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chronically-ghosted · 8 months

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

chapter rating: T

word count: ~21K

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

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

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

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

part i:

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

Help wanted. Can pay.

Contact Joel Miller.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s due for a resupply.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Buh-bye, dude.”

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

“Lunch.” Not a question.

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

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

“Order whatever you want.”

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

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

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

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

“You think he’ll show?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All you have to do is miss. Once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Knapp.”

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

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

“M-Miller, the fuck you want?”

Your heart seizes in your chest. Miller.

Joel Miller.

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

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

“Back off, both of you.”

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

“You fuckin’ know what.”

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

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

His expression doesn’t change.

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

“Mr. Miller, w-wait.”

He doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

There are no trees in Dalhart, Texas. There are barely any clouds, no coverage. Overhead, the few buildings not yet folded up in the wake of the financial collapse throw shadows over his angular face, but you can still feel the trace of his gaze over you. A curious search, the investigation of scent.

Then he shakes his head.

“No.”

Your entire chest tightens. “Has the position been filled?”

“No.”

“Then why–,”

“I don’t need you.” He lifts up the third and final sack and you feel your hope being carried away with it. “Need a farm hand. You’re not the type.”

“N-n-no, I’ve worked on a farm. I-I’ve only planted seeds but I’m a quick learner and I–,”

“No.”

“Sir – please, I’ll do anything–,”

“Then go home.” He unties the reins from the wooden post and clicks to the horse. Its big eyes watch you as he turns them for the road. “There’s nothing here for you.”

You absolutely will not cry in front of this gruff stranger. Panic icing down your spine, you follow him on weak knees. In the wake leftover from the wheat boom, Dalhart is quiet as soon as the sun goes down. Empty of people, of light, of any sort of guiding hand, you try to appeal to the last human you’ve found at the end of the world.

“Mr. Miller, there must be something you need. I’m a hard worker, smart, you won’t have to train me at all. Please. I’ve been a housekeeper, a seamstress – a nurse. I —,”

The horse huffs when Joel pulls tight on the reins.

In the moonlight, all of his hair looks gray. Your heart plunges in your throat. You can feel your stomach trying to digest your spine.

“Done any work with kids?” He asks, after a moment.

His brisk question is not what you expected. You can barely hear him over the pounding in your heart.

“Y-yes. I’ve treated children before. A-and I was a teacher, briefly. I’m very good with children, actually.”

The scarred hand at his side tightens, flexes open and closed, the tips of his thumb and forefinger twitching over the other. Over his shoulder, you think his head tilts a centimeter towards you.

“You know what? Fuck this.”

Out of the shadows of the county store, Ellie tears down the steps, her face pink and her hair stuffed back up her ball cap. She loops her small hands around your forearm and tugs, her eyes like chips of bark, glaring hatefully at the man in the middle of the street. Faint dust churns beneath her faded sneakers.

“She’s fucking begging you and you don’t give a fuck, you old shithead!” She tugs again. In the flash of the moonlight, a glassy film has settled over her eyes. “C’mon, we don’t need him. We – don’t need – him.”

“Ellie, please!” You grab her by the shoulders, a soft hand in a swirling tempest, and she settles, her mouth twisted up in anger and embarrassment. She hates that you have to beg anyone. “Please.” Shielding her from him, you squeeze her shoulders. “I know, Ellie. I know. But I have to keep you safe.”

Ellie finally turns that hot glare at you, eyes damp. Petulant when terrified, your sister was the exact same way.

Fuck, Anna, it should have been me.

“She yours?”

Joel rests his weight on his left knee, fingers loose around the reins. He’s lowered the mask around his mouth. You snap your head up, your voice thankfully steady. “She’s my niece. She . . . I’m responsible for her.”

Below your palms, Ellie stiffens.

Fifteen feet from you, Joel nods, the muscle in his jaw tight. The horse huffs and he glares at it like it just yelled at him too.

“I’m not in the habit of pickin’ up strays,” he says as if that means a lot.

Hope springs in your chest and it snags the air in your lungs. “We’re not. I-I mean, we’ll work hard. Please, give us just one chance.”

“And you expect me to take on the both of you.” It isn’t a question, but his eyebrow arcs all the same. “That’s two mouths I gotta feed, ‘steada one.”

“She can have mine.” In the silence, you think you can hear the faint choir of crickets. You remember the tarantulas and centipedes that lived inside the walls of your husband’s prairie dugout, and your stomach twists. “Ellie can have whatever you give us.”

She makes a brief cry of protest, but you squeeze her shoulders. The sharp flair of his nostrils smooths and the corners of his eyes pinches, tilting his eyebrows up. He’s still glowering, but somehow, his expression has suddenly opened, just a crack.

And then he nods.

“Stay here a night. I’ll be back in the morning with the wagon.”

And that’s it. You have a job.

You’re so elated it takes a minute for his words to sink in. He turns back down the road, the horse's hooves clipping on the dry ground. You follow after him, hand outstretched.

“Oh, no, w-we can walk, it’s no trouble. Let me just get our things and–,”

“Too far to walk. And there’s things out in the dark more dangerous than those fuckin’ rangers.” He nods to the country store, eerily quiet. It sits, ugly, like a brown old frog. “There’s a hotel just up the road. It’s not much, but it’ll do for one night.”

“But, sir, we really can’t stay. I don’t – there’s no –,”

You stumble to a stop when those merciless dark eyes root you to the ground. The leather reins squeak when he tightens his fist around them. Again, you are under the impression of a dog sniffing out your scent for any deception, any treason. He takes you in, all of you in – your ratty gloves, your torn hemline, your tattered collar – and by some miracle, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, the groove above his nose softens.

Wordlessly, he reaches into his back pocket and takes out five dollars from a brown leather wallet. He offers it to you between two fingers.

Take it, his eyes command.

You do, with a shaking hand. You hate charity, you hate that you’re at his mercy –

But Ellie has a bed for the night. Inside, warm. Where, hours ago, she didn’t. You smother your pride and nod, gaze at the scar on his cheek that you only now notice at an arm’s length away.

“One night,” he says. “For you and the kid.”

You nod again because that’s all you really can do, his pity clutched in your fist and held against your heart.

Ellie scowls as he swings up onto the horse and readjusts his mask.

“What a guy,” she murmurs to you, her eyes still narrowed. Joel clicks his teeth, and the horse trots off into the dark, a lone man riding out into the featureless night.

Evidently still feeling slighted, Ellie sticks her tongue out at the denim back.

“Better keep that tongue in your mouth, kid,” he hollers before digging his heels into the horse’s flanks. “Liable to be chopped off like a copperhead.”

Ellie’s mouth snaps shut.

The money Joel gave you is more than enough to cover a room and another plate of food. You even spurge your own money on some small candy for Ellie, determined to give Joel back every cent left over and then some, once you’ve proven you can earn your keep.

For you and the kid.

You shake your head, lost in your own thoughts, the gnawing hunger in your belly satiated, as you pull back the covers to the twin bed. The metal frame squeaks as you climb in, your night dress thin and ragged as the rest of your clothes.

“C’mon, Ellie, time for bed.” When she doesn’t move, you stop rearranging the pillows and look at her. In her own white nightie (because she’d outgrown all her other pajamas), she sits in front of the roaring fire, her chin on her knees, and her arms wrapped around her shins.

She’s quiet - either a good sign, or a terrible one.

“Ellie, sweetie, we’ve gotta get some sleep. It’s gonna be a long day tomorrow.”

You watch as her narrow back expands and falls in one slow breath, her skin bright in the firelight.

She nods mutely and climbs into the space beside you. She rolls onto her side, away from you, her hands tucked up under her head, her knees curled up beneath her.

This is where Anna would know what to say. How to soothe this girl with so much awareness in a world that is raw to even those willfully ignorant. You can’t bullshit Ellie the way you can some kids. She knows too much. Seen too much.

You settle down next to her in the shadow of her shoulder. Your fingers hover, locked between the yawning gap of touching her and not touching her, when she finally speaks.

“Is this really going to work?” Her voice is quiet, soft, dust-covered and buried. “Is Joel really gonna . . . are we safe?”

You cannot bullshit Ellie Williams.

“I don’t know. I’d like to think so. I know you don’t like him, but I think we can trust him.”

She’s quiet again, only this time because there’s something she doesn’t want to say.

“Not like Uncle Robert – or Robert, if that’s even his real name. I’d never met the man in person, but I wanted – so badly – to believe . . .” You swallow, your own shame boiling your skin. “I think we’re safe with Joel Miller.”

The god’s honest truth.

She hears it in your voice.

Ellie tips back to look you in the eyes. She’s lost so much weight recently. “Yeah?”

You tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, the ghost of your thumb across her cheek. She allows the show of affection. “Yeah, El. I do.”

You want to say: you can trust me. I’ll always take care of you.

But you know it would only come out hollow.

Neither of you would think it was honest.

She pulls away from your grasp, her eyes almost golden in the firelight. She nods and stares at the burning wood.

“Okay.”

“So . . . is your car, like, broken or something?”

You elbow Ellie and she sits up from hanging over the edge of the wagon. She frowns at you – what? – and you both glance at Joel at the front of the wagon. If the question annoys him any more than he perpetually already is, he doesn’t show it.

“Don’t have one.” He says to the back of the horse. The wagon rocks and sways over the clods of dust and stone in the road. “Never did.”

“Uh, why?”

“Cars break down in the dust storms. Short out. They end up being more trouble than they’re worth.”

Again, that half-centimeter turn, his tone implying what his eyes can’t, faced away from you. Ellie narrows her eyes at the back of his head. She wrenches her mouth open, fire in her eyes, but she catches you glaring, and her mouth snaps shut. Pouting, she chucks a lone pebble off the back of the wagon.

The sky is strikingly blue, bright as a livewire, the air warm and crackling with the early summer heat. Away from Dalhart, away from the collection of dust on every surface, dripping through every crack, you find the clarity and distance of the southern plains to be . . . unexpected. So careless and abrasive one minute, but then, in moments like these, it became hard to believe that nature could ever be so cruel as to make the earth rise up and swallow it all whole.

You swing your legs off the wooden edge, the sunshine warm on your knees. It’s no use trying to hide how badly your socks need darning, so you lean back and stretch your legs as far as you can, your face tilted towards the sky, the still air peaceful. This morning, you’d put on your yellow plaid dress, torn cotton lace around the sleeves that stop at your elbows. You tucked your hair up and pinned your straw hat to your head. It was a reflex, to present your most beautiful self to a man, even one you barely knew. By the way Ellie had rolled her eyes, she felt no such compulsion.

Demure, your mother always told you, you’re not very pretty, you’re not very bright, the least you can be is demure.

The wagon shudders, clicks, over the empty road and you open your eyes. Ellie is turned away from you, eyes out to the fields on either side of you. You don’t understand what she’s looking at, until you realize that’s exactly it: there is nothing to look at. On the other side of those loopy barbed-wire fences through cock-eyed posts, there are miles and miles of nothing but churned-over dirt. A lazy wind spins over a patch of emptiness, tossing clods and sand into the air, an aimless sadness as tangible as the dust itself. Phone lines stand, corroded and chipped, along the side of the road like tangible manifestations of a deadly infection.

“There’s no crops here either.” Ellie says, voicing loudly what you only thought. You can’t see her face but she sounds as stunned as you are. “What happened?”

You watch over her shoulder, eyes level with the earth bleached of all material, all life. With the drought, your husband’s field shriveled up in months, the cracked ground peeling away from the sodhouse in some places. You still have nightmares about waking up with grit between your teeth, choking and coughing up bloody chunks of mud.

This is desolation on an epidemic scale.

“Ask different people ‘n they’ll tell you different things.” Joel says in his slow drawl, the crackle of the earth soft beneath the wooden wheels. “No one really knows. But nothing like this happened when the buffalo grass was here, ‘steada wheat.”

“Wait, you were here before Dalhart?” Ellie twists on the wagon, leaning over the lip where Joel sits and drives the horse.

“My family was. Here before anything. My grandpa befriended the Comanche Indians and –,”

“You got to hang out with Indians?” Ellie nearly hurls herself over the edge of the wagon to try and look him in the eye. “What are they like – did they teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow – can they really ride horses like that –,”

“Ellie!” You want to grab her by her collar and yank her back into the wagon. “Not so many questions.”

The noise Joel makes is somewhere between a grunt and the word no.

“It’s fine –, “ he looks down at Ellie, still curled around the back of the seat, her eyes wide with a giant smile on her face. His ever present scowl doesn’t seem any deeper, nor does it deter her. Joel turns away again and in the sunlight, his hair is gooey, caramel brown. You stare at the dirt road while listening, the back of your neck hot. “They’re good people. Didn’t deserve what happened to them – to any of ‘em. But they taught my grandpa and grandma how to take just what they need, nothing more. But then everybody needed grain, offered money for cheap, easy labor. They poured in here, into the prairie, and in years, it became this. Folks blame the drought, but it’s more’n that.”

Ellie’s inordinately quiet. She knows exactly what your husband did to you, to your family, and now, maybe to the entire land.

“‘Next year’ people, they claim,” Joel continues, his voice deepening with anger, “‘next year’, things’ll be better. ‘Next year’ the rains’ll come. ‘Next year’ the wheat’ll return.” He shakes his head, boots creaking against the toeboard. “Anyone who thinks that is lyin’ to themselves. Anyone’s who’s been here, seen what’s here, for us it’s been –,”

“The end of the world.”

The silence that follows your words stretches long, an anchor dropped off the end of the wagon and rattling around the wheels. You swing your legs, fingers curling around a tear in your hemline. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words to describe the state of things. That’s what your husband called it and you believed him.

Evidently, Joel agrees. His wide shoulders taught, the denim blue faded beneath the boundless sky, he nods.

“Griiim,” Ellie mutters as she curls up and drops her chin on her knees.

You’ve been watching a single cloud chase the sun from the floor of the wagon when Ellie, silent for all of about fifteen minutes, lifts her head from her hands draped over the edge. Her eyes go wide, her ears pink from the sun, and says:

“Whoa.”

The horse huffs as you sit up, a soft wind snagging the loose hairs on the back of your neck, and your mouth drops.

Grass.

Fields of it.

The air is fresh, warm, and filled with the scent of living, breathing earth. Tipped with lush purple seeds shaped like paintbrushes, a sea of stalks bend and ripple in the cooling breeze, undulating like waves on solid ground. The wind is soft here, teasing, rolling through the tall grass, carrying the scent of growth and green in the air. You’re suddenly aware of how dry your mouth is, cracked and padded with dust.

“We left it be.” Joel offers simply, voice too gruff to surely be filled with pride. “It’s endured and survived, and so have we.”

Further back, you can see where the line of his property ends – a harsh division of paradise and purgatory – and marked to the north by a dip in the ground and even over the crunch of the wheels over the ground, you hear it: water.

A river. An oasis in a wasteland.

Ahead of the white tufts of hair on the horse, the road curves, disappearing into the sea of grass, but letting your graze drift up, you see an a-frame home, white like a lighthouse at the edge of a storm. The instant the home comes into view, Joel clicks his tongue, urging the horse faster – eager.

He leads the horse up through the road, through the grass, and on the other side, by the river, two cows chew up the green, oblivious. Beyond them, tucked behind the house is a barn. Low to the ground but wide, hunched like a fighter with a heavy center of gravity, it looks ready to endure and survive. As this entire secret world had.

Joel tugs the horse to a stop, the wagon rattles as it slows, by the wide porch of the a-frame. It sits also low to the ground, wider with a dark roof, held together with something black and smeared. You’re so distracted by the unique qualities of this house in the middle of paradise that you miss it when the door creaks open until you’re staring down the barrel of a shotgun.

“Who are you?” The voice behind the gun is deep, even if the barrels shake slightly. In the dark of the doorframe, you can’t quite see their face, only their short stature.

You see Ellie’s hand twitch towards her knife, which she now carries in her sock since the night of the county store.

However, Joel is less concerned. In fact, the boulders of his shoulders loosen, ease to simple muscle and blood. He makes a noise that on anyone else, it might be considered a laugh, a chuckle, but he isn’t even capable of smiling –

He slings down from the seat and pats the horse.

“Easy there, Annie Oakley, it’s just me.”

The shadow in the doorway stiffens.

“Dad?”

The shotgun lowered, the shadow staggers into the light. Brown eyes, just like his, scrunched against the blinding sunlight, a girl with the most beautiful head of curls blinks at Joel, her thin hand held up to shield her face.

“Hey there, baby girl.”

In a single leap, she jumps down from the porch but all too quickly, the smile slips from Joel’s face.

“Hang on, not too fast–,”

She stumbles towards him as best as the metal braces around her knees, down to her ankles, will allow, defiant and smiling, despite the beads of sweat that have swelled over her forehead. Joel surges forward, faster than you thought possible, and reaches for her, nearly on one knee.

“Slow down, please, Sarah.”

“Dad, I’m fine,” she huffs before tossing her arms around his neck. “I’m fine. Just – missed you, is all.”

You can’t see his face, but he straightens up still holding her. With one hand he flattens those curls to her cheek, and kisses the other.

“Enough to forget all the things I taught you about gun safety? You just tossed that thing aside,” he scolds fondly. She rolls her eyes as he sets her down.

“Okay, but if you didn’t know it was me, you would’a been totally scared, right?”

She watches as he chuckles, a deep, warm sound, but her own smile flatlines when she spies Ellie climbing down from the wagon. You ease off the edge, your lower half sore from the ride.

The girl, Sarah, narrows her eyes.

“Who are you?” She positions her body slightly in front of Joel’s. “And why are you dressed like a boy?”

Joel’s soft scolding – “Sarah” – is lost beneath Ellie’s scoff. She adjusts her satchel.

“Why are you dressed like Raggedy Ann?”

Her father’s massive hands clench down on her shoulders, Sarah’s scowl evident that she’s about half a second away from launching herself at Ellie, leg braces be damned.

“Now, let’s slow down here.” Joel’s deep baritone is light, but just as firm as his grip. If you knew him better, you’d think he is about to laugh, the lines around his eyes thick, while his mouth stays flat. “We got off on the wrong foot. Sarah, this is Ellie and her aunt. They’re going to be staying with us for a while to help out with your schooling.”

Those curls go flying, her frown now pinched in worry. Another girl caught between a child and adult – for the sake of their single parent, you notice, your chest tight.

“I thought you needed a farm hand. You were going to teach me.”

“You know you already read better than I do.”

“Dad–,”

“Miss here is also a nurse.”

“Oh. Oh.” She glances down at the metal braces as if she’d forgotten they were there. The skin on her knees is chaffed, rubbed pink. “She can . . . help me?”

Twin pairs of brown eyes settle on you, one hesitantly curious, the other aggressively determined.

You can, right?

Ellie’s staring at the braces, her gaze distant, heavy. She’d seen this before, but everything back then moved too fast. Back then, there was no time for braces.

Braces only help a small percentage of polio patients. The lucky ones.

You nod, your heart hammering under your chest bone. “Yes – yes, sir. I think with Ms. Kenny’s therapy, we might be able to alleviate some pain.”

Those eyes, exactly like and so unlike her father’s, widen.

“Really?”

You introduce yourself with your first name, pressing the crease in your glove between your nail and your thumb with your other hand.

“I’d like to try, Sarah.”

You suddenly understand that Sarah is Joel Miller’s most guarded secret, out here in paradise, paradise as the most beautiful prison in the world. He continues to stare at you from under thick eyebrows after Sarah moves away from him. Ellie, caught off-guard by her forward movement, takes a significant step back.

“I, um, got some marbles out back,” Sarah starts, thumbing over her shoulder, and every other word sounding like an apology. “If you wanna play.”

Ellie jerks forward, her eyes round with excitement, but stops. She looks at you.

“Can I?”

Soft when eager, just like her mother. So unlike you. You nod.

“Stay close, okay?”

You and Joel watch as Ellie and Sarah toddle around to the back of the house, Ellie quietly narrating every thought she has as she keeps pace with Sarah.

Those look actually really cool, you know?

Yeah?

Totally. Have you read Amazing Stories? You look like you could be part of the Space Family Robinson.

Who are they?

Oh, you’ve never read those!? Okay, so they’re a family who live in space and they go on these awesome adventures together to different planets and . . .

The farther they go, the faster Joel turns back to stone. His gaze lingers just a hint longer before those dark eyes pin you to the ground.

“You said you can clean? Cook?”

You nod quickly. “Yes, sir.” Guard dog Joel. Stocky pitbull, teeth long and wet Joel.

He tilts his chin towards the house.

“Kitchen’s in the back. I gotta clean up the wagon and the horse, then gonna tend the field. I’ll be back in a few hours, but Sarah knows where to find me if y’need somethin'.”

You nod again, but he misses it, turning away to unbuckle the horse. You slide your trunk and Ellie’s satchel off the end of the wagon and head into the shadow of the house.

The white clapdoor snaps shut behind you, followed by the softer snik of the screen clicking into its frame. Slipping the bobby pins out of your hair to release your hat, you take in the Miller home.

The air is cool. Dust motes float in the sunlight streaming in from the second floor over a staircase with wooden wainscoting leading away from the open front room. With a brief glance up, you can see the faded white walls of the upper hallway, some not-yet-seen window drawing in bolts of morning light that pierce the air in bullet holes. It’s quiet and it smells warm, like lace kept in the back of a drawer near a wall that faces the heat outside.

A blue two-seater couch faces a squat fireplace, with a Queen Anne table sandwiched between the two. Behind you, a large grandfather clock ticks and waits, a server waiting in the shadows with a watchful eye to report back to its master on the going-ons of the house. With only a cedar hutch, a few daguerreotypes, a smattering of books, the room is sparsely decorated, but kept clean and organized. You could see Sarah, a focused look in her eyes, sitting on the steps of the stairs and making Joel move and rearrange furniture over and over again until the room felt right.

Through a white arched doorway, you find yourself in the kitchen. The light sparks more brightly here, the sky a stark blue through the four square window over the kitchen table and above the sink, reflective of the sun. You realize then the house runs north to south at an angle, where there are limited windows in the walls on the east and west sides, thereby limiting direct sun exposure and, more importantly, heat. Both the kitchen and the front rooms had been built out of the line of the sun, making cooking and cleaning and living bearable without a painful glare.

A thoughtful and patient consideration.

Someone had attempted to add some levity with brown and blue plaid wallpaper around the cove of the dinner table, all the way to the other side of the room around the kitchen counters and stove. But unfortunately for everyone else, the wallpaper is hideous, only tampered by the off-white counters and cupboards.

The cupboards have glass doors, blurring ceramic cups and plates on the tops of the shelves.

It reminds you of the small apartment Anna and you lived in back in Boston, when it was just the two of you. It wasn’t much, but it felt sturdy, secure. Safe.

A door to the right of the stove has a latch, and you lift it and poke your head inside. A chilly darkness greets you, along with the scent of wet, deep earth. A basement? No. Not this close to the kitchen. Curiosity pulling you forward, you descend the sturdy wooden stairs, into the sunken darkness. You count ten until a draft licks your ankles. You keep going, one squeak of wood after another until - you touch soil. The heady scents of pine bark and peat moss soothe the air from where your feet press into the ground, fertility thick like mushrooms in the gut of a lichen-drenched tree. But it’s dark, too dark to make out much, barely your own hand in front of your face. With your fingers outstretched, as if you’ll bump into a gas lamp conveniently on the ground, you shuffle forward and almost immediately a cold chain tickles your face. You grab out of instinct and pull.

Nearly blinded by the light that erupts from an exposed bulb directly in front of your left eye, you stagger back, wincing, your footsteps muffled by the earthen floor. You blink through the tears as the secret at the end of the stairs finally reveals itself.

A pantry. A cellar.

At least twenty feet deep and ten feet high, with rows and rows, stacks and stacks, wood shelves cover nearly the entire length of the underground room. In between the rows, large barrels sit, quiet and sturdy, with bottles of vinegar and olive oil sitting on their rims.

You realize two things within seconds of each other.

This house has electricity. It stands above the ground, proud, independent, full of heat and light. So unlike your husband’s dark hole in the ground.

and

there is so much food.

Pickling jars. Seed pouches. Culled wheat. Cans of fruit and vegetables and eggs. Olives with squash and pumpkins. Crates of potatoes and half bottles of wine and syrup. Onions and carrots and spices and garlic.

A feast. Meals for days and days and days. The bounties of earth stored, safe beneath the ground, like a secret.

It’s more food than you’ve seen in years.

A hunger like you can’t remember having roars in your stomach out of nowhere and everything pitches to the right. The edges of your vision blurs, your shoulder knocking into stone wall, and breathing becomes a nearly impossible task. You turn, nearly stumbling up the dozen steps that have turned into a thousand.

The tacky memories that stick to the crevices of your dreams yawn awake, bringing with them dry mud in your mouth and thick salt to your eyes. Mud, dirt, dust – everywhere. In that stinking hut in the ground, the dust replaced your molecules, your atoms, until you too might blow away, until you are cracked and empty and dry. The static from the dust storm memories shoots down both of your arms and you sway on your feet. Your heart suddenly pounding so achingly fast, you have to drop your forehead against the flat surface of the closed door to keep the room from spinning.

You had forgotten what safety looked like.

You had forgotten what living could be.

You know the ringing sound of that gunshot is just in your head, it’s not real, but you shudder all the same, your hands curling into claws under your chin, your nails tearing up the white paint.

You’re here, not there. You are safe. Ellie is safe. That house and him have been entombed together under piles of dirt, with the bugs and the rot and the stench from the weak stove. Rivers of sweat rolling down the back of your neck, you beg yourself to stop shaking. You feel like cheap terracotta pottery – made from dirt, left too long to bake in the sun and made brittle; one good tap and you’ll shatter.

You breathe in and taste wet salt. Breathe out and cry – cry from the fear and the dread and the relief and the hope. God, that hope tastes worse than all the dirt in the Panhandle of Texas.

You cry and cry and cry until you don’t feel so brittle anymore.

Sunlight has struck copper, heavy, tangy in the mouth, when the back door opens and the house is instantly filled with the sound of girls’ rabid conversation. You step back from the stove, cheeks warm and arm sore from continuously stirring the rice and vegetable soup. It’s not as thick as your mother once made, but without milk, it would be nearly impossible to improve. You smile at the girls as they tumble in, more dust mite than human, whispering about some secret.

“Having fun?” You ask with a grin on your face as Ellie helps Sarah take off her shoes, already attentive to what a girl with her health concerns might need.

There’s an overlap of chatter as Ellie and Sarah both answer you and then, answer each other.

“Well, good,” you say, turning back to the stove, making sure the bottom of the soup doesn’t burn, “but whatever you got up to, it’s all over your faces so please wash up before dinner.”

“It smells real good, miss,” Sarah says as she hobbles over to the sink and starts rinsing off her arms and cheeks, while Ellie takes off her own shoes. “What is it?”

“Something my mom used to make when the cupboards were bare.”

Sarah stills, the water rushing over her soft skin. Those inquisitive eyes are just as captivating, just as forceful as her father’s, but for entirely different reasons. She tugs the words out of you by the sheer, needling strength of her gaze.

“I mean – I found the cellar, the house is incredibly well stocked, but I didn’t see any preserved meat or dairy and I didn’t – I didn’t think your dad would want me poking around out back.”

Immediately Sarah softens and rolls her eyes. “Dad’s all bark and no bite,” she huffs. “We’ve got stored beef and cheese in an ice chest downstairs. I’ll show you around tomorrow.”

You smile and those brown eyes go warm in the coppery light. “Thanks, Sarah.”

“Bunch up, I gotta wash my hands too.” Ellie none-to-gently bumps Sarah with her shoulder to get to the sink but before you can scold her, Sarah swings back, using her precarious momentum, and pushes Ellie back. They both giggle. Something that’s been cramped far too long in your chest loosens.

“So, Sarah, tell me where you are with your schooling. Do you have books, diagrams?”

She thinks for a minute as she opens a drawer that leaves her back to you and takes out two, then four thin cloth placemats. She hobbles back to the table to carefully spread them out.

“I was up to seventh grade before the school shut down. That was about two years ago, so Dad’s been trying to make sure I don’t forget anything. He got me a Midsummer Night’s Dream by Shakespeare a while ago and made me read it out loud to him. He has me work on my letters every day – including cursive.” She adds, with a bright spot of joy cranking her mouth open. You imagine someone like Sarah would have beautiful penmanship. “He shows me around the yard, asking me to identify plants and animals, especially anything that might be poisonous. I don’t think he really understands it but he explains what happens when you add water to a seed and keep it in damp earth. Oh, and he has me help balance the books for the farm – what we made, what we sold, how much we have left, stuff like that.”

You smile at her over your shoulder as Ellie hands her bowls. “Accounting.”

“Huh?”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “It’s so boring, don’t worry about it,” she whispers conspiratorially.

“What your dad is teaching you is called accounting,” you say a bit firmly, eyes tracking your niece as she shows no shame. “It’s a very special skill to have, especially if you work on a farm or in a business. Do you like it?”

She nods rapidly, those cork-screw curls bouncing around her thin face. “Yeah! I do! I’m much faster than Dad when it comes to figuring out the sums and dollar value.”

In the front hall, the clap door creaks open then slams shut, heavy footfalls proceeding the man that makes them.

“Does that happen a lot?” you ask softly as Sarah sidles up next to you to peer into the pot.

“Where I know more than my dad?” Sarah smirks up at you, all devious youth. “More often than you think.”

A mini sun bursts from the ceiling as Joel flicks on the light switch and is almost immediately tackled by Sarah. The copper sun on the horizon finally, in the distracted moment, slips down and drags the night behind it. It’s purple twilight outside when Joel lifts his head from the embrace around Sarah’s shoulders to stare at the two strangers in his kitchen.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” you say brightly and you can almost picture your mother in the same exact position in front of the stove, stirring soup until her cheeks were pink, her hand resting low on her back, her tummy round and full in her second attempt to keep her husband’s rage diverted from her. It’s a boy, she promised.

The memory makes you so violently ill out of nowhere, you lose your appetite. But you persevere; you carry on and load up the bowls Sarah stacked for you. Ellie saves you from having to dislodge the prickly knot in your throat when she snags a bowl and eagerly yells, “get it while it’s hot!”

The arrangements from the stove to the table are a bit of a blur, the slick anxious weight from earlier today curling around your lungs again as you remember shadows in chairs like these, but so different from the flesh-and-blood bodies that occupy them now.

You’re dazed, a little light-headed, but not so much to miss the glance between Joel and Ellie. A junkyard puppy skirting the territory of an older watchdog, a bone in each of their mouths and dragged to opposite corners of the battlefield. Satisfied with the lines of demarcated territory that had been drawn, they call a temporary truce by eating in complete silence, until Sarah groans.

