#I was left alone for five days and immediately buckled to a new fandom

[compressedrage]

All my fandoms, bouncing off the walls of my brain at lightning speed: THINK ABOUT ME! NO THINK ABOUT ME! YOU HAVE UNFINISHED FANFIC, YOU SHOULD THINK ABOUT MEEEE–

Me: I only have so much space in my head, y'all need to chill please, I can't think about everything at once

The AvA fandom: *waves*

Me: OMIGOSH NEW COMFORT MEDIA *speedruns becoming an Alan Becker fan*

[lifblogs]

Banned Together Bingo 2020 | FREE SPACE - Crime How-To

Title: Green Eyes Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Explicit Pairing: N/A Word Count: 1759 Summary: It's time for Sam to make his annual trip to Lawrence, KS. Everything goes off without a hitch, but he just doesn't get that rush anymore. WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Gore, Death, Serial Killer, Mutilation, Murder

READ ON AO3

Sam was in a small town in Nevada when he decided to stop at a hardware store and do some shopping. He was on his annual road trip, and he thought it’d be good for him to pick up a few things, just in case. It was cold, so he had his hood up, even inside the store, and, feeling shy, he turned away from most of the security cameras.

Sam found everything he thought he needed to stock up on, paid in cash, thanked the cashier, and left with his belongings.

It was a few more hours till he hit Kansas, especially with a few stops on the way (once to put on snow treads since he was about to hit a lot of ice), but he made it to Lawrence just as the sun was setting. Hungry, Sam found a bar once he checked into a motel, one that was already hopping.

Inside he sat quietly and ate his burger, and fries, and drank his beer, watching the other patrons. Some of them were too rough and rowdy and they made Sam roll his eyes. They weren’t that pretty either. Now the women—gorgeous. But they weren’t what he was looking for. What Sam really wanted was a friend, but no one seemed his type.

Of course not, stupid. Your brother was the bar type. You’re the hang-out-in-a-library-till-closing type.

Sam sighed, and picked at his fries.

Dean did always say you were a nerd.

Still, he kept his hopes up as he finished his food, and then he had a few more drinks, played some pool. He started talking with a particular man who had seemed like the kind of person he’d like. It helped that he seemed drunk enough to be fun, but sober enough to not be a total, wasted idiot.

The man’s name was John. Funny coincidence, seeing as that was the name of Sam’s late father. He asked the man if he could settle for calling him J, and then they talked, and joked, and played pool together. Hell, one guy even tried messing with Sam, and J had him walking away with a broken nose.

“Hey, you want to get out of here?” Sam asked. “Find some beer that doesn’t taste like piss? Maybe some girls?”

“You got a place where we can take ‘em?” J asked, seeming a little wary, but somewhat excited.

Sam held up his motel room key, fist closed around the little plastic rectangle that denoted the name of the motel.

J gave him a high five that turned into a strong hand grab. He grinned, face reddened. “Then hell yeah, man.”

Sam tilted his head to the door. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He thanked the bartender on his way out, and then he went out into the cold with J. Sam put his hood up.

“So, strip club?” J asked.

“Nah,” Sam told him, as he walked them over to his car. “The girls there are violent. I don’t blame ‘em.”

“I think it’s hot.”

“I think men should leave them alone,” Sam told him, unlocking the car, and climbing into the driver’s seat.

J got in on the other side. “What, and you do?” he asked.

Sam tilted his head. “Mostly.”

“Fine, then what were you thinking?”

“Another bar?”

J shrugged. “You know the way?”

“My family used to live here. We moved when I was still just a baby, but I come out here a lot to visit my Uncle Bobby. Oh, and I hope it’s okay if we stop at the motel first. I have to grab a few things.”

“Yeah. Cool.”

Sam parked out front, and then paused to put his hair up. It would be much too annoying if it started getting in his face now. Then, making sure no one was around, Sam held a gloved hand to J’s nose, wrapped a hand around his neck, and covered his mouth. He hugged J to him, keeping him from struggling much, and then he passed out. Sam let him slump on him because that was better than having him land against part of the car and cause a ruckus.

After repositioning him (poor J, he’d had too much to drink), Sam changed into latex gloves, and tied plastic shopping bags he’d had in the glove compartment over his feet, needing to carefully use two for each foot, and then keeping them closed with tape.

Thankfully Sam had set everything up earlier. It was getting late. He’d cleared the space, laid out the plastic… everything was good to go. The motel was even fully packed, and another patron would be leaving early in the morning, just like him (what a coincidence), so everything checked out.

It was too late for anyone to notice that he was out, and this was what he did every year, so he didn’t feel any anxiety as he got out of the car, went around to the other side, and eased J over one of his shoulders.

Sam’s knees buckled slightly. God, the man was heavy. He did fit Sam’s type though—at least six feet tall, muscular. Of course he was heavy.

He took J into his motel room and then set to work. He checked again that his hair was tied tightly and kept up under his hood, and then he got out the duct tape. It was hard working with duct tape with the gloves on, but Sam was practiced at this after years of doing it. He taped J’s ankles together, and then taped his wrists behind his back. Lastly, he put the silvery-gray duct tape over his mouth.

Sam kicked J awake.

Immediately the man started struggling, panicked green eyes swiveling, taking in all he could see before landing on Sam, who was now crouched before him.

“Hey.”

J’s eyes widened, and he started screaming. Luckily the sound could barely be heard.

Sam reached behind himself and grabbed his special serrated knife with the wooden handle from the waistband of his jeans. He rubbed his thumb over the pentagram carved right at the edge of the hilt.

“I like you, J,” Sam said, “which is actually why you’re here.”

J didn’t seem to be taking this in, too panicked.

Why did they never want to let him talk these days? Sam wasn’t trying to be rude. He did need a friend, just not permanently. Besides, they couldn’t stick around, not when they had short brown hair that could have been blond in early childhood, apple green eyes, and chiseled features. He saw Dean in all of them, and well, Dean he’d had to take care of. He’d wanted to leave him. Hadn’t wanted to go with Sam to college.

Yes, college had been Sam’s choice, but Dean had raised him. Why hadn’t the selfish bastard realized Sam would need him?

So he made sure Dean couldn’t leave him, and then when their father, John, started getting suspicious, Sam had no problem taking a knife to him too. That work wasn’t fun like it was with Dean. Just a necessity. But the son of a bitch had had it coming. He’d abused him since he could walk.

So here Sam was, finding comfort in J’s terrified presence. He liked seeing these men beneath him, liked looking into their green eyes and seeing their imperfections. 

They weren’t Dean. None of them could be, and sometimes, Sam thought that’s what he was searching for.

J wasn’t giving him much fun, had just started hyperventilating as much as his body could with his mouth forced shut, snot was leaking out onto the duct tape. Bored, Sam killed him. Usually, he didn’t like to kill them right away. He liked to cut out their eyes first, but god, he just wasn’t feeling it tonight. What was wrong with him? Had he not worked hard enough on finding his friend?

Feeling a strange darkness inside at his newfound lack of feeling, Sam just set straight to work, cutting out J’s eyes; he kept the blood off his clothes. He’d mail the eyes to the police station, and with what was basically a non-address, it couldn’t lead back to him. Sam would even write with his non-dominant hand. That’s what he’d done to check in, and under the fake name of Sylvester Campbell. He’d gotten good at writing with his left hand, good enough that it looked natural, but different from his actual handwriting.

Finding himself upset at his boredom with this project (where was the thrill? The high? Any of it?), he finished up quickly. He let the eyes sit on the floor, weird, bloody lumps, as he wrote out the correct address on a manilla folder. It just so happened to be one of those ones with bubble wrap on the inside, so the eyes would be somewhat protected.

He put them in, then wrapped J up in the plastic, taping up the seams after folding them over and over on themselves. He picked up the body, placed it in the trunk, took care of the rest of his things, and then got in the car. He didn’t take the bags off his feet yet, but he had changed back into his winter gloves earlier, leaving the latex ones with J’s body.

He stopped at a mailbox, deposited the envelope, and then drove around a bit. The roads were looking better, so he stopped over by the bar again, and took the treads off the tires. Besides, the treads had done their job of confusing the tire tracks. Now no one would be looking for the type of car Sam had.

He was off, and he didn’t stop driving till morning. On the way back north, he’d left the body in the dumpster outside a diner, and for now, his trip was complete. 

Sam sat in the car outside his cabin in Montana a few days later, wondering if he should go on another trip. Maybe then he’d feel that high he so desperately craved.

Sam just sighed, shook his head, and turned off Dean’s Led Zeppelin tape, not letting “Ramble On” even finish. Maybe another trip wouldn’t even fix this. Still, it was time to start planning his next one. Sam wasn’t ready to give up the moniker Green Eyes just yet.

Looking for satisfaction, Sam took out his phone, and checked the Lawrence news. And there he was: Green Eyes. He smiled. Okay, so it was still worth it. Just a little bit.

[rudemaidenswrite]

Damn

Fandom: House of a 1,000 Corpses

Rufus Jr 'RJ' Firefly x Reader

By: @pusantheamazonian​                      not beta’d

I've always liked RJ. Of course there's like nuthin’ for him. So viola!

“Howdy Y/N. Hidin’ from your daddy again?” With the ring if the doorbell. Spaulding greets you with a smile already knowing why you're here.

“You know it.” Slowly making your way to the counter. Sad to say you're a little ashamed of this predicament.

“Darlin you need to leave his ass or find a boyfriend. You hidin’ out here ain't good for you. People are going to say you're strange.”

“I'm already strange. I willingly walk five miles to get here because I prefer hanging out with you and the museum than my daddy when he's home.” Reaching the counter you kick at the floor. He goes through this speech every time.

“Five miles? You're saying you walk five miles just to be here?” A hand on his hip. He looks at you like you have two heads or something.

“Yes, I walk everywhere I don't have a car. I'm saving my money so I can leave this town.”

“You need to leave his ass.”

“I know I know. It's just hard. I moved in to make sure he was alright after momma died but he started drinking again and it just got worse.” With your best doe eyes you plead for him to stop his scolding.

“The usual?” Spaulding says after giving you a disapproving look.

