#three counties press

[basicallyanotherwitchesthing]

it (International Times), Knullar, II5, October 2I›November 7, 1971

[harryspet]

rough hands, soft chains [1] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!grey!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, future smut, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: This is an au I'm trying out where Kildare County is actually in Montana and all the pogues and kooks exist within a ranching community. Hope you enjoy!! I would really appreciate feedback, reblogs are most appreciated!

In which your dying father struck a deal with Ward Cameron, he promised the family land in exchange for your safety. But protection comes with a price, and that price is Rafe Cameron.

word count: 5k

rough hands, soft chains masterlist

After the funeral, you flopped down on the old leather couch in your living room, absently twirling a lock of your hair as you stared up at the cracked ceiling. Your black dress, meant for the sweltering summers, fell just below your knees. You’d paired it with a shawl you found tucked away in your mother’s dresser, a pretty, soft thing with little patterns you didn’t understand, but it smelled like her, so it felt right.

People at the funeral said you looked “so grown up” now, which filled you with a sense of pride. They said nothing about the dirt under your nails from wandering around the yard barefoot earlier that morning or the way your mascara smeared from crying too much. No one ever took you seriously anyway. 

The quiet of the house was deafening, pressing in at you at all sides. The lack of his presence weighed on you. He’d built every corner of this house, your mother painted every wall, and you were grateful for the life they’d built you. Three bedrooms, a wrap-around porch where you’d once dreamed of watching your children play in the yard as you rocked in your chair, and the old, red barn that had weathered time alongside them. You knew you couldn’t lose it, but you weren’t sure how to keep it either.

A loud knock at the front door made the house shake and snapped you from your daze. It was not the knock of a kind neigbor delivering a sympathy caserole, the knock was firm and authoritative. You half expected the sheriff to be behind the door but instead found yourself staring back at Ward Cameron. 

You pushed back the curls that had fallen into your face. He stood before you, tipping his finest black cattleman hat with deliberate grace, lifting it from his head and placing it over his chest in a quiet gesture of respect. His square jawline was sharp, his striking blue eyes unflinching, and though the gray streaks in his hair hinted at age, they only added to his rugged handomenss. 

“Miss,” he greeted you smoothly, his voice as sharp as the crease in his shirt. He looked out of place here, too clean, too polished for the worn edges of your family’s ranch.

Your anxiety peaked, “Uh, hi. Can I help you?” You gripped the handle of the door tighter than you expected. 

“I think you know why I’m here.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s time we talked about your father’s arrangements.”

Arrangements? You shifted nervously, trying to make sense of his words. You knew your dad had debts, but it wasn’t like he told you all the details. You knew that a significant amount of your father’s debt was to Ward. It humiliated your father to lease the Cameron’s grazing rights but he only did it to keep the ranch afloat. Money and paperwork were never your thing, and your dad always said not to worry about it. “I—I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I’ll figure out how to pay you back, okay?”

Although Ward wasn’t the tallest man, most people towered over you, and as he leaned in the doorway, you knew he had your stature in mind. 

Still, his smile was empty, “Why don’t we discuss this in your father’s office, hmm?” 

“Um, no thanks,” you said quickly, shaking your head. But before you could shut the door, his hand pushed it open with way too much ease. You stumbled back, your cheeks heating with embarrassment as he walked in like he owned the place.

“Excuse me! You can’t just barge in here!” you squeaked, hurrying after him, his expensive boots, tapping against the creaking floor of your home. 

He made his way down the downstairs hallway, barging into the room that not even your father wanted you to step in. Immediately as you stepping inside, a coldness touched you. he heavy oak desk sat like a monument to your father’s stubbornness, papers scattered across its surface in disarray. Just looking at it made your brain feel fuzzy. Ward moved behind it as if it were his own, his hands brushing against the chair’s worn leather.

“I offered to come speak to you, before all of this drama, but your father insisted I wait until he was gone,” Ward gestured to rickety chair that sat in front of the desk, “Sit.”

You ignored him, crossing your arms in stubborness, “What are you talking about?”

“Do you know how much exactly your father owes me? How much you’d be taking on?”

His words, like they had certainly intended to, made you feel stupid. Your father made sure you were uninvolved in the ranch’s finances and he had just passed this week, you hadn’t thought about entering his office and disturbing his things. 

You blinked, your mouth opening and closing. “Well… um… I know he owed some money, but he didn’t really tell me how much.”

“It’s more than the farm is worth, Y/N.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between you, thickening the already suffocating air in the room. You clenched your jaw, refusing to show any sign of the panic tightening in your chest. The farm, your father’s legacy, your mother’s dreams, was supposed to be yours to save.

“That can’t be right,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly. “My father would’ve told me if it was that bad.”

“Would he? It’s nothing you should’ve worried your pretty head about,” Ward continued, his eyes sharp and assessing, “We parents try to protect our children. But he was too prideful. Pride doesn’t pay the bills and banks don’t wait forever.”

“The bank–”

“The bank would’ve taken the entire property if your father hadn’t already signed the land over to me.”

Your heart sunk into your stomach at Ward Cameron’s words. Your breath hitched as you stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. You shook your head in disbelief, “He wouldn’t do that.”

The land was the only piece of your father that you had left. A hundred acres that your family and only a few ranch hands tended to.There were dwindling amounts of livestock, mounting debts, but it was your home. Humble in comparison to the Cameron’s thousands of acres but it belonged to your family. Even if you were the only one left. 

“This all would’ve been easier for you if your father had explained all of this to you before. I think he was scared of you hating him.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ward’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, he looked almost bored with your responses, “We came to an agreement a year after his initial diagnosis. Instead of losing it to the bank, he would sign it over to me.”

“I promised to take care of you.” Ward’s words were slow, deliberate, as if he were explaining something to a child. “You’re unmarried, no prospects, and this place is a sinking ship. Someone was bound to take advantage of you eventually. You don’t have the resources to rebuild.”

“T-take care of me?” you stammered, your face scrunching in confusion.

“You’ll come live with my family for the time being. And eventually you will marry my son, Rafe.”

Your eyes went wild, “Are you crazy?”

Ward’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked even more smug. “This arrangement keeps the land in the family, ensures your safety, and gives you a future. You’re not equipped to handle this ranch on your own, Y/N. Your father knew that. I’m offering you a way out.”

You gaped at him, your thoughts spinning too fast to make sense of anything. “I… I want to talk to a lawyer or—or see his will or something!”

“You’re out of options. It’s either this arrangement or being out on the streets. I’m tossing you a lifeline.” 

 “I didn’t agree to this,” you said, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“No,” Ward admitted, standing and adjusting his cuffs. “But your father did. And a Cameron always honors their agreements.”

You wanted to scream, to tell him to leave and take his deal with him, but the weight of your father’s decisions pressed down on you. The debts, the ranch, your future—it was all tangled up in a web you couldn’t escape.

“I’ll give you until tomorrow to pack your things,” Ward said, placing his hat back on his head. “Rafe will come by to collect you.”

He turned and walked to the door without another word, leaving you standing alone in the office. The walls seemed to close in around you, and although you’d be crying for a week, you cried again. 

You thought that if you weren’t at the house when Ward’s oldest son came to collect you, they might just give up and leave you be. Maybe you’d slip through the cracks of their plans, vanish into the quiet of the countryside. You could disappear for a little while and return in a few days. It would be rough surviving outside but you could make it on your own. You’d packed a small bag of essentials and took Juliet, the chestnut-colored mare that had belonged to you since your fourteenth birthday.

“Okay, Jules, we’re gonna go on a little adventure,” you whispered as you fumbled with her saddle. 

Her large, liquid-brown eyes blinked at you with trust as you led her down the south path, the one behind your family’s ranch, overgrown from years of neglect. You left before the sun had a chance to rise. You didn’t want Ward Cameron or his scary son to find you, after all.

You tried to dress for comfort. Your long jeans would keep you warm, and you layered a jean jacket over a soft white cotton shirt. Perched atop your head was your trusty white cowboy hat, its wide brim offering protection from the sun, taming your unruly curls, while keeping your face shielded.

Juliet made a snorting sound, and you patted her neck. “Don’t worry, girl, we’ve totally got this. Like, what’s the worst that could happen?” You glanced back at the ranch, its dark outline fading behind the trees. 

You mounted Juliet after deciding the direction you were going to travel in. You wanted to be much farther away by the time the sun came up. The air was cool and crisp, a reminder of the coming morning. You looked behind you although you were sure no one was following you yet. 

The path twisted and turned. “Okay, so if we head toward the old fishing shack by the river, we can stay there for, like, a day. Nobody’s used it in forever.” You spoke out loud, pretending that Juliet could respond. “I think it’s... that way.”

You continued down the path in the direction you remembered the fishing shack to be located. The sun rose slowly, bringing light to the dark path. The shack was tucked away on the outskirts of the ranch, sitting in the bend of the river, most of it shielded by tall grass. The water flowed gently, the sound caressing your ears, it’s hues reflecting the red in the sky. 

A clearing sat nearby covered in wildflowers, the bright colors splashed against the muted landscape. You hadn’t ventured this far out since the previous spring and were surprised to see how the flowers had held their vibrancy, defying the chill of the cooler months. 

You hopped down from your saddle, taking Juliet’s rein before you tied her to a nearby tree, allowing her room to graze. The shack was small and weathered, and you rested on a rickety cot that you had to clear of cobwebs. It felt safe. At least for now. 

If only staying still was your strong suit. A few hours later, boredom quickly got the best of you. You could only talk to Juliet for so long and you’d failed several times to nap inside the dirty shack. The silence pressed in on you. You decided to wander out into the wild flower fields, tugging your cowboy hat low over your curls. The vibrant colors were calling to you. 

An hour later, you held a thick bundle flowers in your arm and a crown of daisies wrapped around your hat. Before you knew it, the shack was almost out of your sight and you faced a long trek back to Juliet. 

You didn’t hear him at first.

“Hell of a hiding spot.”

The deep drawl froze you in place. Slowly, you turned, heart pounding, your eyes landing on Rafe Cameron sitting tall on his horse a few yards away. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement, though the tight line of his jaw hinted at something darker.

Rafe’s quarter horse was even more intimidating. It’s coat was midnight black, sleek and imposing. There was a wild, untamed quality to him, a fire in his eyes that mirrored Rafe’s own.

“I… I was just…” You stepped back without thinking, the urge to drop your bouquet and bolt creeping up. You’d seen Ward’s son from across a room before, but no one had ever bothered to introduce you. Still, you knew enough from the whispers and rumors. He was wild, always getting into trouble with the Kildare County police, and everyone said he was gonna take over his dad’s power and influence one day. 

He was older than you remembered, more rugged, and definitely more muscular. His black button-up shirt clung to broad shoulder and his sleeves rolled up to reveal sculpted arms. A baseball cap sat atop his head, the bill slightly bent, with the Cameron Ranch sigil stitched on the front—an emblem of a stallion rearing. His light brown hair peeked from beneath it, slightly tousled. 

“You’ve been wandering around all morning. Half the town’s already seen you,” Rafe leaned forward slightly, eyeing you curiously, “If you were gonna run, thought you’d go a little bit farther.” You gained the courage to finish your sentence, “I wasn’t running …or hiding. And you can’t tell Mr. Cameron that.”

“Why do you think he sent me?” He smiled devishly, “I’m the one you gotta worry about, darlin’.” 

Your lips parted in shock and Rafe watched you take another step back. His jaw clicked before he swiftly hopped down from his horse. His heavy boots hit the dirt with a thud that seemed to echo, and you couldn’t help but notice the sheer size of him. Though he wasn’t much older than you, it was clear he towered over you, his presence demanding attention in a way that made your knees feel weak.

“I’m not coming with you,” You stated with all the strength you could muster, “It’s not right. You can’t make me.”

He stared back at you. Where Ward was bored by conversation with you, something about your Ward’s made Rafe’s eyes fiery, “And I guess you’ll make your living by what … selling flower crowns?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. You hadn’t considered that an option. In fact, you hadn’t dwelled long enough on what you would do once Ward gave up on this arranged marriage nor did you have any idea of how to make the ranch profitable again. The idea seemed wrong. Flowers weren’t the key, were they? 

“I’m kidding,” Rafe spoke again after a moment of watching you reflect, “That’s a bad fucking idea. You know…I think your father might’ve been right about one thing in his life. You do need someone to look after you.” 

“You don’t know me,” You looked away, your face heating up with embarrassment, “And I don’t want to go with you.” 

A yelp escaped your lips as he started to close the distance between you, his long strides closing the gap in a matter of seconds. His smirk widened at your reaction, and quickly, you dropped your bouquet and made a run for the fishing shack. Rough hands easily snatched you up by your waist, lifting your feet off the ground, and making your head spin, “You’re real cute, darlin’,” Rafe drawled, hardly breakin a sweat as he dragged you back towards his horse. His grip on your waist was firm, unrelenting, and no matter how much you kicked or squirmed, it didn’t matter. He only hoisted you higher. 

Heavy boots crunched against the dirt. You could hear your breathing and the sharp pounding of your heart in your ears. You lost your hat and subsequently your flower crown in the struggle. Scared that you might spook Rafe’s horse, you found yourself succumbing to his force, letting him lift you onto the saddle. 

“Please, let me down,” You whispered, tears beginning to fall. Rafe was next, hoisting himself onto the black stallion, squeezing himself behind you. You were pressed against him so much that you could feel the flexing of the muscles of his stomach. An arm wrapped tightly around your waist. 

Rafe shushed you, and surprisingly, you felt him settle your hat back on your head. You hadn’t even seen him pick it up. You were never supposed to ride without a hat, that’s what your father had taught you. You barely had time to process it before he urged the horse forward, the powerful animal's hooves pounding the earth beneath you as Rafe held you tightly, “M-My horse, Juliet!” You remembered, panicked, “I won’t go without her, Rafe!”

“I didn’t forget your horse,” He spoke calmer than you expected, though his tone still had an edge to it, “She’ll follow. Unlike you, she seems to have a decent amount of common sense.” 

He kicked the horse into a gallop, the powerful animal responding instantly, the sound of its hooves hitting the ground like thunder in the otherwise still air. The wind whipped through your hair, stinging your face. You gripped the saddle tightly, to anchor yourself, despite knowing that Rafe’s grip was strong enough to keep you from flying. 

This wasn’t the escape you wanted. Not even close. 

Sure, he’d heard the rumors that you were a little …daft. And maybe that was true in some ways, but you were more than he had anticipated. He followed you, watched as you handled the horse with ease, and found himself intrigued. Your confusion, innocence, even your stubbornness drew him in like a moth to a flame. 

The last thing Rafe wanted was a wife. He resisted the way his father felt like he could stll make decisions for him. Rafe was losing with this arrangement. Your father’s hundred acres was nothing in comparison to what he family already had and would acquire. But perhaps his father had seen exactly what Rafe was seeing now. You were raw, so unpolished, and that meant you could be shaped. 

Once you were under the Cameron’s roof, Rafe had the power to do whatever he wanted. 

Proving himself to Ward was a constant battle, every choice scrutinized, every misstep noted. To run the ranch one day, Rafe needed to show he could manage it all, the land, business, and now a wife. Building a home and keeping you in line was just another test.

That morning, Rafe had never expected to chase after you on horseback. He had arrived in his truck, scouring the house for any sign of you, only to realize you were already gone. In frustration, he called John B., one of the Cameron ranch hands, and sent him to bring Trigger, his horse, to the Y/L/N ranch.

When you both returned, John B. was already there, waiting. Thunder cracked above, a sunny morning turning into a dreary afternoon. Rafe barked orders to ensure Juliet and Trigger were both stabled at the Cameron’s ranch.

He lifted you down from the saddle, his grip firm on your wrists before you could bolt. It only took a second for him to realize the urgency in your voice as you spoke, trying to talk to John B., who was already taking Juliet and Trigger’s reins. “She gets nervous when she’s in new places. She doesn’t like to be rushed,” Rafe overheard, catching the panic in your tone.

“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry, I’ll take it slow with her,” John B. assured her although Rafe only glared at the worker, jaw tight. 

“Come on,” Rafe pulled your arm, “We’re leaving.”

Your small hands grabbed where he’d wrapped his hands around your arm. You dug your boots into the gravel in front of the house, “Wait, I don’t have everything. I-I need to grab some things,” Rafe’s gripped only tightened as his irritation grew. 

“You should’ve thought about that before you made me chase after you,” He took one more look at your teary-face before he snapped. Taking you home should’ve taken thirty minutes, not four hours. Without warning, he scooped you up over his shoulder, ignoring the surprised gasp you let out. 

Your legs kicked in the air, “Hey! Please put me down!” Rafe didn’t spare your house on John B. a second glance as he trudged over to his dark, blue truck. Please, that made Rafe brow furrow. Rafe took the opportunity to cop a feel, of course, he had to know exactly what he was working with. You were his future wife, after all, “Rafe! I don’t like being upside down!” 

“Scream all the way there for all I fucking care,” He muttered under his breath, his voice cold as he finally reached the truck and tossed you into the passenger seat.

Rafe sped off moments after he pressed start engine on the vehicle. You went quiet and he hoped to be alone with his thoughts, soothed by the soft pitter patter of rain on his windshield. Fifteen minutes down the road, he heard your breath hitch. He looked over to see you were staring straight head, eyes wide and wet with tears. Smudged mascara beneath your eyes. Your chest rose and fell rapidly and you clutched your hands tightly in your lap. Your lips were shaking, moving as if you were whispering something to yourself. 

Your legs began to jitter, restless, and Rafe looked away. He managed to tune out your obvious panic for nearly an entire minute. He had a rare feeling. One he didn’t fully understanding. The angel on his shoulder was telling him to reach out, to try and comfort you. He thought about what Wheezie might think if this was the disheveled state he brought his future wife to meet her in. He let out a quiet sigh, knowing it was only going to get worse as the reality of your situation set in.

“Hey,” He spoke without that sharp edge, channeling a voice he might use with his youngest sister, “I didn’t mean you’d never get your things. We can come back, when you’re more settled …And I’ll send someone to get all your keepsakes. Okay?” 

“Okay, okay, okay,” You repeated though your voice sounded empty, “Okay.”

He thought those would be the magic words but you hadn’t even turned to look at him. You were doing the same thing, shaking like a leaf, barely taking in enough breath, “Fuck,” Rafe cursed. He pulled over to the side of the road with a sharp jerk, the gravel crunching under the tires as the truck slowed to a stop. Without thinking, he shifted into park and turned to you.

Rafe needed to be more deliberate in his actions. He had eyes on him, his entire immediate family, and he wouldn’t have them thinking he couldn’t handle you. 

He tried to calm you, squeezed your hand, told you to breathe over and over again. Nothing. You were spiraling, letting your thoughts consume you. Rafe had been too rough. It was all too much too fast for you. He wanted to mold you, not break you. 

He leaned in, taking your face in his hands, and pressing his lips to yours. You went frantic but he only deepened the kiss. He held your hand and slowly felt your tension lesson. He entwined his fingers in yours and slowly felt you move your own lips against his. You tasted like cherries, dark red, and perfectly ripe. His hands moved to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing lightly, urging you to focus, to let go of the panic.

He pulled away only when you stopped your heaving. 

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You’re okay now. Breathe with me.”

He waited for you to come back to him, cradling you there. You had no one left, Rafe realized in that moment, the truth settling heavily in his chest. And maybe that was why he couldn’t bring himself to be cruel. 

No, taking care of you wasn’t just an obligation, it was an important responsibility. One he’d shoulder completely. Whether you liked it or not, Rafe would make sure of it.

Rafe Cameron tasted like whiskey, with a faint hint of mint that lingered now even as you stood in the foyer of your new home, Tannyhill Ranch. The white house was sprawling and pristine, situated amidst of sea of green fields. Windows sparkled even in the storm that was coming down, and although the roof’s shingles were weathered, it was hard to believe the property had been there for more than a century. 

Workers, chefs and maids, bustled by but no one spared you or Rafe a glance despite the dry tears on your face and disheveled appearance. 

The interior was grand, the hardwoods polished until they shined, and the ceilings were higher than the ones at church. Everything screamed old money. You felt a hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the grand entrance hall and then up one side of a grand staircase. Portraits line the walls, serious faces, Camerons and previous owners of the estate. 

Their eyes watched you, “Rafe, where are we going?” You asked him quietly. 

“To your room,” He spoke low and firm. There hadn’t been any rough grabbing of your limbs or unwanted rides on Rafe’s shoulder since your kiss in the car. You hadn’t fully let you guard down but you preferred when Rafe was calm, and so you remained calm too, “You can settle in.”

Rafe led you down the upstairs hallway, stopping at one of at least six bedroom doors, and pushing it open. The room was breathtaking, a four-poster bed draaped in white linens, oak furniture, blue-white toile patterns, and large windows that overlooked the property. It was beautiful, yes, but none of this belonged to you. 

Your fingers absentmidnely traced the fabric of the bed’s comforter before you got a grip, turning around to say something in protest, “Don’t look at me like that,” Rafe interrupted, hands tucking into the front of jeans as if to give off a non-chalant appearance. The position emphasized the silvery belt buckle that sat on the middle of his waist. 

“I don’t want to live here,” You spoke softly, your voice still weak from all the crying. 

“I know,” Rafe continued, sounding exactly like his father, “Your father did though. You still love your Daddy, don’t you?” 

Rafe’s words made you think. Really think. Of course you loved your father. He was a smart man and he always did right by you and your Mother. However, deep down, this all still felt wrong. You stood there, caught between the beauty of the room and the unease of what you felt.

You nodded, “But–”

“But this is what he wanted, darlin’,” Rafe spoke in a way that carried a sense of finality. Rafe stepped closer and suddenly his body was a brick wall keeping you from leaving the room. His lips pulled into a smirk and he leaned down to speak in your ear, his breath fanning over your cheeks. Whiskey and mint, “You always did what your Daddy said, right?” 

“Yes,” You answered too honestly for your own good. 

“Now you’ll do what I say. That’s how it works. A young lady belongs to her father, and one day, after she grows up, she belongs to her husband,” He straightened up and you blinked your big eyes up at him. Slowly, your eyes traveled down to his lips, “You’ll thank me, one day.” 

Gently, he tucked a finger beneath your chin, lifting it even higher. You held your head exactly in the place he placed it, making something flicker in Rafe’s eyes. A heat bloomed in your core. You could only think about that kiss, your first one, despite the fact that he was one of the men completely ruining your life. 

“You ever seen someone break a wild horse?” 

His question caught you off guard, and your brows furrowed slightly as you searched his face for meaning. The smirk on his lips deepened, and his hand dropped from your chin.

“Takes patience. Takes strength. Takes knowing exactly when to push and when to pull back. But eventually, the horse figures out who’s in charge.” His blue eyes darkened, the intensity of his gaze pinning you in place, ”Out on the ranch, when we get a wild one. It’s my favorite thing to do. Watch em’ go from fighting you to starting to trust you. Really, there’s no point in fighting. The one’s who don’t submit, we don’t keep em’ around. They’re dangerous.”

“Oh,” You managed to say, shifting uncomfortably, “That sounds … hard.” 

Rafe chuckled in response, “Hard? Yeah, especially if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Rafe’s smirk returned, sharper now, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You want me to kiss you again. I can tell.”

His words sent you stammering immediately, “No!” 

“Tell you what,” Rafe interrupted smoothly, ignoring your denial as if it hadn’t even registered. “If you settle in, get all dolled up for dinner…” His voice dripped with false generosity. “I’ll give you another one.”

You stared, dumbfounded and frozen until the young rancher casually turned and walked out of the room. Your fists clenched at your sides as a storm of emotions swirled inside you, anger and fear. One emotion simmered quietly beneath the surface, unwelcome and disorienting. Anticipation.

part two

[sematarygirls]

GONE  GIRL.                             masterlist

if you know the whereabouts of this person, please call 911 or contact the kildare county sheriff's department at 252-290-6688

       NAV ! Part One. Part Two. Part Three.

  Community in Shock: Teen Missing in Kildare County

Boyfriend Named Person of Interest

Police and civillian search parties alike are continuing their hunt for missing teenager Y/N L/N. The girl was last seen leaving her job at the country club on July 22nd at approximately 5:30 p.m. with her boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, who has already been questioned by the police but refused to provide comment on the investigation when asked.

She was last seen wearing her work uniform: a white button-down shirt with the name of the private establishment—"The Island Club"—embroidered in gold, a black tennis skirt, a pair of disheveled converse, an "R" pendant necklace, and a diamond tennis bracelet.

"We are doing everything we can to find her," said the sheriff of the Kildare County Police Department, Susan Peterkin, when pressed for comment. "It is unclear at this time whether foul play was involved, but we are exploring all possibilities and exhausting every lead."