“Oh my god, this is better than it smells!” she hums, her mouth full of potatoes.

“Just wait till she adds chicken,” Ellie grumbles, mouth cupped open to keep from spilling. You watch her, a faint smile on your face, and the slippery feeling fades. When cleaning up, she missed a spot on her left nostril and you fight the urge to clean it with your thumb.

“There’s more.”

Your gaze snaps to Joel hunched over his bowl. The spoon that Ellie and Sarah have to both clutch in their fists to eat barely swings between his massive fingers.

Joel’s dark eyes trace down your nose, your chin, your neck, to where your hands lay flat on the table in front of you. Your own bowl and spoon sit on the counter behind you. You worry you might have upset him, with the way he’s frowning.

“There’s more,” he repeats, same tone.

“I'm sorry?”

He puts his spoon down and clears his throat, then nods to the pot on the stove. Ellie watches him out of the corner of her eye.

“I saw how much you made. If you’re hungry, you should eat.”

As though speaking a language only you could hear, he looks at Ellie the same time you do.

She frowns. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Sarah begins to giggle, nodding, when Joel starts again.

“You should eat. There’s enough.”

It’s like his eyes can see through your blue veins and clammy skin, to your yellow bones and clawing stomach. You choke on the mudball that’s been hovering in your throat for months and nod.

“Alright.”

You don’t know if you’re actually hungry – you can’t really remember the taste of warm food – or if you’re doing it just to appease him, but something about the heat of the bowl and solid spoon in your hand, it rouses you from this sinking you find yourself in. Your bones feel like jelly.

“How’re the fields, Dad?” Sarah asks with her big eyes, seemingly unaware of the layered exchange between you and her father, or kind enough not to address it.

He responds to her, his voice deep in the cavern of his chest. It’s an easy way he speaks to her, heavy with the seriousness she’s earned to be talked to like an adult, but gentle enough that for all his low grumbling, it comes out as a thick murmur. You find yourself listening to their conversation, their interactions, as soothing as music turned low from a well-tuned radio. Ellie is even roped in when Sarah tells Joel all about the Space Family Robinson and Ellie’s knife. “It’s really cool, Dad,” she says preemptively. “She knows how to use it and she’s really safe.”

“Well, if it’s really cool . . .” he fills his mouth with potatoes, tamping down the ghost of a grin on his lips around the spoon.

Ellie shuffles in her seat, her own hesitant smile glittering in her eyes, and with only minor prompting, she holds no prisoners when gleefully telling Sarah that she’s got the story of finding a mess of wriggling worms out by the back of the barn all wrong.

“Just keep ‘em outta my side of the bed, alright?” You grin at her, spooning another dribble of soup into your mouth. You’ve realized too much, too fast can just as easily twist your stomach so you focus on cradling a digestible amount of food – broth, potato, carrots – in the well of your spoon.

But the landscape beyond the silver lip has stilled. Both girls are happily slurping up the last bits of their meals, throwing quips back and forth, but Joel’s shoulders have locked up again, the bones of his wrists flat, a static alertness that you’re sure would travel all the way down to his ankles if he was standing up right. You aren’t sure if Sarah has picked up on the subtle change in his breathing – from the deep well of his lungs to shortened and shallow – but somehow you have.

You’re staring at him far too long.

Those thick eyebrows pitch down again. Beneath the loose button that pins your dress closed over your chest, you feel a swell of heat and you wish you were like Ellie, capable of making an easy joke – what, is there something on my face? The heat bubbles almost uncomfortably under his weighted gaze.

“I hate bugs,” you blurt out, desperate to give him what he wants, if only you knew. The girls glance at your sudden outburst. “I don’t like worms especially. I don’t mind straw beds, as long as they’re clean – I mean, I–I hope they are, the straw beds, not the worms.”

Another eternal second of being pinned down by Joel’s frown, this one decidedly less hostile, before understanding breaks open the harsh lines of his mouth and around his eyes. His eyes go wide for less than breath, then he drops his gaze to the bowl. His shoulders shift, muscle redistributing weight as he settles his thick forearm closer to the edge of the table.

Oh, that relief of muscle says.

“You’re not sleeping in the barn.” Joel says, head tucked down. At that, Ellie slows her ravenous eating and frowns at him.

“Then where are we sleeping?”

Joel lifts his head, a new, special emotion just for her tugging on his mouth: exasperation. “My room. You two in there and I’m takin’ the couch.”

Shame and embarrassment drip down over your skull, between your ears, like a cold, runny egg.

“No, we couldn’t possibly–,”

He shakes his head, eyes still on the split potato chunk at the bottom of the bowl. His hand flexes briefly and you think of it around the bridle of the horse.

“It’s not up for discussion.”

Beside him, Sarah frowns at him and you’d wonder how many times in her life he’s ever said that to her – if you could think properly over the roaring of blood in your ears.

“Joel,” you say, something syrupy under your tongue molding the words Mr. Miller into a tone you’d use for an old friend. “I can’t ask you to–,”

Hand flexes. The seat of the chair squeaks.

“You’re not askin’, I’m tellin’.” You’re still vastly underprepared for when those eyes - those deep, dark eyes - suddenly snap on you, as if your very presence commands his entire attention. You notice the dirt underneath his nails and around the knot of his wrist on the table. He’s filthy.

Quietly, with the surety of a dog slipping its snout between its paws, he cuts the last chunk of potato in half with the curve of his spoon. “The new mattresses’ll be here next week. We’ll make do ‘till then.”

The slurp of soup between his lips seems to signal the end of the conversation, but you can’t quite mash together your kaleidoscope-spinning impressions of the man across the table from you.

“Thank you . . . Joel.”

He nods, back teeth breaking apart the soft mush of the potato. He swallows and glances back up at you.

“It’s good,” he says, briefly holding his spoon aloft. “You did good.”

His words burst the choking bubble in your chest and warmth drips down your spine, splashing in the cradle of your hips. Hunger rises, but it’s a different kind of hunger. A growl of neglect. One you sometimes wondered if it was even possible for you to ever even feel.

Even while you were married to your husband.

You put your spoon down to keep your hand from shaking. The soup won’t feed this new churning hunger and, frankly, you don’t know what will.

You did good, he praised, parsed out like torn bread tossed across a black lake.

It makes you warm in places food never could.

The immediate next morning, you meet the sun early, eagerly. Eager to wake and rise and become so useful, you are intricately tied to this house; if you are removed, a vital piece of the land, the prairie is torn up along with you. Ellie sleeps softly next to you, curled up in the same position she was in the hotel bed, tucked in so tightly as if to take up the least amount of space possible. She sleeps, unbothered, blissful, and again you fight the urge to brush the hair that covers her sleeping eyes. You settle for tugging the beautiful quilt, with its stunning blue and red and green patches, up to her shoulders.

As you tie your dress up, your suitcase partially open and on the ground, movement from outside in the dawning pink catches your eye. A brisk shadow, those thick shoulders proceeding a taught waist are unmistakable as they move towards the barn. You stand, transfixed for a moment as broad hands slide open the barn doors, you hear a faint creak, and he disappears inside. The capability of those hands; the surety, where every action is deliberate and intentional – it makes something arc up your throat. A warm piercing that bursts through bone and muscle alike. Trembling fingers tug at the wilting lace around the cuffs of your dress, imagination stretching out into the dark morning, inspired by curious and impossible ideas of those hands.

Something – most likely Sarah next door – squeaks the floorboard and those tendrils of thought snap back as if someone had slammed a lid shut. You glance at the clock and make a mental note to wake up earlier tomorrow, to beat him to the kitchen.

You are also desperately eager to get out of the room where you can practically smell Joel on the walls. It’s simple, just like the rest of the house, but amongst the hand-drawn sketches of himself and birds (likely gifts from Sarah), the half-spent candles and well-read books, you find him in everything. You wonder, briefly, if the indentations made on the cotton mattress are from him or you – the scent of his hair in the pillow from sweat or soap.

The encroaching feeling that you don’t belong here in this house nearly swallows you whole as you dress in a room you definitely don’t belong in.

Joel remains a distant figure, a familiar shadow across the lightning horizon, long after you finish the eggs and toast. You consider perusing the pantry for blueberries or something similar, when Sarah comes down. Fresh-faced, dressed with the care most people reserve for church, she stumbles in, her braces clacking as she finds a seat at the table.

You notice a brief flash of pain across her face when you bring over a plate of food. She unconsciously rubs a circle with her thumb on her left knee as she picks up her fork.

“Pain today?” You ask, eyes on her knee, even though it’s obvious.

She nods, strained. “Just a little bit. But it’s nothing. I’m sure it’ll go away when it warms up outside.”

You doubt that is remotely true, but you let her hold the comforting lie. She doesn’t seem like the type to swallow pity with ease, and neither was Anna. You put on that detached but focused "nurse's" mask, your lips a straight line and brow furrowed, your voice slipping on something more commanding too.

“Let me see.”

Sarah blinks at you briefly, evidently surprised by your shift in demeanor but eventually, she obeys. She drops her fork and slides the chair back, the chair legs squeaking against the rough wooden floor.

You crouch in front of her, gathering up her ankle first and testing its mobility.

“When were you diagnosed?” you ask, as soft as you are firm.

“Never, technically.” She watches you and occasionally winces. You wonder how long she’s grown stiff like this. “The doc had left over braces that Dad bought before the guy skipped town.”

“So then how did you know it was polio?”

By her sudden stillness, you know this is the first time that word has been uttered under this roof in a long time. You lower her ankle, rising gaze meeting hers. Her mouth is pulled tight. You can practically read the familiar headlines as they scroll across her mind.

New Polio Cases by the Thousands

Polio Claims Life of Infant

Polio Outbreak: Thirteen Dead

“Not every case is serious,” you say, gently, using the word serious in place of fatal. You don’t want to scare her unnecessarily. But by her wide eyes, you know the word sits in her chest all the same.

“I know. And I know it can be made worse by moving too much. That’s why Dad’s always on me about resting and going slow.”

You return to your examination. Her skin is rubbed raw in some places by the braces. You remind yourself to ask Joel for some old sheets to make better padding.

“That’s not always true,” you say, shifting to her other leg. “Even though she was sore after, Anna often said she felt the stiffness go away after walking around the neighborhood block.”

Curious, Sarah tilts her head, those lovely curls swaying like leaves in a breeze. “Who’s Anna?”

Your skin around your eyes tightens – how could you be so careless with such a secret – when you hear feet thundering down the stairs and a second later, Ellie swings around the lip of the doorway.

“Is that toast?” She asks, eyes wide and hopeful. “If you got bacon, I’m gonna start kissing faces.”

You and Sarah exchange a small grin before you stand up right and Sarah returns to her own meal.

“No bacon today, but who knows what else is stored in the pantry?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Ellie exclaims as she slides into a chair, her own plate pilled far too for a girl her size. “Treasure hunt.”

You see the tips of Sarah’s ears go briefly pink at Ellie’s language but the muffled smile on her face hints at awe, impressed – so you let that one slide. A stream of light through the half-shut curtain tugs your thoughts outside, to the man literally toiling in the fields.

“Does your dad want me to bring him some food?” You ask, standing from the chair and glancing out the window. You can’t see him any more and for some reason that makes your chest go tight.

Sarah shook her bouncy curls. “No. He’ll come in and get it when he’s hungry.”

You didn’t like the idea that you weren’t going to be directly feeding the man who employed you literally to cook for him and his daughter.

“Does he like coffee?”

Sarah arches an eyebrow at you. “Yeah, he loves it. But I’ve tried for years to make it the way he likes and he always drinks it, but I think a little piece of him dies inside every time he does.”

“Then you must be a great cook too,” Ellie smirks up at her. In response, Sarah smiles impishly around a mouthful of eggs.

You hold that little bit of information about Joel - something you knew that he didn’t know you knew - close, like a dollar bill in your pocket. You drum your fingers, searching for memories of how Anna used to shoe-string coffee when you couldn’t afford a maker in Boston.

“Did you eat?”

Ellie’s voice tears your gaze from the window. Her plate is only halfway empty. Her fingers uneasily move the fork around.

“Yeah,” you answer truthfully. In fact, you are rather ashamed by how much you took, sitting at the table in the purple dark, before you remembered that you had to feed three other people. “I’m good, Ellie. Thanks.”

She nods, returning to her plate and shoveling two bites into her mouth without slowing down.

“What’s first today?” Sarah asks, her eyes bright. “I can show you my sums. We have a chalkboard in the barn.”

You smile at her eagerness to show off while Ellie dejectedly pokes at her remaining floppy eggs. She had never been one for school, another thing you found hard to relate to about her. Fortunately for her, Anna nor you ever had the time to be as diligent about her education as Joel had been for Sarah. And unfortunately for her, you intend to fix that as quickly as possible.

“I’d love to see them, Sarah, but would you mind showing me around the cellar first? Maybe there is bacon hiding down there somewhere.”

You don’t miss the small smile that creeps across Ellie’s face.

“Junk or keep?”

Sarah looks up from the tip of her stick dragging nonsense through the barn’s dirt floor, her chin flat in her palm, elbow on her knee. She frowns at Ellie holding up . . . something that might have been a tractor part at one time.

“I don’t even know what that is, so – junk?”

Ellie shrugs, tosses the piece back and forth in her hands, and then chucks it like a ball to the opposite end of the barn. It collides loudly with the wall and Flora, the white and black cow, lifts her head at the noise from her stable and lets out a low groan.

The entire barn smells of hay and animal but in a way that is warm, almost comforting. The two cows lazily munch from their troughs in their stalls, occasionally eyeing you as you carry items back and forth. It’s fortifying in a way only working outside and with your hands can offer.

You turn to her disapprovingly but she’s already back, elbow-deep, in the pile you had designated hers to sort. Sarah, to whom you suggested rest this morning, goes back to boredly drawing circles in the dirt. Even though she clearly hates the idea of being idle, you are surprised she takes your medical advice without any fight.

If you had successfully completed your duties as cook, now it was time to take on your other task as teacher. Sarah had a few textbooks, but mostly outdated and only one copy. You know trying to find a full library in times like these is laughably impossible, but there is nothing wrong with hoping for a blackboard. You’d made one before when the school district you tempted at didn’t approve new funding, and you feel confident you could do it again. Trouble is, you have nowhere to put it, much less set up a laughably impossible classroom for two students.

Until Sarah casually mentioned the unfortunate pile of junk in the back of her father’s barn, “taking up at least half the space in there.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“Yuck – is your dad a hoarder?” Ellie asks with slight disgust as she pulls up a stack of newspapers held together by twine. “Why does he even have this stuff?”

Sarah grins, delighted by Ellie’s prickly teasing. “This place actually used to be pretty organized. This was his space for a long time – where he went to think, or figured out what crops we needed for the next year.”

Her smile crumbles. “But, uh, then I got sick and now he doesn’t come out here unless it's for work.”

Ellie pinches the soft of her cheek with her teeth, nodding, her eyes downcast.

“So . . . junk?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The stack of newspapers comes up to her knees and Ellie struggles, off-balanced, to carry it across the hay-covered floor.

You reach for it and she gives it to you gratefully. You take it with a smile; you never know what she’s going to appreciate or just see it regretfully as charity or pity.

“I think your dad is losing it,” Ellie says as she wipes sweat from her brow, shaking her head far too seriously. “Losin’ it, big time.”

Sarah giggles.

You drop the stack of papers in the corner, but when you let go, the string snaps and the papers spill everywhere. With a sigh, you kneel down and gather them back together, but not before a few headlines catch your eye.

Your heart twists.

Paralysis Takes Three Children

Join the Mothers’ March on Polio

QUARANTINE: POLIOMYELITIS

Why would Joel keep these? Everyone knew how devastating polio could be to children, even infants. Why would he –

Roughly dispersed throughout the article, sentences and phrases were underlined in blue pen. Sentences containing, “iron lung”, “bedrest”, “antibiotic” –

No cure.

Warmth spread out across your chest. Joel was looking for a way to treat his daughter, the only way he could in a town without a doctor: outside information. Something about this makes the space beneath your chest bone hurt so badly, you get a little nauseous.

Now you consider conserving these papers as if they are important historical documents. Behind you, where Ellie and Sarah are lobbying jokes back and forth, you see more stacks of neatly contained newspapers. He looked everywhere and found nothing.

You reshuffle the stack that fell, when you spot something else that hardens the warm feeling in your chest and makes it brittle.

Mob Over Breadline Kills FIVE

Experts Say There is No Way Out of This Depression

Mother of Drowned Children Claims She Did “What Was Best”

The rough floor hurts your knees. Eyes closed, you try to ignore the flood of images of what you witnessed in Boston, how desperate and cruel people became in Oklahoma. With each memory, your heartbeat pounds harder.

Red. Blood. Pink. Skin. White. Bone.

The riots got to be so terrible, but people were just hungry.

Ellie calling your name jerks you out of the sinking muck of memories.

“What? What is it?”

She eyes you with distant concern then glances at Sarah. “She wanted to know where you learned all this stuff.”

“About cooking, and teaching, and nursing,” Sarah clarifies. “I think I’ve read every book in our house probably four times and I still feel like I don’t know anything.”

“You probably know more than you think,” you offer as you scoop up the uncomfortable newspapers, easily switching tracks of thought to mute the swell of horrors from the rotting box in your mind. You leave them in the corner for Joel to do what he wishes with them and stand, dusting your dress off. “What do you call the process by which plants get energy from the sun?”

Sarah’s eyes brighten immediately. Where her body fails her, her mind is as sharp as a tack.

“Photosynthesis!”

“Good,” you nod, smiling. “And what’s the primary source of energy in animal cells?”

“The mitochondria!”

“Very good.”

Ellie sighs angrily from her pile and puts her hands on her hips. “I think I’m gonna make like mitosis and split, if we keep talking about all this boring stuff.”

Scorned for her love of learning a second time and already in a bad mood from the pain this morning, Sarah frowns.

“What’s your problem? Why do you act like school sucks? You had your mom teaching you –,”

“She’s not my mom!” Ellie snaps back, her knuckles white around a rusted bucket. “She’s just my aunt!”

“Yeah, well, I have an uncle I never even get to see!” Sarah stands up as smoothly as she can, but her knees and ankles are pink again. Her calves shake. “You’re lucky!”

Ellie’s teeth clench in the back of her jaw, lip curling.

You remember distinctly more than once having to pick Ellie up from school early because she’d been caught fighting and you take a step in her direction, even if Sarah could no doubt land a few solid ones in.

“And you’re–,”

“Ellie.” You know how rough Ellie can be. You remember the tone to take with unruly students, even if you don’t mean an ounce of it. “Don’t. Just let it g–,”

“Why do you always take her side?” That ire whips around to you. Loyalty, that was another trait her mother favored. Ellie’s shoulders roll forward, her fists clenched. “Why do you let her talk like she knows anything about us? About Mom?”

“I’m not taking a side, Ellie,” you say firmly, your chin tilted down to her. One day she’s going to be taller than you, you know it. “Both of you, this is enough.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Ellie tosses the broken bucket in her hand to the ground and storms towards the barn doors.

“You just like her because she’s a fucking dork like you,” she growls under her breath before shoving open the large square door.

It swings shut, the metal clattering against the wood. The brief stream of light filtering in is shortly swallowed up into the shadows again.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah says almost immediately, her brown eyes swiveling on you. Her skin is tinged a little lighter and there’s sweat along her hairline. With a fleeting flash of worry, you wonder if she’s in more pain than she lets on. “I didn’t mean it . . . I mean, I think she is lucky to have – but . . . I shouldn’t have said that.”

She drops your gaze and you think those dark eyes might be softer, wetter than usual. She plucks at the hem of her dress, her mouth twisted to the side.

Where Ellie explodes outwards, Sarah implodes inwards. You never could understand Ellie’s inclination to destroy everything around her.

You hand her a broom, with a smile on your face.

“Do you want to tell me about your uncle?”

She takes it slowly from you, eyebrows furrowed down. This is a look you are familiar with, even when it comes to Ellie. She is stuck between answering like a kid, getting it all off her chest to be free of the emotional burden, and swallowing it all to please the adults in her life.

You’ve also found Ellie tends to open up when she doesn’t have to look you in the eye. Sarah’s own gaze is stuck to the floor as she vaguely sweeps at the hay.

“We don’t talk about Uncle Tommy a lot,” she mumbles.

You focus on untangling an old bridle. “Oh? Why?”

“Dad’s still pissed at him for moving out to California. Said he left what’s really important for a bullshit dream.” Her eyes pop up, wide and shocked. “Sorry, that’s what he said.”

Despite your limited time with him, you can easily see how Joel Miller might take something like that personally, but you just store that away too, another breadcrumb leading the way.

“Why California?”

“It’s–,”

The barn door opens again and Joel’s shadow breaks through the almost painful white light. Behind him, Everett (the horse) snorts and huffs, pulling along the giant creaking plow, the air suddenly pungent with the smell of warm dirt, leather, and animal sweat. Joel murmurs something to the frothing snout and wipes his own forehead with the back of his arm, smearing sweat and dirt across his browline. He stops when he sees you two staring.

By Sarah’s wide eyes, it’s clear Uncle Tommy is a subject that is not often brought up in this house either. Joel frowns, but just as he opens his mouth, you interject – you know how to deflate a potentially angry man.

“We were just cleaning up the back of the barn,” you say, careful not to use words like junk or scrap heap. “I’m hoping to use the space as a school, for Sarah and Ellie.”

His gaze settles on you, like the dust at his feet.

“Mhmm.” His tone scrapes something low in your stomach.

“I’m sorry – I should have asked – I didn’t think –,”

“No, it’s –,” he shakes his head. His eyes catch Everett’s foamy nose and he pats it, noting the long sweaty forelock. “Smart. Next spring, we’ll come up with something better, but there’s no time now, with the harvest comin’.”

You nod, peeling off what you were going to say from the back of your teeth with your tongue. Joel casually drags his fingers through Everett’s forelock before stepping back to unhook the plow’s leather buckles. It’s when he shifts towards Sarah, looking to her, that he grimaces.

He put his weight on his right knee and it immediately caused him pain.

“We could help,” you offer, eyes on his knee, his thick fingers rubbing into the muscle just above his knee cap. "Ellie loves being out in the sun and I can teach her how to plant–,”

“‘M fine,” he mutters gruffly, straightening up and wiping his hands on the cloth around his neck. “Sarah, go inside for a bit. There’s something she n’ I gotta discuss.”

His tone indicates this is not the time for eye rolling but she does it anyway.

“I’ve said for years that you need help, Dad. She’s just offering to–,”

“Sarah, inside. Please.”

Sarah scowls and drops the broom against one of the stalls. She hobbles out of the barn, first scrunching her nose up at Joel’s obvious smell, then muttering something about having to go look for the hell spawn. You finger the scrap metal in your hands, a fluttery nervousness growing in your stomach the closer Sarah gets to the door. With one more disapproving shake of her thick curls, she shuts the door behind her.

Everett nickers and paws the ground, eager to be returned to bed after a long morning of work. Light streams in gold from the slanted windows above the loft, separating the front stalls from the back of the barn where you stand, fidgeting. There’s no escaping the hot animal smell now, and it’s your turn to be intercepted by Joel.

Another apology is nearly out of your mouth when he speaks first.

“Do you know how to shoot a gun?” He asks, his mouth set into a firm line. In the half-darkness of the barn, you can’t quite make out his eyes.

You swallow against the encroaching dryness in your throat. “I-I have a gun. Keep it in my purse, o-only for emergencies and I–,”

“That’s not what I asked.” He shakes his head, tone soft, almost gentle. He glances past you to the stacks of newspapers you had moved into the corner, the ones about violence and pestilence. He rubs his fingers between the bridle and Everett’s thick hair. “Found a hole in the barbed wire fence today.”

You frown, the tension of his voice indicating a severity you are utterly unprepared for. “What does that mean?”

“Someone tried to cut through.”

A white hot panic lurches up your spine out of nowhere. Fueled by fear, you see the outline of your husband shambling across the propertyline and you go cold.

“W-why would someone do that? What are they after?”

His hand stills as every muscle in his body briefly tenses. Eyes dark beneath a tight brow, the tightness in his jaw is an answer and a threat all at once. He looks almost offended by your question.

You know exactly what they would take.

All you can do is nod.

Everett nudges Joel’s shoulder, impatient to get out of the harness, for that bath he so very much deserves. As though you had disappeared, Joel unbuckles the restraints, taking a brush to the gray coat as he goes. Maybe you’d misread that last signal and he thought he told you to fuck off.

You move towards the back door when his voice, timbre deep and low, stops you again.

“I’m gonna to teach you to shoot.” He announces to the lathered withers of the horse. “But you keep that gun on you, at all times, especially when you’re out with the girls. You got that?”

He pauses just as he slides the hitch off the horse's back, his arms covered in dirt as dark as the leather. It’s minute, the shift in his weight, but you suddenly realize he wants verbal confirmation.

“Y-yes. Yes. I’ll take it with me.”

The minutia shifts again, a lessening of tension across his broad shoulder, his thick back. He nods.

“Good.”

The aching need for him to say more, for that good to turn into you did good or good job – or good girl – it sparks so fast and hot inside of you, you think you’ll choke. Instead, you leave through the door on unsteady legs, jaw locked tightly shut.

You find comfort in the monotony of sewing.

Anna always scolded you for it, that you were “giving into women’s work.”

How are they ever going to take us seriously when you actually like doing this dainty shit?

But where Anna seemingly delighted in her mile-a-minute thoughts, you need an outlet – some way to settle, to ground yourself in the here and now. Furthermore, you could sew anywhere – on the train, on the bus, in a foreign house in the middle of nowhere where you were, again, dependent on the kindness of a complete stranger –

It isn’t sewing specifically that you enjoy. If there was another activity where your mind could detach itself from your body, you would have liked it too. Here, in this space of blank concentration, you separate further from yourself with every stitch you pull together. Here, you are not a sister, a housewife, or an aunt. Not a nurse or a teacher or a failed fieldhand.

Not scared of living or scared of your husband or scared that you’ll fail your sister over and over and over again –

For a handful of minutes, you are not scared and you are the closest thing to yourself you can possibly be. You think, as a child that might have been the closest you’d actually been to understanding your own wants and dreams and desires, but now it is through this act of repetition, of delicate guiding, do you find yourself remembering what it was like to exist unafraid, as thoughtless as a child.

You sit on the edge of Joel’s bed, eased into something vaguely like relaxation by the needle and thread in your hand. You’d found some old pillows in the barn earlier today and surprisingly the stuffing was still intact. After watching Sarah struggle today, you knew you couldn’t spend another second watching the poor girl hobble around on painful braces.

It’s twilight, the sun gone beneath a blanket of scarlet and indigo, everyone fed and full – the girls almost instantly forgetting their first fight in favor of a discussion about their most effective marble-flicking techniques – and you already have at least one leather-bound pad that is twice as thick as her old one. You grin, excited to share your creation to her. You wonder what Joel will say.

Through the wall over your shoulder, in Sarah’s room, you can hear the low murmur of their voices, as quick and fast as two co-conspirators. You can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but the words don’t matter. It is the high joy in Sarah’s voice, or the creaky laughter from Joel. They could be speaking in a completely incomprehensible language but the sentiment is unmistakable: you make me happy and I love you.

I love you.

The needle and thread stills in your lap.

You glance out the window, to a much smaller shadow in front of the barn as it cuts and darts in the blurry half-light. The silver tip of Anna’s knife winks in the glint of the light from the windows as Ellie slashes and digs in the open air. Alone.

In the late hours, in the hours when the veil between life and death felt so especially fragile, Anna made you promise that you'd look out for Ellie, to raise her as your own. To finally give her a childhood like the two of you never had.

You had done that. You raised her. She’s alive and healthy and fierce.

But would she find your sentiment about her unmistakable? Do you know hers as intimately as you knew your sister’s?

Do you make her happy when both of you are constantly reminded of the ghost between you?

Sarah’s chatter echoes throughout the dark house, disembodied and entirely untethered.

It’s one week into this new, adjusted life in a house you haven’t yet found a home in when the unthinkable happens.

A loud, wet cry startles you awake and immediately your hand flies towards Ellie, panic like ice in your jaw. Your palm touches her shoulder, but she’s already sitting up, eyes towards the door. She glances at you and from your stumble out of a dreamless sleep, you realize it wasn’t Ellie who made that noise.

It comes again, as sharp as a bone crack, and you both scramble out of bed.

Sarah.

Up against the far wall, in the corner where her bed tucks up into the corner, Joel holds her like a lion clutches to prey.

Giant, fat teardrops pour down the sides of her ashen cheeks, those bright eyes clamped shut, her mouth twisted in agony and she claws at her father’s forearm across her shoulders. His other hand is going white from her fingers crushing his in a bone-cracking grip. His voice is soft, firm, and fast in her ear, comforting and scared as hell, as she whimpers.

Every muscle from her thighs down is stretched taut. Every muscle unwillingly tightened, flexed, the chemicals in her brain battling the commands of the bacteria. The pain, as described in medical journals, is crippling.

Ellie glances at you out of the corner of your eye. Muscle spasms.

��Sarah, darling, how long has this been going on?” She’s trembling from the pain and exhaustion. You wrap your robe around you before kneeling down to inspect her — and you feel Joel’s glare nearly singe the skin from your face.

“Don’t touch her,” he snarls and pulls her closer. Sarah whines and buries her face in his shoulder, trying to stifle her sobbing to keep from shaking and causing more spasms. “She’s–,”

“I can help her, Joel.” Your training became a bulwark – strong, immobile – in moments like these. Maybe it was all an act but that first rush of hope that you could ease pain, soothe what hurts, made you feel like you were made of gold. You let that unbreakable shine pierce Joel’s gaze. “But you need to listen to me.”

Sarah squeaks and you watch his resolve instantly break. Shakely, he nods.

“Ellie,” you instruct over your shoulder. “Go start boiling water. There’s a pail out on the porch.”

She is out the door before you finish your sentence. She knows exactly what you need.

Help on the way, you turn back to Sarah, her feet twisted in grotesque contortions.

“How long has this been going on?”

“About ten minutes,” Joel grumbles. She squeezes his hand so hard you hear his knuckle pop. She sobs, open mouth, and he presses his cheek to her. He murmurs softly, “I’m sorry, I know, I’m sorry.”

“Is this the longest fit she’s had?”

Joel reluctantly nods.

“Sarah,” you say and gently touch her knee. She peels her eyes open, cheeks stained with tears, eyes wet with fear. “We need to loosen your muscles, okay? That’s what’s causing you pain right now. So, we’re going to use heat and pressure to do that.”