“Yup.”

He places a chocolate bar and a bag of chicken on the counter. Thanking him, you hand over the money. Placing the bag of chicken in your bag. You begin eating the chocolate as you wander over to Aqualina.

Hearing the ding of the doorbell you're used to the slow trickle of regulars and random travelers. But ever vigilant to make sure it's not your father. You always peek a look at whoever enters.

Today is no other day. Turning to see who it is, you're stunned. To say that you weren't staring is a lie. You've never seen him before and you're here at least twice a week.  His tall muscular stature, dark brown hair with a button up shirt that looks a little tight has you weak in the knees. Biting your lip is the only thing that keeps you from drooling. You watch him closely as he walks to the counter and talks with Spaulding. The way he's talking to him, Spaulding must know him. You briefly catch Spaulding call him RJ. Not very suttle in staring, Spaulding is looking at you. Before you can compose yourself, Spaulding's given you a wink and smirk. Embarrassed you spin back around trying to ignore them. But you keep glancing at their reflection in the glass. Spaulding fucking knows what you're doing. Cause every time you look at the glass Spaulding still has that smirk. Flustered you breeze past them and out the door. Berating yourself all the way home.

Spaulding knows.

~

This strange encounter goes on for three weeks. Every time RJ showed up you were only able to stay for a few minutes because you found yourself staring. Staring so much that your throat goes dry. Always ignoring him and Captain Spaulding before either one could say anything. This week you'll be damned if you have to leave in an embarrassment.

“What the hell are you doing?” Spotting Spaulding you make a b-line to him, leaning over the counter.

“Well I'm about to eat this tasty donut but you're interrupting me.”

“Not the donut. You know what I'm talking about. You disappear and then RJ shows up a few minutes later.” Glaring you lean in .

Suddenly he’s grabbed you by the shirt and hoisted you over the counter. Shocked your feet are dangling off the ground. Shit what have you done? Panic sets in.

“Darlin you best be minding me. I saw the two of you eye fucking. You both need to stop being pussies and get on with it.” He is wearing a mean scowl, meaner than you've ever seen.

“He.. likes me?” Now you're confused, you never noticed RJ looking at you. Hell you didn't even think he noticed you. well noticed you as a girl and not the random person who always suddenly leaves.

“Damn girl pay attention! Why the hell do you think I'm even botherin’ with this?" Aggravated he releases you.

"I don't know, to be annoying?"

"Y/N. That's the stupidest thing you've said yet. You're grounded to your corner." Deadpaning he points to your usual spot in the corner.

"Fine." Grumbling you straighten out your shirt and go to your corner. Damn it, you hate when he treats you like a child.

Like always Spaulding disappears for a few minutes, returning with a shit eating grin. Exactly fifteen minutes later in walks RJ. In the glass you see Spaulding point at you, clearly done with your shit. RJ looks at you and you quickly glance away, hoping he didn't see you staring.

A thick silence fills the room, nervous you try not to panic. You're not going to make a good impression if you're flustered. God you hope he's not a dick. The last couple guys have been assholes.

RJ quietly makes it to your side and waits. Apparently waiting for you to make the first move. Well now or never.

“Uh hi. Captain Spaulding says you go by RJ is that right?”

“Yes…failed to mention yours."

“Y/N.” Giving a small smile. His voice is better up close, it has a deep country tone to it.  

“You draw?" He eyes the sketch book in your hand.

“It's just a hobby that I get to work on here. I'm surprised Spaulding hasn't banned me yet.”

"You visit often?"

"About twice a week. I go for a walk and end up here."

"Lair. You hide out here about every other day." Spaulding chimes. Immediately turning to glare at him. He returns the look with a meaner scowl, forcing you to turn back around. Now you're just embarrassed.

"Interesting place of choice."

"Better than some places."

"Better? That's low expectations."

"Keep your expectations low and you will never be disappointed." Excited, you're able to get a chuckle out of him. He looks adorable when he smiles.

“Can I see?”

“Sure.” Tucking the pencil behind your ear you hand it to him. He flips through all of your decent and shitty drawings. Mostly shitty.

"Interesting one." Handing it back, he left it open to a particular page. It's a skull that has a glass eyeball in the forehead.

"Oh I was inspired by the whole third eye philosophy." He gives you a confused look. "The third eye or inner eye that's a mystical and esoteric concept.  Referring to an invisible eye in the middle of the forehead. That provides perception beyond ordinary sight." Staring at each other there's a moment of silence. Obviously, he did not just understand a word you said.

"That is a lot of words I don't know."

"Sorry. Sometimes I just word vomit." Motioning with your hand you pretend to vomit.

"Cute and smart."

Abort! Abort!

"Uh thanks. Never been those before." Blushing you don't know what to say. Expect that you are freaking out. He thinks you're cute and smart.

“Well I should be going. I have work in the morning. I'll see you later." You slowly walk to the door. "GOODBYE SPAULDING!”

"Bye Y/N." A muffled shout comes from the back.

"Bye RJ." You give a wave before disappearing out the door.

"Bye."

At home you find your father passed out in the recliner. You quickly clean up the empty beer bottles and trash before heading upstairs. Making sure to lock your door.

It's another two days before you make it back to Spaulding's. Like clockwork, RJ sneaks up beside you. Waiting for you to notice but you always notice. The man is a walking wall of muscle. Giving him a smile you tuck the notebook away.

“Here, I made chocolate chip cookies.”

“Thanks.” He peeks under the lid before tucking the container under his arm.

“How ungrateful. You didn't bring me none?” Spaulding shouts from the counter.

“Did you look in the container on the fridge?” Rolling your eyes you can't believe he missed it.

“What fuckin’ container?”

“Red square tin.” You point at the most identifiable item on top of the fridge.

“I'll be damned, paint my ass blue and call me a baboon. You didn't forget me after all.” Munching on the cookies he disappears into the back.

“No hope for him.” Chuckling you turn back to RJ.

“You bake?”

“Every now and then. Mainly when I have a reason to.”

"What's your favorite thing to bake?"

"Mmm. I would have to say cookies because I can eat the cookie dough while the cookies are baking."

"Doesn't that give you food poisoning?"

"They say it does but I'm willing to take the chance."

He chuckles, amused by your oddness. Maybe you’re weird for this reason.

“Do you want a ride home?”  

Surprised that he asked, you hope that this doesn't end badly if you follow him. Besides, it's still a little early to go home. Though it would be nice to spend some alone time with him. Well out of sight of Spaulding.

"Sure."

Outside you finally see what his ride is. His truck is one of those old ones. The kind where you have to slam the door shut to make sure it shuts and you have no idea how it's still operational.

Buckling your seatbelt there is a faint smell of liquor and car grease.

“You want to see something that's not at the museum?” Climbing into his seat he's got this look in his eyes.  Like he wants to test the limits of your sanity.

“Yeah, what is it?”

Smiling he puts the truck into gear. RJ drives a few miles outside of town, farther out than Spaulding's shop. He pulls onto a dirt road that leads to a farm. Surrounded by a big wooden fence with several outlying buildings and one big farmhouse. The location and isolation of the farm makes you uneasy.

"Follow me." RJ instructs exiting the truck. Nodding nervously you follow. He walks to a wood shed. “Here.” He opens the shed door.

“Wow!” Stunned you slowly walk around it. Someone has created a female Minotaur. The brown hair is styled on the cow's head sitting cross legged in shorts and t-shirt. You're unable to see the lines where the two have been attached. “Who made this?”

“Otis.”

“Otis?”

“Adoptive… Uncle? The family adopted him years ago.” He shrugs not really sure how to explain it.

“Well you can give him my regards. This is amazing.” You cautiously poke the snout.

"I'll pass it along."

The door creaks and you turn to look. Just to make sure that RJ didn't leave you, nope it's a new person entering. You knew RJ was tall but this guy is even taller! Really looking at him you see some deformities. From what you can tell they must be due to his stature.

“My brother Tiny.” RJ explains seeing your confused face.

“Hi Tiny. I'm Y/N.” It's oddly funny that his name is Tiny but he's so tall. You keep that to yourself. Tiny waves. “Nice shirt.” You point at his shirt. It says I got your back bro. One stick figure is holding the other stick figure’s back.

He seems to chuckle before grabbing a hammer and shuffling away.

"How many siblings do you have?" You make your way back to RJ’s side.

"Just Baby and Tiny."

"Baby?"

"Sister."

"Must be fun. I never had any siblings."

"You're not missing anything."

"Really?"

"Really." RJ leads you back to the truck before you can question anything else.

~

Pulling up to your house the moment is bittersweet. You don't want to go inside but you know you have to.

"Thanks for the ride. I'll see you later." Smiling, you place a hand on the door handle. You struggle a moment to open it. The door is unlocked but you have to sort of shove it for it to open.

Cracking the door, you turn to look back at RJ. Surprised. RJ has leaned over and is a few inches away. You swear he can hear your heart pounding. There's only a pause before he captures your lips. His lips are surprisingly soft and so are his movements. Without a thought you press into the kiss. Only to have him part a few moments later.

"Bye." Smirking he doesn't move as he waits for you to catch up.

"Bye." Dazed you fumble with the door trying to get out. You know you must be red as a tomato. Once out of the truck you keep peeking over your shoulder to look at him. Did he just lure you out on a date?

RJ chuckles. So refreshing. Soft and reserved, nothing like his family who are loud, opinionated and chaotic.

Since that night RJ takes you home every night you visit Spaulding. Always taking the long way around. The flirty smiles and mischievous looks on the drive home. Stealing kisses before you open the passenger door. Sometimes leading to wandering hands. Leaving you always wanting more. Making you braver every week.

That all came to a screeching stop when you came home from work to find your father already home, drunk and awake.

Making it to Spalding’s, you manage to sneak in and leave money on the counter after swiping a chocolate bar. You plan on hiding outside tonight to avoid any lectures from Spaulding.

“Howdy Y/N.”

shit.

“Hey Spaulding. Just stopped in for a candy bar, I put the money on the counter.” Almost to the door you pause.

“Y/N.”

“Yes?”

“Turn around.”

Fuck!

There's no way of escaping. In defeat you slowly turn around.

