#sarah black

[leverage-ot3]

thief conference but it’s just the leverage ot3, red notice ot3, and neal caffrey and el burke (peter isn’t there for plausible deniability)

[ctarchangel542]

Unmatched face card

[octopunkmedia]

Let's play Trivia Murder Party with the Livescreamers gals!

Join me, Sarah Callahan Black (Gwen) and Anna Lin (Zelda) in a round of Trivia Murder Party live on the Octopunk Media Twitch next week, Oct 15 @ 3PM ET.

Also remember all our Twitch income in October will be donated to Western NC Helene relief! 🙏

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

lies are only as good as the person telling them (and you’ve never claimed to be) part 4

Read on Ao3 Masterlist

Pairings: bishops/nolan booth

Warnings: gunshot wound

Word Count: 3089

Nolan gets shot, the Bishops have to deal with their feelings.

"Drive," Sarah orders, pressing her hands hard to Booth's side. John pulls the car around and the tires squeal as more gunshots ricochet off the back bumper. She grits her teeth and presses harder, willing the blood to stay inside Booth's body. "Stay awake, do you understand?"

"I understand that you're currently fighting with my ribs, yeah." Booth yowls like a cat as she pushes down harder. "Hey, hey! Take it easy, I bruise like a peach."

"You're not sweet enough to be a peach," she mutters, too caught up in the fact that Booth is bleeding out from a bullet he took from her to worry about the words coming out of her mouth, not when he's rapidly losing color in his cheeks. "Just stay awake."

Even with his paling face, he still manages to make an offended pout. "I'm plenty sweet enough! I even have the rock-hard pit in my—okay, okay, ow, ow!"

"Do you ever stop talking?"

"Not when I'm awake."

"Keep him talking," John barks from the front seat, "as long as there's bullshit coming out of his mouth, we know he's not about to die."

"Aw, you do love me."

She hears the hitch in John's breath better than Booth does, she's sure, and she doesn't imagine the way John leans into the curves of the road a little more, trying to get them through the next mile before Booth ends up bleeding to death all over the back seat. She grits her teeth again and pushes even harder. Booth winces, his expression contorting in pain, but he doesn't say anything else.

"What were you thinking?" Sarah hisses, shifting her grip as the car swerves around a turn.

"I was thinking that I'd rather not see you get shot right in front of me," Booth grits out, "that's what I was thinking."

"That was reckless of you."

Booth huffs a wet laugh. "What, making sure you don't get shot? You're welcome, by the way, and yeah, maybe not my finest moment, but you tell me how polished and suave you'd be if you saw someone pointing a gun at your partner."

Sarah's hands stutter and her gaze snaps up to Booth's. Booth isn't looking away, isn't biting his lip, doesn't look like he regrets what he said at all. No, it's far worse than that; despite Sarah's best efforts, his eyes are dropping lower and lower. His breathing is slowing under her hands and in a panic that she will deny later because Sarah Black does not panic, she presses down hard enough that she can feel something under her give.

But it works. Booth's eyes snap open again and he stares at her.

"Stay awake," she orders and it comes out more like a plea, "just stay awake until we can get you someplace safe."

The corner of his mouth tugs up the smallest bit and she hates how much she hates the fact that it looks like such a pale imitation of his normal smirk. "The Bishop has a heart after all, how touching."

"You're one to talk," she scoffs if only to cover up her relief that he's talking again, "you just took a bullet for me."

"Which I still can't tell if you're happy I did or not." He coughs once, twice, as the car swerves around yet another turn. "I'd ask if it'd kill you to say thank you, but I think I know the answer already, so—"

"Thank you."

Booth stops. His mouth drops open. "Okay, I definitely must be dying because I could've sworn you just said 'thank you,' and I—"

"You are not dying," she says firmly, as blood covers her hands, "and I did say thank you."

He goes to say something else—I'm sure it was excellent, Nolan, don't worry—but then he's coughing again and the wound under her hands gushes. She pushes harder and gets him to lie down in the backseat, climbing on top of him and using her full weight to press down on the bullet wound.

"Whoa," he mumbles, half-dazed, half-confused, "if this was all it took to get you on top of me, then…"

He trails off before he can finish his sentence and despite everything, she smiles. "If it's what you wanted, you could've just asked."

"Nah…you'd keep it from me," comes his reply, voice beginning to slur, "you're…you're so clever…you'd make—make me work for it…"

"Booth? Booth!"

"'S okay," he mumbles, eyes starting to droop again, "jus' a…jus' a minor s'tback, see? 'S not…'s none of my b'sness anyway…"

"Stay awake," she pleads again, pushing down as hard as she can as John curses and swerves again, "stay awake Nolan, you need to keep your eyes open. Just look at me, alright? Can you do that?"

Nolan's eyes blink open slowly and a slow smile manages to make its way onto his face. The soft sort of smile you see when the person isn't thinking about it, the one you can't really feel until someone points it out. Nolan is giving her that sort of smile now, as she presses down on the wound that should have been hers, as John drives them through the streets of Paris. Nolan just looks up at her, and he smiles, and how could she ever have believed him capable of the same sort of cruelty she was?

"There," she hears herself say as his breathing grows raspier and raspier, "it's okay, Nolan, you're going to be alright. We're going to get you someplace safe and fix you up, right? Then you'll be quipping and annoying us just like you always do, alright?"

"Tha's me," he slurs, "pain in the ass."

John's hysterical chuckle mixes with hers as Nolan grins with dopey pride. Something terribly sad occurs to her then as she has to adjust to keep her balance.

Is this all he expects from them? Just the occasional bone thrown to the world's most annoying dog? Does he think that's all he is to them?

Too late does she realize that in her moment of distraction, Nolan's eyes have fully closed.

"Booth? Booth!" She pushes down harder. "Nolan!"

***

"In here," John says, rushing to the bedroom and laying the too-limp form of Nolan Booth on top of the sheets, "grab the kit from the bathroom."

Sarah is off the next moment, her shoes clicking across the floor as John rips open Nolan's shirt and throws his own jacket to the side. He curses—the bullet's already gone through and through, which is why Sarah was having such a hard time keeping all the blood inside him in the car, and why he's still losing color.

"Here," comes Sarah's voice and he rips the kit open immediately, "I'll get everything else."

He barely has time to shoot a thanks or even an acknowledgment over his shoulder as he gets to work. Nolan will not die on their watch, they won't let him. He's a goddamn stubborn son of a bitch but they're more stubborn than he is put together, and they're sure as hell not gonna let him slip away.

"You think you can just tap out now and make us do the rest of the work?" he finds himself muttering as he works over the limp body. "Not a chance in hell. This whole thing was your idea to begin with, so you're damn well gonna stick around until it's done, you hear me?"

Nolan doesn't say a word, and John curses the part of him that ever wanted to shut Nolan up for good. He doesn't want that, he bargains with the universe, he wants the Nolan that pokes and prods at them all the time like it's his goddamn job. He wants the quips and the jokes and the innuendoes that perfectly walk the line between funny and too crass. He wants the asshole that's unfairly good at singing on key while he works on the blueprints or the lockpicking kits. He wants the dipshit who went right up to the people who betrayed them, double-crossed them right back, and then invited them to work with him on the biggest score they could ever remember.