She also urged that anyone with any information regarding the possible whereabouts of Y/N contact the sheriff's department immediately at their official number 252-290-6688 or via the anonymous tip line.

Y/N L/N resides at 313 Lakeshore Drive in a small home that was described best as "neglected." Y/N's father refused to speak on the topic, but a neighbor shared that he and the teen allegedly had a strained relationship, the police having been called on multiple occasions for domestic disturbances. In fact, multiple neighbors expressed concern for the teen's well-being in the days and weeks leading up to her disappearance.

"Y/N had it rough at home. Those two were always going at it, fighting like cats and dogs. I can't tell you how many times the cops came knocking at my door asking about that family," the neighbor, who requested anonymity, reported. "I don't know why the cops didn't take that girl out of that house. I mean, her dad aside, just look at it! That place is one strong gust of wind from toppling over!"

Neighbors weren't the only ones with concerns about the girl. Her friends also provided comment on the situation.

"Y/N and Rafe were always together, but there were times where she seemed distant around him, like she didn't want to be there—and I don't blame her to be honest," one of Y/N's close friends, Kiara Carerra, told us when asked for comment. "I wouldn't be surprised if he did something to her. I mean, obviously, I hope nothing happened to her, but yknow..."

Another friend of Y/N and fellow pogue, JJ Maybank, also wanted to say some words. "Y/N was one of us, yknow," JJ said. "I don't know exactly what happened, but I know she would never just take off without telling us, telling me." JJ was visibly shaken while speaking about her, and when asked about the possibility of foul play being involved, he had this to say: "I don't trust him. I never have. He's a kook, one of the worst of them too. All he cares about is himself."

JJ Maybank was going to say more, but his best friend sitting nearby, John B. Routledge, cut him off. "We all just really hope this isn't as bad as it looks. We all want Y/N to come home alright."

Rafe's status as a Kook, his family affluent and prominent in the community, fueled further speculation about the relationship's dynamics as Y/N was from The Cut, the working class side of the island, and she worked multiple jobs, the two lovers from completely different worlds.

However, Rafe's father and influential real estate developer, Ward Cameron, was quick to comment on rumors of their rocky relationship and his son's potential involvement. "All of these rumors are incredibly harmful to not only our family but also the investigation. Our family is cooperating with the police as much as we can. We all want to see that young lady come home safe."

As the investigation continues and the police remain tight-lipped about the situation, residents of Kildare County are left with more questions than answers, and the community is left grappling with uncertainty and fear.

The whole island prays for Y/N to come home safe and sound, but as each hour passes, the time ticking farther and farther from when she vanished, the atmosphere grows tenser as we begin to wonder if we will get any answers as to what happened that day at all.

notes .ᐟ woah, new chapter 😏 how we feeling...

taglist .ᐟ @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @iheartjjmaybnk / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @bradshawed / @fallbhind / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif / @fakedhearts / @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 / @riaras-everthroner / @memoirofasparklemuff1n / @rafeysangelbaby / @starkeying / @stayonmars / @mileyraes / @davinashifts333 / @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account / @or-was-it-just-a-dream / @elvislover1967 /

                                ୭ৎ

[vague-humanoid]

A Sunflower County, Miss., woman could lose custody rights to her children nearly a year after an Indianola police officer shot her then-11-year-old son, Aderrien Murry, in the chest at the family’s home in May 2023. In court filings, Sunflower County Prosecuting Attorney Gwendolyn Jimison cited the shooting while accusing Nakala Murry of neglecting her three children.

“To have to even think of losing her kids at this point over something that is not her fault is just unbelievable. It’s outlandish,” Nakala Murry’s attorney Carlos Moore told the Mississippi Free Press on Thursday.

Jimison filed papers in the Sunflower County Youth Court against Nakala Murry that alleged an unnamed witness saw Murry’s ex-boyfriend, John Nolden, frequently assaulting her in front of the kids. The petition says the witness said the shooting of 11-year-old Aderrien Murry was a “result of the mother and boyfriend domestic violence that have been happening for years (sic).”

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 2) part 1

-

The solid hand at your back guides you through the dusty streets towards the courthouse in the middle of town. It’s not an easy walk. Your shoes catch on the skirt of your dress a handful of times in Price’s haste, each time almost causing you to tumble forward before you manage to catch yourself. 

It’s patently unfair. The strides of his long legs would easily have you losing him in a crowd were it not for the way he refuses to leave you behind; every time you so much as slow down a tad to catch your breath, the firm hand on your low back presses you forward again. You’d be snippier if you weren’t still addled from the events of just five minutes previous.

“I beg you, please—” you plead, heart skittering in your chest when you chance a glance up to find Price’s face set. Everything about him feels purposeful now, driven. “If you just—if you would just let me explain!”

“Nothing more to know, darling,” he says, not bothering to meet your desperate eyes. Clearly not in any mood to continue arguing with you on the status of your identity. 

He tugs you along when he takes a right turn down a road leading into the center of town. The belt of bullets around his waist rattles with every step. It’s a constant reminder of who you’re with and why you should not be with him. Every step feels like a step towards your own sentencing, like accompanying your jailer to your cell. It’s perhaps fool’s luck that the sheriff hasn’t inquired further into your identity or your reason for coming into town. Makes you think that perhaps there isn’t yet a warrant out for your arrest. Maybe that’s only to come. 

“Sure there’s more!” you insist. “There’s—there’s—” It’s like the words fly right out of your head, bucked off like a bronc rider. Too much has happened in too short a time. “There’s the matter of—oh, would you quit that, I am walking!” The last bit comes out snappish, peeved as Price pulls you towards the stone steps of a red-bricked building. 

The words County Court House are inscribed above the second-story door girdled by a wrought iron balcony. It’s a simple building, far from the colonnaded buildings from back home with their cupolas and hand-carved lintels. Even in size it hardly compares, a meager three stories with perhaps a basement. Still, it catches the eye in a town as small as this, by far the most imposing building for miles around.

It’s also the one he pulls you towards, hand moving from the small of your back to take firm hold of your waist. You flinch at the touch and the way his fingers dig in, almost proprietarily. It’s a physical shock to your system. While you’re not unaccustomed to the rougher ways of men, you’ve also been largely shielded from it yourself. By chance or fortune or luck. Men may take an attitude with you, as they’re wont to do, but none have yet manhandled you the way Price feels free to do. 

“Take a big step there now, darling,” he says, lifting the front of your dress for you a tad, to your shock. “No accidents before the wedding.” 

“The wedding?” you shriek, face heating at the heads that turn to look over at the two of you. 

The courthouse is bustling with townsfolk, still not as busy as in the bigger cities back east, but still clearly at the center of all business activities. The few people that pass you by on the way out of or into the courthouse are bold in their perusal, eyebrows lifting when they take notice of Price at your side—and how could they not, with the size of him and the badge pinned to the lapel of his vest that glimmers when it catches the light. 

“If you were expecting something grander, you should’ve turned up last month when I sent for you,” Price says, stern again. In the foyer of the courthouse, you can see the way the long hallway cuts through the building, leading into the adjacent rooms until finally culminating with the courtroom at the very back. You watch as a man slowly closes the door to the last door, shutting the occupants in. “Might’ve been more amenable to it then.”

“I’m not asking for a nicer ceremony—”

“Good, then you won’t be disappointed.”

“—but that’s because I’m not the woman that you intended to marry in the first place,” you finish, quieting to a hissed whisper, conscious of those still lingering close enough to eavesdrop. In all likelihood, the other people milling around probably already know that the sheriff has been waiting for his mail order bride to arrive. They wouldn’t be the first people to mistake you for her.

He pulls you into an alcove off the side of the foyer. When Price turns to face you, no longer just the heavy presence at your side, it takes a moment for you to gather your bearings. He seems larger somehow, with his arms crossed over his chest and feet rooted into the floor, drawn up to his full height. The hair on his forearms draws your eyes momentarily before he steps into your space, forcing you to meet his eyes again. 

He stares down at you with an intensity that makes you flinch. “Now, far be it for me to say that I know my wife-to-be by her demeanor alone, given that we’ve hardly corresponded beyond our initial agreement. But I find it mighty strange that a single, unaccompanied woman would show up in town with all of her earthly belongings as I’m expecting my own woman to show up any day. Hardly seems coincidental.”

“Don’t you think I would have sought you out if we were intended to wed?” you ask beseechingly. “Or that I would put up such a fuss now? What sort of bride would do that?”

“You want to know what I think, darling?” The timber of his voice deepens as he lowers his head slightly, wrapping the conversation in a layer of intimacy despite its public nature. There’s a darker note to his voice now, a thinly-veiled anger. “I think you’ve been keeping yourself housed and fed off the back of men like me and the money you’ve been sent to compensate for the rough journey. I think your guilty conscience brought you here because you know that the Lord doesn’t look too kindly on swindlers and thieves.”

“I’m not a thief,” you hiss in protest, affronted. Ironic that you’d be insulted by his words when the truth is far worse. 

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” Price permits, a reluctant softness in his voice. “But your conscience did you right. Marriage will suit you far better than a life of crime ever could.”

If only he knew. “You’ve still got it all wrong—I’ve never once even glanced at the matrimonial pages or the personals. And I certainly didn’t come to town expecting to be wed.”

You did, however, arrive in town with a guilty conscience. Even you’re wise enough not to mention that, though.

“Then if you're not her, who are you?” he asks. 

It’s clear from his tone that Price doesn’t believe you, but the question itself makes you antsier than even the thought of marrying this man. He still stares down at you in challenge, an eyebrow cocked. If you wanted to, you could easily answer his question and even furnish proof—a letter from an aunt or uncle or a telegram from a previous employer. 

That last thought makes your throat squeeze tight. You could furnish proof, but at what cost? You’re still unclear on how much information has been disseminated or whether you're a wanted woman. Though only weeks have passed since the event that caused you to flee in a haste, there’s no telling whether a warrant has been put out for your arrest, no telling whether word has reached a town this far west. 

“Not that it matters, but I’m from New York,” you say, scrunching up your nose. 

The look he gives you is unimpressed. “I’m sure you lost the accent on the train ride.”

Embarrassment makes you dig your heels in deeper. “I didn’t grow up there, it’s just where I’ve lived for the past few years.”

“And what’s your name?”

“…Elizabeth Smith.” 

It’s the first name that occurs to you, but the moment the words come out of your mouth, you can’t help feeling like you’ve made a huge mistake. Price must sense it too because he draws back up to his full height, lips twitching into a small smirk. 

“You have family or a post back in New York, Miss Smith?” he asks in a patronizing tone. 

“Family.” 

“Alright, then it shouldn’t be too hard to get confirmation and settle this whole issue.” He points behind you to one of the unoccupied rooms. “Telegraph’s office just behind you. We’ll get in touch with the Census Bureau and ask them to confirm your identity. And, if you are who you say you are, Miss Smith, then we can put this issue to rights.” 

Your blood goes cold. “That’ll—that’ll take time though. I can’t marry you today if they only get back to you in a week’s time.”

Price nods, his expression dissatisfied but resolved. “Wouldn’t be proper for you to stay at the house either, but I’ll make sure the inn lets you stay free of charge until this is settled. You’ll be in good hands under the Pattersons’ watch.” 

He doesn’t say it outright, but you hear the implication in his words. You’d be essentially under house arrest, perhaps free to move about town, but certainly not free to take the next train out. 

Your pulse thumps nervously at the base of your throat. Even swallowing takes effort now. The weight of his stare takes root in you, a living coil in your belly. No getting out of it. There’s no getting out of this. You don’t know why you thought you could, how you tricked yourself into thinking for even a moment that a man as formidable as the one set in front of you would simply give in. Let you go. You’ve hardly even moved the needle. 

It’s there still in his eyes. Not even doubt—something quite far past that. Certainty. 

“‘Elizabeth Smith of New York’, was it? Come, we’ll have them start the message and you can give me your birthday as well so it’ll be an easy find—” Price says, attempting to slip around you to head to the telegraph’s office. 

“No.” 

It slips out of you inadvertently, high and panicked. He pauses at the word. More than just your words. When you look down, you notice your fingers clenched in the fabric of his sleeve, bringing him to a halt. It pulls taut against the muscle of his forearm. 

Softness bleeds back into him at your touch. You can see it smooth out the lines of his forehead and the jut of his brow. He ignores the onlookers still hovering by the double doors to twist back to you, now obscuring their view of you. The breadth of his shoulders nearly blocks the rest of the foyer from sight when he looms over you like this. Down the hall, you can hear a gavel pound down on wood and a litany of raised voices in unison from behind a shut door. 

“You don’t have to make up stories,” Price murmurs, drawing a hand up to cup your cheek, holding it like a precious thing. “I told you before—all’s forgiven.”

His words remind you of being trapped in his office, drawers stripped down your ankles and skirt pulled up to your waist. Your bottom still smarts from the palm of his hand, still hot and sore to the touch. It’s hardly been long since then and yet it feels like an age ago, like trying to find your way in a dust storm. 

You open and shut your mouth, lost for a way out. Caught between a rock and a hard place. Marriage or a jail cell. You swallow. Both sound like a sentencing. 

But there are the cold, metal bars of a cell, and then there’s John Price. The first man in an age to elicit more than a passing glance from you. Deep blue eyes crinkled with the folds of old laughter, wide shoulders, and barrel chest. In another time, you think you would’ve jumped at the chance to be courted by a man like him. Keeled over at the very thought of being chased the way he hunts you down now. 

“Alright,” you say instead, giving in. The hand fisting his sleeve shakes. “Alright.”

It’s not a pleasant giving in. Your permission is handed over with shot nerves. The coil bunched up in your core burns white hot, hissing and spitting like a rattlesnake. 

Still, when he drags a thumb over the slope of your cheek, you fight not to let your eyelids flutter shut. “Good girl. We’ll make it work, love. Won’t be easy, but it never is.”

You don’t anticipate that it will be, but your mouth stays shut. Price must think you mollified, soothed rather than resigned to your fate, because he passes his thumb once more over your cheekbone, this time so tenderly that you wait for his lips to descend upon yours again, sure from the heat in his eyes that he won’t be able to keep from stealing another kiss. You lick your lips out of habit—not just to see the way his eyes follow the motion. 

Then the door at the back of the building bursts open to a cacophony of shouts and hollering voices. The moment broken, Price drops his hand away from your cheek, only to take your hand in his this time, pulling you down the hall towards the register’s to await the circuit preacher. He makes you walk on the side closest to the wall, shielding you from the men that burst out of the courtroom, surging towards the doors. You think that someone must have been found guilty because the lot of them look joyous, clamoring over each other for attention. 

You think that you might be spared another minute or two, enough time for them to clean up and reset the courtroom, but you’re shocked to find the circuit preacher ready to conduct the ceremony in the cramped register’s office. He and Price shake hands enthusiastically, the preacher turning to you to grasp your hands in welcome before turning back to the sheriff. They have a camaraderie that speaks of old friendship. 

The cramped room where you’re married smells of patchouli and moth wings, like holes burrowed into sweaters at the back of a closet. The bookshelves along the walls are stacked with books old enough that you know they’d crinkle deliciously if opened. You try to listen as the preacher begins the introductory prayer. Behind you, another man slips into the room, a witness. He hardly bothers to introduce himself for such a brief affair. 

You haven’t been to many weddings, but you always imagined that yours—if you were privileged enough to have one—might have more fanfare. The wedding you actually get is a brusque affair, a brief recital of vows that ends only when the preacher enjoins Price to kiss his wife. 

His wife. 

Your eyes go wide when a hand flattens along your spine and pulls you into a hard chest, John dipping his head down to kiss your mouth again. His kiss is less chaste this time, not restricted by convention as earlier. This time, his tongue licks hot into your mouth, like no kiss you’ve ever had before, beard scratching your face. His mouth tastes like something you’ve never had before, like heatburst. Hot and wet. Soft and suckling. Any kiss you’ve had before pales in comparison—juvenile fumbling, all dry and half-humiliated, unsure of yourself. Nothing like being kissed by your husband.

Your husband. 

He only pulls away when the preacher finally clears his throat, a tad embarrassed. You’re too dazed to feel the same, fingers still sunk into the lapels of Price’s vest, clutched there. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up and your hands to unclench. You feel Price tug your hands away and slip something onto your finger.

The few documents needing to be signed hardly takes any longer. You finally notice the man that had slipped in behind the two of you, a masked man even larger than Price, who nods at him before glancing at you only long enough for you to notice that his eyes seem curiously blank. 

“Thanks, Simon,” Price says as the man—Simon—signs under your names, but he only grunts. The ink is still wet when he leaves. 

“How was it so fast?” you ask absently, staring at the papers as the ink sits drying and the preacher takes his own copy before handing John his. 

“Everything’s practical out here, darling.” His hand holds you by the waist again, relaxed this time. Not worried about whether you might run. “Even the weddings.”

“You don’t…you don’t even serve dinner? Invite guests over? No gifts?” The questions are irrelevant, but you ask them anyway because it’s a way to focus on anything other than the preacher handing you the final copy of the papers and Price leading you back down the hall and out the doors. 

There’s a ring on my finger, you think, looking down. It sparkles when you twist your hand from side to side. Topaz, instead of diamond. 

“Maybe if you’d showed up on time,” Price reminds you. He no longer sounds upset about it, but it still seems to come out as an admonishment. 

You don’t respond to that. Perhaps you’re still shell-shocked, looking at the world through new eyes. It feels unreal that in the span of less than a day, you’ve been plucked up and married off, to the sheriff no less. The one man you would’ve tried your hardest to avoid crossing paths with. 

No chance of that now. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, still in a daze. The sun makes you squint when you leave the courthouse, making you miss the hat back in your room at the inn. Maybe you can convince Price to let you go back to collect your things.

“I think we’re due for a honeymoon, don’t you, darling?”

You go doe-eyed at that. When you look up, your husband is already smiling down at you, crow’s feet wrinkling at the sides of his eyes. 

“Let’s go home.”

[27spoons]

Something to Try | Natalie Scatorccio

summary: A college party and some drinks with your best friend! What could possibly go wrong or irrevocably change your relationship?

pairing: natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

based on: pretty girls - reneé rapp

warnings: smut (afab!reader), internalized homophobia (nat), period typical homophobia (if you squint), alcohol consumption, ambiguously queer!reader, angst in my pants

a/n: i have not written smut in YEARS so this is... like... me getting back into it. i apologize in advance 😭🙏

wc: 5020

part two / ao3

Somewhere between Philadelphia and New York City sits a white two-story house in the middle of a nice suburban neighbourhood. Shitty speakers blast terrible dance music through the walls, and you're already wondering why the neighbours haven't called in noise complaints to the county. 

"Well, at least it isn't a frat house this time." You mutter with a scowl, crossing your arms and looking at the scene from the sidewalk.

The girl standing next to you scoffs and shoves her hands in the pocket of her leather jacket, "Y'know, if you're gonna bitch the whole time, you could go back to your dorm…"

"I am not—" You huff and roll your eyes, "I am not going back to the dorms. Let me bitch every now and then."

"You bitch constantly." She returns your eye roll, "There is never a moment in time you are not bitching about something."

You uncross your arms and shove at her shoulder, "You're a prick. Now I'm gonna bitch about you, Natalie. Is that what you wanted?"

"Yes. Because that means you're talking about me, and that feeds my ego." Nat says with a firm nod of her head, unable to hide the dumb grin on her face as she walks with you up to the front door of the house. "So, to clarify, you can only bitch if you're bitching about me."

"One day, I worry your head will explode with how big it's getting." You open the door to the house, and the stench of cheap booze and stale cigarette smoke immediately assaults your senses. "Oh, I lied. This is basically a frat house."

Nat laughs as she steps in behind you, "Nah, this place looks like it has working toilets in all bathrooms. Can't be a frat house." She glances around, eyes searching through the clusters of people scattered around the house. Her face lights up when she apparently finds someone she wants to see, and she turns to face you. "Hey, I'm gonna chat with Kev for a little while, but I'll catch up to you later, yeah?"

You sigh and wave her off, "Yeah, yeah. Just try not to forget I'm here this time."

She gives you an overdramatic gasp, a hand flying over her heart, "How dare you. I would never forget you're here." She's already taking steps back to talk to Kevyn, "You're always my top priority; you should know that by now." She shoots an easy wink at you, then vanishes into the groups of people in the living room.

Well. You really don't know what you were expecting. Nat has a tendency to vanish off to smoke weed or do drugs with a few of her friends, and you don't know why you thought tonight would be any different.

Oh, well. Might as well go see how your friends are doing.

About an hour and three Zimas later, a familiar presence makes herself known by pressing right up against your side. "Told you I wouldn't forget about you." Nat grins to herself, "C'mon. Let's get a drink."

"I'm not done mine—" She's already got your arm in a firm grip and tugging you away from your group of friends. 

"Fine. Then I can get one, and we can go smoke after. Either way, you're coming with me."

"I was in the middle of a conversation…" A whine leaves your throat, but you do nothing to stop her from pulling you to the destination she has in mind. 

"We can start a new conversation with some alcohol. Away from all the people." For all the parties that Natalie attended, you always found it funny how she preferred to stick to the edge, watching from the sidelines. If it wasn't for the fact she was a starter on the soccer team, she'd probably be considered a wallflower. 

Natalie drags you into the kitchen, where the air smells faintly of spilled beer and lime. She lets go of your arm long enough to rummage through the countertop clutter, successfully locating a half-empty bottle of vodka. “Classy,” she mutters, grabbing a plastic cup and pouring herself a generous splash before topping it with soda.

Her eyes flick to you as she takes a sip, leaning casually against the counter. “You’re way too sober to be at a party like this.”

"Mm, trust me, I'm working on it." You raise up the half-empty can you've been nursing for the past fifteen minutes. "You, on the other hand, seem far too eager to get drunk." A sip of your drink, "Like, more eager than usual. And you're already pretty eager to get shitfaced." 

Nat scoffs and rolls her eyes, gesturing with her head for you to follow her. "Yeah, well, we played a good game today. Won by two goals. Maybe I'm celebrating." She quips as her shoulder pushes the backdoor open. 

But… something in her tone feels off. You can't quite place it, but the words sound slightly strained. Maybe it's because you've known her so long, or maybe she's just getting more obvious, but you swear you see a small crack in the mask she so often wears in public.

"Nah, you're being weird tonight." You murmur, eyes narrowing as you appraise her behaviour. "Why are you being weird tonight?"

"I'm not being weird tonight." She scoffs and grabs a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her pocket, "Maybe you're hallucinating. Take any pills tonight?"

You frown, "Natalie."

She sighs and looks away like a child being chastised. "You're so pushy sometimes." She passes you a cigarette, "Jus' thinkin' about things."

"What things?" You lean against the wall beside her and take the smoke with a slight nod of thanks, letting her light the end for you once it's placed between your lips. "Anything I can help with?"

Nat hesitates momentarily as she lights her cigarette, clearly debating if she should actually speak about what's on her mind.

It takes her half of whatever she dumped into her cup, a handful of drags from her cigarette, and more than a few huffs of frustration on her part.

"You're… I mean… you're into chicks, right?"

You pause on the inhale of the smoke, then proceed to cough it out in surprise at the line of questioning. "Jesus—" A few more coughs, you waving the smoke away from your face. "That's what you wanted to ask me?" You shake your head and blink a few times, "Yeah, uh, I thought I told you that I was into chicks, like, ages ago."

"No, uh, you did." She waves her free hand dismissively, "I… sorry. I didn't—" She groans in frustration, "I think it's cool."

"Cool?" You parrot.

"Yeah." She says immediately, "I just… I think it's cool that you're open with yourself about that stuff." Nat brings her thumb to rub at one of her eyebrows, "Just… we don't talk about stuff like that." She shrugs, "Guess I just wanna check in now and then."

Confusion finds its way onto your face, and you shake your head as you try and put the pieces together of why is she asking this stuff right now? "You… you sure that's it?" 

Her facade seems to crumble further as she takes another drag from her cigarette, "Nah, I just…" She glances up at you, "I dunno. If I was gonna, I think you'd be the one I tried."

Your eyes fly open at that comment, because… what???

Your brain short-circuits for a second, trying to process her words. “Wait… what—” You blink and shake your head a few times, trying to pull yourself back together. 

"Don't worry about it." Nat interrupts quickly, "I didn't say anything." She snubs the cigarette out on the wall behind her, no longer meeting your gaze.

"No… no… don't do that." You shake your head and push off the wall, heart pounding so hard you can feel it, "You did say something. You can't just… throw that out there then pretend that you didn't say it."

She finishes the rest of her drink and drops the butt of the cigarette into the empty cup, "God, you're annoying sometimes. Just… forget I said anything, okay?"

"No… I'm not gonna forget you said that. 'cus I know you. You wouldn't just… say something like that." You take a step closer, "So if you're gonna say something, say it."