“What in the fucking hell is that?” He’s immediately around the counter and pointing at your face.

“He got back early today.”

“Did you at least hit the bastard before you left?”

“Yeah… how bad is it?”

“You haven't looked?”

“No.”

“It ain't pretty darlin.” Shaking his head you know he’s disappointed with you. You're disappointed in yourself.

“Damn.”

“Come back here. Best to hide for the moment.” He pulls you along and behind the curtain into his break room. The walls are a weird off white color. There's a recliner, a table with two chairs, a microwave and a small refrigerator on the counter. "Sit."

Not arguing you sit at the table. You're embarrassed that he caught you like this. Now he's definitely going to think you're stupid.

"Put this on it." He hands you an ice pack wrapped in a towel.

"Thanks."

He disappears back behind the curtain. Probably to turn the open sign around. With a defeated sigh you hold the ice pack just barely close enough to your face. The bruise is still tender and you haven't decided yet if the cold is making it better or worse.

Spaulding returns grumpy as ever.

"Let me see." You move your hand away slowly. "Got you good. Whole side of your face is bruised. You want to explain what happened?" Pulling the chair closer he sits in front of you.

"He found out about RJ somehow. Was waiting for me at the door. Going on about him being trash and that I'm too young for boys."

"How old are you?"

"I'm twenty seven."

"I'm only kidding but you're still a baby compared to me." Teasing he pats your knee.

"Ha ha." Huffing you put the ice pack back. "Son of a bitch!" You weren't watching and put it on your skin too quickly.

"Ah! You do have a potty mouth. I was startin' to wonder if you knew how to curse." Chuckling he leans back into the chair. Giving him the stink eye only makes him laugh harder.

The ding of the doorbell makes him stop. “That should be RJ.”

“RJ? You called RJ?” Panicking this night is just getting worse.

"You have a few pages stuck together if you think I didn't."

"Fuck." Groaning as you stand, the walk to the curtain is too short. You part the curtain not ready to explain to RJ.

“Y/N!” The drunken voice is fueled by anger.

“Daddy?”

“I should have known you would be here. Let's go!” Before you can react he's at the counter. He’s got a death grip on your arm and pulling you to the door.

“No let go.” Kicking him in the groin. His grip loosens and you push him to the floor. "Spaulding!"

Screaming you run back to the break room but a hand grips your ankle. Pulling you down with a hard thud.

"Y/N!" Yelling, a possessed look takes over.

Rolling over you use your other leg and start kicking.

"Get off me!" Screaming at him. You don't notice the figure barrelling through the door.

In a millisecond he stops. Eyes never stop staring at you. Blood trickles down his face. That's when you notice blood is everywhere and you see a giant metal hook lodged in the back of his head.

You can't process this, everything has gone numb. He's dead. The man who's tormented you these past few years. Making you regret everything you've done to help. Is dead.

"Y/N."

"RJ?" Snapping your attention upwards. It's RJ. This man must be heaven sent.

“What the fuck is this?” Spaulding yells whipping a pistol around and glancing at the body. You point at RJ. Who bends over and picks you up like you were a rag doll. Proceeding to put you over his shoulder.

"Whoa!"

“What do you think this is? A fuckin’ clean up service? RJ!” Spaulding's pissed and RJ clearly doesn't care because he walks back outside. You are confused beyond all get out.

"Damn it. I just mopped the floor." Grumbling Spaulding gets the mop.

Squealing of the truck door indicates where he has taken you. In one solid motion he moves you the passenger seat. His frame blocks any view you could have.

To your surprise he gingerly takes your chin and tilts your head. Obviously to get a better look at the damage. This flip in focus makes you feel very inadequate. Second guessing if you deserve him.

"Y/N." He noticed your avoidance with eye contact.

Finally looking at him you officially break down. "RJ I'm sorry!" Tears are pouring, body threatening to hiccup.

"Why are you sorry? I should be. I didn't get here sooner."

"He was waiting for me today. I know I should have just turned around when I saw him but I didn't. I'm so stupid! I know better not to be there when he's drunk and awake."

"Don't worry about it. He got what was coming."

"Really? But he's-"

"A dead bastard." RJ affirms. He wont have you mourning over that man.

Letting it sink in for a moment you begin to nod in agreement.

"Let's get you home. It'll be alright." He kisses your forehead giving you a tight hug.

"Okay."

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part eight) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Ash Miles, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Word count: 5550 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part eight: It’s one of those days for Dean where everything that can go wrong, goes wrong. After one hell of a day, Bobby has to break the news to Ash, who doesn’t take the lay off well. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: About Today - The National (final scene). Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettishfor helping me. You girls are awesome betas. Thank you for your endless patience!

Ride With Me Masterlist

     7.30 AM, Monday morning. Several hundred hooves tremble the ground. Earthy colored dust has turned into dark mud overnight as the heavens unleashed a rainstorm that still hasn't stopped from raging down. The cattle moos anxiously, trying to stick together as a herd. Bobby’s dog, Rumsfeld, barks over the sound of it all, his enthusiastic calls trumped by the shouts and whistles of the wranglers.       "Yah!” Dean shouts, cutting off young stock that threatens to fan out.

     Droplets as big as marbles fall from the grey sky, the water caught in the brim of his hat pouring from it whenever he tips it down. It’s unusually cold this morning without sunshine to burn the night away. The long, leather coat he’s wearing protects him from that, but the rain started coming through the seams on his shoulders and elbows two hours ago and a steady drip down his neck has drenched his shirt already. Dean has been in the saddle since four o'clock, ever since the thunder woke him up and an eerie gut feeling began to unsettle him. Something was wrong, he felt it in his bones. As he stepped out onto the porch, he immediately noticed the distressed young stock on the wrong side of the fence. Apparently, the cattle panicked in the thunderstorm, took down a gate, and escaped the pen, splitting the herd in two. They were absolutely all over the place, roaming over more than forty acres. With a buyer coming in at 9 AM, he had to gather the two hundred cows and bulls fast, if he wanted to avoid a financial disaster.      So here they are; wet through, tired and miserable, trying to maneuver their horses on the slick surface. A perfect start for this dreadful Monday.