He wants Nolan Booth, damnit, and if this bullet takes him from them before they've even gotten a chance, he's gonna march right down to whatever pit in hell they decide to stick his soul and drag him back to the land of the living.

"Come back here, you prick," he mutters as he gently cleans away the worst of the blood so he can see what he's doing, "you're not getting away from us that easily."

Sarah's hands join his and together, they patch the worst of the bleeding before Nolan can bleed out. He lifts him carefully in his arms as Sarah ruthlessly strips the sheets from the bed, tossing the mattress protector too for good measure. She remakes the bed with astonishing speed and strides to the bathroom to start getting the blood out. It's what she needs to do, he knows, pour her frustration at the situation into something so it doesn't blow up in their faces, but that doesn't make him move from his self-appointed vigil over the too-still Nolan.

Just watching his chest go up and down, up and down.

When night's fallen and Sarah's scrubbed the sheets within an inch of their lives, she comes to sit next to him. They don't say anything, just sitting silently as the moonlight spills across the bed. Nolan's hands are still bloody. He gets up and goes to the bathroom, getting a washcloth and running it under the warm water. He goes back to the bedroom and picks up one of Nolan's hands in his, tenderly cleaning the blood from his knuckles. When he's finished with the hand, he offers the washcloth to Sarah. She takes it and cleans his other hand as John keeps a hold of the one in his.

"I think he'd be a great dancer," Sarah murmurs after an eon, her eyes still on Nolan's knuckles.

"I think so too."

There's another moment of quiet.

"I think," Sarah says again, her voice even quieter, "if you asked him to dance, he would say yes."

John swallows around the lump in his throat. "Yeah?"

"You might have to ask a few times," and now Sarah's holding Nolan's hand too, the washcloth draped over the foot of the bed, "and he's probably going to say no at first."

"But you think if I show him I really want to dance," John finishes, "you think he'd say yes?"

"I do."

They look at each other across the too-quiet room.

"Are you—" he stops to clear his throat— "are you gonna ask him to dance too?"

She looks down at him, her fingers idly toying with the cuff of his sleeve. "I don't know if he wants to dance with me."

He huffs. "Didn't sound like that in the back seat."

"But that's who he is," she says back, "he makes the jokes and he takes the hits because it's expected of him."

"But he doesn't do things he doesn't believe in."

"You're biased," she says with the ghost of a smile.

"Of course I am," he says and she laughs, "but so is he. You two had a thing going way before he even knew about me."

"That was different."

"Is it?"

She looks at him, and she looks at Nolan, and she slowly lets out a long breath.

"He needs to wake up first," is her eventual concession, "and then…then it's going to take him a while before he's up to dancing."

"That's okay with me. Is it okay with you?"

She smiles and she looks like the Sarah Black he knows and loves again. "No one ever got anything worth having without having the right amount of patience."

See, he says silently to the sleeping Nolan Booth, we're waiting for you, you asshole, come wake up already.

***

When Nolan wakes up, he's very, very confused.

Because in the world he fell asleep in, he was very much the reluctantly dragged third wheel of the Bishops, who only teamed up with him because he blackmailed them into it. He was spat on and kicked around because he was an easy target and hey, he could give insults as good as he got. They kept him around because he was good, goddamnit, and he knows how to set up a good score. They needed him, and he needed them, and that was it. He took the hits because they couldn't hurt him in ways they hadn't already, and he took the good moments because he's a greedy bastard who doesn't know when to stop himself.

Including taking a bullet for the fucking Bishop.

Things got really hazy in the back seat, and not in the good, sexy way, but in the incredibly un-sexy blood loss way where he's not quite sure what happened, but he has vague memories of Sarah on top of him, telling him to stay awake, and saying thank you. He's not really sure what to make of those, nor what embarrassing things he ended up saying, but he's pretty sure that that world at least by and large makes sense.

The world he wakes up in, on the other hand…

Well, for starters, he blinks awake on a bed. Not a hospital bed, not a hotel bed, but an actual fucking bed. Hartley and the Bishop's bed, to be more specific, in that shitty little apartment on the outskirts of Paris. His mind would love to conjure up all the fun reasons why this could be happening, but then there's a blooming ache in his side and his head is pounding and the bed is cold, cold, cold.

Except it isn't, because there's a body like a fucking space heater right next to him, and he just manages to crane his neck to one side to realize it's Hartley. Actual, built-like-a-brick-shithouse Hartley, who blinks awake and smiles at him like he's something worth smiling at.

"Hey," he says, voice all soft and rough from sleep, "you feeling okay?"

Uh, no, he's pretty sure he's either died and gone to heaven or woken up in some parallel universe.

"Here," Hartley says, sitting up and reaching over him for the glass of water on the nightstand, "you're gonna be dehydrated, drink up."

Nolan goes to lift his hand when his body informs him that no, moving is not allowed right now, and a pained hiss escapes through his teeth before he can stop himself. Concern flickers openly across Hartley's face and he's sitting up more, turning and sliding a hand under Nolan's head to let him drink.

Water never tasted so good.

"That's enough for now," Hartley says when he's managed half the glass, "don't want you sick on top of the bullet."

Right. The bullet. The bullet he took for the Bishop. The Bishop—

"Hey, hey, hey," Hartley soothes as he starts to panic, one large hand pressing him down into the mattress, "shh, calm down. She's okay, she's just in the kitchen."

"Is he awake?"

"Yeah, he's up, he wants to see you."

"Don't—" he coughs through his dry throat— "don't put words in my mouth."

But then the Bishop actually comes around the corner and he can't stop the way he sags in relief at seeing her unharmed. She comes over to the bed, sitting down near his hand, and—and picking it up and putting it in her lap.

Uh, no, I definitely died and went somewhere else. What the fuck is happening?

Oh.

Oh.

It's just part of their ploy, isn't it? To get him to—to—well, he doesn't know what the fuck else they want from him at this point. Shit, he just took a bullet for the Bishop and now he's completely and utterly at their mercy, what the fuck else could they want? It's not like he's in any position to stop them if they wanted to do something right now, they could just go and do the score and leave him here on this bed, in the apartment, all by himself, while they go and he's left alone, all alone—

"Hey, hey…"

"Shh…don't cry, Nolan."

"Look at me. Hey, Booth—Nolan, look at me."

There's a hand on the side of his face. The side of his face is wet. Why is the side of his face wet? Oh. One of them said don't cry. Is he crying?

"Do you need more painkillers?" There's still a hand on his face. "Sarah, can you—"

The hands on his start to pull away and he's clutching at them desperately before he can snap at himself to stop it. But it's too late, the Bishop is sitting back down and they're having a murmured conversation and then there's a cool hand on his face too.

"Don't worry," comes her voice, smooth and soft as fresh water, "we're not leaving, Nolan."

"You're stuck with us," Hartley agrees.

But—but—but that doesn't make sense. Nothing in this world makes sense and he wants to go back to the other one where at least things made sense, where things hurt but at least he knew when to expect it, not here where he has no idea what's going on and he just wants everything to go back to normal and then he won't be guessing, second-guessing, triple-guessing everything until they leave him again.

"Silly boy," the Bishop says fondly as tears drip like razorblades down his cheeks—there goes his resolve never to let them see how badly they hurt him— "did you think I would let you take a bullet for me and then let you leave without giving me a chance to pay it back?"

