#feelin like a big faded n worn out nothin

[spiderwoof]

Big difficult feelings for such a tiny night

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Twelve | Danger Mystery (Part 2 of 2)

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To those who read the previous chapter part before I fixed an issue with it:

I forgot to change the title from Chapter Eleven | Premonition to Chapter Twelve | Danger Mystery (Part 1 of 2) when copy-pasting the header format, and didn't notice until an hour of posting.

Apologies for any confusion I might've caused with that!

• • •

"Cool braids," Jerry says, smiling at Frisk. "Did you make them yourself?"

The one questioned seems less than enthused by him, though there's no denying how their face lights up at the compliment. "Toriel made them for me," they sign, going back to their bored expression afterwards. Their attitude is distant and shows how they aren’t ready to confront the past yet. They stand up and look away from him, a frown etched deep in their expression all the while. "I have to finish my homework now."

"Bring it here." Jerry tries to be cheerful, but fails horribly, smile and tone both coming off forced and awkward as he tries to hype up the situation as best as he can. "I can help you!"

Though they try to hide it from everyone else in the room, Sans can see how Frisk rolls their eyes, pouts, and then mutters something under their breath. "It's fine. I don't need any help with what's left."

They almost mimic (Y/N) in character and tone, acting just as stern and cold, if not more with how hard it is for them to pretend the opposite.

"I'd still like to know how you're doing in school." Jerry's tone changes, paired up with his expression: eyebrows creased, eyes glaring, and smile gone. "You're... You're the only one left who can tell me how things are going lately, now that (Y/N) won't answer my messages anymore."

"Why don't you ask that guy, then? You're friends, as far as I know."

Their angry gaze points at Sans as they sign the words: "Why are you friends with him?" with the most annoyed gestures possible, and quick enough for Jerry not to notice what they're doing or saying. Then, they look at their father again, seemingly running thin and out of patience with the way they look at him, a look so frigid it could put an ice skating rink to shame. "You haven't answered my question yet."

"Believe me, Frisk." Jerry huffs. "I've tried, but he refuses to tell me anything -- says it's not in his place to tell me about you and all that stuff."

"Cool," is Frisk's only reaction as they spare a look at their surroundings. "It's better that way."

The child sighs and walks away, not once looking back -- and not even as their father calls out for them by their full name.

"Come back here," he demands, standing up and glaring at the hallway Frisk passes through. "Or I'll have to ask why you've got such awful manners today. What's (Y/N) been teaching you these days, huh? You've never been like this before!"

"People change," they snap, stopping for a second to look at him. "So…" Their voice trembles as they take a second to ball their hands and direct their angry look at the floor. "So stop blaming (mom/dad) for everything, if you really want to talk to me."

They're gone for good after that, giving Jerry no chance to talk or ask questions any longer.

He's left fuming, and when he catches Sans's gaze, his anger augments.

"What the hell have you taught Frisk since I was gone? They- They were never like this with me before!”

"Never?" Sans asks, facing up at Jerry when he joins his side. "Hadn't you seen them since last Christmas before today? Ten months are enough for someone to grow and change."

"That's still too big of a change." He scoffs. "Now tell me what you did -- I deserve that much, at least."

"Nothin'." He pauses, shrugging to ignore the glare Jerry continues to direct at him. "We've been here for only two months -- three, at most. You've been gone ten."

Appearing caught in a dead-end, he sees Jerry's eyes wander from Toriel preparing some documents and Papyrus helping her out, to the hallway Frisk had walked through, and -- finally -- to the kitchen, where the clinking of cutlery’s heard as (Y/N) sets up the dinner table, while Undyne keeps an eye out for the stove and Alphys holds out a fire extinguisher near the scene. Sans has a hunch as to what Jerry's planning simply by the dour look on his face alone, so he holds the man back by the arm, saying, "Don't bring 'em into this." He's faced with a sharper glare, though he doesn't brush his hand away. "The kid's mad at you by default. Nobody else's told 'em to treat you that way."

"And how would you know?" Jerry shoves him off. "You're just some guy with a crush on someone else's spouse!"

"Ex-spouse." Sans sneers. "They aren't tied to you anymore."

"But they still have a kid to be responsible for."

"So do you."

Jerry tries to say something back, yet he falls short and stutters before giving up. "I- I'm gonna go help them out, then."

He sees the man look back to the kitchen again, longing visible in his eyes. 

"Knock yourself out, bud. Just don't go pressurin' 'em too much." The two spare a look at each other, a silent battle forming in Jerry's gaze while the monster remains stern but nonchalant. "You know what happened back at that bus. They need their time to rest."

A more empathic look softens up Jerry's visage as he nods, finally cracking a smile with it. "I know." He sighs. "But I have no clue how I didn't notice it was them you liked with how many damn comments there were about it on those videos."

"That's 'cuz we were barely gettin' to know each other back then." His confession's abrupt and appears to catch Jerry by surprise. "Wasn't until some time later that I realized what I was feelin' whenever they were around."

Jerry keeps quiet for what has to be a solid minute; it's a miracle based on how much he's wanted to communicate today, and in so short of a time. He sighs and his glare fades. A more serene look replaces his anger as he then relaxes his posture, completing a calmer self, much more refreshing to see in comparison to his previous attitude. "I promise I won't bother them too much today, but I still need to talk."

"Today only?" Sans remarks, quirking an eye socket. "So you're goin' back to zero after that?"

"Don't be stupid. I just mean I won't be as persistent today -- I know they need to rest."

The monster decides to let it go, aware he's going nowhere with how much more obstinate Jerry is. 

He sees him enter the kitchen and immediately seek after their ex, an attitude that makes him appear similar to that of a rambunctious puppy still looking for attention even after being told to back off. Sans chuckles at that thought and shakes his head, surprising even himself with how much he's becoming concerned with matters that weren't exactly his own. It’s knowing (Y/N) was tied to the situation along with Frisk what makes him want to try and intervene a bit more, though he knows better than that, taking into account how strained his relationship with the both of them still is. It's a miracle he even managed to befriend Jerry with how obnoxious and insistent he could be at certain times -- even more than Sans was himself.

...Was that why (Y/N) hadn't outright rejected him yet?

Did he resemble Jerry in attitude, somewhat?

Sans brushes that thought aside and proceeds to walk off to the hallway; the faint sounds of someone crying are heard nearby, prompting him to search for who it is.

He passes by a bedroom, a mini office, then a bathroom, until reaching the middle of the hallway. The person's crying sounds louder when he reaches Toriel's bedroom, though based on how young the voice is and that Toriel's still working with some documents back in the living room, he discards her as a possibility. He hears a few sniffles before the crying controls itself a bit more, making it seem as if the one behind that door heard his footsteps and chose not to be found out. Still, they carry on crying after some time, sniffles changing into sobs and sobs changing into loud and shuddering hiccups.

"...Frisk?" he calls out, knocking on the door twice.

The crying stops almost abruptly.

"Who's there?" they ask.

Weren't this such a pressing situation, he wouldn't hesitate so much in responding as he usually did to that type of question. He sighs and rests a hand against the door, drumming his fingers until he replies with, "Sans."

"...Sans who?"

"Sans ta permission, je ne peux pas passer."

He can't avoid the chuckle that follows when he hears them huff -- dramatically so. Soft footsteps and a click are the two sounds that lead before the door opens, revealing a tired Frisk with puffy, red eyes and an equally reddish, runny nose. Their hair's a messy bob, and the hair ties and ribbons Toriel used to keep the braids in place are no longer being worn.

"What do you want?"

"I wanna talk."

"No."

They almost shut the door right on his face, though he backs away on time, and -- as if seeming to trigger an unlisted superpower in (Y/N) -- they appear behind him, nearly giving him a soul attack.

"What's wrong?" they ask, peering over his shoulder. It's an evident, purposeful act on their part to tease him further and pay back at him, as they're already aware of how far his crush on them's gone. Still, they know their personal space and step back after that, leading him to turn his back on the door and face them instead. "...Was that Frisk? Wh- Why are they crying? And why are their braids gone? I swear if Jerry did something I-"

"He didn't say anything about that," Sans intervenes, calming them down by pulling them along with him next to the door and lowering his voice for only them to hear. "He, uh... tried to talk with Frisk, but they're still angry at him -- understandably. But they still don't wanna talk about it."

"Let me try, then," they say, sighing. "I think it's about time they told me at least something about what's bothering them -- Not just hide away like this every chance they get."

"So they always do that?"

They nod. "Whenever I try to talk about Jerry, mostly.” A subtle scowl accompanies the frustration in their tone. “But when it's about them telling me what happened to them at the Underground, they ignore my question by doing pretty much anything else that doesn't have to do with that." A tremble shows in their body as they take a second to breathe. "But today needs to be a different story -- They can’t keep running from this."

"No!"

Sans sees (Y/N)'s patience fade from their eyes at that sound, somewhat muffled by the door, but still an evident shout from Frisk.

"Sans is friends with Jerry, and- And now you're talking with him like that means nothing to you!"

The human narrows their eyes at the door as they stand in front of it. "Sans and Jerry being friends has nothing to do with any of this." They huff. "Did you really think they would be enemies right from the start?"

"Yes! Just like how Prince Charmin Ultra Strong gets defeated by Shrenk!"

Surprisingly, they don't get any angrier and -- on the contrary -- smile at that comparison. They bite their lip to hold it back, though they still fail when they reply with, "Does that suggest Jerry's mom is gonna be a bigger villain later?"