The blonde seems frustrated at the development in the conversation, and for a moment, you worry she's gonna completely shut things down and pull away, but instead, her expression softens. "I don't know." Looking down at her boots, she murmurs, "I don't know what I'm saying. I just… think about it sometimes. About you."

"Like… me? Specifically?" You shake your head, still in shock at this revelation.

A bitter laugh escapes Nat's mouth, "Don't make me spell it out." Her gaze finally meets yours again, and you swear your breath hitches at the sudden tension between the two of you.

"Natalie…" You start, but before you can say anything else, she's cutting you off and closing the difference between you.

"Shut up." She mutters, and then her lips are on yours—urgent, messy, and laced with the taste of vodka and cigarette smoke.

You freeze at the contact, eyes widening even further. This is not how you expected tonight to play out, and yet… you can't find it in you to pull away.

Despite yourself, you kiss her back, quickly matching her intensity. Her hands find their way to your hair as yours find their way to her waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens.

When she finally pulls back, her breathing is uneven, and her eyes are wide, like she can't believe what she just did. "Shit…" she whispers, running her fingers through your hair.

"What… what the hell was that?" You ask in disbelief, still trying to catch your breath.

"I told you," her trembling voice betraying the smirk tugging at her lips. "If I was gonna… you'd be the one I tried."

You swallow down the sudden lump that's appeared in your throat, "I don't… this…"  You don't even know what you're trying to say, but you're trying to form coherent phrases. "What?"

A beat of silence as her eyes flick from your eyes to your mouth again, "Do you wanna be the one I try?" She asks quietly, continuing to run her fingers through her hair, making you far weaker than you should be. 

"Natalie…" You manage, voice barely above a whisper. She's close now. Too close, really. Close enough that this could complicate everything and—

Her lips are back on yours.

That's enough to shut your thoughts up.

At some point during this exploratory makeout session, some obnoxious douchebag wolf whistles at the two of you making out, to which Nat promptly flips him off and starts pulling you inside the house.

"Come on." Natalie laughs as she tugs you into a spare bedroom, "I need you alone. Without assholes with a God complex interrupting us." She closes and locks the door to the bedroom. When she turns and looks at you, her lower lip is caught between her teeth, and her green eyes have a dangerous glint. 

The second the door is locked, the reality of the situation sets in. Are you really about to do this? Are you really about to… God, what are you even gonna do here? Natalie is looking at you like you're a tall glass of water and she's dying of thirst. Meanwhile, you're looking at her like a damn deer in the headlights. 

"For the record," She adds, "I'm not… this isn't…" She gestures between the two of you, "This is just some fun. Like… you know I'm not gay, right?" 

She doesn't give you a chance to answer that before her lips are on yours, and she's walking you back to the edge of the bed, pushing you down and straddling your waist. "Just to blow off some steam." She murmurs as her lips move to your neck, pressing wet kisses against the soft skin.

If you had half a mind right now, you'd probably say something like, "Straight chicks don't willingly do stuff like this with other chicks," or "I see multiple issues with that logic," but it's hard to form replies when her tongue is tracing along your pulse point, and her lips are oh so warm against your skin.

You vaguely think about all the times you've thought about this happening—but that's just it. They were just supposed to be thoughts. You never actually expected to end up in bed with Natalie—let alone her being the one to initiate it—but here you are, all the same.

"Nat—" You finally manage once you remember you need to breathe, "You—"

She pulls back briefly to tug her shirt over her head, and all rational thought vanishes out the window (along with the last shreds of the restraint you had—if you even had any, to begin with), and she moves her hands to tug off your shirt, which you eagerly help her remove.

"I'm so happy you came to the party." She whispers in awe as her hands trail up and down your torso in appreciation, "God…" Her hand stops to cup your breast, and you find yourself arching into her chest subconsciously. 

She looks down at you like you're an experiment—which you are, really—or something to decipher and explore. But, honestly? You're sorta willing to be her experiment right now, even if a part of you knows this will hurt the both of you come morning.

"I wasn't gonna come, you know?" You murmur back, letting her map out your body under her surprisingly careful fingers, "I just… didn't see the point."

"That's your issue, yeah?" Nat replies back just as quietly, "You always think too much rather than just doing. Life is so much more fun when you stop overthinking everything." She brushes her thumb over your clothed nipple, which causes you to let out a small gasp, "And sometimes you talk too much when you should be doing other things. Like this." Her hand leaves your chest and joins her other one behind her back, unclasping her bra and letting it fall down her shoulders.

"Oh, fuck." It's your turn to be awestruck now. "God, you're so…" Your hands trail up her body, running up her sides, her head falling back and a sigh spilling from her lips. "Fucking beautiful. So fucking beautiful." You stop to cup the underside of her breasts, earning a sound of approval from the girl on top of you as she begins to roll her hips against yours slowly.

"Yeah…" Nat breathes out, "Little higher…" She grabs your wrists and moves your hands on your behalf, placing them directly overtop her breasts, "Don't be afraid to touch me, not fragile…"

"Wasn't afraid," You reply as you squeeze gently, "was just trying to take my time. Not rush the good stuff."

She scoffs out a laugh, "Maybe I want you to rush to the good stuff; think of that?"

"Nah, that's no fun. Foreplay is half the excitement. Gotta build tension."

"Tension's been building all night." She rasps with a roll of her hips, "So don't give me that bullshit."

"Fine. Maybe I just want to take my time. Think of that?" You roll a nipple between your thumb and pointer, grinning to yourself at the way she gasps and her hips stutter at the sensation. "I like to play with my food before I eat it."

A low chuckle spills from deep in Nat's chest at your last comment, "Jesus, you're terrible. Has your dirty talk always been this bad?"

"Yep." You respond immediately, "Just another thing I'm skilled at, really."

"Really?" She looks down at you, an assumed smirk on her face. "What other things could you possibly be skilled at?"

You grin right back at her. That was exactly the reply you wanted. And she says your dirty talk is terrible. You're just always five steps ahead, really. 

"If you'd let me show you, I've been told my fingers and tongue are pretty talented." You grin wider when she blushes despite herself, "And, honestly? I kinda wanna show you."

Nat scoffs to hide how flustered she is at your teasing, "W-what? Is this the part where you tell me that I've been "missing out," too?"

"Oh, I wasn't gonna say anything. You were the one that did that."

A beat. 

You laugh.

"Oh my God. Shut up." And her lips are back on yours before you can protest—not that you would want to, anyways—and you're kissing her back in a heartbeat, her hands leaving your wrists to rest on your collarbones, thumbs tracing the lines of your bra strap.

Your hands find their way to Nat's hips, squeezing the soft flesh there and encouraging their movement as her tongue slides its way into your mouth.

Things move fast after that. You aren't quite sure when she manages to take your bra off, and she isn't quite sure when you managed to get her pants off, but before either of you can think about how fast things are moving, you're both making out in nothing but your underwear.

For one of the first times in your life, you're realising that you're the more experienced one when it comes to this sort of thing. Nat's never been with a girl before, giving you the upper hand. 

Something you fully plan on exploiting. 

You end up shifted so that she's laying flat on the bed under you while you're propped up on an elbow next to her, using your free arm to run your hand down her body as the two of you continue this heated makeout session you've been in for the past… however long you've been in this room.

When your fingers begin to tease the edge of her panties, Nat gasps and deepens the kiss further, with one of her hands curling around the nape of your neck as the other comes to rest on your shoulder. Which, well, seems like consent if you've ever been given any.

You let your fingers trail under the waistband and lower still, grinning into the kiss when you feel her push herself into your hand despite the fact you haven't even touched her yet. 

"Don't be a tease." Nat whines into the kiss, earning a low laugh from you.

"Not teasing. Just taking my time, is all." You properly brush your fingers against her, delving into the warmth but never quite going where she wants you to.

"No, you're being a fucking tease!" She whines again, more petulantly, her nails digging into your shoulder.

You click your tongue at that, "And you're a lot needier than I thought you'd be, Scatorccio. Can't spend five minutes doing some foreplay?"

"What I want to do is spend my time—" You cut her off when your fingers brush against her clit, a feral grin spreading across your features. 

"You were saying something, Nat?"

"Oh my God. Shut up." She repeats for the second time tonight, pulling you in for another kiss, using the hand on the nape of your neck to aid in her agenda. 

After you decide you've teased her clit for a suitable amount of time, you slide your middle and ring finger down the length of her wetness, then proceed to tease her entrance in slow circles. Nat bites on your lower lip in retaliation for what she still deems as "teasing," but is quick enough to soothe the bite with her tongue.

"You know," You murmur as you break the kiss, pulling back to watch her face, "I think you're gonna enjoy this."

She scoffs, "Yeah, that's sorta the point, dipshit."

"Mm, not what I meant." You sink those two fingers inside of her, enjoying the way her breath catches, and she arches into your touch. "I think you're gonna really enjoy this."

"You've got a big head." She starts rocking her hips against your hand, the motion causing the heel of your palm to rub against her, "You gonna… gonna… back that up?"

"I think I already am, honestly." You murmur back as you begin to move your fingers, "Did you even notice you were humping my hand?" Based on how her hips stutter for the slightest moment, the answer was probably no.

"Is all you do tease?"

You laugh at that, slowly figuring out what she likes based on her reactions to what you do, "Mhm. It's my favourite part of this." You pull your fingers back just as she seems to be really getting into it, which earns you a confused whine, but you don't give her long to worry about it.

You start at her lips, then slowly work your mouth down her body. Admittedly, you spend a little longer than needed lingering in the valley between her breasts, but who can really blame you? They're nice, and you've spent far too long wondering what it would be like to be between them.

You continue moving south once Natalie lets out a frustrated huff and pushes at your shoulders slightly, your lips pausing just under her belly button, glancing up at her for one last okay before you go this far.

She gives you her approval in the form of a slight nod, and you immediately hook your fingers in the waistband of her panties and tug them down once you have it.

You trail your mouth up her leg, starting from her ankle and moving upwards, only slowing down once you reach her thighs.

"Such a fucking tease…" Nat mumbles to herself when you slow down, so you nip her thigh in some form of retaliation at her impatience. 

"Good things come to those who wait." And you tease her longer, purposefully avoiding her aching center just to prove your point.

When she starts tugging at your hair in frustration, you finally relent, flattening your tongue and dragging it through her folds once, then twice, then pull back for a moment to look at her. 

"Goddamn." You murmur, "We're gonna have fun." You press a chaste kiss to her clit, then immediately dive in, nuzzling your nose against it as your tongue presses in. 

Truthfully, you've always liked it a little messy. You don't think Nat minds in the slightest. In fact, one might even say that she prefers it when it's sloppy.

Pornographic slurping sounds fill the small bedroom, coupled with the sharp inhales Nat takes every time you do something she really likes, and you decide you really like those sounds, making it your sole mission to have her make as many of them as possible.

When you move your mouth up to attach to her clit, you replace your tongue with two fingers, delving them back into the warm heat of her pussy. You hum in appreciation at the gasp she makes as you work your fingers in tandem with your mouth.

Nat, you've noticed, isn't very vocal. That's fine; she doesn't need to be. Not when her hips keep rocking against your face. Not when her eyes are shut, and her face is contorted in an expression of pleasure. Not when one of her hands is trembling atop her mouth in a poor attempt to stifle those small sounds. 

You pick up on what she likes really quickly, trying to keep your eyes trained on her face as long as possible. Knowing that you're the one making her look like that. You really didn't need the ego boost, but you'll take it anyway.

She lets you know she's about to come with her hand moving from your hair to smack your shoulder a few times, a shaky "F-fuck—" spilling from her lips and her back arching off the mattress. You double down on your actions to get her there, and when her thighs clamp down on either side of your head, you let yourself grin.

Natalie isn't one to give herself time to wind down, however.

Once she finishes riding out her climax, she's immediately tugging you up to mash her lips against yours, rolling you over so you're lying on your back instead of her.

"Mm, wait—" You push her shoulder back when one of her hands goes to trail down your body, "You don't have to… I don't need you to "repay the favour"—"

"I want to." Nat cuts you off, pressing her lips against your neck and working her way down your body. "And, for the record?" She pauses and looks up at you when she reaches your collarbone, "I'm a fast learner." She grins and continues moving her mouth lower, fingers hooking in the waistband of your underwear.

"Fast learner." You huff out as you lift your hips for her, allowing her to tug your panties down your legs and discard them somewhere off to the side. 

"Yeah," She agrees as she sits back on her knees, "Real fast learner, actually. And I doubt it's that much different than going down on a guy." A beat, "Who knows? Maybe I'll learn something that could be useful in my… future endeavours." 

You bristle slightly at the comment, an uneasy feeling gripping the back of your neck for a reason you can't quite place. "Nat—" And, much like you were doing to her, she cuts you off by attaching her lips straight to your clit, causing you to gasp in shock at the sudden sensation. "F-fuck!" You hiss out. While it's not a bad sensation—far from it— it is unexpected and bypassing any and all forms of teasing. 

Nat seems to delight in the sounds you're making and continues her exploration of your pussy. She pays eager attention to your clit at the beginning before realising that she should probably attend to other areas as well, and promptly doing just that.

And, hey, she was right. She is a fast learner. And an eager one, at that.

Her fingers dig into the meat of your thighs with bruising strength, forcing them open and refusing to let you budge from her hold even slightly. And, in true Natalie fashion, she's just as messy about it as you were, never one to be outdone. 

However, unlike you, she doesn't seem content to spend the whole time going down on you. She pulls back and pushes her hair out of her face, "God, I wanna try something—" She moves to straddle one of your thighs and presses her own up against your center, hands coming to rest on your shoulders.

"Shit," You murmur as your hands find purchase on her hips, "You sure you haven't been with a chick before? You sure seem to know what you're doing…"

"What can I say? I've done some research here and there." She lets out a low laugh that turns into a breathless sort of moan as her hips roll against your thigh, pushing her thigh further against you in turn. 

"Holy fuck, you're so fucking wet," Nat says in astonishment, her head falling forward as you begin rocking against her thigh. "Goddamn…"

"Yeah, you're not any better." You reply breathlessly, "Gonna fuckin' make a mess on my thigh…"

She rakes her nails down your chest and lets out a noise you're pretty sure is supposed to be a growl, "That's the idea. Already made a mess of your face, might as well ruin another part of you." And her lips are back on yours before you can come up with some sort of retort.

You two move against each other with urgency, breaking the kiss to rest your foreheads together as you breathe heavily. 

Natalie digs her nails into your waist, lips attaching to your neck again as she continues to rock her hips against your thigh. 

It's a mess of animalistic grunts and X-rated gasps that fill your ears. The noises, combined with her lips on your neck and the way she's oh so desperately moving against your thigh? You can't help yourself. It might be one of the hottest things you've ever witnessed. 

The woman on top of you comes first with a sharp gasp followed by a low groan. Then, upon realising you still haven't, her fingers replace her thigh, moving with intention.

"Fuck—" You arch up into her hand, "Shit, you don't have to—"

"Shut up." She whispers against your skin, "Let me make you feel good."

And, well, who are you to say no to the girl with her hand between your thighs?

By the end of the evening, you're more relaxed than you've been in a long time. Nat is lying loosely on the bed beside you, her hand playing with your fingers. 

"Weren't lying." She murmurs after a long silence between you two, seemingly lost in thought.

"Not lying about what?" You prop yourself up on an elbow, looking down at her as she sighs quietly.

"Really enjoying this." Her voice comes out soft, and it almost appears that even she seems surprised at the words. "I just… I don't know. It was fun."

You smile to yourself at that and squeeze her hand, "Yeah." Despite the haze of lust and alcohol that clouds your mind, at least, that is something you can agree to.

Morning.

The first thing you notice? You have a killer headache.

The second thing? This isn't your bed.

The third thing? You're alone in this bed.

Last night crashes over you in waves. Images of Natalies flushed face underneath you. The way she seemed almost eager to be with you in that way.

The sheets still smell faintly of her—a mix of smoke and something warm, something hers. You reach out instinctively, fingers brushing the cool, empty space beside you. She’s gone. Of course, she’s gone. You should’ve known better.

Last night replays in your mind: the way her hands gripped your shoulders, her voice a low whisper against your skin. You could’ve sworn, for just a moment, she wanted you. Needed you. But maybe that was just the vodka.

Maybe it was just the vodka.

a/n: this is so much longer than I thought it would be and yet not long enough

tragic

[cornerstoreclown]

So happy to see you’re back, we missed you!🫶

How about reader cleaning those nasty teeth for him? Given he’d allowed it-😉

Consider it done. Gender neutral reader x Art, trying to brush this man's teeth.

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

This is the third time he’s shoved you off his lap. For the past five minutes, you’ve been fighting the Miles County Clown with sheer determination, spite, and a toothbrush. Who was winning at this point, you weren’t sure. What started off as a simple ambush when he was sitting on the couch watching your TV became a failed plan within seconds the very instant he caught wind of what you were trying to accomplish. 

There were three truths that could coexist peacefully: 

The first one was that you loved this stupid clown. The second truth was that he was fucking disgusting and often smelled like he came out of the goddamn city sewers, and god have mercy on your soul if you caught a whiff of his breath after he finished eating something–or someone. And the third truth follows on the tails of the second one…

Which is that your standards are absolute dogshit. The bar is in hell! Literally in this case, considering WHO you’re dealing with.

Absolutely no way in hell that anyone else in the entire world would be able to get away with this. No one. They’d get a free lobotomy with how far that toothbrush would be jammed up their nose. You’re actually surprised that he’s not yet gotten up out of his seat, but you did catch him at a time where one of his favorite shows was on. That was all a part of your grand scheme. 

You’re back in his lap again, toothbrush with a little bit of toothpaste still somehow miraculously attached to the bristles.

He moves his head away from you again, like a defiant child, and he’s starting to wear down your patience and piss you off. 

“Art.” You firmly tell him, trying to get this brush near his face, and so far, the closest you’ve gotten is within a few inches of his mouth. You use your free hand to try and tilt his head back to keep him from moving, leaving him to respond in turn with a scowl, baring his teeth in the form of a threat. 

Which was fine for you. 

With enough dexterity, you manage to get a few brushes in on the top row of his teeth, feeling a bit of satisfaction until he elbows you in the face and then pushes your head away so you can’t see.

“Fucker!” You say through grit teeth. “Art, come ON! Let me HELP you!” 

You don’t feel the pain when he hits you in the face. Anger and frustration run deep in your veins now, guided by nothing but pure adrenaline as you’re both locked in battle with each other, pushing at the other. You both look like siblings at this point. That’s about how it fucking felt. 

You fight against him pushing your head away, and catch a glimpse of a horrid sight–

His gums are bleeding.

His teeth are coated in blood. 

You knew that his oral hygiene was bad, but you didn’t know how bad, and it becomes apparent to you that everything was way worse than you thought. 

Then he stuns you, zigging when you were expecting him to zag as he switches it up, grabbing your wrists and staring you right in the face, his snarl twisting into a smile. You don’t get a chance to react.

Well, you sort of did.

“Art–” 

You’re cut off as he presses his lips to yours, forcefully kissing you and sloppily giving you the nastiest fucking makeout ever. His tongue pushes past your mouth and goes in, shamelessly sharing whatever taste he had leftover from the mystery dinner he ate the night before, but not without the sharp taste of iron from his bleeding gums first. You gag, the pungent taste hitting your tongue, leaving you to immediately try to back up off of him, and he helps you further by once again shoving you off, this time flinging you to the floor at the foot of the couch.

The toothbrush, your so-called weapon of the day, has been dropped and rolled away from where you landed flat on your back. 

Art wasn’t having it. The show he had been hoping to watch tonight? Ruined, as he gets up off the couch and leaves you on the ground. He had half a mind to kick you in the side on the way out. 

You’ll just have to try again some other time. Maybe.

[arjwrites]

left my heart at home for you to hold- dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: leaving you is the hardest thing dean has ever had to do, but coming back home is the joy of his life.

warnings: none, fem!reader

word count: .9k

a/n: my first drabble for my 100 follower event! based on the song russell county line by 49 winchester (how fitting!) thanks for the request, i hope you enjoy!! <333

arj's 100 follower event

xxx

“I miss you, sweetheart.” Dean's words came out almost desperately. 

The giggling of your response through the phone speaker sent a pang of hurt through his body. He was so sick of being away from you. On hunts these days, Dean felt like he was just going through the motions. He used to enjoy hunting, at least to some extent. He felt a sense of satisfaction and purpose when he ganked the monster and saved the day. But ever since you came into his life, nothing satisfied him like you did.

“When will you be home?” Your sweet voice bounced around in his mind and he held tight to the shape of your words, imagining them in the shape of you. Sometimes, when his eyes darted up to check the rearview mirror, he would swear he could almost see you perched back there, nodding along to the music and throwing him a cheeky grin.

A few days was the answer to your question, though he didn’t like it very much. Hunts these days felt lonelier than ever, and a routine three-day hunt stretched into lifetimes apart from you. Of course, his brother was right there next to him, thumbing through newspapers and lore books. Sam would jump right into discussing this next case the second Dean snapped the phone shut. But he wouldn’t hang up just yet. He’d hang on to this little scrap of you for as long as he could.

The hunt would go on longer than expected, like they always did. Each snag in the road would enrage Dean. He was always desperate, needy, longing to return home to you. More often than not, Sam would catch him distracted. He’d be staring off into space while researching, or zoning out while interviewing a victim’s family member. He just wasn’t on his game. It was like he wasn’t fully there- a piece of him was always left behind, his heart all those miles away, tucked into your gentle hands for safekeeping until he returned.

Eventually, things would come to an end and the boys would emerge victorious- sweaty, tired, and often bloody, but nonetheless victorious. Before Dean had you, car rides after a successful hunt were full of classic rock sing-alongs and lazy diner stops. It used to be a common occurrence to stick around, hit the local dive bar, celebrate a little. These days, however, when the bodies hit the floor and the case was said and done, Dean put the pedal to the metal. The second their work was done, he was ready to hit the road. Sometimes, Sam would turn away to say goodbye and offer some comfort to a victim, and when he turned back around, like magic, their bags were all packed and Dean was already posted in the driver’s seat, revving the engine and honking the horn. “Let’s go, Sammy.” As they hit the open road, Dean would press his foot down, reveling in the growl of the Impala’s engine as they barrelled down the highway en route home to his girl. 

There was a familiar routine when Dean returned from a long hunt. You’d always have some sort of meal ready, no matter the time of day, knowing he would be returning tired and hungry. He’d stroll in dramatically, tossing his bag down and throwing some sassy remark like “Honey, I’m home.” When you’d run up to him all smiles, he would wrap you in a hug that radiated the genuine love you had been missing. He’d pepper your face with kisses, absentmindedly recounting stories of the hunt that seemed boring now. Once he had you again, back in front of his eyes and in his arms, nothing else mattered. 

In the days between hunts, when life was normal for as long as you each could manage, Dean wouldn’t leave your side. He’d follow you from room to room, lingering in your presence for as long as possible. His eyes were always locked on you, drinking you in. He couldn’t get enough. Most often, he was quiet. His love for you was strong, silent, reverent, yet ever-present. But there were always moments where the feelings inside him became too much. They bubbled up inside him and threatened to spill out uncontrollably. It was in moments like this where he attempted to turn his sentiments into words. 

“I love you so much, you know that?” Dean spoke from his spot next to you as the two of you washed the dishes from dinner. Your beauty made the mundane so fascinating. He could see your face reflected in the shine of the plate you were drying, capturing your form in a way that was so uniquely you, and yet, could never live up to the real thing. 

“I love you too, Dean,” you hummed in response, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you placed the final dish into the cabinet.

“No, seriously.” He wrung his hands, turning from the now-empty sink to face you. “You’re home now, kid. It’s always gonna be you. I hate leaving, but I’m always coming back to you.” 

You smiled, wiping your hands on your jeans before taking Dean’s. You lifted his arms up, wrapping them around your shoulders and allowing him to pull you close. There you stood in the kitchen, swaying gently to a song that wasn’t there, yet you both could hear it so clearly. It was as if you could feel your life together growing up around you, sprouting and blooming. This was home, where Dean would always return. And you’d always be waiting.

[mountttmase]

Change Of Heart

The Middle - Part Three

Note - chapter three wooooo. Thank you so much for all your feedback last week and I’m really sorry I didn’t reply to you guys. It was a weird few days and I’ve been sick so it slipped my mind but I really appreciate you guys so much. I hope you enjoy this one too and happy halfway mark 🩷

Pairing - Mason Mount x Reader

Word count - 6.3k

Warnings - series contains angst & fluff

Never in a million years did you think you’d be in the pickle you were in right now.

You’d never felt this awful about yourself before, fleeing the flat that you’d shared with Jack for just over three years since your second year of uni and returning to your childhood home for some much needed comfort. But the only person's comfort you wanted was still in training.