"I—I didn't—I didn't mean—"

"Shh," Hartley soothes, his big hand moving to card through Nolan's hair, "calm down, Nolan, it's okay. We can talk about this again when you wake up properly, just rest for now. You've worn yourself out."

"I'll wear you out," he mumbles back, more out of instinct than anything, and Hartley chuckles warmly.

"It's a promise, big guy."

Nothing makes sense right now, Nolan decides as that big hand lulls him right back to sleep, but if the Bishop is promising they're not going to leave him alone, and Hartley is laughing at his stupid jokes, he thinks that maybe he could figure out a way to make this world work.

Just for a little while.

[deepinthelight]

Characters played by Gal Gadot

[dustedmagazine]

Lupo Cittá — S-T (12XU)

“White Bracelet” shocks itself to life with a screech of feedback, a jolt of electricity that kicks off a barrage of electric strumming, a rumble of chaotic drums, a careening, coursing flood of vocal melody that is both world-weary and extremely energized. It’s the second song on Lupo Cittá’s first album, an emphatic rocker after the narcotic echo and sway of “Onde.” This is the one that sounds most like Chris Brokaw, which is always a good thing. Though to be fair, there are other songs that don’t especially, that perhaps bear the mark of the two other members, Sarah Black and Jen Gori, and they are awfully good, too.

Chris Brokaw, as you might know, has been in roughly a million bands, genre defining ones like Come and Codeine and lesser known outfits like Martha’s Vineyard Ferries and Charnel House, but all of them rough-edged and heart-felt and excellent. Lupo Cittá is the latest Brokaw-affiliated musical ensemble, formed in pandemic’s ebb tide around 2021,with two other indie music lifers. Sarah Black was a fixture in a vibrant Minneapolis scene, playing in Kickball, Period, Plain Jane, the Bleeding Hickeys, the Lie-Ons, the Pointing Geenas and Brandy Thunders and doing performance and visual art. Jenn Gori intersected with Black in several of those bands, playing drums in the Bleeding Hickeys, the Lie-ons, Pointing Geenas and Brandy Thunders.

Once the three members met, they discovered that they had just missed connecting in various episodes of their lives. They were in New York and Seattle during the same periods, and they all moved back to Boston in rough synchronicity though they didn’t really become aware of each other until meeting at a summer 2021 house show. Soon after the two women asked Brokaw to play guitar on a song for them, which grew into more songs and finally Lupo Cittá, an echo-drenched, psychedelic garage trio enamored of 1970s horror and spaghetti western soundtracks.

“Gallup to El Paso,” for instance, has a slouchy western swagger, a molten shudder of bass running through its cavernous, surf-inflected sound. A nocturnal penumbra hangs over this and other songs, clouds of reverb shadowing its slanting cowboy vibe. There’s something lurid about the way the melody breaks through the gloom, a flash of neon in a rainy midnight. “Only in Love” does the same trick with a 1960s girl group melody, wrapping it in so much darkness and uncertainty that it becomes something else altogether. These songs loom up like highways signs as you fly by, flaring out of the impenetrable black then disappearing. Jenn Gori sings in a haunting, dream-shrouded way, slipping in and out of a mess of undertones, even on the all-out rockers, so that the songs have both murderous energy and mystery. “Shawano Pickup,” for instance, blusters and rollicks, an unstoppable rockabilly rave in its bones, but its head, somehow, in the clouds.

This is not exactly a slow-burner —if you like this sort of thing, you’ll like it from the very start. But it does pick up depth and resonance from repeat listens, as this straight on rock record reveals the enigma at its unruly core.

Jennifer Kelly

[iamaboredpotatonugget]

Nolan Booth/John Heartly/Sarah Black Red Notice Fics because I love this movie so much

Booth was scrunched up in the backseat with far from enough room for his legs, doing his best not to feel like a third wheel while also trying to keep the two very keen eyed criminals from noticing the blood that was steadily staining his shirt.

"Again?"

It's not really a request.

"You're insatiable!" he squeaks, throwing his hands up dramatically.

It's her turn to shrug now, like she's been caught and can't be bothered to defend herself. She resets the board, black side facing him this time.

Nolan Booth picks up shoplifting while he and the Bishops wait for their new score, gets caught, and gets fucked. Things get messy.

Nolan thinks he's been flirting with his soulmate-slash-professional rival for the last few years until he realizes he actually has two soulmates. And they've already found each other.

It takes a solid two weeks for Nolan Booth to realise that he’s essentially just following The Bishop and Hartley around like a lapdog.

It takes him a lot less time to realise that they fuck a lot.

Sarah and Hartley attempt to negotiate polyamory with Nolan, but Nolan is too clueless to figure out what is happening.

Not everyone has a soulmate. Only about 10% of the population is born with a mark on their skin signifying that somewhere out there their perfect match walks the earth. And even then there is no guarantee that the two will ever meet.

John Hartley has a soul mate somewhere. Sarah Black does not.

“That you could never truly give me what I wanted,” Nolan said bitterly with a laugh. “I was such a fool to think that I had finally found a family, people who actually cared for me…”

“What was it that you wanted?” John dared to ask.

Nolan stared them down with a fixed look. “Isn’t it obvious?” When they shook their heads, his lips twitched into a small smile. “God, you’re both thick, aren’t you?” He sighed, eyes flickering towards the wall. “I wanted the two of you.”

It had been hours, days, since those bastards had taken Nolan, and Sarah didn’t like to think of what could have happened in that amount of time. She couldn’t think about any of it or she would have to fight the urge back even more to claw at the eyes of anybody who got just a little bit too close.

And then they're alone.

This feels staged. It feels like such a fucking setup. "Found anything interesting?" he tries.

"Only on this side of the door," says Hartley, not without humor.

Booth makes an effort to brush past that with a positive outlook. "No news is good news, right?"

Hartley raises an eyebrow. "So you kissing my girl is not new?"

[saydesole]

Happy Black History Month

Black Jazz Musicians

Their names are presented below, in chronological order from top to bottom

Louis Armstrong 1901-1971

Ella Fitzgerald 1917-1996

Duke Ellington 1899-1974

Miles Davis 1926-1991

Billie Holiday 1915-1959

Count Baise 1904-1984

Sarah Vaughn 1924-1990

Nancy Wilson 1937-2018

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

lies are only as good as the person telling them (and you've never claimed to be) part 8

Read on Ao3 Masterlist

Warnings: none

Pairings: nolan/john/sarah

Word Count: 1736

An epilogue of sorts for our three con artists.

”I don’t understand why I have to be the one crawling through the vents.”

“Because you’ve got the most experience doing it, you’re better built for it than John is, and I’m going to be wearing a dress.”

“I have so much faith that you could do this in a dress, you have no idea.”

“And as wonderful as your faith is, it would be better served making sure your trip through the vents is as quick and inconspicuous as possible.”

Nolan pouts, looking every bit the petulant child as John ruffles his hair. He lets out an indignant squeak and swats his hand.

“Hey, Baldy! Just because you aren’t blessed with a fine crop of hair that doesn’t mean you can take it out on those of us who do.”

“Tell that to this patch right back here.”

“You are a jealous liar, John Hartley, I have never had so much as a receding hairline in my entire life.” The both make noises of disbelief and he gasps, affronted. “I never! You two need to learn some manners.”