Some silence passes. "I mean, yeah. Don't you remember how sad and angry she was when Jerry tried proposing again, but then you rejected him?"

At that, the monster's grin shows up and he finds himself blurting out, "He tried it again?"

"Yes." The moment they spare to answer his question ends as they look back at the door and say, "Of course, I remember, but you still shouldn't have those expectations, dear. This isn't a good versus evil situation -- There's a lot more to it than that." They bump their forehead against the door, seemingly giving up their strong and stern facade as they press their lips tight and try to suck up some sadness by sniffling and looking at the floor. "You- You must've realized that, too, right? Some of your new friends hurt you at one point, didn't they? And then you still try to defend me despite all the bad choices I've made in the past. I… I know Jerry screwed up-"

"-a lot," they interrupt, making (Y/N) sigh.

"-but that still doesn't mean you should compare like that."

"But what if he's a villain in my eyes, (mom/dad)?" they ask, though it's more of a statement than the former. "The only good thing he's done today is compliment my hair -- That's it! And I'm pretty sure you haven't even used any of that support money he gives you, so it's not like we really owe him anything, either."

"How do you know that?"

"I'm not dumb. That's the reason why you worked so much in the past, isn't it? You... You just sent that child support money back to him, and kept some only for emergencies."

"That-"

"You tell me not to see him as a bad guy, but you still do that by refusing any help and doing everything by yourself."

"That still doesn't mean you'll owe him any of those funds, dear. In the end, we chose to (have/adopt) you, so you'll never owe us any of that money we provide for raising you."

"So why did you reject his part of the responsibility, then?"

The kid could be a lawyer with how quickly that question corners (Y/N) in place. Their once firm, narrowed eyes turn wide and a guilty look makes their forehead wrinkle and mouth form a grimace. They don't say anything as they reach out for the doorknob and try to turn it around. "Open the door. We can't keep talking like this."

"Answer my question first," Frisk says, voice faltering midway. "Please?"

(Y/N) gives in with an exhale, chest shuddering in the process. "I…” They clench their hand and hesitate. “I didn't want to owe him anything." They rest their forehead against the door again, looking more defeated than before when they close their eyes and fight their frown away. "That's why."

Quiet remains after their response.

The door doesn't click or budge, signaling for the one waiting outside to give up for now. They walk back to the monster's side and sit on the floor; their gaze looks left and right, observing the hallway with a distinctive boredom only sadness can bring upon someone. They're almost a mirror of Frisk back when he caught the two of them dancing: knees pressed right to their chest as they hug themselves tight.

Though it takes him a while to do anything, Sans soon settles on the thought that doing something is much better than nothing right now, so he tries to accompany them by the floor. He sits next to them and offers a literal shoulder for them to lay on, the softness of his jacket helping numb the hardness of his bones. They rest their head there and close their eyes, breaths steadying the longer they stay that way. "You kinda smell like Old Spicy," they comment, chuckling. "Like my aunt's new boyfriend’s cologne." They sniff a few times and scooch a bit closer to his side. "...Sorry. That was weird."

He laughs. "Guess I'll have to try a different kind next ti-"

Click.

Followed by the door being unlocked is Frisk opening it and leaving the room. They then look at him and (Y/N) with the most appalled expression possible, similar to a scrungy cat. "You two are mushier than a bag of marshmallows left under the sun.”

Saying that, they turn around and take their leave, adding, “I’m gonna go talk with Jerry now,” before their other parent can say anything as an objection.

“Still not gonna call him dad?” they ask, though it comes off more teasing than demanding.

“Not until he earns it.” Frisk looks at the skeleton with sharp, judging eyes. “Because right now, even Skeletor’s brother is a better candidate for that.”

They’re gone in a flash after that comment, leaving Sans to process the heavy weight of those words and for the human next to him to stand up, gape, and look to where their child ran off to.

“W- Watch your words Frisk (L/N),” they shout at the empty hallway, voice masking their embarrassment by being loud. "You're on thin ice!"

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@the-simp-express

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[concussed-to-pieces]

Green

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Dean Ambrose/Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirst Party Saturday heyoooo! Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and but of course, @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

[!WARNING!: Trigger warning for (light and/or clumsy) Dominant/submissive explorations, (light) bondage (scarves), and allusions to previous abuse.]

[DISCLAIMER: Hey everyone, anything involving the BDSM scene/community is something that should be properly researched and understood before even attempting to engage in it. Fanfictions do not count as research! This is entirely fabricated and as such may give wrong or misleading information, like any other work of fiction. Stay safe and check your facts!]

The first thing you noticed is that he didn’t have a bed. In fact, he didn’t seem to have much of anything. A single tote and a backpack; he was dropped off at your apartment by (you assumed) a friend of his and you watched as he shifted his weight back and forth for a few minutes. Maybe his friend is going back for his bed, you reasoned while unlocking your door. The other side of your brain was already suggesting that you offer to move the couch into his empty room.

You shook your head at yourself. Being overly willing to accommodate was what had gotten you into this mess in the first place! Having to put out an ad for a roommate on Craigslist wasn’t the worst outcome, but there were more than enough stories on the internet to justify you being cautious about vetting the potential candidates.

Dean Ambrose had been a friend of a friend, the particular friend vouching for him a little more credible than Dean’s own application, which had consisted of a rambling voicemail listing (among many other spellbinding facts) his weight and height, that he loved animals and he made, “a mean toaster strudel.”

“Ambrose? Yeah I’ve known him for ages. He’s a good guy. Bad childhood. Clean, not neat. More of an ‘organized chaos’ kind of dude, but he doesn’t have a lot to begin with so that’s probably not gonna’ be a problem. Can’t handle slamming doors, so you might wanna’ invest in bumpers or something.” Seth’s rundown had been brief and to the point, allaying some of the fears you’d had after listening to the entertaining voicemail. “I’m impressed he figured out the Internet to the extent that he could even find your ad, honestly. Probably had Ro give him a hand.”

You met with Dean a few times, to show him the apartment and have him sign paperwork. He was very quiet, but you figured once he got used to you that would wear off pretty quick. And if it didn’t, it certainly wouldn’t be the end of your world.

Now here he was, standing outside your apartment complex. He looked like he was waiting for something so you finally opened your window and leaned out. “Hey, Dean! C’mon, the door’s unlocked!”

He started, looking up and grinning when he saw you. “Sorry, m’ comin’.” He called, swapping the bin to his hip so he could open the main door to the stairwell.

He had a sleeping bag.

That was his bed.

You watched from the doorway in disbelief as Dean spread it on the floor of his new room, smoothing out the wrinkles in the worn nylon with a higher level of care than you anticipated. The bin held a few more items. A sort-of functional-appearing laptop, a towel, a toothbrush…not a lot of things. “Yeah, I kinda’ travel light.” Dean mumbled when you quizzed him on it, obviously uncomfortable. You figured it would be best to not pursue the matter, you really didn’t mean to upset him or anything like that.

The sleeping bag was ripped in a few spots, patched with duct tape. You wondered privately how long he’d had it. “Hey, if you don’t have a bed I’m sure we can find a mattress someone is getting rid-“

“Nah, did that once. Bedbugs. Infested the place. Itchy nightmare.” Dean cut you off, grimacing. “M’ savin’ up for one. If you see a bedframe though, definitely lemme’ know.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.” You promised, your own skin crawling at the notion of bugs in your bed. “Well!” You continued brightly. “I’m not going to normally do this, but I guess since it’s your first night here it’s kind of a special occasion. Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“I…uh, y-yeah, I mean if you’re offerin’ I ain’t turning you down. What’s on the menu, can I help prep somethin’?” Dean asked, looking hopeful but wary, strangely.

“I dunno’, I’ll have to see what’s in the fridge.” You gestured over your shoulder. “C’mon, let’s see what I can figure out.”

…

Ambrose stayed quiet. Seth had mentioned slamming doors but it seemed to be more like any loud bang would make him tense up. You did your best to be careful with your old washer and dryer set; the latch of the top-loader was a little finicky and required a firm hand to close.

Your primary form of communication with Dean was sticky notes left on the doors of each other’s rooms. You didn’t actually see much of the man; he mentioned having a full time job when you’d spoken about the apartment. He had crazy late hours, sometimes not coming back until two or three in the morning. When you had nothing else to do at your own job, you amused yourself by making guesses at what he might do. Lion tamer? Nah, maybe a professional wrestler. Or an assassin.

You knocked on Dean’s door one afternoon. The two of you had worked out an agreement where you would purchase the groceries and he would kick in a little extra every month. You didn’t like making a shopping list without knowing whether he needed anything, though. He hadn't left any notes for what he needed, of course, but it never hurt to double-check in case he'd forgotten something.

“Dean? You home? I’m going to go food shopping. Is there…” You paused as the door opened under your touch, like it hadn’t been closed all the way. “Dean?”

The curtains were drawn on the one window, making it somewhat dim in the room. You almost didn’t see him huddled up in the sleeping bag until he moved, making a whining sound as he did.

“Dean, I’m sorry to wake you.” You whispered, feeling like a huge jerk as you tiptoed to the side of his sleeping bag. “I’m going shopping, is there anything that you need?” He made another noise, shaking his head. You were concerned at this point, crouching down so you could see him a little better. “Hey, are you okay?” He shook his head again. “What’s wrong, can you tell me? Is there something I can do?” You asked.

Dean rolled onto his stomach, a groan accompanying the motion. “M’ not feelin’ so…good. Kinda’ got hurt and I…” He seemed to be having a difficult time drawing breath, his sentences fading in and out. “…I’ll be okay, s’jus’ harder right n…now.”