     A sharp whistle reverberates through the valley, requiring his attention. It's Bobby, looking over the mayhem from a small hill, calling his horse to a stand. “Dean, stragglers!”      His head wrangler notices three steers swaying away from the herd. Dean turns from the tail of the group and pushes his horse forward, but immediately senses the loss of grip in the slippery mud. Led’s hind legs skid from under his body, forcing the buckskin to the ground. As the horse's knees buckle, the experienced rider decides in a split second not to leave the sinking ship. Instead, he skillfully sticks to the saddle like he’s glued to the leather, and moves his weight to level out the balance. At the same time, he pulls Led’s nose from the ground and gives enough free rein right after, simultaneously pushing his heels into the horse’s flanks, encourages him to give it his everything to get back on his feet. His quick thinking enables the stallion to break the fall and thankfully; Led steadies himself. Dean breathes out; that was way too close.      “Well done, bud,” the rider soothes, ruffling the Quarter’s mane, glad that he was able to prevent a possibly painful crash.      “Hell of a save,” Benny comments from several yards away. “You alright?”      “I'm good,” Dean assures his best friend. “We need to round them up fast before this whole pasture turns into a mudslide.”      He pushes Led forward, who picks up speed carefully, smart enough to not make the same mistake twice. It takes a while to make up for the lost time, but then he wings the three bulls, guiding them back to the group. Slowly but surely, the wranglers manage to maneuver the large number of animals back into another secured pen. It’s past eight o’clock when Jo closes the last gate and they can all take a breather. Too bad they cannot head back to bed just yet, the day has only just begun.      “Next time you wake me up in the middle of the night, make sure it’s because there’s some hot gal waiting for me on my doorstep,” Ash mocks as he slows his horse down.      Dean looks aside, grinning at the guy that’s in charge of the cattle. “You have enough problems controlling your cows, let alone women, Ash.”      Benny laughs at that, so does Jo. He’s sure Bobby would have laughed at it too, if it wasn't for the troubling decision that has been made. The ranch owner rests his hand on the horn, taking in his dream team as the rain finally stops falling. Today is the day that he will sell over three-fourths of his cattle. Decades of blood, sweat and tears, sold for a dime. Damage control, they call that. It ain't pretty, but it’s necessary to prevent this place from drowning. What else is necessary is cutting down on personnel. Collateral damage is the term, Bobby believes. There’s that word again: damage.      “Is Rufus still dropping by at nine?” Dean, who held up his horse to ride next to his uncle, checks with him.      “Yeah, but you know Rufus. Could be eleven just as well,” Bobby mutters, aware of his old friend’s carelessness.      “Better ask Ellen to break out the Johnny Walker Blue if you're aiming for a good price,” his right hand suggests, before he halts at the tack up area.      The sound of horseshoes splashing on the wet surface draws Y/N’s attention. She parks her broom against the stable wall and peeks around the corner, spotting the wranglers under the Yucca tree, which seems to cry silently as tears of rain drip down from its branches.      “Garth! They're here!” she shouts at the stable boy on the other side of the barn.      The slender guy pops his head out of a stall, then walks out and closes the door behind him. Like the wranglers, he and the intern got up at four in the morning as well. During the weekend the stables aren't mucked out, which adds to the work on Monday, and with Bobby, Jo and Dean handling the breakout, the two of them had to feed and turn out the animals as well. Getting up early was the only way to get all the work done without falling behind.       As the dark rain clouds pass, everyone on the square gets off their horses. Y/N walks up to Bobby, sensing the low morale. No wonder, because all five wranglers are soaked, probably sore and tired too.      “I got him.” She takes over his chestnut named Seger. “Ellen has breakfast ready for you.”     “Thank you, Darlin’,” the old man mumbles, stiffly making his way to the cafeteria.      While tying up Seger, Y/N watches the ranch owner hobble off, wondering why he seems so burdened. When she glances back to loosen the horse’s cinch, a handsome cowboy catches her eye on the other side of the chestnut. Dean takes off Led’s bridle, the last waterdrops rolling from the dip of his hat. Mud splatters have sprayed across his leather overcoat, his boots covered in dirt. There are smudges on his face, along with a weekend stubble still on his strong jaw. The knuckles of his firm hands have a blue shade, so do his lips; he must be so cold after four hours in the pouring rain. With sympathy, she looks at him.        “Hell of a morning, huh?” she comments, trying to make small talk.      Dean looks up and pauses his action. He seems a little surprised by her voice, as if only just now he realized she was behind the horse next to him. The line parting his lips breaks in a small smile. It’s the first time he hears her use a word as such. His language is terrible, he throws in a variation of the words ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ wherever it fits. But Y/N on the other hand, coming from upstate, says ‘gosh’ at most, and uses terms such as ‘for heaven’s sake’, which he finds quite cute. Apparently she’s adapting to her company.       The wrangler scoffs. “You can say that again.”      He unbuckles the cinch and removes the saddle from Led’s back. The mud sticking to the saddle pad is hard to miss and it catches the intern’s eye. Led must have hit the ground at some point, how else would the animal have dirt caked thick in his coat on his entire side?      “Did you fall?” she asks.      Dean chuckles, slightly amused, while he puts the heavy saddle on the bar his horse is tied to as well. He heard that, the worry in her voice.      “Led slipped, but he was able to steady himself,” he reassures.      The cowboy returns his focus to the buckskin next to him as he turns the faucet of the water source. Led might be wet through just like his rider, but he’s covered in filth as well, and that's no way to bring a horse back to his stable. He quickly hoses down his Quarter, while Y/N washes Seger’s feet. When she’s done, she follows Benny and Jo as they return their horses to the stable. Coming back to pick up the saddle, Y/N finds her supervisor crouched down next to Led’s left front leg.      “Shit…” he curses, feeling the cannon bone.      The saddle is left on the bar. Instead, Y/N comes to see what Dean is annoyed with. With just one glance she can determine the swelling on the back of the leg, a little above the fetlock joint.      “Tendon?” she assumes, petting the horse on the shoulder.      Dean carefully feels the tissue, causing Led to flinch. It’s painful, but with all the fluid that is building up around the injury, it’s hard to tell what exactly is causing the reaction.       “Could be. He seemed sound after he tripped,” the wrangler contemplates. “Can you jog him?”      “Sure,” she replies, after which she unties the horse.      Y/N leads the beautiful Quarter in a straight line and starts to run after a few yards. With the first stride it’s already clear that Led is anything but even. Only the  click-clack  sound of Led’s shoes on the surface is enough to state the obvious.       “Well, that ain't good,” Dean sighs as Y/N walks the palomino back.      “You didn't feel him at all?” she checks with the wrangler.      “The poor bastard must have worked through the pain. He’s a tough horse,” Dean ponders, running his hand down Led’s face with sympathy. “I'll cool his leg for a while. Can you get a rug for him?”      “What about you?”       He shrugs selflessly. “I’ll skip breakfast.”      “You’re not skipping breakfast. You've been working nonstop since four AM, you deserve a break,” Y/N decides, strong-minded. “I have cooling leg boots which Led can wear while he's stabled. It works better than cooling with water.”      “Alright then.” He smiles, appreciating her firm response.      He takes over his horse and leads Led back to the barn without hasting him. Silently, Dean turns the Quarter in as his intern walks to the tack room to get the leg wrap and a rug, followed by a stop at the cafeteria to pick up two cool packs from the freezer. On her way over, she notices the handsome wrangler staring at nothing in particular, lost in thoughts. His fingers absently rub Led’s withers, who on his turn bends his neck and seeks the cowboy’s free hand, nuzzling his nose against his skin, as if he is trying to comfort his rider in return. Although it’s a heartwarming sight to see the man having a moment with the beautiful animal, Y/N can sense something is off about him. Not that she knows him all that well, but she can tell that he’s carrying a crippling weight. He’s quiet, for one. No smart answers or perky remarks that could easily be mistaken for flirting. There is also something about his eyes, something weary.       “Here you go,” she says, handing over the boot.      Dean takes it and straps around the injured leg, while Y/N lays a fleece rug on Led’s back to prevent the horse from cooling down too fast. When the wrangler rises to his feet and lets his fingers glide through Led’s golden coat while waiting for her to secure the rug, the silence is awfully evident.        “Are you okay?” she asks carefully.      Dean glances up, caught off guard by the question. For a moment he reckons she’s asking because of the almost crash and now Led’s injury, but when his eyes meet hers, he sees that the question is more layered than that. His first instinct is to throw her a cocky comment, that a little mud isn't ever going to bring him down, but he decides against it. He’s not sure if his hesitation is caused by her ability to read between the lines, but the young man suddenly feels vulnerable, intimidated even.      “Yeah, I'm fine,” he says. “Let’s eat. Don't know about you, but I'm starving.”     She fakes a smile. Of course, she could eat after a morning like today, but she was hoping Dean would take the opportunity to get it off his chest.       A pleasant heat and the smell of bacon and toast welcome them like it does every working day, when Y/N pushes open the door to the cozy personnel hangout. Ellen’s breakfast is always something to look forward to, but today it’s a true gift from heaven. The rest of the crew sits down after having changed into dry clothes and wait impatiently for their bacon and eggs, as Bobby finishes his plate first. When the door creaks, Ellen looks up from behind the stove.      “Oh honey, look at you,” she says when Dean follows you inside. “Did you drown out there? You're soaked through.”      Her nephew hangs his dripping coat and Sheplers on the hat rack above the heater and is welcomed by his aunt with a clean towel, a warm flannel and a pair of jeans      “Why don't you freshen up first and put on some dry clothes. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold,” she insists.      “Thanks, Ellen.” Dean takes the neatly folded pile from her arms after which he places a short, genuine kiss on her hair and moves to the backroom to change.      Y/N can't help but smile when she sits down, delighted to witness the wrangler’s soft side for the second time today. The warmth spreads through her like the hot coffee that she swallows down and settles in the pit of her stomach. She folds her fingers around the mug as she takes another sip, peering over the edge at the man she is losing her heart to as he closes the door behind him. A kick against the shin awakens her from a trance, the action causing her to almost choke on her coffee. Jo sits across the table, her deadly glare demanding to get it together. Flustered and caught, Y/N averts her gaze at the plate that Ellen just set down under her nose.       “Dig in while it’s still warm, sweety,” she insists, oblivious of how the intern feels about her nephew.      Y/N does so, partly as an excuse to not look Jo in the eye and be confronted with her judgment. But when Dean enters the room again, cleaned up and wearing a comfortable red plaid flannel, she just has to take him in for a second. Before Jo can kick her leg again, someone knocks on the glass window from outside the cafeteria. Everyone looks up at the doorway when an old friend of Bobby’s appears.      “Well, I'll be damned,” Ellen says, delighted. “If it ain't Rufus Turner.”      The African American with a pearl white smile and a rascal look in his eyes enters the cafeteria.      “Ellen Singer, you haven't changed a bit.” Rufus takes his hat off for her, but then he turns to face her husband at the head of the table. “But you on the other hand,” he pats Bobby on the back, “- you got old.”      The joke attracts a laugh from the others.      “Good to see you too, Rufus,” the ranch owner responds.      “Grab a plate and dig in. There’s plenty,” Ellen offers.      “I’d love to, but if you don't mind, I wanna get down to business. I've got places to be later.” He puts his hat back on and turns to the rest of the company. “Mind if I steal him for a bit?”      “By all means, steal away.” Ellen smiles politely.      Bobby gets up and excuses himself. When he has left the room, the workers finish their breakfast. Nobody says anything, and although Y/N doesn't understand what has caused the grim mood, she keeps her mouth shut. Instead, she takes in the people surrounding her. Jo, Ellen, and Dean seem to ignore the elephant in the room, while Garth, Benny and Ash exchange puzzled looks. Rufus’s visit to the ranch has stirred things up. Who is he? A business partner? A trader, maybe?           When the break is over and the crew gets back to work, the air is more suffocating than it is on a hot day. It has nothing to do with the weather, though.      “Why is Bobby selling stock?”      It’s Ash who asks as the gang walks down to the paddocks between the stables. The question breaks the silence, but it also adds to the tension. Jo and Dean exchange a look, but both keep quiet, which isn’t sufficient for the worker with the odd haircut.      “That’s why Rufus is here, ain’t it?” Ash pushes, a worry in his tone that seems foreign for the carefree guy.       The head wrangler sighs and turns to his friend.       “Look, business has been slow, y’all know that. Rufus is here to discuss the value of the cattle, to explore our options,” Dean tries to reassure not just him, but the rest of his staff.      When he can read from Ash’s face that his reassurance doesn’t have much effect, he adds a few words he might regret later.  “No need to worry just yet. We’ll figure it out. Now let’s get to work.”      And so everyone does, some left with a few questions, but the leader of the team has managed to take away most of the concern. All this time, the intern hasn’t said a word. The young woman with a master’s degree in business and a nose for bullcrap only observes. She observes Dean, when he glances at his cousin, troubled, right after Ash walks off to fill the hay barn in the main pastures. She observes Jo, who looks at the ground and keeps quiet, as the two of them walk over to the paddocks to turn the horses in. She observes Bobby Singer and Rufus Turner, who are seated on the back porch of the house, accompanied by a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, tied up in a dialogue that seems to be a negotiation more than it is a casual chat. She observes the handshake, the ‘glad to do business with you’ grin on Rufus’s face opposite of the defeat in the ranch owner’s eyes. So much for not needing to worry just yet.