You thought everything was turning out perfectly, moving out of halls and into your first big girl flat with Jack was a massive step but you’d fallen into domestic life perfectly. The both of you still on the same course but taking a few different modules meaning you weren’t together 100% of the time and being able to study together and push each other forward helped you get the best results possible. Both ending up with firsts and it didn’t take you long to land a job so you could continue to live where you’d both made your new home but right now that all now seemed like a long lost dream.

As soon as you made it home to your parents house you rushed up to your old room. Ignoring your family entirely as you locked yourself away and as soon as you thought Mason might be finished with training you sent him a quick text.

Mason, he was always there when you needed him.

You were surprised at first at how quickly the pair of you had fallen back into the rhythm of being friends. Waking up that next morning after your dads birthday party to find him pressed up against your back with his head in your neck and an arm around your waist, but it was the fact he’d clearly gotten hot in the night and taken his jeans off that had made you chuckle. Knowing how much he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable by taking his clothes off but you enjoyed waking up next to him more than you let on.

He’d woken up shortly after you and after a quick squeeze you felt him move away, not wanting you to wake up with him pressed against you but you were quickly rolling over so you could press yourself up against him and hold him to you until you felt his chest rumble with laughter.

‘Morning Masey’

‘Morning, love. You sleep okay?’

‘Surprisingly well actually. What about you?’

‘Yeah not bad’ he whispered but you could tell he was a little shy still. Not able to look you in the eyes for more than a few seconds but it was just nice to have him back in any capacity.

Mason stuck to his word after that night, always keeping in contact as often as he could and when he went on loan to Derby County you made sure to go to as many games as you could manage. Jack always in tow as it became your little thing but as soon as he joined back up with Chelsea Jack had to stop. Telling you he didn’t feel right cheering for Chelsea as an Arsenal fan so you ended up going to games alone or with some of the Chelsea girlfriends as Mason introduced you to more people as he made friends.

You were so proud of him, watching him take the world by storm and as his second season was coming to an end you knew one of the biggest games of his life was coming up and he didn’t need any distractions.

You needed him though. Urgently.

You needed him more than you'd ever needed anyone in your life and as you sat and waited for him to show up you felt sicker and sicker. The gravity of the situation still not hitting you properly as you hadn’t managed to speak it out loud to him yet but you knew you needed to get a grip.

When Mason eventually got to your house, the door was opened by your mother who gave him a concerned look as she nodded him in and he wasn't sure what to to think at all.

‘She’s in her room but she won’t tell me what’s wrong’ she huffed, rolling her eyes slightly and it struck him as a bit weird because he knew you told your mum everything. The fact she was laughing it off though made him think it was that serious though and he felt his heart calm down slightly.

‘I’ll speak to her’ he reassured her. Touching her arm as if to comfort her slightly before he made his way up the stairs and straight to your room. Knocking gently as the door was shut but he really didn’t know what to expect.

‘You in there love?’ He called, knocking lightly again as he didn’t know if you were sleeping but you were far from it. Laid on your back as you looked up to the ceiling to try and control your breathing but his voice had you sat up straight in an instant.

‘Yeah’ you answered, hoping it was loud enough for him to hear but you knew your voice sounded strained and when the door finally opened and you could see his face you felt yours crumple. Hot tears running thick and fast down your face but Mason was quick to shut the door and rush to your side so he could pull you into his arms.

Even though he had no idea what was going on, the fact he’d dropped everything to come here and comfort you meant the world and as you sobbed into his chest you’d never felt more lucky to have a friend like him.

He let you take your time, rubbing you back soothingly to calm you down enough to speak and even though you were petrified, you knew Mason would be there for you and on your side no matter what you told him.

‘Hey, come on it’s okay’ he whispered, trying to pull back so he could look at you but you weren’t ready yet and he didn’t push you to talk until your tears had died down. ‘It’s alright, love. Take your time, yeah? I’m not going anywhere’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you come all this way’

‘No no don’t be silly, you know I would have come a lot further if you needed me to’ he whispered. Trying his best to settle you so that you’d come out and tell him what’s wrong and when you looked up at him with a pout, his heart broke for you. ‘What is it, love? Whats happened?’

‘Me and Jack… well there isn’t a me and Jack anymore. He’s left me’ you told him, your voice wobbling as you tried your best not to break down again but you could tell he was shocked as he pulled you back into his chest.

‘Oh y/n’ he sighed, wrapping his arms around you tighter and rubbing your back soothingly. ‘What happened?’

‘If I tell you, can you promise it stays between us’ you asked, not wanting anyone to know your secret just yet but you knew you were about to burst if you didn’t tell someone.

‘Well I don’t kn-‘

‘No Mason, you have to promise’ you begged, feeling yourself get hysterical as he wasn’t promising but when he cupped your jaw you looked straight into eyes and knew you had nothing to worry about.

‘Okay okay, I promise, yeah?’ he told you, grabbing your hand out of your lap so he could link your pinkies together and you smiled for the first time that day at the gesture. ‘I pinkie promise you it stays between us. Now spill’

You tried your hardest to tell him, the words stuck on the tip of your tongue and it took a few tries but he never tried to rush you. Giving you the time he needed you gather yourself and get the words right but it was like you’d forgotten how to speak.

‘I can’t Mase, I can’t say it’

‘Why not?’

‘Cause if I say it then it’s happening and-‘

‘Whatever it is, no matter how bad you think it might be, I’m here yeah?’ He told you. Stroking your cheek so you could look at each other properly. ‘I’ll always be here. You’re not on your own at all so just tell me and we can face it together’

‘I’m pregnant’

The words came out as a whisper and you weren’t even sure if Mason understood at first but when you watched his face contort into one of shock you knew he had. All the breath in his lungs being expelled at once as what you’d said hit him like a slap in the face, but now you’d said it out loud the words came pouring out of you like word vomit.

‘I found out a few days ago and I’m way further along than I was expecting and it’s all just such a mess. I didn’t want to add more pressure onto your plate with the final coming up but I didn’t know who else to tell I’m so so sorry Mase-‘

‘You do not need to apologise, okay? You have nothing to be sorry for’ he whispered and you could see he was trying his hardest to comfort you but he was also stunned by what you’d told him. ‘Sorry I feel like I’m being shit but I don't know what to say’

‘No it’s fine, I don’t know either’ you laughed and the fact you’d cracked a bit made him smile. Pulling you into his chest so you could cuddle into him and when his fingers began to massage over your scalp you felt yourself melt.

‘Are you okay? Like are you feeling okay?’ He whispered into the side of your head and you nodded softly.

‘I’m a bit sick but I’m fine I promise’ you told him looking back up into his big brown eyes and it was as clear as day how much he cared and how worried he was for you.

‘So Jack left when you told him?’ He asked carefully but all you could do was nod knowing your voice would fail you. ‘I’ll kill him. I swear to god I’ll kill him’

‘Please don’t, I just wanna forget he ever existed’ you sniffed before looking down into your lap so you could let your tears fall.

‘Look at me’ he whispered, taking your face in his hands again so he could kiss your forehead and you felt yourself relax in his hold. Looking up at him through your tears but you could see he was calming down. ‘He never deserved you. The both of you, okay?’ He mumbled. Your eyes spilling over as he referred to you as a pair and even though you were petrified you knew you’d be okay as long as you had your best friend. ‘I don’t care what you say, I’m here now and I’m taking care of you’

‘No mase, you can’t-‘

‘I don’t wanna hear it okay.’ He cut you off, tucking your hair behind your ears. ‘Call it payback or whatever for when I left for a year but you’re not on your own. I’ll do whatever you need me to’

‘Mase-‘

‘You need to do one thing for me though, okay’ he asked and you had no idea what it was but you were willing to do just about anything for him right now. ‘I need you to tell your mum’

You knew he was right, there was no way you could hide this from her and you’d need all the help you could get but the prospect of telling your family terrified you. You knew this wasn’t what they wanted for you and the thought of disappointing them hurt but you knew deep down he was right.

‘Will you come with me?’ You asked quietly and his face softened immediately.

‘Of course I will’

‘Okay, let me just go to the loo and sort myself out and we can do it’ you smiled. Leaving him alone in your room for a moment but you had no idea what he was about to do as he reached for his phone and called the one person he needed to talk to.

‘Hello?’

‘Don’t talk and don’t put the phone down’ he said lowly, his mind scrambled with what he wanted to say but in the end he blurted it all out. ‘I’m just calling to tell you you’re a piece of shit and if you dare thinking about coming near her again I’ll rip your fucking head off’

‘Oh give it a rest mate, you think I give a shit?’ Jack laughed and the sound made Mason want to punch something. ‘You should be thanking me anyway, I know you’ve wanted me out of the picture since I got there. Not that it makes much difference, she still picked me even when you were begging for her’

‘Shut the fuck up’ Mason spat but it made no difference. Jack was still laughing at him down the phone like he thought he was pathetic and it made Mason want to scream.

‘Don’t call me again and I won’t call you. And don’t worry, I don’t plan on being near her anytime soon’

‘How can you be like this? You’re gonna chuck it all away for no reason?’

‘I never wanted a kid, that was never in my plans. She can do what she wants but I’m out. Just like I’m out of this conversation. I would say good luck with everything but I don’t mean it’ he said before hanging up and Mason could only just contain his rage.

How could he say that about you? You’d stuck with him for so long and Mason knew how much you loved him so to hear him speak about you in this way infuriated him. Mason was never Jacks biggest fan but he’d always been respectful for your sake and now he wished he never had been.

‘Mase, you coming?’ You called, your head poking into your room to see him looking furious but as soon as his eyes fell on you his whole face changed.

‘I’m here love, sorry’ he smiled. Popping his phone back into his pocket and meeting you by the door so he could take your hand and lead you downstairs. It was safe to say you were terrified but as long as you had Mason you knew you could get through this.

Telling your mum you were about to become a single parent was one of the hardest things you ever had to do, but she could see how upset and scared you were and thankfully wasn’t hard on you. Begging you to stay home so she could look after you and you took her up on the offer so you could be closer to Mason and away from the home you used to share with Jack. Even staying with him some nights just for a break and you always felt your happiest when you were next to him.

He did everything for you. He cooked, he cleaned, he even did your washing and when the time came for his big game he called you as soon as he could after he’d won to let you know it was you and your little pickle that pushed him over the finish line and gave him the strength to win.

When he had a small break from football he took you away for a few days just the two of you and you knew what you must have looked like to other people but you never corrected them. You just held his hand and let him treat you even if you did feel awful about it but in the back of your mind you wanted people to think you were together. That you had your life in order and the father of your child was in the picture rather than off doing god knows what because you weren’t good enough for him.

Pregnancy was tough. You felt sick most of the way through it and even though you were trying your hardest to make out that you were fine, you were still mourning the loss of the man you thought you’d be spending the rest of your life with. You kept your sadness private though, waiting until you were in the safety of your bedroom of a night to let your tears flow.

It took a while but you knew it had to stop. Your life still had to move on without him and you had a whole new human to think about. If he didn’t want to be a part of your lives then that’s his choice but it was also your choice to give your baby the best life you could.

Mason couldn’t make it to your first scan but he made sure to take you to your second. You could tell he was unsure about if you wanted him to actually come in with you or not but you just nodded your head in the direction of the door and he followed you in with a huge smile.

‘I see your red lipstick is back’ he commented as he helped you up onto the bed but all you could do was send him a smile. It was rare you’d worn it over the last few years as Jack always complained when you did but now you were free of him, you were free to wear it again. Feeling more like yourself with each day that passed.

‘So todays the day’ the nurse smiled as she gelled your belly up. ‘What have you decided?’ She asked but Mason was looking at you confused. He had no idea what an important scan this was but you just smiled at him before turning to her.

‘I want to know’ you confirmed but Mason just looked at you like you were speaking another language.

‘Am I missing something here? Want to know what?’

‘What I’m having. I can find out if it’s a boy or a girl today’ you told him and his eyebrows almost got lost in his hairline he was that shocked.

‘Oh’ he smiled. ‘Wait you’re just gonna find out now? No big gender reveal or anything?’

‘Nah, I don’t fancy it’ you shrugged. ‘I’ve got the most important person here who needs to know so I don’t see why I should wait. What do you think?’

‘Let’s do it’ he smiled, his eyes sparkling as they filled with tears and you squeezed his hand to let him know it was okay as the nurse began the search for your little one. ‘What am I having then? A niece or a nephew’ he joked, squeezing your hand gently as she moved the probe around and she let out a little laugh before her eyes fell to you.

‘Y/n… you’re having a little girl’

You didn’t realise you were crying until you felt Mason's lips on your forehead. Warm trickles spilling down your cheeks at the gesture as you covered your face with your free hand.

You’d told yourself you would be happy with whatever your baby was but deep down you knew you wanted a girl. A little mini you who would be your absolute best friend and now you knew you were getting your wish you couldn’t hold your sobs in. The nurse leaving the pair of you alone so Mason could help you calm down and after a few more forehead kisses and reassuring words in your ear you were semi back to normal.

‘Sorry Mase, it’s just a lot’

‘I know, love. It’s okay though, you’re allowed to get upset’ he reassured you and before you knew it you were getting packed up to leave and go home with fresh pictures of you little girl in hand.

You made a quick stop in the loo before you left, something that was now becoming a regular occurrence and once you were out, Mason was nowhere to be seen. You wondered if he’d maybe been mobbed by fans and had to go and hide but as soon as you got your phone out to text him he appeared. A sly smile on his face as he hid his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie and you eyed him curiously until he let out a giggle.

‘Where did you go?’ You asked him, the smile on his face contagious as he tried to suppress it.

‘The gift shop’

‘Why? Isn’t it full of flowers and get well soon cards?’

‘There was a lot of that yes, but I wanted to get my niece her first teddy’ he smiled, reaching back into his front pocket and pulling out a little giraffe teddy with a pink bow tied round the bottom of its neck and you felt your eyes sting for the millionth time that day.

‘Oh Mase’ you whispered. ‘That must have cost you an arm and a leg in there’

‘Worth it’ he smiled and when he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, you let him lead you out to the car to go home.

As you neared the end of your pregnancy you were ready for it all to be over with. Your little pickle wasn't so little anymore and everything was hurting. The worst were the Braxton Hicks contractions and even though you’d been having them for a few weeks now, the ones today felt worse. You weren’t due to give birth for another two weeks though so you knew it was nothing serious however after a call to your midwife she advised you to come in and stay the night to be observed.

You called Mason that night once you were settled in, letting him know you were staying over as a precaution and even when he tried to protest you made him stay home. He had a big game the next day and you didn’t want him to worry and get himself in a tizz when you’d be chilling in bed all day and by the time you were both ready to sleep he was pleading with you to see you afterwards. Agreeing that he could come and visit you after his game and you went to sleep excited that you’d be able to see him tomorrow.

As far as games go, it was a good one for Mason. He stuck to his promise and scored you a goal, his first of the season, which was then followed by 2 more. His first Chelsea hat trick and you just wished you would have been able to watch it in a little more comfort.

As soon as Mason could get out of there he did. Discreetly letting the staff know what was happening so they let him go without another word and even though all his team mates wanted to celebrate, there was only one place he wanted to be.

He knew he had time but he also wanted to get to you as quickly as he could so he only made one stop to pick you up a few things and he made it to the hospital by 6pm. Thankfully your mum had told him where abouts in the hospital he had to go and once he made it to the maternity ward reception he didn’t have to look far to know what room you were in. Your mum walking out looking more emotional than he’d ever seen her and once she caught sight of him she ran over to give him a big hug.

‘Is she alright? I text her a few times but she didn’t reply so I presumed she was asleep’

‘Oh Mase’ she sobbed. ‘She’s here’

‘What?… what do you mean?’

‘She was born about half an hour ago, it all happened so fast’ your mum told him but he was stuck frozen.

‘Is everything alright? Are they both fine? I got here as quick as I could I had no idea-‘

‘They’re both fine Mase’ she reassured him. Holding him but his arms in hopes he would calm down. ‘Why don’t you go in and see them. I think she was about to have a nap but she’ll be over the moon to see you’

‘Okay’ he whispered. Eyes trained on the door your mum had just emerged from and with a gentle push he was making his way over.

Mason had never been so nervous before, not even before he took his penalty earlier did he feel like this but the excitement took over and before he knew it he was pushing the door open to reveal you sat up in bed and even though you looked frightened and exhausted, your eyes were full of love and he couldn’t wait to hold you.

‘Mase’ you breathed, your bottom lip wobbling as he rushed to your side, dropping all his bags in the process so he could hug you and as soon as his arms were around you you cried your heart out. All of your emotions and hormones spilling out of you as the comfort of your best friend engulfed you and he let you cry it out fully. Pulling back as your breathing started to regulate so he could kiss your cheeks and take a good look at you. ‘I’m so sorry, they told me it would be hours-‘

‘Do not say sorry, yeah’ he whispered. Pushing the hair out of your face so he could get a better look at you and the look of pride on his face made you dizzy. ‘Are you okay? Are you in pain?’

‘Yeah, it hurt like fuck’ you laughed, wiping your eyes before he took your hands in his. "They said it would take hours and then all of a sudden I was fully dilated so I couldn't even get the epidural’ you told him and his face softened. ‘I think she was just too excited to see you and congratulate you for your hat trick’ you laughed tearily and his face crumpled a little bit. ‘You played so well Mase I’m so proud of you’

‘Are you kidding me? You just pushed a whole human out. I’m proud of you’ he told you as his eyes flickered all over your face. ‘And you’re the only woman I’ve ever known give birth in red lipstick’

‘I wanted her to know what type of woman she’s got for a mum as soon as possible’ you told him with a laugh. ’Do you wanna meet her?’ You asked quietly, knowing he’s been waiting months to finally see her and the bright smile he sent your way to you all you needed to know.

‘Please’ he whispered shyly, so you nodded him over to sit in the chair next to your bed before leaning over the other side so you could pick her out from her crib. Luckily enough she was still awake and you kept your eyes on Mason's face as you handed her over.

It was like love at first sight, his eyes filling up with tears that he tried to blink away as his lip wobbled but he was a natural when he held her. Getting her comfortable in his arms as best he could before he stroked her little face and you could tell from his ragged breathing he was overwhelmed with everything.

‘Oh y/n she’s your double’ he whispered. Tracing her features gently and your heart was racing at how he was with her.

‘Yeah, you think?’

‘Of course, she’s perfect’ he whispered, softly trailing his finger dow her nose as she looked up at him in wonder but your moment was only short lived as your midwife came back in to check on you and her eyes caught Masons immediately.

‘Ooooh a boy, what’s your name handsome?’ She giggled and you laughed at his frightened face.

‘This is my best friend, Mason’ you explained and she gave you an over exaggerated wink before directing her attention back to him.

‘Well Mason, I’m not sure if you know this but babies really benefit from a little skin to skin when they’re born.’

‘What?’ He breathed. Looking at you for help but the shrug of your shoulder let him know you weren’t about to help him.

‘It’s true, releases good hormones apparently and will help her immune system’

‘I’ve only just got here and you already want me bloody undressed’ he muttered, passing you back your little bundle of joy before undressing his top half and you felt your heart flutter a little at the sight of him. You hadn't seen him in this state for a long time and you couldn't believe how much he’d bulked out but you pushed everything down as you began to unwrap your daughter to hand over to him. Feeling yourself melt even more as he settled her back against his chest and you wrapped a blanket around them to keep them warm.

‘Hey, y/n? Have we got a name yet? I want to introduce myself properly’ he told you seriously. You’d had a name for a while but you wanted to make sure it fit her face and you wanted to discuss it with him too just in case he thought it was a bad idea.

‘I think I do, yeah. Mase this is Ginevra, Gee for short’ you told him softly. ‘I wanted to name her after my Italian great grandmother, you know the one I only met once?’

‘I remember’ he smiled ‘Hey baby Gee, it’s so nice to finally see you’ he told her looking down into her eyes that were staring right back into his. ‘We’re gonna be best friends, me and you’ he told her. Listing off all the adventures he was planning for them and you knew in that moment that it didn’t matter about Jack or anyone else, she would always have Mason.

It was the start of a beautiful friendship between the pair of them and even though being a new mother was difficult and required a lot of adapting, Mason always made sure he gave a helping hand.

You felt awful, letting him give up his free time to help you raise a baby that wasn’t even his but you could see he was in his element. His caring nature coming out in full force whenever Gee was around and you loved the way this extended to you too. Not that he hadn't always been caring but it was like he was extra gentle now.

Whenever he had a few hours free he would make sure to visit, even if it wasn’t for long but it always brightened your day to see him and it definitely brightened Gee’s. Next to you, he was becoming her favourite person.

You loved being back at home but there was something missing. A deep need inside of you to stop relying on your family and to give your daughter the life she deserved on your own. You had always tried to be as independent as you could but living off your parents and Mason was starting to take its toll.

Gee was the most special little girl in the whole world. You couldn’t believe you’d created a human so kind and funny and silly and after dreaming about your baby for so long, it was unreal to finally have her in your arms.

You had three months left of maternity leave when work checked in on you. You figured it was just for a general update but after a long talk they were offering you something you couldn’t refuse. A way out of the life you were currently in and you didn’t even think twice before saying yes.

Mason could tell there was something on your mind from the first look at you. He’d come over for a few hours after training just like usual and aside from a quick hello, you mostly sat in silence. Never one to push you though he let you sit a stew for a while as he laid with Gee on the floor. Tapping the toys hanging from the frame attached to her play mat so they dangled above her and as she laughed excitedly he would tickle her tummy to make it even worse so her giggles filled the quiet room.

He was so good with her, which made what you were about to tell him all the more difficult. Not having the courage to do it right then and there but after a little while you couldn't hold it in. Asking him to come and sit next to you on the sofa and he carefully picked up Gee so he could cradle her in his arms as you spoke and you looked on with a big smile as she playfully held his finger.

‘So the company I work for, they’re having a bit of a shuffle around and things are gonna be different when I go back’ you started but his face turned to one of anger immediately.

‘You’re not loosing your job are you? They’re not allowed to do that’ he told you seriously but you just smiled and shook your head.

‘No Mase I’m not losing my job’ you laughed. ‘I’m getting a promotion actually’

‘Oh no way, that’s amazing’ he smiled. His whole face lighting up now he knew they weren’t trying to get rid of you but now you knew the hard part was coming where you needed to explain what was actually going on.

‘Yeah they’re opening a new office and they want me to run my own department there, like it’s all getting set up for when I’m back it’s really exciting’

‘I’m so proud of you’ he smiled but he noticed the way your face had fallen and that you looked slightly nervous. ‘What’s up? You don’t look too happy about it’

‘No I am I am, it’s just, well it’s a big change’ you explained but his kind smile hadn’t faltered and you knew you were about to crush his whole world.

‘I know it is, but you can do’

‘Mase?’ You gulped. Looking down into your lap as you held the heart of the necklace he’d gifted you all these years ago. Hoping it would give you the strength you needed like it always did.

‘Yeah?’

‘It’s in Manchester’

‘What?’ He asked. Looking up to say his face contorted in confusion and even though you knew you had to explain more, a weight felt like it had been lifted.

‘The job. It’s in Manchester’

‘Oh’ he breathed. Looking slightly bewildered by everything you were saying and as he carried on speaking you knew you’d have to break it down a bit more for him. ‘That’s a pretty long commute isn’t it? A couple of hours each way at least. Can you work from home?’

‘I can work from home Mason, yes. But I also need to be in the office’ you breathed. Ready to give him the final blow and as you looked into his sweet brown eyes, you knew this would hurt him more than anything. ‘That’s why I’m moving there’

‘You’re what?’

‘I’m moving to Manchester, Mason’

You watched his face fall, eyes dropping down to Gee who was quietly laying in his arms and when he looked back up you could see his eyes were full of tears.

‘Please don’t take her away from me’ he whispered, his voice thick as his bottom lip wobbled and your heart broke for the boy sitting next to you.

‘No Masey, no I’m not taking her away from you I promise’ you told him, your own eyes burning as you tried to comfort him but you could tell he was distraught at the thought of not being close to her anymore.

‘I can’t lose you guys, I’ve lost you once and I can’t-‘

‘Mase no, come here’ you asked him. Holding your arms out for him to fall into and once he was settled comfortably you scratched over his scalp just how he liked it. ‘You won’t lose us I swear, we’ll be back all the time okay and you can come visit whenever you want. I just… I need to do this. For me’ you sighed. ‘I wanna give Gee the best life I can, okay?

‘I can do that, I’ll give you guys everything you need-‘

‘Mason, my minds made up’

‘But why’ he pouted. Knowing there was more to the story than you were giving him and the look in his eyes made you realise you had to be completely honest.

‘I can’t be here anymore Mase. Everywhere I look I see him and I just hate feeling like this. I need a fresh start’ you confessed and you watched his face drop instantly as a look of understanding washed over him.