“What happened?” You queried, flinching when he grabbed your shoulder. But he was only using it for the leverage to pull himself upright. He pressed down on the small of his back with his other hand, grunting. There was a bandage there, stark white in the dim light of the room, with violent bruising around the area.

“Took a few kidney shots...hah, no big but…pissin’ blood is not a good time.” Dean gritted out. He was covered in clammy sweat, fingers slipping on your skin. “Y’ goin’ shoppin’, g…grab my wallet an’ pick me up some...tater tots? Please?”

You were still reeling from the information that he’d been in a fight. “Were you jumped or something, do we need to go to the police?” You tried to keep the panic out of your voice.

“N-Nah, just work stuff, f…un’nerestimated my opponent. You okay? Y’look a little…little upset.” Dean pointed out.

“Jesus Christ Dean this is not the way you react when you’ve been in a fight! How long have you been in here in the dark?” You scolded, confused when he started to snicker.

“Shit, I ‘unno. The look on your f…face. I’m fine, honest, promise. Jus’ hungry. I’ve gotten through worse crap than this.” Dean dismissed your worry with a haphazard wink, patting your shoulder. “I’ll tell ya’ if you get me some…some tots. Promise.”

“Who says that I even want to know?!” You sputtered.

Dean propped himself up against the wall, his expression almost smug. “Everyone wants to know. S’jus’ whether they’ll have the guts to ask.”

You shook your head, standing again. “Hell no. I…I had no idea that you did stuff like that for a living. I probably wouldn’t have let you move in here if I’d known that.”

The smugness on his face turned into fear and he caught your leg as you headed to the door. “Wait, what? M’sorry I…please wait.” He begged, sounding oddly vulnerable all of a sudden.

You knew you could easily pull away, could easily kick him out. No jury would convict you, there was no way what he was doing to bring in the rent was legal. I would have preferred lion tamer!

“I’m used to people thinkin’ that me…me gettin’ the shit knocked outta’ me is cool and tough. Please don’t go, hah, fuck.” He was somewhat upright at this point, having pushed himself further up the wall into a slouched position. “I know I…shit, I don’t really like doin’ it but the pay is good an’ I’m pretty sure…I got too many loose pieces up top for a regular job. Don’t like talkin’ about it.” Dean’s hand stayed on the small of his back so he could stand. “Too much shit. But you know, I know you know. Y’ flinch jus’ like I do sometimes.”

“That is none of your business.” You snapped.

“I ain’t sayin’ it is, okay? I’d never…never act like I know what someone else is goin’ through if…I ain’t got all the facts.” He raised his eyes to yours. “Please don’t make me leave. Promise I’ll do…better, if I get hurt I can’t f-ight and then I can’t earn.” He still had a hand on his back, only barely managing to stand. “This last one I got good money off of, s’only reason I agreed to it.”

“Do people bet on you or something?”

“Yeah, like a dog fight. But less teeth and more fists.” Dean grimaced. “I know it probably seems dumb t’ you. An’ I’m not a big fan of gettin’ pummeled. Nothin’ better than winning though.”

“Have you ever gotten seriously injured?” Your brain ran to overtime. If he couldn’t bring in his portion of the rent you’d need to find someone else fast. Your landlord wasn’t exactly a lenient guy.

Dean seemed hesitant to answer, fidgeting with the pockets on his pajama pants. “I…yeah. Once. Got my arm busted, the guy stuck it between--shit, you don’t need to hear that. Look, unless the pay is damn good and I mean damn…damn good, I turn down stuff I know I’ll get hurt in. I’ve learned. Kinda’. Please just don’t throw me out. I can be more careful, uh, find like some part time…hah, fuck’s sake that hurts. I gotta’ sit, m’sorry.” He apologized shakily, sliding back down the wall. Blue eyes half-lidded, he glanced up at you through his lashes. “I know I ain’t worth much, y’know? I ain’t good at much and I’m kinda’ worthless but I can take an asswhuppin’ and keep going.” He said lamely.

“In exchange for your rent I pick up tater tots and keep my mouth shut. Hell of a bargain.” You said wryly. “But I need to know the second you’re hurt to the point where you can’t. Um. Do your job. So I can figure out an alternative method of income.”

“Wait, are you letting me stay?” Dean sounded confused. “I thought--”

“Don’t make me reconsider this incredibly dumb choice, okay Ambrose?” You grumbled, going to dig for his wallet in his worn jeans. He caught your hand before you could grab it though, and you flinched again.

Dean’s face was earnest, his hold careful. “Thank you so much.”

“Please just…please don’t do that.” You replied softly, shaking free of his hand. “Don’t touch me, okay? I’m not into the touching without warning.”

“Got it. Sorry for touchin’, my bad.” Why was he practically whispering? You weren’t some skittish animal. Bad childhood.

“It’s okay. I know you aren’t dangerous or anything. It’s just the speed of it mostly. Don’t want to accidentally punch you if you’re not getting paid for it.” You managed to joke, making Dean snort.

“Oh yeah, real funny. So glad you find my sufferin’ amusin’.”

“I mean, if you were paid by the punches taken you could make a killing off of frustrated women.”

“I’ll ask my boss if he’s interested in implementin’ a ladies night.” Dean grinned, wincing when he chuckled. “Ow, fuck. Christ.”

…

You made a habit out of checking in on Dean after that incident, especially if you hadn’t seen him in a few days. Near as you could tell he was keeping his word, avoiding the worse fights for the ones that paid less but were more likely to not end in broken limbs. Or bloody urine, that was a little more worrisome. Normal, according to Google, but still worrisome.

He came in late one night (early in the morning, technically) with his eye blackened and the side of his face marred in a chain-link pattern. “Bad time.” He managed to say, before flopping down over the couch arm beside you. You had thought fainting was reserved more for Southern belles but here was a self-proclaimed street fighter, literally out cold with his head in your lap.

“Ambrose?” You called quietly, putting a hand on his head and cringing when you felt a sticky substance at the nape of his neck. Your fingers came away red with blood. “Dean? You can’t sleep here, do I need to bring you to the hospital?” His closeness should have made you uncomfortable. You could still barely handle a hug from Seth. “Dean you’re bleeding.”

“Yeah.” The word was muffled by your lap. He stirred, propping himself up on his arms. “Sorry, I uh…huh.” He paused, looking at you like he’d seen you for the first time. “Y’know, you got a nice face. Not just like, a pretty face. You got that too. But you got a nice face.” He said finally, his brow furrowing. “Like a good face. A gentle face. Who the fuck hurt you?”

The abrupt shift made your breath catch and he seemed to notice, standing back up and stretching his arms out over his head with a groan.

“Ah, never mind. Seth said you ain’t much on the talking when it comes to that. Didn’t mean t’ be nosy.” Dean apologized, pressing a hand to the back of his neck. “I mean if you ever feel like talking I’m uh. I’m all ears. But you don’t have to, okay? I get it. I definitely get it.”

His eyes were kind and you really couldn’t handle that right now, shoving your laptop further to the side and getting to your feet. “Come on, Ambrose. You probably can’t Band Aid the back of your neck by yourself.” The sight of blood made you more than a little queasy, but something about the idea of Dean getting bloodstains on that dumb sleeping bag wasn’t appealing.

“Even if you just get the wrappers off, I can take it from there.” Dean said in the bathroom, scrubbing at the back of his neck with a (hopefully clean) washcloth. “It’s the wrappers that end me, I always fuck ‘em up and rip the Band Aids.”

“You got it.” Relieved that your role was an outlying one, you sat down on the edge of the tub and tore the paper off a few bandages.

“Thanks for not losing your mind when I plopped down on you. I know you don’t do the touchin’.” Dean said after a few minutes of silence had gone by. “I don’t mean for…I mean, not like losin’ your mind, but more for bein’ able to handle it. Done good. How long has it been since…uh, whatever happened?”

“Around three months.” You bit your lip, handing him a Band Aid. “It was a guy living here. Knew him from high school.”

“Uh oh.” You looked up, worried, but Dean was watching you in the mirror with a resigned expression. “Can you talk about it?”

“It’s a mess.”

“That’s not what I asked. Have you talked with anyone about it?”

“Seth knows.”

“So no.”

“The last thing anyone else needs is more problems. I only told Seth because he was confused.” You shrugged. “It’s not really all that life-changing.”

Dean maintained eye contact via the mirror, wincing as he tacked Band Aids on the nape of his neck. Despite his battered appearance and almost certain exhaustion, he seemed to be waiting patiently for you to start talking.

You sighed heavily. “I’m too eager to please.”

“You got that right. Grabbin’ me tater tots n’ shit. I’m a grown ass man, make me pick up my own tots!” Dean scolded, getting you to snort.

“I mean to a fault, just way too accommodating. I’ll give the ‘rent jar incident’ as an example.”

“Rent jar…incident?”

“When I had this guy living here, I would put my portion of the rent in a jar on my dresser. Also anything I had extra, loose change, that kind of thing. And I would count it every time I put something in, write it down on a piece of paper in the jar.” Your brow furrowed. “After a while though, things stopped adding up. My numbers kept coming back messed up, stuff went missing in bigger and bigger chunks. I thought I was going nuts. Like maybe I was counting wrong, maybe I was forgetting a number when I added things. I was so used to blaming myself if something went stupid.” You realized you were twisting your hands back and forth. “And then it got to the point where I couldn’t make rent.”

“Oh.” Dean said softly.

