#jonathan moore x reader

[snowvies]

Mr. Badgley

Penn Badgley x Fem!Reader

summary: you can't stop thinking about your married piano teacher, Mr. Badgley. and one day he slides under the instrument to show you how much he's been thinking about you too.

wc: 1k

cw: age gap (reader 19, Penn late thirties), cheating, piano teacher x student, pussy eating, fingering, female masturbation

Sundays are your favorite days, especially ones like this when the clouds hang low with a murky swirl in the sky. You're nineteen, and college is kicking your ass but you promised yourself you wouldn't think about the papers due when you're here, at Mr. Badgley's house.

You found his ad on craigslist, piano lessons..fifty bucks an hour you would've scrolled past it until you saw him, and his family. You felt safer in a random man's house when his wife and newborn baby were in the same room with you. So you started going there, ever since your freshman year.

Your raggedy car rolllsss to stop and you get out to see the lonely house, picked apart to be perfect, not a single thing out of place... except yourself.

His wife answers the door a few minutes after knocking, the cold biting your bare legs as you run in for warmth, completely missing her scowl at your lack of kicking the mat with your dirty boots.

Mr. Badgley offers you a warm smile, hair combed perfectly, sweater ironed and pants straight like every weekend. His eyes always look a little empty when you come. His wife jingles her keys around her finger as she readjusts the baby on her hip

"I'm going out, be done when I'm home" the same line. Every week. You smile her way but she doesn't pay mind to it, leaving you and her husband to play. you turn to Mr. Badgley but he's already walking to the connecting living room of the tiny house, sitting on the worn bench as he slides the fallboard up.

You sit next to him as he wears an excited smile, when he's like this, playing with you, it doesn't seem orchestrated by his wife. Every move he makes is analyzed by her, except this. The only reason he's allowed to do this is because they needed the extra money.

"Let's start where we left off last week, yes?" he asked and you nodded, you inhaled the mixture of musk and old books that surrounded the pianist as he began the background cords. his eyes are on you, they shine as his spine relaxes into the music and you begin your part. fingers dancing over keys as you try to remember the pattern

Your eyes squeezed shut once you messed the keys up. He smiles softly and lets a laugh out of his nose at your reaction

"Like this," his larger palm rests on top of yours as he guides your fingers, you nod and try again.

Soon enough an hour passes and you both rise from the bench and you dig into your purse for the fifty bucks you crumpled into it this morning, but, warm hands slide on top of your shoulder and the older man shakes his head.

"No need" he grins and tries to send you off but you insist, grabbing the money but he pushes you out the door.

"I will not have you pay for something that I enjoy just as much, Y/n, have a lovely week" The door softly shuts and you're left stunned.

.

You roll around your dorm bed, restless as the man's words keep ringing in your head. Why didn't he let you pay?

Maybe you're being dramatic. But it isn't like the Badgleys are set either.

You shut your eyes in a huff, suffocating yourself in the pillow under you as you replay the keys in an attempt to lull you asleep

But it isn't just the keys you're thinking about...

It's how his hand guided yours, it's how he looked at you when it was your part to play, it's his scent, it's his being. It's driving you mad.

You arch your back slowly, fingers sliding down your body until you get to your aching core. slick-filled fingers rubbing yourself at the thought of your teacher's hands touching you, grabbing you, loving you.

You moan into the pillow, legs shaking as you cream around your fingers, the thought of him drives you wild.

So just how will you act the next time you see him?

.

Before you know it, it's Sunday and you're back at the Badgleys, with his wife announcing her departure and the formal greetings of you and your teacher, you're back at that bench, side by side.

He starts the cords, and you follow trying to calm your shaking legs as you think about what fueled you that night. You couldn't even look him in the eyes this session.

His hand softly squeezes your bare thigh and you look back at the man.

"You're completely off" he informs you and you don't think your face could get redder.

"I-I'm so sorry...let's try again" you panic but his thumb rubs loving circles on your flesh.

"You usually think the world ends when you mess up, but you kept playing this time, you're mind is somewhere else Ms. Y/n."

"Sorry Mr. Badgley" you murmur

"Talk to me, get it off your chest so we can get back to playing" he smiles and you nod slowly

"...Why didn't you let me pay last time?" you ask, he stops for a moment as the hand on your thigh now rests on his face as he thinks for a moment.

"I just feel like, something so pleasurable shouldn't be bought," he says above a whisper and you feel your entire face glow, and he must have noticed with how he laughs.

"Not those pleasures, Ms. Y/n" he smiles and you don't think you've ever been so embarrassed. But when his laughter stops, his eyes swirl softly into something darker, in that moment you feel exposed to every thought as he eyes you.

He stands, hands finding your shoulders

"Keep playing"

You take a shaky breath as your thighs begin to shake once more, fingers finding the keys as you start the song

"Good," he whispers, his scents overwhelming you now as you feel almost dizzy while playing, you barely notice how he slips under the piano.

"Mr. Badgley, what are you doing?" you gasp as his dark brown eyes gaze up at you

"Keep.playing" he says sternly, and with a swallow, you keep going

He kisses your knees and you feel yourself sticking to your panties as he spreads them apart.

He has a wife. He has a kid. What are you doing?

"You're doing great" he huffs, kissing your thighs, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment as his fingers dance up to your panties.

He pulls them down slowly, your wetness sticking to the fabric before they are lost in his pockets

Your bare pussy is in front of your teacher's face as he rubs up and down your thighs taking a shaky breath in

You slam the keys as his tongue licks up your pussy, he moans into you before forcing you to scoot closer into his face, his hands wrapping around your ass as he slurps and moans at your cunt.

"Mr.- fuck" you cry, hands climbing to try and stop your moans as your hips buck up to hump his face

"You taste so so good" he groans, making out with your pussy as he sucks at your clit just to tongue fuck your hole

Hot tears flow down your face as he stares up at you, watching you come undone for him.

You shake around him, orgasm approaching closer with every lick, he sucks on your slit before adding a long finger to your hole. You throw your head back as he fingers you, flicking his tongue relentlessly as his finger curls inside you.

You feel him whine and moan against your pussy, and when you look down you see him gripping and grabbing at his hard-on as he eats you out. You cry as that sends you over and you cum around his finger

You're panting as he curls his fingers a few more times before shoving it into his mouth and licking you clean, you're shaking and wide-eyed as hair sticks to your face and he crawls out from under the piano

Right, weren't you two supposed to be playing right now? Isn't his wife about to be home and he's sucking his fingers because they still taste like you?

He helps you off the bench and you stare into the stained cushion but he turns your chin to him before kissing you deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue before breaking it off with a simple

"My wife is on her way...see you in our next session Ms. Y/n"

And you can't wait for next Sunday.

an: lmk how obvious it is idk anything about pianos. This is based on a dream I had last night 😵‍💫🖤 I hope you liked it <333

[happy74827]

Can you make more Joe Goldberg? You did such aan amazing job on the first one that I NEED a second one. Just please consider. Thank. Love your fics btw 💖💖💖

Lily of the Valley

[Joe Goldberg x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Coffee might not be his favorite, but things can change when it involves a person like you.

WC: 659

Category: Fluff

Fortunately, I already had this small idea in mind for our lovely stalker man and this request really just put the icing on top of the cake. Hopefully it fulfills your needs 🙌 (also you’re too sweet… thank you so much for the kind words 💞)

『••✎••』

Coffee. The hard, hot, and bitter drink that is the reason many people get out of bed each day and the reason why some people stay up until the early hours of the morning. He never understood the appeal.

But that didn't mean he didn't enjoy the smell of coffee beans roasting, the smell of fresh ground beans being poured into a filter, and the smell of the finished product. He didn't understand how something so bitter and disgusting could have such a calming and comforting smell.

Joe had been sitting in a booth in a coffee shop for the past few hours, watching the world outside go by, sipping a small mug of tea, and his current read, "The Woman In The Window" by A.J Finn, in front of him. His eyes were trained on the people going by, not really taking much of anything in. He was on autopilot, a default setting he slipped into whenever his mind was full of something else.

It was only when a waitress with a short, black pixie cut walked over to his table that his eyes come back into focus, and his thoughts began to slow down. She didn't look like she belonged in a coffee shop. With a long, floral dress, combat boots, and a cardigan, she was far too pretty and too interesting to be serving lattes. She was a rose in a garden full of daisies, a peacock among chickens.

Then, like a snap to reality, the sound of his name pulled him away from her and onto… you. The whole reason he was here in the first place.

If he thought the waitress was a rose, you were a whole bouquet.

"Jonathan! Are you going to order anything, or are you just going to keep sitting there, scaring all our other employees?" You said a laugh in your voice.

He hadn't even noticed the waitress had already left, and now, you were standing by the table, holding a coffee pot.

Yeah, he needs to stop letting his thoughts take over.

"No, no, I was just, uh, reading."

"Reading a book, or reading her?" You said, cocking your head to the side, indicating the waitress who had moved on to another table.

"Reading the book."

"Mhm, sure." You said, not at all convinced. God, he just wanted to kiss the smirk off your face. Those pretty lipstick-covered lips moving against his.

You shook your head, smiling.

"You want a muffin… or something? On the house, since you're a regular and all."

He looked down at the book again, then back up at you. Unlike the waitress, you were dressed for work in a black, collared shirt tucked into black pants and a black apron tied around your waist.

It told him a lot about you, like the fact that you were a rule follower organized. The other waitress played confidence to stand out. You wanted to blend in, but still, he noticed.

How could he not notice you?

"Sure."

"Blueberry, right? Your usual."

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'll be back in a second."

You had just turned to leave before you spun on your heel and stopped.

"And, Jonathan,” you paused. "That book in your hands? Wonderful read."

As you walked away, he realized how his heart had started to beat faster, and he couldn't stop the grin on his face.

A bouquet? No, you were something far more rare and far more beautiful than that.

You were an orchid.

And when you returned with that perfectly shaped muffin and that award-winning smile, Joe decided this would be the last time he ever chased a woman. Because this one?

You?

It was as though you were a mix between all his past loves and yet someone entirely new.

You were that new orchid in the greenhouse, the lily of the valley, and he wanted to nurture you and make you grow.

It's time to stop blending in; he would bring you out to bloom.

[staarboyyy]

Do you perhaps still take requests for Joe Goldberg? If yes, can I pretty please with a cherry on top have some Joe Goldberg x chubby! Fem! Reader? Gm is totally fine I'd just like some chubby representation...

I know you probably won't believe me but this ask is my first ever and I just noticed that there aren't any fics with Joe Goldberg and curvy/chubby reader....(I have thick thighs and some curviness around all my edges if you need that type of info) I don't care if it's a drabble, a fic, or hc or anything just a Joe Goldberg x chubby reader

Oh! Could you maybe make like, they meet at the library and he supposedly goes to help him and she calls him "oh lovey-" "sweetie, actually-" "sweet boy-" stuff like that??