She nods, gaze solidifying with your every word, every word a new step out of the path of pain. Joel smooths her curls off her sweaty forehead, his own wide-eyed stare never leaving your face. You roll up your sleeves and curl up your hair off the back of your neck just as Ellie stumbles back into the room. She’s got at least five towels around her neck, and she’s red-faced and straining from keeping the pail of boiling water from spilling or burning her. She eases it down next to you and hands you a towel. Both of you each take a side and immediately tear the one in half.

Before you wore gloves, some sort of protection, but now there is no time. You hear Ellie inhale sharply, recognizing what you’re about to do a second before you do it.

You dip the towel into the steaming water, let it soak, and pull it out. You grit your teeth against the immediate burn on your palms, the trail of fire over your knuckles and wrists, as you squeeze out the dripping water, Sarah’s soft cries in your ears enough to push past your own pain.

Half-way between an inhale and an exhale, you think you hear your name.

Ellie already has another dry towel loose around one of Sarah’s legs. She glances at you, her brows knitted together.

Ready? She asks without words.

You drape the hot towel around her leg and Sarah yelps. She thrashes in her father’s arms as you wrap the towel tighter and tighter. Expecting Joel’s inevitable bark, a hard shove against your shoulder, get away from my daughter – but it never comes.

As soon as you tighten the towel as firmly as it can safely go, Ellie slides in next to you and begins to massage the muscles in her calves, her feet, her toes.

Sarah whimpers again, but the sound isn’t as sharp, pain-choked. Joel holds her tighter, as if her torso is also knotted and could be relieved with warmth.

On an inhale, you pick up the other half of the towel, drench it in boiling water, and wring it out with your bare hands. A silent prayer for lotion is fleeting as it drifts through the dense focus of your mind. You squeeze out the dripping water and wrap Sarah’s other leg, prepped again by Ellie. She watches you as you tug and tuck the steaming towel, her own focus as sharp as a tack, mirroring your motions as you knead and massage the muscles.

After a few minutes of faint whining, a couple of sobs, the room slips into an exhausted silence. Her breathing slow on his chest, Joel draws back her damp curls and finds her face relaxed, asleep. His mouth parts and the skin around his eyes goes slack.

Relief.

With a shudder, Joel knocks his forehead against hers, his thumb on her chin as if to feel her breathing. You look away, the moment so tender it shouldn’t be witnessed.

You realize then how badly your palms ache.

The towels have lost their immediate heat, so you unwind them. Ellie’s small hands overlap yours as she helps. For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to look her in the eyes. The both of you fall back into roles most comfortable to you.

The wet towels gone, you wrap her legs more tightly this time, slightly past the edge of comfort. You ease her back, flat into the bed, and some small part of you is aware Joel is letting you guide her. He slips out from behind her when you tuck her in, tight with another blanket around her legs. She could be exhausted for days after this.

“We’ll need to keep heat on her legs every thirty minutes, fifteen if we can manage,” you say as you fold up the damp towels. Joel hasn’t moved. Stares down at Sarah’s small body. “I’d like to keep a warming pan here, to have hot water on hand if she wakes up in pain again. When she comes out of it, she needs water and food. Have her eat it slowly, small bites at first.”

You remember a doctor at the hospital where you trained as a nurse give advice to a newer doctor: medical mysteries and illnesses are one thing. Nervous parents are something else.

You call his name and he doesn’t move.

You step forward, touch his forearm, and he blinks at you. He feels so remarkably solid.

“Joel. She’s safe.”

“Do you want me to go get more towels?” Ellie’s gathered the damp towels off the floor, her chest wet. She stares at Sarah’s bed frame.

“Get breakfast first. Then I might need your help later.” She nods, turns to go, but hesitates. Her mouth is pinched tight, eyes wide, looking for something to ground her, to calm the vortex that the adrenaline in her veins widens with each beat of her heart. She looks so . . . childlike.

She looks so much like Anna.

The momentary fortified strength shatters and you're afraid again. What do you say to comfort her? What would Anna say? Good job, I'm proud of you, thank you -

But then she turns away, carrying the dripping towels, and you lose your chance to parent.

Joel has curled himself into the rocking chair by her bed, so close his knee touches her mattress. He holds her thin hand in the cup of his two massive palms. His heel taps loosely, quietly against her rug, every possible outcome of this morning striking him in the chest with each drop of his foot. His face is a blurred, dark shadow, hanging between his shoulders.

To describe Joel in this moment, nervous seems quaint.

In silence, you gather up the tepid pale of water and exit the room, closing the door after you.

The rest of the day passes in haze, tendrils of sleep still between the cracks in your brain left there by the harsh break into consciousness.

You have Ellie feed the animals, and you start a load of laundry. The ratio of dry towels to wet is rapidly becoming unbalanced and you know after the initial attack is over, pressure is more important than heat. Sarah has barely moved all day but she is responsive and drinks water when she comes out of her deep sleep. You’ve made soup again – a heavy meal that doesn’t require much managing and can be easily re-served – and it gives you time to think. Sarah mentioned the doctor skipping town, that he had all but dropped everything and ran. You wondered what else might be in the doctor’s old shop. Morphine seemed too valuable to have been ignored in any ransacking, but often doctors kept a secret supply, unbeknownst to even most nurses for special cases or when supply was low. You think about that and stir the pot as the sun crawls across the sky.

With your head bent over the pot, something moves in the field outside and you watch with surprise as Ellie leads one of the cows, Fauna, out of the barn. Through the rippled glass, you watch her talking to the cow, her face scrunched up in concentration, and shockingly, Fauna appears interested, her big ears flicking back and forth. But Ellie leads her only a little bit from the barn, in the grass but visible from the house. She drops to her knees and takes out a wooden stake and a hammer — nevermind where she found those – and then ties Fauna’s lead rope to top of the stake sticking out of the ground.

Ellie wags her finger, her back to the window, her stance very serious. You smile to yourself and to Anna as she marches back inside and shortly returns with Flora, the other cow, to do the same. She gives them both a stern talking to, as evident by her hands on her hips, before turning back to the house. You glance down, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate it if you saw her babysitting the cows. It was what Joel did every morning – let the cows out to graze – but she did it in her own Ellie way: on a smaller scale and perhaps with a little more gentleness.

See, Anna, she’s all grown up.

By nightfall, both of you are exhausted. You don’t know how Joel manages to run this place by himself, especially with a sick child, but after one day, you’re ready to curl up into bed and never leave. Ellie looks like she’s about to face-plant into her soup, her eyes half-shut. You smile, stretching, before gently shaking her shoulder.

“Go to bed, Ellie. You’re exhausted.”

She blinks harshly, indignant and scowly, as you take both your bowls to the sink. “‘M fine. Just a lil’ –,” she yawns deeply, “sleepy.”

“You’re right. My mistake.”

“Besides, we got coffee coming, don’t we?”

On the counter, your make-shift coffee press gurgles, the cap steaming from the bubbling water over the grounds you found in the cellar. You eye her over your shoulder.

“You don’t even like coffee.”

“Yeah but you’re staying up, right? You and Joel?”

Neither of you had seen Joel leave Sarah’s room all day. Ellie eyes the ceiling as if she can see right through it.

“I’m taking him some food and a cup of coffee,” you say as you finish drying the plates. There’s a rigidness to your hands as you delicately lay the plates flat, unconsciously careful to keep them from making a sound as they touch. “But at St. Joseph’s, some of the nurses would offer to keep vigil, to give the parents a chance to rest.”

You know in your heart he won’t take it. You just hope he finds your coffee inoffensive.

But Ellie doesn’t respond. She sits still, staring at the ceiling.

“Ellie, she’s going to be okay.”

Those bright eyes fall on you. “You can’t know that.”

In your hands, you wind the damp towel between your fingers. They’re pink and still ache but the rough linen is a welcome distraction from the churning acid in your stomach.

“This isn’t going to be like last time,” you say, your hips against the counter. “Sarah’s infection is nowhere near her lungs. And she’s been responding to treatment.”

Ellie drops her gaze, her bottom lip curled between her teeth.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it. Unless you can swear to me.”

One of life’s simple truths: parents lie.

You recognize there is a part of her that wants you to look her in the eyes and lie. She’d be angry, eventually, if your lies were exposed, but in that moment, as she sits in an unfamiliar house, at an unfamiliar table, with you and this wretched ailment the only things she knows to be constant – she wants a comfort you can’t give her. You are not capable of parental truth.

“I can’t promise anything.”

She inhales, breathes shaky, and exhales, the spoon in her hand trembling. “I know.”

Hands full of a white, chipped food tray, you knock twice carefully with one hand like you had been trained to before opening the door. The lamplight has been turned on, but the room, blanketed in darkness and shadows, looks the same. Sarah sleeps deeply, if not well, her hand curled by her face against the pillow, her heavy storm of curls cradling her head gently. Joel watches her, as still and silent as the moon. His foot has settled, but now he breathes so slow he might not be breathing at all.

Of all the terrible things you had seen during your time as a nurse, witnessing someone like this is always the hardest. Feeling helpless is a sentiment you are all too familiar with and the thought of someone just sitting there and watching you with your grief makes your skin itch.

“Joel.” A formality, because those trapped in a cyclone of worry require a slow approach, easing a startled animal. “I brought you something to eat.”

Speaking, it lets him acclimate to your voice.

You set the white tray on Sarah’s dresser, a piece of furniture meticulously crafted. Like Joel’s room, there are books everywhere, but more animal drawings, some directly on the walls. Sarah’s brilliant personality expanded here, in the blues and pinks, not capable of being contained in a single body.

A body that seems so small and fragile in that little brass bed, while her father looms impossibly large.

“Joel.” Again, soft, but this time you put a hand on his bicep. Never near the neck, an older nurse warned you, that area is sensitive. His denim shirt is soft beneath your fingers, nearly bleached white from the sun and worn smooth from dust and dirt and wind. You think you smell churned earth and hot leather in the instant it takes you to kneel down beside him, your grip sliding from his shoulder to his forearm. With the other hand, you tip a steaming cup into his open palm.

“Sarah told me you liked coffee.”

Slowly, as though he had blinked and reality disintegrated and reformed around him, Joel’s gaze slides from Sarah’s waxy face, to yours, and then the hand on his forearm. The back of your scalp prickles, the bulwark of courtesy shaking, before you remember you’d done this hundreds of times, to people of all ages, men and women. He seems to understand this – a professional gesture – and he takes the mug from you. With an almost perplexed expression, he stares into the nearly black liquid, his jaw tight.

And then he drinks, without saying a word.

You think you might have heard a low rumble from him, a pleased groan as heavy as the plow in the barn outside, but the floorboards creak when you stand up, so you might have been imagining things.

“This tastes good,” he says bluntly, voice weather-beaten. You smile into the bowl of soup as you wave a hand over the steam to cool it down to something bearable. “How?”

Despite his monosyllabic responses, you take this as a good sign. Something tells you that you’ve made exceptional progress by getting him to talk at all.

“I got pretty good at making cowboy coffee, as my sister used to call it, before we moved to Oklahoma. You already had the beans in the cellar,” you say, shrugging as you bring the soup over to him. He eyes it warily, as if this is not the appropriate time to eat, as if his own suffering would make Sarah’s lessen.

You’d only ever seen that instinct in a handful of parents while in the hospital and it made something wide and warm press up against your chest bone.

So you don’t give him a choice. You push the soup into his hands with enough speed that he has to take the bowl or drop it entirely. He, like most people with common sense, takes the bowl. He has a second to frown at you before you turn away to Sarah.

“And I suspect they were hidden down there on purpose?” You ask as you take out another blanket from the basket beside her bed and flutter it over her legs. You remember stories about the women working with Elizabeth Kenny filling quilts with rocks or beans, anything with weight, and putting them over the affected limbs of polio patients. The compress soothed the ache.

Sarah snores gently in her sleep as her father behind you laughs, a soft rush of air from his nose, his mouth preoccupied with a half-grin.

“I try not to hurt her feelings,” he admits quietly. You hear the clatter of metal on porcelain as you fold and refold the blankets to carry more weight. “That girl is a lot of things, but good at making coffee isn’t one of ‘em.” He slurs around the soup in his mouth.

It’s hard to believe she’s only a year older than Ellie. They have both lost things, indescribable things at too-young an age. But where Ellie carries it in the grip of her hand around her knife, Sarah takes it on the chin.

Polio, a disease of freezing agony.

You wonder how much of Sarah’s inner world she keeps to herself.

Like with Ellie, you fight the urge to brush a lovely curl away from her cheek.

“You have a special girl here, Joel.”

You feel his gaze on the back of your neck and you drop your gaze from her pristine face, remembering it’s not your place to look at her like that. Not like how you want to look at her.

Not like how you might want to look at him.

Joel shifts on his feet, leaning forward to put the now empty bowl on the ground.

“I know.” By the strength of his tone, he admits to knowing that you see the bright light about Sarah like he does and so he lets you look. Your heart stutters at this silent transference and you grab blindly for that mask of noble duty.

“How has her breathing been?” You sit down next to her and pick up her wrist, feeling for that steady pulse. You relax slightly when it’s easy to find. The beat of it is a little faster than you would like, but it hasn’t woken her up.

“Good.” A disgruntled groan from the chair as he adjusts behind you. His voice is rich like molasses, dripping warmth down the knots in your spine. “Woke up here n’ there, like you said. Gave her food. Got her water. But she just went right back to sleep.”

“But she ate and drank?”

He nods out of the corner of your eye. You check the mobility of her joints and they seem to be back to their natural looseness. Whether she’ll feel strong enough to walk is another matter entirely, but it’s not good to worry him unnecessarily.

“That’s good, Joel. That’s really good.”

You smile at him and finally, finally, the corners of his eyes soften, his brows pluck up, and he breathes deep. The tension leaves his body the way steam leaves a lake in the hours before dawn, the cup of coffee resting on his thigh. His gaze falls from your face to hers, shrouded in shadow.

“She’s never slept this long after an attack,” he says quietly. “Always restless, pain flaring up. We once stayed up a whole day and night when it got bad.”

He shakes his head, clears his throat a bit as if the words in his mouth leave behind a mucky, sour taste.

“Thank you. For treating her properly.”

For doing what I couldn’t.

It’s true. But no amount of reassuring – I’ve just had training, you did the best you could – would dissipate that repugnant scent of guilt lingering in the air. You are forced to let it linger, unable to say a single damn thing that would mean anything to him.

As he finishes the last dregs of coffee, Joel unwinds his long legs from beneath the seat and his knees crack. Stiff joints after a long day of stillness, but immediately his fingers fly to that same spot he touched in the barn in that afternoon, his mouth tight from the unexpected flash of pain.

Immediately you kneel down, worried at the slight hiss he made, fingers inches from his thigh when he straightens.

“You don’t have to–,” he shifts as if he can pull away from your touch and stay seated. “It’s not that bad –,”

You frown at him. “Can the person here who has had actual medical training determine that?”

Something light flickers over his eyes, so fast it might not have been real, smoothing the lines around his mouth. Joel nods, glancing to the floor.

“Yes, ma’am.”

That single word almost splits your skull in half like lightning.

You are immediately grateful for the heavy shadows in the room. Your palms, smarting all day, are now blistering with heat. Mouth shut tight, you don’t trust whatever sits behind your lips, so you begin your inspection of his muscles. Thumbs down, you feel along the lines that lead down to his knee.

Hard, firm, you notice. Made solid by work and toil. A few of the bricklayers and farmers you’d attended to had muscles like these. Despite the rough denim and how unsettling it is to be this close to him, it’s easy to lose yourself in the methodology of the human body. You’ve learned to read sinew and bone and scar tissue like a map and you come to find that the topography of Joel Miller is mountainous.

“So, mhm, where’d you learn to make coffee?”

You thought the stiffness in his thigh was due to lingering pain, but when you look at him and his guarded expression, chin tilted into his chest, fingers tight around the bottom of the seat, you realize he is uncomfortable. He is made uncomfortable . . . by you. Something sharp pokes through a slot between your ribs and you sit up straighter, trying to make your touch even more clinical if possible. But what he says next, you aren’t sure if it’s genuine or genuinely meant to hurt.

“Your husband?”

You shake your head. “My sister, actually. Ellie’s mom. We’d trade night shifts when she was a baby. One of us would come home from our second job, and the other would leave for their first. Anna said she’d never have survived those first years without coffee.”

You can hear the question he wants to ask buzzing in his head, your thumb rubbing therapeutic circles around the inflamed area. But instead he asks:

“And you . . . you like coffee?”

You shrug. “I don’t think I ever slowed down enough to ever taste it in the first place.”

With Joel Miller, silence means a thousand things. It’s not the way he looks at you, but the way he looks into you.

“Anna always said we’d be fine, that two unmarried women with a baby could make it in the city. But I wasn’t so convinced. There wasn’t much time for something like enjoying the taste of coffee because I was always busy taking every job I could get.”

“Like treating sick kids.” He says it like he just found a piece of you off the ground and added it to a sprawling puzzle. He politely stares over your shoulder.

You swallow, throat tight. “Actually, um, Anna had it - polio - too. I took the job as a nurse to learn how to treat her from home.”

Those heavy eyes swing into you full force and you can feel your stomach roll and collapse against your spine.

“Every case is different, Joel. What I did for Sarah, it wouldn’t have helped someone like Anna.”

“But she died?” A third unwelcome presence.

“Yes. She went fast. There was nothing anyone could do to save her.”

There was nothing you could do to save her.

Your thumbs are starting to ache, but you don’t want to leave just yet. You want to sit and listen to his voice, even if it’s pitched in anger towards you.

But it’s not. His next words come out soft, if not a little bit disbelieving.

“Where did you come from?” Joel asks. “You said the city, Oklahoma. How’d you end up in fuckin’ Dalhart, Texas?”

You use your elbow on the thicker muscle up his thigh and he tries very hard not to wince.

“We grew up in Boston. City girls all our lives. We had big plans of catching the bus line and going all over the country, just the two of us, but then Anna got pregnant and overnight, everything changed.”

He nods, knowingly. You add that to your own Joel Miller mosaic.

“I met the man I’d marry while I worked as a maid in a motel. He was a banker, or so he told me, and he wanted to whisk me away. We were three months behind on our rent, so I told him yes, I'd marry him after knowing him for a week — as long as I got to bring Anna and Ellie with me. All he talked about was money, so I thought he had it. What he did have was enough to get us to Oklahoma, buy some farm equipment for the wheat boom, and then lose it all in a handful of years.”

“And then we lost Anna. We lost my husband. I went back to trying to find a job in town with no jobs.” You pull your hands back, the deep tissue of his thigh flushed with blood from your therapy, and having nothing more to do, little more to say, you drop them into your lap. “Just after we missed the payment for the equipment for the second month, I got a letter from a man claiming to be my long lost Uncle Robert. I hadn’t eaten in three days and Ellie just got tagged by the police for shoplifting. I sent him a letter back and he said if I sent him our last twenty dollars he’d get us set up in Dalhart where he had a successful car dealership. I did and he didn’t and if you hadn’t picked us up, I don’t know what we would have done.”

You sit with the hot truth of it and he sits with the both of you. It’s silent in a way that only a house in the middle of nowhere can be. Sarah stirs in her sleep, her legs rustling the sheets, but doesn’t wake up.

“You don’t have to do that here, you know.” He straightens his legs, just as quietly as the rest of the house. He crosses his arms over his chest and you think about the muscle just under his forearm, thick and immobile as sea-drenched rope. “Not eat . . . for Ellie’s sake. There’s enough for you and her. Always.”

You think of the cellar with its soft dirt, cool air, the endless rows of stored fruits and vegetables and meat, buried like a still-beating heart beneath the dust-whipped house in a paradise on the prairie.

“But I understand the inclination.” With you on the ground before him and Joel leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his broad back arching under the stripe of white moonlight, he looks at you.

Really looks at you.

Like recognizing like.

A passing in a distorted mirror that might be me but it’s not but I think I know you all the same there is a thing just like me out in the world and it sees me.

Slowly, hesitantly, as if he’s afraid you’ll bite, he reaches forward and takes your wrist from your lap. The calluses on his thumb brush roughly against the knot of bone as he twists your palm upward. Pink, too pink, a stinging color, even in the low lamplight. Joel works his jaw back and forth, staring at your palm with weary concern, as if it told him things he didn’t want to know.

His gaze lifts and your fingers curl instinctively in. He’s trying to make you look and you don’t want to. He sees your sacrifice and you don’t want it called that, there’s certain nobility in sacrifice, in a sort of suffering for other people, but it’s not sacrifice if you go willingly and despite you not wanting to look, not wanting to put a name to it, not wanting to take up any space at all, he looks at you like he, a man as broad and wide and powerful as he, is grateful.

For you.

Every bulwark inside of you, every foundation that you had built yourself because you never had the chance to grow hearty roots somewhere permanent, rumbles. Shakes, beneath a single solitary, rolling earthquake. A landslide of earth behind the strength in his eyes.

“For her, for Sarah, I’d do the same,” he says.

For her. For the children in your lives.

Do you even like coffee? All you know is how to make it. What would you do with it if you did? If you liked coffee? If you loved it.

If there was someone outside yourself and Ellie to make you coffee simply because you wanted it. Because you were in a circle of people for whom people would do things for. For her. For you.

The heart of Joel is like coffee: dark but warm.

Your wrist slips between his fingers, finding refuge again in your lap.

“I know.”

You wonder what it would be like to be within Joel’s circle of people for whom he does things. To be given coffee, just because you want it.

You bet it’s warm.

You stand up, collect the empty, used things, and wish him a good night.

A noise and sunlight startles you awake. Your eyes tear open, hand flat on an open pool of sunlight in the center of the mattress, head twisted and knees bent up by your chest. In your sleep, your body twisted itself into a Gordian knot, unable to escape the dreams about the cellar ground turning into coffee beans, and the cramped bloodflow leaves you disoriented until you can roll onto your back and remember where you are. The smells that surround you.

You hear the noise again and you think of Ellie and in that instance where complete consciousness returns to you, the weight of her is gone. Literally.

Ellie is not in the bed beside you.

The room’s brightness is suddenly too bright, the clear, electric blue sky too blue – it’s too beautiful and it lulled you into a sense of comfort. Stupid, so stupid. You ignore the warm floorboards against your bare feet, the faint birdsong from outside, as you rush towards the source of the sound, towards Sarah’s bedroom – oh god, I was wrong it’s too late it took her in the night and I –

The sound you do not recognize, the sound you could not comprehend while buried in dreams and memories, is the sound of laughter. Loud, full laughter.

The brass bed creaks as Ellie uses the mattress to fling herself into the air. On the other end, just as determined to reach the ceiling, is Sarah. Hands outstretched and reaching, her legs bend and flex and propel her up and up. Every time she gets within a handful’s reach of the ceiling, Ellie’s laughing, cheering her on, and then it’s her turn, Sarah giggling as Ellie’s face scrunches up as she reaches out towards the blue sky on the other side of the roof.

“Oh, hey!” Ellie says, pink-faced and causal, half-way out of breath. Sarah spins, mid-way through a jump, her eyes bright, sweat peaking on her brow line. “Sarah bet – I couldn’t touch – the ceiling — so we’re taking turns – loser has to shovel – the barn!”

You watch, dumb-struck, as the bet continues, the girls laughing and criticizing each other and offering techniques as they work in tandem to fling the other one higher. Sarah is flush with vitality, with life, with a dewy glow reserved for spring mornings when the earth stretches awake after the death of winter.

And Ellie . . . she looks her age.

The earth has shifted beneath your feet, while you were sleeping, and a seedling has been planted, the dawn of something new, something fresh and utterly unexpected. You can feel it in your bones. Hear it in their laughter.

“Not a bad thing to wake up to.”

Joel, arms crossed, eyes soft, leans up against the door frame, blue striped pajamas low on his hips, a thread-bare white undershirt cupping his biceps. He eyes you from toe to head and stops when he meets your eyes. You wonder how long he’d been standing there – if he too woke to noises he couldn’t explain, rushed in here, and found something miraculous.

The smile crinkles his eyes as it unfurls across his face.

“I haven’t heard her laugh like that in a while,” he says quietly, head tilted towards the bed, as if there could be any other meaning. “I owe you one.”

You could say the same thing about Ellie.

There’s the line, the boundary of the circle to the place of being warm. He’s not cleared the way for you, not invited you across, but he’s shown it to you. You can see it, feel it, and know what it takes to get there.

Your smile blooms. The girls’ laughter rings throughout the house and into the sunlight.

But, outside of paradise, away from the river and the white a-frame house, from the horse and the cattle and the long strands of prairie grass, where there is not enough to eat and the earth is in its death rattle, the wind blows. It swallows up dust, and dirt, and fine sand, gluttonous. It swirls and pulses, agitated and restless and seeking violence. Spinning with the power to blind with a single whip of dust, it spins up over the earth in its death rattle, where there is not enough to eat, towards the prairie grass. Towards the horse and the cattle. Towards the river and the a-frame.

Towards paradise with the promise of total ruin.

END OF PART I

series masterlist | AO3 Link | prologue | part ii

522 notes · View notes

huntingingoodwill · 2 years

Text

take me, so breathless (we could be reckless) (s.h)

masterlist

pairing: steve harrington x reader

desc: "let's get married." late night, whispered proposals, steve’s dream of having six daughters and general sappiness

a/n: based off the let's get married cover by mitski <3 it’s so pretty give it a listen or be lame forever!!

“You know,” Steve’s voice was barely a whisper, and lying next to him, you could feel it rumble in his chest, husky with sleep. “Fighting monsters, and nearly dying… it makes you wanna do the things you’ve always wanted to do. Before it’s too late.” He found your hand in the darkness, pressing the calloused pads of his fingers to yours before lacing them together, his fingers slotting perfectly in the spaces between yours.

He felt your cheek twitch against his bicep as you smiled into the crook of his arm. His tan skin glowed a shade of deep blue as twilight crept in through the window. You had been up with him all night, the room silent except for the hushed breathing of those sleeping around you, and the rasp of your exchanged whispers.

“You’ve been fighting monsters?” Your finger reached up to ghost the raw, red line slashed across his freckled-sprayed neck, Adam’s apple bobbing beneath your touch. “I haven’t noticed.”

His lips turned upward, a sweet, lop-sided smile, dimple furrowing into his cheek.

“Let’s get married.” He whispered.

Your heartbeat kicked into life, thrumming hard in your chest as you blinked up at him through wide eyes, a warmth spreading across your neck. You propped your arm up on the sleeping bag, looking back down at him, equally excited, shocked and wondrous. His smile grew bigger.

“What?”

“Let’s do it.” He grinned, mirroring your position as he pushed himself up on his forearm, thumb running over the uneven ridges of your knuckles. “Let’s get married.”

“You move pretty fast, y’know.” Your smile grew, an uncontrollable, dumb grin. You were completely happy. “We’ve only been dating for, what-”

“Five months, twenty-one days.” The response rolled off his tongue, immediate and exact. “But who’s counting?” He scoffed, waving an arm around nonchalantly, a giggle escaping your lips. “I’ve always wanted to get married.” He said, expression softening, his gentle eyes peering into yours. “I’ve always wanted to marry you. I think… I just knew. As soon as I met you. Plus, with everything going on, if anything happens to me-”

“Don’t say that.” You interrupted, the idea of losing him too awful to even entertain.

“If anything happens to me,” He continued, slowly, “I want to know I did what I’ve always wanted to do. I want to know I married the person I love.” His fingers drummed against your arm, a little nervously. “What do you say?”

“I’d love to.” A buzz of excitement sizzling through you, your fingers flexing subconsciously, shaking a little with exhilaration. You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt. “I suppose I’m a little shocked.” You let out a breathy laugh. “It’s just so sudden, and, well… you know people usually have… proper adult conversations before making a big decision like this.” You chuckled, stumbling over your words.

“Okay. Let’s have a proper adult conversation, then.” He said, sitting up, poking fun at your clunky phrasing. He rolled out his sore shoulders, as if preparing himself for an onslaught of serious questioning. You couldn’t help but laugh as he tamped his smile down, morphing his face into his most serious expression. “What do we need to discuss?”

“Well, when will the wedding be?”

“What time does town hall open tomorrow?” He replied instantly, glancing at the watch around his wrist. You dissolved into laughter at his eagerness, running a finger gently across the cool glass of the watch.

“I don’t have anything to wear.” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Wear that white dress I like. I have a suit.” He said decisively, running a thumb across your brow as if smoothing out the skin.

“Your parents will kill you.” You whispered dejectedly, the excitement you felt faltering as you grew still with worry.

“Who cares about them!” He exclaimed, almost a little too loudly. You couldn’t help but laugh at his dramatic outburst, peeking around your shoulder to check that your friends were still fast asleep. The sound of Robin’s soft snores reassured you. “They don’t need to know.” He mumbled. “Hey, I mean, it sounds cliche, but they don’t know about love. Not the way we do. They wouldn’t get it. So why bother about them?” The smile faded from his face, big, brown eyes trained on you. “We won’t end up like them.” He whispered, shaking his head softly. His voice was determined.

“We won’t end up like them.” You repeated, just as sure, tucking a loose curl that had fallen over his forehead back into place. He smiled, grabbing your hand and planting a kiss under your knuckle, nibbling at it a little to make you squeal as you drew your hand back in.

“Any other questions?” He laughed, fiddling with your fingers.

“Hm…God, what else would serious, proper adults discuss…” You pondered. “Oh! Do you want kids, eventually?

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Six.”

“Six?!” You choked, him gesturing for you to quiet down at risk of waking the rest up. “Six?!”

“Six.” He repeated decisively.

“How many boys, how many girls?”

“All girls.”

“All girls?” You giggled, raising an eyebrow.

“Shush. Don’t laugh.” He whispered, barely able to hold back his smile as he saw one form on your face. “Six kids. All girls. Travelling the world together. With you too, of course. So. What do you say? Tomorrow, as soon as town hall opens, in that dress I like?”

“One kid.” You bargained, smiling.

“Five.”

“Three.”

“Deal.” He smiled. “I didn’t like being an only child. It was lonely for me.”

“They’ll never be lonely. Not with us.” You muttered, lips lifting upward as you looked at him, your Steve. “Yeah. Let’s get married.”

He grinned, eyes crinkling in the corners in that sweet way that you loved, and you reached out to touch his cheek, the smooth surface dotted with freckles, warm to the touch as he blushed.

He leaned forward and kissed you as you cupped the nape of his neck gently, his soft hair brushing your hand as you felt his lips against yours, pink and soft. You felt heady, a gooey warmth building in your stomach as you smiled into the kiss. You were dizzy, dizzy with happiness.

You fell back into his arms, both of you glancing up at the window above you as the first golden rays of sunlight blended into the blue, daylight reaching into the room, brushing its beams across his sun kissed skin. His lashes, thick and dark, fluttered against the light before adjusting, looking at you, his eyes glowing in the light, hues of whiskey and honey.