“He said he would cover it. ‘On one condition’. What a smart person would have done is kicked him the fuck out.” You muttered angrily. “He had been stealing from me for months, but of course I didn’t figure that out until after the fact. Until after he left without saying a word, left me high and dry in this apartment. I’m so willing to dismiss bullshit, so eager to believe the best in people is all that there is. I should say, I was willing. Not so much anymore.”

“Shit, you guys had that kinda’ arrangement? No wonder y’ flinch. I take it he was a, ‘where I want it, when I want it’ kinda’ asshole?” Dean growled. You were surprised at his reaction. Seth had pitied you, had tried to hug you and stroke your hair. But you didn’t want that.

“Yeah, pretty much.” You didn’t want that at all. You wanted someone who would get furious, who would be angry about what had happened. Because it wasn’t something to feel sad and forlorn about. The guy hadn’t been worth it to begin with. You could be angry with yourself for being so dumb, for being so blinded by old friendships that you convinced yourself it wasn’t just for the rent.

And here was Dean, wringing the washcloth in his hands like he was fit to tear it apart. Like he was livid. “That ain’t fuckin’ right.” He said through gritted teeth. “I don’t care who the hell you are. It ain’t fuckin’ right to cause problems jus’ so you can come in and pretend to be a goddamn savior. That shit frosts me like a motherfucker.”

“I’m glad at least one person is upset about it. Instead of offering me a damn hug and a pat on the head.” You grumbled.

“Well I mean, I get that. Rollins probably didn’t know what the hell else to do.” Dean reasoned. “He’s kind of a baby sometimes. Did you keep tabs on this guy?”

“No. I’ve done my best to forget that he exists.” And you had, you really had. Disposing of what he left behind, cleaning his room from ceiling to floor...doing it all with this feeling that maybe if you scrubbed hard enough, you could dismiss the memories that dug into the walls. The way he would smile at you, the way he’d quietly informed you that he was your only option. “He never promised me anything and the fact that I didn’t expect him to, yet expected him to stay, kind of brands me as the idiot in this situation.” You admitted.

“Hell no, don’t say that. Look, you ain’t kicked my ass out. I’m never takin’ advantage of you like that guy did an’ I’m definitely not gonna’ stand by if someone else tries to. That’s low shit, so fuckin’ low.” Dean turned to face you, his expression serious. “I won’t let that happen again. Not to you, okay? You’ve been more than decent about me. I won’t let some shit happen to you.”

“And in exchange?” You couldn’t help asking, narrowing your eyes.

“This one’s on me, doll. Never again.”

…

Someone offering you something for nothing, even something as inconsequential as a promise of protection, was decidedly foreign. You kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, kept waiting for the instatement of requirements to return in full force.

Dean, however, remained agreeable. He may have even become more friendly. And you had to admit that sharing your apartment with him was not the worst scenario you’d been in by far.

‘Brewsday’ (or ‘Bruiseday’, depending on how rough his fight had been that night) slowly became a weekly ritual, the two of you ending up sprawled out on the couch nursing beers (as well as Dean’s wounds) and watching terrible movies every Tuesday night. Wednesdays seemed to be a shared day off, though Dean was occasionally up and out before you. You took to going food and essentials shopping on Wednesdays. It definitely wasn’t because Dean also had the day off and you enjoyed the company and help carrying the groceries back to the apartment. Definitely not.

But it was one such Wednesday that you finally had to invoke that promise he had made.

“We need cereal, six aisles that way.” You said, pointing and then looking back down at your list. You’d been saving up a little extra here and there, mostly to justify buying something a little fancier for dinner. You couldn’t pick out ingredients with Dean standing over you, though. You weren’t sure when it had turned into a surprise, but apparently dinner was officially a surprise and you didn’t want him to ruin it.

Dean nodded, taking off in the direction you’d indicated. Despite coming to the store at least once every two weeks he still had yet to master the layout of the place. Which you were hoping would work to your benefit in this instance. You hummed idly along to the pop music playing over the PA system, searching the produce area for a decent-looking head of lettuce.

A finger tapped your shoulder and you gestured down at the cart, not bothering to turn around. “In there, thanks. Can you find-”

“It’s been a while. Still as bossy as ever, I see.”

You froze. Oh no.

Behind you, that low laugh crept uneasily up your spine. “You’re also just as pretty as I remember. I like what you did with your hair.”

“Thank you.” You answered automatically, turning to face the young man who had made your life a living hell. “Now how about you stay away from me.”

“Ah, I seem to remember you singing a different tune right after I left, babe.” A hand cupped your chin and tipped your face up. “What was it you said? ‘I thought if I was good enough, you would stay’, sound familiar?” His tone was gently chiding, as though he was reprimanding a small child. You swallowed hard and he obviously felt the motion, if his slow smile was any indicator.

Dean doesn’t smile like that. Why on earth that thought came to you at that moment, you would never know. But you clung to it as your old roommate pressed closer, pinning you to the shelves behind you. Dean’s smile is quick, dimples in his cheeks. Brief, like sun through the clouds. His eyes light up and-

“Dean!” You surprised yourself and the man in front of you with your sudden yell. There was a loud crash a few aisles down, then the hasty squeak of running boots on the linoleum flooring.

Dean rounded the corner with a nondescript box of cereal in his hands, looking more than a little frantic. His eyes widened as he took in the sight in front of him. He obviously knew exactly what was going on. You wanted to sigh in relief at how quickly he picked up on the situation.

Your old roommate started laughing again and you cringed. “You’ve got to be kidding me with this, babe. You already found someone else to take my place, huh?”

“You’d need to have had a place in order for me to take it. You alright, doll?” Dean asked.

You opened your mouth to answer, but your old roommate was faster. “No no, you and I are talking right now buddy. They aren’t part of this.”

“The second you put your hands on them you made them part of this.” Dean snarled. “I ain’t brawlin’ in a damn grocery store. You have the option to walk away, buddy.”

“Near as I can tell I hold all the cards here, so-”

“You do not want to go down this road.” Dean warned. “You have no idea who the hell you’re tangling with and you’re gonna’ be in a world of hurt if you don’t let them go.”

“You don’t scare me.” Your old roommate seemed to be getting impatient, his grip tightening on your jacket.

Dean shrugged. “Your funeral.” He took your arm, pulling you closer to him. “This is startin’ to look a little suspicious, wouldn’t you say?” He asked, tilting his head up to look at one of the many cameras in the ceiling. “Tussle in the produce department might arouse a police response. You sure you want to do this?”

“I know what you’re doing, it’s not going to work.” Your ex-roommate sputtered.

“Wanna’ bet? Buddy, this is my goddamn friend, my partner right here. They gave me a roof over my head when no one else would or could. They feed me, take care of me, and they also told me about what you did. All the shitty tricks you pulled and how you left.” Dean wrapped an arm around your shoulders, all but tucking you into his side. “I told them I would make sure no shit like you would ever happen again.”

“You’re crazy!” The other man scoffed.

Dean went dead still beside you. “What the fuck did you just say.” His voice had dropped to a hoarse rasp. You got the feeling that maybe a line had been crossed.

“You are. Crazy! Certifiable, a lunatic for believing anything that they-” He didn’t get to finish as Dean lashed out, right hand catching his shoulder to haul him close in a one-armed hug and the left gripping his groin with purpose. Your old roommate made a choking noise.

“Let me make one thing real clear, buddy.” Dean hissed through his teeth. “You are one hundred percent correct there. Signed and sealed. So why the fuck would you whack the hornet’s nest? You think you can win this fight? Maybe before. What about now, with your goddamn balls in a vise?” He twisted his hand to drive his point home and the other man whimpered pitifully. “I already told you to walk away. Now, I’m gonna’ tell you to run. You have a ten-second head start if you can move. Hope I didn’t tear anything loose.” With that, Dean released him.

Your old roommate immediately dropped like Dean had been the only thing holding him up, and Dean turned on his heel to face you with a tight grin on his face. “Got the cereal, doll!” He said, widening his eyes as if to say play along! while he took your arm and led you back to the cart. “Do we need anything else?”

“S-S-Salad. We needed…salad. Was going to make something special.” Your brain was only half-onboard, all you could see was your ex-roommate laid out on the ground as easy as you please.

Simple. No mess, no fuss. It was almost disappointing in a way.

Dean insisted on carrying the bulk of the groceries home, joking, “I’m the ass, aren’t I?”. The two of you walked the short distance in silence. You didn’t mean to be so quiet, you were just thinking. Hard.

“Did I make you uncomfortable or somethin’?” Dean asked awkwardly after all the groceries were stowed and you had begun making supper. “I didn’t want to, wasn’t what I was going for.”

“It’s not you.” Your smile was weak. “It was just a shock, is all. Still trying to process it.”

He nodded, seeming satisfied. “Whatcha’ making, anyway?”

“Strawberry salad. I guess you can have some too. You were very brave.” You teased.

Dean shook his head. “Hey, I already told you. Not in exchange for anythin’. You dealt with enough shit.”

“How about in return for carrying like, ninety-five percent of the groceries home?” You offered, raising an eyebrow. “Please, have dinner with me? I mean unless you have other plans, have to head off to the Mrs. Ambrose?”

Dean made a strange sound in his throat. “Yeah?” He said finally, his voice so quiet it seemed like he was talking to himself. His whole body had gone tight again, like it had earlier when he’d been called crazy. Which had you very curious. He shook his shoulders after a minute, huffing out a quick breath and giving you a smile. “Alright. In return for the pack mule duty.”

You couldn’t help smiling back, nodding.