“You and your perfectly fine hair have had enough experiences crawling through a vent to major it out of there with your dignity intact,” she says, not bothering to resist the urge to pat his hand consolingly, “and you’ll come out right at the fourth floor bathroom where the spare suit will be waiting.”

“We’ll put your pomade in there too so you can touch it up.”

“Have you been snooping through my medicine cabinet again?”

“I don’t need to go snooping for it when you use enough that the smell radiates from you.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, how come you can recognize my pomade by smell alone? Huh? What about that?”

Sarah rolls her eyes fondly as the two of them continue bickering, going back to examining the layout of the mark’s corporate headquarters. The fundraiser is set to take place on the penthouse floor, which gives them access to most of the express systems, but not the ones they need to access the basement. If they ensure there are ‘accidental’ camera defects that hide their passage through some of the elevator junctions on the higher floors, they should be able to make it to at least the first vault door without issue.

“I’m just saying, I’m not the one who can walk into a room and immediately list the luxury perfumes and colognes everyone’s wearing.”

“Sometimes that’s your only clue. You’d be surprised how long smells can stick to people.”

“Oh, for—is this about the sewer dive I took three months ago? I showered as soon as I got back and you burned those clothes, remember?”

“I wasn’t sure if it was you or one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

“I’m Michelangelo and you’re Raphael and you know it.”

“Does that make me Leonardo or Donatello,” she asks, putting aside the blueprints and reaching for her coffee, “the…leader and the smart one, correct?”

“You’re April O’Neil.” He looks her up and down. “You could definitely pull off a yellow jumpsuit.”

“In your dreams, Nolan. Now, if you boys are done talking about your comic books and movies—“

“It’s the TV show, jeez—“

“—we have an appointment to get to.”

“Ooh, does this mean I get shot gun?”

“Hey, you had it last time,” John says, elbowing him out of the way, “and Sarah’s driving.”

“You two are absolutely no fun sometimes, you know that?”

“Tell that to the security officer who won’t be looking at either of you when we reach the checkpoint.”

Booth grumbles a little but concedes to her point as they pull out into the road. Next to her, John sticks a piece of hum in his mouth and wordlessly offers the pack to Nolan.

“Ooh, I love this flavor.”

“I know.”

“Aww, how romantic, you remembered my favorite flavor of gas station gum!”

Sarah laughs.

***

”You look fine,” John says, removing Nolan’s hands from his collar for the eighth time in as many minutes, “stop messing with it.”

“It’s so tight! How do you deal with this?”

“It’s a suit collar, Nolan, you’ve worn suits before.”

“None that doubled as hangman’s nooses!” He digs two fingers under the white material and pulls again. “And you’re—your neck is the size of most people’s thighs, you’re used to it.”

John just rolls his eyes, carefully moving Booth’s hand and fixing his tie. “You’re giving yourself a red mark, stop picking at it.”

“What if I just go without the tie? Open collar suits are all the rage these days, you know.”

”Then you won’t be able to wear the tie pin,” Sarah says, sidling up behind him in the mirror, “and you do look so very handsome with it.”

“Hey, look, flattery is not going to work this time, no matter how true it is.” She laughs, though, and John watches the defeated slump of Nolan’s shoulders. “Fine, fine, I’ll wear this torture device. Next time, you can wear the suit though.”

“Deal.”

“Wait. Really?”

“Of course.” Sarah turns to saunter out of the room, shooting a look over her shoulder. “You don’t think I could pull off a suit?”

“Well, I—uh—with the right tailor and the right fit, then, uh…”

She laughs again and leaves, leaving John to chuckle at Nolan’s expression.

”She wasn’t joking, was she?”

“No. No, she was not.”

“Wow. Okay. Note to self: figure out where her tailor is. God knows I need a better suit next time too. Or maybe you and I should be the ones in dresses.”

“Haven’t found one that compliments my shoulders yet.”

“Are you kidding? Do a high-neck halter with a low back and a slim silhouette, you’ll knock ‘em dead.”

John chuckles, smoothing one of Nolan’s lapels. “Are what’ll you wear?”

“Oh, my momma raised me to wear full skirts below my knees and my buttons all done up.”

“So you’ll be in a miniskirt, then?”

“Stripper heels to match.”

“Boys,” Sarah calls, “the party starts in half an hour, we need to go.”

“Have you ever fought in high heels?”

“Can’t say that I’ve had the chance, no.”

“They do wonders for your posture, let me tell you. Plus, excellent if you need to emergency stab someone’s eye out.”

John rolls his eyes fondly and puts his hand on Nolan’s back to walk him to the car.

***

”Evon,” Sarah says with a soft smile, opening her arms at the bustling pile of jewels moving toward them, “it’s been too long.”

“Roxanne, Arthur, Mademoiselle et Monsieur, it has been too long!” Nolan watches with no small amount of wonder as the man manages to kiss the both of them on the cheek without dislodging the gaudy thing on his head. “You did not respond to the invitation!”

‘We were traveling,” John says apologetically, “we did not have time.”

“No matter, no matter, you have come, that is all that is important.” Evon catches sight of Nolan, who waves bemusedly, and gasps, holding his hand to his mouth. “And is this your third? The lovely man who did not come to the little party in Paris?”

Hold on. Back up. What?

“This is him,” Sarah says, her voice infused with a warmth that still takes him by surprise, “in the flesh.”

“Evon Madripoor, at your service, Monsieur. If I had any lingering questions about your friends’ taste, they have all been answered.”

“It’s an honor. Warren Clearwater.”

“Ah, what a lovely name you have.” Something shifts in the man’s expression and he takes Nolan’s hand, smile softening. “I am relieved to see that your friends found you. You all deserve every happiness life can give you.”

Nolan blinks. And blinks again. “I, uh, I feel like I’m missing something here.”

“Oh! Oh—forgive me, Mademoiselle and Monsieur, I have said too much. I will take my leave, please, I am not a part of this conversation.”

Nolan watches with no small amount of confusion as the man scampers off back into the crowd. “Well, that was weird. Who knows what the hell he was…”

He turns to see expressions equal parts sheepish and…embarrassed?

“Uh, guys?”

“At the party in Paris,” John says, way too quiet and way, way too intimate for Nolan to be prepared for, “the night you left, he noticed how badly we missed you.”

“What do you mean, ‘how badly we missed you?’”

“We were leaving space for you in conversations,” Sarah says, like she isn’t blowing his mind, “and when John danced with Evon, then—“

“—he asked me who he was a stand-in for.”

Hi, sorry. Nolan’s offline right now, he’s gonna need a minute to reboot.

”It was never just about the job,” John continues, stepping closer, “and it wasn’t…we weren’t playing games.”

“Uh—you two—so that means—“

Sarah takes his hand and wraps it around her waist as John steps close enough to cup the back of his head. He’s fucking drowning.

“Not a game,” Sarah mumbles, “not a con. Not a ploy.”

“Just an offer.”

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

For a long moment, Nolan just stands there. Flashes of the beach, the pub, hell, even the prison race through his mind, along with every reason not to believe them. This is dangerous, this is more than dangerous, this is stupid. This is reckless, this is terrifying, this is…this is…

He takes a drop breath and lets it out very, very slowly.

“On one condition.”

“Which is?”

‘I get to drive on the way back.”