“Are you crying?” You laughed, using your thumb to wick away a tear, glittering in the sun, rolling out from the corner of his eye.

“I’m just happy. Really happy.” He whispered. “Hey, you’re crying too!” He laughed, poking you in the side.

“Shut up.” You sniffled, smiling through your tears as you punched him in the arm. “Can’t believe I’m marrying a wuss.” You pouted, ducking your face away from him, tears of joy dropping gently onto his bare arm.

“Me too.” He joked. He tugged you closer to him, hand running up and down your back. The weight of his chin rested on the top of your head.

“I love you, Harrington.” You whispered.

“I love you too, Mrs. Harrington.”

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sleepisapriviligethatidonthave · 13 days

Note

Fir the MegOp request: TFA Megatron reaction that TFA Optimus is a space bridge repair worker

Finally I found your ask! I spent a century combing through my notifications XD

Aaaaanyways, here it is! Hope you like it ^^

Megatron swung his swords at the Prime, missing by a wire’s breath when the Autobot ducked and returned the attack in kind. It was a familiar song and dance for the warlord by now, though usually their fights were not so… private.

As luck would have it, both of them had answered an energy anomaly in the forest near Detroit. It had been a rather pleasant surprise to find the young Prime all by his lonesome right after locating the Allspark fragment in the middle of a small clearing in said woods.

“Not too shabby, Autobot. A few more millennia and you might stand a chance at defeating me!” he mocked as he kicked his opponent to the ground. It was almost too easy sometimes, but the Prime always pulled through one way or another.

“I have a name!” snapped Optimus as he rolled just out of reach of Megatron’s pede which left a small crater right where he had been a moment ago, “I am Optimus Prime, and you ought to remember that!” he growled and slashed with his axe at the pede, only grazing the thick warframe armour. Megatron couldn’t help but laugh at the feeble attempt to injure him.

It was always fun to see his enemies infuriated at the fact that he didn’t know their names. He did, but one thing he had learned early on in his gladiatorial career was that an unconcentrated opponent was a weak one. That practice of his had helped him all throughout the war and even after that. It wasn’t often that he met an opponent that kept their cool so well in the face of such disrespect.

“Ah, yes, the rank of Prime. The standards for it have fall quite a bit, haven’t they?” he chuckled with a smirk and parried the angry swing aimed at his helm, throwing the Autobot into the air. Megatron watched with a hint of surprise as his foe flipped in the air and landed square on his pedes, ready to resume their fight. “Or maybe not.” he muttered to himself and went in for another attack.

Few survived an encounter with him and lived long enough to tell the tale. Even fewer willingly went against him again, which made fighting the young mech such a delight.

The little Prime never ceased to surprise. He was always so resourceful and selfless – two qualities he had long believed to be extinct when it came to Autobots. He fought rather rigidly, yes, but he knew when to change tactics in order to secure an advantage. That, he could respect, he could use. If only the Prime wasn’t so foolishly loyal to his rusted cause.

Optimus dodged blaster fire with ease as he shot a grappling hook at one of Megatron’s swords, attempting to seize it.

Megatron grabbed the chord and pulled, sending Prime once again flying through the open sky, but this time luck was not on his side. He smashed against a tree, with a loud crack before falling to the ground, heaving.

“You Autobots never learn, do you? You can not defeat me, even the best of you.” he knew that praising him was a contradictive move, but he had earned it.

It came as a surprise to hear the Prime snort and try to stifle a chuckle.

“What’s so funny, Autobot?” the reaction puzzled him. He was about to be offlined and yet here he was, laughing like Megatron had told him the funniest joke in the galaxy.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really. It’s just that, if you really think that an academy washout, space bridge technician is ‘one of the best’, then it’s not the Autobots’ standard that has fallen.” snickered Optimus as he looked up at Megatron with a slag eating grin.

The warlord froze in place, his CPU attempting and failing to process the new information.

“What?”

Optimus laughed even harder, wincing when his vents, damaged by the hit he took, expelled a wheezing sound.

Megatron pressed the tip of one of his swords right against the Autobot’s main fuel line, effectively silencing him. “Explain yourself, now.” he growled menacingly.

“What exactly is there to explain? I already told you the truth. I’m not a fully fledged Prime. Officially I’m not even considered a warrior, no one on my team is. We’re space bridge technicians. Our job was to travel around the corners of the galaxy and repair the Autobot space bridge network.”

Megatron looked at the Prime in disbelief, every interaction they had ever had, replaying itself in the warlord’s mind as small, incongruous details about the team of Autobots slotted themselves into place to finally reveal the horrific truth.

They were no warriors, they were civilians who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. That was why the Elite Guard had done next to nothing to help them. To the great Autobot machine they were fodder, disposable.

Disgust and hatred flashed through Megatron’s field, making Optimus flinch minutely when his own tense one came into contact with his.

This changed everything and nothing at the same time which only infuriated Megatron even more. It was dishonourable to fight against someone who could not face you properly in battle, who was not a warrior. It was Descepticon code, something he himself had put into place to prevent unnecessary carnage in the name of keeping Cybertron populated. Overtime, even the worst of the Descepticons had accepted it as law, even he himself had begun to view it as something on which his honour depended.

And here he was tarnishing it in the worst way imaginable.

“You know, if you ask me, I would much rather fight Cons for the rest of my life than go back to the most boring job in the universe.”

Immediately, Megatron’s helm snapped to the location of the voice only to see the bright yellow Autobot speedster sitting on a tree stump, looking at the bots before him while twirling the forgotten Allspark fragment in his servos.

“Personally, I’d rather be a space bridge technician. Bossbot is right, we aren’t warriors, and I’ll be more than happy to go back to doing what I signed up for.” came the voice of the big green Autobot from the other side of the clearing.

“Quit yer whining, will ya? We still need to save Optimus from Buckethead!” barked the team’s medic as he primed his magnets.

“I do not believe Optimus needs our saving.” chimed in the ninja bot who appeared from behind a tree.

Megatron took in all of the newly gathered Autobots, ignoring the last comment. Before, all he saw was a bunch of low-class warriors with lacking training, but now, he saw them for what they really were. It was so obvious in hindsight, he wanted to kick himself for missing it.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Prowl, I really appreciate it.” Megatron snapped his attention back to his original foe, having thought him incapacitated. Clearly, he had miscalculated again, as a spray of foam hit his faceplates, completely blinding him. He tried moving back, only for his pedes to be restrained in Prime’s grappling hook.

Megatron fell backwards with a grunt. As he tried to regain his sight, he could hear the commotion around him.

“Let’s go before he gets back up and hunts us down!” yelled Optimus. His command was met with no complaints and soon enough Megatron found himself alone on the clearing.

He growled and muttered curses as he cut the chord around his pedes. The mission had been a disaster. Of course, he could give chase to the Autobots and try to retrieve the Allspark fragment, but ultimately decided against it.

Once he finally deemed himself presentable, he gave one last glance to the direction in which the Autobot team retreated, sighed, and began the journey back to the Descepticon hideout. He was in no mood to rush back just to deal with his subordinates, so he opted to walk. That way he had some time to mull over the new information he had obtained and formulate a plan…

And think of a way to break the news to his Descepticons without causing a riot.

#megop #megatron #optimus prime #transformers #maccadam #tfa #answered asks #asks #asks open #ask game

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eli0004 · 4 months

Note

Possible request only if you get time slash want to <3, can be headcanons but I always like to ask.

Levi’s reaction to having feelings for reader, (possibly them being established friends or at least comrades) but Levi noticing reader already has someone pursuing them too? How do you think Levi would react if someone else was pursuing reader, would it encourage him to voice his emotions?

Lets say in this instance the “competition” isn’t someone Levi views as nothing, could possibly be someone deemed as “good looking” and Levi feels off when the person gives reader attention.

This is such a good idea Anon, i love the way you think!

Pairing: Levi x GN! Reader

Synopsis: How Levi behaves when he has competition 😈

Warnings: jealousy, an arrogant man lmfao

I had to do a lot of thinking about this, for one reason. Levi is very selfless, and i do believe, canonically speaking, that he would simply back up and let you make that choice. Ultimately he would rather you be happy, regardless of how that affected him.

Especially since in a lot of ways, he would likely not see himself as fully capable of providing you with that level of happiness.

And, if that other person is someone who, like you said, Levi deems more attractive or more suitable for you, i think he would have a hard time convincing himself that he’s more worthy of your attention, let alone you.

And having met you and then found out someone else had their eye on you, he thinks: What could he possibly learn about you that the other guy doesn’t already know? Tactics he could use that haven’t already been tried? Conversations he could have with you, that hadn’t already been had?

But, alternatively, let’s say he had known you first, and had been the one to get to know you before the other person did. Levi would be a bit salty.

You’d sat with him, told him your stories, he knows about your favorite foods, how you like your tea, how you bite your lip when you concentrate. Even though his quiet listening and your mindless chattering, the two of you had become close.

To the naked eye, it appeared Levi had simply taken a liking to your company, but for him it was far more than that. Selfishly, he loved you.

When you introduced him to your new friend, it wasn’t long before you picked up on his jealousy.

The other guy, we’ll call him number two (because he could never be number one in comparison with Levi Ackerman), could flatter and flirt all he wanted, he doesn’t know you like Levi knows you.

He’d watch as number two flashed his handsome smiles, called you beautiful, bragged about his wealth and how he could care for you. He’d roll his eyes when he’d pass him by on the way to bring you a dozen roses

“Don’t you know anything about y/n? They prefer lilies. At least take them out of that tacky plastic first, how embarrassing.”

“That isn’t how y/n likes their tea, that’s far too much sugar. You’d know that if you ever bothered to stop talking about yourself.”

Levi isn’t the type to intentionally sabotage a budding relationship, but he is the type to sulk about it for as long as it takes for him to get over you. Ultimately, the only way he’d intervene is if he caught any indication that you might reciprocate his feelings.

I believe he’d struggle knowing what to say in person, so he’d write you a letter. He’d describe to you how he initially didn’t intend to tell you, how he wanted to back off and let you make the choice to be with whoever made you happy. But that if what he’d heard was true, he couldn’t stand by and let you slip through his fingers.

Levi would be anxious, absolutely miserable, stomach churning and mind racing while he waited for your response. But, that nervousness would quickly dissolve into delight as he spotted number two looking rather dejected, sending Levi a nasty glare and shoving his hands in his pockets as you let him down gently the next day.

There was a twinkle in your eyes as yours met his, a knowing smile spreading across your face. When you greeted him that morning, voice soft and flirtatious, he knew he’d won.

#attack on titan #aot #aot x reader #aot headcanons #aot smut #aot x y/n #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi angst #levi headcanons #levi aot #snk levi #levi attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk

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neonpaperlanterns · 7 months

Note

Hi! I hope you're having a good time of day!

I was curious if you would be open for a more angsty story with the bestest boy DogDay? Like, they have an encounter with CatNap where Angel gets an open wound that they need to stitch up later. And DogDay can't do anything about it with his hands being too big, so all he can do is comfort his Angel and encourage them? Just him being as supportive as he can be and amazed with his Angel's determination?

It's okay if you dont want to write something like this though! Thank you for your time! Your stories are really good with their captivating nature!

[A/n: So I hope you like this anon. I think I went deeply into the angst.]

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

If only

It all happened so fast. One moment you were next to DogDay and the next you were gone. Flung across the rubble as if you were an unloved toy.

And standing in your place was Catnap with his mouth hung open and red smoke spilling everywhere. After years of exposure DogDay had grown unaffected by the worming hallucinations. He knew what was real and at first he assumed what he was seeing wasn’t.

It couldn't be.

No matter what you always got back up. You were their shining light, their hope, their Angel. You always got back up. So the fact that you weren’t moving just had to be fake. The slowly pooling puddle of red he was seeing? Trick of the smoke. It had to be. You were fine. He was sure of it.

His Angel always got back up.

Always.

But then why did it feel so real? It couldn’t be. It wasn’t. It was the smoke playing tricks on him. Peeling back the layers of his frazzled mind to poke and prod at something new he could be taunted with.

A wheezing laugh made his head snap up. The cat was looking at him. That horrible smile he saw in his nightmares and every fractured mirror was turned towards him. Malice and a sick sense of satisfaction dripped from that grinning face.

“Is something wrong?” DogDay felt something hot and acidic pool in the back of his throat.

“Is it them?” His hands are trembling as Catnap moves his gaze over to you. He can’t move his arms as the former Smiling Critter sways towards you. His gait slow and with purpose as those eyes that only held deranged devotion glanced back at him.

“Oh, must not be.” It was said with a gravely snicker a single dirty purple paw rose into the air. It was done so slowly, as if Catnap wanted him to see every minute movement. Even through the dim light and thick smoke he can see the twitching claws that hover over you.

And you still haven’t moved. Still lying limp as that monster loomed over you. He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest at this clear taunt.

“Are- AAAHHHHHHHH!” A horrendous screech filled the air. Blips of orange were beacons in the crimson fog. DogDay felt himself lurch forward, arms still shaking, as he watched Catnap rear back. A bright flare sizzled in his throat as he stumbled away.

“Let's go.” Your body slams into his as you shuffle him along. Your grip on him is tight as you take the majority of his weight. He’s reeling as joy sears through him. It was a trick. You hadn’t actually been crumbled beneath that cat. You were fine. He had just been seeing things. Tears pricked along his eyes. He was just so happy. His Angel was okay and had been the entire time.

And he didn’t want to let go when you stumbled into a supply closet. He wanted to stay in your arms but as you sagged to the floor he noticed something. Pulling away he thought he was still under the effects of the red smoke.

He had to be.

Under the flickering lights he saw how your side was soaked with blood. Gnarled slashes marred your skin.

“What…” Shakily he reached out. He was so sure you had been alright. So sure that it had all been a hallucination. That it had just been Catnap messing with him because he found a new weakness to exploit. But it hadn’t been.

DogDay doesn’t know what to do. He is just as useless right now as he was when you had been lying there.

“We shouldn’t stay here too long. I’m sure Catnap is going to be very upset when he recovers.” You're fumbling around the closet, pushing and moving things around. He wants to help you but he can’t.

“Hey, are you still with me?” A hand is placed on his shoulder. It startles him and he lists backwards. But you don’t let him fall. Your arms wrap around him, steadying him.

“DogDay are you okay?” You sound so concerned but you shouldn’t. He’s fine, you’re the one that got hurt! He should be asking you these questions. He should be helping you!

“Angel I..” His voice came out hoarse and warbled. He can’t even speak properly! What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he help you? Why couldn’t he be there for you? You asked for nothing and he couldn’t even do that! You did everything, all the time. It was always you and he loved you for that. But God he just wanted to do something for you. If only he was a bit more like you.

Why couldn’t he be more like you?

Why did he have to be him?

#poppy playtime #dogday x reader #dogday poppy playtime #reader insert #catnap #mild mentions of blood #angst #hurt but not so much comfort #flare gun to the throat

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zo3mess · 6 months

Text

Laundry girl

Summary: Laundromat is usually empty so late at night except for Adrian, until it isn’t. But there is no reason for him to get nervous around his new laundry buddy, right?

Warnings: mentions of violence, mention of death, mention of period blood, foul language and that’s all? If you notice something that might be triggering, just let me know. Also female reader and no use Y/N as far as I remember.

Word count: 3.8K

Extra songs for this fic

Masterlist of my works

Note: My ongoing brain rot with Vigilante, inspiration from the song Laundry Girl from Ludo (I politely stole a lot from their lyrics) and need to practice my English before test somehow escalated into this. This is a mess, nothing makes sense idk. Honestly, I have no idea why I decided to make it public, but hey, bad content is still content right? English is not my first language, so if you see any grammar mistakes or weird words, just ignore them. However every criticism is welcomed and appreciated.

Oh, the sweet contrast of late spring. Days warm enough to let bare skin be caressed by heating sun, yet cold nights leave shivers down the spine, a fleeting reminder that the carelessness of summer is not entirely there yet. Exactly on one of those nights, Adrian found himself in a 24-hour laundromat down the street from his small apartment. Neon lights from the sign were illuminating dark streets as well as the faint lights from inside. He didn’t like that smell that lingered in the air. Fragrances from detergents that are far too strong and mix in an unpleasant whiff, plus the disinfection and the smell from forgotten socks that got stuck somewhere between a wall and washing machine. No, thanks. He could buy his own washing machine, which would be much more practical, but why make anything easy when you can make it difficult.

When Adrian entered the familiar environment, he sighed at the strong smell hitting his nose. Temperature in the laundromat was slightly warmer than the one outside, but not enough for him to take off his hoodie. Adrian settled his bag with dirty clothes on a scraped metal table in the middle of the cramped room. There was one thing he liked about this laundromat, even though it was open almost nonstop, no one was ever there late at night like he was. Usually. Sometimes few drunks were sleeping peacefully in the corner, desperately seeking just a tad bit of warmth, but as long they didn’t do anything, Adrian had no reason to pay any attention to them. Tonight was different, his regular loneliness and peace was disturbed by another person entering the room. However screeching of old doors, quick gust of cold air and heavy tired footsteps did not alert him at all.

His mind was too focused on a single task before him, getting rid of dried blood that was plastered on his black undershirt. The one he wears under his chest plate, one that was stitched up too many times from all the slashing and tearing. Will he ever buy a new one? Of course not. Not until he finds a shirt that looks and feels the same as this one. Adrian cursed the guy that got his suit in such disheveled state. That bastard deserved a bullet to his head even before he managed to get Vigilante’s suit all messy and sticky with blood.

,,Do you need help with that?” you ask with a soft voice, a smile on your face while you look at the stranger in front of you expectantly ,,I don’t want to call myself a professional, but I can pretty much clean every stain. Or at least I haven’t been defeated so far,’’

Your question caught him off guard, his hands wincing a little. Green eyes glancing up at you with startled expression. When did you get here? Were you watching him the whole time? Crouched up above his shirt, scrubbing away with bile soap, tip of his tongue stuck out in concentration. You leaned across the table, examining his work. ,,Ketchup?’’

,,Blood actually,’’ Why would it be ketchup? He doesn’t even like ketchup. It does not taste like tomatoes at all! Goddamn lying sauce. ,,I got a really bad nosebleed. I get that a lot, that’s why my clothes are always bloody.’’ No other reason of course.

,,If your clothes are always bloody you should have no problem with cleaning them right? But I gotta admit blood is a hell of an enemy when it dries and sits on the fabric for a while. Just put it in cold water to soak off, that should do it.’’

,,Why do you know so much about cleaning blood?’’ Adrian asks with suspicion in his voice. Eyebrows furrow under his glasses and his eyes stare at you intently. Paranoia creeping up on him again.

,,Well I don’t know if you noticed but I’m a woman. Periods teach you a lot. I’m not some blood-stained killer I swear.’’ You say the last sentence with a wide smile, shaking your head before returning to your own work. Throwing dirty laundry into the washing machine without even glancing back at Adrian. He was standing there with fingers tapping on the metal table, burning a hole in the back of your skull with his stare. Yeah, you better not be. He thinks to himself.

He forced a smile and went back to scrubbing, he did not have the time to soak it off, he needed it ready for tomorrow, preferably without blood. You paid him no mind and pushed the button to start the cycle. With a sigh you took out a small book from the laundry basket you brought with you and sat down on a screeching chair nestled between other washing machines. If you have to sit it out here you might as well do something productive.

,,Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” his voice made you flinch and you glanced at him absentmindedly ,,I love that movie!”

,,Book’s even better.” You acknowledged his giddiness with simple words. The truth is you enjoyed reading books after you watched movies that were based on them. Sometimes they were better, sometimes worse, but they always expanded the story and the universe.

,,Reading is for nerds plus it can’t be that much better.” Doubting Thomas, of course. Adrian quickly waved off the idea that books can be better than movies.

,,There is extremely many things that did not make it in the movie, not gonna mention directive changes. But go on, live your life without all the great details.” You returned to your reading, barely registering quiet mumbling coming from Adrian’s direction.

,,What are you doing here anyway? I come here almost every Saturday and I am alone here.” He won’t drop it, curiosity gets the better of him most of the time, why would this be any different? It is suspicious that another girl is washing her laundry in the middle of the night. The fact he is currently getting rid of blood from the undershirt he wears out to kill criminals is an entirely different story.

,,My washing machine broke and I don’t have spare money to buy a new one. I’ll be coming here until my next salary.” The other option is attempting to fix it yourself, that would be a death sentence for the washing machine and you too.

,,But why so late? It’s way past midnight.”

,,Couldn’t sleep.” You just shrugged. You did not care if he believed you or not, it was true. Your new neighbors were blasting music practically all evening, it was better to wait it out elsewhere. ,,It seems we will be meeting each other more often. I didn’t catch your name.”

,,It’s Adrian.” His voice was hesitant, suspicion rising and falling with each word you said. He’s not sure if you are a poor soul with dirty laundry or a spy hired to watch the infamous Vigilante. How would you even know his secret identity? He had no idea, but sometimes it is better to account for all possibilities. You nodded at his answer and told him your name in return. Little something he burned into the back of his mind.

The more time you spent together in the chilly room, words drowned out by buzzing washing machines, the more you got along. Starting off with awkward small talk, through petty debate whenever books are better than movies, all the way to wishing each other goodnight as well as Adrian wishing you had a monster under your bed and parting ways. Only if he knew monster wasn’t the one creeping up on you in your sleep. Thoughts of tonight busying your mind.

------------

The second time he met you was two weeks from the last encounter, just the way he mentioned previously. This time you were there first, already occupying one machine with white clothes while the other part of your laundry sat in a basket nearby. You quickly shot him a smile and he greeted you in return.

,,You’re here early.’’ Adrian commented almost under his breath as he put full duffel bag on the table and began sorting his clothes by colors.

,,Yeah well, no reason for it really. Maybe curiosity got the best of me and I got here earlier just to see if you would came like you said you would.’’ It seems that old habits die hard. Unknown to you, Adrian was always on time in his routines. Even if he wanted to do his laundry on a different day or at a different time, his body would urge him to do things in the exact same way.

The conversation went on quite smoothly, like good old friends meeting. Usual chatter about their days, unnecessary details of “total baller” breakfast from Adrian’s side, gossip about migraine-inducing coworkers from yours. Adrian attention was glued to every word you said, piece by piece putting together a bigger picture. He can’t even remember the last time someone actually wanted to talk with him and not just wave him off with dismissive answers.

,,- And then she put a fucking poster on our shared fridge. That stupid one with cat on a tree with “Hang in there” under it. And I thought our office could not get any more stereotypical,” you were throwing your hands around, visibly stating your annoyance at your coworker Debbie. ,,I don’t want to “Hang in there” I would much rather hang myself and I swear to God I will hang her in janitor’s closet if she puts another poster on the fridge or tells me a cheesy joke about how much she hates her husband, it’s not funny.”

She’s joking, Adrian, don’t sweat it out. There is no way she could kill anyone. His inner thoughts creep up to him again. From time to time, he would appreciate if his Vigilante mind left Adrian alone. ,,So uhhh… You don’t like cheesy jokes?” Yeah, great save, do not mention hanging Debbie.

,,I like jokes, just not stupid ones. To be honest I can’t remember the last time someone told me a funny joke. I guess it is a curse of modern times, humor changed.” You shrugged your shoulders and walk around the crumpled room, looking around and taking in details you missed on your first visit.

,,I could tell you a funny joke. I know plenty of them!” Adrian’s enthusiasm made you stop in your tracks. He’s just standing there, a wide smile forming on his face, fingers fidgeting with hem of dirty shirt that laid in mountain of laundry on the table in front of him.

Even if you told him no, Adrian has decided to recite every joke he knew. Some of them were horrible, some of them were… better. Yet it did not made you laugh. It was a fun game to pass the time, he told you lousy jokes and after each one he patiently waited for your reaction with puppy eyes. You, on the other hand, had tried so hard to not even let a corner of your mouth turn upwards. The bigger satisfaction it brought the more he stammered as he tried to remember another joke. Adrian could not let himself be a loser in this situation. He will not give up.

Not laughing at his jokes should be illegal. And that would make you a criminal. In that case, he would not feel bad if he had to take you out as Vigilante. And maybe if he got rid of you, he wouldn’t feel that irritating need late at night, body itching to go to the laundromat near his apartment to see if you couldn’t sleep either. If you’re scrubbing spilled wine from your shirt with cheap detergent before throwing it in a washing machine with the rest of your clothes. If you’re waiting patiently not only for your clothes to dry but also for that funny stranger with curly hair and a dorky smile to show up. Maybe then his mind would calm down again. He doesn’t need any more distractions in his head.

,,Knock knock,’’ he starts again, determined to win this imaginary joke war.

,,Come in,’’ you retort while chuckle is threatening to slip from your lips. Adrian’s arms slouch down his body, enthusiasm transforming into… Annoyance? He so desperately wants to see you smile, why can’t you comply? People usually laugh at his jokes, or more like they laugh at him. No matter the reason, people occasionally laugh in his presence alongside constant eye rolls. You haven’t done either and it is messing with him.

,,Knock knock,’’ a firmer repetition. He’s not going to get discouraged.

Determination is admirable in certain situations, in others it just leads to doom. Like that one time when Adrian was chasing a thief down the street, low on bullets, ringing in his ears, lungs burning, but he could not forgive himself if that rat got away. All his attention was set on the dark figure way ahead of him that he did not notice a car when he sprinted across a badly lit street, ultimately knocking him down. Heavens were on his side that night, nothing serious happened except for a few nasty bruises and unrelenting remorse that haunted him following weeks. But the good kind of determination? That’s gonna win him a smile from a pretty girl in the laundromat.

,,Who’s there?’’ this time you decided to go along with his joke. These types of jokes are… foul, but you just want to see where he will land with it.

,,Honey bee,’’

,,Honey bee who?’’

,,Honey bee a dear and get that for me please?’’ Adrian says it with a wide smile and excitement in his voice. He points at your laundry beads that boost the scent. ,,It smells so good when you open it, can I try it?’’

You laugh just a bit. Fucking finally. Now Adrian felt like at the top of the world. He made you laugh, no matter if it was just a pitying laugh to get him to shut up, he decided to believe you actually found him funny and no one could take that from him. You noticed the dreamy look that plastered his face, especially when you let him borrow scented beads. Part of you cherished the fact he liked the ones you washed your clothes with every time and part of Adrian cherished the fact that now his clothes will smell like you before it wears out. That his sleeping shirt will carry part of you on those nights that he doesn’t see you here.

Wait, when did that happen? Smell of another person on his clothes should weird him out, it should give him goosebumps all over his pale skin. Why does it sound so comforting this time? Why does he want to keep part of you close? The last time he felt something similar was when his brother Gut died. They weren’t super close, but his death hit him like a train and he quite literally became a trainwreck. Adrian sat in his brother’s childhood room for hours, taking notes of all the small details, remembering the exact position of each and every piece of furniture. And at times when he felt close to breaking into tears, he took out his brother’s shirts. The familiarity and memories brought comfort. Comfort that disappeared as fast as it came.

This time he was not mourning death of someone close to him, this time he did not miss the feeling of adrenaline that he felt with Peacemaker when they shot appliances in forest or when they killed criminals together before he got locked up. This time Adrian felt a need to be close to someone he met just a few weeks ago, someone who barely knew him and had not gotten the chance to be taken back by his weirdness.

These thoughts and confusion followed him home that night. Not even the cold air could not break him out of trance. The way you laughed, the way you softly wished him goodnight when you parted ways, skin illuminated by purple neon light hanging above laundromat, and the way his now clean laundry smells like you since he begged for your scented beads. Pull yourself together Adrian.

------------------

,,I don’t understand how you might think Fargo is better than the Office or Better Call Saul for example. Saying it is the best show ever made is crazy.” Friendly banter about TV series was accompanied by clicking of your flip-flops as you made your way towards your apartment complex just a couple blocks away from the laundromat. Adrian had insisted that he walks you home this time, apparently he was afraid you might “fall asleep on your way home” since you two spent almost the whole night in the laundromat.

Not just doing laundry, you also brought your book, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and read out loud for him to hear the difference between book and movie. While you waited for your clothes to dry you two sat on uncomfortable chairs, you with book wide open, pages visible for Adrian to peek from behind your shoulder whenever he wanted. Though most of the time he spent with his eyes closed, face leaning on a stock of washing machines next to him, listening to your reading like a bedtime story. Even after your laundry was done you decided to stick around, competing who flicks quarters farthest, catching peanuts in your mouth and testing echo in every washing machine. Until you finally decided to head home and get at least few hours of sleep, by that time it was past 5 a.m.

Sun was lazily rising, yellow painted the sky but few dark clouds were spoiling the otherwise beautiful picture. The smell of rain was in the air, you both knew there was a storm coming on a calm Sunday morning. Few joggers passed you in a hurry. Early birds. Psychopaths. Not like Adrian wasn’t psychotic at least a bit, but he wasn’t that mad to get up so early to run in still-cold weather.

,,What do you think is the best show then?” he calmly asked and nudged your shoulder with his own, encouraging you to answer.

,,Well… I think the best show is The Kids in the Hall, undying classic.” You knew your walk slowly but surely reached its end. You could see your main entrance, the fact you were reaching your home was setting you aflame in the worst way possible. Nonetheless, your eyelids grew heavy and you could not stop yourself from yawning every few seconds, an unavoidable need to fall into your bed and surrender to sweet slumber.

,,That show is like 100 years old! Dinosaurs watched it!” Adrian shook his head with laughter. You didn’t find his jokes funny but you loved this out of all the shows. Unbelievable.

,,Hey! If you call that show old, it is like you’re calling yourself old! Should I call nursing to pick you up?” You stopped in front of your apartment complex, not entirely sure Adrian realizes this is where your hangout ends. You spin around to face him and quickly jab him in the chest with your finger.

,,Ha ha, very funny. But really? So many good shows and you pick this one? And call me out for liking Fargo? You have horrible taste.” He couldn’t let this go now he saw how adorable you looked when you were angry. What is the worst that can happen if he teases you more, right?

,,Shut it, Adrian. I’m serious.” You said that so calmly it almost took him aback, however he could see the fire burning behind your eyes. It only riled him up more.

,,You can’t make me-“ You grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him down swiftly. The best solution to shut him up was to press your lips against his. A firm, simple kiss that sent electricity through your body. You felt a muffled yelp that escaped Adrian’s mouth when you surprised him in such an affectionate manner. And at that moment, when your lips touched his, for the first time in a while his mind was quiet, yet his soul was singing. Time stopped, eyes were tightly shut, heart hammering inside, begging to jump out of his chest, one of his hands found its place on your forearm in uncertainty and took a step closer to get his body closer to you.