     The early morning rain has cooled down the dusty lands and doesn’t allow the temperature to rise like it did the previous days. Clouds keep rolling in from the east, cutting off the sun. This weather suits Y/N better and she works extra hard now that her body doesn’t seem like it’s overheating. It gives her a good feeling that she is able to take some of the load from the other workers. Dean even allowed her to train two of the horses, since he had a meeting with Bobby. He didn’t return until an hour before supper. After dinner, Benny and Garth head to the shed to fix the tractor, that on top of everything else, started spilling oil. The rest of the crew is about to retreat back to the bunkhouse, when Bobby calls back one of the workers.      “Ash?” he says, his voice matching his serious expression. “Can you come into my office?”      “Sure thing, boss,” he responds, joining the ranch owner.      Dean can read from Ash’s facial expression that he’s uneasy, but doesn’t have a clue what is coming for him. The ranch hand who is in charge of the cattle probably assumes that Bobby is going to update him on the reason why Rufus was here. Shit, he wishes it was just a simple briefing. Poor bastard…      The head wrangler exhales as he walks on, shaking off the cold that hasn’t seemed to leave his body after the rainy morning. Jo follows him silently, kicking the clotty earth with her dragging feet, hands shoved down in the pockets of her denim jacket. Y/N is on his other side, wonderingly looking over at them every now and then. She has kept quiet long enough. So when they step up the stairs to the porch first, she drops the bomb.      “So, Ash is getting sacked, huh?”      Dean has stopped in his tracks and instantly shoots an angry glare at Jo. “You told her?!”      “I didn’t tell her jack shit!” she counters, insulted.       “She didn’t need to, Dean,” Y/N backs her up, having turned around before opening the front door. “Livestock sales have plummeted nationwide, yet Bobby is selling now, so times must be desperate. With no cattle to handle it’s only logical that Ash will be let go in order to cut down on costs. I have a business degree, remember? I can do the math. Here, you guys look like you can use these.”      During her flood of words, she had strolled to the fridge, taken out three beers, and popped the caps off with an opener. Not sure if he should be impressed or feel threatened by the intern’s knowledge, Dean takes the drink and has a swig of the brew. She’s right about more than a few things; he needed a beer.      “Is Bobby breaking it to him now?” she wonders.      Dean glances over at Jo, who leans back against the kitchen sink, nursing her bottle. It’s not something they would usually discuss with interns, but since she already seems to be fully aware of the situation and he trusts that she will keep this between them, he confirms with a nod.      “Damn…” Y/N ponders, biting her lip as her eyes drift away to nothing in particular. “How long has he been here?”      “For about five years now,” Jo thinks back, clearly sad about having to say goodbye to a good friend. “I can remember the day he arrived. He caught Dad’s eye at the Holbrook Rodeo, where he worked in the arena. He couldn’t keep a job long enough to rent himself a roof over his head, mostly because of his looks and his ‘fuck you’ attitude, but he was good with the bulls. That’s when Dad asked him to come work for him and for the first time, Ash found a place where he belonged. He’s been here ever since. Never stayed in one spot this long. Mom and Dad have a habit of taking the misfits under their wings.”      It’s quiet for a few long seconds, as Dean recalls Ash’s early days on the property. Then he goes back further, to the day he himself set foot on these lands, with nowhere else to go. They did exactly the same for him as they did for Ash; offered him a comfortable bed, warm food, a rewarding job. A safe haven where they didn’t have to worry about how to get through tomorrow, where they didn’t have to be scared. One would perhaps expect Bobby and Ellen to take Dean in, him being their nephew. But it didn’t matter that the funny looking bullfighter called Ash wasn’t related. He became family, too.      “How do you think he’s going to take it?”      It’s Y/N who breaks Dean’s train of thought.      He ponders for a moment before he answers. “I dunno. He’s a pretty chill guy these days, but this is so much more than just a job.”      Dean pauses, putting himself in Ash’s shoes for a moment. Who is he fooling? His friend is going to lose it.      “Guess we’re gonna find out in a moment,” Jo says, nodding at the portrait outside.      Y/N glances through the dirty window while Dean holds the bamboo fly curtain aside to step onto the porch. It’s Ash who approaches the bunkhouse, but he doesn’t have the swagger he usually has in his stride. The ranch hand is looking down at the ground, the soil he used to call home. Every muscle in his face tensed, balled fists move alongside him with each step. Dean watches the guy for a brief moment, then descends the stairs to meet with him, but Ash does not want any of it. Instead, his friend walks past him, dismissing the head wrangler.      “Ash. I--”      The words trigger something in the lean guy, because after taking two strides up the steps, he turns around, a pair of piercing eyes startling Dean.      “You knew, didn’t ya?” he questions, his voice heavy with frustration.      Dean needs a moment to recover, staring up at the cattle worker, but Ash doesn’t grant him that time.      “That whole ‘no need to worry, we’ll figure it out.’ It was bullshit and you know it. Hell, I ain’t surprised if you’re the one who decided that it was my ass to fire.”      There isn’t much Dean can say to that, because it’s true. He did know, he knew for a long time, and yes, it was him who told Bobby it had to be the man who’s standing before him right now.       “We…” Dean pauses to correct himself, because Ash is right; this is on him. “I didn’t have a choice.”       “Oh, but you did. Instead of telling me that things were gonna be A-okay, you could’ve told me what was gonna happen. But no, you were too fucking scared to look me in the eye and tell me the Goddamn truth,” the worker says accusingly.      Dean stares back at him, his jaw flexing, but then he looks away as he swallows down the guilt. He knew those words were going to bite him in the ass. When he straightens himself again, Jo has appeared in the doorway, with Y/N right behind her.      “Ash, we’re all sorry it went down as it did, and we wish it didn’t have to be like this--”      “Then why the fuck do I have to leave?!” he shouts at the daughter of the ranch owner, his eyes noticeably shimmering in the lights above the porch.      Jo isn’t impressed with his anger, on the contrary; she replies professionally calmly.       “I hate to see you go. Shit, we all do. But the ranch isn��t going to survive if Dad doesn’t cut costs,” she reminds him. “There’s barely any cattle left to maintain, and you were hired last.”      “Right. The ‘last in, first out’ rule. Then tell me, what the hell is  she  still doing here?”      Suddenly, the newest crewmember is dragged into the argument as Ash nods at Y/N. Her heart skips a beat when it dawns on her what he holds her accountable for; he thinks she stole his job. Shocked, Y/N looks at the man who directed the focus on her. It’s a side of him she didn’t know he had and is overwhelmed by the accusation, causing her mind to fail miserably when trying to form any kind of response. Feeling helpless and exposed, she glances at the other two, desperate for back up. Thankfully, the head wrangler got the message, because seeing Y/N’s expression change from compassionate to fearful, triggers something inside him.       “Y/N’s an intern,” Dean returns, the tone of his voice colder than a moment ago. “Y/N is still here because she doesn’t cost Bobby anything.”      But Ash disagrees. “She’s another mouth to fill, just like every single one of us. She has a horse here who needs a shit ton of feed--”      “- and she works hard for that,” Dean overrules him, staring him down. “Look, man. I know you’re pissed, I get it. But don’t you put this on her, it ain’t her fault.”       “Are you saying I don’t work hard for my pay?!” Ash snaps back angrily.      “I didn’t say that,” Dean rights, gesturing with a lowering hand to calm down. “I’m saying that down the line, Y/N is a free hand.”

     Ash scoffs at that, biting his lips as he looks away and clenches his fists, his knuckles pressed together in order to manage the exasperation. He’s so hurt and upset that he doesn’t even think about the consequences of the words that follow.       “Oh, she’s a free hand, alright,” he states, shooting the guy opposite of him a penetrating glare.       Jo gapes at Ash, mouth falling open, then turns her head to witness Y/N having the exact same reaction. Dean stares at Ash too, first in astonishment, wondering where he got the nerve to insinuate something like that. Within a second, that emotion is pushed aside by brewing anger. The need to defend her honor causes him to step towards Ash intimidatingly, but Jo gets in between before things escalate.      “Whoa, now! Can we just keep it cool and not get nasty?” she demands, having both Dean and Ash at arm’s length.       But Ash, apparently, isn’t done. “You’ve always been a screw around, man, but shit, I did not expect you to stab me in the back just to get in a girl’s pants,” he sneers, pushing Dean’s buttons and seriously applying for a punch in the face.      “This is fucking bullshit, Ash, and you know it!” Dean counters, so worked up over the allegation that his heart is beating out of his chest.       “Okay, that’s it! If you don’t shut your mouth right now I’m gonna pull out that mullet of yours!” Jo warns Ash before she turns to Dean. “And you need to walk it off, right now!”      The ranch owner’s daughter pushes him back gently in order to raise her finger at him sternly. He steps away, offering a little air to the suffocating clash, and so does Ash.      “Don’t bother, I’ll leave.” He scoffs. “That’s whatcha want, ain’t it?”       The cattle worker turns around, the rage slowly seeping from him, leaving the space for sadness and disappointment to fill. Y/N watches the guy, still mind-blown by all the words that were said, but now that a fight is avoided, she can only feel pity. The blame that he put on her and on Dean is only a response to his world crashing down on him. She cannot really condemn him for lashing out. After ten or more steps, the guy in a dirty shirt and a plaid jacket with the sleeves ripped off turns around. Normally everything about the guy is either hazardous or comical, depending on how well you know him, but not now. Not now that his eyes are glistening in pained emotion.     “This wasn’t just work, y’know. This is my life. This is home,” he says, his arms spread in desperation. “I thought that all of us here - that we were in this together. That we don’t turn our back on family.” He pauses, eyes fixed on Jo, then on Dean. He continues with a broken voice. “Y’all did exactly that.”      With those words, he turns away and heads off to his cattle, like he always does after dinner. Silenced, the three watch him leave, until Dean sighs and looks around lost, as if he hopes to find answers in the earth-colored gravel. He doesn’t look at Y/N, he’s doing everything to avoid her questioning, sympathetic gaze. When the air gets too thin to breathe, he walks away in the direction of the barn, off to his horses. The intern allows her eyes to linger on the defeated figure that becomes smaller as he drags his feet down the worn path to the stables, the grey sky above him that darkens by the minute only adding to the grim atmosphere. Instinctively, Y/N reaches for the handrail of the steps down the porch, intending to follow him, but Jo stops her.      “Let him be for a bit.”      Y/N halts and listens to her friend, then lets a breath slip from her dry lips. “So no one wins today, huh?”     “Nope. Not today,” Jo responds, moving through the doorway after throwing a glance at Ash’s silhouette in the far pasture. “Comin’? I have a bottle of something a-hell-of-a-lot-stronger-than-beer stashed somewhere.”       Y/N huffs and turns to join her. Jo pours her some rum in a jar, which she sips on silently as she looks out the window, watching the day end. But the alcohol cannot wash away her thoughts that are with the two ranch workers: the one who lost his friend, and the one who lost everything else as well.