Anyway I Love your work! Hope you have a great day/night/evening/life

daydream

johnathan moore [ joe goldberg ] x chubby fem librarian!reader

18+ characters / scenarios - minors dni

> joe's internal dialogue

tags / warnings ; dead dove do not eat, stalking, unhealthy dynamics, power imbalance in a work place, flirting

summary ; you run into professor moore, and meeting for the first time feels like he's known you far longer.

word count ; 1.3k

a / n : omg!! i love writing for specific requests, as joe, it makes the process soo much more fun!! i took a couple of creative liberties, but made sure to include everything asked :) we need more chubby representation!! i hope i wrote this drabble justice, chubby gals deserve some "light" stalking too y'all! <3

This Library is exquisite. Of course, I couldn't help myself from meandering about campus after recovering from the reeling hiring process. It was comforting, surrounded by the smell of pages, going up and on for miles above head. The second floor, quiet and persistently reserved for those who insisted on studying, noses driven between the worn pages like prophets. You know what I mean, I'm sure; The day you said my name, behind the second-floor desk, the swell of light shining into the necklaces you surely knew drove every man in the room up the wall - You smiled, apples of your round cheeks curving into your eyes, peering through your lashes to assist a carbon copy of the person before. You were kind, considerate to each person who came with the same problems. I don't know how you do it, especially now that I stepped my way into the line and; No. I step my way out of line. I can feel puckering eyes, glancing and sticking to my shoulders like glue - I am off the table for love right now, and need to get off this ride. I'll find you after I find out who keeps buzzing the phone, burning a hole in my back pocket. Just as I take a step onto my heel, a frayed copy of David Copperfield digging into the side of my ribs, I'll check out downstairs, collect myself and my concerningly fast heart rate, and -

"Can I help you, sweetheart?" The man, whose brown eyes swam the second story of the library hesitantly moved to you; A professor, English. You heard ample things about him, the frequenters of your level reporting their assigned findings in quiet whispers. You smiled softly, leaning your shoulders onto the desk and tilting your head off to the side, eyebrow cocking. The dark-eyed man wet his lips, opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. A beat, then a brisk laugh from your nostrils, nodding to the book snug to his side. "You better not be stealing for your personal collection, professor."

Fuck, you're good, and you know it. It doesn't take me long to realize the lingering floral smell of this floor is from you, not as I stiffly approach the desk while demeaning myself silently. Idiot, stop moving your feet. Professor, the word sounds obscene on your lips in a way I don't think I'll ever be able to properly conduct. Taking a breath solves nothing, but I know you can see my nervous tremors as I lift David to reveal the cover, trying for a smile. I can tell it looks as jagged as I feel, but still, you put out your hand, and I manage to force my throat to squeeze the comment out.

"No, no; I'm sorry, I didn't know I could check out here. I figured you were exclusively a study guide," 'Mr.Moore' spits lies like a seconod language.

"Ohh, I see... I'm a study guide with a useless book scanner then," You speak like it's a revealtion, hoping to ease this mans nervous demenor with a light wiggle of your fingers forward. "Copperfield, huh?" Joe's jaw clenches as your recognition, chuckling hoarsly as he forked it over, laying it into your palm. His cold hand grazed your soft warm one through the transaction, the placement of his grasp noticeably unessecary - Was he flirting? Even he couldn't tell, but the banter felt good, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

"Not like that - I mean, you're always busy with students, I didn't want to clog up your line," He juts a thumb over his shoulder, the empty space behind him not settling into him until after he spoke. Was he always this nervous? Another thing he couldn't tell, not even now.

This was an introduction I wanted to plan, If I'm really honest I needed more time. But if the universe wanted to throw me into your warm arms, would it be so wrong to follow it's guiding plan? The first day I saw you, weeks ago. Books against your chest, pants snug fit to your doughy thighs, hair a tousled mess as you walked from your car; You aren't on too many social medias, but you are focused and driven on pushing yourself for more, a bigger life, something to explore and peel open. You didn't get dished the bright opportunity all these spoiled kids did, you worked to get where you are and you aren't finished. That spark was so electric, didn't you feel it too? I crossed the street, directly going for your path as you took a hard glance to your phone, managing to juggle it from your back pocket. Your shoulder clashed with mine, and the books went a tumble between us onto the cement. It made me wince, but it was worth hearing that voice. "Oh lovely, I'm so sorry!" You're considerate. You put your hand onto the flat of mine, doe eyes finding me. The moment was brief, but it took the breath from my lungs being so close, the floral smell, the soft squeeze you gave me before going to collect the littered books. I wanted to live in that moment forever, swallow the feeling of you calling me lovely. I want more, to hear more.

"No, I'm sorry - I don't really look where I'm going when I'm on my phone too," It's a little rude, I can see your cheeks flush, eyeing me slightly. But it's worth it when you smile, nose scrunched as you stood, allowing me the grace of picking up the rest of the books.

"Alright honey, watch it, not a student." I can feel my knees starting to buckle when you stand up, a few heads shorter than me. I already knew, of course, but it was fun to watch you flounder. And before I could tack down even your name, you were gone. "But I do have things to do, sorry again!" It was more than enough to get high off of. You're a kind girl, aren't you? A sweet one, one who sees me past the details.

It was so easy to swipe your copy of David Copperfield during that little collision, but I think you know that, and I don't think you care. Not even as you scan it, eyebrows shifting as you recognize the strings frayed on the spine. I swallow, wondering if you recognize me the same way, from weeks ago. A small collision I carefully planned, all for you. I can feel my heart jamming into my chest when you hand it off back to me, trying to not be visibly disappointed at the lack of contact. I never realize how truly silent everything feels when you aren't talking, but being a lurker of the library since our encounter has filled my head with you. The books you love, your favorite students, the ones you pretend to love and grumble about when you think you're out of earshot. You aren't ever out of earshot from me.

"Have you been following me?"

Fuck.

"No?" Yes.

"Just - Sorry, I feel like I've seen you and I'm pretty sure I lost my Copperfield, like a month ago?" Your eyes move to the mystery man, his graying curls falling forward as he cocked his head, examining the book in his hands. Feigning recognition, and then;

"Ah! Miss not looking where she's going? I got this one from the un-shelved cart," It's a brisk lie, one that will be good for us. Copperfield, it's our thing now, something we can tell our kids. Genuine recognition looks gorgeous on you, a couple blinks and that eye creased smile, your real smile. Being close to you feels even better than I remember, a high I've been chasing for so long. My eyes, stiffly controlled, remain on yours; But a smart man can appreciate a delicious peripheral.

"Oh god, yeah! Mister clumsy, Professor...Moore?" Even the fake name I wear sends spikes through my blood, crystalizing the cells and shattering every other definition of want and love I thought I knew before. I give a nod, putting the book to my side. "That's what I figured! Thanks for the help that time, sweet thing." My heart can't take your nicknames, but you knew that since the moment we met. I want to know about you, I've already memorized your recent reading list, and taken my time imagining you with a book and nothing else. The sparking images dries my mouth, giving another hoarse chuckle. Your shape, something I can't pull myself from marveling at, something I crave to grope, to mold to my own body and hold entirely. Your curves, the perfect waves for my hands to rest and drown in -

"Jonathan is fine. I'd love to know you're real name, just so I don't mistake you as a study guide again, Miss...?" You give me your name, extending your hand out for proper contact. I already knew, but the thrill of truly being allowed to know you is a high I don't think I'll ever come down from.

[samcvrpenters]

word count:  1.2k+

pairing:  joe goldberg x fem! reader (season four)

summary:  he’s always been suspicious of you, and now he’s hoping to get those thoughts cleared up. and who best to go than you?

warnings:  mentions of murder, violence, stalking, attempted murder, i was half asleep when i wrote this so it is significantly shorter than it could be

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was about you. was it your eyes? maybe could say that it was your eyes that he was truly suspicious about. the way they darkened when the wrong thing was said, or the way they lit up with joy in the most unusual of situations. to be honest, he wasn’t sure himself. 

but there was something about you that caused him to think over and over again that you were the eat-the-rich killer. his mind was plagued with the fact that you were the one going round and brutally murdering everyone because of the fact they were rich. a little well-off.

the motive was hard to decipher though. 

were you doing it for the act of fame? maybe you wanted to bring yourself up to the throne by getting rid of the people standing in your way— but if you really wanted to go through with that, you would have to kill rhys montrose and lady phoebe.

were you doing it because they had something against you? malcom was a scheming piece of work, and the possibility of him doing something against you was high, even if he was impulsive. simon, however, he couldn’t work out. what would he have done to you to make you kill him?

was it purely for fun? maybe you had truly lost your mind after reading about some true crime and wanted to experience it for yourself. maybe you just felt like doing that. maybe it was because it was calling out to you and you decided it would be a game for you.

or was it love? it was the most basic excuse that it could be but the possibility was certainly high. maybe you were doing it for someone else in the group. maybe you were doing it for someone out of the group. he still couldn’t put his finger on it.

joe’s— no, jonathan’s lips purse together as he watches you walk through the garden with lady phoebe, his eyes on your hands at all times.

he was still confused about his own situation with his name, but he did quite like it. that private investigator was right to give him the passport that he so desperately needed for an escape. 

his eyes followed your body as you pull yourself around the corner, now heading in his direction, a smile present on your face as you were talking to lady phoebe. why were you so happy after multiple of your friends had died?

what if he would watch you kill her? then that would be all of the evidence he needed to finally put a stop to it— to you. 

he was always a calculating person. always. he would wait and plan out his moves, but at this moment in time, he really felt like just pouncing on you and letting your breath leave your lips.

the way you stepped forward in those heels? all he wanted to do was knock you off them and let the blood run freely from your head.

give you a taste of your own medicine.

but then that small bit of doubt— the fact that you could easily not be the killer and just emotional about the situation was strong in his mind.

at the dinner, his eyes were purely on you.

maybe you thought by now that he was staring because he liked you. but you had hardly noticed. you were too busy chatting away to gemma or whatever her name was. he didn’t really care for other people at the moment. only you.

to be a killer, a calculated one, you had to be observant. but you weren’t really putting those skills into play really, were you?

his conviction was definitely starting to crumble.

but now he just found himself watching you. the way you slipped the fork into your mouth as you pushed down that small salad leaf that was on your plate, courtesy of lady phoebe.

when you left the table, he allowed himself to do the same shortly after.

watching you navigate the hallways of hampsie was great. like you know exactly where you were going. and then when you glanced around your shoulder once hearing the slight shuffle of his shoes? that was fantastic too.

but he decided to act now.

what if it was too late by the time that he was able to get there? what if you had already made another kill? he could no longer just sit and watch, even if he wasn’t sure if you were the killer anymore.

the hand in his pocket twitched slightly as he could feel his hand wrapping around the switchblade that was present in it. for emergencies.

and this felt like an emergency.

he watches you as you round the corner, basically heading to your room already. 

he approaches fairly fast, his hand gripping into your shoulder, pushing you up against the wall with your back against his chest, face against the wall. he raises the blade up to your neck.

you let out a gasp— one that he’s heard from his own victims in the past. 

“you’re the eat-the-rich killer.” his voice was cold. unnervingly cold. not something that jonathan would necessarily do if he got the chance. “you killed malcom. and simon.” confrontation was always a good thing, but was this truly the best that he could go for?

“no— no i didn’t—“ you struggle in his grip, causing him to turn you around so that you were facing him, the switchblade moving to the front of your neck.

his grip was so harsh on your shoulder. you could almost swear that he was going to break it.

“jonathan— stop. before you do anything stupid—“ definitely sounded like a signature line from a killer, didn’t it? ‘before you do anything stupid’. what does that mean? that you’ll haunt him in the afterlife after getting killed by him.

“no. i know that you’re the killer.” his voice was surprisingly quiet. like nothing you have ever heard before. it was sinister, in some way. eerie.

but he didn’t have any evidence.

he only possessed a gut feeling.

“i swear to god i’m not the killer!” your voice rises unsteadily as he pushes the blade further into your throat, almost threatening to open it before pulling it away from you.

why the hell did he change his mind all of a sudden?

why the hell did he suddenly bring away the blade that was about to impale you if he was dead set on you being the killer?

“i’m willing to believe you.” or maybe it was something else deep within him that was stopping him from killing you. because he simply couldn’t. “but i’ll be watching you the next few days.” he takes a step back, away from you.

you were glad, in some sense. sure, the entire concept of privacy would be forgotten if he was watching you but at least he wasn’t trying to kill you anymore. that’s what mattered.

and now? now he would have some sort of justification watching you. it was all going according to plan, wasn’t it? 

[stargirii]

yes or noooo?1?!11!!1

joe goldberg smut? maybe a "you just walked in on me killing someone for you but lets fuck" typa scene?