Later that evening while the two of you were watching television, Dean dropped an absent-minded kiss on the top of your head.

…

The Bruiseday/Brewsday started like all the others. Dean came fumbling in around eleven, his left wrist swollen and purple. You’d had a rotten day at work yourself, just opening your first bottle as Dean arrived. Wordlessly you passed him the beer and he nodded his thanks.

The two of you sat quietly at the kitchen table, drinking. The silence was companionable and you hated to break it, but...“Man, I can’t seem to do anything fucking right in that place!”  

“What happened today?” Dean grunted, shifting the bag of frozen blueberries he’d laid over his wrist.

You growled, getting to your feet so you could pace. “I always have so much that needs to be taken care of, but it’s just me doing it! I’m a one person department, I guess. I have all this work dumped on me and I know I sound like a little kid right now but it’s not fair, dammit. I’m tired of it. So tired. I wish I had a job like yours!” You said impulsively. “Where I fight somebody outright and maybe win. At least then it would be a fair fight, people would know what they were in for!”

Dean laughed, tipping his bottle towards you. “You seriously think we fight fair? Doll we are up front about the fact that we fight as dirty as possible. Half the appeal of watchin’ an’ bettin’, I suppose.” He shrugged. “When I busted my arm it wasn’t even during the fight. It was afterwards. I won, we shook hands, then he dragged my carcass to the door and slammed my forearm in it until I passed the fuck out.” Dean traced the prominent white line on his right arm. “Doc that casted me said it was a miracle I still had the feelin’ in it. And holy shit, did I have the feelin’ in it.” His grin was rueful. “I don’t think you’d wanna’ trade with me.”

“C’mon, you don’t think I could take it? I could kick the ass of every guy that ever hurt you! It would be awesome.” You flopped back down in the kitchen chair. “Awesome.” You repeated firmly.

Ambrose shook his head. “You’re somethin’ else. What if we had to fight each other?”

“A draw, obviously.” You drained your bottle and took a fresh one from the six pack. “We would be evenly matched, what with your veteran skill and my incredible ability to read your tells.”

“My tells? Now you’re talkin’ nonsense. I don’t have tells.” Dean protested. “I’m unpredictable and fuckin’ nuts or whatever.”

“You do things like focus on people’s shoulders instead of their face. You’re waiting for them to make the first move, the twitch of muscle that indicates they’re just thinking about it.” You replied smugly, watching as Dean’s eyes widened. “What do you think would happen if we fought?”

“I’d fuckin’ pin you, immobilize you with my body. I ain’t tryin’ to hurt you or anythin’.” He muttered, sounding almost sulky as he popped the cap off his next beer.

“I think you just want me under you.” You teased.

“Well yeah, no shit. I’m a fuckin’ dude, ain’t I?” Dean shot back, smirking. “Havin’ someone at your mercy is half the fun of the damn fight.” His smirk faded. “Only then though. I’m not much for…I mean I’ve thought about it, obviously, but I never did anythin’ during.”

“'During’?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, y’know, during. Sex. D-During sex.” Dean’s stammer was absolutely precious. “I know it’s a thing, I’ve seen pictures an’ stuff.”

“Not your cup of tea? Or you’ve never had anyone willing to let you try?” You were genuinely curious, putting down your beer and leaning in a little. It was incredibly rare that Dean did so much as make a dirty joke in your presence, so this was quite the turn of events. You watched him lick his lips and you suddenly realized he was nervous. “Ambrose, I promise what you tell me won’t leave this area, okay? Just interested is all.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to get to his feet. He rubbed the stubble on his chin and then sighed heavily. “I mean, there’s shit for everybody out there, right? I…it’s hard to find answers sometimes, in the mess of people.” He began cryptically. “I see stuff and I think like, ‘oh those are some cool knots’ or ‘I wonder why people like that’. But I fight in a fuckin’ underground ring, surrounded by the shit-stains of humanity bettin’ against me. What the hell in common do I have with anybody? Except the deeper ones, y’know.” He grimaced. “The guys who get off on gettin’ beat up, or beatin’ up their uh…fuck, sub, that’s the word.”

“Well that’s a little different from what you do, I think. The whole dominant or submissive thing is a consensual act, not something you have to do to earn your keep.” You could barely believe you were having this conversation, words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I mean, I’m more than willing to help if you need to figure some lighter things out. I don’t mind getting tied up.” Whoa, easy there! No need to dump your kinks on the poor guy! You scolded yourself, blushing at the startled look Ambrose leveled at you. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be creepy. My bad.” You apologized.

“Nah, no one’s ever really wanted to talk open about this stuff with me before.” He admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Kinda’ at a loss. You like…yeah? What, with rope or…?”

“Um, the scarves are better, I think. They don’t chafe. I’ve only done it a few times.” You bit your lip. “They look nicer too. I’m sure you’ve seen pictures.”

Dean simply inclined his head.

“I mean it’s pretty tame, all things considered, I know. I just like it. I’m helpless but it’s more the concept of it, I guess? The surrender of control.” You shrugged, feeling self-conscious.

“Yeah?” Dean sounded a little breathless. “And what, you just get fucked or do you get off on bein’ helpless more? Like someone usin’ you or something?”

“More like I’m being taken care of.” You corrected gently. “I am helpless, and the person in charge knows my needs better than I do. That’s the idea, anyway. If there’s proper discussion beforehand though, and if I consent to the scene, I will let my body be used for someone else’s pleasure. This one time I was tied up all pretty, like a present, and I was tit-fucked and it was just…” You trailed off, shivering at the pleasant memory.

“Tit-fucked, huh?”

“It was a little ridiculous at first, I couldn’t really move so the guy had to hold my breasts. But once we figured it out, oh wow.” You snickered. “At least that guy had a sense of humor. We had quite the laugh while he untied me.”

“I feel like that’d be an important part of any engagement.” Dean said. “D’you get off on like...being called bad or any of that shit?”

“Not so much the bad stuff. I’m...when I’m in that mindset I’ll do just about anything if you call me good, though.”

“Ah.”

You came back to reality again at his sound of acknowledgment. “Oh my gosh I'm so sorry, I definitely didn't mean to spill all of that.” You panicked a bit, concerned that you'd made him uncomfortable or at the very least that you'd said too much. “I guess it's like you said, no one really talks about this kind of thing. So I vomited all this information at you. Um. Use it well?” You finished weakly.

“I plan on it.” Dean murmured, putting the blueberries back in the freezer and rotating his wrist experimentally. “Show me.”

“What?”

“I said, show me.” He looked deadly serious. “If the offer is still on the table, of course. An' only if you trust me.”

“O-Oh.” Your voice petered out. “You want to...?”

“I like keepin' you safe. Probably isn't much different than that, y'know?”

You stood up, wiping your hands off on the skirt of your dress. “We'll see, I guess.”

“Can I kiss you? Do you do that kinda' stuff or is it strictly tie-ups for you? I need to know before I get mouthy.”

“Oh yeah, kissing is f--” You lost track of what you were saying when Dean pulled you into his arms and kissed you until your knees went weak. Teeth nipped at your lower lip and his tongue licked into your mouth as you gasped.

“Green?” He asked after he pulled back, searching your face worriedly. You stared up at him in a daze, slowly running your own tongue around your mouth to catch the taste of him better. “Doll, I need an answer or this is gonna' be over real quick.” Dean said softly. “Green, yellow or red?”

“Fuck, uh, green. Why didn't you tell me you were such a good kisser?” You asked, watching him shrug.

“No one's ever really indicated one way or another. Dunno'.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “Shit you taste good.”

“Not too bad yourself, Ambrose. Christ.” The two of you looked at each other for a tense moment before Dean grunted and took your hand.

“Alright doll, living room or your bedroom? I doubt you want to wrangle in my oh so cozy sleeping bag.”

“My room, c'mon.” You almost felt dumb, leading him, but he indicated that you should and so you did, pushing the door of your room open.

“Have you ever tied anyone else up? Or is it just you gettin' tied up?” Dean asked curiously.

“I'm not really...I worry that people wouldn't take me seriously.” You gestured at your dresser, your scarf collection out on full display. You liked to keep everything folded nicely.

“Shit, ain't you just the damn Boy Scout. Any of them easier to untie? In case I knot too tight. Still new here.” Dean reiterated, unfolding the two scarves you pointed to. “I won't do anythin' fancy, not sure I'd be able to get you outta' some monkey-fist nonsense.” His hands were steady as he carefully wound the silk around your wrists, taking the time to slip a finger between your skin and the cloth to make sure there was enough room.

“Look at you! It's like you know what you're doing.” You teased.

“Hey, I told you I did some research.” Dean took a deep breath. “ An' you're gonna' be good for me if I do this, right?”

“Yes, absolutely.” It had been so long since you'd gotten to play your role. You were incredibly glad you'd opted for your comfortable sundress, it made you feel more delicate, made it easier for you to assume your headspace. “If you take care of me, I'll be so good.”

“Oh Jesus.” Dean seemed flustered, his hands stilling for a second. “You use the green-yellow-red system, yeah? Let me know if I'm goofing something up or if you're not into it.”

“Hey, don't be scared, okay?” You smiled up at him. “You can't hurt me.”

“I dunno'. I don't want to, that's for sure.”

“You won't. You want to take care of me. I'm pretty and breakable and you're so careful with me already.”

“Fuck's sake, you are pretty. So fucking pretty. I love this.” Dean tugged at the skirt of your dress. “I love when you wear stuff like this, when we're just hangin' out on the couch and you're all relaxed up against me.”

