucking you, tears still slipping from your eyes.

Leon moves each of your legs up over his shoulders, ramping up his pace to drill his cock harshly into your squelching pussy.

“So fucking juicy, babygirl,” he pants, hips humping down into you roughly, “just listen to that fucking pussy cry for me.”

His pelvis presses onto your clit just right with every thrust while he rails you into the bed. You feel your orgasm ramp up with every thrust and slow drag across your swollen clit.

Your thighs spasm where they’re pressed against Leon’s shoulders and your toes curl as your orgasm starts to hit you; a tidal wave drowning all your senses, your pussy clamping down on his cock like a vice. Your blood rushes to your head, dampening any noise, as you thrash underneath Leon’s body; a low, keening cry from your panting mouth has Leon growling in satisfaction.

“Good girl, so sweet for me baby,” he groans, grinding himself into your clenching hole, “so god damn tight.”

You choke out a moan, hands squeezing onto his until your joints creak, feeling overwrought as you keep cumming around his cock.

“Fuck,” he hisses into your ear, hips stuttering, “going to make me cum early, sweetheart. Squeezing me too fucking tight.”

He presses your hands down into the bedding as his hips rabbit into your puffy cunt; half a dozen thrusts like that and he groans, cumming deep in your raw pussy.

“So good,” he presses a wet kiss on your cheek, “love filling you up, babygirl.”

He drags his mouth from your cheek to kiss you, tongue licking into your panting mouth. You kiss back messily, feeling his cock kick and throb as he steadily spurts rope after rope of hot jizz in your pulsating cunt.

Leon’s dick finally starts to soften and he slowly lets himself slip out of your wet heat. He sits back on his haunches and watches hungrily as his cum leaks from your hole, pussy looking swollen and puffy.

Your brain is empty, sick satisfaction radiating from your used body. Whimpering, you lay there as Leon swipes his fingers through the mix of cum and slick dripping from your cunt and feeds it slowly back into your drippy hole.

His empty smile makes you feel small as he pets your hair back, “Daddy’s going to take such good care of you, baby. I promise.”

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