[rhaenella]

You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Part 23

Part 22 | Masterlist

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut

Word count: 6.1k

A/N: at the end.

Song: Darkness In Your Heart – Cowbell

By the time you entered your sisters’ building, Zoe had already let you know via text that your mother wasn’t currently with them. That had been a massive relief. But, she’d said, there was something they needed to show you. She hadn’t specified what that something was, so your nerves were still working overtime, your stomach churning painfully.

What could that woman have done now?

And why, after all these years, was she still able to draw such a reaction from you? Get under your skin like that?

The answer was brutally simple: all the pain and sadness, the abandonment caused by her absence, and her behaviour that had led to your father leaving without a forwarding address—it was all still bottled up inside of you. How she’d hurt your family and had ruined your childhood. There were so many feelings and thoughts that you had pushed far, far away, never wanting (or ready) to deal with them. But ever since the house fire, something inside you had changed. 

The time of ignoring your mother’s antics had come to an end. She couldn’t get away with what she’d done. Not only to your sisters. But also to you. 

In your mind, she was to blame for most of your hardship, if not all of it. For the person you had become; cold and ruthless. Sure, there was a heart in there somewhere, you weren’t totally cut off from any type of feeling. Not entirely. But that only made your very being that much more confusing to you. 

The nature vs. nurture question wasn’t a theoretical concept to you. No, you lived that question and battle every day. What was wrong, and what was right? Had you been born this way, or had you become this way? Rhys had once confided in you that he didn’t think the answer to that question could ever be straightforward. That he deeply felt that—contrary to what American serial killer H.H. Holmes may have thought—people are not born with the devil in them. 

But did that come from a place of pure conviction? Or was it just another way to justify his own nature? 

You would have to try and find the answers to those questions another time, because first, there was something else you needed to know: were your sisters okay? There was no need to knock when you rushed to their front door, it was already open, with Sadie standing in the opening looking as pale as a wraith.

“Oh, Kittykat,” you sighed, wrapping your arms around her.

She buried her face in your shoulder, sniffing. “Thank you for coming…”

“Of course, baby, I got here as fast as I could.”

You followed her inside, where your other sister was in a similar state. Zoe hugged you tight, whispering a stream of apologies. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”

Running a soothing hand down her back, you frowned. “What for? You didn’t do anything.”

“No, but Rhys is all over Twitter with that new murder, and we knew you were with him this morning and we didn’t wanna bother you,” she trailed off.

You stepped away from her, alarmed. “What murder?”

She frowned as if the answer was obvious. “Tom Lockwood?”

Instant relief washed over you. For a moment, images of Rhys stabbing Jonathan to death and getting caught red-handed had flashed before your eyes. But thank god she was only referring to that other prick.

“He’s disappeared, Zoe. He might still be alive.”

She huffed. “Yeah, right. With all the murders happening lately, I doubt it.”

Inwardly, you smiled. She was way too clever for her own good. 

“Hey,” you grabbed her shoulders, levelling with her. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s horrible, whatever has happened to him. But like Rhys said, the police are investigating and will get to the bottom of it.”

“But what if this is another murder?” Sadie chimed in, worried.

“Then they will catch whoever’s responsible.”

They didn’t look convinced. And you couldn’t blame them. Even if you hadn’t been there to watch Lockwood take his last, dying breath—or been responsible to scatter his remains in a secluded grave—you wouldn’t have been persuaded by the current narrative either. Too many prominent people had died in the last couple of weeks, mostly thanks to you and Rhys. The idea of the famous CEO just popping up one day, alive and well, was a lot less plausible than murder.

Zoe shook her head, still sceptical. “How can you be so confident?”

Because, dear sister, I’m a con. That’s what I do.

You weren’t confident that the police would figure out who was actually responsible. No, you and Rhys had done a perfect job of covering it up. There was no way they could trace it back to you. However, it was precisely that confidence you used to enhance your lie. The best lies come from a place of truth, and masking the real intent behind your feelings by using them to convince people of something else, was a skill you’d gotten very good at.

Even if your sisters weren’t naive enough to fall for it like other people would, you still hoped it would reassure them a little. They were safe, as long as you were here to protect them. Your mind slid back to the real problem at hand. Your mother. The one unpredictable, dangerous variable you couldn’t control.

“I just know it. Now, enough about Lockwood. He isn’t important right now. Mum was here, you need to tell me what happened.”

“No,” Sadie bit her cheek. “She wasn’t literally here here.”

“But on the phone you said that she’s back,” you raised a brow, confused. “What is it you needed to show me then?”

Zoe took a breath. “Well, her proof of life. So to speak… and uhm, how shall we put it?” 

She looked to Sadie who merely shrugged. “An olive branch?”

Your questioning eyes darted from one sister to the other. “An olive branch?”

“Yeah, an olive branch,” Zoe nodded. “That’s the best way to describe it, I guess.”

“What the hell does that–”

Before you could finish the question, Sadie had retrieved a folded envelope from her back pocket, which she handed to you with a slight tremor in her hand. It had all three of your names written on it, sloppy and askew. Your frown deepened as you felt the envelope. Going by the low quality paper, it could definitely be from your mother. 

“A letter?”

They both nodded. 

Un-fucking-believable… Your mother had sent you a bloody letter? Saying what? Oh, I’m sorry for almost burning you alive, I hope you forgive me, Love, mum. What a joke.

“You already read it, I presume?” Another nod. Sighing, you turned the envelope a few more times. “And this was delivered here?” You could scarcely believe it.

Zoe shook her head this time. “No, it was delivered to Darcy College. They sent it over to us.”

You froze at that new piece of information, your blood running cold. You’ve got to be kidding me… Looking up slowly, your sisters flinched at the seething look crossing your face.

“They did what?!” you fumed, making both of them flinch again. “I left specific instructions that if she were to contact the school in any way or form, they had to let me know first! Jesus christ, what a bunch of bloody useless imbeciles…”

Zoe and Sadie shared a look at the sudden outburst, but didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to look at you twice to see you were under a lot of stress. And in those circumstances, it was usually best not to argue. Perhaps one of them should let Rhys in on that secret.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” you glanced down at the envelope. “What bullshit has she written then? What twisted web of lies has she conjured up this time to justify her actions?”

Zoe swallowed thickly, her voice quiet as she spoke. “Read for yourself…”

You bristled, angrily fishing out the two-page letter, the cursive handwriting all too familiar. Oh dear, here we go.

My dearest daughters,

I know I haven’t always been the best mum, but I’ve been working hard on myself. To be a better mum for you. After the incident, I thought two of my precious children had died. It was my fault. I couldn’t live with what I had done, so I ran. I almost died myself that night. But I was found by a retired officer who was kind enough to take me in. I barely remember what happened or what he looks like, but he was the one who told me to seek help. He said he knew of a very good place that had once helped his son. I’m not gonna lie to you, sweet daughters, I was hesitant at first. The first step in recovery is to acknowledge your own mistakes and wrongdoings. I’ve learned that now. And that night, I took my very first step. The kind man called someone he knew at the facility and then drove me there. It was the last I saw of him. After I finish this letter, I plan to write to him too. Donald, my primary caretaker, said he knows the man’s address and will post the letter for me once I finish writing. 

But first this letter to you. You’re my priority. Maybe you won’t believe me, but you have always been my priority. Y/N, since the day you were born, you stole my heart and my love. You were my bright little bundle of joy, always smiling and happy. Until you were not. Another acknowledgement: that was my fault too. 

But back to the present. Cause I’m trying to look to the future nowadays. Moving forward. Once I got here, I checked myself into St. Raphael’s Clinic in Northampton. They help people like me here. To get better. To make amends with myself and the people in my life. I know I have a long road ahead of me before I can say that I’ve truly bettered myself. Because I know my actions have caused a lot of pain and suffering. I know that. I’ve been a terrible mother to you. And I will have to live with that knowledge until the end of my days. But that’s why I want to make things better now. For you girls. So that maybe you can find it within yourselves to forgive me, and we can be a real family once again.

The moment they told me you had survived and that you are okay, my dearest Zoe and Sadie, I felt a strength arise in me that I had never felt before. I know I can do this. I’m certain of it. Frankly, I’ve never been more sure about anything else in my life.

There’s so much I wish to talk to you about. I hope you’ll give me the opportunity to do so. Because I think I’m finally ready. To see you and to explain more about what has been going on, and how my treatment is progressing. That’s why I would like to invite you to come visit me at the clinic. You can meet Donald. I’ve been talking his ears off about you girls, he’ll be happy to finally put faces to the names. But it’s nothing compared to the joy it would bring me to see you again. Hold you in my arms again. And properly apologise for all that I have done.

So, please come see your mother soon. I love you.

Mum

(P.S. I’ve written the address on the back)

Tense silence filled the flat as you finished reading your mother’s messy letter. You stared blankly at the pages in your hands, your thoughts racing. What the hell had you just read? It seemed she survived the accident, and was now residing at some… addiction clinic in Northampton? Reading between the jumble of nonsensical sentences, you were sure it was also supposed to contain some kind of wayward apology. You didn’t know whether that should make you laugh or cry. 

In your eyes, this was nothing more than the ramblings of a delusional woman, definitely not someone who was getting better. Because if she was really getting better, she wouldn’t have had the fucking nerve to even send this in the first place. How fucking dare she? You shook your head in disbelief as you blinked up at your sisters. Sadie was chewing on the end of her nail whilst Zoe nervously twisted her clammy hands, both anxiously awaiting your reaction. If possible, their worried looks made you even more angry. 

“This is pathetic.”

Sadie winced. “Which part?”

“How about all of it?” you sneered. “She’s doing what she’s always done. Making up excuses for the shitty person she is.”

“Maybe she really thought we were dead…”

“So fucking what?” you spat, not even realising you were crumbling the letter in your hands. “That isn’t a bloody excuse to leave you alone after a potentially fatal accident, in an upside-down car, in the middle of a busy intersection no less. Not to mention, the house she had set on fire before leaving you to fucking burn alive in there.”

“She came back, though,” Sadie mumbled, shrugging her shoulders weakly.

“Are you kidding? Kittykat, she’s obviously just pretending to be the sweet ‘I’m going to better myself’ innocent, little lady. Probably to get out of that clinic as fast as she can to shoot up and start drinking again. Or to get us to pay for her bloody treatment. Or both.”

“Or she really wants to start getting better…”

Zoe flinched when your blazing eyes landed on her. “Et tu, Zo?! Really?” 

She shrugged as well, looking so meek, it startled you a little. She was usually much more fiery. Like you. But, you supposed, your mother had a funny way of toying with all of your heads. 

Sweet-talking her way back into your lives was second nature to her. Not that it would ever work on you. Not anymore. You were the unlucky one who had the most experience dealing with years of false promises and confessions of love. Each and every time, she failed to deliver. Hurting you again. Hurting you even more than before. There was a good reason your dad had left when he could. The fucking coward... Making life that much harder for you as you practically had to raise your little sisters all by yourself. Whilst also picking up the slack after your mother, who just kept on partying, not caring about anyone but herself.

Your sisters knew that. They weren’t stupid, they had lived through that as well. And even with their younger age, they wouldn’t quickly forget about it. But maybe, just maybe, because you had always tried to shield them from your mother’s antics as much as you could, their (naive) hope of this being a real pivotal moment in mum’s life, was a bit more tenacious than yours. 

You took a calming breath. It wasn’t their fault that they longed for a normal mother. A normal family. But, as hard as it would be for them to hear it, they would never have one. 

“Come here,” you sighed, your voice softer than before. Zoe and Sadie wrapped their arms around you, and you stayed like that for a while, hugging them tightly in the middle of the living room. When you pulled back, Sadie’s cheeks were wet, and you cupped her delicate face to wipe the tears away. 