“You should have said something! I would have worn more of my cute things if I knew they pleased you.”

“Fucking shit, what a good doll you are. Dressin' like I want you to.” Dean seemed to be more at ease just talking and rubbing his hands over your bare shoulders. “Every once in a while. It's gotta' be special. Can't be too accommodatin' of me.”

“Of course.” You agreed.

“You are just...Jesus, I can't get over you. I'd let you tie me up in a heartbeat, doll.” He confessed, pressing his forehead to your own. “You oughta' try sometime. Can I...what are you lookin' for tonight, what can I do for you? What's your need?” He continued, fingers tracing the design of your dress over your stomach. “How do I make you feel good?”

“The talking is actually really nice. I um...” You paused with a nervous giggle. You weren't used to so many questions! “Would you eat me out, if...if you're comfortable with it?”

“Oh my God.” Dean groaned and you knew you'd suggested the right thing. “Fuck, you ask so fuckin' nice. M'gonna'-” His sentence broke when you nuzzled your face into his neck, snuggling in tight to him and rolling your hips. “Good fuckin'--Jesus. Are your hands enough or should I tie you to the headboard?”

“I wouldn't mind it.”

“You've fuckin' got it.” Ambrose laid you back on the bed and you scooted up so he could secure you properly. “I dunno' whether I'll be any good at this. Pretty sure I can't deny you jack shit.”

“Hey, everyone has to start somewhere. You're doing just fine.” You encouraged.

“Shit, okay, alright.” He looked down at you impassively for a moment before stripping off his shirt. “I'll...move your little skirt up an' fuckin' tug these panties off.” Narrating was apparently a favorite, and you certainly weren't complaining as his motions matched his words. “Gotta' lay on my belly so I can fuckin'...yeah, that's right, open up those legs for me, doll.” Dean encouraged, his voice warm and rough and good. One large hand cupped your pubic mound and the other rested on your thigh, soothing the quivering skin there. “You're so wet for me already. I wonder if I could...” Dean lowered his eyes, making you squirm. “God, look at you fuckin' drip.”

“Please?” You managed to say, whimpering when he hungrily licked up the trail of slick that had been making its way down your thigh. “Please, please sir, I-”

“Sir?” Dean growled, sounding incredibly satisfied and rewarding you with a flat-tongued stroke over your pussy. “S' good shit. Hold still for me, doll.” It had been so long since someone had taken care of you this attentively. Dean was a natural, hands holding you steady as he worked you into a writhing mess with his mouth and praise. Gentle orders were issued and you followed them to the letter, eager for more, eager to be good for him.

“Can I fuck you?” He asked finally, quickly diving back in and rolling his tongue around your clit in tender little circles before you could formulate a response. “Please, may I fuck you?” His voice was almost nothing, a whisper against your skin. “Wanna' make you feel good, wanna' make you come on my cock, doll. I know we didn't discuss the fuckin' beforehand. Color?”

“Green, green, green, please-!” You begged, wiggling your body and canting your hips hungrily up towards his face.

“Oh God, I'm gonna' have to work on this.” Dean propped himself up on his arms, crawling over you until he reached your mouth. When he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his tongue. “Heya' doll. Miss me?” He grinned. “Hands okay? Nothin' numb or tinglin', right?”

You were pretty sure you weren't exactly at your sexiest, your dress pulled up and wrinkled around your waist and your skin shiny with sweat and want. But you took a second to ground yourself, mentally checking all your extremities. “M' okay, y-yeah.” You panted. “Please sir, please fuck me?”

Dean looked like a deer caught in the headlights, his whole body going still again. “You say please an' shit, beg for me so nice.” He murmured, sounding a little melancholy. “Make me feel like I'm worth it. S'dangerous.”

“You are worth it!” You protested, whining when he moved back to take off his pants. “You're being careful with me, you're making me feel good. Why wouldn't you be worth it?”

Dean just shrugged, yanking down his boxers.

“Hey, Dean.” You gentled your tone, waiting until he looked back at you. “Untie me, please?”

He seemed confused but obeyed immediately, practically lunging up the bed to struggle with his knots. They had tightened somewhat from all your squirming. “Color? Y'okay?”

“Green.” You said firmly. “I just wanted to touch you.”

“Why?”

“Because.” Dean flinched as you reached out, doing his best to mask it. Your heart ached because you knew that feeling, the wariness that was always there just under the surface. Your body thrummed with want and you felt almost like you should be crying, emotions running hot. “Shh, just me.” You soothed, giving him a smile. “Just me, Dean.”

His name seemed to snap him back into focus. Dean's kisses were needy, long and urgent with tongue and teeth clicking against your own. The whole while he mumbled praise into your mouth, whispering you're beautiful perfect too good for me in a crooning cadence that had you arching your back. “Color?” He asked finally, his cock sliding up and down on your thigh as he shifted his weight. You were pretty sure the scene was over but you figured you could talk about that afterwards.

“Green. Please. Green, yes, please.” You pleaded disjointedly, your arms slung around his neck. “Please.” His answer wasn't verbal but physical, his cock pressing to the entrance of your pussy. You rolled your hips greedily, inviting, wanting with every fiber of your existence. The first push of his cock into you made you moan, a drawn-out sound that Dean echoed.

“Christ doll, not fair, oh my fuckin' God.” He gasped, clumsily groping one of your breasts through your sundress. “It's not even fair-!”

“Dean please fuck me, I need it, I need it, please!” You didn't even care that you were begging. You knew that was what he needed, the constant affirmation of the fact that yes I want this yes I want you. Dean buried his face in the junction of your neck and shoulder, hands tight on your hips as he mercilessly fucked into you. His pelvis ground against your clit with every thrust, the stimulation white hot and yes I want you!

“You're so fuckin' tight so fuckin' pretty just wanna' fuckin' explode in you fuckin' make you take all of me, I'm not fuckin' good at this shit yet, m' sorry-” Dean rambled in your ear. “Coming, I'm coming, I can't--shit, fuck, hang on, gotta'-” He slid a hand between the two of you and you rocked up against the heel of his palm, sharp bursts that just hilted his cock in you and made him press the right spots everywhere. “Yeah that's it, that's it, you shake around me, you come on me.” Dean ordered and you obeyed, your orgasm a relief and a thrill all in one as you threw your head back and came with a cry of his name. His breath hitched, sounding almost like a sob.

Dean quickly pulled out, shoving your sundress up even higher and then coming on your stomach. He kept his head down, breathing hard.

“Sorry.” He said finally. “Not so good at this, I guess.”

“Hey, for a first timer, I think you did pretty good!” You encouraged, cupping his chin and making him look up at you. “This doesn't need to mean anything, okay? Unless you want it to. And it never needs to happen again if it makes you uncomfortable. Got it?”

“Yeah. I uh...was it good for you, at least? Because holy shit.” Dean said weakly. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Green all the way, Ambrose. Also, since you humored me tonight, any time you want me to tie you up, just say the word.” You smiled up at him and he grinned back (to your private relief.) You weren't sure whether you'd pushed too far.

“Thanks. For everythin', you know? Taking me in, and...well, just everythin'.” Dean said quietly after the two of you got cleaned up. He held you close, resting your head on his chest. His voice was soft again, like he thought you were asleep. “I've never really felt like I was worth much til' you. So thanks.” His fingers twined through your own. “I'll get better for you. I promise. S'least I can do.”

[paterson-blue]

Honey, You're Familiar (Like My Mirror Years Ago); Part 3

Part 3: The Date

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4 I Part 5

Summary: Things don't go exactly to plan. Clyde stresses.

Word Count: 4,010

Warnings: fluff, spice, grumpy Clyde Logan, pouty boy (but he's still in love), sentimentalism, sickly sweet pet names, smoochin', grindin', oral sex (male receiving), cum on body (not in!), original female character–let me know if I need to add anything else!

A/N: Thanks again to @paper-n-ashes for being my beta reader & quelling all my writing jitters. You're the absolute best!

Prefer AO3? I gotcha!

It’s a fuckin’ disaster.

Starts out nice. Juniper shows up on his doorstep wearin’ a slinky little black dress, one that shows off her curves and makes Clyde’s mouth go dry. She tells him he looks handsome and he feels giddy. He sweeps his newly styled hair out of his face, sayin’ she looks absolutely stunnin’. Juniper beams, grabs his hand, tells him they better get a move on ‘fore they’re late.

They’re late. They’re later than late.

They aren’ five minutes outta town when lightenin’ starts to streak across the sky. Clyde shifts uneasily, eyes cast upward towards the swirling heavens. It’s rainin’ cats and dogs in no time and Juniper has to slow to half the speed limit to drive safely. Clyde’s thoughts go to the river up ahead, the one the road crew was still tryna’ re-stabilize since the last storm flooded it.

Fifteen minutes from their destination and they have t’pull to a stop on the highway, suddenly blocked in a jam. Flashin’ red and blue lights indicate an accident up front, and while Clyde spares a thought to whoever was involved, he can’t help but check the time. They aren’ gonna make their reservation, he just knows it.

The car behind ‘em lays on its horn, the sound makin’ both Clyde & Juniper jump. The driver either doesn’ seem to understand the concept of bein’ stuck or plain just don’ care. Clyde clenches his jaw, glowerin’ into the rear view mirror—he can only see the driver’s silhouette behind the bright glow of the headlights. He’s keepin’ his cool until the driver reaches his arm out, in the pourin’ rain an’ all, just t’give Juniper the finger.