Both of them nearly slump in relief as breathless smiles overtake their faces. He feels his lips turning up too, the giddiness of a new job replaced by the high of whatever wonderful mess this will turn out to be. He holds Sarah close, reaches up to take John’s hand in his. Sarah looks at him for a moment, like he’s the most priceless artifact she’s ever seen, and then her smile sharpens.

“Are you sure you want to drive?” She leans close enough to murmur in his ear. “Think of all the fun we could have while we make John drive.”

His throat runs dry because fuck. “You have a point.”

“Or,” John says, voice as deep and smooth as…something really deep and smooth, shit, “we could make Sarah drive.”

“Tell you what, you both have until the end of the party to convince me.”

“Game on.”

And this time, everybody wins.

[pro-royalty]

Doechii x PAPER Magazine

[deepinthelight]

Gal Gadot and her characters

[louisbxne]

black vampires + witches

akasha, queen of the damned (2002)

louis & claudia, interview with the vampire (2022-)

tara thorton, true blood (2008-2014)

blade, blade (1998)

marcel gerard, the originals (2013-2018)

sarah fox, my babysitter's a vampire (2011-2012)

alex & camryn, twitches (2005)

rochelle zimmerman, the craft (1996)

bonnie bennett, the vampire diaries (2009-2017)

vincent griffith, the originals (2013-2018)

marie laveau, american horror story (2011-)

macy vaughn, charmed (2018-2022)

[romanscoming]

OBX P-LINKS

INCLUDES: John B. Routledge, JJ Maybank, Rafe Cameron, Pope Heyward, Topper Thornton, Sarah Cameron, Kiara Carrera, Cleo . (IF MORE WANTED COMMENT OR REQUEST)

WARNING: these are links that contain porn, sexual activities .. youve been warned .

——————— + ———————

+ JOHN B. ROUTLEDGE

Have you ever seen John B. so needy ?

Sucking John B. fat cock .

cute little giggle nd moans in the bedroom .

John B. fucks you on the floor .

- JJ MAYBANK

JJ fucks u roughly and loudly on his squeaky bed to piss off his dad .

JJ like to switch from you ass to your cunt .

JJ gives you backshots .

JJ first time fucking you raw had him moaning .

+ RAFE CAMERON

Rafe makes u bounce on his cock while he plays his ps5 .

Right after school Rafe breeds you .

Good sex with Rafe .

Rafe is always so rough .

- POPE HEYWARD

Pope room is full of slapping noises nd your moans .

Pope so needy when it comes to you sucking him off .

Blowjobs + Pope .

Rubbing against Pope .

+ TOPPER THORNTON

Topper fucks u at a steady pace .

Proving Topper wrong by riding him .

lazy day with topper .

Topper wants to cum inside .

- SARAH CAMERON

Sarah and you sharing John B. cock .

Scissoring with Sarah .

Sarah is so inpatient, she wants a taste of you rn .

Sarah call you over whenever shes home alone .

+ KIARA CARRERA

Kiara eating you out .

Kiara sliding on your clit .

kiara likes teasing you with her tongue .

Glazing Kiara’s clit with your juices .

- CLOE

Cloe fingers u before eating you out .

Cloe isnt shy when it coming to eating pussy .

Cloe licking your pretty pussy .

Cloe gets you high and fucks you good .

_________________________

this was a little rushed .. its a struggle finding lesbian links,, like actually ,.

[bandcampsnoop]

12/23/23.

Gerard Cosloy's 12XU label has never gotten the attention that his earlier labels Homestead Records and Matador Records have received. But the label puts out consistently great music. Lupo Citta "Lupo Cittá" truly sounds like it could have been at home on any of those Cosloy labels.

This is hard edged rock in the vein of The Men, Sonic Youth or Eleventh Dream Day. And it does sound like Chris Brokaw's "Puritan" which is apropos seeing as Brokaw is one of the band's three members. Sarah Black and Jenn Gori are the other members, and it seems as if both have an extensive band history of their own.

Lupo Citta are a Boston, Massachusetts based band.

[harryspet]

rough hands, soft chains [2] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, DUBCON, loss of virginity, rafe is HUGE, breeding kink, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

a/n: i only tag people who reblog the fic AND let me know their thoughts, thank you :)

In which you meet your new family, the Camerons, and learn Rafe's true intentions.

word count: 5.1k

rough hands, soft chains masterlist

The spare outfit you’d packed for your failed escape attempt was a delicate two-piece set in white. The long-sleeve, cropped sweater that featured a soft ruffle trim that barely grazed your midriff, paired with a high-waisted, flowing skirt that swayed with every step. The lightweight fabric was a reflection of your usual preference for comfortable clothes. A handful of other items hung in the closet, clearly not yours, but you couldn’t bring yourself to accept whatever offering the Camerons had left for you.

After giving your reflection a look, you turned your attention your room. You floated over to the vanity, a rustic wooden display decorated with gold trinkets. You’d only packed the essentials, meaning you’d limited yourself to mascara, concealer, blush and lipgloss. You slid onto the matching stool decking to touch up your makeup, wiping away the smudged mascara and applying a fresh coat of lip gloss. Lip gloss always had a way of brightening your mood, even now. You certainly knew how to get dolled up, like Rafe said, and lucky for him, you liked makeup and clothes that made you feel breezy and feminine. 

When the room grew quiet, Rafe’s words rattled around in your head. You’d always done what your father had said, let him lead you in all aspects of your life, because you trusted him. You couldn’t wrap your mind around how your father expected you to trust someone else. In the end, he was the reason you were here now.  He’d handed you over to someone else, like, what? A trade deal? The whole thing was completely unreal.

Something caught your attention outside the large windows. Rolling pastures stretched out before you, dotted with fences and patches of wildflowers swaying gently. Your gaze drifted toward the yard below. Rain trickled down slowly but you realized the figures moving in the distance, behind a tall white fence, were Juliet and John B. Making his way to the fence’s edge, now adorned in a work jacket and dark hat to protect from the rain, was Rafe. 

They were soon deep in conversation. Your eyes lingered on Rafe’s figure a little too long before shifting to Juliet, whose movements were graceful and unbothered. She had been alone for so long, your father had been forced to sell the other three horses your family owned years ago, and her care had undoubtedly suffered as your father’s health declined. Surely, the Camerons had at least a hundred horses and the resources to ensure Juliet was well cared for and had proper company. For a moment, you wondered if she might be happier here, happier than even you.

You were grateful for the distraction when a knock came at your door an hour later. You expected it to be Rafe, but a fleeting thought made you pause, would Rafe even bother knocking?

When you opened the door, you were surprised to find a dark-haired girl standing there, no older than fifteen. She was smiling, her eyes full of curiosity.

"Hey," she said, giving you a once-over with a playful look. "I’m Wheezie, Rafe’s little sister.”

So this was the other Cameron sibling? You smiled instinctively and offered your hand. "Oh, hi! I’m Y/N."

You blinked, studying her more carefully. She looked nothing like Rafe, and in that moment, she seemed almost... approachable. Less intimidating. Her warmth, however, felt almost out of place given the situation.

"I like your outfit," she said, her gaze scanning your clothes and makeup. "And your makeup. Ugh, I wish I could do mine like that. Sarah never has time to show me how."

“Sarah?” you asked, a little confused.

"My older sister," Wheezie explained, raising an eyebrow as if surprised. "Rafe’s never mentioned her?"