Another breath, and you clasped their hands in yours. Breaking their hearts was the last thing you wanted to do, but you needed to make them understand that your mother wasn’t going to change. Not now. Not ever. No matter how ‘bright’ the future might seem.

“Listen to me,” you implored, squeezing their hands. “I know you want to believe her. I want to believe her too. But it’s a promise she’s made a thousand times over. And never, not once, has she lived up to it. I don’t want you guys to build up your hopes, only to find it crushed again later when she inevitably fucks up… Because she will. That’s who she is. It’s who she’s always been, and always will.” 

More tears fell from Sadie’s eyes, Zoe’s welling up as well, and your heart broke at the sight. 

“Hey–hey, shhh,” you pulled them into another hug, swallowing your own tears at seeing them like this. “I know it hurts, but she’s not worth your tears. She’s not worth them. Okay? And she’s certainly not worth our time.”

Sadie sniffed into your shoulder. “So you don’t think we should go see her?”

You managed to stop yourself from barking a loud No! They needed comfort more than anything else. Swallowing again, you shook your head. “No, baby, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Not ever? Because what if the accident was a wake-up call for her? Maybe—and I know it’s unlikely—but maybe if she does get better and stays sober… we can go see her,” she tried, even though she sounded a lot less hopeful than before. But still oh so young.

They pulled back, both wiping at their faces. “I agree, Y/N,” Zoe spoke for the first time since you snapped at her, her wet eyes holding yours. “If she manages to stay on the right path, what harm can it do to see her and hear her out?”

It could break you, that’s what.

But right now, their innocent, hopeful eyes were breaking you.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” you said, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “It would be a mistake, quite frankly.”

Zoe huffed, resoluteness creeping into her eyes. “Then let it be a mistake—let it be our mistake to make. I don’t know about you,” she briefly looked to Sadie. “But I don’t think I could live with myself if I never gave it one last try.”

“Me neither,” Sadie said, unwavering, her face also turning dead serious. 

You held their steadfast gazes, another tense silence stretching between you. Evidently, stubbornness was genetic… Even in their pain and disarray of conflicted emotions, they wanted to see this through. And they weren’t going to change their minds. Quickly realising you wouldn’t be able to persuade them otherwise, at least not right now, you sighed reluctantly. 

“Fine,” you said, clipped. Their faces lit up, but you were quick to tamper their excitement. “But I will contact the facility first, okay? Check in with the doctors about her prognosis. And if everything is indeed the way mum claims it to be, only then, can we have a serious discussion about seeing her. Together. Yeah?”

They shared another look, their mouths curving into pleased smiles before they nodded their heads in agreement. “We can work with that.”

“Good… But in the meantime, I need you both to promise me you won’t seek her out. Do not contact her in any way. She doesn’t know your address, and I’d very much like to keep it that way. Rhys went through a lot of trouble to make sure she wouldn’t be able to figure it out. Let’s not let him down.”

“We promise,” Zoe and Sadie said at the same time. Then Sadie added: “Thank you, sis. Thank you…” And they gave you another long hug, radiating a mixture of great relief and gratitude.

“I’m so sorry it has to be this way, I truly am. I just want to make sure you’re safe and that she cannot hurt you anymore. You’ve been through enough.”

“We know,” Zoe mumbled, squeezing you tighter. “We’re not mad at you. Honestly, we understand. But you also gotta understand that this is something we feel we need to do.”

“Yeah,” Sadie nodded as she leaned back. “Even if she’s an absolute nutter, she’s still our mother. Besides, weren’t you the one who taught us that everyone deserves a second chance?”

That was true. More or less. But this wouldn’t be a second chance for your mother, it would be her million-and-second. Still, you knew there was no point arguing with them. Therefore you didn’t. Just like there was no way in hell you would ever actually allow a reunion between your sisters and that toxic witch. But they didn’t need to know about that, so you nodded, forcing a smile onto your face.

“You’re right,” you offered, glancing between the two of them. “And you’ve both grown into such smart, independent, young women. I’m so proud of you, of course I will respect the choices you make.”

Respect them, yes. But in dire situations such as these, you would make sure they wouldn’t be able to see them through. You just had to play along long enough until there would be nothing but a grave left to visit. Because this letter had sealed your mother’s fate. She had to go. Before she could do any more irreparable damage to your already torn-up family.

Luckily, your ‘promise’ was enough for your sisters right now, and they both smiled appreciatively. 

“Thank you, Y/N,” Zoe whispered softly. “Thank you for always being here for us. I love you.”

Sadie lifted a finger, instantly correcting her. “Nuh-uh, we love you.”

“Right right, I’m sorry. We love you,” Zoe chuckled.

Even as your mind clouded over with dark thoughts, their declarations managed to ground you. “I love you too,” you smiled, distantly hoping that they would still feel this way after you’d killed the woman that had birthed you. And that they would eventually come round to see it your way. Because your reasonings were blatantly simple after all. Protecting your sisters had the highest priority, higher than their immediate happiness and wishes.

Speaking of priorities… Jonathan. Lockwood. Atkinson. Your mind couldn’t help but drift to the usual three suspects (apart from your mother) who succeeded in keeping you occupied nearly 24/7. You realised your better half was probably eagerly awaiting an update on the mum situation and, even with everything going on here, you were quite antsy for an update on Jonathan as well. 

You mumbled a quick apology as you fished out your phone. “Sorry, I just remembered, Rhys asked me to let him know if everything was alright. So, uhm, I’m just gonna–”

Their faces immediately turned knowing at the mention of London’s favourite politician. “You do that, sis,” Sadie giggled, stepping back to give you some space. “You know, it speaks volumes how much he cares about us.”

Zoe snorted, adding: “Yeah, I’m sure lover-boy is dying to do anything for her affection.”

“Oh, definitely! Remember how he couldn’t keep his eyes off of Y/N whilst he was showing us our new flat?”

“Mhm, I remember,” Zoe smirked. “What about you, sis?”

Rolling your eyes, you didn’t even bother to retort, typing a new message to Rhys instead. Inwardly, you were glad their moods had lightened a little, and that they were back to their usual, annoying selves.

<<< They’re okay

His reply was instant.

>>> Thank god. Are you?

<<< I’m fine

<<< Jonathan?

>>> Still alive. Your mother?

<<< Still alive…

<<< But not for long

You imagined him chuckling ever so slightly at your text.

>>> She’s still there?

<<< No, she never was, she sent a ridiculous letter

<<< I’ll show it to you later

>>> I see. Do you want me to come pick you up?

It was a simple question, yet the answer proved not so straightforward. Yeah, you wanted him to. But leaving your sisters alone after this whole ordeal? There was no way you could. During your inner debate, Zoe had, as silent as a cat, managed to sneak up on you, and was now squinting at the screen, trying to read your texts. You whirled around, locking the device just in time before she could see too much. 

“Oi!”

“Are you gonna go see him?”

“Don’t be so damn nosy.”

“Are you?” she prompted with a smile, not in the least bit deterred.

You hesitated for a second. “No. I’m staying here with you.”

Compassion flashed across her features. “It’s okay, sis. You can go if you want to. And we both know you do,” Zoe added with a wink. “There’s nothing we can do about mum now, anyway.”

You huffed. “You’re kicking me out?”

“Call it what you want,” she snickered. “No, but seriously, I actually have an evening class that’s starting in an hour, and I don’t know what time I’ll be back. Some of us are gonna get drinks later. And, to be honest, I could really use one.”

You frowned just as Sadie joined the conversation again. “Yeah, same. I was supposed to meet a few friends,” she said, checking her watch. “So, if you want to go, it’s fine. We’ll be okay.”

Your frown only deepened and Sadie smiled reassuringly, grabbing your shoulders in the same manner you had done earlier. “Truly. Honestly. Cross my heart,” she promised, shaking you slightly to get the point across.

You opened your mouth to protest again, but Zoe was quick to cut you off. “Seriously. Go to him,” she nodded, encouraging. “We won’t be on our own tonight. So why should you be?”

You groaned. Yes, she made a good point. But not even ten minutes ago, you were holding them tight, drying their tears, and now they were assuring you all was well? You had a hard time believing it. Even if you knew their friends were very supportive and would be there to keep an eye on them.

“But you’re still upset by what happened, understandingly so. I can’t just leave you–”

“Yeah, you can,” Zoe said, simple. “And you will. How many times do we need to tell you we’ll be fine. Don’t get me wrong, I still feel like absolute shite, there’s no way I can’t be…”

“Same,” Sadie cut in, then let her older sister continue.

“Like… of course we do. And you do too. But we all have people close to us that we can talk to, and help us forget about our shitty lives. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

“Righttt,” you bit back an amused smile. “By drinking? …Sound familiar?”

“Okay, first of all, we’re in no way as bad as our mother. Secondly, do you honestly expect me to believe you’re not gonna open a bottle of wine the second you get home?” You pursed your lips, unable to counter that (even with your expert lying capabilities), making her smile triumphantly. “That’s what I thought. Now go tell Rhys to come pick you up, or I swear to god I will knock you to the floor and send that text myself.”

One last lingering look, which your sister matched with an intensity that equalled a pre-fight staredown, and your shoulders sagged in surrender. “Jesus… Okay, fine! Bloody hell, you’re a vicious woman when you choose to be, aren’t you,” you murmured, grabbing your phone again.

Sadie barked a laugh as Zoe coyly shrugged, not even trying to hide her smug grin. “Yeah, I know.”

Shaking your head with a smile, secretly proud of their resilience, your thumbs flew over the keyboard, finally sending a reply.

<<< Yes

A few minutes later, your phone pinged again.

>>> Finishing up now. Be there in 40.

Reading the text, your smile widened involuntarily. The prospect of seeing Rhys again, and having a like-minded individual (aka another psychopath) to discuss your complicated emotions with, instantly made you feel a lot better about this chaotic mess of a situation. You locked your phone, then looked up at your sisters, who were eyeing you with obvious delight.

“I take it lover-boy is on his way?”

You snorted. “Yes. He’ll be here by the time you’re leaving.”

“Good. I’m sure Rhys will be able to ease your mind about mum,” Zoe said, wiggling her brows suggestively.

“Yeah, I’m sure he will,” you laughed, but your smile slipped a little. He certainly would, but not in the way Zoe had suggested. Rhys would help ease your mind, yes—by plotting stone-cold murder. A very different type of pleasure…

By the time Zoe was ready to go to class, and Sadie had grabbed her things to meet up with her friends, the sun had started to set. You briefly recapped today’s crazy events when the three of you made your way outside. The Comic Relief meeting seemed like ages ago, with Lockwood’s disappearance finally hitting the news, Rhys’ impromptu press conference in Whitechapel, Zoe’s text about mum, you and Rhys falling out… him going to see Jonathan, whilst you sprinted through the streets of London to save your sisters from… a bloody letter. You would almost forget that a mere 24 hours ago, you were stalking your latest victim into the Natural History Museum, to kill him. 

Privately, you let out a long and tired sigh. The short summary confirmed it: your life was absolutely bonkers.

After you’d hugged your sisters goodbye, you’d reluctantly let them go, like an overprotective mother on the first day of preschool. But not before once more making sure they were really fine. “We are, Y/N… Please, stop worrying, and enjoy your night. We’ll try the same.” And with that, they’d gone—and you were left to wait outside their flat, rubbing at your temple. 

A headache was forming. The dull, throbbing pain wrapping itself around your head the way a tightening elastic band would. But that wasn’t unexpected, considering the circumstances. Especially not since you were currently making yourself go nuts by squinting at your phone, pocketing the device, taking it out. Then, pocketing it again. And taking it out again. For a few minutes, you kept at it, only worsening the vexing pain in your head, until you had enough of your own indecisiveness, and mentally slapped yourself in the face. 