Told you guys there was gonna be angst? Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part nine here

[jemelle]

these are ties that bind (3/8)

you can also find this story on ao3!

fandom: criminal minds

rating: t

(chapter) word count: 2,861

masterlist

summary: emily and hotch must pretend to be in a long-term relationship in order to foster carrie. shenanigans and serious conversations alike ensue.

three.

On Monday, Emily took Carrie to her first day of school. Hotch had wanted to come, but he had to take Jack to nursery. Secretly, Emily was pleased to have this moment alone with Carrie. She remembered all too well the feeling of starting a new school, getting used to a whole new set of customs and rituals.

She had called the principal yesterday and received her express assurances that Carrie would be able to start school mid-year. Her credits would transfer over, but Emily knew that wasn’t the difficult part. It was starting classes when everyone else knew each other’s names, when they had silently picked a seating chart and knew who they’d partner with for group projects.

Carrie had insisted on finding the school office by herself, although Emily had offered to come with her. She had suggested (facetiously, knowing Hotch would never tolerate it) that her FBI badge might help smooth things over, which had drawn a much-needed laugh. She had also suggested that Carrie should think about taking some honors classes, but decided to shelve the conversation when she saw the obvious flashbacks her request had caused.

They pulled up in front of the school, an imposing brick building that reminded Emily of the quintessential high school from every teen movie. Students were already streaming into the building, chattering as they went along. 

Emily searched for the right words to assure Carrie that she was capable of doing this. She was sure Hotch would have made an eloquent speech, but heartfelt sentiments were never her forte. She settled for flashing Carrie a smile and a thumbs-up.

Carrie smiled back and reached across the console to hug Emily, who reciprocated with only a moment’s hesitation. Two hugs in almost as many days was new territory for Emily, who tended to receive them more on a bimonthly basis, but she had a feeling it might become the new normal.

Emily watched Carrie walk towards the school until she had disappeared through the front doors. The honks of cars behind her informed her that she was holding up the carpool line, but Emily didn’t feel even a little sorry.

~

By Wednesday, Emily knew the jig was up. JJ had been shooting her and Hotch strange glances all day, looking as if she was trying to resist blurting something out in front of the entire bullpen. As Emily passed by JJ’s office, she felt a hand dart out and grab her wrist. Before she could respond, Emily was pulled into the darkened office.

“What do you want?” She knew, of course, but it was better to let it play out. There was a chance, albeit minuscule, that JJ simply wanted Emily’s help in planning a surprise party for Rossi. 

“Is this true?” JJ thrust the paper into Emily’s face. It was the address change form that she had just submitted. Damn. She and Hotch had been hoping the paperwork would pass to Strauss unnoticed, but they should have known JJ was never anything less than thorough.

“Yeah, it is.” She’d answered the question, technically, but they both knew that wasn’t what JJ was really asking.

“But you’re not attracted to men.” Emily had come out to JJ during one of their “girls’ nights,” while Garcia was fetching another round of drinks. JJ had been talking about some guy at the bar who she thought was cute, and Emily had felt something snap in her. She didn’t want to have to hide anymore: she knew JJ would be accepting even if she didn’t fully understand. And so Emily had blurted it out before she really knew what she was doing. JJ, to her credit, had blinked once before asking Emily if there were any girls at the bar she thought were good-looking. 

“Thanks, I know.” She hadn’t meant to sound so peeved, and regretted it immediately when she saw a look of hurt flash on JJ’s face.

“I’m just looking out for you.” Some days it felt as though that was JJ’s real job, caring for the team and trying to remind them not to lose sight of the mundane life they were fighting to protect. It was mostly futile, and they all knew it.

“I know,” said Emily, smiling at JJ and reaching out to squeeze one of her hands. 

JJ looked horrified as a thought came to her. “Hotch didn’t make you do this, did he?” At that, Emily nearly doubled over with laughter.

“God, no. If anything I forced his hand.” JJ looked confused, and Emily didn’t blame her. Present situation included, there were very few worlds in which Emily would voluntarily ask Hotch to move in with her.

“So, remember when you said you could see me with kids?” JJ nodded, realization beginning to dawn on her face. “Well, Hotch is currently helping me take care of Carrie and neither of our apartments was suitable for two adults, a teenager, and a very energetic toddler.”

“Does he know about…” JJ gestured vaguely at Emily. “...you?” This time, Emily didn’t bother pretending innocence.

“No,” she said. “And I don’t plan on telling him. There’s no reason for me to do so. Even if our marriage is a sham, that doesn’t mean I’m going to cheat on him.” Emily had been firm in that belief since she had hatched this scheme. Hotch was a man who took fidelity seriously, and she couldn’t do that to him, especially after Haley.

JJ clasped her other hand around Emily’s and squeezed. “Don’t get hurt, okay? And if you do, tell me so I can kick his ass into next week.”

Emily grinned. The fierceness of JJ’s love reminded her of how lucky she was to have found her place at the BAU. “Just, please, keep this between us,” she entreated JJ, before walking to Hotch’s office to inform him that they had been made.

~

Apparently, two year olds don’t usually attend school full-time. Emily had, but Hotch’s horrified look when she told him conveyed to her that this was yet another example of Elizabeth Prentiss’s less than superb parenting. Jack went to preschool three days a week, but the rest of them he spent with either Hotch or Haley.

On Thursday, Hotch was called away to an early morning meeting. The higher-ups were making budget cuts again, and Emily knew he and Strauss would have to fight tooth and nail just to avoid losing a member of the team. Carrie had already decided that she would prefer to take the bus to school, which left just Jack and Emily. She had the day off, courtesy of Hotch, providing no urgent cases arrived. At noon, she was supposed to drive Jack to Haley’s house, but right now they were enjoying a quiet morning together. 

As she finished up her paperwork, Emily kept one eye on Jack, who was playing with his extensive dinosaur collection. She sighed when she signed the last form, relieved to be done so early. There was a new sci-fi anthology that she had been meaning to read. Emily shut her eyes, intending on resting them for a brief moment before starting her book, but opened them again when she heard movement beside her. Jack had clambered up on the couch next to her and was staring at her intently. 

“Read?” he asked, gesturing at a picture book on the side table. Emily picked it up.

“I don’t know if I’ll be very good at it.” She was still getting used to living with a toddler. So far, she had managed to avert any world-ending cataclysms, but being alone with Jack was an entirely different situation. This time, there was no backup.

“Read,” he insisted, so Emily did. Jack wasn’t shy about informing Emily when she did things wrong. Apparently she read too fast and she didn’t do the voices like his Mommy did. When Emily completed the first book, saying “The End” in what she hoped was an appropriately dramatic tone of voice, Jack pointed to another one. Before she knew it, it was time to take Jack to Haley’s.

She had only met Haley a few times, but Emily harbored an intense dislike for anyone who would hurt Aaron Hotchner. They may not be the best of friends, but watching Hotch’s face fall every time Haley informed him that he would arrive in DC too late to see Jack would make any sane person sympathize. This was only compounded upon actually meeting Jack; he would stay up as late as possible if it meant he could see his father.

Emily strapped Jack into his car seat, struggling briefly with the buckles. She didn’t understand how Hotch could make it look so effortless. As soon as they left the neighborhood, she began blasting Melissa Etheridge, not caring what other people could hear. Her day off, her music. 

She turned the music down as they arrived in Haley’s neighborhood. The cookie-cutter houses reminded Emily of her and Hotch’s neighborhood, but this area was much more affluent. Even with a lawyer’s salary, she would bet Hotch and Haley had taken out a large loan to afford to live here.

Haley was already standing on the front porch when they arrived. Emily checked her watch: five minutes early. Good. She looked surprised to see Emily clamber out of the car, though Hotch had already cleared it with her. Emily sent a silent prayer to whatever god was listening as the straps to Jack’s car seat came undone easily. The last thing Hotch needed was to have Emily look incompetent. 

Jack refused to walk the two hundred or so feet to Haley, so Emily scooped him up and headed towards the house. When she reached the porch, Emily set him down, and he toddled over to give Haley a hug. She beamed at him, and the wrath clutching Emily’s heart loosened slightly.

“Thank you,” Haley said. Emily smiled thinly at her. 

“Hotch will be by to pick him up tomorrow.” Safer to stick to business. It lessened the chance Emily would say something she’d immediately regret. She waved at Jack. “Bye, kiddo. See you soon.”

“Bye, Auntie Emily!” he chirped in response. That was new. She had just been Emily so far, or ‘mily if Jack was especially sleepy. She’d have to check with Hotch that the nickname could stay, but Emily found she quite liked it.

Jack walked through the open door, and though Haley turned to watch him, she didn’t go inside. Emily loitered on the porch, sensing their conversation wasn’t finished. She was right.

“Does he make you happy?” Haley’s voice lacked malice. Emily supposed she was curious; it must have been a long time since Hotch had made Haley happy.

She considered the question. Obviously, there was a right answer, given the pretend nature of their relationship. But as Emily thought about Hotch’s kindness towards her and Carrie, the way he was willing to risk Jack, the best thing in his life, so that Emily could have a chance to care for a child the way he did, she realized it was also the true answer.

“Yes.” Haley headed inside without a response, and Emily couldn’t tell whether she was pleased or irritated. It didn’t bother her either way.

~

When Emily poked her head into the living room, she saw Carrie sitting calmly on the couch. It was late and she had assumed that Carrie had already gone to bed, but apparently this was not the case. When Carrie noticed her staring, she motioned Emily to sit with her. Emily settled on the ottoman facing Carrie.

“What’s up?” she asked, feeling strangely as though she were the child in this situation, as if Carrie were the one summoning her for an intervention.

“Where’s Hotch?” A neat sidestep, and one that only served to further intrigue Emily.

“Getting ready for bed, I suspect.” Although Emily’s experience living with men was somewhat limited, Hotch took more time in the bathroom than any other man she’d met, although she respected that it meant she didn’t have to see him change.