You shook your head, realizing she might think you'd known Rafe longer than just today. “Uh, no. He hasn’t.”

"Well, there’s three of us," Wheezie continued, her voice casual. "And Rose, our step-mom."

“Oh, okay,” You nodded, taking in all of the information. You weren’t at all used to meeting new people, “It’s nice to meet you. Can I ask you if Mr. Ward is home yet? I kinda need to speak with him.” 

Wheezie’s expression shifted slightly, a hint of disappointment flickering in her eyes. “Him and Rose have been gone all day. Cattle auction, I think. They probably won’t be back until dinner.”

You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face. It wasn’t urgent, but you had hoped to speak with Ward sooner rather than later. Part of you wanted to officially see the contract he’d wrote up with your father. Could two men really decide together that you should be married off? Was that still legal? Wheezie, sensing your hesitation, brightened up and added, “I could show you around the house in the meantime.”

You thought about it for a second, then smiled. “Sure, that would be nice.”

Joining Wheezie out in the hallway, your tour began. Wheezie led you to Rafe’s room first, just beside yours. “He likes to keep it locked,” she said with a grin, “Or else I’d totally snoop around with you.”

You liked her instantly. Moving down the hall, you passed Ward’s study, a room that felt both timeless and functional. It had a desk covered in papers and shelves filled with books. Next was the master bedroom, a room with dark wood furniture and soft linens. 

Finally, Wheezie opened the door to the library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled the room, and large armchairs were scattered around a grand fireplace. It felt like the perfect spot for quiet moments. 

You couldn’t help but feel small in this place. It held the warmth of a family home but it was massive, the ceilings too high, and had decor that screamed “we’re wealthy”. 

Downstairs, the living room was the first stop, a grand space with towering ceilings. Soft leather sofas and enormous windows that offered a breathtaking view of the stretching land and mountains in the distance.

Moving through the open archway into the kitchen, you took note of counters made of polished stone, dark wood cabinets, and the appliances all state-of-the-art. The kitchen was bustling with a couple of workers, one chopping vegetables at the counter, the other pulling something out of the oven. You noticed a door that led out to a terrace.

“These are all Rose’s renovations. She’s really into interior design, and all that stuff.” 

“And the people. They work here all the time?” you asked, intrigued.

“My Dad can grill, but Rose doesn’t cook at all. So they get help,” Wheezie explained with a shrug. “I think she likes having everything perfect, you know?”

“She does have really nice taste,” You spoke genuinely, fumbling with your fingers as you looked around.

Past the kitchen was the dining room, where a long, weathered table was set for what could easily be a dozen guests. The chandelier above was massive, its crystals catching the light and casting a glow over the room.

Wheezie led you into the garage next. The space was expansive, with polished concrete floors and a collection of vehicles parked neatly in their spots, sleek trucks, a few SUVs, and a couple of classic cars you assumed were more for show. Near the back of the garage, you spotted a few horseshoe-shaped saddles hanging on the wall, alongside an array of hunting gear. There were rifles and ammunition neatly organized on the shelves, a few pairs of boots stacked by the door, and weathered hunting jackets hanging from the walls. It was practical, but still had the polished look of the rest of the house, like nothing here was ever out of place.

“Do you ride?” Wheezie asked as you took in the details of the room.

“Yeah, I have a horse named Juliet,” you grinned. “Do you?”

“I can,” Wheezie replied with a shrug. “I’m not great at it. Sarah’s better, and Rafe—well, he’s good at things like that.”

“Does Sarah live here too?” you asked, curious.

“Yeah, but she’s been MIA for two days.” Wheezie’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You can’t tell anyone this,” she continued, glancing around before leaning in closer. “She and John B. are a thing. And she hangs out with his friends.”

“It’s a secret?” you asked, intrigued but still unsure of the family dynamics at play.

Wheezie nodded, her eyes flicking to the door as if checking for eavesdroppers. “My dad wants her to be with someone whose family is... more prestigious, if that makes sense?”

You processed that for a moment, nodding slowly. “But my family’s not... prestigious. But Ward wants me to marry your brother.”

A mischievous glint sparked in Wheezie’s eyes. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, clearly enjoying the tension in the air. “Is it true that Rafe got you pregnant and that’s why you have to live with us?”

You froze for a split second, then blurted out, “I am not!” You suddenly realized how loud you’d been and lowered your voice, grabbing Wheezie’s hand as you whispered urgently, “I am not.”

“Other people don’t think I’m pregnant, do they?” You continued, “Because I don’t think I’ve done anything that could lead to that…”

You questioned yourself for a moment, feeling a pang of uncertainty. You’d learned about the birds and the bees just once, when you were eleven, and it had been before your mother died. After that, your education had been limited, and anything beyond what she'd explained was a blur of confusion.

What you were certain of, though, was that the kiss with Rafe couldn’t have led to that. You had never heard of anything like that happening from a simple kiss. To your knowledge, you needed at least to sleep in the same bed for that to happen, and you and Rafe hadn’t crossed that line. Before your mind could wander to that possibility, Wheezie spoke. 

“I’m not trying to be rude, just curious,” She said with a smirk, her tone light and teasing. “No one around here tells me anything.”

A few hours later you entered the dining room again with Wheezie. You’d spend a good amount of time in her room and she’d explained more about her family, including more details about Rafe. You learned that she was Rafe’s soft spot. That he was cold to almost everyone except her. Ward had a lot of expectations for him and Rafe did about everything he could to appease his father. 

“I think Rafe just wants to do things his own way,” Wheezie had mused. “But, you know, my Dad has other ideas. He’s been trying to get Rafe to be more... ‘like him.’”

Kindly, you’d accepted her request for you to help her with her makeup. You’d done hers like yours, with bright blush and shiny lipgloss. She was so excited that she practically skipped down the stairs after, her happiness infectious as she bounced in front of you. A part of you couldn’t help but smile. Was this what it was like to have a sister? The feeling was new and strange, but warm, like something you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

Rafe looked you over, as if he was offended by your choice in clothing, “What did I do?” You asked, innocently. 

Maybe he didn’t think your outfit was cute. 

“Come sit next to me,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with something possessive, as if he were commanding you rather than asking. He waved you over. 

You hesitated, looking at Ward, who gave you a reassuring, welcoming smile, and then at Rose and Sarah. Sarah’s gaze was sharp, watching you with a kind of calculating curiosity, while Rose barely seemed to notice, her eyes distant and uninterested.

You exhaled slowly, making your way over to the seat next to Rafe. Your knees brushed against each other but he didn’t move his. 

“Everyone, this is Y/N. I’ve known her family for years, and after that everything’s happened, she’s going to stay with us. She’s been through a lot.”

“Mm-hmm,” Rose murmured, almost absentmindedly. “It’s lovely to have you here with us.” Her tone wasn’t cold, but it certainly wasn’t warm, either.

Ward’s words seemed genuine, but you didn’t understand fully why he spoke so kindly. The two of you were practically strangers. Wheezie smiled brightly in reaction. Sarah, on the other hand, was looking you over even more closely than Rafe. You could see the thoughts swirling in your mind. 

“I have a question-” She blurted out.

Ward interrupted, “I’d watch yourself, young lady.” 

“I just want to make sure everything’s clear,” Sarah said softly, her voice quieter now. “I’m just... trying to understand why, that’s all. A marriage seems a little bit rushed, don’t you think? They didn’t even know each other before today.” 