“Oh, fuck it,” you muttered, angrily tapping the screen to google your mother’s rehab facility’s number. Before you could rethink your actions for the gazillionth time, you pressed the green call button, nervously (not that you would ever admit it) tapping your feet against the concrete pavement.

There was a short dial tone, a click on the other end, then a monotone voice greeting you with unprecedented enthusiasm.

“You’ve reached St. Raphael’s Clinic emergency line, this is Paula speaking. If you are calling without experiencing an immediate, life threatening situation, I kindly urge you to call back tomorrow between the working hours of eight and five.”

The tone with which she spoke suggested that pretty much everyone calling their ‘emergencies only’ after-hours hotline, was never really in any danger at all. And that it annoyed her to no end. You bit your lip. You were about to add yourself to that list, even if in your eyes, your particular situation seemed dire enough to warrant special treatment. Probably like everyone else…

“Hi, Paula. My name’s Y/N Y/L/N, I’m calling about my mother, Valerie Campbell–”

“Is your mother in immediate danger, Miss Y/L/N?”

A wry smile tugged at your lips. Kind of…?

“I’m not exactly sure,” you faltered, tapping into the worry you genuinely felt, but using it to play the concerned daughter in hopes of persuading Paula not to hang up on you. “I believe my mother is a patient of yours.”

An exasperated sigh came from the other end of the line. “Miss, I told you, this number is for emergencies only–”

“Please, Paula, don’t hang up on me. I know this isn’t exactly an emergency, but my mother was in a really bad car accident a few weeks ago. I only found out today where she is, after she disappeared without a trace and I tried everything I could to find her, but to no avail…” you sniffed, faking a distressed sob for good measure. “Now I’m told she found her way to Northampton somehow, and is staying at your clinic. Please, please, tell me how she’s doing. I’ve been worried sick all this time.”

It was quiet for a moment. You didn’t try to fill the silence, only sobbing every now and then, as you waited for Paula to come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t hurt to help a distressed daughter in need. You imagined there wasn’t much else she could be spending her precious time on anyway. She likely sat next to that phone all evening and night, drinking litres of coffee in order to stay awake, waiting for the next person to call with a bullshit excuse like yours.

Another sigh, and Paula relented. “You said her name was Valerie Campbell?”

“Yes.”

You held your breath, listening to the harsh clacking noises of Paula hitting the computer’s keyboard as she pulled up your mother’s file. Two excruciatingly long minutes went by before she spoke again, in the same tiresome voice.

“Ah, yes. I see here your mother was indeed admitted to our clinic. She came in with a heavy set of old and new bruises, as well as some second-degree burns, for which she was treated by our medical team. The retired policeman that brought her in told us Ms. Campbell had strongly refused to go to the hospital, otherwise he would have taken her there first… Her injuries are healing nicely, so there’s no need for you to worry. She’s currently under treatment for substance abuse… primarily an alcohol and cocaine addiction.”

You frowned slightly. So far, this information backed up the claims your mother had made in her letter. No lies thus far. You weren’t sure if that was supposed to be comforting or not.

“...I’m also seeing that you’re listed as her emergency contact. Just your name, though. Your mother couldn’t provide a phone number or an address. Can I add this number from which you’re calling to the file?”

“Uhm, yes. That’s alright,” you said, rubbing your temple again. The headache wasn’t getting any better. “H–how is she doing? Like, mentally?”

“I unfortunately don’t have access to her psychiatrist’s files, those are sealed for obvious reasons.”

“Right… Of course.”

“However,” Paula continued. “As her daughter, you are within your rights to discuss your mother’s well-being with her doctor, her psychiatrist, etcetera. You will have to make an appointment at the clinic, if you wish to do so.”

“I do,” you said quickly, perhaps a little too eager. “Uhm–does that–can I also see my mother? She asked for me to come, actually.”

“Yes, you most definitely can. Generally, you will have an appointment with her primary caretakers first, after which you can see your mother. If she’s up to it, of course.”

“Oh, good… Uhm, yes, then I would very much like to schedule an appointment, if that’s possible.”

“I just told you it was,” she replied tartly, rigid typing sounds filling your ear again. “Let’s see when we’ve a spot available…”

It turned out the facility was absolutely packed with addicts, and there weren’t nearly enough doctors available to handle the impressive workload. Meaning you were now scheduled to visit the clinic in ten days time. You pushed aside your annoyance, telling yourself that you needed the time to carefully plan this visit anyway… There wasn’t room for error here. Besides, the intel that the clinic was immensely understaffed—like most care facilities in Britain—was certainly valuable information for someone who wanted to commit matricide on their premises.

All in due time, you thought to yourself. She’s not getting away with it this time. But even as you wholeheartedly believed that this is what you were meant to do, you couldn’t stop the cold lump of dread from forming in the pit of your stomach. 

Sadie’s words rang through you, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “She's still our mother.” Yes… She was. But she didn’t deserve to be.

You managed to hide your actual feelings and thanked Paula for her help, then finally hung up, letting the sore woman return to her uneventful evening at St. Raphael’s Clinic.

As if on cue, a black car rounded the corner, screeching to a halt in front of you. The door immediately swung open, revealing a worried Rhys. When his blue eyes met your weary ones, his ever-soothing presence still managed to calm your racing pulse. Sparking a light in the sinful darkness of your heart. Assuring you that no matter what the future had in store for you two, everything would work out in the end. 

It simply had to…

–––– 

A/N: Now that all the cards have been revealed, it’s time to see how they will play out…

––

Tags: @artaxerxesthegreat

[sharing-with-my-gnomies]

☆ imagine ☆

Season 4!Joe Goldberg X Lady Phoebe’s sister!Reader

Joe Golgberg, now Jonathan Moore, finds himself at Knebworth House with his new “friends” and he meets for the first time Lady Y/n, finding out something pretty secret and dirty about her while letting her persuade him to spend the night together.

[impala-dreamer]

Who We're Pretending To Be

A Story from the YOU Universe

~Joe finds himself getting too close to one of his grad students and he fights the urge to fall completely.~

Joe Goldberg (Jonathan Moore) x F!Reader

5,019 Words

Warnings: NSFW.

A/N: If you've not seen the Netflix show YOU, this may not be your thing. Still a great story, but it helps to know the show. Also, if you've not seen the show, I suggest you get right on that because it is AMAZING.

Set between Seasons 3 & 4. Slight spoilers for s4, but not really. 

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

The classroom seems cold today, like there’s something missing. It’s distracting. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s off, but there’s a charge in the air like something’s about to happen; as if lightning could strike at any second.

I don’t mean proverbial lightning, as none of my students seem to have grasped any of the contextual undertones of the book we’re discussing, but actual, live lightning. If I opened the windows behind my desk just a crack, a bolt would sneak through and bury itself in the base of my skull. Maybe that’s what I need- a jolt of electricity, something to break me out of this fog that crept up around me and climbs forever higher threatening to suffocate me.

I think I’d take the lightning to the skull over suffocation, but we don’t always get what we want.

I’m perched on the edge of the desk when the door opens and Y/N comes rushing in.

Suddenly, all of my attention is on her.

She’s never late. Never rushing, always at least ten minutes early for every appointment, every class. She seems- off today, as well. Perhaps she can feel the imminent lightning strike as well. Wouldn’t that be funny? I find a kindred amongst these idiot grad students who can’t even seem to end this horrid debate.

“I am so sorry, Professor Moore.”

Y/N’s voice cracks a bit, which in itself isn’t very unusual. She’s one of the quieter students I’ve encountered, and the only American in my current circle of acquaintances. Her accent is faint, as if she’s attempting to hide it from her schoolmates. She’s been here a while, I can infer; sprinkling in local slang and adding letters to words where back home there would be none. She’s trying hard to fit in, but why? Why not be herself?

“I got held up by-”

I hold up my hand and smile softly. “It’s fine, Y/N. Please take a seat and try to catch up.”

For fuck’s sake, she’s only twenty minutes late, but it looks like every second has weighed her down like lead.

The others pick up their debate and I sit back a bit, cross my arms, pretend to listen. This teaching thing isn’t as hard as everyone makes it out to be. Occasionally, I toss out an idea and let them run with it. Sometimes, I pay attention, mostly I don’t. Mostly I’m thinking of You. Of how beautiful You looked at that art show, of how You gasped when you saw me like You couldn’t decide if You wanted to run to me or away.

From the corner of my eye, I see Y/N timidly raise her hand and You are temporarily pushed aside. She keeps her hand up but close to her chest, as if the very act of asking to speak is somehow terrifying.

How can someone so brave be so terrified to do something as common as speak in class? She’s clearly not a scared person by nature- she moved across an ocean to attend university when she could have gone for free back home to whatever state college she decided to attend. I’ve peeked at her transcripts- she’s smart. Not win a genius grant or a full ride smart, but smart. Why is she so nervous?

I smile and a bit of her nerves seem to quell. Her shoulders relax an inch and she smiles back.

“You know you don’t have to raise your hand, Y/N,” I tell her, laughing gently to put her at ease.

She dips her chin and then looks up with the most beautiful gaze I have ever seen. Her lashes flutter upwards in slow motion, the darkness of her pupils expand, pushing nearly every fleck of color away except the gemlike glow cast by the stained glass window over my head. She smiles and her lips shine like glass. Soft, pink, beautiful glass. I can’t look away and yet I absolutely have to. Thankfully, she speaks and I can act like I’m moving away to sit in my chair and not to get away from her.

“Sorry,” she says, sweet voice sweeping over the room. “I just didn’t want to jump in because I was late but-”

“But you have something to add,” I finish for her.

Her eyes float back to me and the atmosphere shifts. The foreboding of a lighting strike vanishes and the room seems to warm up. Quickly, I sit and scoot the chair close to the desk, set my elbows on the top, clasp my hands near my lips. I can’t stop staring at her.

She nods. “Yes. If that’s alright.”

There it is again, the tiniest speck of British on her tongue. How long has she been living here, and why? It can’t just be for school. She’s too interesting for that. She dresses to blend in; muted colors and clean jeans, her hair always swept back, face free of plastering makeup or too much color. There’s only ever that pink gloss and a gentle brush of mascara. It’s as if she doesn't know how beautiful she is, or perhaps, she doesn’t care.

Or was she one of those kids who never really got any attention until they blossomed but by then it was too late to fit into their personality?

She chews her lip nervously and shyly looks away from me.

No, she knows. She knows how beautiful she is, she just isn’t one to flaunt it; doesn’t need the attention. Or is that how she draws them in?

She’s already talking, but I can’t hear a thing she’s saying. I can hear her voice, that honey like glaze she adds to things when she’s speaking passionately, but the actual words, the meaning- I can’t follow a damned thing. I’m too busy trying to figure her out.

You flash through my mind for a moment; a sweet memory of a smile in the library when You didn’t think I was looking.

What is it about a smile that says so much without words? Does it show who we really are or who we’re pretending to be?

“I just think that love shouldn’t be so easily condemned.”

Y/N’s comment breaks through my thoughts of You and I clear my throat, straighten up in my chair, focus.

Across the room, Nadia rolls her eyes, clearly disagreeing with Y/N’s interpretation. “This isn’t love, it’s obsession. The two can’t and shouldn’t be intertwined.”

Y/N bites her bottom lip and shakes her head.

What does that lip gloss taste like? Berries, perhaps… No. Stop it. Focus.

“I disagree.” Y/N sits forward and tucks her hands below the table. “Love is obsession. Obsession is love. It’s not a tautology, no, but you can have one with the other. If you’re not even a little obsessed with the person you love, is it really love at all?”

My mind is zinging, my ears ringing. Does she truly believe that, or is it all for the sake of debating Nadia? They’ve been at war most of the semester, but this seems truthful, deep.

The bell rings before I can recenter and add anything. I give my head a little shake and stand up, the chair rolling back behind me.