Clyde’s unbucklin’ his belt quick as can be, chest heavin’ as he reaches for the door handle. He’s ‘bout ready to stomp to the car and yank the man out.Teach ‘im a lesson on manners, teach ‘im t’treat a lady like—

“Clyde.” Juniper stops him in his tracks with just his name on her lips. He looks over at her from under his hair, expression tense. She reaches up to caress his cheek, holdin’ his face in her little palm so sweetly, thumb brushin’ over the sharp line of his jaw. “Leave him be. It’s not worth gettin’ into trouble.”

Clyde deflates, honey brown eyes downcast. He sounds miserable when he speaks. “… We’re gonna miss dinner.”

“I know, sugar. It’s okay.”

His heart flutters in his broad chest despite his distress. She’d called him ‘sugar.’ He likes that; wants to hear it again real soon.

By the time they get through all the traffic and make it to the restaurant, their reservation is indeed gone, table havin’ been given away. They stand together just outside the building, under the little awning in an attempt to stay out of the rain.

Clyde huffs, so morose that he’s unable to enjoy the way she was pressed up against his side. “M’sorry.”

Juniper frowns, reachin’ up to pat his stomach gently. “You stop that. You haven’t done anything to be sorry for.”

Clyde shakes his head sadly, heavin’ out a sigh. “It’s the Logan Family Curse.”

She looks up at him, brows arched, her hand still settled on his belly. “Oh is it now?”

He nods, brows pinched together. Juniper reaches for his hand, pulling it to her lips and pressin’ a kiss to his knuckles. “You aren’t cursed, Clyde Logan. And if you are, I’m perfectly happy to be cursed right along with you.”

Clyde doesn’ quite know how to respond to that, but luckily, he doesn’t have to right away. Juniper moves her lips to the pads of his large fingers, kissin’ ‘em gently before lettin’ him pull his hand away. Clyde cradles her pretty face in his palm, takin’ the time to admire her. Finally, he speaks. “Thank you, darlin’. That’s mighty nice of you t’say.”

Juniper nuzzles into his touch, sighin’ happily; it makes Clyde feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“I’m only saying what’s true. Now c’mon. I know it’s a Friday night but there’s bound to be somewhere we can eat.”

They end up findin’ an old fashioned drive-in burger place, somewhere they can park and eat in the car out of the rain. It’s not where Clyde wants to take her; she deserves to be wined and dined all proper, not greasy burgers and milkshakes. But Juniper doesn’ seem to mind; as soon as they’re parked she’s squintin’ up at the menu, a big smile on her face.

“This all sounds so fucking good.” She giggles, lookin��� over at him. It makes the disappointment in Clyde’s chest fade away, and he leans over the center console to peer out the window to see what choices they were offered. It puts him in her space, and Juniper leans in to press a gentle kiss to his temple. He blushes, his cheeks only getttin’ hotter when she brushes some of his hair out of his face. He desperately wants to kiss her but he doesn’ know if it’s the right time.

He’s finally acceptin’ the night’s change of plans—finally acceptin’ that this might be good, burgers and fries while dressed up nice, watchin’ the rain pour from the safety of Juniper’s little Corolla—when the carhop comes out to tend to them. Clyde’s already diggin’ into his wallet as Juniper rattles off their order; he holds his debit card out, arm reachin’ over Juniper’s lap.

The carhop doesn’ move for the card. Instead, they say “Card machine’s down. Cash only.” in what Clyde thinks is possibly the most bored tone they could muster. He tries not to bristle as he fumbles with his wallet for a second time, patience already worn thin from the night’s events. He’s only got a fifty in his billfold. The fifty.

Their fifty.

He hesitates, even though he knows it’s irrational; Jimmy always did tell him he was too damn sentimental for his own good. Juniper must realize—she always does, Clyde never seems to have to explain himself to her—because she grabs her purse from the floorboard. Clyde stops her, shakin’ his head as he tugs the fifty dollar bill out. “S’alright, darlin’. Y’told me t’save it for a rainy day.”

Juniper’s face softens at his words, and Clyde hands the money over to the carhop, who looks like they want to be literally anywhere else. Soon Clyde’s been given his change, and he quickly puts it back up. As soon as he’s done Juniper’s reachin’ for him, pullin’ him in by his collar. Clyde goes willingly, twistin’ in his seat to move his prosthetic to the middle of her back, arm wrapped around her.

“I’ll give you another one.” She tells him firmly, and Clyde huffs out a laugh.

“Well that’d be awful silly of ya, Junebug. You’ll run outta money real quick if y’keep givin’ it all t’me.” He tries to soothe her with a joke, wantin’ to let her know that it was alright. Sure, it had been special to him—reminded him of their meetin’—but it was just a piece a’ paper. What was a piece a’ paper when he had the most important thing right here in front a’ him?

He wants to curl up further into her, but their positions don’t allow for it—the vehicle doesn’ exactly allow for him to move his long limbs much a’ anywhere. If this was as close as he could get, he was satisfied. Juniper shifts suddenly, eyes trained on him as she leans closer. They share a breath, then two, and then she’s pressin’ her mouth against his.

It’s nothin’ if not chaste. Clyde gets the feelin’ she doesn’ exactly want to neck in the front seat of her car like teenagers—at least not in plain view of the drive-in’s staff and other patrons. Just a gentle kiss, a little more than a peck; firm and lingerin’ just enough that he knows it happened. Juniper follows it up with another one at the corner of mouth, their noses pressin’ against one another’s cheeks.

It’s more than enough for Clyde; more than enough to get his pulse to sky rocket. He can’t remember the last time he’s been treated so gently, so much love in such a small movement. She gives him a smile when she pulls away, and they both sit back in their seats, starin’ all heart-eyed at one another. She takes the metal of his hand in hers, holdin’ it, and Clyde thinks maybe he should reconsider the whole curse thing.

They head back home after finishin’ their meal, the storm slowly peterin’ off as they get closer to Clyde’s trailer. Juniper walks him to his door, gigglin’ when she offers him her arm to escort him. He takes it, grinnin’ like a fool as they stomp up the front steps. They stand there under the yellow porch light, humid heat surroundin’ ‘em. Clyde usually hated the humidity, but not when it was like this, creatin’ such a hazy, intimate bubble around ‘em. Juniper drops her arm, but only to reach for Clyde’s flesh hand, holdin’ it in both of hers.

“I had a really nice time tonight, Clyde. Best date I’ve ever been on—and I mean that.”

Clyde can feel himself blushin’, a pleased smile turnin’ his lips up. “I had a good time, too. Wouldja—wouldja wanna do it again? Sometime soon?”

“Yes.” She answers almost before he can finish askin’, and they both laugh. There’s a beat, a pause, a breath, and then Juniper is leanin’ up the same moment Clyde’s leanin’ down. It’s a relief when their lips touch, like the first drink a’ water in the mornin’. Clyde thinks he’s been parched his whole life and never even knew it.

Juniper’s the one who deepens it, the one who drops his hand to lean into him, to thread her fingers through his thick hair, holdin’ him close. And fuck, Clyde isn’ gonna fight it. He wraps his arm around her, prosthetic against her back as his hand moves to hold her face. His palm envelops her cheek, thumb under her chin to keep her head lifted. They kiss and kiss, and when she makes a little whine in the back of her throat Clyde swears he’s floatin’.

When she pulls away to breathe he makes a sound of his own, a disappointed little groan that she huffs out a laugh at. He’d be embarrassed if she wasn’ nuzzlin’ her nose against his cheek like she can’t get enough.

“Those lips a’ yours aren’t fair.” She murmurs, and Clyde hums, strokin’ his thumb along her jawline. He doesn’ want this to end, he thinks for possibly the thousandth time that night. He doesn’ wanna let her get back in her car an’ drive across town, over the train tracks, past the antique shop, until she gets to the bed & breakfast.

He wants her right here, and he’s never been the one in this position, but he doesn’ hesitate when he asks her, “D’y’wanna come in?”

She nods, and it sets his chest aflame. They straighten up, untanglin’ themselves from one another even as she leans into his side, not wantin’ t’be too far. Clyde’s hands shake as he unlocks the front door but he doesn’ care if she sees. He wants her to see, wants her to know what she’s doin’ t’him. Maybe then...maybe she won’t leave.

Clyde flicks on the lights, closin’ the door behind both of ‘em. He watches as Juniper assesses his things: his clumsily cleaned living area, the small kitchenette that was (thankfully) decluttered. The hallway leads back to the bathroom, and then his bedroom, but Clyde doesn’ dare look towards it, much less lead her that way. Instead, he steps towards the fridge, hand reachin’ out to brush against the door.

“Want anythin’ t’drink?” He asks, voice quiet, as if nervous to disturb the silence. Juniper shoots him a smile, shakin’ her head as she perches on the couch.

“No, I’m okay, thank you.”

Clyde nods, lingerin’ there even though he doesn’ want a drink neither. Her eyes look him over, amusement showin’ in them.

“Why don’t you c’mere? If you want, of course.”

He wants. Oh, how he wants. So he goes, movin’ across the distance between them in three long strides until he can sit himself next to her. He’s stock straight, heart thrummin’ in his chest; his nice button-down feels all tight against his skin, too itchy. He thinks only her touch’ll soothe it, but doesn’ wanna ask her. Juniper, however, reads his mind; she always can. She smoothes a hand over his jean-clad thigh, leanin’ in ever so slowly, like she’s gonna startle him if she moves too fast. Clyde’s breath catches in his throat as she kisses him again, and it's heaven, it's heaven.