‘Hey hey, it’s alright’ he whispered, sitting up and pulling you into his side. ‘If it's what you need to do then I’ll support you, okay? I’m not gonna sit here and act like I’m thrilled about the whole thing but whatever you need then I’m here for you’ he reassured you.

‘Thank you’

‘And you best believe I’m gonna be visiting every second I get a chance so you better get somewhere with a guest bedroom’

‘I will, I promise’ you laughed. Trying to hold back a sob but it was no use. Yes this was what you needed but it was tough on everyone and you hated upsetting Mason more than anything. ‘You knew you’re always gonna be my best friend Mason. Distance won’t change that’

‘I hope so’ he whispered tearily and you felt your heart break for the millionth time.

Tag list - @saltyheartnightmare @harvestmount @prideofpd @sid-vii @carlottawllms @footiehoemcfc @katharinanadiaa @whenelifallsinlove @neverinadream @cityzenchick @msnmnt @stikkibun @masonmtxo @chillymountsjess @yoursselo @maseymm @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @leclerc13

[guess-my-next-obsession]

25 w joel!!

The Third Date

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ ONLY, minimal plot, cunnilingus bc obviously, unprotected piv, joel talks you through it, rough-ish sex, creamp!e, soft fluffy joel bc daddy, i love him)

wc: 2.6k

prompt: 25. “Does that feel good?”

joel masterlist

The summer breeze offered just a bit of respite from the Texas heat, even though the sun had long gone down. You had a stuffed animal tucked under your arm, something bright pink and unicorn-adjacent, though you couldn’t be sure. He won it for you at the county fair, the location of your third date that somehow managed to top the first two. You had no intention of keeping it for yourself, it was much too big and ostentatious for your taste, but you thought it would make a nice gift for Joel’s six-year old daughter.

Walking up the pathway to your apartment, Joel’s hand clasped with yours, you began to feel a thrilling rustle of excitement and anticipation in your stomach. He’d been a gentleman so far, keeping his kisses tame and not letting his hands wander too far, but this was the third date, after all. You couldn’t help but pray he’d finally accept your invitation to come inside your place tonight.

“So,” he started, a shy smile on his face as you faced each other in front of your door. “I had a really good time tonight.”

“Me too.” You smiled back just as smitten. “I know you mentioned wanting to wait, but…if you wanted, you could come inside.”

Joel seemed to study you for a moment, his smile growing wider as he admired the sparkle in your eye. He’d been wanting to follow you inside since your first date, but given that he wanted something serious to come from this, he figured the smartest thing to do would be to wait for the right moment. And right now seemed as right as ever, though he did feel a little embarrassed to only make it three dates before giving in to his need for you.

“I’d love to,” he replied, reaching to cup your jaw. You closed your eyes as he leaned in to press his lips against yours, soft and sweet, just like all the other times, but soon it grew hungrier. He moaned against your lips as your fingers curled over the leather of his belt, tugging him closer. “Maybe we should take this inside, darlin’.”

“Yeah,” you panted, nodding as you scrambled through your bag to find your keys. Unlocking your door and stepping inside, Joel plucked the stuffed animal from underneath your arm and set it down on the carpet before quickly finding your hips and walking you backwards into your living room. “Wait—“ you giggled as you fell back against the plush cushions. “Shut and lock the door.”

“Oh, right,” he chuckled and blushed at his eagerness, the front door still wide open. He walked over to it and shut it, locking the doorknob and closing the deadbolt for extra measure. When he turned back to you, he was still flushed. “Got ahead of myself there.”

“That’s okay,” you assured in a purr, curling your finger at him to beckon him close again. “I like it when you get ahead of yourself.”

“Oh yeah?” he grinned and strutted towards you until he was leaning over the couch, his lips ghosting over yours. “You look so goddamn beautiful sittin’ here, you know that?”

“Why don’t you show me just how beautiful you think I am…with these?” You laced your fingers with his and and squeezed.

“Do I have permission to use more than just my hands?” he purred as he pulled you up onto your feet, his hands leaving yours so that he could hold the small of your back while yours rested on his chest.

“Depends, I think I need a sample first,” you purred back with a smirk. Tipping your head towards the hallway, you whispered, “Bedroom’s that way.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Joel never let go of you as he walked you backwards down the hall, his lips slowly and carefully working yours until you were sure if you tried to speak, the only thing that would come out was a string of incoherent squeaks.

“This one?” Joel asked as you arrived at your closed bathroom door, and you were forced to test your theory.

“No,” you managed, pointing behind him at the other closed door. “That—it’s that one.”

“You nervous?” he asked, his face shifting from one of amusement to concern. You quickly shook your head and reached your hand to his face.

“No,” you found your vocal footing. “Well, I mean as nervous as anyone would be before they took a beautiful man like you to bed.” Joel blushed. “You just…make me dizzy, that’s all.”

“I make you dizzy?” he asked as though it was an unheard of thought. “Baby—“ He grabbed your hand and lowered it to his thumping heart. “You’re making me dizzy.”

“Joel,” you exhaled. “Open the door.”

Joel nodded, a look of stunned reverence on his face as he scrambled to reach behind him for the doorknob, fumbling with it until it turned and opened the door. You stumbled inside, your hands gripping onto his shirt while his lifted the skirt of your dress, your teeth clashing as he kissed you breathless, neither of you caring about how sloppy it was.

“Take your clothes off,” you ordered as you lifted your dress over your head. Joel was quick to obey your command, tugging his t-shirt over his head before peeling his jeans off. You crawled onto your bed and sat on your knees in the middle of it, a smile on your face as he took you in. Joel ticked his jaw and chuckled as he crawled onto the mattress to join you, his warm palms resting on your waist as he guided you back against the pillows.

“You’re fuckin’—“ He shook his head as he hovered above you, his eyes taking over your entire form. “Breathtakin’, baby.”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you grinned.

“Oh, yeah right. You’re just sayin’ that.”

“No—“ You reached for his hand, lowering it until his fingertips rested on your clothed mound, allowing him to feel your dampness. “That’s what you do to me.”

“Fuck,” he exhaled and leaned down to kiss you again, deep and slow and hungry. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

You didn’t doubt his promise, the look in his eyes alone lighting you up in ways every other lover never seemed to master.

His lips traveled down the slopes and curves of your body, stopping at the cups of your bra to knead your breasts in his hands. His fingers slipped the straps down your shoulders before he reached beneath you to undo the clasp, the lace slowly unveiling your pert nipples to him for the first time. He sucked in sharply and looked up at you as though he was seeing god.

“Perfect.”

Your back arched as he swirled his tongue around the sensitive bud before sucking it into his mouth, his hand snaking down your belly and back to the damp spot on your lacy panties.

“God,” you moaned, your eyes screwing shut as he rubbed perfectly pressured circles against your clit, the lace adding a beautiful bit of friction that had you keening for more.

“Does that feel good?” he rasped as he kissed his way to your other breast. You nodded quickly and lowered your eyes to meet his, your breath hitching at the look of lust blowing out his already dark eyes. “Good. I’m just gettin’ started with you.”

“Fuck,” you whined, already nearly fucked-out and he’d hardly even touched you.

Joel’s lips moved lower, pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses to your stomach and over your navel until he was kissing the waistband of your panties. Moving lower, he ran his nose up and down your clothes slit, an animalistic groan vibrating against your core.

“Smells so sweet, baby,” he praised in a rasp. “Can I taste you?”

“Please,” you urged, combing his dark hair back as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and tugged them off you. When he returned to his spot between your legs, he pressed kisses onto the sensitive skin of your thighs, urging them to fall open for him. When you finally worked up the courage to spread yourself wide for him, Joel took a look at your soaked pussy and nearly drooled, his eyes wild as they lifted from your heat to your eyes.

“I’m gonna stay down here forever, baby, so damn pretty.” You were about to respond to his praise but he cut you off with a broad lick from your dripping entrance up to your clit, punctuating it with a swirl of his tongue. Your back arched off the bed and your hands found the headboard, pressing on them to find purchase so you didn’t float off into heaven. “Tastes so fuckin’ good, too, baby. You’re just a fuckin’ dream, ain’t ya?”

“Joel,” you nearly cried, so consumed by him and the filth leaving his tongue that you didn’t even care how desperate you sounded. Joel didn’t seem to mind, either, his tongue returning to your folds to pull more pretty sounds from you. “You feel—fuck—you feel so good.”

He hummed against you and you could feel his smile as he lapped at you. You didn’t dare look down at him, knowing that if you did, you’d never be able to look at anything else ever again. The man between your legs was quickly earning his spot as your idol, beating out any god that would dare smite you for it.

“So fuckin’—“ he mumbled into your pussy, the last few words turning into nothing but hums against your clit as he sucked it into his mouth. You were already there, free-falling over the cliffs of bliss, but when he pressed two fingers deep into your cunt and curled up, you swore you died and went to heaven, but that couldn’t be—not for someone so gladly taking part in sin like this. “There you go,” he praised, pulling back enough to watch you writhe, your cunt pulsing around his fingers. “So good for me, baby.”

“Joel, please,” you mewled, grabbing at him to pull him back to you. You needed to ground yourself under the weight of his body, to feel his warmth and remember that you were here, and so was he. Joel obliged, climbing back up your body until he was resting on top of you, hugging you close. “Let me taste you.”

“Not tonight, baby,” he whispered in your ear. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

“You’re…perfect,” you sighed and he chuckled, pulling one out of you in turn. He propped himself up on his elbows and stroked your hair back, grinning down at you.

“I like you a lot,” he confessed, his eyes as tender as his voice.

“I like you a lot, too,” you smiled back. “But right now, I want you fuck me like you can’t stand me.”

“Oh yeah?” he chuckled before leaning in to kiss your pulse. “You want it rough, baby?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed in response and nodded.

“Turn over for me,” he ordered. “All fours.”

You wasted no time in obeying, your body scrambling into your knees as soon as he lifted himself off you. Pressing your face and chest down, you arched your ass up as high as you could, turning your head so that you could catch a glimpse of him from over your shoulder as he lined himself up behind you.

“I don’t have a condom,” he warned. “But I got tested a few weeks back and I’m clean.”

“Me too, and I’m on birth control.” He nodded and leaned down to press a kiss to the globe of your ass. Shaking it for him, he cooed in delight at the sight. “Hurry up back there, I’m getting needy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You could hear the grin on his face. “I like it when you boss me around.”

“Good, so do I.” You chuckled for a moment, but were cut off by the blunt head of his cock pressing into your entrance, sliding all the way in in one quick thrust. You gasped and gripped the pillows beneath you as he kept himself buried completely in your heat for a moment, his own breath ragged as he waited for you to acclimate to his girth. “So fucking big, Joel.”

“Baby, I ain’t gonna last long,” he warned, wrecked and trembling already. “Rub that pretty clit for me while I fuck you, can you do that?”

Nodding your head, you reached beneath you to start rubbing circles against your swollen and sensitive bud while he withdrew his cock all the way before shoving back in, the head of hit prodding against your g-spot.

“Fuck, baby,” you moaned, eyes squeezing shut as he set a brutal pace, his cock pistoning in and out of you just like you asked for. You knew you were going to be sore in the morning but none of that mattered now, not with the searing hot pleasure of ecstasy building again. When his hand came cracking down upon your ass, you gasped, but any worry you may have caused Joel was quickly dispelled by the twitching of your walls around him.

“You like that, don’t ya?” he teased in a purr, bringing his hand down to spank the other cheek, your pussy pulsing for him again. “God,” he choked on the word. “Such a dirty fuckin’ girl for me, ain’t ya?”

“Yes!” you cried, your fingers now working your clit fast, your toes curling as your orgasm threatened to wreck you for good. “Joel, I’m—“

“Go on, baby,” he urged. “Soak my cock.”

You fell flat onto the bed as your orgasm hit, but Joel followed you, his brutal thrusts never ceasing as you came for him with a cry of his name so loud you were concerned the neighbors would call the police.

“Fuck!” he moaned loud enough for them to hear, too. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Where do you want me?”

“My pussy,” you managed, still reeling from your high. “Cum inside my pussy.”

“Jesus,” Joel groaned, feral like a wild animal and pressed deep inside you, so deep that you could feel him in your stomach as his cock swelled and twitched with his release. His chest heaved against your back as he laid over your limp form, pressing kisses to your shoulders. “Fuck.”

“Talk about a good third date,” you sighed, content and sated. Joel laughed and nodded as he rested his head against your shoulder, carefully and slowly pulling out of you with a hiss before rolling over onto his back.

“I probably should’ve asked earlier, but…can I stay the night with you?” he asked, drawing hearts on the heated skin of your back. You turned your head to the other side to face him and grinned.

“What about Sarah?”

“She’s at my mom’s,” he assured.

“In that case, yes. I would love it if you stayed the night.” He grinned and beckoned you into his side and you nestled in there, resting your head on his chest and taking your turn drawing your name on his skin. “Besides, that gives me the chance to finally suck your dick like I’ve been dreaming about.”

“God, baby,” he groaned and rolled you onto your back, resting himself between your thighs as he pecked every inch of your face. “How am I gonna ever leave this bed?”

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[pandapetals]

Always

You find a photo from your childhood that sends you spiraling and Logan comforts you.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

Ororo had casually mentioned wanting to borrow a pair of boots you’d worn years ago, which led to you rummaging around in your closet for over an hour. You could picture them perfectly in your mind—brown leather, worn but stylish—and you vividly remembered boxing them up and stacking them neatly with your other shoes. Or, at least, you thought you did.

Frustration began to creep in as you pulled down box after box, each one revealing everything except the boots you were looking for. A pair of strappy heels you didn’t even remember owning. A dusty pair of sneakers that should’ve been thrown out years ago. Another box filled with scarves instead of shoes.

When you reached the last box, tucked away in the farthest corner, you huffed and pulled it closer. This one felt oddly light, and when you opened it, your hands stilled. Inside wasn’t the pair of boots you’d been searching for but something you hadn’t seen in years—a collection of forgotten belongings.

There were old photos, their edges frayed and curling, buried under an assortment of trinkets: a childhood bracelet you thought you’d lost, a small drawing you’d scribbled as a kid, and a fraying ticket stub from a county fair. At the very top of the pile was a photo of you as a child, standing between your parents. The three of you were smiling like the picture-perfect family. Your dad had his arm around your mom, and she was beaming as if she didn’t have a care in the world. But you knew better.

Before you could stop yourself, you picked up the photo, your fingers trembling as the memories came rushing back. The forced smiles. The nights spent hiding under your blanket, praying your dad’s temper wouldn’t boil over. The mornings after, when your mom would quietly clean up the aftermath as if nothing had happened.

Tears blurred your vision, spilling down your cheeks before you could wipe them away. You clutched the photo to your chest, your heart twisting in a storm of conflicting emotions—grief, anger, and a longing you didn’t quite know how to name.

That’s how Logan found you—kneeling in the dim closet, surrounded by scattered shoes and open boxes, your shoulders shaking as you sobbed silently into the picture. His chest tightened at the sight, and for a moment, he just stood there, taking you in, his usual gruffness replaced by a quiet tenderness.

“Sweetheart,” Logan murmured softly, stepping into the closet and kneeling beside you. His hand was warm and steady as it settled on your back, rubbing gentle circles. “What’s goin’ on?”

You couldn’t speak at first, the lump in your throat making it impossible. You just held up the photo for him to see, your fingers curling tightly around its edges.

Logan took it, his eyes flickering over the image before settling back on you. He didn’t press, didn’t demand answers. He just waited, his quiet presence like a steady anchor in the storm.

After a moment, you managed to whisper, “It’s been years… since he died. And I still don’t know how to feel.” Your voice cracked, the weight of the confession spilling out like a flood. “He was an abusive alcoholic, Logan. He hurt me. He hurt my mom. And yet… I still miss him. How messed up is that?”

Logan’s brows furrowed, his gaze softening. He placed the photo carefully on the ground and took your trembling hands in his, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “It ain’t messed up,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady. “He was your dad, sweetheart. No matter what he did, part of you wanted him to be better—for you, for your mom. That hope doesn’t just go away.”

You let out a shaky breath, your tears falling harder now. “I wanted so badly to hate him. But after he died, I just couldn’t. I forgave him…and my mom…I keep wishing we could fix things, but every time I try, it just… it doesn’t work.”

Logan nodded, his expression unreadable but deeply attentive. “Your mom’s probably got her own guilt to carry,” he said after a pause. “And that’s a heavy thing to drag around. Maybe she doesn’t know how to meet you halfway. But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong for wantin’ somethin’ better.”

His words, raw and simple, cut through the noise in your head, giving shape to feelings you’d struggled to name. “How do I even start?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to your hands in his. “I don’t have all the answers,” he admitted. “But you don’t have to figure it all out at once. Sometimes… you just gotta take it one day at a time. You can’t change what’s behind you, but you can decide what’s ahead.”

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his for something—guidance, reassurance, anything. “What about your parents?” you asked hesitantly. “Do you… remember them? I know you don’t like talking about them.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, his thumb still tracing slow circles on your knuckles. “Bits and pieces,” he said finally. “My dad…the man I knew as my dad…I remember him being kind. He used to take care of me when…I was sick. And my mom… she tried, but…” He trailed off, his expression distant for a moment before he looked back at you. “I don’t remember much, but I know one thing for sure. You don’t get to pick where you come from, but you can pick where you’re goin’.”

His words settled deep in your chest, like a quiet flame sparking in the dark, warming places you hadn’t realized were still cold. Without hesitation, you leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his knuckles—the same hands that had once brought destruction but now protected and comforted with an unmatched tenderness. You pulled back slightly, your fingers tracing along his skin.

“You’re a good man, James,” you whispered, your voice steady but full of emotion.

Logan didn’t respond right away, but his hazel eyes softened, the weight of your words sinking into him in ways he rarely allowed. His gaze held yours, brimming with something raw and unguarded, the kind of emotion he kept locked away from the world. Slowly, he reached up and brushed a tear from your cheek with a careful thumb, his touch as gentle as his expression was conflicted. It was the touch of someone who knew pain intimately but was still learning what it meant to heal.

“James,” he murmured, the name sounding foreign as it rolled off his tongue. He said it like he was testing its weight, trying to remember the man who used to wear it. “Haven’t been called that in a long time.”

“Sorry,” you said quickly, guilt creeping into your tone as you searched his face for a reaction. “I didn’t mean—”

Logan shook his head, cutting you off gently. “No,” he said, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “It’s okay. Just… feels strange. Like I don’t deserve it. That name… it feels tied to someone better than me. Someone I haven’t been in a long time.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and your hand instinctively moved to cradle his, holding it between your smaller palms. “Logan,” you began softly, your voice trembling but steadying as you went on. “You are good. You’ve proven it time and time again. You’ve protected people, cared for them—even when you didn’t think you were capable of it.”

His jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to where your hands held his, as though he couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes. “Doesn’t feel like enough sometimes,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “Every time I think I’m more than what I’ve done, more than what I’ve been… something pulls me back. Reminds me I’ve got blood on these hands.”

You shook your head, your grip on his hand tightening as your heart ached for him. “These hands—your hands—they’ve saved more lives than they’ve ever hurt. You’ve helped people find hope, find safety. You’ve helped me.” Your voice cracked slightly, and you blinked back the tears brimming in your eyes. “You’ve shown me what love can be, and I’ll remind you every day if I have to, that you’re more than enough.”

With a deep exhale, he met your gaze. “You’ve got a way of makin’ a man feel like he’s more than he is,” he murmured, a faint, almost self-deprecating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. But the warmth in his gaze betrayed how much your words meant to him.

You smiled, leaning in closer, your fingers brushing over the rough, scarred surface of his knuckles, letting your touch linger. “Sometimes… I feel like I was made for this. To remind you of who you really are, even when you forget. You’re not the man you think you are. You’re so much more.”

Logan swallowed hard, his free hand lifting slowly to cup your cheek. His thumb grazed your skin in a gesture so gentle it made your chest ache. “I think we were made for each other,” he said quietly, his voice a low, gravelly whisper like he was confessing a secret. “You’ve shown me I’m more than what I’ve done. More than what people see. And for that… I’m grateful, darlin’. More than I’ll ever be able to put into words.”

His words wrapped around you like a soft, warm blanket, their weight settling into your heart. Tears spilled freely down your cheeks, but your smile didn’t falter. Instead, you leaned into his touch, feeling the calloused strength of his hand cradling you like something precious.

For a long moment, you sat together, the stillness of the room filled with unspoken understanding. Logan’s thumb traced tender circles along your cheekbone, his hazel eyes holding yours with a mixture of awe and gratitude.

Eventually, the corners of his mouth tugged upward into a soft, almost hesitant smile. “Why don’t you tell me something about your dad?” he murmured, his tone gentle, without expectation.

You sighed, your breath shaky as you rested your head against his shoulder. His familiar scent—woodsy and warm—wrapped around you, grounding you in the moment. “Something good or bad?” you asked quietly.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice a soft rumble in your ear. “Doesn’t have to be good or bad. Just… tell me what comes to mind.”

You hesitated, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you stared down at your intertwined hands. His fingers dwarfed yours, but his grip was steady and reassuring as if to say he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Most people just want to hear the good stuff,” you said finally, your voice tinged with bitterness. “The kind of memories that paint him as something he wasn’t. They don’t want to know the truth… just the version of him that’s easier to love.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His voice was low, steady. “You don’t have to paint him in a good light for me,” he said. “I may not have known him, but I know you. Whatever you feel, whatever you remember—that’s what matters. You don’t have to sugarcoat it.”

His words unraveled something inside you, a knot you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding onto. You exhaled slowly, the tension in your chest easing as you let your head fall more fully against his shoulder.

“I remember the way he used to sing when he was drunk,” you said after a long pause. “He had this old, off-key voice that filled the whole house. It wasn’t… joyful or sweet, though. It was more like he was trying to drown something out. Maybe his regrets. I don’t know.”

Logan stayed silent, his hand resting against your back now, rubbing soothing circles as you spoke.

“And I remember how he’d come home after losing his temper somewhere else,” you continued, your voice trembling. “I’d hear the door slam, and I’d just… freeze. Waiting. Wondering if tonight was going to be a bad night or just a quiet one.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and though he said nothing, you could feel his silent rage at the man you were describing. But his grip on you stayed gentle, his touch never faltering.

“But,” you added, surprising yourself, “I also remember how he’d make breakfast when he wasn’t drinking. Omelettes from scratch. He’d put so much love and care into cooking. He had a real talent for it. I remember thinking those mornings were the closest we ever got to being… normal.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and Logan’s arm tightened around you, pulling you closer against his chest. “That’s okay,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair. “It’s okay to remember the good and the bad. They’re both part of it.”

“I hate that I miss him sometimes,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I hate that I can still find those little pieces of him that I loved, even after everything he did.”

Logan rested his chin on the top of your head, his warmth radiating through you. “Missing someone doesn’t mean you forgive everything, or that you forget the bad,” he said softly. “It just means you’re human. And that’s not a bad thing, sweetheart.”

You looked up at him then, your eyes glassy. “How are you so good at this?” you asked, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “You act like you’re all gruff and growly, but here you are, saying stuff like that.”

Logan chuckled, his voice deep and soothing. “Guess I’m full of surprises,” he said, tilting his head down to kiss your forehead softly. “But if I’ve got anything worth sayin’, it’s ‘cause of you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you tilted your face up to meet his gaze, letting yourself get lost in the tenderness you found there. “Thank you,” you whispered, the weight of your gratitude pressing against your chest. “For listening. For being here.”

He smiled faintly, his hand moving to cradle your cheek. “Always,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

[reiding-writing]

Are u willing to do a fic about an unsub!reader with early seasons Spencer? Like, the BAU has to team up with the unsub to catch another criminal with a similar M.O. to them and hijinks ensue (could be angsty hijinks or could be general scooby doo type situations) Idk!! I really like ur works and I've been thinking about this thing for days but my ass sucks at writing lol ;;

copycat—s.reid [1]

Summary:

The replication of a disturbing 2004 serial murder case calls for the BAU to get involved with the assistance of none other than the original killer themself. And whilst Spencer didn’t work the original case, he was eager to learn every detail about it, including its offender.

WARNINGS: made up murder case, graphic depictions of violence, implied suicide (actually murder), mentions of spencer’s addiction, sociopathic reader

s3!spencer/gn!unsub!reader || mystery || 4.5k || masterlist!!

part one !! , part two !!

unsub!reader masterlist!!

a/n: sorry to the person who requested this because tumblr deleted the actual ask but i did have it copied so at least it wasn’t completely lost 😭😭😭

left it here because people tend not to want to read really long fics. if people want a part two i will gladly oblige but otherwise its a decent stand alone to see how spencer would interact with an unsub like this

“James Harden, 23, was found two days ago on the bench of a public park in Los Flores, Orange County,”

The BAU team, barr Hotch, all settled in their seats as JJ arrived in the room.