“Class dismissed. Great job today. Lively, wonderful discourse.” I fake a smile at the rest and then settle on Y/N.

She’s taking her time, hanging back as she gathers her things. She stuffs a notebook into her bag and the pen she’s been using rolls away from her.

“Crap.” She lunges across the table for it, but it’s too close to the edge, too far from her reach.

I drop down at the last second and save it from a dusty fate of rolling across the floor. “Gotcha.”

She’s staring when I stand up. Our eyes meet and she doesn’t shy away, but looks even deeper somehow. A smile lifts her cheeks and my pulse quickens.

No.

She holds out her hand and there’s a fleeting second when I want to trace my fingers across her palm, feel how soft and warm she is, but no. I toss her the pen and turn, trying to get her out of my head.

I have more important things to do than become a tired cliche. Some professor falling for a student. It’s an outrageous thought, and besides, I don’t need Y/N, I have You.

I hear the zipper close and a chair being pushed in. She’s leaving.

She lingers in the door and turns back to me with a sweet smile. “Have a good weekend, Professor.”

Her tone is so genuine, so kind that it nearly knocks me backwards. I can’t remember the last time anyone has truly wished me a good time. It’s such an overused pleasantry, so common and boring, but not when she says it. Not when she smiles at me like that, with her eyes still and focused on me.

The warmth spreading through me is real as well and I can’t seem to push it away. “Thank you,” I managed, barely able to stand let alone return the sentiment. “You too.”

The rest of the day goes by quickly but it feels like forever. Two more classes, two more groups of students droning on about what the author really meant, when none of them, not a single one seems to be able to read between the fucking lines. None of them can step back and see the whole picture, capture the meaning as a universe unto itself and not just a line in black and white on an otherwise blank page.

Y/N could read between the lines. Y/N would understand the sum of it all. She would get it.

Stop. Thinking. About. Her.

On my walk home, I think about You. Wondering what You’re up to, where You are tonight. The sun is setting, dragging the sky down into a deep pink and I wonder if You are seeing the same colors where You are. Someday, we’ll sit together on an island in the Pacific and see what that sunset looks like. Would You paint it for me, I wonder…

Y/N crosses my mind for a moment as I gaze at the light reflecting off a window as I pass. Would the sunset hit her shining lip gloss in the same way? Would the pink deepen with the sky? Would she smile if she caught me staring, back away if I leaned in to drag my thumb across her juicy, pink bottom lip?

No.

Darkness has settled and I haven’t moved to turn on a lamp. I’m stuck, glued to my sofa, my hands nailed to my thighs. I keep my eyes open for fear of seeing her face, but bouncing around the room looking for a distraction is only giving me a headache. I need to get out. I need something to do. I need-

A knock at the door.

Who would be knocking at my door at nearly ten o’clock at night?

Curiosity pulls me off of the couch and I switch on the lights as I head to the door. The peephole is clouded as fuck, but I can see her outline. My stomach tightens, my shoulders tense.

What is she doing here?

Her hand raises to knock again, but I unlatch the door before her knuckles hand. I find her dangling in the air, her startled face the most appealing thing I’ve seen in ages. Her eyes go wide, her jaw drops just enough to give me a peek at her tongue. Quickly, she rights herself and shies her gaze away. She chews her lip and I notice the pink gloss is gone, replaced by a deeper red.

Everything about her is different tonight. Her hair is down and fresh, her eyes are lined in black and the color blended above brings out the prisms in her eyes. Her clothes are strange as well: a short skirt, tall boots, a blouse that’s too tight to hide anything. There’s a gold string around her throat, something old, a gift perhaps from a dead relative, or a chance find at an antique shop. She would like diving through boxes of discarded wares looking for treasures, wouldn’t she?

Or maybe I’m just distracted by her appearance. Maybe I should stop trying to pick her apart and send her far, far away.

I’m not that man anymore. I’ve changed. I’m good. I have to be good for You.

It’s been too long since either of us has said anything and the fact of it is hanging in the air between us like some kind of glowing, awkward sign.

Thankfully, she speaks.

“Um… Hi.”

It isn’t much, but it breaks the painful silence.

I smile, confused but curious. My ultimate downfall.

“Y/N. What are you doing here?”

I should say something about it being inappropriate, something about contacting me only during office hours, but she knows. That’s not why she’s here. I can see it in her eyes.

Her hands are tucked behind her back, I notice. She’s holding something, not just shoving her tits in my face, although, I can’t say that I mind. She sees that I’m looking and turns to the side a bit to hide it more.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, calming herself, steeling her nerves. Why is she so nervous? What secret is she hiding? What plan has been brewing all day in her head?

That’s it, isn’t it? She was late this morning, distracted and timid because she was planning to come here.

I should be flattered, but I’m too intrigued by her boldness as she slides past me into my flat.

“I know this is highly inappropriate,” she says, the confession like a song on her lips. “But… I… Well…”

Her nose scrunches up in the most adorable way while she searches for the right words. It’s endearing and makes me want to sit for hours and listen to her talk, discover exactly who she is and why.

I’m still standing in the open doorway, I realize, so I move aside and let it close. My back presses into the door and I hold my tongue, letting her get to the point.

She’s struggling, dancing around it in her head.

I want to crack open her skull and watch the thoughts spark through the gray matter like shooting stars.

“If you’re worried you’ll get in trouble,” I say, trying to get things moving, “you won’t. I’m just wondering why you’re here and how it is that you know where I live.”

She laughs and digs her tooth into the corner of her lip. “I’m not… stalking you or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I almost laugh. Almost.

“Nothing that nefarious,” she goes on. “But I did do something bad.”

The nerves seem to fall away from her the more she speaks and her demeanor changes. Her voice deepens ever so slightly and her hip pops to the side as she looks me over. Is she… flirting with me?

“I doubt you’ve done anything newsworthy, Miss Y/L/N…”

She takes a step forward and her lips pucker gently.

She is flirting with me.

“I hope not,” she says with a little laugh. “You see, I work part time in the admin office…”

I didn’t know that. I don’t know a lot about her. So many things to uncover, so many artifacts to dust off and examine.

“OK…” I push off from the door and take a step towards her. She counters, stepping backwards, guiding me to follow.

“And, well, I accidentally was looking at your files and-”

“Accidentally?”

She presses her tongue between her front teeth and smiles, eyes falling across my face. “Accidentally on purpose,” she clarifies. “I was… curious.”

“About me?”

Another step closer but she doesn’t move this time, letting me close the space between us by a few forbidden inches.

She sighs sweetly. “A little, yes.”

I dip my chin and look up, lifting my brows in question. She pulls in a quick breath, clearly enjoying the look I’ve given her.

“OK, maybe a little more than a little.”

One more step and I’m closer than I’ve ever really been to her, except just now when she invited herself in. I take a breath and she smells warm like vanilla, sweet like honey. The fantasy of berries on her lips falls away and I suddenly want to bury my face in the crook of her neck and do nothing but breathe in her scent, feel it invade my senses, infect my bloodstream.

Her chest heaves with a heavy breath and her eyes grow a little darker. She wants me.

“Maybe a lot curious,” she whispers, lifting her chin and blinking slowly.

Is she daring me to kiss her? Can she feel the lightning between us? Dare I?

No. She’s a student. She’s off limits. She’s not… You.

She must notice my hesitation and steps back a pace. She clears her throat. “Anyway. I saw that it was your birthday today.”

It’s not my birthday. Not my real birthday, anyway, just the one on the fake passport with the fake name and real photo.

I smile because I have to. “It is.”

Whatever she’s hiding behind her back shifts between her hands. “And, well, it’s presumptuous of me but I’ve never heard you talk much about friends or family and… you don’t wear a… ring. I just… Well, I know how hard it is to be a world away from what you know, and this city isn’t exactly kind in general, so…”

She’s rambling and I don’t ever want her to stop. Her voice ebbs and flows over me like a sultry tsunami and I can feel my fingers twitch, my blood rush through my system faster and faster.

“I just don’t think anyone should be alone or forgotten on their birthday so-” Finally, she reveals the mystery behind her back and holds out a green glass bottle. “I took a chance that you were a scotch man. At first I thought wine, but I know nothing about wine, and the guy at the shop said this one was good, so… Happy birthday, Professor.”

She hands me the bottle and without thinking, I take it. It’s not expensive by any means, but it’s the gesture that counts. She doesn’t let go right away, holding it with me, as if she can communicate her desires through the blown glass.

“Thank you.” I smile, let my finger brush against hers. “This is… very thoughtful.”

She lets go but doesn’t move otherwise. Her eyes are locked on me, her stare so pure.

I have to get her out of here.

Y/N shrugs and smiles, so confident now, so sure. “It’s nothing, really. I don’t even know if it’s any good.”

Her meaning lingers and I nod, gesture to the sofa as I start to peel off the seal on the top of the bottle.

“Join me for a glass?”

She bites her lip again and I nearly lose it.

“Love to.”

The scotch isn’t terrible but it’s not great. More like something you’d grab if you were just looking to get drunk, not necessarily gift someone you’re trying to impress.

Is that what she’s doing here? Trying to get me drunk? Surely, she knows she’s impressed me long before today. The looks between us in class, the lectures directed almost entirely at her have not gone unnoticed, but this, this is different. This is dangerous. She is dangerous.

The sofa suddenly feels too small. We sit close, drinking and chatting about life in London. She tells me about her family back home and how she had to cross an ocean to escape a misspent youth and an abusive father figure. I lie my way through a few answers but mostly, I let her talk.

The more she drinks, the looser her tongue gets, the freer her gestures. More than once, her hand falls to my knee and even though I should, I don’t push her away. Even though I should stand up, take her glass, ask her to get the hell out of my house, I can’t. I can’t do anything but stare at her lips as she speaks, drown myself in the tone of her voice, memorize the shape of her ears, her nose, slope of her shoulder. I’m lost in time with her and even though I know the clock is careening past midnight, I don’t care. I don’t want her to leave. I don’t want her to move. I want to be frozen in this moment with her. I want to die in her arms but not before…

“Professor?” She laughs gently, loose and relaxed from the alcohol. She leans in, her shoulder pressing against mine. “Are you even listening to me?”

Honestly, I have no idea what she’s been saying, but I can’t let her know that. I shift a bit, turning towards her. There’s barely room left for the Holy Ghost, as they say, but I doubt he’d begrudge me a little closeness, especially on my- on Jonathan’s birthday.

“I’m listening,” I whisper, captivated by the way she’s glowing. “I’m always listening to you.”

She squirms a bit and smiles behind her glass, takes another sip, downing the rest. There’s a drop of amber gold on her lip and it takes every ounce of restraint in me not to sweep it away with my tongue.

She pats the back of her hand against it and the moment is gone.

“Ya know, you’re one of the best teachers I’ve ever had. And I’m not just sayin’ that. You really are. I get you. I see you, Jonathan Moore. I see inside you.”

She slurs a bit, but not enough for it to be considered a crime if I touch her. That’s all I want to do, just a simple touch. Just to feel how soft she is beneath my fingers, how smooth the curve of her cheek.

Ripping myself away from the impulse, I take the glass from her hand and set hers next to mine on the coffee table. “I think you’ve had enough, Miss. Y/L/N.”

Her hand lands on my chest, right in the very center of me. Can she feel my heartbeat? Does she know how much I want her?

“You can call me by my name, ya know,” she says, dropping her chin and smiling. She’s so close that it would take but a tiny nudge to taste her. “Everyone just calls me Y/N/N.”

This is insane. She needs to leave. I need to slam the door behind her and never open it again.

“Y/N/N.”

Her name falls from my tongue like an incantation and her eyes go hazy. She leans closer, her breath fanning over my lips.