It’s different from in the car, from on the porch. This time there’s more purpose to it. Juniper’s kissin’ him—tastin’ him— like he belongs to her, and Clyde thinks maybe it's because she knows he does. He’s tryna’ angle his body just right, tryin’ t’lean down without puttin’ a crick in his neck. Not that he’d care much, if he did--a crick was worth this, worth the feelin’ of her tongue brushin’ against his bottom lip, against his teeth.

Juniper makes a frustrated little noise, pullin’ back, and Clyde’s brows furrow in confusion.

“Wha--Wha’s--?” He stammers out, flesh hand flexin’ on her waist, the silky fabric of her dress feelin’ so soft and cool against his skin. Juniper’s lips are plush and kiss bitten; Clyde tries to take a picture of ‘em in his memory, eyes trained on their pretty color. He almost misses her question. Scratch that, he does miss her question; has to very ineloquently say “huh?” to get her to repeat it. She ducks her head, voice shy.

“Can I, uh--get in your lap?”

Shit. Shit. Clyde nearly feels dizzy for all the blood rushin’ down south. It makes him a little self-conscious; she’s not gonna want t’sit on his lap and have his cock pressin’ into her all demandin’ like. But damn, his little Junebug looks so eager, her eyes darker than he’s ever seen ‘em, and like he’d said: he wants. So he just nods, barely breathin’.

Juniper shifts, pushin’ him into the back of the couch and he goes easily, willingly. She hikes her dress up her legs and Clyde gets a barely there peek of dark green lace before she’s straddlin’ his lap. He moans, can’t fuckin’ help it, and Juniper dives in to capture the sound with her mouth. Her hands are on his face, in his hair, fingers rubbin’ the shells of his ears—he’s surrounded, he’s drownin’, suffocatin’. He’s never felt so alive.

His own hands are placed chastely on either one of her hips, though he knows his flesh hand must be grippin’ her somethin’ fierce. The thought flashes in his mind, of him leavin’ little fingerprint shaped bruises on her skin for her to feel the next day. It makes him shiver underneath her.

Juniper takes and takes, and Clyde lets her. Clyde wants to be taken, in whatever way she’ll have him. Suddenly she’s pullin’ away just enough to suck in a little air, lips still brushin’ against his. He presses his long nose into the soft skin of her cheek, breath hot between them. When Juniper speaks, her voice is strained.

“Touch me, Clyde. Please.”

He doesn’ hesitate. His good hand moves from her hip to her ass, grabbin’, kneadin’ as he pulls her tighter against him. She lets out the prettiest noise Clyde thinks he’s ever heard, and his lips find her neck as his other arm comes around to hold her close. God, she tastes so good; her perfume fills his head until he feels dizzy with it.

She's pressed flush to him like this, grindin’ her hips against his. Clyde’s hard and leakin’ in his brand new jeans and the only thing he can think of is hearin’ her little noises again. Her hands are back in his hair, pullin’ at it, sweepin’ it away from his face so he doesn’ get tangled in it as his mouth makes a hot path down the neckline of her dress.

It feels so damn good that Clyde doesn’ realize she’s tryin’ to get his attention until she yanks on his tresses, his scalp burnin’ from it. Honestly he thinks he groans, rough and wild in his throat, the pain shootin’ straight to his cock. But it makes him look at her, and she holds him from divin’ back into her skin.

“Clyde I wanna—I wanna taste you. Is that okay? Can I?”

Lord Almighty above. That should be his line, it really should. But how can he argue with her? He’d give her anythin’ she wanted, anythin’. And she wanted—wanted to put her mouth on him. Clyde spares a thought for all the trimmed and proper men he’s seen in porn, how much nicer they looked, how Juniper deserved the best. West coast mean surely didn’ look the way he did. But then,“Yes,” he’s sayin’, voice ragged, “yes.”

And she’s slippin’ out of his lap onto the floor between his legs. Clyde’s heart pinches, and he leans forward to pick her right back up. To say “oh, darlin’, y’don’ need to be on the hard floor like that. Lemme stand an’ you c’n sit right back on these here pillows.” But before he can get his legs under him she's pressin’ her face between ‘em, nuzzlin’ into the scratchy fabric of his jeans, right up against his cock. Clyde’s brain short circuits.

“Been wantin’ this.” Juniper murmurs, small hands workin’ at his belt, and Clyde arches his hips up, tryin’ t’help her get his jeans off. He can’t believe this—can’t believe this is happenin’. She tugs his jeans and pants down his legs, just enough that his cock is revealed. Clyde clumsily unbuttons the first couple buttons at the bottom of his shirt, not wantin’ to get the new fabric messy. Juniper seems to like his idea; she sighs and leans forward to press her lips to the bare skin of his stomach.

“Sweetheart.” Clyde whispers, voice all trembly. He stretches out a little, givin’ her more access to his pale abdomen. Her lips are so soft against his skin, against the dark trail of hair leadin’ down, down, down. She follows it, nosin’ to the crook of his thigh, teeth scrapin’ deliciously ‘fore she turns her attention to his cock—already plump and stiff, and very interested in her ministrations. She wraps a hand around it and Clyde’s breath catches in his throat. She studies his cock, gives it a gentle stroke, thumb rubbin’ at the velvety head.

“You’re so big.” Her voice is quiet, but it startles Clyde all the same—he’s been transfixed by the vision in front of him.

“O-Oh, I-m, uh—“

He’s attemptin’ to apologize—his first instinct, really. But his brain isn’t really functionin’ all that well, and then she’s leanin’ in to lave her tongue over his slit. Clyde groans, a sound comin’ deep from his chest as he zeros in on the pretty pink of her soft, wet tongue. Juniper hums as if she’s pleased, a little smile on her face, and then she’s slippin’ her mouth over his cock in earnest.

Clyde’s head drops back against the couch pillow, lungs strugglin’ to suck in air. Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck—it felt so good. She was gorgeous, she was perfect, she was a fucking angel doin’ this for him. She couldn’ take all of him into her mouth but goddamn she was tryin’. It didn’ matter—even if she wasn’ usin’ her hand to make up the difference, Clyde thinks he could cum just from seein’ her there between his legs, her silky soft lips on his skin.

He moves with her—not in a way where he’s pushin’ her or askin’ for more, but in a way where she’s pullin’ him; she’s the ebb and flow of the tide and he follows her willingly. His back arches, toes curlin’ up in his boots; his prosthetic settles on top of her free hand where it was grippin’ one of his large thighs. His other hand is too busy grippin’ the couch cushions to do much else. He’s lost to it—to her—an’ he doesn’ wanna be found.

It’s over far too quickly, embarrassingly so—it even surprises him. He’s ridin’ the high of his pleasure and his orgasm hits him so hard and fast that Clyde barely has any time t’warn her. All he can do is make a frantic noise, her name garbled in his throat as he quickly tries to push her off a’ him. But it’s too late—he’s cummin’ the same time that she’s pullin’ away, and Clyde can only watch in an odd mix of both arousal and horror as his cum paints her chin, neck, and cleavage.

Juniper’s mouth is held open in a surprised little ‘o’ shape, brows arched, and Clyde feels fuckin’ humiliated.

“J-Juniper, darlin’, m’so sorry, I—“ He scrabbles behind him for the throw blanket layin’ across the back of the couch, tuggin’ it into his lap so he can clean his mess off a’ her skin. He’s quick to tend to the spend on her cleavage first, hyperaware of how close it was to the fabric of her pretty black dress. “I’m sorry, I tried t’warn ya but it was too—“

“Clyde, it’s okay.” Her voice is all raspy and Clyde bites back a moan at the sound of it. She was so fuckin’ sexy, fuckin’ flawless. He’d cum all over her, messy and wild, and she was still lookin’ at him like he’d hung the damn moon. She pulls herself to standin’, and Clyde’s gaze dips down to where her knees were all red from kneelin’. Just another thing he didn’ know he found hot until now.

“But I guess it’s a little dangerous to keep this on, huh?”

His gaze snaps up to her face when she speaks, and she’s wearin’ a grin, eyes alight. Then she’s twistin’ her arms around, wrigglin’ out of that cute little dress until it graces the linoleum floor. She bends down to pick it up, drapin’ it carefully over one of the kitchen chairs. She moves like it’s nothin; like the sight of her in her heels and underwear ain’ makin’ his cock try to thicken up again.

“Yer so beautiful.” He tells her, gaze trained on her as she walks back over to him. Clyde feels so small with her standin’ in front of him; feels vulnerable even if he was still mostly dressed. Juniper steps out of her heels slowly, placin’ them to the side before leanin’ in, restin’ her hands on the back of the couch on either side of his head so she can kiss him.

Clyde runs his flesh hand over her bare waist, down the swell of her hip, toyin’ with the band of her underwear. He doesn’t push it down; he won’t without her permission. It’s enough to kiss her like this, soft and lazy, feelin’ her skin underneath his. He feels all gooey and happy from his orgasm, even if it had come sooner than he’d have liked.

He sighs into her mouth, content; chases her lips when she pulls away. Juniper starts to work on the buttons of his shirt, and he sits up to help her ease it off a’ his shoulders. She folds it neatly, settin’ it to the side; Clyde forces himself to speak, tryin’ to get his brain back in workin’ order. “D’y’wanna—wanna go back to the bedroom? You c’n lay down and I’ll—I’ll take care a’ ya.”

He thinks he sounds all awkward and silly, but Juniper gives him a warm smile, and his insecurities fade. She was always comfortin’ him, whether she knew it or not. She places one last lingerin’ kiss to his lips before noddin’ at him. “I’d like that.”

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