JJ pressed a button on the small remote in her hand, two photos, one of each wrist of the victim, appearing on the screen behind her. “Both wrists had been slit, and the cause of death was concluded to be blood loss,”

“So, why are we being called in exactly?” Morgan raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from his coffee. The team was *tired*. They’d only gotten off a case three days before, and they were all in need of a break.

“Well, if you’d allow me to finish,” JJ shoots Morgan a pointed look to which he promptly raised his hands in surrender.

JJ presses the remote again, images of the victim’s wrists being replaced with images of his face.

There was a mix of reactions from the group, all of which perturbed, but some with more intent than others.

His head was laid limp over the back of the bench, his face pale and his lips white from the lack of blood flow to his head. Nothing they hadn’t seen before.

His eyes however, were a different story, covered up by a pair of red roses that had seemingly had their stems forcibly pierced into the victims eyeballs, leaving a trail of oxidised blood down his cheeks.

Morgan and Garcia shared a concerned glance that they simultaneously turned towards JJ, who matched their expression with her own.

“They didn’t-”

JJ shakes her head at the beginning of Morgan’s question, and Emily and Spencer share a confused glance that they turn towards their three teammates who seem to be locked in a silent conversation that only they understood.

“I feel like i’m back in high school again,” Rossi pipes up at the three from his seat, inadvertently calling them out on their exclusion of Emily, Spencer, and Rossi from their conversation.

JJ sighs as she adverts her eyes towards Rossi, her shoulders sagging slightly. “We worked a case in 2004…” She hesitates to elaborate any further about the details, and Spencer takes the opportunity to voice is own curiosity.

“You didn’t solve it?” He tucks his hair behind his ear, eyes glistening slightly as his eyebrows furrowed in JJ’s direction.

It’d been three years since 2004, and the idea that an UnSub could go postal for that long with an FBI target on their back was- something, to say the least.

“No, we did-” Garcia nods her head determinedly, her eyes lingering on the screen as if she was more focused on the images than the conversation.

“So, a copycat then?” Emily adds her part to the conversation, clearly concerned for her friend’s wellbeing.

“Most likely,” JJ nods her head sharply, looking back at the screen once more. “There’s only been one recorded victim so far, but we want to stop whoever is responsible before anything else happens,”

“Are you alright Garcia?” Emily’s eyes remain fixated on Garcia’s face, her usually upbeat persona dwindling into something more solemn.

“Hm? Oh, yes, of course my love bug, i’m alright,” Garcia shoots Emily a small smile as if to emphasise her point. “It was the first case I ever worked on is all, they just… stick with you ya know?”

Emily nods softly at her explanation. She knew what it felt like to have your first case stick in the back of your mind.

“Alright settle down everyone,” Hotch’s voice echoed through the conference room before he even stepped inside, and the team all diverted their attention towards him.

“I trust they’ve been briefed?” Hotch looks towards JJ, who gives him a nod before stepping aside so that he can take her place at the head of the table.

Hotch walks into the conference room with someone at his side. Someone who makes Morgan’s hand clench into fists and the small hint of optimism that Garcia had managed to keep fizzle from her eyes.

“You can’t be serious.” Morgan’s voice was stern and challenging as his eyes narrowed in Hotch’s direction. “Hotch-“

Hotch halts Morgan’s attempt at a rebuttal with his hand, raised in Morgan’s direction as he knits his eyebrows into a line. “They will be a valuable asset to the investigation.”

“You can’t bring a psychopath in here and expect us to just go along with it-” Morgan’s argument was interrupted by your voice from where you stood behind Hotch, hands clasped together behind your back.

“Sociopath.”

Morgan’s expression furrows further if that’s possible, eyes staring daggers at your face. “Close enough.”

“Actually, Psychopaths and Sociopaths are fundamentally different, with the only real similarity between the two being an extreme lack of human empathy,” Your eyes flicker towards Spencer as he corrects Morgan’s assessment, raising an eyebrow in his direction out of intrigue.

“Either way, you cannot expect me to be okay with working alongside a serial killer.” Morgan’s eyes don’t stray from Hotch’s as he speaks, not backing down from his standing.

“I don’t expect you to be. But that doesn’t change the fact that they will be joining us for this investigation.” Hotch’s tone marks the end of the debate, one that Morgan knew he’d lost before it even started.

Hotch gestures for you to take a seat at one of the empty chairs and you oblige, leaning the side of your left foot on top of your right thigh and relaxing back into the swivel chair as Morgan’s eyes bore holes into the back of your head.

The fact that you were even here was enough to spark the embers of rage in the back of his mind.

The fact that you were walking around freely with no restraints was even worse.

“For those of you who weren’t present, in 2004, the BAU team was called out to Malibu to investigate a series of murders that littered the city.” Hotch’s eyes flicker over to where Emily, Rossi, and Spencer were sitting.

“Eighteen people were killed over the span of ten days, crossing age, gender, and race boundaries typical of a normal M.O, with the only link being two roses in place of the victim’s eyes.”

Hotch’s eyes turn towards the images on the screen, yours following his own as you examine the photos with a small huff. “Are you sure that is person is copying me and that it’s not just a coincidence?”

“Putting roses in peoples’ eyes isn’t something we see in the field every day,” Hotch’s explanation is blunt and straight forward.

“My roses were white.” You tilt your head at him with a raised eyebrow. “That’s a pretty stark difference to just ignore.”

“Maybe he’s trying to make a name for himself,�� Spencer throws the idea out into the air at your observation, seemingly undeterred by your criminal history now that his head was submerged in the case.

“Then be original.” You face furrows with a roll of your eyes. “Don’t copy somebody else’s idea, it’s not that hard,”

“That’s enough,” Hotch’s voice cuts through the conversation, his arms crossed over his chest. “We’ll discuss the details on the plane.”

Hotch picks up one of the open files on the table and tucks it under his arm. “Wheels up in thirty, i’ll meet you all there,”

A gesture of his head for you to follow him later, and he’s exiting the conference room with you on his tail.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You walk right past Hotch’s seat as you board the jet, opting to take a seat directly opposite the genius doctor that had managed to capture your attention in the conference room.

He looks up awkwardly as you sit down, not exactly sure what he’s supposed to do. Should he start a conversation with you? Should he continue reading his file and pretend he can’t feel your eyes pouring over his features like you were sizing him up.

He doesn’t have to think for too long.

“What’s your name?” Your tone lacks any social grace, but he supposes he can’t blame you. It’s not like it’s your fault you don’t feel or express your emotions in the same way that the majority does.

“It’s- uh- Spe- Spencer,” His awkwardness really shines through his tone, left hand scratching at his right elbow as a self-soothing strategy.

Two seconds into a conversation and he already wants to dig himself a hole and hide in it for the rest of eternity.

“Spencer Reid- Doctor Spencer Reid,” He purses his lips into a line once he’s settled on his full title, but it doesn’t stop him from blurting out more in his effort to get all of his thoughts out of his head. “Spencer’s fine though…”

“Doctor? Of what?” You skirt past his awkward introduction in your pursuit to know more, and he’s grateful that his completely lack of social skills doesn’t scare you off like it would most people.

“Well- I have PhDs in Mathematics, Engineering, and Chemistry,” Spencer tucks his hair behind his ear, his file falling over the side of his lap into the gap between his leg and the arm of the chair. “But i also have bachelor’s degrees in Sociology and Psychology,”

He shuts himself off after his over-winded explanation with a purse of his lips in your direction.

“I have a bachelor’s degree in Psychology,” Spencer’s eyes practically light up at your words, completely forgetting that you’re a convicted serial killer and instead hyper-fixating on your academic interests.

“Really? Did you do a Bachelor of Arts or Science?” You can almost feel the enthusiasm radiating off of his body as he leans forward in his chair slightly.

“Science,” You tap the side of your head with your finger and Spencer thinks he understands. It’s the same reason he studied psychology himself.

Because he was different.

Because his brain worked in different ways than other people.

He couldn’t even imagine how much more severe it was for somebody like you.

“How do you know so much?” Your tone isn’t chastising. It’s not questioning his knowledge because he’s ’too young’ or ‘doesn’t look like someone who would be an expert’ in niche academic areas. You genuinely just wanted to know.

“Well- I have a 187 IQ and an eidetic memory,” You’re eyes followed his as he explained his intelligence to you, chasing them to ensure the two of you maintained eye contact. “And I have a reading speed of 20,000 words per minute,”

You hum at his answer, seemingly satisfied as you lean back in the jet seat.

The silence between you doesn’t have time to get awkward before Hotch is calling the team’s attention to go over the details of the case thus far.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer spends most of his first night in Los Flores on a laptop.

Garcia almost has an aneurism when he asks her if he could borrow one of hers.

It takes him almost 30 minutes to figure out how to use it, face lit by the harsh white light of the screen and softened slightly by the warm yellow of the lamp on his hotel bed’s side table.

Once he manages to pull up the internet browser he spends the next multiple hours researching. Pouring over every news article and journalist report that he can about the 2004 Malibu case that had you in its centre.

The 2004 ‘Malibu Rose Killer’. One of the most prolific serial killers in California’s history.

Eighteen people dead in just ten days. An extremely rapid escalation that held no victim pattern of any kind.

A spree that only stopped when the police found both of your adoptive parents dead after a welfare check concerning your father not turning up to work. Your two first victims.

You’d told the courts that it was a manic breakdown. A symptom of your previously undiagnosed sociopathy. That you weren’t in your right mind when it happened.

It worked to a degree, swerving you of a death penalty, but the fact that your parents’ crime scene had shown signs of recognition for your actions halted your defence quite a bit.

Instead of slitting their radial artery and leaving them to bleed out, you’d severed their spines from the brain stem whilst they slept.

And instead of piercing their eyeballs with two roses, you’d instead chosen to lay one in between their two bodies instead.

That was enough for the prosecution to say you had at least some knowledge of the severity of your actions, and so instead of being carted off to a psychiatric prison you were left in a regular old high security prison to serve two consecutive life sentences for the murder of your parents with an annual mental assessment.

He assumes that’s why you agreed to be here. To gain a lenience on your sentence.

He didn’t know why he found your story so fascinating, but he knew that he’d only be able to refrain from asking you questions for so long.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Spit it out.” Your words snap Spencer out of his thought-filled dazed, blinking at you as he slowly regains his senses.

“Huh?”

“Spit it out. Whatever you have to say to me.” Your tone, as he’s come to expect over the last few days, is very flat and straight to the point, clearly agitated at his eyes lingering on you for what you’d deemed too long.

You walk around the small table at the Orange County’s Los Flores police station with your arms crossed, confined there for the majority of the case as to not possibly initiate any ‘aggressive urges’ that might spawn from seeing a replica of your past crimes.

Spencer’s left hand absentmindedly scratches at his right elbow at your glare, clearing his throat and averting eye contact with you, both out of embarrassment of his unintentional staring and self-preservation towards your proclivity to get angry without real aggravation. “I- It’s nothing really,”

Your head tilts at him, your eyes telling him enough that your patience was waining and that you would get whatever he was thinking about out of him.

“I uh- did some reading… about your case-” Your expression morphs into an emotion that he can’t quite place at his confession, and he feels an overwhelming pressure to keep explaining himself as well as to just sew his mouth shut so he can’t say anything.

“And?”

“And… um- there was a part about it that didn’t really make sense to me,” He’s thrown himself in the deep end now, any hope of changing the topic of conversation long gone as he watches your eyebrow quirk in curiosity.

“Your parents…” Spencer’s eyes scan your expression intently as he mutters out the words, gauging your reaction to his words before he dares to continue.

“What about them?” You remain indifferent if not mildly compelled by the line of thought running through his head, and he’s internally relieved that he hasn’t pressed any of the wrong buttons in your fragile emotional state.

“Why?” Spencer mirrors the short, straight to the point wording that you seemed to be so fond of, and he can see you blank expression waver slightly at the question, like you weren’t sure how to answer it.

He watches the wrinkle in your brow become more prominent, how your eyes seem to loose focus and flicker around the room, the way you subconsciously shift from one foot to the other.

He’s not entirely surprised by your reaction. Sociopaths were very capable of harbouring emotions like everyone else. Anger, happiness, sadness, love, and even fear. Even if the intensity of them and the way they were expressed was different.

Right now your expression read as confusion mixed with mild apprehension, like you were considering whether or not you wanted to answer his question.

You still didn’t seem angry, which he was grateful for. He might have been a qualified agent, but that was with the exception of him not having to pass a physical examination.

And he really didn’t want to risk having to physically defend himself against someone who managed to kill eighteen people in the span of ten days because he’d accidentally said the wrong thing.

“They didn’t deserve to live with the knowledge of what I was going to do,” You tone is a lot less apathetic as you come to your answer, stopping intravenously to collect your words.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrow at your answer, not quite sure what to make of it.

“My turn,” Your eyes scan Spencer’s facial features, watching how Spencer’s eyebrows raise as you don’t give him time to compute your answer. “Do your higher ups know you’re an addict?”

The question is blunt, clear, and lacks any subtlety whatsoever despite the two of you technically being in a public place, even if you were the only people in the room.

Spencer’s eyes snap towards yours, surprise written all over his face. “You- I- Uh-“ His mouth falls open and closed like a fish as he tries to string a coherent sentence together, blinking at you with wide eyes.

How did you know that?

He falls short of an answer to your question, his eyes questioning you silently.

“Does your team know?”

Spencer shakes his head slowly. “If they do no one’s ever mentioned it..” He doesn’t know why he’s exposing himself to you like this, but theirs something in the look your giving him that tells him that he can’t lie to you.

“What great friends.” Your voice is practically dripping in sarcasm, and Spencer can’t help but subconsciously agree with you.

He’d waited and waited for someone to recognise that something was off with him. That he wasn’t all there.

But instead of it being one of his coworkers, some of which he’d known for years, it was a sociopathic serial killer that he’d known for 37 hours and 16 minutes.

Lucky him.

“They have more important things to worry about,” His hand returns to scratching at his elbow through his shirt, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

You raise your eyebrow at him, clearly intrigued by the misfortune riddling his life; Almost as if it was a private viewing of a feature film made solely for your entertainment.

“Stop doing that.”

Spencer raises his eyes towards yours once more at your words, wide and glossy and making him look like a pathetic little puppy who’d been told off for tearing up a couch cushion.

You wonder how deep that patheticness goes.

“Don’t scratch. It’s annoying to watch and it’ll make your withdrawals worse.” You depart from the room before he can give you an answer, shutting the door harshly behind you as you spot Hotch in the main foyer of the station.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I’m bored.” You swing your legs over the edge of the table you were sat on. You’d spent the last four days confined either to the hotel room you were sharing with Hotch or the small meeting room the OCPD had reserved for the BAU during the case.

You wanted a change of scenery. Desperately. You could only deal with monotony for so long.

At least back in your cell you activities you could engage in.

Instead you were just stuck as a fact checker for the details of each victim.

Five people had died now. Following your victim pattern to a T.

The first a young white man. The second a middle aged white woman. The third a male black college student. The fourth and fifth a young gay couple.

It agitated you. What happened to originality? Get your own random victims.

“You can accompany Morgan and I to the coroner’s office,” Spencer offered you a pursed smile at his suggestion, partly because he knew you’d be able to see more differences between the originals and recreations in person than through photos and partly because he wanted to crack you open.

He wanted to know everything about you. He wanted to know what made you tick. How you rationalised your crimes. How your sociopathy developed.

He was in deep. And his brain wanted answers.

“Absolutely not.” Morgan shot down the idea immediately with a stern shake of his head. “There is no way in hell we are bringing them with us,”

“They might catch something that we won’t be able to,” Spencer’s rationalisation wasn’t exactly wrong. Even in copy cat murders the offender always left a piece of themself behind. Something of their own personality rather than the killer they were trying to replicate.

It could be so tiny that no one would recognise it. Apart from the original offender of course.

“They might catch the bright idea to try and attack somebody.”

“Oh please-“ You roll your eyes at Morgan. “If I was going to have another mental break at seeing a recreation of my past endeavours I would have had it already,”

Morgan narrows your eyes at you calling your murder spree your ‘past endeavours’. You hadn’t published a book or painted some mural. You’d killed eighteen people.

“Reid’s right,”

He doesn’t have time to get angry at you.

“Hotch-“ Morgan looks completely betrayed.

“There’s only so much they can do to help us from here. We want to stop this before anyone else gets hurt.” Hotch’s tone is stern, leaving no room for argument.

“And if they do spiral out of control,” Hotch’s eyes flicker between Morgan and yourself. “I trust you’ll be able to take care of it.”

Morgan mutters something under his breath about ‘stupid hierarchies’ and how much he hated your guts as he left the meeting room with a huff, although more composed than you thought he’d be.

“Are you ready to leave?” Spencer’s question snaps you out of your revelling over Morgan’s distaste for you, although your small smile of satisfaction doesn’t falter as your eyes meet Spencer’s.

“Let’s go Doctor. I’m ready to get out of this beige abomination.”

You push yourself off the table and leave out of the same door that Morgan had, Spencer following closely behind you.

He was oddly grateful about your decency to respect his title, and it only made him want to read you like a book even more.

- part two !!

[elodieunderglass]

I'd like to know more about Killie's family!

Thank you so much!! I LOVE THEM

Killie’s family are a horse racing “dynasty” of several generations, with his branch being especially trashy, mean to each other, in debt and all-consumingly horse-obsessed. The historical base of the paternal family is County Meath in the Republic of Ireland - Killie’s mother is English.

The greater family is competitive, horse-obsessed, and that depressing mindset of being conservative-without-being-rich. You’re not allowed to name children like racehorses (because of woke) but they’ve made up for it by having a tradition of sharing a generation-based initial letter for their first name. Killie’s in the “C” generation, and his siblings and cousins all have C-names.

The parents are awful, and you can see the stamp of their influence on Killie and his siblings. The family are justifiably proud of Killie, though toxic about it.

Here’s the sibling set before Charlie’s estrangement:

Press “Keep reading” for fascinating Killie personal life below:

Killie (Cillian), oldest, and even by their family’s standards, incredibly Good at Horses. Master of the preternatural jockey powers of the mental timer (can set and stop accurate stopwatches and timers in his head; the opposite of time blindness), psychic horse connection, inhuman discipline and stoicism (the Jockey Constitution (TM).) champion jockey over jumps and on the flat, closing in on legendary status, while also secretly falling apart in every other direction. We happen to know that he’s secretly a bisexual demisexual wet stray cat with exhausted anxiety and Terminal Horse Autism, but he does a very good job of projecting aggression acceptable jockey energy, and therefore Nobody Suspects. Moved to the UK as a contracted jockey with a prominent stable and is genuinely, genuinely good at what he does. About 4’10”, extremely desirable height for an international-quality lightweight flat jockey, but just about too light for UK/Irish steeplechasing (but he’s intensely bonkers, so he does it anyway.)

Charlie (Charles), twin, hates horses (actually rather good with them as animals! but hates competition, gambling, pain, The Racing Industry, hurting himself, pain, animal abuse, falling off, trashiness, when they step on you, horse racing, and Being So Brave About It.) Horse Hating ADHD, pictured here being insufferable because he actually owns clothes besides breeches and boots. Family lore states that the twins were born prematurely because Charlie attempted to murder Killie in the womb, but that sounds medically improbable. Regardless, the twins failed to thrive in NICU until being placed in the same incubator together, so even if murder attempts were made, they reconciled right away. Unfortunately estranged from family, sport and home by being unapologetically and flagrantly bisexual, he vanished from Killie’s life for over a decade, and ended up building an unexpectedly normal and healthy life in which horses did not eat any of his fingers. They used to have magical twin telepathy before estrangement.

Charlie always sounds like he’s speaking with emojis, has a great deal of charm, and did so much of The Talking when they were younger that Killie was able to secretly conceal and get over his own stammer. While being outwardly 300x more social and funny and lovable, Charlie is actually much more of a bastard than (secretly soft) Killie, and defended Killie and the other siblings from bullies on all sides, including/especially their parents.

Ciara, an unpleasant wench three years younger than the twins, who wasted her twenties being mean in the comments. Mediocre jockey, now a trainer’s assistant, back living with parents while slow-motion Republic of Ireland (TM) Divorce goes through. Despite being a homophobic harpy during the catastrophic Estrangement Incident, would desperately like to see Charlie again. Much of her internet usage sprang from the compulsion to find Charlie on social media (she never managed.) weirdly, being really online accidentally radicalised her, and despite only hanging out with incredibly conservative bigoted people IRL, she made nice friends online and became secretly quite tolerable, and guilty about all of it. Wouldn’t talk to Killie about any of this, though. Killie’s perfect. Killie’s the culmination of a five-generation breeding experiment to create the perfect jockey, and by all metrics, it worked. Killie once had a 500-kilo horse fully land on his thighbone and only said a mild “bugger.” Killie wouldn’t get it at all.

Colm - youngest. not a great rider, not very interesting, not much presence, not very brave, no particular instinct for horses, not especially disciplined, no particular ambition, and excessively large. Works as an exercise rider, groom and general stablehand for his parents (constant criticism, zero thanks), and presumably has a private life, but keeps his head down. His takeaway from Charlie’s estrangement was: everyone loved Charlie most of all, and that’s how quickly they threw him away - what hope do I have, if I put a foot wrong? Really misses Killie, lacks the ability to follow him, lost as a result.

Charlie and Killie reconciling would shore up a tremendous amount of Killie’s collapsing mental landscape, and prove utterly necessary for Killie surviving the total tailspin of being forcibly loved by a completely random great big beardy nerdy American man life outside of being a jockey.

And it is entirely possible that there are uncles and aunts and cousins who would turn around and say, quite fiercely, Cillian’s the best of us. We love and admire him more than we love winning. He throws his heart over the fences and then follows it, and when it’s important he always wins. If Killie wants a boyfriend - then you know what? Fuck it. Maybe that’s winning. Maybe we’d rather be on his side, the winning side - the side of the best of us.

It has a chance of all being okay.

(Greyuncle Era: Ciara and Colm manage a near-complete recovery from their family of origin. They choose to never have kids, and good for them. Charlie, polyamorous bisexual in an incredibly stable three-person marriage, has a mysterious number of kids (he and his husband and wife produced kids with the admirable Lucky Dip method; but they’re all Charlie’s, of course. They’re also all his biologically, because he won. He won all of them. He has the fastest sperm, if you want to know. okay, admittedly only some are markedly shorter and more ginger than the rest, but frankly YOU NEVER KNOW, do you?? Charlie himself has a brunette sister! and a younger brother who is VERY NEARLY almost tall?? Genetics are a mystery 😤 no this is NOT a racing thing, this is - no he’s not competitive. He’s better than that. He hates - they’re - shut up.

This results in the “between 12-75 business greatniblings” that Killie and Derek share. Derek actually knows how many there are. Killie cannot physiologically remember that kind of thing, his brain just turns to static; and Charlie possibly doesn’t know himself. And it’s okay and it’s okay and it’s okay and it’s okay and in fact they are HAPPY AND WELL.)

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Judd Legum at Popular Information:

A Texas county has mandated public libraries move a well-regarded children's book documenting the mistreatment of Native Americans in New England — Colonization and the Wampanoag Story — from the "non-fiction" section to "fiction." The decision was made after the government of Montgomery County, under pressure from right-wing activists, removed librarians from the process of reviewing children's books and replaced them with a "Citizens Review Committee." Colonization and the Wampanoag Story was "challenged" by an unknown person on September 10, 2024. The Committee responded by ordering that the book be moved to the fiction section of public libraries in Montgomery County by October 17, 2024, according to public records obtained by the Texas Freedom To Read Project shared with Popular Information.  The author of Colonization and the Wampanoag Story is Linda Coombs, a "historian from the Wampanoag Tribe." Coombs spent three decades working at the Wampanoag Indigenous Program, an initiative to preserve the history of the Wampanoag people. The book is published by Penguin Random House, which describes the book as "[t]he true story of the Indigenous Nations of the American Northeast, including the Wampanoag nation and others, and their history up to present day."

[...] The change to the book review process was driven by a local right-wing group, Two Moms and Some Books. The group is led by Michele Nuckolls, a local mother. Nuckolls believes "children’s books with alternate gender ideology to be moved to the adult section." The group also is demanding more "conservative and Christian’s [sic] books in the public library." The group is especially enthusiastic about titles from Brave Books, which publishes children's books from far-right authors like Congressman Dan Crenshaw (R-TX), Donald Trump's former press secretary Sean Spicer, and Trump’s former national security adviser Michael Flynn. In case there is any confusion about the objectives of the group, its slogan is "Make Libraries Great Again!" 