You, on the other hand, were fully aware of what was happening. The feeling of gratification that you “won” an argument was the last thing on your mind. The only thing you could think of was acting up on your secret wishes that swam through your head every time you went to the laundromat to see him. Suddenly aware of everything, you felt the heat that radiated from Adrian’s body, warming you up in cold air, a few raindrops making you shiver as they fell on your skin. Or were you shivering from the closeness of this intimate act? If anyone asked you would not be able to answer. It did not matter anyway, the only thing that mattered was you kissing him.

The kiss lasted only for a few seconds, but you would both swear it was an eternity. When you pulled away, slowly and delicately, Adrian still had eyes closed, hand hanging in the air where your arm used to be. You realized his mind was completely shut off. A smile formed on your lips at the thought of shutting Adrian up this way every time he brings up some stupid nonsensical squabble. You left him standing there as rain started to fall on his hair, diamonds in those dark brown curls. And when he finally came to his senses and decided to open his eyes… You were gone. Coldness on his body where you were pressed together, sparks lingering on lips, sweet perfume filling his nose, those should be indicators that it was very much real, but his mind was not certain. How could it be, when the stupid brain ceased the second his dreams came true.

You quickly ran upstairs to your apartment, running up to the window in your kitchen and from behind a curtain you watched confused Adrian, who was walking in the opposite direction. What other choice did you leave him than to head home and wonder. Wonder about what you were doing when raindrops splattered on the sidewalk, sounding like your flip-flops. Wonder if you’re already sleeping safe and sound in your bedroom like he will when he reaches his home. Wonder if you kiss him again once you see each other next week in the laundromat. Wonder if the laundry girl was real or just a dream.

#adrian chase #adrian chase x reader #peacemaker #vigilante #vigilante x reader #vigilante imagine #he lives in my head rent free #Spotify

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absolutekillswitch · 9 months

Text

no alarms and no surprises (please)

pairing: luke castellan x thanatos!reader

tw: major TLO spoilers (honestly tho if u haven’t read it yet, begone), major character death, discussions of blood and death, Luke was reader’s first kiss, mentions of past manipulation, lots of crying, and also i made [REDACTED] take way too long to die for the sake of dialogue. Sorry. Also! she/her pronouns are used, but I tried to steer clear of descriptors outside of that so this SHOULD be woc friendly

word count: 3.4k

It was cruel, this end he was facing. Y/N had felt it long before she’d seen it, that deep intrinsic tug within her, that sixth sense that had begun to go haywire since New York had fallen asleep, since the final countdown for western civilization had officially started running. The tug that alerted her to a new death in her vicinity. The curse bore by the children of death, the chained god, to feel the string of fate being cut, to sense lost souls being carried to the underworld by their father. To mourn, but not to see. She’d never felt it as frequently as she did now, feeling like threads tugging her in countless directions, so much so that her aim with her sword was affected. She’d been coined the best swordsman back at camp, after the previous titleholder had vacated the position, but now, it was like she was jittery, like a newborn zebra with a sword in their grasp, trying to learn how to stand and fight all at once, her battle senses being overridden by the unavoidable emotional pain of the fact that every tug she was feeling, was the feeling of a fellow demigod dying.

But then she’d felt that one.

The strength of this particular tug wasn’t lost on her. It was stronger than any she’d faced yet— stronger than the tugs of those she’d slain herself, and stronger than the tugs of those who had been close to her, when they were alive. It was so strong that the metaphysical tug had felt like a real, physical one, like she was physically being pulled in its direction. The proof of it is the crude slash on her forearm, where the kid she’d been fighting back had gotten a lucky shot on her due to her presently distracted nature.

It had to have been him.

She wasn’t sure just who she’d been fighting, and in the end, she doesn’t think it really mattered all that much, if they were a former camper; a demigod, or if they were an armored monster, as with a wave of her hand, the ground rumbles, opening up under their feet, boney, decayed hands dragging them into the earth, only for the ground to close up on them halfway through their forced descent. Y/N didn’t even notice, nor did she really care. All she knew was that she’d put an end to her own fight, allowing her feet to carry her to his side, numbness flooding her body, with a whispered command to her undead soldiers,

“Protect them.”

She’s not even sure how she found him, exactly. She’d just always been able to find him like that. Now seemed to be no exception to the rule, as she followed what she would consider to be the string of fate to his side. The sight she sees when she does is an unwelcome one, however. There’s three of them— she sees Percy and Annabeth crowded around a figure on the ground. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is.

“Oh, Gods,” Y/N whispers, hesitating to get closer. She doesn’t know if she can. At the sound of her voice, Percy turns. He looks pale, eyes ringed in red. It looks like he’d been crying, exhausted, eyes wide, as if he were afraid he’d collapse if he even blinked. Y/N wouldn’t blame him, if he did.

“Y/N—“ He hesitates to speak, to try and explain, but Y/N doesn’t let him. She’s already marching over, ignoring the dread building in her gut, the tears in her eyes. And that’s when she sees him.

“Luke,” She whispers, the single word bordering on a gasp. Internally, she’s vaguely aware that this is the first time she’d used his name in years, preferring to call him by his last name, or traitor, at best, or whatever random curse she could think of at the time, at worst. She’d gotten pretty good at it, honestly— the coming up with insults to hurl at him every time they’d crossed paths since his betrayal. But now, all of that is gone. It seems that at that moment, Annabeth and Percy disappeared. It’s just them as she crumbles, falling to her knees before he can even protest. It’s him, not Kronos, she knows. They’d all learned how to tell the difference between the two, when Kronos had taken Luke’s face. Kronos had a colder air about him, eyes golden. Just pure evil that seeped into your bones, that seemed to change even the people around you. But this? This was Luke Castellan. Soft, soulful brown eyes, and a welcoming air about him. This was the guy who had been like all of Camp Half-Blood’s big brother. This was the guy Y/N had been in love with ever since she’d arrived at camp, even if she realized it far too late. Even if he was currently trying to get Percy to make her leave, not wanting her to see him like this. Never like this. Her eyes take stock of his appearance against her will. He looked just as bad as Percy did— worse, actually, given he was bleeding, Annabeth’s knife clattering from his hand to the marble below him. It makes her heart ache, the picture in front of her painted so clearly, even if she hadn’t been present to see it herself.

A hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap.

They’d realized what the prophecy meant, clearly. Luke had to be the one to take Kronos— and to an extent, himself— out. And when Luke had done it, when he’d touched his own Achilles heel, Kronos had run. So now, Luke Castellan was dying. Alone.

Well— not alone.

She was still here. She always would be, even if he’d insist otherwise. He hated how she always had made him want to be a better person. Even now, as he lay dying, covered in sweat, blood, and ash. If she tries hard enough, she can almost pretend that they’re back at camp, that they’d had an extremely rough day playing capture the flag, that the pair of them are in the infirmary, making up ridiculous stories for the scars they’ll have as a result of their adventure, shedding tears from their short lived pain in the name of glory but laughing anyway as they stitched each other up, letting the Apollo kids deal with those who didn’t have someone to back them up like Y/N and Luke did— someone to dote on them, and someone to dote on in return. But it gets hard, keeping up this fantasy. They’re both far too battle-worn, both with eyes that had seen far too much, faces years older than they were the last time they’d seen each other. And in spite of it all, all she can find herself thinking is,

‘Oh, love, you grew up without me’.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Luke tells her plainly, his brown eyes fighting to focus on her through his tears that he’s fighting to push back. Had they always done that?

“Yet I’m here anyway. Deal.” She responds, brows furrowing, focusing on the wound in his side. Prophecies be damned, she won’t let him die. He sits up straighter, slumped uncomfortably against a marble wall at the sudden pressure to his side, the daughter of Thanatos trying to staunch the blood flow, trying to give him more time, tears clouding her own vision, hands shaking. She knows deep down that it’s all in vain, but she won’t let him go. Not like this. She’ll fight her father back herself, if she had to.

“Y/N…” He whispers uncomfortably, hating how blood spurts past his lips, onto his chin, as he utters her name. He’s going to die, he knows, he can almost feel the fates beginning to prepare to cut his thread, but there’s some things he can’t leave unsaid. “My— my heart, it was always yours. You know that, right?” He notices how she flinches, expression troubled. “Take care of it, for me. I know you’ll do better with it than I ever had.” It’s true— his entire time at camp, since she’d arrived, he’d stupidly ignored it. He let hate and anger and jealousy cloud his mind for so long, he never really appreciated what was in front of him. It was just unfortunate it was taking his death to realize that.

“Don’t— don’t say that, not to me,” she sobs, shaking hands still covering his wound, stupidly, naively, believing she could still save him. “Don’t make it sound like you’re dying. You’re not dying, damn it,” she still sounds determined, one hand leaving his wound to touch his face, holding his cheek, accidentally staining it with his own blood. “Don’t— don’t leave me here, please, I just got you back,” she pleads, glassy eyes blurring with tears. She thinks, honestly, that this is the first time she’s talking to just Luke, free of Kronos’ influence, since he’d stolen that lightning bolt from Olympus years ago. It’s the Luke she remembers, the one she so sorely missed.

He laughed quietly, reaching up to touch her fingers. Even now, as she was sobbing over him, unable to look him in the eye, she’s the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her lips were so plump — as if made to be kissed, even in this moment of peril. “The gods might not want me, but I’m glad they’ve given you to me,” he whispered, squeezing her hand in his again. “I’m dying, Y/N. You can’t save me.” This makes her squeeze her eyes closed, shaking her head lightly, as if she isn’t listening. She isn’t, not really.

“No, nononono— stop that,” She cries, her eyes squinting shut in an effort to banish her tears, but it doesn’t work. “I’m— I’m the daughter of Thanatos, damn it, what good am I if I can’t do this? If I can’t keep just one person alive?” She seems to be talking mostly to herself, not giving up her mission on keeping him with her. Not after everything that’s been said, not with everything that’s being left unsaid. “I know this isn’t what I do, that I’m not a fucking sunshiney Apollo kid who can heal someone on a whim. But this is kinda my thing, is it not? Just… Just one. Please, let me save just this one. I’ll never ask for anything again.” She’s looking up at the sky— praying, it looked like, while blinking away her own tears. She couldn’t remember the last time she prayed to the gods for anything, but she was now. To anyone who would listen, though Luke gets the sneaking suspicion she’s talking to her father. The one she blamed, for being unable to save anyone. She couldn’t heal, the best she could do was sit by and watch.

Luke laughed again, but it’s humorless— and it was so cruel, to die when he could feel his heartbeat quickening as Y/N was so close, her lips so near to his, her eyes so lovely. He wished he could kiss her right now, in this moment, on the marble floor, with blood running over his fingers and the dagger still next to them.

“Y/N, promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” Y/N nods softly, her attention turning back to him. She hates how the simple act of saying her name still affected her so much, after all this time. Her tears were cutting through the grime on her face from a hard fought battle, covered in her own and the blood of others, trembling. Still, she finds it in her to make a promise to the dying boy she loved. “Anything. Just—“ she drifts off, nodding, knowing they don’t have time. Luke took a breath, his eyes fluttering shut. For the first time in his life, he genuinely felt like a young man. A teenage boy, holding his girlfriend's hand and wanting nothing but her to keep safe. For a moment, he can pretend. But only for a moment. His breath hitched, and slowly, he felt the life fading from his body — as if it was being drawn from him like water in a cup. He hesitates to speak, but knows he’s running out of time. He can feel it, being sapped from his bones. But in spite of that, he’s not… afraid. He isn’t angry. He almost isn’t even in pain. He thinks it’s her, that it’s Y/N’s aura as a daughter of Thanatos, that no one in her vicinity will feel pain, a divine remainder of her father’s power flowing in her veins, the guide to the underworld, before they’d meet the ferryman. A walking shot of morphine. He’s heard stories from his spies, about how when Camp would lose a camper during their fight with Kronos— with him—, Y/N would stay with them until they passed, holding their hand, telling stories, bringing them peace, so they would go out with a kind face. Much like she was doing now, for him. The Thanatos of the waking world, the guiding light to death. It’s much more than he deserves, and he knows it.

"Promise me.... you'll meet me again... at the River Styx," He whispered.

“I’ll find you in Elysium.” She promises softly through sniffles, brushing his hair out of his face, a forced soft smile on her own face. She wants him to go out peacefully, wants to remember her smiling, even if she wants to scream at the sky and cry until she couldn’t breathe anymore. She’d been pretty good at it, feigning calmness and serenity with the campers they lost on their own side. It made their passing easier. But this? With him? She doesn’t know if it does. He’d always been far too good at reading her, for that. “I swear it, on the Styx, that I’ll find you in Elysium.” She sounds sure of herself, that even after everything he’d done, he’d earned a hero’s afterlife. That’s what the prophecy said, after all, right? Somehow, she knows she, too, will find herself with a hero’s death. Life wouldn’t be so kind to allow her to die of old age. She’d die hard, with a sword in her hand, and anger in her heart. Luke's eyes flickered open to meet the softness of hers, of lips he wanted to taste, of skin he wanted to cover with kisses. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of mourning the future he could’ve had with this girl, if he hadn’t been so hellbent on his never ending quest for glory.

Kleos. The word feels like poison, now. Maybe it always had been.

"No —" He whispered, head shaking lightly, "I won't be in Elysium. I’ll go to Asphodel—" He choked. That's where he'd likely be, being punished for his treason. It’s the least he deserved, after everything he’d done. "— and then the Fields of Punishment. But promise me... that you will wait for me, at the River."

“No,” Y/N shakes her head, adamant. He should probably take her word for it— she’s the daughter of the god of death, after all. She had a sense for these things. “Elysium. I’m sure of it. You’ve earned it.” She promises, tone soft. She doesn’t mention how she’d never let her father live it down if anything else took place. She’d tear Hades apart herself, find his soul and bring him back, somehow. Like Orpheus and Eurydice, except she’d succeed. “Regardless— it doesn’t matter. I’ll always find you. No matter where you are, I’ll find you. I swear it.”

He laughed, and it was a sad one. He was so weak, so very weak, his eyes flickering once more, his hand squeezing hers as tightly as he could, wanting to burn her imprint into his flesh. "You are so stubborn, you know that? You always have been," he whispered. Images flash through his mind against his will— her face, always her face. When she’d learned of his betrayal, then later when he’d attempted to sway her to his side. When they would train together in the arena— camp’s two best swordsmen. When she’d have nightmares, constant images of the dead trying to use her, both for her powers and as revenge on her father, who they felt claimed them from the mortal plane far too soon, to crawl their way back to the world of the living, and how, terrified of closing her eyes again, she’d crawl into his bed with him, the only place she felt safe enough to fall back asleep. When she’d kissed him for the first time, on her seventeenth birthday. Because ‘most demigods don’t get to make it to seventeen, so I’m making seventeen count’, as she’d put it. Then, later that night, after his surprise wore off, when he had kissed her. It pains him to think about how he’d only been manipulating her, back then. Had he loved her? Sure, but his mission always seemed more important at the time. He’d do it for them, he’d told himself. The gods would regret every unclaimed child, and every claimed child resigned to the Hermes cabin because they weren’t born with the luxury of having a parent that had a throne on Olympus, one of the big twelve. For kids like Y/N. His hand slipped from hers, and he couldn't bring himself to close his eyes. Instead, he'd watch her, as if he could lock her into his memory. "Will you... will you stay here with me, until my life..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

“Until the very end.” She promises softly, her voice cracking with the effort not to cry. She’d almost given up on trying to staunch the bleeding, one hand resting on his face, brushing languidly, lovingly, over his cheek, just around the edge of his scar. She’s not sure what possessed her in that moment, as she leans down, placing a soft, chaste, yet romantic kiss to his lips. After all, he’d been her first kiss, it felt fitting that she would also be his last. As she pulls away, she whispers against his lips, “I love you, Luke Castellan.”

He was breathless, the kiss like a dagger to the chest, biting deeper than the blade that will end up taking his life. In a matter of minutes, his heartbeat would skip its last beat, and her face will be the last he sees, the last thought on his mind. His hand came up to the back of her neck, holding her as he whispered in return, "... I love you too." He managed only that, before his heart failed him. He was gone, and he didn't make a sound.

Gone with a whimper, not a bang.

The blood that fell from his wound was now staining the pristine marble flooring beneath them, the last remnants of life and love, of devotion and betrayal. Y/N hoped that it would stain forever, a constant reminder of his sacrifice.

Y/N felt his final breath fan across her face, and she knew he was gone. Her eyes remained closed, steady tears rolling down her face, their foreheads pressed together. She can feel him growing cold as she sobs. “No,” She whimpers, his hands, now gone limp, still in hers. “No, please no—“ Vaguely, she’s aware of the rumbling of the ground under her feet, a telltale sign of her powers coming out to play, a throng of undead soldiers aching to burst past the earth’s mantle, to await her command. Her face screws up into an expression of anguish, though she forces the feeling down, knowing that if she didn’t reel in her own emotion, her legion of death wouldn’t hesitate to grab every demigod in her vicinity and drag them into the earth, to take their place in the afterlife. Maybe they’d take her, too. Maybe she hoped they would.

The thing about being the daughter of death, was that when a soul left a body and you were near enough to it, you could feel them leaving the mortal plane, accompanied by her father to the underworld. She could feel it, feel him, Luke’s soul leaving his body. She always did, with the campers they lost during the war, but this one hits too close to home. It’s a startling, chilling, terrifying feeling, that only makes her sob harder, knowing the boy she loved was now in her father’s hands, and out of her own. This was always the hardest part. “Take care of him for me, pops,” she whispers, voice trembling, knowing her father was with Luke’s soul right now, the pair watching over her mourning over Luke’s body. As that realization passes over her, she sits up straight, a ragged scream of mourning threatening to tear her vocal cords apart. In the background, she’s vaguely aware of the voice of Percy Jackson speaking,

“We need a shroud. A shroud for the son of Hermes.”

Notes: and with that, we’re done. This was super fun! I feel like I could go on forever about Luke x Grim Reader (I’m calling them deadwings/grimwings), and if there’s enough of a demand, I just might. Feedback is obviously appreciated !! Drink some water, hug a friend, and don’t forget to pirate PJO 🫶

#JAZZ HANDDSS #happy Friday have some soul shattering angst #and for my next trick I’ll disappear into obscurity never to be heard from again #jk #unless???#pjo x reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan angst #luke castellan x you #PJO angst #x reader #PJO imagine

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justagirlwholikesadam · 6 months

Text

The American: Welcome to Hogwarts

Remus Lupin x Fem! American! Reader

Prequel of The American: Welcome Back! -click to read

Summary: Entering their 5th year, Remus and his friends are told of a new student coming to Hogwarts. While dealing with problems of his own, Remus can't help but notice the new transfer student from America.

Warning: slow burn, bullying, issues of self esteem, suicidal thoughts, xenophobia against reader, name calling, the word mud blood is used a lot, very dark content.

A/N:I haven't read the books but I have seen the movies and read a shit ton of fanfic. I'm making stuff up as we go so my plot can work. There are some characters that I thought were real but where made up for fanfics. I hope people don't mind if i add them because i already wrote the chapter. I later found out while googling stuff abt The Marauders. I will be added them and other characters to my story with my own twist. With that being said, don't come for me if this character is doing this and that. Not sure how many chapters I'll be doing, really depends on the feedback. please read the tags before reading. Enjoy -L

Remus found himself staring at the tracks in front of him. His eyes studied the nails and the iron bars of the train tracks. He can hear the horns of the Hogwarts Express blasting indicating it’s near. It drowns out the sounds of the students and their families around him. He looks at the red and black train coming and Remus takes a step forward.

Remus has thought of this a lot before, stepping in front of a train. Trains, buses and cars. Just one leap and it will be over. His fingers tighten over the straps of his bag over his shoulder as he thinks about it more.

A quick death, what a wonderful relief.

He hates having a full moon in the summer when he is away from Hogwarts. He didn’t have any of his friends during that time. They were off on vacation or doing activities with their families and Remus doesn’t have the heart to ask them to come over. His friends have done so much for him. He’s afraid of asking for too much and they will leave him for it. He doesn’t want to be alone.

Remus takes another step forward getting a bit closer to the edge and as he looks ahead. His mouth slightly dropped open when he saw a man standing on the other side of the tracks staring back at him. The man stood there bloody, throat ripped open, slashes across his face and chest. Blood was gushing out from the man’s wound. He wore dark blue trousers and a white ripped collar shirt. The man lifted his hand towards Remus, reaching for him. With his finger, he pointed at Remus as blood dripped down from it. Remus feels the bile coming up his throat when the man try to open his mouth to speak. Blood came pouring out from his mouth and Remus stands there frozen in fear. Remus doesn't see a flash of red running towards him.

“Remus!” He feels a force come at him making him take a step back from the edge of the platform. The train approaches, hiding him away from the bloody man. He felt Lily hug him and Remus shut his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her pulling her into a tight hug. He missed her so much this summer. He didn’t visited her like usual. He couldn’t. He was ashamed of himself. He tries to get rid of the sight of the man he just saw, he continues to hug her. Lily rubbed his back when Remus didn't pull right away.

Lily Evans, was the first friend he made when he came to Hogwarts. She was the first to realize what he was and she was the first to not make him feel bad for being a werewolf. As times passed he was welcome into a group of three boys. They didn’t make him feel bad as well, they had even helped him by becoming animagus and stayed with him through his transformations.

“You haven’t written back to me all summer.” Lily said when they pulled away. The students around them started boarding into the train.

“Forgive me, Lils. Rough summer is all.” Remus said as he grabbed his luggage by his feet along with Lily’s. She gave him a thanks and he just nodded. He wasn’t going to allow her to carry the heavy thing.

Lily and Remus greeted the other students in their year as they walked to their usual compartment. Remus with ease placed the luggage on the top shelf as Lily sat down. Remus sat down with a huff beside her, next to the window, his favorite spot. Lily opened her beige shoulder bag and took out a brown lunch paper bag with the letter R written on it.

“Mom, send you a snack.” Remus smiles as he grabs it from Lily.

“She’s a saint.” Remus said as he opened it, taking a look inside. In separate plastic bags, he saw there were slices of green apples and a jam sandwich cut diagonally. There was even a small juice box.

“Green apple, my favorite.” He comments.

“Ugh, she likes you more than me.” Lily pulled out a bag of baby carrots instead of apples like him. Lily’s mom knew of Remus, he would visit Lily sometimes during break and the summer. Lily’s mom was always happy to see him and even called him a son at one point when he always offered to take out the trash or wash the dishes. Remus thought it was the least he could do since they had him over for dinners. Petunia wasn’t really fond of him, but he didn’t mind her. He ignored the names being aimed at him when he sat across from her during dinner.

Remus chuckles at Lily then he takes the bag of apples out. “I’ll trade.”

“You would really do that for me?” She asked him with a pout.

“Hurry, before I change my mind!” Lily laughs and gives him the bag of baby carrots as she gets the bag of apples.

Remus drops the baby carrots into his brown paper bag, saving them for later. He looked over at Lily when he noticed what she was holding out. He gives her a smile and grabs the slice of apple from her hand.

Quickly putting it in his mouth, he hummed at the sweetness of the apple as he chewed. Lily frowned and stopped mid-bite when she noticed Remus looking out the window. His eyes roaming quickly on the other side of the platform.

“Looking for someone?” Lily asked and Remus looked over at her. He shook his head, telling her nobody.

Lily is eating when Sirius and James come walking in. Remus rises up from his seat to greet his friends. Lily does the same. Remus helps Sirius with his luggage as James sits next to Lily by the door. Sirius sits across from Remus.

He’s listening to Sirius ramble on about his summer, it was another horrid one. His mother had gone mad about tradition with the family. He was a disgrace for being a Gryffindor, but he was even more of a disgrace to his family when they found out Sirius doesn’t agree with the pureblood ideas. James and Lily are talking amongst themselves. Remus and Sirius just gave each a look, James was finally getting on Lily’s good side.

Sirius hits Remus' shoes with his elbow that rested next to him. Remus had quite a growth spurt last year. He had his leg resting on the seat across from him.

“How was your summer, mate?! I sent you a letter, you know?” Sirius' cheeks grow pink and Remus notices it.

“I’m sorry. I did receive it. I had a hard time answering back. Last moon was draining.” Sirius nods at him, understandingly.

“Are you okay now?” He asks Remus. Sirius notices something odd with Remus when he doesn't answer right away. He didn’t like it one bit. Remus was usually cheerful whenever they came back to school.

“Yes, Padfoot.” Remus answers as he leans his head against the window. Sirius decides to not push it and asks Remus about a book he was reading before summer break. He smiles when he sees Remus' whole demeanor change, Remus sat up and excitedly told him about it. The train lets out another sound and a few seconds later. The train began to move then after a few more conversations about Lily and James’ summer. One by one they started to doze off.

Remus was sleeping with his head against the window. His body jiggled softly as the train kept on moving. He scratches his nose when he feels an itch in his sleep. Inhaling deeply, Remus’ eyes shot open when a scent hit him. The scent is new, it didn’t come from his friends. Remus felt a chill down his back, it was a strange feeling. He doesn’t know why he’s smelling it, the full moon has passed already. Why is the lycanthropy still residing in him? Sitting up straight, he looks over at his friends. They are still sleeping, he wonders why Peter isn’t here. They have been taking the same spot in the train for five years now, so Peter couldn’t be lost in finding them.

Remus felt his throat close up when the smell hit him again. He rose up from his seat, taking another sniff in the air. He noticed the door was a bit open. He figured it was Sirius who usually forgets to latch the lock whenever coming back from the restroom.

Remus decides to go to the bathroom and wash his face. He figured he was smelling things because he had a rough summer. He was barely sleeping at home. The nap on the train was the best sleep he had all summer. He shuts the door behind him then looks up and down the hall, it’s empty. The lights of the hallway were lit up, he saw most of the other people had pulled down the curtains for privacy as he walked to the restroom. Remus yawns as he walks inside the restroom and turns on the light. Rubbing his eyes he steps in front of the toilet to relieve himself. Letting out a small moan when finished urinating, he turns his head to the door. That fucking smell is there, he quickly walks to the door. He presses his forehead against it. Remus inhales the scent, it's on the wooden door.

The scent of copper, the scent of a girl.

Remus doesn’t realize at first but he breathes heavily, his forehead is pressed against the door as his right hand touches his chest and drops down to his lower stomach. He fist the sweater he wore on top of his uniform in his hand as he sniffs harder. When his fingers hits the zipper of his trouser, the urge to touch himself came over him. His eyes shot open and he quickly stepped away from the door. He stared at it, scared. This has never happened to him before. A scent that was making him horny, it was new to him.

Remus knows this isn’t him, this has to be Moony. The wolf that resides in him. Moony should be gone by now but he isn’t. He leans against the wall of the bathroom and let's out a sigh. He shook his head as he looked down at his hands, he shut his eyes when he remembered how his hands looked with all that blood. He looks ahead at the mirror and whines when the background changes. He saw himself back again in the woods behind his house.

“Stop it.” He hissed to himself as he looked away and started to push the button of the soap dispenser on the wall.

Turning the hot water all the way up. He ignored the heat of the water as he washed his hands until it was pink and raw. He kept telling himself, he had to scrub it away, wash the blood away. He looks ahead at the mirror and stares at himself. His eyes are staring at the new scar on his face. He hates his appearance, despises it. It’s just a constant reminder of what he is, a monster. His friends tell him differently but Remus knows he’s one. He truly is especially after what he did.

Running his fingers through his hair, damping his sandy brown curls before turning off the light, he walks out of the bathroom. The hallway is still empty, he shuts the door and starts to walk back when he smells it again. His chest started to feel tight and he bit his bottom lip as he turned to face the other side of the hallway.

He’s staring down the hall and he can smell it again.

“Fuck.” He murmured when he saw that part of the train, usually students of House Slytherin, sits in. He steps forward carefully as he looks to the left. Most of the train compartments had the curtains drawn down, he stopped when one of the doors was slightly open. He guessed whoever was in there forgot to use the lock.

‘Another Sirius.’ Remus tells himself as he looks inside. He sees a figure sleeping on the cushion seats, a leg hanging out. He frowns when he notices they wore jeans and sneakers. The person wasn't in uniform like them. Remus hears laughter further down the hall and quickly goes back. Last thing he wants to do is come face to face with a Slytherin. Making it back to his seat, he gently sat back down to not disturbed Lily who was leaning against James. He grabs the brown lunch bag Lily’s mom made for him.

Remus quietly eats his sandwich as he stares out the window, watching the scenery. He never gets tired looking at the mountains and lakes as the train makes its way to Hogwarts.

Shelley Mumps was the one who woke everyone the following morning. Remus had dozed off after eating his sandwich. He jumped out of his sleep when Shelley slid the door open with such force.

“What happened?” James said in a sleepy voice as she shut the door and sat beside Sirius waking him up.

“There's a transfer student. She's in our year.” Shelley said, looking at them.

“Cool, can we go back to sleep?” Sirius said getting himself comfortable again against the wall.

"She's American.” She added. Remus frowns. “They allow Americans in Hogwarts?” He questioned.

“ Apparently because she’s here. Some of us saw her walking down the hallway. She was staring out the window. You should have seen the clothes she was wearing.” Shelley laughs and Remus looks away from her.

Lily just sighs at her friend. “What do you mean by that, Shelley?”

“She had ripped holes in her jeans and her shoes looked dirty. She had this shirt with this ugly green army jacket. She looks homeless.” Sirius was awake now and looked at Remus who kept quiet and stared out the window.

“I'm sure, it wasn't that bad.” James said, clearing his throat as he sat up straight in his seat.

“Oh please. The train is stopping soon. You’ll see her.” Shelley said before waving bye at them.

“Tell me why you are still friends with her?” Remus asks softly, looking over at Lily.

“I have too, I share a dormitory with her.” Lily said, grabbing her bag as they felt the train stopped.

They quickly got up and started to get their belongings. The students lined up and walked out the train. “Let's see if we can catch a glimpse of this girl.” Sirius tells Remus and James as Lily waved bye at them to find her other friends.

Remus walked behind them as they walked to the waiting carriages. Leaving their trunks and luggage behind, they sat down. Remus looks around but has no luck in finding this ‘homeless girl.’ The carriages make it to the gates and they step down to walk towards the school, it was a five minute walk.

“Peter!” James exclaimed and Remus looked over to see his friend walking towards them.

“I missed the bloody train! My parents were furious. They had to drop me off.” Peter said with a sigh. Sirius and Remus shook their heads, Peter had a tendency of being late. They welcomed Peter with a hug.

“Did you hear the news?” Sirius asked.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Shelley gave me the full details on the new girl.”

They walked together to the castle when they noticed a group of students standing by.

“Oi!” James yells and a Ravenclaw boy, named Hems in their year, turns around. “What's going on?”

“The American is with Hagrid.” Hems tells them as they get closer. Remus looked ahead to see.

“Is she daft? What's she petting?” Remus hears another student ask.