“Say it again,” she asks, nearly begging, “please…”

Fuck, this isn’t good. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. I need to- Fuck, what does it all matter? She’s beautiful and interesting and smart and sitting next to me barely dressed and all she wants is me to whisper her name. What’s the harm?

“Y/N/N.”

The spell falls over her and I know it’s too late to back away. Her eyes fall closed and she leans in, pressing her crimson painted lips to mine. She exhales, pushes herself into the kiss, lets out a tiny moan.

She feels so good and it’s all I can think about. She pulls back and I lean in, needing more. My arms wrap around her, stealing her away. She melts against me, opens her lips to my tongue. The vanilla on her skin mixes with the scotch on her tongue and I’m blown away.

“Professor…”

If feels wrong, so fucking wrong, but I can’t stop tasting her, can’t stop breathing into her with every ounce of air in my body.

I let her go for a second, thinking she’s changed her mind, but no, she’s even more ready than I am.

She stands up, fits her knees in between mine and slowly unbuttons her blouse.

My eyes are huge, I know it. I must look like an idiot but I can’t help it. She’s here, beautiful and curvaceous, teasing me, undressing for me. It’s all for me. She’s here for me.

The blouse floats to the floor and she looks down at me, a hint of previous nerves returning. Her bra is pale pink and covered in lace. Something so pure and innocent covering up something I would kill for.

I would, I realize. I would kill for her.

She wiggles out of her skirt and her hips are distracting. I want to touch, to feel my bones crushing into hers, to sink myself deep inside just to see what it’s like, to know her, to feel all of her.

“You like?” she asks, innocence ringing in her soft voice.

What happened in her past that would make her ask such a thing? Who hurt her so badly, who crushed her self esteem to the point that she wouldn’t be able to tell if I was enjoying her delicious display?

“Of course. You’re… absolutely stunning.”

I can’t say more or I’ll break. I reach for her and she slides into my lap, locking her thighs around mine. She presses down on me and my cock responds, all blood and logic rushing down to push back at her ass.

She wraps her hands around my neck and bends to kiss me. Her fingers tangle in my hair, she curls them, tugs gently, testing, enjoying. Her kisses deepen and her hips roll. I’m about to lose my mind.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the first day of class,” she moans, scraping her nails across my scalp.

The sensation is intoxicating and my eyes roll back a bit as she tugs hard. Her right hand is locked in my hair and her left is dragging down my chest. I should stop her. I should stand up. I should…

“Fuck.”

Her hand sneaks into my slacks and she scoots back onto my knees for better access. I can’t even think straight as she rubs at my cock. Her hand is soft, warm, firm. I know I’m moaning, but I can’t help it. I might just die here beneath her.

Her tongue glides across my lips. “So hard to sit in class and not dream about fucking you…”

Something snaps inside of me and I let go. I grab at her tits, peel the delicate lace down and pinch her nipples hard until she’s crying out and arching against me.

“I can’t even read anymore,” she admits, nearly breathless as my lips seal around her left nipple. “Every page makes me think of you. I can hear every word in your voice. I- oh God-”

I bite down just enough to stop her train of thought and I look up to see a blank, beautiful stare.

“I want you,” she whispers, lips never quite closing after.

Fuck. This is what I was trying to avoid. This feeling, this hunger inside of me. This need to fall into someone else, this treacherous lust that forces me to act.

“Please…”

Her hand falls to the nape of my neck and it’s so delicate, so tender that I break.

Wrapping my arms around her, I stand and twist, flipping her over onto her back. She gasps and reaches for me, kissing through the shock while I tug the slacks from my hips. She yanks at my shirt, fumbling with the tiny plastic buttons, licking at every new inch of exposed flesh.

“Want you inside me so bad,” she sings, nearly praying as if I’m some ancient god on high that can make all her dreams come true.

I don’t know about all of them, but this prayer, I can answer.

I tear the lace from her hips and fall down over her, crushing her into the old sofa. Her breath stops for a blessed second and I swear I can hear her heart racing through the silence. She runs her hands across my shoulders and down, curling them around my hips while spreading her legs wider.

“Please… Please… Please…”

Her whine is pathetic but I can’t get enough. If I had it in me to drag this out, to tease her for hours, I would, but the scotch has clouded my head and the sight of her strung out and desperate makes it impossible to wait.

She inhales hard when I sink into her. I can feel myself falling but I press my hands beside her head and hold on as best I can.

She feels like heaven.

Or the closest thing to heaven I’ll ever know.

Wet and warm and tight, I can feel her throbbing around me. Every thrust is like magic, making her shiver and squirm and tighten up even more. She clings to me, nails digging into my arms, mouth searching and thirsty for more.

“Jon-”

I almost go insane. It’s not even my name, but it feels so right on her lips that I wish it was.

I feel her orgasm; her body clenching down on me and pulling me in deeper. It’s so hard not to scream her name at the top of my lungs. Nearly impossible not to stay here forever.

I fall down, shove my face into the crook of her neck and thrust a few more times. I know it’s over too soon, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

She rakes her hand through my hair, gently this time, and finds my lips, kissing me sweetly.

“Hi,” she laughs when our eyes finally focus and find each other through the afterglow.

God, she’s beautiful. So giving, so loving, so perfect in a million different ways that it’s actually breaking my heart.

I smile and peck her lips as I go soft inside of her.

“Hello, You.”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05  

[harperinrealife]

“Cufflinks.”

C/W: Mentions of death/killing (?), extreme sexual content, mentions of alcohol/drugs

A/N: Hi, this is my first fanfic on here and I’m still learning how to get around this app so please spare me if there’s any grammar errors or anything along those lines! Any who, please enjoy.

Jonathan Moore x afab!reader

Summary: Despite your distaste towards Jonathan Moore, the American that had just moved to London and was friends with your late husband, you find yourself in a conjoined room with Jonathan at Hampsie—an old castle in the English countryside with all your other eccentric friends and of course, Lady Phoebe, your best friend. Everyone is getting ready for the murder mystery party Lady Phoebe had planned for that evening and Jonathan comes into your room from the door you two share, asking for help with his cufflinks. While the offer is innocent, you and Jonathan find each other tangled in the intimacy of sex together.

♫: Crazy In Love from the “Fifty Shades of Grey” soundtrack, Beyoncé

London, the place to be. It was a new start: a fresh slate after what had happened in Mandre Linda and everywhere else. First it had been Candace, then it was Beck, and it was supposed to end with Love. But, Love just wasn’t for Joe—it was a cycle, a process, an endless circle that Joe was running around in. No matter how much he tried to bend the rules, to think things could be different, to do the utter most for the “love of his life”—he always ended up in the same spot, burying the “love of his life.” But, Jonathan Moore was going to have hope in this new life. He was going to believe that things can be different.

Jonathan, aka Joe, had gotten a job as a literary professor at the local University. Darcy university. Jonathan had became buddy-buddy with one of the other professors at Darcy university. Malcom Harding. And of course, Malcom Harding being himself, gave Jonathan the pent house just beside his own—Jonathan just having moved here to London and having no where to stay. Malcom and Jonathan were surely now to become friends now. Though, things begin to take a turn as Jonathan becomes more involved with Malcom and his group of friends—deception, drama, lines of cocaine, bottomless glasses of champagne—quite the group of emotive people.

Well, except for you. You were different. You were the one standing in the corner of a party, saying no to snorting lines of crack and not getting so drunk off your ass that you won’t remember that day—You had caught Jonathan’s eye but, you were married to Malcom, out of all people and had an absolute distaste for Jonathan. Now, despite having hope that things would be different, Jonathan promised to himself to keep a low profile and stay out of things (and people) that weren’t his. But you, you were something else and Jonathan couldn’t help but to indulge in you, even if you were playing hard to get and there was somewhat of a mutual dislike between you and Jonathan.

.

Jonathan has lived in London for a month now and crazy things have happened. Your husband has died. Your friends are beginning to catch onto his antics. You’ve hooked up with Jonathan a few times (regrettably), but—despite all of this, Jonathan finds himself being invited to Hampsie with all your friends and you. It was weekend getaway by the English countryside, far, far, far away from Jonathan’s responsibilities and his past. Maybe this could be good for him. Though, Jonathan couldn’t be too sure. Your friends were snobs, to say the least. Annoying, privileged, rich snobs who have gotten their whole life handed down to them by their parents. They hardly have any filter and who knows how things might go. If they catch on, it could ruin everything for Jonathan and he’d find himself behind bars and in handcuffs.

Jonathan was going to have a good time or at least he tried to convince himself when he arrived to his room at Hampsie. He set down his bag on the foot of his antique bed and began rummaging through it, making sure he had everything before he decided to do a little exploring in his room. Where’s the harm in that? Jonathan thought to himself as he began to take a look around. He’s got a decent view from his bedroom window. It’s a spacious room, he notes while approaching a randomly placed door. Without thinking much, Jonathan opens the door and he sees you, reaching for the doorknob prior to when he had opened the door. Jonathan freezes up a bit and takes a step back. “Sorry, I—“Can you help me untangle my necklaces?” You interrupted Jonathan to ask, evidently nervous. “They’re stuck and I’ve tried everything.” You added on, quickly turning around so Jonathan can examine the tangled necklaces, presumably having no one else nearby that could help you.

Jonathan inhales slowly and approaches you once more. He reaches out to assess the situation before beginning to tentatively untangle the necklaces with cold, trembling hands. He’s careful not to get too close and not to make the wrong move but, he can’t deny the desire stirring within him while he’s touching your skin like this. You’re so close, almost too close. Jonathan can feel the near warmth of your body, smell your expensive perfume, and feel your smooth skin with his own fingertips. It’s like you two been here before in this same exact moment and he can tell you feel it too. Your breathing becomes shallow, you become more warm, and a slight flush dusts over your complex.

Jonathan tries to hurry up and get his hands off you because it all feels too intimate—too much for him to handle right now. It wasn’t right. You two shouldn’t be doing this because Jonathan is a bad man but, when you turned around to face Jonathan after he’s untangled your necklaces successfully, his heart clenched in his chest and made him forget all logic. “Thank you.” You said simply to Jonathan while you swallow the lump in your throat. You reach up to your chest to toy with your necklaces, pressing your thumb to the gold charm on one of the necklaces you wore. “It’s no problem, really.” Jonathan says with a reassuring smile.

There was a pause of silence betwixt Jonathan and you. It was extremely tense and daunting. Jonathan wasn’t sure if you could hear his heart beating but regardless, he remained close and so did you. You feel it too, Jonathan mused to himself as his dark eyes trickle down to your lips, taking in their lushness and the rosy color of them. “I should probably get back to.. unpacking.” You said suddenly, breaking the tension that had built up within the past minute. Jonathan snapped himself out of whatever trance he was and cleared his throat. Not now, not ever, Jonathan internally groaned. I can’t. We can’t. We shouldn’t, not again. “Yeah, uhm,” Jonathan breathed out, attempting to find indifference. “I’ll catch you later?” God, why are you doing this to me. “Perhaps.” You mumbled cooly, as if brushing off this whole interaction and the undeniable chemistry you two had.

You give an obviously forced smile which came off as curt to Jonathan before taking a step back and turning around to head back in your room, leaving Jonathan to himself and the growing issue beneath his trousers.

.

It was day two of being at Hampsie and tolerating the cavalier people who were also staying at this old castle. This evening, everyone was getting ready for the murder mystery party Lady Phoebe was hosting—which required high maintenance appearances and participation. So of course, Jonathan found himself getting ready as well. He put on his best suit, made sure everything was precisely right and crisp but when it came down to cuffing his sleeves and putting on his cufflinks, he seemed to struggle. Jonathan forced himself to struggle for a bit longer before deciding to go to you for help, if you were willing. It was truly a fifty, fifty—feeling like Jonathan always had to walk on glass around you as if stepping on one of the wrong glass shards would upset you. Regardless, he still sought out you for assistance.