[...] Under the new policy, once a children's book is challenged, it must immediately be moved to the adult section, with only adults allowed to access it. The book is then considered by the Citizens Review Committee at a meeting that is "closed to the public except for the Resident who made a formal request for review." The decisions of the Citizen's Review Committee are final, and there is no appeals process.  From the outset, critics of the new policy warned that it could be abused. 

Another disturbing instance of the right-wing book-banning crusade against content featuring diverse voices has occurred, this time in Montgomery County, Texas, directly north of Houston. The book in question was Colonization and the Wampanoag Story, which was moved from “non-fiction” to “fiction”

[impala-dreamer]

Skin on Skin

A Supernatural Story

~ While working a case of multiple random deaths in New Jersey, Y/N finds out that the old adage of “be careful what you wish for” isn’t just a saying…~

Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x Reader

6,087 Words

NSFW, Magical Curse, Unconscious and Pain, Sexual Acts of Multiple Varieties, Slight Temporary Death, Swoon-worthy Romance, Oral, All the Sex… | Originally posted to Patreon Nov 2024

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

The contents of Mrs. Claudine Hofstadter's purse were piled in the center of the small round table surrounded by notepads, pens, two old taco wrappers, and a manilla folder containing a copy of her autopsy report. The fourth odd death in Warren County, Mrs. Hofstadter, new Marchant, had perished when her stomach burst after consuming seven pounds of raw horse meat. According to the report, the previous evening, she had snuck onto her neighbor’s ranch and attacked Ember Blitz, the prizewinning racehorse that was revered by the community. Mrs. Hofstadter mounted the steed and bit down into its throat, taking the creature down in under two minutes flat.

She was dead within seven minutes.

While the other three deaths were seemingly unrelated - no animals were harmed in their demises - they were certainly strange. Once Sam Winchester had picked up on the news, the trio piled into the freshly washed 1967 Chevy Impala and headed for the New Jersey mountains.

Now, the brothers Winchester were talking through various theories while Y/N Y/L/N wasted away from boredom at the table. The case wasn’t uninteresting, but she was simply too distracted by exhaustion and bodily tightness to pay attention.

Days on the road trapped in the backseat were cramped and smelly, and nights locked in a single motel room with the manly hunters were more of the same. She had no time alone, no place to escape to for a moment of peace, no moment to rub one out and calm down. She had tried that morning, waking up early and silently sneaking into the shower, but Sam was up moments later, interrupting her private time to grab his running shorts from the bathroom floor.

She was dying from stunted release.

Fading away from lack of attention.

Desperately craving a warm body pressed up against her and roaming hands groping her flesh.

Absently, Y/N fiddled with the objects recovered from Claudine’s purse. The golden butterscotch hard candies called to her, but she knew better than to eat candy from a stranger’s bag. She pushed the sugary temptations aside and sifted through neatly folded, hopefully clean, tissues, and more packets of Equal than she’d ever seen. There wasn’t much else in the pile: a well-worn Revlon lipstick in mauve, two pens, a blue emery board, and a lighter.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Dean gesturing towards her and for a moment, she tuned back in.

“Y/N agrees with me, don’t you?”

Startled, Y/N grabbed the silver lighter from Claudine’s pile and closed it in her palm. Quickly, she cleared her throat and nodded. “Absolutely, I do.”

While she had no idea what she’d agreed with, she knew it was easier always to answer each of them affirmatively or they’d know she hadn’t been listening. Besides, she usually sided with Dean on matters that required wild gesticulation, if not just to annoy Sam.

“See?” Dean turned back to his brother and the younger man groaned.

“Fine. But-”

The lighter was old and its once shining case was dull and dented by years of use. Y/N rubbed her fingertips over the cool metal, tracing the embossed lines and clicking the lid open and shut while keeping her attention on the boys.

Sam was annoyed and he ran his fingers through his hair. The chestnut strands kept to their place, tucked neatly behind his ear and Y/N found herself imagining them falling to tickle her cheek while Sam balanced himself above her in bed. She wondered what his giant hand would feel like trailing down her naked body, what his long fingers would be like tenderly weaving through her hair. It had been too long since anyone had touched her, and Sam was always so kind and flirty and-

Y/N bit her lip and sighed.

The click of the lighter lid closing went unnoticed below the heated conversation.

“All I’m saying is that people eat horse meat all over the world, Dean. It’s not that uncommon.”

Dean leaned back as if disgusted by the idea, which he was. “OK, sure, but they don’t eat enough to kill themselves. Also- gross.”

His freckled face scrunched up adorably and Y/N’s eyes sank into him. His lips were extra pink and shining, and Y/N’s nipples hardened at the thought of his mouth closing around them, kissing his way down her body, tasting her. He was just too sexy and it had been so long since she’d even kissed anyone. She needed to be touched and devoured, and Dean was always looking at her with hungry eyes, teasing her about going to bed and-

Another click of the lighter, another jolt of desire to her clit.

“So what’s with the other guy- Mark-”

“Marcus Whitmore. He was found with a bullet-hole-like wound to the temple, but no evidence of actually being shot.”

“Yeah, what about that guy?”

Y/N was completely zoned out of the conversation, staring dreamily at Dean’s impossibly broad, muscular shoulders and Sam’s tight little ass lost behind slightly baggy jeans. Dean crossed his arms, flexing his biceps, and Y/N squirmed in her chair. Sam tossed his head back, lengthening his thick neck, and Y/N bit back a desperate whine.

She rubbed at the lighter’s wheel, the dull ridges catching in her thumbnail.

“I’m not really seeing a connection here, Dean.”

“Well, something’s fucked up. Explain to me the first victim- that had to be a witch, dude.”

“What kind of spell fills a woman’s stomach with butterflies?”

“If I knew, we wouldn’t be talking about it, we’d be out ganking some bitch.”

Y/N’s body was on fire; her mind wrapped up in explicit scenes starring each man. She struggled to hold in a moan when Sam plopped down on the edge of the closest bed and threw himself back in exasperation. Her eyes followed his long form from feet to forehead and back down, lingering on the perfect line of him.

Tired of arguing, Dean pulled out the chair opposite Y/N and sat down, his long, bowed legs spread wide. Y/N’s eyes flew right to his crotch and her mouth watered as Dean unknowingly tempted her by dragging his palms down his thick thighs.

Her pulse raced. Her cheeks burned. Her pussy throbbed.

She clicked the lighter closed.

God, I need to be touched…

Sam let out a deep breath and she watched the rise and fall, wanting to run her hands over his muscular chest.

She flipped open the lid again.

I haven’t cum in so fucking long…

Dean slouched in his chair and put his head back. She blinked slowly as her pussy dripped, wanting to nibble on his throat and suck a mark by his ear.

She spun the flint wheel.

If I don’t get fucked soon, I’m gonna die.

Suddenly, her hand started to shake and she let out a hard gasp. As she opened her fist, the antique lighter began to glow bright and hot. She dropped it on instinct and a burst of white light flooded the room.

Blinded, the trio lifted their hands to block the light, but it was over before anyone could reason out what was happening.

Sam jumped up from the bed. “What the hell was that!”

Y/N’s stomach churned as panic pushed lust aside. “Um…” Sheepishly, she looked down at the lighter and cringed.

Dean, noticing her expression, grimaced. “What did you do?”

Defenses flared. “Nothing!” she protested. “Why do you always think I did something?”

Annoyed dimples popped above his plump lips and Dean held out his hand, ticking off instances as he spoke. “Spilling the potion in Rochester… Knocking over that safe in Wyoming and letting the demon loose… Taking a peppermint from the witch in-”

Sam stepped between them. “OK Stop! What was that flash?”

Y/N swallowed hard and pointed to the floor. “I think it came from the lighter…”

Calmed but worried, Sam nodded. “And why did it? Do you do something?”

Offended, Y/N crossed her arms over her chest. “Et tu, Brute?”

Redness rose in his cheeks. “You must have done something!”

Y/N stood in a huff. “I have done nothing wrong, ever! Today, at least.” She sighed, feeling a little strange. “I’ve just been sitting here thinking about life and how I…” Her vision blurred but she blinked it away. “Um…” Her head felt funny as if the room was spinning, but she shook it off. “Uh… I was just thinking…” A phantom hand tugged at her legs and she swayed, about to drop. “Oh, fuck-”

Dean was quick to catch her, reaching with strong hands to set her back on her feet. “Y/N, what did you do?”

“I…” The dizziness was almost painful and her legs felt like jelly.

Sam dipped his head to look her in the eyes. “What did you think, Y/N/N? Were you holding the lighter the whole time?”

Her eyelids were fluttering; irises floating upwards. “Y-yeah…”

Still holding her, Dean pressed his palm to her cheek and instantly, she felt better.

Gasping in a deep breath, she smiled. “Oh! I’m ok.” She stood up on her own. “I think I’m better.”

Confused but optimistic, Dean let her go. “You sure?”

Feeling perfectly fine, she left his arms and nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m good.”

The moment his touch was gone, Y/N swayed again. The room was spinning and colors were brightening, nearly blinding her.

Dean grabbed her once more, this time closing his hands around her bare arms.

Skin on skin, she felt fine once more. “I’m good, Dean. Really.”

Pushing away, Y/N moved free of his touch and instantly hit the floor. Her balance vanished and her breaths were slow and strained. As she crumbled, Dean followed.

“Son of a bitch!” He gathered her into his lap and clasped her hand. “What the hell were you thinking about?”

Y/N breathed deeper, feeling a thousand times better. “Just about…” Awkwardness tightened in her gut as she looked up at Sam. “...Your ass.”

The imposing tower of a man blushed.

Dean tensed up and chuckled. “My ass?”

Y/N shook her head. “No. His.”

“Uh…” Shyly, Sam straightened up and tried not to grin. “Thanks?”

Disappointed, Dean groaned. “Yeah, well…” He caught Sam posturing proudly and wagged a finger at him. “You shut up.”

Once again feeling right, Y/N sat up and away from Dean. In a split second she went from well to bad. A terrible pain gripped her stomach and she coughed up a mouthful of hot bile. “Oh God- Dean, I’m…I think I’m dy-”

“Whoa, hey!” Dean pressed his hand to her forehead, feeling for a fever. “Hang on.”

The pain vanished and she swallowed the nasty taste. “This is not fun…”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

The second Dean removed his hand from her head, Y/N lost consciousness, dropping like a stone to the ground.

Sam fell to his knees to help but Dean got there first, scooping her up back into his lap and gently shaking her. He held her cheek and called her name softly.

“Y/N, come on…”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Guys, I think the lighter is cursed.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, no shit.” Shifting, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a well-worn navy bandana, waving it at Sam. “Don’t touch it-”

Sam took the rag and rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to.” Carefully, he wrapped up the magical lighter and placed it back on the table to be examined later.

“I feel horrible,” Y/N muttered, shifting against Dean to sit up a bit.

“I bet.”

He pushed away to give her room and immediately regretted it as her eyes rolled back to white.

“Damn it!”

A hand on the back of her neck brought her back and Y/N groaned. “Don’t.”

Dean flinched, ready to pull away. “I’m sorry- I just-”

Y/N shook her head and grabbed his wrist, holding his hand on her neck. “No. Don’t stop touching me. Please.”

Confusion circled the room, washing over them like a midnight fog.

Sam leaned against the table, looking back and forth between Y/N and the lighter. His eyes narrowed. His brow creased.

“Y/N, what exactly did you think?”

Nerves ran down her arms. “It’s embarrassing.” Carefully, she stood up, Dean’s wrist still clutched in her hand. “I don’t wanna say.” Faced with confession, she forgot her predicament and dropped Dean’s hand. The floor undulated like a tidal wave, knocking her off her feet.

This time, Sam was there, his overheated hands delicately holding her elbows. His touch surged through her and Y/N looked up with a hazy smile.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I think you need to.”

Sighing, she slid her hand down Sam’s massive forearm and slipped her hand into his, holding on. “Well… It’s been a long time since… ya know.” She shrugged at Dean and then up at Sam, hoping they would catch her drift without writing it in the sky. “And… you guys are always around and I…”

Dean climbed to his feet and crossed his arms. “Spill it.”

Y/N screwed her eyes closed tight and grit her teeth. “I thought… ‘If I don’t have sex soon, I’ll die’!”

One eye peeked open at Dean who frowned. “Son of a bitch.”

The other eye joined to find Sam rubbing his free hand down his cheek. “Son of a bitch.”

Y/N chuckled nervously. “Oops?”

Generally speaking, a curse can be broken in one of two ways: kill the witch who cast the spell, or destroy the object that carries the magic.

Since there seemed to be no witch around to dispatch, the hunters turned their attention to the lighter. Looking back through the case files, Sam found two instances where other victims had the antique firestarter in their possession at the time of their death. There was no way to track the origin of the offending trinket or know how it moved from person to person, but it was more than clear that it instigated a deadly game of wordplay with its victims.

Y/N squeezed Dean’s bicep. “So, the second vic, Mark-”

Sam rolled his eyes and carried on preparing the table for a fire. “Marcus. Whitmore.”

“Yeah, that guy. He… Well, I mean, it’s pretty obvious he said something like “I need that like I need a hole in the head!”... right?”

Dean held back a laugh. It wasn’t funny, but it was funny. “Yup.”

“And the first woman- she had butterflies in her stomach. I get that. Also… ew.” Picking up the lighter, Y/N let go of Dean without thinking and began to fall flat on her face as the air left her lungs. Thankfully, Sam reached over and grabbed her hand in time. She smiled gratefully. “But what happened to Claudine?”

“Easy,” Dean said with a smirk. “She was so hungry she could…”

Y/N cringed. “Eat a horse. Got it.”

Dean licked his lips, accentuating his grin. “Hey, Sam says it’s not that bad… I’d try it.”

“I’ve seen you eat a taco off a dirt road.”

He nodded. “And I’d do it again.”

Sam interrupted by clearing his throat and passing Y/N’s hand back to Dean.

Without further discussion or ceremony, the lighter was blessed with salt and ironically, lighter fluid, and set ablaze by a single match struck by Sam.

The trio watched it burn. The metal glowed a bright orange and sparks erupted as the magic was released into the ether forever.

“Well, there’s another one for the books,” Dean commented victoriously.

Y/N sighed happily. “Thanks, guys. And I’m sorry. I promise not to touch anything dangerous again.”

Sam laughed sweetly. “Don’t make promises you won’t keep…”

Turning away from the boys, Y/N threw her free hands up into the air and rejoiced. “I’m free!” She spun once and felt her stomach lurch. “I’m…” Momentum pulled her into another spin and the ugly red-floral wallpaper began to dance a dizzying tango. “I’m…” The third spin had her legs twisting and her knees buckling.

She hit the floor like a heap of useless bones, crumbling down like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Sam reached her first and revived her with a sweep of fingers across her forehead. Y/N gasped and sat up, exhausted and defeated.

“I don’t think it worked.”

Sam sighed. “It didn’t.”

Near tears, she looked between the brothers, desperate to be unburdened by the deadly magic. “What now?”

Sam looked up at Dean who tried his best not to smirk while balling his right hand and placing it over his left palm.

Sam won, and with Y/N’s consent, carried her to the bed farthest from the door.

Dean hung his head, muttering something about rocks and scissors, and set off to take up residence at the bar on the corner while the deed was done.

Nervous and still holding hands, the pair lay together for a long while. The silence was loud but not uncomfortable, as neither knew what to say or how to begin.

Suddenly worried, Y/N turned onto her side to face him. “Ya know, if you don’t want to, I get it.”

“No!” Realizing he answered too quickly, Sam cleared his throat and smiled. “No. I want to. I’ve wanted to forever. I mean… Uh… It’s just a little strange.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm at his confession and pushed her fingers through his. His hand was so much bigger than hers, so much stronger. She looked away shyly, but Sam pulled his hand free and set it upon her cheek, drawing her eyes back to his.

His kiss was hesitant but Y/N urged him on. She hummed against his lips and tipped her head to the side, giving him room to move. He licked into her mouth and a dizziness overtook her, this one just as magical, but so much better. She closed her eyes as her lust grew and rolled onto her back, taking him with her.

It wasn’t easy to undress, and each layer of clothing shed had Y/N nearly passing out again only to wake up safe in Sam’s arms. He was gentle with her, kissing his way down her body, tracing her curves with his hands. His skin was hot, his movements sure. He was stirring her passion and literally keeping her alive.

Sam held himself up on strong arms, hovering over her just as he had in her daydream. He bent to kiss her lips and his hair fell into her eyes, swept over her lips, tickled her cheek. She reached with a careful hand to push it back behind his ear and Sam smiled, touched by the tender gesture.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, hazel eyes hazy and locked on her face.

She burned for him, every inch of skin tingling and calling out for him. Y/N spread her legs around his trim hips and squeezed him between her thighs. He felt her wetness against his cock, the heat coming off of her sex.

She rocked her hips, pressing the tip of him into her pussy.

He sucked in a quick breath and shivered.

“Please, Sam…”

“Are you sure?”

She smiled sweetly and nodded. Sure, they had to do it, but she also wanted it. She wanted to feel all of him deep inside. To experience the magic of Sam Winchester.

“So fucking sure,” she breathed, wrapping her hands around his shoulders and pulling him closer.

He sighed and dipped to kiss her again, slipping his tongue between her lips and drawing out her breath. She moaned into him and dug her fingers into his flesh, needing him more than anything.

Slowly, he pushed inside. Her vision exploded into fantastic clarity. Colors danced, the lights seemed brighter, and the world was right again. She held her breath as Sam jerked his hips, fucking her with long, deep strokes that made each muscle tighten around him.

A deep kiss closed her eyes; a hard thrust made her gasp.

Sam kept her riding the edge of bliss for longer than she thought possible. He moved his body with precision, playing her lust like a musical instrument. She dug her nails into his shoulders and chewed her lip to hold in a chorus of blasphemy that would shock the angels watching above.

“God, you feel amazing,” he moaned.

Shifting between her legs, Sam pushed her left knee up high and the new angle made her eyes roll back. She could feel her pulse raging in her cunt; the pleasure building higher with each thrust.

Sam threw his head back as he quickened his pace. Sweat was beading on his brow and upper lip, glistening on his firm chest. He held her knee up against his side and grunted with each pulse of his hips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum…”

His jaw dropped. His eyes squeezed shut. His body went stiff and then shook as he let go. In the depths of a ragged breath, Sam whispered her name and then fell down, covering her completely and kissing her lips.

“You are incredible.”

Y/N gripped his arm and kissed his shoulder. She sighed happily and snuggled deep against him as he rolled over.

“That was so hot, Sam. Thank you…”

He blushed at her thanks and kissed her again. Once he started, he didn’t want to stop, but exhaustion struck him hard.

“How do you feel?”

Y/N paused for a moment as she took stock of herself and then smiled gratefully. “I think I’m cured!”

“That’s amazing,” Sam said with a sigh. “I’m glad you’re OK.”

“Thanks to you.” Y/N let her eyes trail down to his cock. “And you.”

With bright red cheeks and a shy laugh, Sam turned away and grabbed the blanket from the floor, covering himself. “Be right back.”

Y/N winked as he left and Sam shut the bathroom door.

Staring into the mirror, he took a few calming breaths as his mind replayed what had just happened. He was amazed and excited, shocked and sated. He laughed thinking about how many times nearly dying had brought him closer to someone, and he was glad this time it was Y/N.

Deed done and hands washed, Sam walked back into the bedroom. “That really was something amazing, Y/N,” he mused, reaching for his discarded shorts. “I mean… I guess I can tell you now that I’ve thought about it before… A lot, but…”

Y/N hadn’t answered or looked up. She was turned on her right side, her head softly laid upon the pillow, fast asleep.

Sam pushed his head through his gray tee and smiled at his sleeping beauty. Carefully, he moved to the side of the bed and pulled the sheet up over her shoulder, tucking her in. An overwhelming surge of happiness struck him in the chest and he bent to kiss her soft cheek.

Her skin was cool.

“Y/N?”

Sam shook her shoulder but she didn’t wake.

“Fuck. Y/N!”

He grabbed her face between both hands but she didn’t stir.

“Come on, come on! Wake up!”

Keeping one hand on her cheek, Sam grabbed his phone from the floor and rushed to dial Dean’s number.

The phone rang in his ear and another rang outside of the room.

The lock turned and Dean stuck his head through the door. “You decent?”

Sam huffed and threw his cell down. “Get in here!”

“Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t interrupting grown-up time,” Dean joked, stepping in and shutting the door behind him.

“Dean.”

“How’d it go?”

His answer was found as soon as he shut up and looked over at his brother. Sam was crouched down at the side of the bed with his hands on Y/N’s face and bare arm. She was unmoving beneath the sheet, not even the rise and fall of her chest was visible.

Dean froze.

“What the fuck happened!”

Frantic and confused, Sam shook his head. “I don’t know! We… ya know. And she was fine! I got up to pee and-”

Dean raced to the bed. “And ya killed her!”

“She was fine, Dean!”

Green eyes examined the scene. Y/N was still as in a deep sleep, but the absence of breath told him otherwise. “Do the hand thing! Touch her-”

Tears strained against his eyes and Sam looked up at his brother, desperate for any help. “I am. It’s not working.”

“Fuck. Fuck!”

The wheels turned in Dean’s head and before Sam could say another word, Dean was tugging his jeans down and ripping his shirt off.

“What are you doing?”

Dean shrugged and climbed into bed beside Y/N. “I don’t know, but this can’t hurt.” Naked but for his boxers, he pulled back the sheet and rolled close to her. He covered her in his arms and crushed her face to his chest. He held her there, counting the seconds until he felt her breathe again.

Magically, the air returned and Y/N started shaking beneath him. She struggled to push away and coughed life back into her body.

Dean swallowed hard and rubbed her back. “Jesus, Y/N/N, you scared us.”

“What the fuck happened?” she asked, wide eyes looking between the brothers for an answer.

“Romeo let you die so he could go pee.”

Offended, Sam popped up from the floor. “That’s not what happened, Dean!”

“OK, stop yelling.” Y/N tugged at the thin white sheet and pulled it with her as she sat up. Her body was aching but not in a good way. The lights hurt her eyes, her head was pounding, her chest burned. “I, um… I feel really like- like crap.”

Dean scooted closer, keeping one hand on her. “I know.”

She looked up at Sam. “But why? We… didn’t we?”

He shrugged. “We did. It should have broken the spell.”

Dean bit back most of a smirk. “Did you stick it in properly?”

Despite her swaying pain, Y/N laughed with him.

Sam did not find it funny in the slightest and rubbed at his temples. “I know how to- Damnit, Dean!”

 A true smirk pulled through.

Y/N shivered. “I don't get it. I thought…” The answer smacked her in the face and she cringed. “Oh.”

 Dean leaned in. “Oh?”

Sam narrowed his gaze. “What’s ‘Oh’?”

“Well…”

The brothers sighed in tandem.

“I maybe…”

They hung on her pause.

“I maybe thought something else right before the sex thing and I-”

“Y/N…”

Sam’s disapproval and exhaustion went through her like ice and her defenses rose quickly.

“I didn’t realize the thoughts went together! Hell, I wasn’t planning on this!”

He softened and sat on the edge of the bed by her side. “It’s OK. I’m sorry. Obviously, this wasn’t planned.”

She smiled sadly and tucked her arms around her knees, hiding.

“What exactly did you think before the sex thing?”

Her stomach flipped nervously. “Uh… well…”

 Dean squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Come on, can’t get worse than this.”

 She took a breath and then spelled it out. “I was watching you guys and thinking about how I haven’t exactly had time alone and… well, how I haven’t come in forever and… then the sex thing.”

Silence floated around above them while the pieces fit together.

Dean licked his lip. “Wait…”

Y/N hid her face in her knees.

Sam’s eyes went wide.

“Did you not- come?”

She tried to play it off, to act like it wasn’t a devastating thing for Sam to hear, but it wasn’t great. “I mean… it was really nice, Sam. Like really hot.”

Dean tried to hold on and not laugh out loud. “But he didn’t… You didn’t… finish?”

 Sam growled. “OK, shut up, Dean! It was stressful.”

 The elder cocked a brow. “Did you?”

Standing up, Sam turned away to hide his awkwardness.

“You did!” Dean sucked his teeth in disappointment. “Tisk, tisk, brother. Ladies first. Always.”

Y/N shivered as Dean turned his eyes to her and dragged his fingertips down her arm. “He didn’t do anything wrong, I just didn’t… get there.”

“Sure you didn’t.” Dean shifted onto his knees and looked into her eyes. “Don’t worry. I got this.”

Sam was out the door before Dean had tossed his leg over Y/N’s middle, pinning her to the bed. He grinned and wet his plump bottom lip. “Never leave a boy to do a man’s job.”

Y/N laughed but lost the glee to arousal when Dean dropped down close. He held himself barely an inch away, too far to kiss, but close enough to breathe in. He smelled like crap beer and wing sauce, and suddenly it was the most appetizing scent in the world. She lifted her head and took a taste, kissing him hard and licking deep into his mouth.