“They didn’t?” Wheezie raised an eyebrow. 

The pressure in the room increased, “Sarah,” Ward began to warn her but it was Rafe who spoke up next. 

Rafe’s voice cut through the growing tension, his tone firm, almost possessive. “It’s not rushed, Sarah,” he said, turning to look at her. “It’s just what it is. No need to complicate it.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the sharpness of Rafe’s gaze making you shift uncomfortably in your seat. He answering for you, as if you didn’t have a say in how things were perceived.

Sarah didn’t flinch. Her eyes held a quiet defiance. As if to change the subject, Rafe continued, “What is that on your face, Wheeze?” 

“It’s called makeup,” She shot back, annoyed, “Y/N did it.”

Rafe turned his head towards you, “It’s a little much for someone her age, don’t you think?”

“I think she looks really pretty. I started wearing makeup way younger than her,” You responded quietly but honestly, “That’s how you, like, get good at it.” 

“See,” Wheezie stuck her tongue out at her older brother. 

Suddenly, you felt Rafe’s hand touch your knee underneath the table. The warmth of Rafe’s hand on your knee sent a jolt through you, and for a moment, you couldn’t quite focus on anything else. His touch was unexpected, as though he’d done it without thinking, and yet, there was something deliberate about the way he kept his hand resting there.

Dinner was officially served moments later. Rafe’s hand remained there on your knee as you all began to eat the carefully prepared steak, potatoes and asparagus. Your steak was already cut into a pieces, a luxury that you didn’t even know others experienced. 

Sarah pushed around her asparagus, “How do you feel about moving in with us so suddenly, Y/N? I mean, do you really know what you’re getting yourself into?”

You paused, unsure of what to say, your gaze instinctively shifting toward Rafe. His hand was still on your knee, but the grip felt firmer now, like he was holding you in place, keeping you from saying something that might upset the balance of things.

You bit your lip, trying to gather your thoughts, but when you opened your mouth, it all just came tumbling out. “It’s kinda overwhelming,” you started, your voice soft but a little unsure. “I miss… I miss my Dad. And you guys have all this land, and this house is so huge, it’s hard to wrap my head around it all.” You glanced at Sarah, then back to your plate. “And, like, I didn’t think I’d get married this young, but… if it’s really what my Dad wanted…”

You trailed off, feeling a little embarrassed. Sarah’s gaze softened slightly, “It’s a big step. Are you sure you’re ready?”

Up until that point, you hadn’t realized you had a choice in all of this. You could see she wasn’t questioning you out of judgement. She almost looked concerned. 

“Enough, Sarah,” Ward spoke sharply, “This is bigger than what one person thinks is right. I don’t expect you to understand but it’s about responsibility. Rafe is growing up and he’s decided to take on new responsibilities. I don’t see why you can’t be supportive.” 

“I just think she deserves more time to decide,” Sarah said. 

“There isn’t a rush. I’m not rushing them, that’s for certain. Rafe and Y/N will take the time to get to know each other.”

The room fell quiet for a moment. You could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. You glanced at him and noticed the subtle shake of his head, as if dismissing the entire idea. “What’s the point in waiting? You can plan a wedding in a few weeks, right?” 

“Rafe, son, don’t you think two should spend some time together?”

“No, Dad, we’ll get married as soon as possible. If Y/N wants to have a real ceremony, Rose can plan it, but I’d be down to just go to the courthouse.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. 

“Rafe,” Sarah leaned forward in her seat, “Are you actually crazy?”

How did we get here? You had no answers, just a rush of emotions you couldn’t quite put into words. Maybe you should’ve said something, but the lump in your throat made it hard to think. 

“We’ll figure it out” Rafe said, cutting her off. He turned his attention to you, his gaze intense but unreadable. “Right, darling?”

The way he looked at you made your stomach twist. It was as though he was asking you to confirm something you didn’t fully understand yourself. You opened your mouth to respond, but Wheezie chimed in before you could.

“Dude, that’s like, so not romantic!” she exclaimed, scrunching her nose. “You haven’t even proposed yet!”

Sarah seized the moment, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. “Exactly. At least ask her properly, Rafe. Or are you afraid she’ll say no?”

The air at the table grew heavier. You glanced at Ward, who looked ready to intervene, but Rafe beat him to it. His lips curled into a tight smile, though his eyes flashed with something darker. “You think I’m afraid of that, Sarah?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm.

All you could think about was the way Rafe’s hand hadn’t left your knee, his grip steady, as if anchoring you to him despite the chaos swirling around the table.

“Can we drop it, please?” Rafe asked, his tone deep and final. 

“I want Y/N to stay,” Wheezie decided. 

“We all want Y/N to stay,” Ward clarified.

“Well, good,” Rose chimed in, her smile polished and hollow. “Then it’s settled.”

At the end of dinner, Ward leaned back in his chair, addressing you, “You’ll find we take care of our own here, sweetheart. Anything you need, you only have to ask.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure what else to say.

“We should get going,” Rafe announced abruptly, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. His hand left your knee, only to find the small of your back as he helped you up. 

Wheezie pouted. “But we haven’t even had dessert!”

“Next time, Wheeze,” Rafe replied, his tone firm. “Come on, Y/N.”

You followed him out of the dining room, feeling the eyes of his entire family on your back. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, trying to keep up with Rafe’s long strides. He’d given you his jacket and asked you to put on your boots, before guiding you out the front door. You clutched the jacket tightly, the night beginning to turn cool. The sky was still heavy with the remnants of rain but an orange and pink sun began to lower in the sky, peaking behind soft, gray clouds, “Rafe?” 

High grass tickled the bare legs hidden beneath your skirt as you walked into the fields, “Just for a walk. That okay with you?”

“You know, sometimes I think you really don’t care what’s okay with me.” Rafe flashed you an amused look, “Oh yeah? Maybe I like making decisions for you.” 

You snorted in disbelief but your heart fluttered nonetheless. 

"What's the real reason you brought me out here?" You asked, pushing the conversation forward despite the tension. 

Rafe stopped and turned to face you, his expression unreadable for a moment. He studied you, like he was considering his words carefully. "Maybe I just wanted to see you without all the noise around us. No distractions. Just you and me."

The ranch stretched out before you, vast and quiet. The ground beneath your feet was soft as you walked, fast enough to follow Rafe’s steps. A faint hum of crickets began to rise in the distance. 

A modest building tucked near the tree line, far from the main house came into view, “That’s the ranch hand’s quarters,” Rafe explained, “You won’t need to be over there, it’s no place for a woman.” 

The sun continued to hang lower as you walked, casting a golden hue over the land. Rafe led you further into the sprawling escape, pointing out different landmarks, “This land’s been my family’s for generations. But my Dad was the one who made it what it was today. It’s very important to me. This land and all the hard work that’s put into it.” 

“My dad’s tough on me but it’s his legacy, you know? It’s more than just making money or raising cattle. I don’t know, I just want to protect what I have. Make sure my kids and my grandkids have it, ya' know?”

He didn’t look for your understanding, his words genuine, but the look on his face was guarded. He paused, his jaw tightening slightly, “You don’t to get to be part of something big and not feel like you’ve got to give everything you have to it.”

“What if…” Your voice trailed as you tried to collect your thoughts, “How do I know it’s something I want to be apart of?” 