“Her name is-.” Someone said your name and Remus thinks it’s a nice name. He continues to look at you, trying to get a good look at your face.

He can see Hagrid talking to you with a smile as you kept petting at the air but Remus can see the thestral you were petting. He could see its leathery wings flap for a second before circling around you making you giggle. Shelley was blowing your appearance out of proportion but it was exactly what he expected from a pureblood. He looks at you and he thinks your smile is pretty, that's what he noticed first about you. He looks at your clothes. You look casual. You look like a regular muggle, it reminded him of the outfit Sirius usually wears whenever going out to a muggle place. The green army jacket is a bit big on you. You wore a black shirt and blue ripped jeans.

The thestral rubbed its head against your bookbag, you wore and Hagrid shooed the thestral away from you when it started to nibble on your bag making you laugh loudly.

“What is she laughing at?” A student asked loudly.

“You idiot, it's thestral.” Remus looks over and notices Severus with a group of Slytherins standing by. He was glaring at you as he answered. Remus noticed Hagrid leaning down to tell you something. You turn to face them and Remus sees your face for a second. Your eyes widened by the sight of them and quickly looked away before he could get a good look at you.

“Two galleons, I’ll have her in bed by the end of the week.” Remus noticed an older student from House Ravenclaw speak out. Remus rolls his eyes when the group of students around him starts to snicker and begin to place their bets on you. He watches you walk away with Hagrid towards the school.

“James? Sirius?” The guy said, looking over at them.

“No, mate. I’m good.” James said before signaling his friends to keep walking. Remus doesn't want any part of it either.

Sirius stops in mid step when one of them starts to laugh and yells out, “The American probably has diseases. You know they are sluts.”

“15 galleons says she doesn't sleep with you.” Sirius said, making them stop laughing and look at him in disbelief at the amount of money he was placing.

“You're on, Black.”

Remus, James and Peter waited for Sirius to finish when he saw Severus and his friends walking away. James just glared at Severus and the long, dark haired boy did the same to James.

“You really think she won't sleep with him?” Peter asked as they continued to make their way to the castle.

“You have to be Shelley to sleep with them. I doubt she's like her.” Sirius said, shaking his head.

Settling back down in Hogwarts was easy for Remus. He missed his bed and being around his friends. The atmosphere was different from back home. He wasn't alone, in Hogwarts he was surrounded by students, professors, and even ghosts.

Getting ready for dinner, he spoke to Sirius about another book he got. Remus was fond of Sirius and even though they both came from completely different backgrounds. They were best friends. Sirius was the second person to figure out what he was. Remus had cried in front of him when he figured it out. Sirius didn't speak while Remus told him that he would understand if he didn't want to be friends anymore. Sirius just hugged him tightly. Hugged him until he calmed down.

“You’re ridiculous. If you think, I'm going to stop being your best friend, mate.” Sirius spoke out after a few minutes.

‘We’ll figure something out to help you. I promise.”

Remus didn't believe it at first but when James and Peter figured it out he told them the truth. The three managed to become animagi behind his back and showed Remus when they accomplished it. He never felt so accepted before. They supported Remus during his transformations and mood swings when the full moon was near. They accompanied him in their animagi form to the Shrieking Shack then later carried him to Poppy Pomfrey.

He was forever grateful for them. He really was so when he got too deep in his head and started thinking about dying and ending himself. He thinks of them. He thinks of Sirius, Peter, James and Lily. He thinks of his mom as well.

He thinks about the time his mom would bath him when he was too hurt. She would feed him, dress him when he couldn’t move. His mother changed completely during the recent summer. She couldn’t look him in the eye and it broke him. His father who treated him differently already barely said a word.

‘Oi!” Remus was deep in thought when James caught his attention.

“You okay, Moony?” James said, walking towards him. They were in their dorm room, putting their stuff away when James saw Remus laying on the bed with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, Prongs.” James nods and sits beside him on the bed. Remus pushes himself up and holds himself by the elbows.

“You know I wrote to you this summer. Like four times.” James said softly as Peter and Sirius were in the bathroom freshening up to go to dinner.

“I know. I just-.” Remus feels James' eyes on him. “I don't know.” Remus lied.

“Everything okay at home?” James whispered in a concerned tone, he knew about his life at home. Remus nods as Peter and Sirius come out of the bathroom laughing about something.

“Ready to eat?” Peter asked as they put on their robes.

“Yes!” Remus said getting out of bed, he looked over his shoulder to meet James' gaze who was still sitting down and staring at him. He did not believe Remus for a second. James drops it because he knows Remus hates being the center of attention so he drops it for now and says yes to Peter.

Remus finds himself looking for you at the great hall but he can’t. He keeps his head down and listens to James and Lily talking in front of them as Sirius is talking with Marlene. Peter is next to him, trying to ignore Shelly who was talking about her summer. He was more interested in what's for dinner.

“Welcome Students! Back for another year with us. I do hope everyone had a good summer.” Remus sighs as he looks down at the empty plate in front of him. The headmaster Dumbledore makes a few announcements about classes and a new teacher who will be teaching D.A.D.A.

“Lastly, it gives me great pleasure to introduce a new student that will be joining us,-.” Dumbledore announces your full name and Remus repeats it in his head. He remembers your smile. It was so genuine, no one smiled like that to thestrals.

“She’s from America, boys and girls. She will be studying with us. I want everyone to give her a warm welcome.” Remus looked up from his plate and looked over at the doors of the hall when it opened. He saw you wearing their uniform on. You stood next to Hagrid who urged you to walk inside.

Remus claps along with his friends as you walk to Dumbledore and McGonagall, who had the sorting hat ready for you.

“She looks like she's going to throw up.” Remus hears a Slytherin ahead of him joke. While you walked up the steps and sat down on the stool, facing everyone. Your eyes were looking down when McGonagall placed the hat on your head.

The sorting hat hums as it rests on top of your head.

“I feel it, young one. Don't you?” Remus saw you looking over at Dumbledore with a frightened look. McGonagall nods at you, easing your worries. You look down at the ground once more and your hands clasped on top of your lap.

“Difficult choice, indeed.” The hat says.

“A fighter!” The sorting hat yells, making everyone whisper.

“A protector!” Remus noticed the look on Dumbledore's face.

“Oh- my, that is-.” The hall quieted down when the hat stopped in mid sentence.

“I know now! I see it!” The sorting hat crackled loudly.

“Slytherin!” Remus saw you lift your face to look ahead and Remus thought you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He took notes of your nose and lips. Your eyes and the way you looked so nervous made him feel bad.

He looked away from you when the hall started to applause. McGonagall was kind enough to show you where the table was. You looked down at your uniform when you noticed the color had changed.

He peeks between Lily and James and sees you picked the farthest empty seat from the table. He can see you take a deep breath as you look at the silverware in front of you when you sit down.

Shelley is sniggering with an older student from Gryffindor who is sitting beside her.

“What's so funny?” James asked. “She probably doesn't know what a fork is? Don't Americans eat with their hands?” The boy asked James.

“That’s fucked up, lad.” Sirius says, eyeing him.

“Look ahead, she's using them just fine.” Lily snaps before looking down to eat her food. Remus looks over and notices you have begun to eat as well. It was quiet after that, Remus ate and only looked over when he took a sip of his juice. They ignore the others who keep making jokes are your expense. They spoke about your hair and how you looked. Some thought you were hot while others thought you were ugly.

Sirius noticed how Remus was quiet. It was pretty normal for Remus to be quiet. Quiet Remus, who only speaks when spoken too but right now it was different. Sirius felt his best friend’s vibe completely off right then and there.

Remus had different sides of him. He can be so quiet then be very cheerful and make jokes. Until the full moon comes, he becomes cranky and snappy. Sirius stabs his chicken with his fork as he looks at Remus. There’s a new scar on his face and Sirius doesn’t have the courage to ask him about it. Especially since he saw how Remus acted when asked why he hadn't responded to his letter. Something must have happened during the summer, Sirius thinks to himself.

He noticed Remus looking over when he took a drink. He followed his gaze and landed on you. Sirius does a double take when he sees his younger brother Regulus walking towards you with his plate in his hands along with his cup.

Regulus flashes you a smile. “Oh fuck!” A Gryffindor from the table whispered.

Regulus sits down across from you. “You ok?” Remus whispers when he sees it.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be? He’s with his kind.” Sirius says to Remus but he doesn’t believe that Sirius can just be okay. Remus knows the complicated relationship that Sirius had with his younger brother.

It was a few minutes later when Regulus and you stood up. Plates are empty and Remus watches as you pick up the empty plate.

“What is she doing?” A boy from the Hufflepuff table behind them says catching their attention and the voices in the hall become quiet.

“Do we have to wash it?” It was a simple question that you asked. Remus gets annoyed at the fact that you get laughed out by the Slytherin table when you ask Regulus.

Regulus shoots them a glare and shakes his head at you before telling you that there was no need. You can leave your plate there and the elves will get it and clean it.

“Elves?” You frowned, and your eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“Like a Santa's elf?” Remus hasn’t heard the word Santa since he was a kid.

Regulus tilts his head at you, he’s confused now.

“She’s half blood then?” Remus hears the table start throwing ideas of what your blood is.

“What the fuck is a Santa?” Sirius whispered to James then looked at Remus when James shrugged his shoulders.

“Are you sure that she’s in the right grade if she thinks Santa is real?” Someone asked loudly and people began to laugh.

It had gotten to the point that the laughter behind Remus started to get to him. He didn’t find it funny at all that they were making fun of you. He wondered what did you know about magic, perhaps you didn’t know anything at all. His guess had to be that you were muggle born but he keeps it to himself because if he was right about you being a muggle born then you will have a difficult time, especially in house Slytherin.

He knows what it feels like to be made fun of and he hates it. He gets bullied for his scar face. He gets bullied because he’s quiet. He gets bullied because he’s poor.

He sees Regulus walking out with you from the great hall. He leaves a few minutes after saying he had a headache but he just didn’t want to hear the comments they were making. He decided to go to sleep early that night.

He was glad he had a dreamless sleep. He didn’t dream about the man. It was morning and he saw you again walking with a younger student from your house to the great hall. Remus walks in with Peter and he sighs when he sees Shelly and Marlene there already, eating. He didn’t mind Marlene at all, she was kind and reminded him of the female version of Sirius. She was spunky and played quidditch with James and Sirius.

“Morning, guys.” Remus greets them and sits down. While a Ravenclaw girl ahead of them rises up from her seat and runs to Shelley.

“You won’t believe what I just heard!” The girl said to Shelley.

“The American slept in the bathroom on her first night here. Her roommates are telling everyone. They heard her crying.” Shelley and the girl began to laugh.

Marlene looks at the girls. “I don’t find that funny. She probably misses her home.”

“Oh come on, Marlene.” Shelley said, waving her hand dismissing Marlene’s words.

Before she can say anything James and Lily along with Sirius came in. “Morning.” They greeted their friends.

“I’m not ready for classes.” James sighs as he sits down.

“Guys, Penelope just told me that -.” Remus finally cracks and cuts her off when he slams his hand on the table loudly and looks over at her.

“Would you shut up already? Enough making fun of the new girl.” He said and Shelley grows red from embarrassment of his sudden outburst.

“You feel bad for nasty foreigners?” The Ravenclaw girl, Penelope asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I feel bad for anyone that has to deal with tossers like the both of you!” Remus said, looking at her and Shelley. He stood up from his seat ignoring James and Sirius calling out for him. He walks out the doors and goes back to his room. He paces around the room, coming to terms on what he just said to Shelly and the other girl. He felt bad for calling them that name but he just got so angry.

How can people make fun of other people suffering, he asks himself. He had lost count on how many times he’s cried himself to sleep during his first year coming to Hogwarts. Being alone and afraid that someone will find out his wolf secret. He checks the clock on the nightstand and notices it's almost time for his first class. He grabs his books from his trunk and hopes he doesn’t see Shelley or the other girl.

He started to grow worried as he walked to class that Lily would be angry at him for calling her friend a wanker. He was surprised when Lily hugged him when they saw each other for the third class of the day.

“I can’t believe her!” Lily told him when she unwrapped her arms from him.

“Don’t tell anymore but sometimes I get homesick. I’m in tears in the tub.” She admits to him.

“You know how I feel about bullies.” Remus tells her and she nods at him knowing all too well about bullies. She was a victim like him, she was bullied heavily in her first year for being a muggle-born and sometimes even now.

When lunch began he was walking with Peter who didn’t say much about the incident and Remus was grateful for it. They talked about their class they had last period. As he walks in he sees you sitting with the same younger student. You were smiling and so was the kid.

The kid had a book open in front of you and Remus smiles at your choice of writing utensil. You were using a pen instead of a quill and you were writing down on a regular notebook instead of parchment paper.

The kid kept talking while you nodded and wrote frantically.

Everything seems to be going well, Shelley had decided to eat with her friend, Penelope at the other table. James and Sirius came soon into the hall talking enthusiastically about quidditch.

“Guys! Guys!” Remus flinched when a group of Hufflepuff students came beside him and stared ahead at the Slytherin table.

Remus looks ahead as well to see what all the fuss is about. Lance, from house Ravenclaw is in his last year and everyone knows him for being a bully. He was pure-blooded so he thought everyone who wasn’t was beneath him. He usually picks on the muggle born and the half bloods from any house. Of course no one interfered because they didn’t want to get bullied as well. Lance’s blue eyes widen as he walks into the great hall and makes his way to the kid sitting across from you.

“He’s such a twat for always picking on Ruben.” The Hufflepuff next to him tells the group.

“Ruben is the kid?” Sirius asks and they all nod as Lance gets behind Ruben and pulls on his hair making him yelp. Remus has never seen someone's eyes grow hard so quickly. The smile you had on disappeared. The hall grows quiet when you stand up from your seat.

“Get the fuck away from him.” It was not usual for Lance to have someone stand up to him. He was caught by surprise from your words.

“What did you say?” Lance said with a disbelief chuckle.

“Get. The. Fuck. Away. From. Him.” The great hall is quiet and Remus noticed a few teachers had risen up from their seats when they noticed what was going on.

“What’s going on here?” McGonagall had walked towards the table and stared at Lance then at you.

“Nothing, Professor McGonagall. Just having a chat with my friend Ruben.” Lance said, taking a step back while still staring at you.

Ruben was almost in tears by the whole thing. Professor McGonagall walks Lance back to his table.

“She just placed a death mark on herself.” One of the Hufflepuff near Remus said, shaking his head. Lance was staring daggers at you and you kept your eyes on him showing no fear, just hate. You didn’t take your eyes away from him until he sat down and spoke with his friends.

“You might just win your bet. She got balls.” James says, turning back around to Sirius who turned as well to continue on with his meal.

“What bet?” Lily asked the boys and they got quiet real fast. James being whipped for Lily ratted them out and she shook her head, telling Sirius how horrible that is.

“I betted that she won't sleep with anyone, Lily!” The redhead girl shook her head as Marlene copied her. Remus kept silent as he glanced over the table and saw you grabbing Ruben’s bag. You and the kid started to walk out of the great hall after collecting your things.

He was surprised when he saw you walking inside the classroom. You were a few minutes late for charms class. The professor grabbed the slip from your hands and pointed at an empty seat in the back. Remus almost drops the quill in his hand as you pass him to sit on his row. Remus usually stayed in the back because he was tall. A Hufflepuff girl, Nancy sat in the middle between you and him.

In the corner of his eyes he noticed you had taken out the same book as before and a pen.

The Charm professor called out your name as he walked towards you. The student laughed when he told you that there is no pen and notebooks allowed only quill and parchment paper.

“I’m sorry. Mr. Robinson. I‘m still learning how to use the feather thing.” You told him, looking up at him.

“First, it’s called a quill and you're a witch now so you better start learning fast how to use it. Second of all, it’s Professor Robinson. Things are different here, Miss.”

“Yes, Professor Robinson.” Remus looks away by the tone of your voice. You sounded so defeated. Professor Robinson walks away and continues with his lesson. Nancy leans over to you when you grab the quill from your bag and the ink.

“Hold it like this.” She whispered to you showing you how to handle your quill properly.

Remus goes back to write his notes, he hoped you realize not everyone in this school were mean. There were some students who were kind. Throughout the class, his eyes would glance over Nancy to you.

After class Remus walks to the Gryffindor common room. Making it inside, he heard chattering and looked over to see Lily and Mary Macdonald.

“Hey, Remus!” Lily said, waving him to come over towards them. They were sitting on the couch by the fireplace. Remus sits on the other side as Mary hands him a box of chocolates they were eating. His eyes widened and they giggled at his expression.

Lily chuckles when Remus is wiggling his fingers trying to decide which one to take. James and Sirius came with their Quidditch uniforms on. Lily frowned when she saw them walking towards them.

“I thought you guys had practice?” Lily asked and Remus looked over at them with a frown when they didn’t say anything. The guys just looked at each other for a brief moment.

“Oh fuck, Sirius have nothing to say. It must be bad.” Mary said, trying to lighten up the mood but James and Sirius didn’t say anything. They sat on the couch across from them instead.

“They canceled practice.” James said and Lily glanced over at Remus. It had to be more, James would be in tears if practice was canceled. He took quidditch very seriously.

“Why?” Remus asked, grabbing another chocolate from the box. Sirius takes a deep breath.

“The word is going around that the new girl is muggle born.”

‘Shit.’ Remus says to himself. He was right.

“She didn't know what it meant, they asked her about her parents and she told them they weren’t wizards. Those snakes dragged her by the feet to the quidditch field and slimed her while chanting mud blood.” Sirius said. Lily and Mary dropped their mouths open in shock. Sirius and James glance at each other. They were famous for their pranks. Being slimed in the field was a good idea but they didn’t like how you began to cry and how confused you looked about the whole thing.

“Never seen Professor McGonagall look so mad before. She started yelling.” James said, leaning back on the couch crossing his arms over his chest.

“Did you see the new girl?” Lily asked and James nodded. “Yeah, the other professors had to help her off the field.”

“Blimey.” Remus mumbled as the door of the common room burst open and Shelly walked in laughing with a group of students. Remus rolls his eyes when he hears your name being whispered. This year was going to be rough, he tells himself while popping the piece of chocolate in his mouth.

#remus lupin x reader #slow burn #remus lupin fanfiction #harry potter remus lupin #the marauders #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #young remus lupin #young remus x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #james potter #sirius black #peter pettigrew #lily evans #please read tags #the american: welcome back #harry potter has a aunt

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months

Text

andar conmigo ~ part 15

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline/fic- Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle ~ You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you...Your old flame don John does not like this at all. Warnings: angst, survivor's trauma, smut, FLUFF chapter map

-You stay together for a few days in the hotel in town to recover from your ordeal. Burns, Paul’s slashed arm, a possible concussion, raw scrapes at your wrists and ankles, and the lacerations upon your back that you feel sharply every time you move. A persistent cough dogs you without mercy, your lungs raw from smoke and the pure heat you’d endured in the inferno.

Anjélica is able to slip away once to check on you. She tells you that Las Nubes has fallen into chaos. No body was ever recovered from the ruins of the house, but it was such an inferno that there’s no conceivable possibility don Juan survived. You hug your sister tearfully, certain you’ll never be able to return to your childhood home again. You do not know how your misadventure will pan out for the rest of your family, living in the shadow of the Aragóns.

When doña Maria sends a representative to your door to make noises about murder and arson, you tell them you’ll be glad to tell the world in court about what depraved things her son Juan Aragón y Espinosa did to you. The papers will eat up every sordid detail. To people like the Aragóns, saving face is everything. It would be their worst nightmare.

They went away, and you haven’t heard from them again.

You are sure they will rebuild, and the winery will go on, eventually under Juan’s younger brother, Pedro, who has been away at school.

You have mixed feelings about Juan’s death.

A part of you mourns the loss of your childhood companion. The more logical part of you insists that there was nothing left of that boy in the prideful monster Juan became. He fully intended to destroy you for the sake of his own ego, one way or another. He left you to die, and you should feel nothing for him.

You always thought you would have been burned as a witch in an earlier century.

You never imagined it was a fate you might actually face in the present time, had your sister, Paul, and the Veterans, bless them all, not banded together to save you.

Now you and Paul have harrowing nightmares about your pasts, together. You cling to each other at night in your little room, taking turns soothing the other.

What a pair you make.

Paul helps change the dressings upon your shoulders. Some of it will heal, but you will be scarred for the rest of your life by what Juan did. You watch Paul work in the mirror, see the dismay upon his handsome features as he peels back your bandages. The wretched words fall from your lips before you can stop them: “Am I ugly?”

His touch upon you freezes for a moment, taken aback by the vehemence of your outburst.

You’re afraid that’s your answer, until he asks a question back: “Do you think my scar is ugly?”

He surely means the long raised cicatrice that stretches the entire length of his abdomen, a souvenir from war shrapnel that nearly took his life in France. You turn in his arms on the bed to look at it, for he is shirtless behind you, only wearing blue-striped boxer shorts and a bandage around his upper arm, every inch your battered war-hero. Your heart is filled with so much love you fear it might explode, and you climb into his lap with your arms around his shoulders.

“Of course not,” you answer without falter.

“Why not?” His hands on your waist anchor you, pulling you closer. There’s no where you feel safer, as though finally you’ve found the place where you belong. You cup his face in your hands, tracing those high cheekbones with your thumbs. His eyes are liquid pools filled with so much earnest yearning–this man is so good, so valiant, so true, and you don’t know what you did to deserve him.

“Because…I love every part of you, Paul Sutton. I love you.” Realizing the magnitude of this admission, you start to cry, but then somehow, you start to laugh too, ducking to hide in the bend of his neck “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” he asks through his own tears and laughter, flummoxed by joy and squeezing you carefully in his strong arms.

“For…everything. For being me. For what happened. For getting you involved–”

He effectively shuts you up with his mouth on yours, a bone-melting kiss that renders you soft and pliant in his arms. “I wouldn’t trade you for anything,” he insists with his forehead pressed to yours. “I would only change…that you got hurt.”

You’ve never really talked about Juan’s demise, and the parts the two of you played in it. You find that your only remorse in that moment…is that you have no remorse.

You kiss him again, a lingering lock of lips that feels like offering up a piece of your soul to this man. You feel him smiling against your mouth, and for the umpteenth time you think your heart will burst.

“Will you say it again?” he asks, so shyly with such a sparkle in his dark eyes. He is breathtaking beyond words, and in that moment you don’t know how you haven’t told him, every day and every hour.

You never told him what you said to Juan to earn the worst part of your thrashing–you never intend to, you know he would just feel guilty, and that is not a weight you intend to lay on his shoulders, when he already carries so much. But you know what you said that night is true. This man owns you–in the way two puzzle pieces meet, or a lock that has finally found its long lost key–and incredibly…you are fine with that now. There is a freedom in this acceptance of the truth that makes you absolutely giddy inside.

“I love you.” You say it again, and again, between kisses and running your hands over his form you adore so well. He shudders as your nails graze his scalp and your hips press into his, finding him at full attention between you. Suddenly what little clothing you’re wearing is too much between you. Yet he catches your hands when you reach for the buttons of his shorts.

“Sweetheart…I want to,” he sighs raggedly. “I want you so much, but you’re hurt, and I–”

You kiss him again, merciless in your sudden need to devour him whole and lick the bones clean. It’s amazing, how desire acts as such an effective painkiller. “I’ll be fine. I will not be fine, if I can’t have you inside me.”

He laughs, that beautiful, unassuming sound that fills you with sunlight. “Honey…”

“Come here.” He lets you–of course he lets you, you could not budge this strapping man without his cooperation–nudge him over until he can lay back on the bed, and you can straddle his hips. As you undo his buttons you can tell Paul is fighting a war with himself, torn between need and worry. Taking off your brassiere helps slightly–you can’t help but grin with a bit of wickedness as a small sound escapes him, looking up at you.

“Y/n…”

“I’m alright,” you tell him gently. “Because of you. Let me thank you.” You feel the burn in your back, the sharp ache as you stretch your skin to lean down to press your lips to his scar, but you have no intention of stopping.

“You don’t need to thank me…” His breath hitches, his fingers tangling in your hair as you brush the velvety tip of his manhood with your chin

“I want to. I want to be close to you.”

That much he agrees with, and you watch him nod, eyes half-lidded, before taking him into your mouth.

Though he clearly loves it, his head thrown back into the bedclothes, he only lets you savor him for a little while before he tugs gently on your hair, urging you up, needing you too, guiding you with those big hands on your hips until you are sinking onto his thick length, and the both of you see stars.

“Go slow,” he cautions you sheepishly. “Or I’ll lose it.”

You are so pent up with desire and emotion that you know you won’t last long either. You savor the delicious stretch of him inside you, riding him slowly with your breasts in your hands, his thumb on your ripe little clit driving you mad. He brings you like the sun cresting the horizon, a warm and bright pleasure that fills your center and spreads through your bones. You know he holds on by a thread as your greedy cunt milks every last drop of golden ecstasy from him, his strong fingers digging into your hips with a moan. Breathless, you take mercy on him, uncoupling to take him in your mouth once more. The taste of him spilling upon your tongue is divine–his throaty moans the most wonderful sound.

With a satisfied sigh you curl up beside him, resting your cheek on his ribs, shuddering for his featherlight fingers tracing over your hair, careful of your shoulders. That disbelieving laughter you love so much draws your attention back up to him, finding him looking down at you with so much joy shining in those lovely dark eyes.

Not for the first time, you think he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you answer with a smile, and in that happy moment you know you are equally blessed and ruined.

The latter, you are finally ready to accept with an open heart.

___

epilogue to follow...

#paul sutton #paul sutton x reader #a walk in the clouds #paul sutton x you #paul sutton x y/n #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #andar conmigo paul sutton fic #don john x reader #don john #don john x you

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throneofsmut · 10 months

Text

Bound In Flames - Part 1

Eris Vanserra x Archeron-Sister-Reader || WC: 2.2k || Hunting & Animal Death

Summary: Feyre and her younger sister go hunting in the forest behind their family’s cottage and go through life changing experiences.

A/N : This series is inspired by one of my kinktober fics with Eris and I have no idea where this is gonna go. So it’ll still be based on acotar but i’ll be putting my own twist on the plot. And just a heads up i haven’t reread acotar in like a year and a half or written anything like this in a couple years so i really hope you guys like it.

****

The sun was going to dip below the horizon soon. Feyre and you had ventured deeper into the woods today. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Our footsteps were muffled by a layer of fallen snow as we continued tracking a deer, the first one we’d seen in a while. Winter had made game scarce and we weren’t about to go home empty handed. Not when we were so hungry.

Feyre's bow was securely clutched in her hands, an arrow nocked while you had two daggers clutched in yours. Moving quietly and swiftly knowing there was a good chance you weren’t the only ones out here. Even though there was a treaty made between the humans and fae, neither of you were allowed to go over the other’s side of the wall, but the fae still did.

And right now Feyre and you both knew how dangerously close you were to their side of the wall.

Suddenly, the doe you were following came to a stop in a clearing. Drinking from a puddle of snow that had surely melted only hours ago. Feyre and you stopped, both standing behind tall thick trees that were only a couple feet apart. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Then a branch snapped and the doe snapped its head up in the direction it came from. Neither one of you moved, tense minutes passed and the deer went back to drinking. Our gazes locked, sharing a moment of silent understanding. Feyre nodded, lifting her bow, nocking the arrow again. Her blue-grey eyes gleaming with starving determination, while you shifted your grip on your ash wood hilted daggers.

The both of you take a small breath, Feyre preparing to let her arrow fly true and you now pinching the bladed tips of your daggers. Feeling your sister’s eyes on you, you gave a small nod and she let her arrow find its home in the doe’s throat. And it fell. You hated the next part, always had but it had to be done.

Readying your daggers to finally cease the doe’s movements, knowing they would hit their mark but just before you let them go, you hesitated. Feeling someone--no not someone--something watching you. There on the other side of the clearing you could barely make out its form, but golden eyes meet yours. At your hesitation Feyre followed your line of sight.

Then it was moving on large silent paws, a massive wolf stared at you. This wolf couldn’t just be a normal wolf, it had to be fae by the sheer size of it alone. Feyre nocked her bow once again with the single ash wood arrow she had. Hearing your sister’s bow drawn taut you lift your hand again stopping her, cocking your head to the side sizing up the wolf, to your surprise it matched your movement.

With hearts pounding in sync, you heard Feyre steady her breath, readying her arrow to find its home in the wolf. Unconsciously mirroring your sister you readjusted your hold on your daggers. Time seemed to slow as the wolf and you locked eyes, the forest around you fading into the background.

In one swift motion, Feyre pulled back the bowstring before letting go, her muscles taut with anticipation as it cut through the crisp air. You lunged forward, your dagger glinting in the fading light. The wolf lunged as well, teeth bared, its growls reverberating through your bones. But, Feyre's arrow found its mark, piercing the creature's side. Your dagger followed suit, slashing through the air with precision. Finding its mark in its throat.

The wolf yelped in pain, its powerful limbs faltering. Feyre and you stood your ground, eyes locked on the wounded wolf. You had faced countless challenges together, but this was a moment that would forever bind you as sisters, and you didn’t even know it.

And as the wolf's final breaths were escaping its jaws, you took slow steps toward it, until you could kneel in front of it. Its gaze locked with yours and it almost looked relieved. Lifting your hand towards the side of its large head, “Don’t," Feyre breathed.

“It’s okay.” You whispered more for the wolf than your sister, your hand pressed against the soft fur. Repeating yourself again, “It’s okay.” As you petted the side of its face. You knew for certain they were fae and without knowing why, you wanted to comfort them as much as you could in these last moments. “You won’t leave this world alone.” You rasped out low enough so Feyre wouldn’t hear you, you weren’t sure if the wolf did either until it pressed its head further into your palm.

With your free hand you gripped the hilt of your dagger that was still in its throat and moved closer so its head was laid on your lap. Your other hand was still pressed against the side of its face as you placed a kiss atop its head, “I’m so sorry.” Taking a shaky breath as you readied to pull the dagger out, “Cauldron save you. Mother hold you. Pass through the gates, and smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no evil. Fear no pain.” Voice wavering as you white knuckled the dagger now, “Go, and enter eternity.” The wolf took one last shallow breath and as it exhaled you pulled your dagger out.

Its chest didn’t rise again.

Wordlessly you stood up moving to the doe. It took you longer than usual to prepare it to drag it back to your family’s cottage. The unshed tears welled up in your eyes making your vision blurry. Just as you were getting ready to heft it over your shoulders to make the long trek home you heard Feyre approaching you. Turning to face her, you shuddered, noticing the wolf’s fur slung across her shoulders “It would’ve been a shame to leave the wolf and you know it.” She tried to reason with you for skinning the wolf.