Dean’s eyes closed and long lashes brushed the tops of her cheeks. She smiled and drank him in.

“Hi.”

He laughed gently. “Hey. You cool with this?”

“Do I have a choice?” she teased.

“There’s always a choice.”

“You know what I mean.” She turned her face away, embarrassed and unsure.

He chased her. “You wanna know if I’m just doing this to save your life?”

She nodded, unable to speak.

Dean let her linger for a second longer than was kind. He closed his eyes, gathering up the right words.

“I don’t want you to die,” he said finally. “But I also want you to cum on my tongue.”

Her entire body shuddered with need and he savored the look of passion in her eyes. He kissed her softly and she scratched her hand through his short hair making him growl into her mouth.

Never creaking the connection, Dean moved slowly down her naked body, sweeping his lips over each dip and curve, igniting every nerve he touched with tingling fire. He licked at her pulse, blew a gentle breath over her ear, strummed her lips with his thumb.

When his hot mouth closed around her nipple, Y/N arched upwards, as if she was a magnet and he a slab of iron. She curled her arms around his shoulders and dragged her nails down between his shoulder blades. She could feel his shiver and it drove her mad.

“You’re so fucking hot,” she mumbled, shocked when the words came out.

Green eyes looked up and Dean grinned. He didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes was enough. A flick of his pink tongue forced her back down onto the pillow and Dean slithered down to settle between her thighs. He slid one thick finger through her wetness and then matched it with his thumb, carefully spreading her lips apart.

His breath was slow and hot, and her clit hardened when he held his lips there, not touching but teasing, letting her need grow beyond what she could stand.

“Please…”

Dean pulled away and dropped kiss after kiss to the soft flesh of her inner thigh. She squirmed and lifted her hips, whined when he passed over her pussy again.

“Dean- please…”

He sucked a kiss on her outer lip and Y/N cried out, utterly desperate for him.

Looking up, he licked his lips slowly and Y/N dropped her hand to his head, swept her touch down his temple, curled her fingers around his ear.

“Please,” she begged, near to tears. “I need you.”

Dean moaned under his breath. “You got me.”

Tongue flat against her pussy, Dean lapped at her wetness before sealing his perfectly plump lips around her clit. Sparks pulsed bright white behind her closed eyes as he licked and suckled, devoured her heat. When her legs began to shake, he slid his middle finger into her, his knuckles disappearing as he sank deep inside.

“Fuck!”

She gripped the bed sheet.

His tongue rippled against her clit.

Her eyes rolled back in pure pleasure and she came with a tight-lipped shout, her hips bucking up into Dean’s handsome face.

“Goddamn!”

She panted and wiggled to get away, but Dean refused to let go. If she scooted back, he followed. She squirmed to the left, he pulled her back.

Finally, he pushed his arms beneath her legs, hooked his hands around her hips, and tugged. Trapped, Y/N had no choice but to hold still and let him carry on.

He started slowly, winding the tip of his tongue gently around her pulsing. Y/N sighed happily as her heart rate calmed and her breathing caught up. She stretched her arms out across the bed, enjoying the attention and the feeling when he hummed against her skin.

“You’re… really fucking good at this,” she whispered.

Dean pulled up with a kiss and a wink. “Did you expect anything less?”

Y/N shook her head and lost all thought as he dove back down and picked up speed.

Words were piercing the air. Unintelligible, filthy, cursed words that had to fight through clenched teeth to be heard.

Her toes curled and dug into his back.

His fingers pumped into her, forcing out another orgasm, but Dean wasn’t satisfied. He rubbed deep inside until her shoulders were off the mattress and her breath was stopped in her throat.

Her eyes went wide and he held her gaze as her body convulsed and let go. A hot stream flooded his mouth and the cheap bedding below. Dean drank her down and kept thrusting, eeking out every last drop until she collapsed and whined, pushing at his face to move him away.

“Fuck! I can’t… that’s never happened before-”

Smug and a beautiful mess, Dean climbed back up to frame her from above. His lips were swollen and his jaw ached, but he’d never looked so content.

“You just needed a little help, is all.”

Y/N shook her head and pushed herself up to kiss his glistening mouth. “No. I just needed you…”

It was a while before Sam returned, and thankfully, everyone was clothed and clean when he opened the door.

Y/N was lying on the bed with Dean by her side. His hand was resting on her stomach and she covered it with her own.

Sam took a hesitant step into the room. “How’d it go?”

A grin lit Dean’s face and Sam held up his hand, halting the details.

“Never mind.” He looked to Y/N. “How are you feeling?”

She sighed happily and sat up. “Amazing.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am. I promise.” Pushing Dean away, she leapt up from the bed and stood in front of Sam. “See? No touchy.”

He exhaled in relief. “Good. I’m glad.”

Reaching for his hand, Y/N smiled up at him. “Thank you, Sam. You saved me.” She kissed his hand and his cheeks burned bright.

“Hey!” Dean cleared his throat and looked offended. “I helped.”

Y/N laughed. “Yes. Yes, you did. Thank you, too.”

“So… what now?” Sam asked, still clinging to her hand.

“Now… we move on. Lighter’s destroyed so no danger there.” She smiled sweetly and turned away to grab her laptop. “I’m sure there’s another case lurking just around the corner.”

Sadly, Sam let her fingers slide away.

“Yeah. Probably.”

It wasn’t what he meant, but he didn’t want to get into anything else just yet. Y/N was safe and that’s all that mattered.

Other things, other feelings could be dealt with another day.

As if reading his mind, Dean walked up and clamped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. The brothers passed a look between them, promising never to talk about it, and to be civil in the forthcoming fight for Y/N’s affection.

Light was shining from the screen, lighting up her smile as Y/N looked up at the guys. “I think I got something! Three bodies turned up in the woods about two and a half hours south of here. Buzz online is that it’s the Jersey Devil.”

Dean laughed and turned away. “No such thing.”

“Sure there is!”

Sam shook his head and ran his hand through his hair to right the mess. “Sorry, Y/N. It’s not real.”

Y/N huffed. “So sex curses are real but winged, kangaroo-looking monsters in the forest aren’t. That’s what we’re going with?”

A shrug.

A smile.

A story for another day.

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[semperamans]

benny is back home n'he's missed you so much he may just have to fuck you over it!!!

warnings!!!!

benny is toxic! unprotected sex! benny is toxic! i didn't proof read it!!!! so there are probably so many mistakes!!!! n' this is LONG, so read at your own risk <3

despite its stillness, there is something deafening about the july air. there's nothing more to hear than night bird song as it falls over the slumbering city. gone are the rumbling engines on i-90 n'the chatter of women parading down the sidewalks. there are no babies gigglin', no ice cream trucks wailing, no sirens squwakin'. there's nothin' stirrin' in this humid night besides the rapid beat of your heart because, well, you shouldn't be here. you know that jus' as well as i do. you should be at home, sprawled beneath the ceiling fan, eyes closed, blissfully disconnected from the world, n'you're a good girl, so i'm sure that's what you would be doing had the shrill urgency of benny's call not woken you.

"hi baby," is what he breathed over the line, and despite the distance you could smell the jack daniels on his breath. "m'home." he had been home for a few days now. johnny had called you n'made you aware the second benny's wheels crossed the county line. and then you waited. and waited. and waited. and were your feelings hurt when benny didn't call? absolutely. by day three you were going insane. like mosquito-bitten legs, it was painfully hard to ignore the absence of his voice through the receiver. every purring engine had your head whipping 'round. every blonde head had your heart hammering, but it was never the right engine. never the right head. never benny. johnny'd tried to get you to come down to the clubhouse, but you didn't wanna look desperate (even though you were). it was just so hard to think about. all you could see in your mind's eye was benny splayed across a bar stool, lap empty, hand wrapped around a whiskey glass when it should've been around your throat.

"m'missin' you so much." you wouldn't have assumed he missed you much at all with how radio silent he'd been since leavin' over a month ago. your girls told you that if benny really cared he would make more of an effort - wouldn't run off whenever things other than his dick got hard - an' yeah, you knew this was likely true, but he was enigmatic and enticing and everything.

"wan' you to come see me."

you should've hung up the phone right then, but you didn't. and you definitely shouldn't've pulled a sleep shirt over your nightgown n'sneakers on your bare feet, but you did. now here you stand - peerin' up at benny's front door - tryin' to tell yourself it's all right. nothin' to be nervous over. but you were nervous, so you counted the steppin' stones - 14 - and then there he was.

he looked good, there was simply no denying it. when it was particularly hot, benny wore nothing beneath his colors n'tonight you could see his bare chest glistening with sweat from the glow of the porch light. moths and june bugs spun themselves dizzy 'round him, but he didn't flinch. his sights were set, smile wan and excited and focused on you.

"c'mere." benny's voice had a medicinal quality about it - you figured that out some time ago. his voice was a salve on sunburned skin. it was a cool mid-day rainstorm. it was enough to have your eyes flicking upward, your body moving forward, your mouth forming the shape of his name. "look at you," he practically purred. he seemed more coherent, which was great. you didn't like fuckin' benny when he was drunk - always fearin' it never meant the same as when he pressed himself into you sober. he held you at arms length, eyes traipsing the familiar paths his fingers and tongue had mapped repeatedly. "y'know, i could travel from here to fuckin' the ends of the universe n'never find a girl s'pretty as you."

"s'that what you're lookin' for when you leave?" the words escape your mouth before your brain can register the impact they will have, but benny doesn't seem all that deterred. he just shakes his head; half-hearted guilt tugging at the corner of his mouth as he lets ya go n'invites you inside. benny would never apologize for leavin'. that just wasn't his forte, but he'd make up for it. he always did.

the interior of benny's place is nicer than you'd expect n'it's all because johnny outright fuckin' refused to step foot in the place when benny'd first moved in. it was terrible, but now the trailer actually looks decent. s'not much: a small livin' space with a couch, a tiny kitchen, an even smaller bathroom, and a bedroom big enough for a few pieces of furniture, but it smells like benny: like motor oil and sandalwood and smoke and body wash and you wish they sold the scent in department stores because you'd buy up every bottle. it's the aroma you miss terribly when he runs. it's the scent you wish lasted just a bit longer on your bedsheets. it's now overwhelming as benny plods over, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray. hands unoccupied, he has nothing better to do with them than wrap 'em 'round your waist, tuggin' you into his slick embrace. his chin fits so nicely atop your head n'he's always told you that you were meant to be. "fuck soulmates. i think god s'got a big ass puzzle n'he just, tears it up. throws the pieces here n'there. but me'n'you, baby? we're always gonna fit together. m'always gonna find you." he wouldn't need to find you if he didn't run but when you're pressed so snugly together like you are now - well - he could say anything and you'd agree.

"look at me, darlin'. wanna see those eyes again. missed 'em so much." n'when you do look at him, you wish you hadn't. he looks better (somehow) than the last time you saw him: skin so clear, eyes so bright, smile taken from a fuckin' toothpaste commercial. it's unfair how good god made such a bad boy look. "there's my girl." and damn if his voice doesn't sound even better.

a half-hearted hum rolls from the back of your throat. you want nothing more than to be his girl, but he'd never really allow that. never really allow you to get close enough and the hurt must register on your face because benny's takin' your cheeks between his palms, eyebrows furrowing.

"what's goin' on, baby?"

baby. the word sounds so good rolling off his tongue. you wanna be his baby more than anything, but you say "nothin'" cuz that's all this will ever be.

"doesn't seem like nothin'. tell me." you think about it. could you, rather, should you tell him? the words are there, right there. right on the tip of your tongue; i miss you. i've missed you. i so badly wanted to see you. i want to be more than the girl you call when you want to fuck. the words are so hot you want to spit them out, but you can't say those things n'likely will never be able to. the words are toxic. poison. those words would assassinate this arrangement n'as much as it hurts, you know deep down you'd rather have pieces of benny than none at all so instead of speaking you rise on your tip toes and press your lips against his.

kissing benny is something you could never tire of. it's the delicate bite of his perfect teeth on your pillowy lip that has you opening your mouth - inviting him in - begging him to take. it's the taste of mint and cigarettes and liquor that lingers on your tongue that makes you long for more. but benny pulls away first - always does - n'that's when you notice the wrinkle in his brow is gone because he is no longer concerned about what's racketing around your brain. no. he's had a sample, and now he wants the whole thing.

"c'mere." it's an impossible command. you're already so close - any closer and you would - benny dips slightly, circling your thighs with his arms, pushin' you atop the high-backed couch where you wobble and clutch onto him which makes him smile but then everything changes because "want another kiss. missed that mouth so much." and you collide in a spit-soaked show of affection sure to bruise the flesh now scraping so deliciously against his beard.

this is familiar to benny. he knows where to touch you. knows how to caress your skin as he peels the shirt from your flushed torso and pushes the thin straps of your nightgown down. you're soft. he's always loved that about you. your voice. your hair. your skin. so supple. and there are times benny's gotta stop himself. he's gotta repress that primal urge to take, to claim, to mark but it's hard so hard because you are so soft. his agile fingers float down your neck, relishing in the plume of perfume that billows out as your body contorts closer and closer and closer. you're so responsive: gasping in the right places, arching into his hands so perfectly. your dainty inhales fuel him. he wants to do more. wants to hear more.

"you're gonna let me fuck you right here, aren't ya?" benny asks, pulling back to gauge your reaction. "missed me so much you're gonna let me fuck you on this couch, eh?"

"you're the one who called me." you say, smile wide and knowing as you feel benny's cock twitch. his eyes turn molten lapis. he had called you. he had missed you. but he wouldn't say it. couldn't.

"awfully mouthy," he clucks, pressing his mouth into yours for another taste. "why don't y'use it for somethin' else?"

before you, benny'd never been a fan of oral sex. i mean, he'd come around to enjoyin' it thanks to johnny but, it wasn't high on his list 'til you started suckin' him off any and every chance you got. for a mouth belonging to such a precious gal, he never would have expected the sinful things you could make him feel. n'now, knelt before him, he can barely fight the urge to shove his dick in your mouth.

"s'pretty. always so pretty." you hum. you got him out of his jeans in record time and thank god because it's probably a million degrees in the goddamn trailer. now he's free; cock out, dripping precum and he can see the pride puffin' up your chest. no other girl could get 'em like this - could rile him up 'til his cock was thick and heavy and veiny and hot to the touch - no one but you n'at the first whisper of your fingers, his head rolls back. his precum is good lubrication, but you need more. could always use more, so up you come, crossing your cute little feet under your bum, and then - fuck - you lean forward and spit on his heated skin. yeah, benny thinks he may cum from that alone.

"touch me, doll. c'mon."

"shh," your fingers form a loose circle 'round the base of his cock. "i've got you."

"jesus christ," its the feel of your lips on his thighs and your fingers on his dick that makes him squeeze his eyes shut. he's got one fist balled at his side, the other tucks its way into your hair because he's gotta do something. anything.

"y've still got your christmas tree up, so, y'know, could be insensitive what with the holidays n'all. chirstimas in july." and despite the fact that you've got his pulsing length so wet and hard in your hand - benny fucking laughs.

"you're so -" but whatever adjective he had planned to use flies from his mind the moment your mouth covers him. all he can think about now is not cumming. you don't need to know that he hasn't fucked another woman since the last time he was balls deep in you. you don't need to know that he hasn't jerked off in god knows how long in preparation for this night. the only thing that you need to know is that he fuckin' loves this. he just lets you work. just relishes in the feeling of having you there. of having your mouth on him. it's so heavenly. cavernous yet tight. wet and warm and "fuck - oh fuck - stop."

and you do with no hesitation. you pull away so quickly that strands of saliva trickle down onto your tits. okay. maybe not jerking off wasn't the best idea, benny determines.

"did i do something wrong?" your voice is husky, eyes wide and slightly frightened and benny thinks he may love you.

"no." he shakes his head, grabs your arms, pulls you up. "no. fuck - i wanna fuck you." he brushes his palm across your cheek, wiping the spit and precum away. "want to fuck you right here. on the couch. c'mon," he maneuvers you around, makin' it to where his bare ass is on the couch and you're hoverin' above him, smiling so cutely at him he's sure he's gonna explode. you're so fucking cute that it nearly suffocates him.

"gimmie another kiss." he breathes, cupping your cheek once more. your lips meet in a cacophony of sighs. relief slackens your shoulders and now anticipation builds because you know what's coming.

"benny,"

"mm?"

"unless you have rubbers tucked in the cushions," you have to fight through his kisses. "you can't fuck me here."

the words marinate. the ceiling fan bats them around like a cat does to yarn and then benny finally responds.

"let me fuck you raw."

there are a hundred good reasons why it's a horrible idea, but you can't conjure a single fucking one as your head bobs in agreement.

"yeah?" perhaps christmas miracles are still valid in july because holy shit. "yeah?"

"please."

"come 'ere then."

you're obedient. benny loves that about you. seconds later you're spreading your legs, shimmering with sweat as you fight to maintain your balance n'you look so hungry - so eager to please - so pretty n'he can feel your wetness seeping onto his bare thigh as you pepper tender kisses along his chest. you want this. you want it just as badly as he does. he can tell. those preening noises comin' from the back of your throat and the bite of your nails into his shoulder are the only things grounding him to this moment. he feels so light - like he could fuckin' float if you weren't sat atop him - but there is work to do. a certain set of things that need to be done before he can spear you on his cock.

"gonna stretch you open first," he tells you, pushing your hip back but you don't budge. your head shakes, lower lip juts out. no.

"i wanna feel it." you say, voice almost a whine. you're tired of waiting. tired of playing this game so you propel yourself onto your feet, nearly toppling as the cushion gives under your weight, but you've got this. you sweet capable being. "wanna feel you now." your right hand circles his cock. "just want you to be in me benny. jus' you." it's a confession spoken like gospel. n'with your help, his gushing head probes your wetness and benny's thoughts spiral recklessly. "ready?"

it's cute. the way you ask him. the way your pretty little head cocks to the side. it's even cuter the way your pussy so greedily takes his cock once benny gives you an answer. yes. a singular nod. then everything is hot. he's too close to the sun, but the burn is delicious.

every bump. every vein. every groove on his cock awakens something within you. your eyes are closed so tightly - you may rupture a vessel - but you don't care. you're full. so full n'he's only halfway in. it's never felt like this before. you're in uncharted territory so the first roll of your hips is exploratory. the second is more confident. the third is a plunge and benny is drowning.

"god. fuck." words to form coherent sentences have long since vanished from benny's vocabulary. and you? usually so deft with language, you're somewhat embarrassed at the foolishness of your grunts, but benny loves it. he watches you move from squinted eyes. you're fascinating; body shifting with ease up and down up and down up and down. the muscles in your stomach tighten and wan as his cock disappears deep in your cunt only to reappear seconds later dripping and glistening with remnants of your wet. it's hypnotic n'benny thinks you're magic and sweet and good but dirty - oh so dirty. his balls and heart squeeze simultaneously n'it only gets worse when you toss your arms around his neck. benny can feel your cool breath on his throat - it adheres to the damp indications you lips left behind - and your tits, god your tits press against the material of his colors and rub and rub and rub. it's intimate. it's too much. too long like this and benny knows he'll be spillin' his secrets and his seed and that's not how he wants this to go, not yet anyway.

the change in position catches you by surprise, he can see it on your face. those puffy lips part in confusion, but he silences your questions with a shattering kiss. your teeth gnash and spit slips down your chin as he bites your inhibitions away. he's got you beneath him now. missionary. his favorite because he just likes lookin' at you. likes being close, so close. he's in his element; forehead pressed against yours, mouth open, grunting obscenities as he pushes harder and harder and harder into your sobbing pussy. you're slowly disintegrating. the way your ankles lock around his spine perfectly aligns your clit with his pelvic bone and my god nothing has ever felt quite so good.

"benny," your voice is a dark whisper that grows brighter brighter brighter as he thrusts into oblivion. you want more. want it harder. and benny is happy to oblige. the sound of his nuts slapping against your soaked center reminds him of a fuckin' metronome. your pitiful little moans could put pornstars to shame.

"you're so fuckin' tight." and it's true. he's said it to other girls before out of courtesy, but he means it with you. "when i cum you're gonna take every drop, mm?" benny's ability to say such delivish things so close to your face drives you insane. it's as though he's tellin' you what the weather is gonna be tomorrow, or sayin' his favorite color. "s'my favorite pussy to fuck. no one feels like you." he should stop, but he can't. it's too good. you're so good. "only girl i wanna fill. only girl i wanna give my cum to."

if pride were a flower you'd be a fuckin' garden. confidence flourishes like ivy as he keeps. going. it's in this moment you know it's worth it. the hours waiting for him. the lonely nights. it's all worth it. benny is worth it.

"are y'gonna cum in me?" at the sound of your voice, benny's forehead crashes down on yours. his eyelashes are so long they kiss the tops of his round cheeks.

"fuck - yeah."

"yeah?" you angle your pelvis, gasping at the new sensation. n'benny knows what to do. knows how to send you over. snaking a hand down, his index finger rubs circles around your clit, dipping down, pullin' your shared juices up. you're not gonna last much longer n'as much as he wishes he could keep you here forever his fucking nuts are so tight. he's so close.

"fuck - baby. shit."

"do it deep. wanna have you leakin' out of me for days. want somethin' to remember you by." you've never spoken like this before - his sweet darling - where did this mouth come from? one hand squeezes your jaw. something to remember him by? he'll give you something. he pushes your head to the side, latching his teeth into the side of your neck. the rough yet delicate suck and soothing stroke of his tongue add another element to the amalgamation of pleasure, and now you feel like you're drowning.

"m'gonna cum." benny’s choked voice rasps in your ear.

"cum in me."

"fuck im gonna cum in you."

he couldn't pull out even if he wanted to. there's no willpower strong enough to allow him to extract his cock from your pussy. he's sure of it.

"need you to cum with me." his index finger circles around and around and around. "gotta cum when i tell you. yeah? gonna be a good girl n'listen to daddy?" your toes fuckin' curl, digging into the cushion. "use your words." he doesn't know - doesn't care - that your words have magically turned into alphabet soup; there are letters and sounds but no coherence, but it's no excuse. benny, devilishly, begins to slow. "use. your. words." each syllable is punctuated with a sharp thrust n'the head of his cock is wedging so deliciously against your spongy center that you nearly cum, but you don't. you're good. so good.

"m'gonna listen." you wail. "gonna be good." your reward is a kiss and the continuation of benny's deliriously fast pace.

"knew you would." it becomes hard to speak with you squeezing round him like that. his pleasure is melting into an unidentifiable mass. he knows nothing of isolation. his body no longer belongs to him. he can't tell where you start and he ends but he knows where you will finish. "gonna need you to cum, pretty baby." he's unable to do much more than whisper. "ready?" you nod. "ready?"

"please."

"now."

you couldn't hold back even if you tried. the first spurt of benny's cum is so warm you make a surprised little gasp. he's so deep, pumping his load so deep that the lower part of your abdomen has stretched in accommodation. your bodies flounder together; fingers pressing, lips melting, legs tangling. benny thrusts once, twice, three times more before he's spent. his body begins to still - his weight slowly pressing upon you before collapsing. your thundering heart could lull him to sleep if he'd allow it, but he can't allow it because unlike with other women; the lustful haze refuses to dissipate. post-nut clarity doesn't exist when the woman you fucked looks and feels the way you do and it scares benny so much that he collects you in his arms n'moves you off of him.

"i'll bring you somethin' to wipe off with." he doesn't look at you as he rises. instead he chooses to focus on how his legs don't feel like his legs. how the hot water won't warm up n'he can't give you a cold rag. his disappointment grows when he returns to find you already shrugging back into your nightgown. the pair of you tend to yourselves. you wipe benny's cum off your thighs and toss the rag into the dirty clothes pile on the floor. you try not to linger. you know it only makes things harder, but benny's gazin' at you with those eyes. he's fixin' your necklace and opening the door for you.

"gimmie a hug?" his bravado is gone. his voice is quiet, his arms are welcoming. you fool yourself into thinking he's gonna miss you too. you've got his cum dripping down your leg and he's got your heart in his hands but nothing has changed. things would never change. n'you wanna stay here - wanna stay with him for eternity - but if history repeats itself you will only have another minute in his embrace. he who holds your pieces together is the one responsible for their fractured state n'maybe you're a masochist. maybe you're in love with the wrong person. maybe none of it is supposed to make sense anyway.

when you part, you want to cry. benny kisses you. it's soft, a delicate kiss you wanna bottle and keep forever next to his scent. you worry that one day you will unknowingly have a last kiss with benny, but for now you allow yourself this moment. he won't promise to call n'you won't say goodbye. you'll just slip out into the night - probably call johnny usin' the payphone down the street and spend the rest of the night sobbin' into his neck.

but it's worth it. somehow even after it all, benny cross is still worth it.