As if summoned, Hotch emerged, freshly showered and wearing pajamas. He smelled like shaving cream, Emily reflected as he sat down next to her, and something else she couldn’t place. Although she made no move to initiate contact, Emily nevertheless felt more solid with him next to her. Whatever Carrie had to say, they could deal with it, together.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Carrie started. “For taking me in when no one else would.” 

Emily reached out to clasp Carrie’s hands, squeezing them tightly, but it was Hotch who spoke, his voice clear and words familiar. “Carrie, there’s no need to thank us--”

“But you don’t need to pretend anymore.” Emily and Hotch exchanged a look, but it was not a glance between friends (or whatever they were). It was the same look they exchanged when an unsub revealed crucial information during an interrogation. What did Carrie know?

“What?” Emily had learned early how to feign innocence. It had saved her more times than she could count, from escaping the wrath of Elizabeth Prentiss to baiting a suspect to pretending to not be so fucked up when pretty girls hit on her in bars.

Carrie, however, was having none of Emily’s act. “You know what I mean. You expect me to believe that you’re married to a man who you don’t even call by his first name?” 

Emily felt again like a chastened child, called out with one hand in the cookie jar. She looked to Hotch for moral support, but he looked as blindsided as she felt. When he turned to face her, she could see mounting rage in the way his body tensed, although his face remained impassive as ever. Then Emily remembered their one rule: don’t lie to Carrie. 

“You got us there,” said Hotch. Emily marveled at the way he could switch from angry to personable in a moment, although the glare he first shot Emily made clear that they were going to talk later. “Was it just the names that gave us away?”

Gathering information on their tells, that was smart. 

“The names were definitely a giveaway.” Carrie considered them for a moment. Mostly, though, it was the lack of touching. I can see no kissing --maybe you’re just very private people-- but you don’t even hold hands and I’ve only seen you hug once.” She gestured at them. “Even now, you’re sitting with a couple inches between you.”

Right now, Hotch would probably prefer they sat even farther away, Emily thought bitterly. 

“But I’m not going to say anything, if that’s what you’re upset about.” With that level of perception and intuition, Carrie would make a grade-A profiler. Not that Emily would wish their lives on anyone.

Emily still didn’t trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded as Hotch spoke again. “Thank you for trusting us.” He checked his watch. “It’s late. Are you going to bed now?”

Callie responded affirmatively and slipped out of the room, leaving Emily and Hotch in stony silence. When Hotch spoke again, his voice contained undisguised anger. “Prentiss, what the hell was that?”

The use of her last name only stoked in her a desire to fight back. Emily might break down crying, but Prentiss wouldn’t. Prentiss wasn’t vulnerable, wouldn’t apologize.

“Don’t yell at me,” she hissed. Hotch stiffened, then softened at the look on Emily’s face.

“I’m sorry. It was out of line for me to speak like that, but what you did was also out of line. We agreed no lying to Carrie.” She couldn’t meet his gaze. Self-loathing welled inside her. How could she have ever thought she was good enough to be a parent when she couldn’t even keep a basic promise?

“Emily?” If she lifted her head there would be no denying the tears in her eyes.

“I tried to. It just… I just…” failed, she finished mentally. Couldn’t deal with the idea that what was maybe my only chance at motherhood could disappear. Although she wasn’t willing to verbalize those thoughts, she still felt she owed it to Hotch to try and explain. “I got scared. And I know you’ve heard this a lot recently, but I’m sorry.”

Hotch didn’t tell her she shouldn’t be sorry. She had messed up, and they both knew it. Now the only question was what he would do. Never trust her again, Emily supposed. Their partnership had seemed so promising, but of course she had ruined it. Outside of work, she could never do anything right.

“Next time, Emily, I just need you to tell me.” After years spent under the thumb of the Catholic Church, finding someone with a true capacity for forgiveness always surprised Emily. Hotch had surprised her again and again. 

“I will, Aaron,” she said, trying out the unfamiliar name on her tongue. It still felt a little too strange, not natural enough for casual conversation, but she could work on it. “I won’t let you down.”

It was a tall order to live up to, but Emily had to try.

[afangirlsplaylist]

Behave

Author: afangirlsplaylist

Rating: Explicit    

Chapter: 1/1    Word count: 3,252 

Summary: Prompted by THIS. AU - Link has come out and he’s finally sick of the sexual tension his hot and supposedly straight best friend has been putting him through. It’s about time for some follow through.

Warnings: Smut and everything that goes with that, Dub-con (sort of), D/S undertones, a little alcohol drinking.

Notes: Not a huge amount of plot for this one. Wrote this one shot as a warm up for the serials sitting in my drafts. 1000000% fictional.

Read it on archiveofourown

It wasn’t a big deal when Link came out. Rhett knew his friend too well to be overly surprised and the crew wasn’t fazed. Stevie practically celebrated the news, high-fiving a blushing Link when she heard.

Of course telling the Mythical Beasts was a whole other story. There was a fair amount of expected backlash, but it didn’t surprise them to find that the majority of fans were supportive. The shipping niche of the fandom, in particular, were very vocal about what the two of them could do with the information, the increase in suggestive comments making Link a little fidgety with discomfort. Rhett himself had seen enough screen caps of the two of them floating down the Tumblr dash on Jen’s computer to have questions of his own, although he was never conceited enough to voice them.

Given the tension, he supposed he could’ve been a little more sensitive to his friend’s feelings. He could’ve reigned himself in several notches during the touchier wheel endings or bit his tongue when the urge for innuendos arose, but he didn’t. His playful nature won out every time, resulting in Link sitting squarely in his lap for another wheel ending that didn’t call for it.

“Why did I have to be on your lap for this?” Link grumbled.

“Because you’re my patient Link.” Rhett joked. “I gotta save your life.”

The room erupted in light chuckles but Link’s died quickly, his body freezing in place as Rhett adjusted his knee and unwittingly rolled his crotch a little more firmly against his ass. Shooting him a deeply serious look, Link quickly slipped off Rhett’s lap and reclaimed his seat, tugging at his collar to compose himself.

“Welcome to Good Mythical More.” Link plowed on.

It wasn’t long before Rhett was able to dismiss the small moment, as Link was the picture of innocence throughout ‘more. He steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them as if he was carefully contemplating what Rhett had to say, speaking very little himself. It was one of the many times in their lives that Rhett would miss the dangerous glint behind the polite facade, the kind that would usually result in a fight.

Signaling to Stevie that they had enough footage, Link called a cut on the episode, already halfway across the room before he noticed Rhett wasn’t following. “You coming?”

Rhett raised an eyebrow but followed, his long legs walking quickly to keep up. “You in a rush to get to lunch or something?”

Not bothering to reply, Link held the door open for Rhett as they reached their office, letting him go ahead.

They had barely heard the lock click on the door before Link reached up and grabbed Rhett by his hair, pulling him down for a sharp, wet kiss. Startled, Rhett didn’t have time to respond, still feeling dazed as Link pulled away from his mouth.

“That’s for grinding on me.” Link said with satisfaction.

“I don’t rig the wheel man. What are you doing?” Rhett argued.

Link simply answered his excuse with another kiss, this one so rough and enthusiastic it made Rhett flail, clawing at Link’s shoulder until his body stilled and he gave into it. He knew he could push Link off at any time, but there was something about Link’s talented lips and the fierce look in his eyes that stopped him.

“Look buddy roll.” Link drawled, peeling his lips off Rhett’s again. “You’re my best friend - but keep playing with me and I will fuck you.”

“You wouldn’t - “ Rhett cut himself off with a gasp as he felt Link reach down and squeeze his dick through his jeans.

“I wouldn’t what Rhett?“ Link growled.

“Okay.” Rhett squeaked. “I’ll stop.”

Humming thoughtfully as he considered that, Link’s hand began to playfully paw at the front of Rhett’s pants with teasing rubs. "You gonna behave and stop starting something you can’t finish on camera?”

Biting his lip, Rhett fought to resist the small moan that threatened to escape as he spoke. “I’ll behave.”

“Good.” Link smirked, promptly releasing Rhett’s crotch. “You wanna take our lunch break in a half hour?”

Thrown off by the change of topic, Rhett blinked. “Yeah sounds good. I’m just… Gonna go to the bathroom.”

Link made no comment but his grin widened wickedly as Rhett hurried out of the room, determined not to let Link see the bulge that had begun to fill out his jeans. Thankful to find his path free of employees, he threw open the door of the nearest bathroom, peering around the empty room and open stalls until he was sure he was alone.

Taking a cubicle, he palmed himself roughly through his jeans until he couldn’t handle the pressure anymore, finally shoving them down along with his underwear. Sighing in relief he wrapped a hand around his girth and stroked himself feverishly, dry humping his fist until there was enough precum to slick up his hand.

He tried to pretend he wasn’t replaying what had just happened in his head multiple times, and he tried to pretend it wasn’t his best friend that had reduced him to a horny teenager. He also tried to pretend that jacking off in the studio wasn’t turning him on, and that he wasn’t imagining Link’s slender hand on his cock rather than his own. He failed on all counts.

Cumming with a quiet grunt, he pressed a hand to the wall for support as his knees buckled and his ragged breathing slowed. Usually, he would bask in the glow of the moment, but this time he cleaned off and left the room hastily. It was as if by immediately destroying the evidence of the event itself he could make it so it never happened, along with the feelings that came with it.

He avoided Link’s gaze when he returned to their office, focusing a little too intensely on his screen. It didn’t help matters when Link proceeded to take their lunch break to enjoy a banana, a fruit Rhett knew his friend didn’t even like. He glared every time Link’s tongue lingered on a piece of the fruit as if every taste Link took was sending a bitter sample of his own medicine back at him. Link looked at him as if daring him to say something about it, but Rhett didn’t give him the satisfaction.  

It was typical of their relationship that they didn’t say or do anything more about what had happened after that. In fact, the only acknowledgment either of them made was the effort Rhett put into keeping things from getting too awkward or touchy on the show from then on. Somehow he actually managed that for several episodes, but it was inevitable that he’d eventually slip up again, just when he’d almost forgot about Link’s warning.