You shook your head as you let out a grunt against the doe’s weight as you hoisted it over your shoulders.

“Here let me.” Feyre said as she reached for the doe.

“I got it. Go.” Your voice was harsher than you intended it to be. She looked at you with furrowed brows before starting to walk. Only making it a couple feet when she paused, sparing a final glance at the steaming carcass of the wolf.

Looking at you over her shoulder, letting out a sigh, “I wish I had it in me to feel remorse for the dead thing. But this is the forest, and it’s winter.” Scoffing as you moved to go around her but she stopped you, “What is wrong with you? It’s just an animal.”

Narrowing your eyes at her, “No. It’s not and we both know it.”

“So what if it was a faerie, it was going to kill us. We should be happy it was alone and we killed it.” She argued, “You know where we are, what’s out here, so why are you making a big deal out of this?”

“A life is a life.” Your voice was sharp as you tried to make your point, “And just because it was alone doesn’t mean, someone isn’t going to come looking for them.” Her face paled at your words, “So yeah, it is a big deal.”

When you went to walk around her this time, she didn’t stop you. The sun had set by the time you both exited the forest. Knees shaking, your hands stiff from clenching the legs of the deer, which had gone numb miles ago. Not even the carcass could ward off the deepening chill of the winter air.

Your family’s cottage was now in view, soft light escaping the shuttered windows of the dilapidated cottage. Trudging up the path leading to the front door, Feyre stopped you about halfway, “How did you know that prayer?”

Holding her gaze as you schooled your face into an unreadable mask, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She folded her arms across her chest, eyes flickering between yours, trying to find an answer in them.

Feyre let out a defeated sigh, “You know you can trust me, right? Since we were little, I knew you were different and I never said anything because you’re my sister and I love you.” You stiffened as you registered the full weight of her words. “I noticed it more when we first started to hunt. You could hear, smell and--and just sense things that I couldn’t. I know you know things that I don’t but I need to know that you know I love you and that you’ll always be my sister.” You swallowed thickly before nodding.

You just stood there as she took the deer off your shoulders and walked inside the cottage. Mind racing as you thought to every slip up you’d had without realizing it. How could you tell her that you weren’t really her sister let alone human.Taking a couple breaths to steady yourself before walking into the cottage.

As soon as you crossed the threshold Feyre's eyes found yours. Looking around the room you saw your father by the fire as always and your sisters looked like they were about to pounce on Feyre. Nesta and Elain were hungrily eyeing the doe she had set on the wooden table. Feyre gave you a pained but gentle smile as she rolled up her sleeves, “Go wash up, I’ll prep the deer.” You opened your mouth but quickly shut it, settling for a nod before turning to the room your and you sisters shared.

When you finished bathing you got dressed and headed to the small kitchen that joined the small living room. From the looks of it the food was halfway done as you approached Feyre, “Go wash up. I’ll finish it.” She nodded and you moved to finish roasting the venison. Elain and Nesta tried to grab a piece but you swatted their hands away, “You're worse than children.”

Elain whined, holding a hand to her belly, “But I’m so hungry!”

Rolling your eyes as you turned to look at her, “Get the plates and set the table.” She was still eyeing the venison, “Now, Elain!” She huffed stomping away. Then you noticed your oldest sister inching closer, “Nesta, go help her.”

She crossed her arms over her chest before sneering at you, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

You were the only one that was never intimidated by her, so turning your body to fully face hers, giving her a wicked smile, “Then you won’t eat.”

She tried to pin you with her gaze, letting her anger show but she always forgot that while she was angry you were the embodiment of rage. And unlike her you could back it up. Whenever money and food was really scarce you'd go to a tavern on the other side of the wall known for fights. It wasn't hard for your family to put it together when you'd come back days later with some coin and bloody, bruised knuckles. Sometimes a busted lip or a cut eyebrow, but they never knew it was over the wall.

So you gave a pointed glance at her fists that were now clenched at her sides, “Do it. . . or go help Elain set the table.” Turning back around to watch the venison, she stood there for a minute before going to help Elain.

Feyre came back out as you were about to plate up the food. She sat and you filled her plate first and then yours father’s, Elain’s, yours and finally Nesta’s. As always dinner was tense, Nesta always tried to argue with Feyre or you. Tonight Feyre was her target.

They were arguing over money after Feyre had said she and you were going to go to the market to try to sell the wolf’s pelt and the doe’s hide. Like always you tuned them out as they argued not caring to waste your breath on deaf ears. Until Feyre was calling your name.

“Y/n!”

“What?”

“Tell Nesta she’s not gonna marry Tomas Mandray.”

Sliding your gaze to your eldest sister, “Fuck no, you’re not gonna marry him.”

Elain’s voice cut in, “But if it’s a love match, why shouldn’t they?”

Your eyes were still glued to Nesta’s as you grit out, “No. It’s not. You and I both know it.” You directed at Nesta.

Nesta looked away and stared at her now empty plate. You kept your eyes on her for a few moments longer before meeting Feyre’s. Her eyebrow arched in silent question, you shook your head, silently communicating with your eyes that you would tell her later. She relented, nodding. Your father was just quietly staring at you, Elain’s voice cutting in again, “But--“

“No!” You snapped, cutting her off. “End of fucking discussion!” Letting out a sharp breath trying to calm yourself, “The day one of you finds someone that’s worth marrying you off to, Feyre and I will gladly hand you over. Until then I’m going to sleep, I’ve had a long day and I’m tired.”

No one said anything else as you stood up, washed your plate and went into your shared bedroom. Ready to let sleep claim you that night and hoping you didn’t dream of the wolf.

For other parts: Bound In Flames Series Masterlist

part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12

*If you would like to be added to the taglist for this story or to my general taglist, please either reply to this post or send me a message.

#acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra smut #eris vanserra x reader #bound in flames #eris acotar #eris smut #eris x reader #eris x y/n #eris x you

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amica-aenigmata-naboo · 9 months

Text

Unfinished

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 1.1K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: none - this is fluff

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Today was anything but easy. Everything, absolutely everything, had gone from bad to worse. Arriving back at camp was the only reprieve you had gotten all day. You walked straight through camp, on a mission into the woods. Astarion watched you, everyone could feel the waves of frustration sloughing off you and decided it was wise to leave you be. Everyone except Astarion.

He followed you deep into the night. He found you panting and sweating as you hacked your sword about wildly, slashing and chopping every tree you possibly could. You threw your sword down and launched your helmet at a tree before sinking down to your knees. You slowly took your armor off, Astarion watched you from the shadows of the tree line. You look utterly exhausted. Your skin was dull, the bags under your eyes were heavy and dark, you looked frail despite your strong abilities as a paladin.

You sighed, setting down the last hunk of metal. You rubbed your aching muscles, desperate for relief. Sighing, you watched the stars as they glittered and danced about in the sky. Oh to be a star, beautiful and without limitations. You laid on your side, not wanting to even hold yourself up anymore. You breathed in the dirt and moss beneath you, letting your body go completely limp. You faded quickly, sleep finally conquering your overworked form.

---------------------------

Your body shivered with the cool night breeze. Astarion draped a blanket over you, sitting next to you with a book and a knife. He didn’t want to leave you alone, but he didn’t want to wake you either. He saw you struggle lately and today seemed to be the worst of it. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, he thought. You were a good leader for the little band of misfits but even leaders need reprieve. He watched you sleep for a bit. He had never seen someone so peaceful, completely vulnerable to the world. He memorized the soft curves of your face, he longed to touch them. Just a touch wouldn’t hurt. He brushed a bit of hair away from your eyes. Wrong move. Your eyes remained closed as you clamped your hand around his wrist while your free hand pointed his own dagger at his throat. Only then did your eyes wearily open.

“Astarion?” you questioned, loosening your grip and pulling the blade back before setting it down.

“Do you make a habit out of almost killing your companions? Or is that just reserved for me?” he said, his usual smirk and sultry tone ever present.

You noticed the blanket over you, “Thank you…” you said and you snuggled in deeper.

He nodded, you watched each other in comfortable silence for a few moments.

“How is it that you have followed me for 200 years and yet your heart still speeds up when I am near?” he whispered, thinking you were asleep.

You sat up immediately, eyes flicking to him. He looked surprised for a moment, neither of you sure who should talk first.

“You’ve known this whole time?” you asked.

He nodded, “I just haven’t figured out why or what you are.”

“I’ll tell you.” you sighed, scooting over to him. “I am… death.”

His eyes widened, “Beg your pardon?”

“Well - kinda… I was death's apprentice… I got fired…” you chuckled at the end, trying to hide your reddening face.

“How do you get fired from being death?” he asked with shock in his voice.

“I refused to kill someone who’s time was up.” you shrugged, shying away from specifics.

“So why follow me for 200 years? I thought you were a ghost… a figment of my imagination. You never looked completely real…” he whispered the last bit.

“I retained my powers as a servant of death. Whenever you saw me, you saw my obscure form. I was basically a shadow.” you explained.

“Why didn’t you help me?!” he shouted, making you jolt.

“I wanted to… believe me, I did.” you whispered.

“Then why didn’t you?! You had every opportunity, all the power in the world - and yet you let me suffer! Why!” he was yelling now, pacing in front of you.

“Because I had no choice!” you shouted, making Astarion stop and look at you.

“When the Gur attacked you… It… it was you I refused to kill. Death may have relinquished me from my apprenticeship but death is a fickle mistress. She kept me from you, I couldn’t get near you unless I was a shadow.” you spoke as calmly as you could but your voice wavered as tears began to fill your waterline.

“How are you here now then?” he glared at you.

You forced your tadpole to connect with Astarion’s, making it wriggle uncomfortably in his skull. “The same reason you can walk in the sun.” you tapped your head a few times.

He sighed, settling down next to you again.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry… truly.” you mumbled, quickly wiping your tears away.

“Why did you refuse to kill me?” he asked.

“I… I just couldn’t. Something about your soul felt… unfinished. You did technically die, but not in the way death wanted. Dying is only valuable if a soul is gained, you kept your soul.”

“And you paid the price for it… were you forced to watch me?” he asked.

You shook your head, “No, I stayed because… I wanted to make sure death didn’t come for you. I wanted to keep you safe. I did a rotten job.”

“Two unlucky peas in a pod. In another life, we could have been friends.” he said, bumping his shoulder into yours, giving you a soft smile.

“And in this life?” you asked quietly, afraid of his answer.

“Truth be told - I always found comfort in your shadow. The ghostly figure who sang to me, prayed over me, whispered to me. Perhaps our luck is looking up now. Perhaps we could be something… more?” he finally turned his head to meet your eyes.

You scanned his face, not sure what you were looking for. You acted on impulse, rushing your lips to his. He pulled you in by your waist, kissing you back.

“The vampire spawn and the apprentice of death - quite the combination, little love.” he spoke as he kissed your neck a few times.

“We both have masters to kill, maybe we are fated to love after all.” you joked.

“200 years together and now you think were fated?” He laughed a bit. He had always been amazed by you, this strange enigma. His small bit of solace in horrendous times. And here he finds you, real, touchable, and best of all - you love him back.

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Naboo's Note:

Hello! I hope this is to everyones liking, life is just really stressful (tis the season) so ideas are lacking but I will try to be consistent and at least post one new fic per week. Love all the support and appreciate every bit of it <3 Thank you all for the likes, comments, reblogs, and requests. XOXOXOXOXO!!!

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absurdthirst · 1 year

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Claimed {Alpha!Joel Miller x Omega!F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.1k

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, mentions of bonding/claiming, heats, suppressants, threats of death, cannon violence, fingering, begging, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, knotting, pregnancy, biting, oral sex (female receiving)

Comments: Saved by an alpha and his young charge in Kansas City, you are worried about the basic needs of your body when your suppressants run out. Leaving you to need an alpha, your alpha to claim you.

*** When reblogging or talking about Omegaverse, please remember that ‘a/b/o’ without the slash punctuation marks (/) is considered a slur for the Aboriginal people in Australia.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You’re shaking when the flashlight shines in your face. Your hiding place is now discovered by people you can’t even see due to the bright light. “Please. Please don’t hurt me.” You plead, you haven’t eaten for a few days, too scared to move since you came down into the tunnels. Since Katherine wanted you dead for your part in her brother’s death, you have been on the run. It’s been terrifying. Being alone since you separated from Sam and Henry. You had turned in Katherine��s brother to get the meds you so desperately need but that backfired since KC fell to the rebellion.

You smell them, sensing an alpha, two betas and a scent you’ve never smelled before, making your brow furrow. You’re terrified of the alpha hurting you, maybe the betas will harm you until you hear your name. “Henry?” You gasp, recognizing your friend's voice.

“It’s me. Me and Sam.” He tells you and the light is moved so you can see the group, and you struggle as you stumble to your feet.

Joel grips the gun even tighter, shaking his head half a motion before he catches himself. There’s something about your scent, or distinct lack thereof, that’s making him hesitate pulling the trigger. “Stay still.” He growls at you, watching in disbelief as Henry and Sam rush towards you as if you aren’t a threat. Why are you down here? Are you infected, are you hiding?”

“I- Sam! Henry! You’re okay!” You are relieved as you wrap your arms around your friend. “Thank God.” You sigh and stroke Sam’s cheek, glad he’s safe. You sign to him that you missed him, glad Henry had taught you some signs.

Sam beams and Joel growls, “are you fuckin’ infected?” He asks and you shake your head.

“No. No. I’m not infected. I was hiding here from Katherine. Henry and I- she wants us dead. I got separated from them so I came down here, knowing it was Henry’s plan to come to the tunnels.” You explain, still shaking from exhaustion. You haven’t slept, too scared that you’d be found by Katherine’s men.

“Fuck, lighten up old man.” Ellie rolls her eyes at the alpha who is in charge of her protection. She moves forward to greet the new woman that has appeared in front of her, it’s been awhile since she’s been able to talk to another woman. “I’m Ellie.” She greets you, jerking her head back towards Joel. “He’s Joel, he’s okay. He’s an alpha but he’s not one of those alphas.” She wants you to feel comfortable, given the uneasy expression on your face.

You’re confused by her scent, a mixture of alpha, beta and omega. Like nothing you’ve ever smelled before. “I-” You swallow harshly, throat dry, before you introduce yourself. Glancing over her shoulder to see Joel lower his weapon, his dark eyes on yours. You lick your lips, “I’m - I’m an omega but I’m on meds. Well, until they run out.” You confess, knowing it’s risky to introduce yourself like this but you need him to understand you, especially if you are to get out of Kansas City alive.

“Shit.” Joel hisses, looking away from you in exasperation because he knows you being an omega is a complication he doesn’t need. It’s risky, traveling with an unbonded omega, when you run out of meds, any alpha for miles will smell you in heat.

“She comes with us.” Henry immediately demands, making him roll his eyes and sigh after a long moment.

“Are you hungry?” Joel asks you begrudgingly. He might not like it, but he won't starve you.

“Starving. I- I ran out of food a few days ago.” You admit and he sighs, reaching into his pack to toss the jerky he has left over to you. You moan when you bite into it, uncaring of chewiness when it’s something to eat.

“She’s coming with us.” Henry repeats when he sees the look in Joel’s eyes.

It takes him a moment, but he nods once, “let’s get moving.” He says and you lift your backpack onto your shoulder, following the group through the tunnel you collapsed down in when the exhaustion becomes too much.

Stumbling upon the abandoned, underground housing seems like a godsend and Joel agrees to stop until nightfall. You look exhausted and you probably need some water. It irritates him that he’s even thinking along those lines but the alpha instinct to protect and care for an omega is strong with you for some reason. He grunts as you collapse into a chair, having polished off the jerky and shoves a water bottle into your hand. “You don’t need to fall behind later on.” He warns you. “I will leave you.”

You nod, knowing how harsh alphas have become in this new world. You know it's dog eat dog and your omega nature makes it harder to survive. A lot of your peers are under the thumb of an alpha, unable to survive alone. You are trying to be different and look how it's worked out so far. You gulp down some water and your eyes are struggling to stay open. "Sleep." Joel orders and you shift to stand, gathering the bean bags to create a safe area for you to sleep, surrounded and you feel safe with the alpha watching over you.

“She’s good.” Henri leans forward in his chair and promises Joel. “She’s a good person, a good omega.” He pauses for a second. “She doesn’t need to be treated badly, there was enough of that under FEDRA here.” He looks over at you, already asleep and then over at where Ellie and Sam are giggling together. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that sound.” He tells Joel, making the alpha glance over at the kids with a sense of melancholy.

Glancing back over at you before looking down at his hands, Joel sighs. There was a time when being around omegas was easier, when he was less abrasive, but that died the day he failed to protect his baby girl. The little girl who had just presented as an omega right before the world had gone to shit. “Once we get out of the city, what you do is up to you.” He tells Henry, frowning slightly at his own words. The smell of comfort and peace drifts from your little nest of beanbags and he wonders when the last time you exuded that scent was.

Henry sighs, telling Joel about Katherine's brother. "Sam had leukemia and I- I had to get him the medicine he needed. FEDRA wanted more. So I gave them Katherine's brother. He was a good man, a great man. She - she needed her meds to suppress her scent and she backed up my story. Katherine wants us both dead. Still think I'm the good guy?" Henry scoffs, crossing his arms.

Joel can’t answer that. Not realistically. Not when he knows he would have done anything to keep Sarah safe and healthy. Has already killed to protect Ellie. His eyes slide away from Henry’s guiltily and he taps his finger on the table. “We should go.” He huffs after a moment, watching as you continue to sleep. “We now have to sneak an omega out of the city too.”

You whimper when someone shakes you gently to wake you up. You look up to see Ellie standing there, her eyes soft and comforting enough that you aren't scared. "We are leaving." She says and you nod, sitting up. You feel rested despite the short amount of time you've been asleep. "Let's go." You say as you swing your pack over your shoulder. Joel swings the door open, walking ahead and you follow, trying to keep quiet.

Joel’s hackles are raised, eyes cautious for any sense of danger. Overly protective now that an omega is in the group. He huffs to himself, keeping himself closer to you and Ellie, naturally puffing up slightly. “How many pills do you have left?” Joel asks, knowing that his own rut is long overdue and if you are close to running out, he needs to get away from you as soon as possible.

You bite your lip as you stay close to him, instinct driving you to be with him. “About three months. I managed to ration them, cut them in half so my scent isn’t completely concealed but it keeps my heat at bay.” You reveal and Joel nods, knowing that it won’t last forever and eventually, you’ll have every damn alpha in the Midwest after you. You eventually come to the end of the tunnel and Henry is cocky as he says his plan worked…until the bullets start to fly.

“Get down!” Joel grabs you and Ellie, pulling you towards the abandoned cars for cover. Henry starts to freak out, taking Sam and trying to run away. “What are you doing? Get down!” Joel shouts, pulling his gun out and looking over the hood of the car. Bullets spray around Henry's feet and they run back towards you and the safety of the car.

Your heart pounds in your ears as Joel tells Ellie the guy has shit aim and he’s gonna go take him out. You are shaking, knife in hand that you grabbed from your boot, and you watch Joel ask Ellie if she trusts him. The girl nods and you know you trust him too. You swallow harshly, terrified as the bullets keep flying…until they stop. When you hear the cars, you barely hear Joel shouting “run! Run!” and you sprint with Ellie’s hand in yours, Sam and Henry not too far behind you.

Joel keeps his eyes focused on you and Ellie as the group with Kathleen pulls up. Chambering another round and keeping it ready as she makes her way out of the truck and implores you and Henry to come out. The truck he had killed the driver in is on fire, making him aware that his options for getting Ellie out of this situation are slowly starting to dwindle. He growls, narrowing his eyes as he focuses on Kathleen’s head. He’ll kill her. Then they will scatter.

You huddle behind the car with Ellie and Sam, Henry standing up and you can’t let him sacrifice himself. “Wait!” You stand up, holding your hands up. “You can’t kill Henry. He has Sam. He can’t - he has family. If you’re going to kill someone, kill me.” You order and Kathleen’s finger hovers over the trigger. You brace yourself for the bullet, knowing that you have fared well for an omega in this world. Kathleen turns around when she hears the truck disappear into the ground and your eyes widen when the stalkers start to rush out. “Shit!” You shriek, running to grab Ellie and keep her safe.

Joel’s heart is pounding in his chest, firing shot after shot, afraid that he might not be quick enough. The group of soldiers that are with Kathleen quickly turn their weapons on the rushing horde, but there are too many of them. All manner of infected leaping out of that pit as Joel keeps Ellie and you in his sights and takes out the dangers around you.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” You curse when you see Ellie trapped in the car. You are trying to open the door while trying to fend off any stalkers that come at you and when you hear the growls, you spin and see them taken out by a bullet from above. “Ellie! Quick, take my hand.” You order when you manage to get the door open and you’re running only to see Henry and Sam under the car. You drag the stalker off of Henry, stabbing it quickly and you push the body aside, trying to get to Sam. “Quick. Quick. Run!” You order when Ellie manages to kill the stalker and the four of you run towards the bridge.

Joel meets up with the four of you, checking to make sure that Ellie is okay before he turns towards you and the Betas. “Are you okay?” He demands, making you nod quickly. He ignores the need to reassure you, hating that he feels that way and looks back towards the flickering light of the fires. “We need to get farther away.” He tucks the rifle up on his shoulder and starts to move quickly, knowing its best to put distance between you and the horde of infected in case some came this way instead of going into the city. Kansas City is about to fall.

“Stop!” Kathleen approaches and you move to step in front Ellie. Joel’s fingers twitch and you try to be brave. Ellie and Joel don’t deserve to pay for your mistakes. She doesn’t get a chance to continue when she’s jumped on and torn apart. “This way now! Move!” Joel shouts and your heart pounds as you run away from the massacre.

****

You lean against the wall, exhaustion seeping into your bones while you listen to Ellie and Sam read the comic book together. Joel looks exhausted and Henry breaks the tension by asking “you think they’ll be okay?”

Joel nods, “yeah, I think. It’s easier when you’re a kid anyway.” Joel looks over at you, swallowing harshly before he looks back at Henry, “you don’t have anybody else relying on you. That’s the hard part.”

Henry nods, “well, I guess we’re doing a good job then.”

Joel nods, glancing back at you, “what’s that comic book say? Endure and survive?” He asks and Henry confirms it.

“That shit’s redundant.” You snort and Joel nods, “yeah, it’s not great.”

The quiet huffing of amusement passes and Joel sighs, “look, I don’t know how I’m getting to Wyoming, I’m probably walkin’ but, you know, if you want to.”

Henry nods, “yeah. Yeah. I think it’d be nice for Sam to have a friend.”

You bite your lip, “what about me?”

Joel frowns as he stares at you for a moment. His jaw tightening when he smells the wave of apprehension and fear pouring out of you. He knows what an unbonded omega can expect out here. You would be abused, mistreated by any alpha that came across you. You are capable, he’s seen that, but you need an alpha to protect you. He sighs softly after a moment. “All three of you.” He tells you. “I won’t touch you. Don’t worry. I don’t- you’ll be safe with me, with us.” He snorts. “Or as safe as you can fucking get nowadays.”

You can’t deny that you’re relieved and you nod, offering him a soft smile, “thank you, alpha.” You address him formally, wanting him to know how much you appreciate it.

“Get some sleep.” Joel says, his stomach twisting at hearing you call him ‘alpha’ and he watches as you lay down to curl up around yourself.

****

You wake up to Ellie screaming, fumbling to sit up just as she comes running out of the bedroom with Sam trying to bite her. “No!” You cry, hating that Sam was infected and you see the look on Henry’s face. He fought so hard to protect his brother, he did what he had to do, and in the end, it’s all been for nothing.

“Joel!” Ellie screams and Joel holds his hands up when Henry grabs the gun. Shooting the floor when Joel tries to help Ellie.

“Henry! Please!” You beg, knowing what needs to be done. Henry shoots Sam seconds later and you choke on the sob, holding your hands up when Henry aims the gun at you and then at Joel, switching between you.

His heart pounding, Joel hates that he can’t do anything. Helpless as Henry sways slightly holding the gun, eyes frantic. “Henry, give me the gun.” He urges quietly, edging towards him. He’s seen that look too many times. “Give me the gun Henry. Just give it to me.” His hands are still up and he’s trying to keep his voice calm, betas don’t respond to commands like an omega would.

“What have I done?” Henry asks, looking at you desperately, and Joel swallows.

“Give me the gun.” Henry shakes his head and lifts the gun up. “Henry no!” Joel cries right as Henry pulls the trigger and Ellie cries out again, making Joel close his eyes in defeat, failing again at protecting people.

You feel sick, losing your close friends in a matter of seconds has you rushing across the room to throw up, hands shaking and you know Joel and Ellie are affected. "Oh my God. Oh my God." You keep muttering, in shock as you stand up and you watch Joel make sure Ellie is okay before he's crossing the room to grab your shoulders.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" He asks and you shake your head, "I- I'm okay." You tell the alpha, his scent soothing you and you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close so you can breathe him in.

Joel stiffens but he doesn’t pull away from you, knowing you need the comfort of his classification for the moment. Ellie is too shocked to smirk when he awkwardly puts his arm around you so he can rub your back. He feels guilty, wishing he had demanded that everyone be searched after the attacks, just in case. He could have talked Henry through the acceptance of losing Sam rather than the abrupt loss. “I’m sorry.” He manages, knowing they were your friends. “I- I’m going to bury them.” He promises, feeling the brothers deserve that at least.

You want to stay in his arms, feel that comfort that only an alpha can give you but he’s not your alpha, he’s stiff and awkward when you pull back. “Sorry.” You murmur and he clears his throat, turning towards Ellie to guide her out of the hotel room and away from the bodies.

****

You sniff when you see Ellie place Sam’s board down on his grave with the word ‘sorry’ written on it. You glance back to see Joel waiting for you and you wipe your eyes, adjusting your backpack as you make your way across the country to Wyoming.

Joel walks silently for a long time, everyone lost in their own thoughts as the miles from the motel increase. He has questions, plenty of them, but he doesn’t voice them. Knowing that right now isn’t the time. Instead he glances around, looking for signs of game. There’s another mouth to feed and he wants to make sure that you have enough since it’s been a few days since you’ve had anything more than the jerky he had tossed you.

The walk is long and you try to keep up with your meds, rationing them to stretch them as long as possible but as the days turn into weeks, you’re starting to panic. The fall turns to winter and the snow is heavy this year, making you shiver under the coat Joel had given you. He found another coat but you love this one, how it smells like him, giving you comfort during the arduous journey. The relationship between you and Joel is tense, both of you fighting your instincts and trying to keep your composure for Ellie’s sake. It would be easy to give in but it would only lead to complications. The alpha is tough, emotionally stunted, and stubborn, but you see how he is with Ellie. The softness in his eyes for the girl. You can understand it, having grown affectionate for her. She is a wonder. Not alpha, not omega, not beta. She’s a perfect combination of all three. Her scent is muted and she bears the best of each status, like fire and ice. A juxtaposition in one little girl who plans on being the solution to all your problems. A cure to your status. A world where every person is equal regardless of their composition. It’s beautiful and you hope she’s right, that she could be their cure to a never ending biological battle.

“We need to find somewhere to shelter.” Joel grunts out, feeling the temperature dropping. There is a storm coming, he can feel the heavy ache in his knitted together knuckles at the joints that remind him how fucking old he is. Too old to be your alpha, as much as he craves it. Every day it’s getting harder to resist the lure of your scent, to stay away from you. You are kind and gentle, although there is a stiffness to your spine that he admires. You ensure and bear the hardship of this journey without complaint, and he hasn’t missed you slipping Ellie some of your own meal when there’s not enough to completely fill the girl’s stomach. He watches you, while you’re sleeping, hearing your whimpers and it makes him want to crawl into the sleeping bag he had given you. The pride of you curling into his scent and being comforted by it makes his need to care for you roar to life. “We need a fire. Snow’s coming in.”

You nod, glancing up at the sky. It’s been a long day, the wind has been brutal, hitting you in the face, and Joel is quick to find a cave near the river for you to settle in. You pull the coat closer around you, watching Joel start the fire, and you remember you need to take your meds. Pulling the last packet out, you curse, fumbling with the packet to find one last pill. “Shit. Shit.” You hiss and Ellie looks over at you, “fuck. I- I’ve run out.” You want to cry, certain that you had another week if you rationed and you know you’re screwed. In the middle of nowhere, without your meds, and you know you’re going to go into heat soon. “Shit.” You sob, knowing this is going to a hellish time.

Joel closes his eyes, knowing he needs to find better shelter for you than this cave. If you are out of meds, you will have a hellacious heat the first time. It would beckon any alpha for miles. An open cave is not where he wants you. “Heat up some snow for water.” He orders Ellie, picking up the gun again. You will need plenty of nutrients for the heat and he needs to see if there is anywhere around that would be better. “I’ll be back.” He raises his eyebrows at Ellie. “Get your gun out. Anyone but me comes, you shoot them.” He orders.

You cry, hating that you have run out of meds. You feel vulnerable and you know you’ll be surviving this heat alone. “I’m sorry.” Ellie says, holding her gun as she keeps watch while Joel heads out.

“I- it’s okay. It’s just- I - I hate being an omega. I hate being this weak. I wish I could be stronger.” You feel sorry for yourself, knowing that you’ll need Joel’s sleeping bag and coat for his scent and you breathe it in from your coat, feeling a little calmer.

“What?” Ellie makes a face at you. “You aren’t weak. You are so strong.” She insists, turning towards you and cocking her head. “You have walked hundreds of miles with a strange alpha and even from the beginning, you trusted him. You take less food than you need when you think I’ll be hungry and you are not even a little irritated with me when I talk and talk and talk.” She rolls her eyes and grins at you. “Unlike him. But you are strong. You can’t help your heats, no more than alphas can help their ruts.”

Her words make your heart swell and you smile, “thank you, El.” You feel better from her words and you stand up, wanting to help by heating up the snow so you can have some water to drink. You pull Ellie in for a quick hug, “thank you, sweetheart.” You inhale her neutral scent and step back to get to work. “For the record, I think Joel likes your puns.” You tell her, making her smile and you are both quiet until Joel returns.

Joel has a pair of rabbits in his hand, holding them by the ears but there is something much more important. “Grab your packs.” He orders, immediately moving over to the fire to put it out. “I found a cabin. It’s- the roof is solid and the walls are thick.” He looks over at you with a knowing expression. “It has a bed and plenty of blankets.”

You want to kiss him in appreciation but you scramble to get your pack, Ellie following so you can make your way to the cabin. You can feel the tightness starting in your stomach and your clothes feel too tight, your brow starting to sweat as your heat starts to creep in, too long with too little medication has made it burn through your system. “We gotta go.” You rasp, needing to strip down and start nesting. “Now.” You tell Joel, knowing he can smell the change in you.