“As my wife, you’d stand beside me. You’d build with me. Raise our children. Make a home. You’d make everything that I’m working towards, worth it. That’s a life with purpose, yeah?” 

As he spoke, his voice deep and steady, you found yourself drawn to the way his features seemed to soften, despite the intensity of his words. Those blue eyes were focused on you with an intensity that made your throat go dry. 

He stood taller now, the weight of his words pressed in on you and you could see the full picture he was painting. It wasn’t just the land. It was you. It was him. It was a family. 

“Yeah,” You agreed, the word leaving your lips before you could stop it. Your gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, to his lips. They were slightly parted, the edge of his mouth curling just a bit as he spoke, and for a moment, you forgot where you were.

“Yeah,” Rafe agreed, a knowing look on his face, and his hand found the small of your back, “I owe you something, don’t I?”

“Owe me?” Your voice faltered. What was he talking about? 

Rafe didn’t answer right away. Instead, he simply pulled you forward, his hand firm against your back as he guided you through the tall grass. You didn’t have time to question him before the two of you reached a secluded barn, tall and clay-colored, tucked far away from the main house. The air smelled faintly of hay and wood, the earthy scent of the ranch settling around you. But you barely had time to take in your surroundings before Rafe was pulling you into him. His hand slid to the back of your neck, drawing you closer, until his lips were on yours. 

The kiss Rafe Cameron had promised you. 

All those thoughts you had about the land, the future, everything he’d said, it all slipped away. 

Someone, something, had overtaken you. Something ached inside of you, a part of your very being that had never been satisfied. You felt like an animal, desperate, grabbing at Rafe’s shirt, wanting him closer. He was already pressed tightly against you but deep down you wanted more. 

His lips weren’t as gentle as you remembered, they enveloped your mouth, his tongue tasting you, his arms keeping you where he wanted as he explored you.Without warning, he tugged you into an empty stall, the scent of hay and leather thick in the air. His hands were at the edges of your jacket now, pulling it open, his fingers brushing against your skin as the cool air of the barn nipped at your exposed flesh. 

A startled yelp escaped your lips as you felt his hands bunching up your skirt, the fabric sliding higher until it was gathered above your hips. Your eyes flew open, but Rafe was relentless, his mouth still claiming yours with fervent, unyielding kisses. You didn’t know exactly how babies were made but you had a feeling you were getting closer than you’d ever had before. Before you could process it, Rafe lifted you effortlessly, his hands sliding to cup your bottom as he held you tightly against him. Part of you began to panic. 

Then, with deliberate care, he laid you down. not on the rough ground but on his jacket, which was spread beneath you. Darkened eyes met your panicked ones. This was much more than a kiss. Although you’d enjoyed that part of the exchange, you weren’t sure you wanted more, “Rafe,” You whispered, your voice uncertain, as he moved his mouth from your lips to the sides of your mouth. Your mind raced, trying to keep up with the whirlwind of sensations. You pushed at his chest and felt you were pushing against a boulder. There would know way to get from underneath him, even if you tried, “Are… you gonna put a baby in me?”

He paused, lifting his head to look you in the eye and you had to remind yourself to breathe in that moment, “Jesus Christ. You’re something else, you know that?” Rafe grinned and some of your uncertainty went away. His reaction made the moment feel more lighthearted, like there wasn’t a boundary being crossed, like his intentions were innocent.

“I like the kissing,” You admitted, “It feels good b-but I’m scared–”

Rafe shushed you, peppering gentle kisses along your jawline, until he reached the side of your neck. Your thighs clenched tightly, your head tilted back, and you couldn’t control your moaning. Rafe spread your legs with his own, his jeans brushing against the smoothness of your thighs. He pressed his lower half into you and you felt something as hard as a rock, rubbing against your panties. It was then, your core started to feel like it was on fire. 

“Don’t be scared, it’ll just hurt for a moment,” Rafe spoke against your skin, huskily, his voice almost sounding like he was in pain, “You’re just gonna lay still for me, I need you to help me to take care of something.”

“Hurt?” You questioned, your mind hanging on that word. Then you thought back to your question. He hadn’t really answered. 

He seemed to ignore you again, his mouth moving lower on your body. He pulled your shirt down, and as your breasts spilled from their constraints, he left kisses on your nipples. Your head tilted back again when he took one of your nipples fully into his mouth, “Rafe,” You whispered but the sound of his name only seem to push him further. His fingers traced the edge of your panties before he slipped his fingers inside, brushing over your folds. You were wet down there, you realized, and mostly out of embarrassment, you started to pull away, “Please don’t touch me there.” 

You watched his pupils dilate as he stared down at you intently. He kept one hand in your underwear and wrapped his other around your throat, quickly, as if his body was reacting instinctively to your defiance. 

“Don’t tell me that,” Rafe said, almost growling, and your hands wrapped around his wrist, trying to push away his hand as you struggled to breathe, “I have to touch ya' here, darlin’. I’m gonna be your husband. This belongs to me, understand?” 

Your eyes widened as he rubbed circles over your sensitive skin. Your hips bucked in reaction and you silenced your moans, knowing you only had so much air to breathe, “Say you understand. Say yes.” 

You nodded your head quickly, “Yes,” You whispered. 

You were grateful when he loosed his grip around your throat, “It’s a good thing you’re wet. Nothing to be ashamed of. Just means this is what your body wants, baby. You already want to make me happy.” 

You weren’t quite sure at what moment your body decided to freeze. Your nerves were overwhelmed, of course, and it seemed like you’d come out less scathed from the situation if you did as Rafe said. You could stay still and take it. There was something happening with Rafe you didn’t understand but he was acting as though he needed something and you were only one who could provide it. You could stay still and take it if it would make him happy, right? It’s a good thing to make other people happy. 

You focused on the kisses on your lips, the way his soft mouth moved methodically over yours. The faint jangle of metal pulled you back to the moment, a sound you barely registered until you felt the press of something impossibly hard, slowly pushing against a place you hadn’t realized could take him. His manhood, you assumed, what made him different from you. It hurt like he said it would but not for just a moment. Were all manhoods this size? This is what your body really wants? 

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing despite the edge of strain. His hand brushed over your trembling thigh, steadying you as your body tried to accommodate him. “You’re okay. I promise.”

He started to rock into you once you felt completely full to the brim. Initially, it felt even worse than him pushing all the way inside you. Tears fell and your breath grew rapid, “It hurts,” You whimpered, “It really hurts.”

“It’s okay,” He said, maintaining his pace, “You’re okay, darlin’. You’re doing great. It’s just your first time. Gotta get used to me, that's all.” 

“Are-are you putting a baby in me, Rafe?” You asked, your voice an innocent whisper. His grip on you tightened as his rhythm grew more deliberate, his words spilling out in a low growl.

“Fuck yes, darlin’,” he said, his voice thick with unrestrained desire. “I’m gonna put a baby in you.”

His hands, his words, the pain between your legs that was slowly turning to pleasure, it made you dizzy, and you couldn’t keep track of your thoughts. You belonged to him? A baby? It didn’t make sense, but part of you felt comforted by the intensity of him. You trusted he knew more. Everything’s okay. You were okay. It felt like something you were supposed to be, so you let go and let him have you.

a/n: i only tag people who reblog the fic AND let me know their thoughts, thank you :)