They were both shirtless for a challenge when he’d brushed his hand over Link’s chest, flicking across a nipple for a brief second. Fortunately for him, the camera angle completely missed the dark shadow that fell over Link’s face, and the mic missed the way Rhett’s breath hitched as he realized he may have screwed up.

But then Link seemed to shake it off, at least until the watchful cameras were turned off and the set lights went dark. It was then that he felt Link rise from the desk and move behind him, gripping his shoulder.

“I’m coming to your place tonight.” Link said, his voice dangerous and low enough for only Rhett to hear. “Send everyone home and get in your car.”

It didn’t occur to Rhett to ignore him or take offense to being ordered into his own car. He simply did what Link wanted, encouraging the crew to follow Link’s lead out of the studio. It took him a surprisingly short time to lock up after that, as he questioned why he was so eager to get to whatever was about to happen.

He found Link leaning against his car in the car park, totally engrossed in his phone and looking for all the world as if he’d known he wouldn’t be kept waiting long. He grinned and gave nothing away as Rhett approached, killing all chance of immediate answers. He was still tight-lipped after they’d slipped into Rhett’s car.

They drove in that silence for a while, letting the hum of the engine fill the quiet until Link finally spoke up. “So what’d I say the other day?”

Momentarily confused about what Link was talking about, Rhett was very quickly reminded when he felt a hand trailing a path over his thigh.

“What did I say, Rhett?” Link repeated.

“You told me not to tease you.” Rhett gulped, gripping the wheel tighter.

Link nodded in satisfaction. “I told you what would happen if you did too.” He added, now rubbing his hand along the top of Rhett’s waistband

Between that and Link’s hot breath in his ear, he had to will his blood not to rush to his dick when Link started kissing up and down a spot under his ear. He struggled to focus on the road as he surrendered to his throbbing need, and had just started to enjoy the sweet torture when Link’s hands and lips were off him again.

“I’ll deal with you when we get to your house.” Link promised.

Lamenting the fact that he couldn’t turn and wreck Link’s face with his mouth for that, he may or may not have pushed the speed limit in his hurry to get home. He was still a turned on mess by the time they’d pulled up at his house, bounding out of the car like kids getting out of bed on Christmas day.

They never bothered to invite each other inside whenever they visited each other’s houses anymore, so Rhett followed Link in, barely making it off the very public doorstep before Link commenced his assault.

They made out enthusiastically for a few minutes, their awkward dance of lust leading them to the lounge. Rhett almost tripped as Link pushed him onto the couch, shoving him back into it when he tried to lean forward and capture Link’s mouth again. “Stay there.” Link warned.

He found pleasure in the disappointed moan that escaped Rhett’s mouth as he left the room, sauntering towards the kitchen. To prolong it he purposely took his time pouring two shots of whiskey, watching Rhett’s gaze flicker between the amber liquid and his body when he re-entered the lounge.

Balancing both glasses in his hands he walked over and draped his legs either side of Rhett’s thighs, sinking onto his lap. As he skilfully downed his own shot in one he was very aware that Rhett’s lusty eyes were glued to his neck, following a spot of whiskey dripping down his throat. Leaning forward, he placed a hand behind Rhett’s head and brought the other shot to his mouth. “Drink up.”

Noticing Rhett’s hesitation he decided to reassure him

“You’re gonna need it for what I’m gonna do to you brother.” Link said huskily. “I won’t let you forget anything.”

Rhett shivered a little but obediently opened his mouth, allowing Link to tip the shot in. His lips were still wet with whiskey when Link swiped his tongue across them, tasting the alcohol and desire.

“Damn Link.“ Rhett groaned. “You always been like this?”

Link laughed, putting the empty glasses aside before settling himself in his lap seat more fully. “You know that night in college when Gregg was away for the weekend and I went out without you? I came home with a guy that night and you know what I did?“

Link leaned in and whispered the next words in Rhett’s ear. “I fucked him in my bed while you were sleeping.”

Rhett’s eyes widened at the dirty language issuing from his friend’s mouth, holding onto every foul word.

“I had to gag him with my shirt and hold him down to keep him waking you up.” Link continued.

Letting out a pained whine, Rhett’s hands flew out to Link’s ass, grabbing at it needily. “Gosh, why couldn’t you wake me up?”

“You jealous I fucked some other guy?” Link asked, rocking his ass against Rhett’s large hands. "Or are you upset there are things you didn’t know about me?”

Rhett’s only answer was to palm Link’s cheeks harder and mouth at his neck like it was an oasis he’d found in a desert. The delicious feeling of Link grinding against his now painfully hard lap was officially the greatest torment he’d ever experienced, giving him some relief but never enough. He almost screamed when Link slid off his lap until Link started to tug the zipper of his jeans down.

Stepping out of his jeans so he was standing in only his shirt and briefs Link stepped forward, silently inviting Rhett to pull him out the rest of the way. Rhett took the hint, hooking his thumbs in Link’s waistband and easing the briefs down. Even as he pulled out his prize Rhett felt himself blushing and looking away, as if seeing that part of his friend suddenly felt indecent.

“You wanted to touch.” Link scolded, grabbing Rhett’s hand and bringing it to his cock. “So touch.”

His cheeks still a little pink, Rhett took in his first sight of his friend hard and warm in his hand. It was strange to think that the hardness he was feeling was all for him, almost as strange as the response he could feel straining against his own pants. It would have been a little frightening if the man he was feeling it for hadn’t been Link.

Feeling bolder, he wrapped his hand more firmly around Link and started stroking, getting used to the feeling. “You’re big.” He noted.

“You aren’t the only one of us that can be big.” Link teased.

Rhett squeezed him hard enough to make him yelp for that comment before tender stroking his thumb over the tip to make up for it.

“Take your shirt off.” Link said lustily.

More than willing to do anything that might give him some relief, Rhett ripped his shirt up and over his head, before returning to his task without missing a beat. He knew he must have been doing something right judging from the sounds he was drawing out of Link’s mouth, so he stroked harder and faster. Spotting precum leaking from the tip he unconsciously licked his lips, inching his mouth closer. This didn’t go un-noticed by Link, who pushed himself closer until his cock was almost rubbing on Rhett’s lips.

“I want you to look at me when you suck it. Need to see you.” Link said, need finally trickling into his voice.

Staring up at the sincerity on Link’s face Rhett obliged, looking him in the eyes as his tongue snaked out to meet his cock. He began with little licks and kisses as he got used to the sensation, which quickly turned into french kisses and light sucks on the head. Eventually, he managed to take some of the length down his throat, bobbing his head just a little.

“That’s it.” Link keened, affectionately stroking Rhett’s hair and letting him take in as much as he could handle. “You’re so good.”

He threw his head back in ecstasy at the sight of Rhett sucking him off, taking him in deeper and deeper until he was almost deep throating him. The visual was just about as good as the feeling of Rhett’s mouth itself, the tight heat bringing him close to the edge. When he felt the pleasure getting too much he placed a hand on Rhett’s chest, nudging him off.

“Lay back baby.” Link breathed.

Rhett slowly lowered himself onto his back before Link was on him again, moving his hands down Rhett’s body to stroke his lower stomach. Rhett tried to move further up the couch to force Link’s hands’ closer to where he wanted them, but Link dug his nail into the sides of Rhett’s waist to keep him in place.

Link sat on his heels to unbutton and throw off his shirt before giving Rhett what he wanted him what he wanted, sliding Rhett’s jeans off. Moving up to kiss some of Rhett’s anxiety away, he trailed his hands and mouth all the way down to Rhett’s thighs, easing them apart with his hands.

“I don’t want to stop but I gotta get you lube.” Link warned.

“Use your mouth." Rhett begged, pressing a hand against Link’s to stop him leaving. 

More than happy to do that Link sucked two fingers into his mouth, running them against the leaking slit of his cock for added measure. He brought them to the cleft of Rhett’s ass and carefully inched one past the ring of resistance, enjoying the feeling of Rhett’s body writhing beneath him.

Working the finger in and out until it slid in easily he added a second, waiting for Rhett to adjust before he started fucking him with them. “You gonna admit you’re gay for me?”

Rhett opened his mouth for a smart retort before Link’s finger slammed against his prostate, killing all coherent thought.

“Yeah you are.” Link drawled, twisting his fingers and slamming into the spot again.

Sensing when Rhett was open enough for him he pulled out and licked at his fingers, serving the dual purpose of tasting Rhett and slicking them up further. Looking down at the open hole waiting for him he pumped his cock a few times before positioning himself between Rhett’s cheeks. “You ready?”

Rhett’s responded by wriggling forward, desperately trying to close the final inches between their bodies. Link took pity and lifted Rhett’s legs to rest either side of his waist.

“I don’t want you to fake being macho, if it hurts you have to tell me. I’m serious.” Link warned.

"Just do it already would you?” Rhett whined.

Pushing forward, Link inched himself inside, watching his length disappear until it was buried completely. The sudden pain and fullness were unlike anything Rhett had ever felt before, so intense that he almost didn’t notice Link easing out of him, preparing to start moving.

Clutching the couch’s armrest Rhett braced himself, half expecting to be pounded into oblivion once Link found his rhythm. He was surprised when Link took him deep, loving and slow, their bodies sliding smoothly across the fabric of the couch with every thrust. It was far more intimate and punishing than anything Link could’ve done by taking him fast, hitting parts of his body and soul he didn’t know existed.

"More. Please.” Rhett pleaded, his long arms failing to grab onto Link’s hips.

“Sssh, we’ll have that some other time Just take this.” Link said gently, rocking his hips in a way that Rhett could feel somewhere near his stomach. 

Sliding out as he sensed their approaching release, Link got his hand around Rhett’s cock, stroking him until they both came like they lived their lives - together and fiercely. Rhett came hard over his stomach when the sensations got too much, while his noises sent Link over the edge with him. They were still taking shaky, gasping breaths when they fell into each other in a spent mess.

“Love you.” Link mumbled.

Rhett waited for a second, expecting the ‘brother’ he was used to Link tacking onto the end of that sentence, but it never came.

“Love you too.” He said with a smile.

Notes: *blushes and covers face* well that was dirty.