“Shit.” Joel hisses, nodding and picking up his pace through the snow as he treks back to the cabin he had found. He had already started a fire when he had checked it out, knowing it was perfect. The fireplace was in the middle of the cabin so it would keep the room you holed up for your heat warm. Now he just needs to get some food into you before you need to nest and he has to keep himself sane and try not to touch you. “Come on. It’s not far.”

You are feeling the ache, making it harder to walk, but you push yourself, knowing that you can’t just collapse in the damn snow. Joel’s back is rigid and you sigh in relief when you arrive at the cabin, entering and exhaling when the warmth of the fire immediately hits you. “I need to-” You shrug off his coat, working on stripping down to your t-shirt and leggings that you have on under your jeans. It’s still too many clothes but you can’t just strip off in front of Joel and Ellie.

“Ellie, go help her.” Joel urges, closing the door and barring it so he can get the food over the flames. You need to eat before it gets too bad. He knows he will have to go out to hunt often. For you, since you will require more food while you are nesting, and to keep from smelling your intoxicating pheromones all the time. “Get her ready. Take my sleeping bag too.”

Ellie is unsure of what to do but you are frantically pulling at your clothes until you’re in your underwear. Ellie grabs Joel’s sleeping bag and puts it down for you alongside your own on the bed. You grab the pillows, working fast to create a nest, grabbing Joel’s coat to put it in the nest. “I’ll be okay, El.” You promise, getting yourself comfortable.

“O-okay. I’m gonna- I’m gonna go out to Joel.” The younger girl is backing out of the room, unable to do anything more and she is wildly uncomfortable with the entire idea of a heat. Regular periods already suck, but she feels sorry for the pain you are going to go through. “I’ll get you water, too.”

As soon as the door is shut, you strip out of your underwear, your hand sliding between your folds to find you soaking wet and you can’t stop the moan of relief that escapes your lips when you rub your clit. Joel’s scent is surrounding you and while it’s not him, it’s enough for now. “Fuck.” You pant, rubbing your clit a little faster, wishing it was Joel, imagining his calloused fingers and his gruff voice telling you how good you are for him.

Ellie comes out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. “She’s about to get bad.” She tells Joel, making him grunt as he turns the rabbits over the flames. He can smell the arousal and need pouring off of you, making his cock harden even as he tries to ignore the way that your scent is calling to him. He had promised you that he wouldn’t touch you and he meant it. Even if he had to go jerk off every hour, he wouldn’t touch you.

You bite your lip to smother your moan when you cum from rubbing your clit. The relief only soothes you for a few moments before the need flares to life again. You hear the knock on the door and you cover yourself up so Ellie can bring in the food. “Thank you. I- I need you to go into the room furthest away from this one. I don’t want you to hear me. I- I won’t be myself.” You tell her and she nods, setting the container of water down. As soon as she’s gone, you force yourself to eat, your hands shaking and your cunt dripping as the urge to touch yourself is almost overwhelming. The rabbit bones are pushed aside and you wipe your hands before your fingers push back into your pussy, a loud moan escaping your lips as you fuck yourself with your fingers, your skin is gleaming with sweat and you swear your heat has never been this intense.

Joel clenches his jaw and closes his eyes, hearing the needy moan coming from the room and his fists curl in on themselves. Blowing out a sigh, he takes a deep breath, pulling the air in from his mouth so he doesn’t smell your pheromones as strongly. You are already filling the cabin with your mouth watering scent. “Shit.” He hisses, feeling his cock twitch again, already straining at his jeans. “Fuck, I’ll be back.” He growls, standing and grabbing the rifle as he flees the cabin so he can find some relief.

Ellie decides to take her leave in one of the back rooms away from yours, not wanting to invade your privacy. You pant, curling your fingers but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. You need an alpha. You need Joel. You whine, reminding yourself that it won’t happen but your mind runs wild, imagining him coming into your room, stripping off and sliding his cock inside of you, knotting you. “Oh fuck. Joel.” You choke as you cum around your fingers, unaware that he’s jerking off outside in the freezing cold, having hoped the cold would get rid of his erection but he is still hard even as his cum spills onto the snow. “Oh God.” You whine, rubbing your clit while your fingers are buried deep, using two hands in hopes of satiating the heat curling in your belly.

Joel growls as he tucks his still hard cock back into his pants. It hasn't helped much but he doesn’t feel like he’s about to crawl out of his skin. Huffing from the cold, his breath shows in the air. He should hunt, but his instinct is to keep close to you so he stomps back into the cabin to shut the door and feed more logs onto the fire.

You’ve lost track of time. It could have been hours, maybe days. Ellie has brought you food and water, and cool rags to wipe yourself with, but the sweat still pools on your skin. You’re almost delirious with need, your hands aching and you can’t bring yourself to make yourself cum again. You need an alpha. You can’t deny it anymore. “Joel.” You call out, voice cracking. “Joel. Please. I need you.” You beg, needing to feel something, anything.

His chest puffing up in pleasure, Joel tries to deny that he had been anticipating this. He had melted more snow to bathe with, cleaning up for the omega in heat. Unknowingly preparing himself but still he shakes his head and closes his eyes. “You- you don’t mean that. It’s just the heat, omega. Be calm.” He orders you softly through the door, his fingers nearly digging into the wood as he stands there.

His words, his voice, soothe you for a moment until the ache flares. “No. No. Don’t go. Please. I- I need you. I need you so much Joel. Alpha, please. Please. I need you. My alpha.” You plead, thrashing in the nest you made as his scent lingers in the fabric.

Joel shudders, his entire body flooded with pleasure at being called your alpha. His control slips slightly and his hand moves down to the knob. “I- you don’t - you’re not thinking clearly.” He pants out, his heart pounding in his chest and his own pheromones flooding into the air. “I- I can’t- it’s been so long since I’ve had an omega.” He confesses, knowing he would never be able to pull out of you. He wants to knot you too badly, to fill your aching cunt with his seed.

“I know I need you. I need you now. Please alpha, it hurts. I can’t - nothing is working. My hands hurt.” You sob, growing more desperate for him by the second as you push your fingers back inside of you but your wrist aches, making it hurt. You know that Tess was an alpha, both of them taking their needs out on each other without the emotional danger. “Please Joel. Alpha. I need you.” You beg, smelling his pheromones and another wave of slick coats your hand as you try to make yourself cum.

His cock throbs in his jeans and his head hits the door with a thud. The sound of you whining is gorgeous, making him start to turn the handle but he stops. Turning around and making sure the cabin door is locked and barred takes precious few minutes but his entire body is primed, listening to the sounds of your fingers plunging into your cunt and your moans of his name. He grabs the water bottle and bursts through the door of your room.

When he enters the room, your entire body cries for him, aching and you keep pushing your fingers into your cunt as his scent floods the room. He slams the door behind him and tosses the water bottle down, striding over to the bed and he pulls your fingers out of your cunt, making you whine. When he replaces them with his own, you moan loud in relief, tossing your head back as you cry out, “yes! Alpha!”

Joel groans when he feels how wet you are, his fingers immediately soaked with you and squelch as he pumps them deep into your needy cunt. “I’m here, this what you need, omega? You need an alpha to take care of you? To fuck you until you scream?”

“Yes. Yes. I need you. I need you alpha. I can’t - it’s not enough. Never enough.” You whine, delirious as his fingers already make you feel better than you did before he came in the room. “Fuck. Oh fuck.” You whine, hips rolling up to meet his fingers as he pumps them faster. “I’m gonna - oh. Oh.” You gasp, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he makes you cum for the first time.

Joel hisses as your walls clamp down on his fingers. You’re so fucking tight, imagining that you’re going to feel even better when his cock is inside you. When his knot is inside you. “Give me another.” He demands, pulling his fingers almost completely out so he can add a third finger. “Give me one more and I’ll fuck you.” Joel promises, wanting to make sure you are nice and prepared for his cock, “be my good omega.” He coos, watching you whine and preen when he calls you his.

It’s too much and yet not enough, making you pant as his fingers stretch you out like you’ve desperately needed. “Alpha. Oh fuck.” You whine, reaching up to squeeze your own breasts when he presses his thumb to your clit, those thick digits twisting inside of you. “Yes!” You cry, almost sobbing as you clamp down on his fingers again, soaking his wrist with your slick.

“Good girl.” Joel growls, curling his fingers one last time before he pulls them out of your warm, wet cunt. “Can I enter your nest, omega?” He’s aware that you are calling for him, but this is your space, your comfort is priority. Most alpha snow didn’t observe the customs of pre-outbreak but he wanted you to control this. “Will you let me take care of you, sweet girl?”

You reach for him, hands shaking a little with the need still overwhelming you. Yes, he’s made you cum twice but it’s not enough. You need to feel him surrounding you, inside of you. “Please, alpha. I need you. Come here.” You beg, patting the pillows and blankets you have gathered around yourself, most of it with his scent but it’s nothing like the real thing. He strips off and you eagerly watch, his shirt coming off then his jeans and finally his threadbare boxers. You are all wearing worn clothing now, but when he’s naked, your mouth waters. “So - so beautiful.” You gasp in awe of the strong alpha Joel is. He’s a paradox. A strong man, capable, and yet he asked to enter your nest when most alphas would’ve already been pushing inside of you. He’s soft and caring yet fierce and unforgiving.

Joel climbs into the nest of blankets and pillows you’ve created, groaning at how you are already spreading your legs and inviting him inside you. “I cleaned up, omega.” He promises, knowing that some might not have taken the time, but he didn’t want to risk your health. Hovering over you with his cock hanging between you, he leans down and presses his lips to yours.

You moan into the kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair to try and pull him closer. His cock is pressed against your thigh and it’s not close enough. His tongue slides against yours and you reach between you to wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping him.

“Stop.” He commands, his tone rough. He knows he will cum if you touch him too much. It’s been so long since he has filled someone, even longer since he had had an omega. He doesn’t want to disappoint you. “Let me take care of you, omega. You just lay back and let me make you feel good.”

You nod, letting go of his cock and he shuffles to kneel between your legs, gripping his cock to guide himself to your entrance. He slowly pushes into you, making you moan at the stretch, the connection is instantaneous but you don’t mention it, knowing he will withdraw from you, physically and emotionally. “Alpha.” You sigh in relief when he is fully inside of you.

Joel groans, closing his eyes and feeling the shift in your pheromones. You change from desperate and needy to pleased, the sweet scent of it filling your nest. “I’ve got you.” He promises. “I’ll take care of you.” He grinds his hips deeper before he starts to slowly withdraw. He knows you need to cum again, your heat demanding it. His hand slides down your thigh and he pulls it up onto his hip. “Such a good omega for me. Letting me take care of you.”

You cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders as he starts to move inside of you. "Oh fuck, alpha. Joel." You pant, feeling the fire that threatened to consume you dampen a bit. The slow way he moves inside of you is tearing you apart, piece by piece, and you tilt your head so you can kiss along his jaw and down his neck, wanting him to feel the same way.

He knows that it’s been a long time since you’ve had a heat, since you’ve had sex, so he keeps the pace slow. Knowing that he could easily hurt you and he doesn’t want to do that. Too often omegas get caught up in the desperation and the alphas are uncaring and they injure the omegas they are supposed to be comforting. He had never understood that mentality, while he was harsh in many ways, he would never abuse an omega like that. “Good girl.” He coos in your ear, voice slipping into something smoother, lower pitched. “You’re going to take my knot and then feel so full, aren’t you? That what you want?”

His voice makes you shiver and you wrap your legs around him, trying to push him deeper. “Fuck. Yes alpha. That’s what I- I want. I need it. I need you to knot me.” Your voice is whiny, displaying the need you have for him. “I need it over and over again.” You pant, his hips pushing against yours when he buries himself deep on each thrust. Your stomach twists as he pushes you higher, slow grinds making you pant, and you eventually fall over the edge with a soft cry of his name, clamping down on his cock.

“Shit.” He hisses, leaning down and pressing his nose against your scent gland, inhaling the scent of your pleasure as he rocks into you. Working you through the first of many times you will fall apart on his cock before you are done with your heat. Often days are spent in the nest when a heat is on, the alpha caring for the omega and making sure that they are not neglecting themselves. It’s been a long time since he has wanted to do that. Since his ex wife. He hadn’t bonded with her because they were so young and she had left him for another alpha shortly after Sarah had been born. He had never gotten attached to another omega since then. Until you.

You moan at how good it feels, the ache abading for a moment so you can properly breathe. "Fuck baby." You murmur, caressing his back, "alpha. Taking - taking such good care of me already." You sigh, burying your face in his neck to breathe him in. The smell of smoke and whiskey combined with the strength of Joel has you clenching around him, the need returning within a few moments of your orgasm. You won't be fully satisfied until he knots you.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, sweet girl.” He moans, his tongue tracing your gland as he rolls his hips. Shifting onto his side so he can slide one hand between you. Finding your clit with the rough pads of his fingers to rub tight circles on the sensitive nub. “You’re doing so good. So good for me. Taking me perfectly. Gonna knot you, make you feel even better.” He rambles.

“Shit, I - I - fuck. Alpha.” You whine softly when he rubs your clit, making you clench around him, and you pant as he starts to rock into you once more, the new angle making him hit even deeper inside of you. “Oh God.” You moan, heels digging into his ass as you try to push him deeper with each rock of his hips, his hand trapped between you.

Turning his head, Joel kisses you. Absorbing your whines and mewls as his tongue slides into your mouth, loving how you are responding to him. A part of him had feared that he had changed too much, given up too much of his soul to be a good alpha for an omega. You are wonderfully pliant under him, giving him so much of yourself as he works his cock deeper and deeper, feeling the base of his cock starting to swell as he gets closer to knotting you.

You are getting close again, feeling his knot starting to catch inside of you, and you desperately want him to fill you up. Neither of you are thinking about the consequences of him fucking you raw like this but you can’t bring yourself to care, just needing him to fill you up. “Baby. Oh Alpha, I - I’m gonna -” You choke when he hits just right and makes you cum again, soaking him and making you throw your head back to expose your neck to him.

The urge to mark you, to bond you to him is nearly overwhelming. Making Joel growl as he picks up his pace. Instead of grinding into you, he starts thrusting harder, driving his cock deeper in an effort to push his expanding knot into your narrow passage and lock you together for the next hour.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.” You pant, pushed through your orgasm as Joel starts to fuck you, making your eyes roll into the back of your head. “Yes! Yes baby. Oh God. Alpha. Cum for me. Please, need you to fill me up.” You beg, closing your eyes as you are pushed over the edge again.

He knows the basic biology of this, knowing that in order to make your heat as comfortable as possible, your body demands his seed. Nothing but that would truly make you feel good. There are a million reasons why he shouldn’t fill you up, but he can’t pull out of you. Pushing harshly when the knot starts to swell, feeling it slip inside you with a groan of your name.

You feel the relief when his cum starts to paint your walls, knot catching to keep him inside of you as his cock pulses, a groan of your name and “omega” leaving his lips. “Fuck. Joel, alpha.” You murmur, pulling him close and you throw your head back again as you cum once more, triggered by his orgasm.

He cums forever, his cock pulsing and pumping you full of his seed. Knowing that his knot will be keeping you full and he will cum several more times before it goes down. “Good girl, oh take it.” He grunts, feeling better than he has in a long time. He kisses along your throat as you squeeze him tight again, shaking underneath him.

You want him to bite you, to claim you as his to every other alpha out there but you know it’s not possible. You pant, turning your head so you can kiss him again, sliding your tongue into his mouth as his cock finishes twitching and you relax beneath him, legs lowering from his hips to cradle him on top of you.

Joel makes sure that he keeps his weight braces so he’s not too heavy on you, stroking your side and kissing along your shoulder. He feels a connection, one that should terrify him, but he just closes his eyes. Breathing you in with a soft sigh. “How are you feeling, omega?” He asks softly, opening his eyes as he pulls back to watch you.

“I’m feeling good, alpha.” You smile lazily, running your fingers through his hair. The need has been satiated for now and you are enjoying the feel of him surrounding you, his scent is comforting. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.

“Good.” He hums, kissing your lips again before he slides his arms under you so he can roll you over on top of him. He can bear your weight better than you can his. Letting you sprawl out on top of him while he strokes your back. His knot is still firmly embedded inside you, so you aren’t going anywhere. “You can sleep, sweet girl. I know you are tired.”

You hum, closing your eyes as he caresses your back. You feel safe and satiated for the first time since you can’t even remember when. “Love you.” You murmur, falling asleep within moments of your soft confession.

****

“Fuck. Joel!” You squeal as he pounds into you from behind. He grips your hips and your body aches from the days of fucking but you are still needy for more. You need him to fill you up. “Fuck. Oh shit! Alpha!” You squeal, knowing that later on, you’ll cringe about the fact that Ellie is somewhere in the cabin, having to hear you, but you can’t stop yourself. He growls, jaw clenched and you look over your shoulder at the alpha pounding into you. “Yes. Yes. Yes!” You cry, falling forward onto your elbows.

“That’s it.” Joel hisses, feeling like he’s going to cum, but he needs you to cum first. You’re still so needy for him, and he’s doing his best to make sure you are looked after. Only leaving your nest a few times over the past few days to hunt and make sure Ellie is okay.

“Fuck. Oh fuck.” You whine, clamping down on his cock as you cum, soaking him and your cheek presses into the blankets beneath you, the material permeated with your combined scents and it makes you shiver as his hands squeeze your flesh.

Every time he fucks you, he comes closer and closer to binding you to him, biting your gland and claiming you as his for everyone to know. Growling as he imagines it; he pushes his hips forward again, feeling his knot popping into your cunt as he starts to cum.

You whine when he starts to fill you up and you arch your back, loving the way his knot stretches you and his cum paints your walls. You moan his name followed by ‘alpha’ and you rest your cheek on the blankets, closing your eyes as you enjoy the feel of him filling you up. You’re not stupid, you know he’s likely gotten you pregnant during your heat with the amount of times he’s cum inside of you but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Panting, Joel collapses against your back, closing his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. Soon the three of you will need to move. To continue on to look for Tommy. “My good omega.” He murmurs softly, caressing your hip. He knows he needs to find a safe place for you. Somewhere that you can thrive, somewhere where omegas are treated with respect.

****

When the dog sniffs Ellie, your heart pounds in your chest, and you are glancing at Joel’s back, knowing he must be freaking out. Helpless to do anything when the alphas surround you. You close your eyes, not wanting to hear Ellie torn apart. She’s not an omega or alpha or beta like the dog is trained to identify, wanting to weed out the alphas who threaten most of mankind. When the world fell because of the virus, you knew that alphas had taken advantage, some feeling it was their right to take the world as their own, to bring society back to the old ways where omegas were second class citizens. When Ellie giggles, you relax a little and you sense the relief in Joel, connected after your heat. You’ve never spoken about your confession of love, just continuing your journey to find Tommy.

Joel feels lightheaded, heart pounding and he doesn’t know how you don’t smell the fear and desperation on him. Terrified that he can’t protect you, or Ellie from this group. He’s relieved when two horses are brought for the three of you to ride and he insists that you sit ahead of him, wanting you close.

You breathe Joel in as you enter the compound, wanting the comfort only he can bring and soon the horse is coming to a stop as he shouts his brother’s name. “Tommy!” He yells and you glance at Ellie, shocked to have found Joel’s brother.

After introductions are made, you are escorted to the cafeteria where the three of you dig into your meal like you haven’t eaten for weeks which is half true. It’s been too long since you had a proper meal and you are moaning when you shove the food into your mouth, feeling Tommy’s eyes on you.

Joel hisses at Ellie for being so crass, but he can’t reprimand you for eating vigorously. He knows you need the nutrients after your heat. You haven’t been able to properly have more than almost half of a rabbit or bird, Joel giving up most of his portions between you and Ellie. He’s stunned when he hears Tommy is bonded to the alpha at the table, Marie. His brother was never really cut out for the alpha designation and he frowns slightly at the two of them.

You want to comfort Joel, knowing it must be hard to know that the brother he has nearly died while trying to find is alive and well, thriving in a beautiful community. You want to reach for his hand but you aren’t bonded and you don’t want to overstep. Maria is quick to ask you and Ellie if you want to shower and you look at Joel for guidance, he nods and you all leave the cafeteria while Maria gives you a tour of the town. “Like communists?” Joel asks and you smother you giggle when his brother seems shocked by the phrase.

“Joel. Can we talk?” Tommy asks and Maria says “I can take them to clean up.”

You look at Joel who nods, “go on, omega.” You are anxious but you follow Maria to the house, glancing over your shoulder to see Joel one last time.

They have a bar. An honest to god fucking bar. Joel rubs the shiny, slick wood and shakes his head in disbelief as Tommy ambles behind the bar to pour him a drink. “Been a long time since we’ve done this.” He reminisces, unable to believe that he’s about to have a drink in comfort with his brother. Almost as if nothing has ever happened and the world wasn’t destroyed around this little community. “Surprising to see you bonded to an alpha.” He begins.

“Surprising to see you with an omega. Doesn’t look like you’ve bonded with her yet.” He says and Joel looks down at the bar while his brother pours a glass of whiskey with ice.

“It’s complicated.” Joel murmurs and Tommy sets the glass down in front of him.

“When isn’t it complicated?”

“She was with a couple of Betas in Kansas City. They- uh, when they were gone, I couldn’t leave her out there by herself.” Joel rationalizes. “You know what would have happened to her.”

Tommy nods, knowing how hard this world is for omegas. He barely manages as a beta and Maria saved him from the wilderness. “I can’t just leave.” Tommy says when Joel mentions going to Colorado, “I- I’m going to be a dad.” He reveals and Joel’s heart sinks, reminded of Sarah and how he failed her.

“I guess we’ll see.” Joel grunts after Tommy expressed that he’s thinking he’ll be a good father and that pisses his brother off. “We’ll see? I’m sorry about Sarah but-“ Joel’s heart clenches and he can’t even hear the rest of Tommy’s comment before he pushes away from the bar and storms out. Worried because he’s already failed once and there’s no way he didn’t get you pregnant when he worked you through your heat nearly two months ago.

****

You stare at the test in your hand, waiting for the result. When you walked into the bedroom to find the menstrual cup, you are reminded that you haven’t had your period for two months. Time tends to blur when you’re in the wilderness and you lost track, but you know it’s been about two months since you and Joel fucked. “Shit.” You groan when the test shows positive. You’d asked Maria for a test and her eyebrows had raised but she’d quickly located one for you and now it’s positive. You have to tell Joel.

Walking around has nearly ripped his heart out. Having a panic attack and Tommy finding him after he had seen a woman who from behind made him think of Sarah had been soul crushing. His fear of failure pulls tears out of the alpha and he feels like his designation had been wrong, he’s not an alpha. He can’t protect anyone. Tommy had talked some sense into him during his breakdown and he shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks to the house that he had been told that you and Ellie are in. Drawn back to you, and wondering how you are finding this little commune.

You look up when you see Joel walking into the room, your face stained with tears and you hold the test in your hand. His eyes flick down to it and he immediately knows. “I- I’m so sorry, Joel. This is all my fault.” You choke, knowing he won’t be happy about it. You’ve ruined everything. He has made it obvious that he doesn’t want connections and you just created the biggest connection of all.

Joel closes his eyes, reaching for you blindly to pull you into his arms. “It’s okay omega.” He growls softly, aware that you were always going to end up pregnant after that week in your nest. Even if he hadn’t touched you since, he had filled you with his seed more times than he could count. “We knew it would happen.” He tells you softly, knowing you thought about it too, even if you hadn’t talked about it.

You bury your face in his chest, breathing him in, and you let his scent comfort you. "I know but I - alpha. I know you didn't want connections." You murmur, pulling back to look into his eyes. "I'm so sorry baby." You choke, feeling guilty for making him fuck you during your heat when he tried so hard to leave you alone.

“I-“ Joel stops, thinking for a moment before he shakes his head. “I’m not.” He swallows harshly and reaches up, pulling your shirt down over your gland and rubbing his thumb over the skin. “Do you know how many times I wanted to mark you in your nest? Make you mine?” He asks softly. “You were desperate, needy for me, begging me to take care of you but I didn’t want to claim you when you were so desperate.”

Despite Joel being such a hard man, rough in so many ways, he’s soft underneath. His dark eyes meet yours and you cup his cheek, “I want you to make me yours. I’m not in my heat. If you want me, I’m yours, alpha.” You tell him, rubbing his jaw with your thumb.

His chest puffs up in pride, pleased with your answer even as he searches your eyes with a need to make sure you really want this. “I want you, omega.” He growls. “I want you to carry my mark, for everyone to know who planted their seed in your belly.” He inhales deeply. “Take me to the bedroom you claimed as yours.” He keeps the command out of his voice, giving you the choice to lead him to your room.

There isn’t a choice to make, you’ve been in love with him since before he marked you. You take his hand and guide him to the room you claimed as yours, down the hall from Ellie. He swallows harshly when you open the door and you turn towards him, wanting to be a good omega as you work on the buttons of his shirt, working on undressing him.

Joel lets you undress him, aware of what you are doing for him. What you are trying to show him. Watching you as every article of clothing falls to the floor, until you reach for your own shirt. Then he stops you. Wanting to undress you himself, he slowly lifts your shirt over your head and tosses it aside. “My beautiful omega.” He groans, kneeling down and kissing your stomach before he starts to unbutton your jeans. “Took my seed and gave me hope.”

You look down as he kneels in front of you, pulling your jeans down, and you run your fingers through his hair, loving how he’s kissing your stomach. “My alpha. So strong. So brave.” You murmur, caressing his cheek and you step out of the jeans as he pulls them all the way down. “I love you, alpha.”

He leans into your touch, knowing that you won’t think him weak for taking comfort from you. Some alphas think that finding comfort in their omega beyond just physical is weak but he doesn’t. “I- I love you, omega.” He murmurs before he whispers your name. Peeling your panties down and he licks his lips. “Put your leg on my shoulder, omega.”

You follow his order, body shaking slightly from the overwhelming emotion surging through you, and you stumble slightly as you lift your leg onto his shoulder. His nose trails along your thigh, pressing kisses on the flesh and you sigh, pulling on his hair to get him to move faster. When his tongue slides through your folds, you throw your head back with a moan of his name.

The entire time he had been in your nest, there hadn’t been time for oral. You had been too needy for his cock, tongue and fingers unable to do the job that his knot did. Now, he groans at the tangy taste of your cunt, enjoying the fact that you’ve showered and are ready for him. His nose presses deep into your curls as his tongue pushes into your soaked walls.

You whimper, looking down at him, and his eyes are closed as his nose presses against your clit. “Oh fuck, Joel.” You pant, moaning as his tongue pushes deep. You love the way he groans into your flesh and your heart pounds in your chest. “Oh shit. I- I need you inside of me. Please.” You beg, wanting to feel him.

Joel can’t deny you, not when he desperately wants to be buried inside you again. Taking one last, long lick of your cunt, he pulls away reluctantly. “Go lay down on your bed, baby.” He grunts, smirking up at you. “I want to mark you in a bed, be inside you when I claim you as mine.”

You nod, shifting to lay down on the bed. Settled against the pillows, you look up at him as he stands at the foot of the bed. “Do you want me on my hands and knees?” You ask, wondering if he wants you in the traditional claiming position.

His cock twitches, imagining taking you from behind as he bites into your scent gland, permanently bonding you to him. But he shakes his head, wanting to look at your face when you cum, watch your face as you realize that you are bound to him. “I want to take you on your back.” He tells you quietly, waiting for your reaction.

You nod, keeping your eyes on him as you spread your legs to show him your dripping folds, wet with your arousal and his saliva. “Take me, alpha. I’m yours. In every way.” You promise, caressing your stomach.

“I am yours too.” He promises, knowing that even if he claims you, you hold a claim on him too. He doesn’t want to just possess you, he wants to be possessed by you. He crawls onto the bed and drops another kiss onto your stomach, and he looks up at you. “You are mine and I am yours.” It’s the closest that he would get to marriage now, the institution didn’t exactly exist anymore but he knows he will try to find you a ring to wear. Something beyond his marks.

You smile, tears stinging in your eyes as you watch the man you love crawl up your body until his cock is sliding through your folds. “I love you.” You sigh and he starts to push into you, making you whimper and you caress his neck, pulling him close so you can press your lips to his.

You smile against his lips when he kisses you, wrapping your legs around his hips to pull him closer, and you love how he pushes deeper inside of you. You feel safe, his scent making you feel protected and loved. “Oh God, Joel.” You moan when he shifts onto his elbows, adjusting the position so he’s pressing against your back wall.

He feels the way that you yield to him. The scent of your happiness unfurling around him as he starts to rock into you. He keeps the pace slow, aware that you are more sensitive now that you are carrying. He doesn’t want to hurt you or the baby for his own needs. “My beautiful omega. My love.” He moans, kissing along your neck, straying away from the scent gland.

His words make you preen and you slide your leg along his, wanting to feel closer as he rocks into you. Your hands caress his back and you whine when he pushes deep, “baby. Oh baby.” You pant when the hairs at the base of his cock brush your clit.

“Hmm.” Joel smirks against your skin, happy he can make you breathless. “You like that don’t you? Like the way I take care of you?” His tongue presses against your gland and he licks the clean skin and groans at the way you taste. The burst of pleasure flooding from your pores. “Always gonna take care of you.”

You whimper, loving his words, the comfort coming from his scent, and you love his accent seeping through as he gets lost in the pleasure. "Fuck. I- I love you." You moan, so close to your orgasm. The pregnancy has made you sensitive. "Fuck, I - I'm gonna - Joel." You moan as you clamp down around him, your cry going silent from the pleasure coursing through you.

Joel groans, closing his eyes and shuddering as you clamp down around him. “Perfect.” He hisses. “My perfect omega.” His hips rock forward more eagerly, chasing his own orgasm as he lets his teeth scrap over your gland.

"Do it." You beg breathlessly, "make me yours. I'm yours alpha. Show the world who I belong to." You want him to sink his teeth into your gland, to claim you as his forever because you already belong to him in every other way.

Joel growls, pulling his lips back and with a sharp snap of his hips, he buries his cock deep inside you. Sinking his teeth into your gland and breaking the skin to mark you as his. Filling you with his seed as he groans and the coppery taste of your blood hits his teeth.Joel growls, pulling his lips back and with a sharp snap of his hips, he buries his cock deep inside you. Sinking his teeth into your gland and breaking the skin to mark you as his. Filling you with his seed as he groans and the coppery taste of your blood hits his teeth.

You cum again at the feel of his teeth in your neck, claiming you as his. You whimper, clinging to him as his cock pulses inside of you, filling you up, and you know this is where you've always belonged. In his arms. Tears sting in your eyes and you feel safe, protected, and loved. Something you never imagined before you met Joel.

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