Jonathan walked into your room through the wooden door that separated your conjoined rooms and was immediately greeted to the sight of you getting ready for tonight, just like everyone else. You wore an elegant dress that clung to your body like a second skin. Your luscious hair was curled and your face was beaten with makeup that made your striking features pop. It wasn’t hard for Jonathan to admit that you were—in fact—attractive to him. You were nothing short of beautiful and stunning. Jonathan exhaled the breath he didn’t know he was holding, regaining his composure. “Can you help me with my cufflinks?” Jonathan asked as you turned to face him, your eyes pierced right through him, reminding him of that one evening in the garden after your husbands funeral—the alcohol on your lips, the heat of your body, your scent, the passion of the moment, and now, the fact he knew exactly what was under that dress. It made Jonathan’s mind wonder more.

Jonathan forced himself to get his mind out of the gutter as he felt your lithe, ring-adorned hands on his wrist, cuffing his sleeves before grabbing his golden cufflinks and fastening them on effortlessly. “Stop moving.” You grumbled, a look of concentration painting your face as you gently tugged at Jonathan’s wrists to get him to stop moving. “I’m not,” Jonathan says somewhat defensively. You glare sharply at the man and he immediately shuts up. Jonathan stays quiet, not wanting to frustrate you anymore as you talked about the plans for the night and focused on fixing his sleeves. Amid your focus, Jonathan couldn’t help but to admire more up close. He inhaled the perfume you wore, finding the scent familiar. His dark eyes drank in your body and the way your hips shifted and the way your lips twitched.

Jonathan must’ve been staring for too long because you cleared your throat, clearly frustrated when Jonathan had tried his hardest not to make you upset. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You inquired sharply, letting your hands fall from Jonathan’s perfectly cuffed sleeves before crossing your arms over your chest, giving Jonathan a better view of your cleavage. Jonathan quickly averted his gaze and met your cold eyes. He flushed ever so slightly under your scrutiny and he couldn’t managed to find any words. You stand there, glaring at Jonathan, the tension that was originally broken was back better than ever.

Though, one step led to another and all the sudden—your lips were on Jonathan’s and you were helping him shrug off his suit jacket. You two needed to be at dinner in less than twenty minutes but, the sexual tension was over consuming and impossible to resist. Jonathan couldn’t keep it in any more. He’s waited so long to have you again and he didn’t know if he could’ve waited any longer. The kiss between Jonathan and you was desperate and hungry. Jonathan’s tongue entered your mouth and savored the taste of you with his uneven breathing and his growing erection. As soon as Jonathan’s suit jacket was on the floor, he lifted you up by your thighs and sat you down on an antique chest by the foot of your bed, slotting himself between your thighs. “Jonathan,” You gasped when Jonathan’s hand pulled your panties to the side and he began to circle your swollen clit with an effortless skill. You grasped onto the edge of the antique chest, stabilizing yourself while you shifted your hips against Jonathan’s hand, searching for more friction.

Jonathan watched breathily, finding in pleasure watching you writhe against his hand and your icy demeanor break down into something more desperate and submissive. “That’s it,” Jonathan encouraged, slipping a finger into your wet pussy. “Just like that, Y/N.” Jonathan leaned down and captured your collarbone in his mouth, nipping at it before beginning to trail kisses up the side of your neck—feeling your thrumming pulse against his lips while he let you adjust to the sudden intrusion of his finger and listening to you groan. “Jonathan, I-I—” You whimpered, throwing your head back when Jonathan began to pump his finger in and out of your pussy. “Do you think you can handle two fingers?” Jonathan inquired huskily, pulling back just enough to see your face. You stare at Jonathan, flushed, breathless, and flustered while giving him a slow nod—having done this before with him, having faith and trust. Jonathan’s lips tilt into a lopsided smirk.

Jonathan was thrusting his two fingers into you while his thumb simultaneously circled your clit, sending you into a whirlwind of overwhelming sensations—waves of ecstasy drowning you and bringing you to a pleasurable death. His skilled digits curled upwards to hit your G-spot over and over again, paired with his thumb pressing against your clitoris—it didn’t take long for you to cross your climax. You involuntarily thrummed around Jonathan as he brought you over the edge. Your heart fluttered as you cried out, your nails digging into the antique chest beneath you to keep you grounded, feeling as if you were going to float away on cloud nine. You closed your eyes and threw your head back, that knot tied tight within your core finally coming undone as you came for the first time in weeks all over Jonathan’s fingers.

Jonathan slow pulled his fingers out of you after you came down from your climax and brought them up to his mouth, tasting you on his fingers. “Fuck,” He let out a groan as he cleaned up his fingers before he leaned in to kiss you once more, relishing in the feeling of your wrapping your legs around his waist while his hand trailed downwards to his buckle. Jonathan began to undo his buckle, unzip his pants, and get his erection out his boxers—his cock sprung out and his swollen tip brushed against your inner thigh. Jonathan shakily exhaled. His hands came down to hold onto your hips. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited and wanted to do this, Y/N.” Jonathan muttered breathlessly while positioning himself to enter your pussy, his body buzzing with anticipation and want. Jonathan then thrusted into you. His hands tightened around your hips, resisting the urge to rush and take you right then and there—he let you adjust, listening to the sound of your moans and your breath hitching every time he slightly shifted his hips.

“Oh, fucking shit…” You breathed out with parted lips when Jonathan began rocking his hips back and forth. You reached you to wrap your arms around Jonathan’s back as he laid you down fully on the antique chest, the shift in position forcing Jonathan’s cock to angle different—causing you to gasp out. “Jonathan!” You cried. Jonathan’s pace slowly intensified, going from slow and leisure to deliberately deep and haste, knowing that dinner was in less than five minutes. Jonathan didn’t want to draw any suspicion towards the two of them. “We… we need to hurry up,” Jonathan grunted out, going as fast as possible to get the job finished. “They’re gonna catch us.” Jonathan leaned down to bite the crook of your neck, muffling his groans as he continued to pound you into the antique chest below you two with your nails digging into his shoulders, sharp enough to draw blood if it weren’t for his shirt. His heart was pounding fast in his chest. He didn’t know how much longer he could last.

Due to how pent up you and Jonathan have been the past month, it didn’t take much more thrust before Jonathan was coming. He released his hot seed into you with a low, throaty groan. His pace slowed down to a stop and pulled back to look at your face. Your lipstick was smudged. Your face was flushed. Your lips were bruised. Your hair was in a disarray. Jonathan smirked at the sight, knowing he was the cause of your dishevelment. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Jonathan asked, reaching down to brush away the hair that had gotten into your mouth.

[happy74827]

Shadow Knight

[Joe Goldberg x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: One thing to know about Joe, is that he’d do anything to protect you. Regardless if you want him to or not.

WC: 2776

Category: Hurt/Comfort [TW — Joe]

Finally wrote a Joe Goldberg fic. My friend begged me to write him so I did (you’re welcome @summerrivera777777). I really don’t know what else to say… so enjoy!

『••✎••』

You were his. That’s all Joe cared about in his head. He thought of you and only you.

He remembered that night after your first kiss. You had told him that you loved him. It was a warm summer night. It had been dark, but the stars were shining so brightly that the moonlight shone through the window. You had made him feel things.

It was such a new feeling.

It was scary but exhilarating. This wasn’t like Beck or Love. It was different. It was amazing.

He wanted you, and he was willing to do anything to keep you.

When he found out about your annoying pest of a neighbor, he had been a bit put off at first. How dare he come in and try to woo you from under his nose? He couldn't help but laugh at the thought of the short, small, wiry guy being able to compete with his stature. Joe clearly outranked him, and he wanted to make it known.

It started off as a little harmless fun, a way for him to see what this guy was capable of. A way for him to test your limits and then go even further.

Joe knew how to push the right buttons. And it wasn't long before he had him right where he wanted him.

Now, he would be able to protect you. You didn't have to worry about that scrawny little bastard hurting you anymore. Joe would take care of you. He was so good to you and would continue to be so. He was yours.

He would keep you safe from all the dangers that lurked in the world. He had found himself wanting to help you in that way, protect you, provide for you. He could feel it. He wanted you to depend on him, and he was eager for that moment to come.

For now, all he wanted to do was watch. He wanted to watch this short little guy attempt to steal his girl from under his nose. He wanted to watch the pathetic creature get on his knees and beg. He wanted to see you tell him to fuck off and then run back into his arms. He wanted to watch you beg him to take care of you.

“Oh, Joe,” you had whimpered against his lips. He held you closer, keeping you safe and close. Your arms snaked around his neck, holding him tight to you. Your legs wrapped around his hips, allowing him to hold you up.

He felt so big and strong against you. He always felt so strong and reliable. He always made you feel so safe and wanted. He always made you feel so loved. He always made you feel like you were the only woman on earth, and you always wanted to feel this way forever.

His mouth left yours and moved to your neck, kissing and sucking there. His hands groped your body, slipping under the thin material of your t-shirt. He continued to kiss and bite down your neck, feeling your pulse against his lips.

He was in heaven. He was living a dream. This beautiful, smart, funny woman was all his, and he could feel himself becoming overwhelmed with emotions.

He pulled back to look at your face. You had a serene expression, one that Joe often saw when he made you come undone. You were perfect. You were everything to him.

His hands cupped your cheeks, and he kissed you softly. You kissed him back, opening your mouth for him to taste you.

Joe loved this. He loved every minute of it. It wasn't just about sex for him anymore. It was about sharing his love with you. He had given you the most sacred part of himself, and you had given it right back.

He was so happy he thought he could burst.

Your front door suddenly flew open, and Joe dropped you on your couch as quickly as possible, making sure to fix his shirt in the process. He moved in front of you protectively and glared at the small figure standing in the doorway.

He glared down at the man. His lips were pressed in a tight line, and his jaw was clenched. He was so pissed, but he wasn't going to allow that bastard to see it.

“Jared? You do realize I didn’t give you those keys just to open my door whenever you want, right?” Your voice was stern and angry, causing Joe to smirk. He was so proud of you, of your ability to stand up for yourself. You tell him off.

Joe watched as Jared ran his fingers through his messy hair, looking nervous and flustered. He looked at you and then at Joe before glancing back at you. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth, but he closed it quickly.

He tried again but only ended up stuttering and not saying a word. His eyes were darting back and forth between Joe and you as if he were looking for a way to escape.

Joe watched as he looked like a fish out of water. He had never seen this guy speechless before, so he was enjoying every minute of this.

You seemed to have finally had enough, as well. You threw your hands up and sighed loudly, rolling your eyes at Jared's awkwardness.

"Is there something you need, Jared? I’m really busy at the moment." Your words were sharp and short. Again, Joe smiled at how badass you were. It was hard to believe that a month ago, you were this nervous little thing. You couldn’t even say the word 'no,' and now, here you were, telling off this guy twice your size. You were just a ball of fire.

“I, uhm... I just... I wanted to see if you were okay after what happened earlier today. I was worried, I guess." Jared said. His voice was quiet and sounded so small. He sounded nervous and fidgety. Joe almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

He might’ve even felt sorry if he didn’t catch what he had said.

What happened… earlier?

Joe gave you a look, hoping you'd fill him in. You were his girlfriend, the person he cared about more than anything in this world, but you were keeping secrets? What was happening here?

You seemed to understand what he wanted and looked over at Jared before glancing back at him. Joe tilted his head slightly, silently asking you to tell him what was happening. You took a deep breath and looked at him with your big brown eyes before turning to look at Jared.

"I'm okay, Jared, thank you. But I am really busy, and I have a lot on my plate at the moment, so I can't really talk. Maybe later?" You smiled sweetly at him. "I'll give you a call?"

He seemed to relax a little at your words, smiling at you. He took a deep breath and nodded his head. He turned to face Joe for a moment, just staring at him for a beat before turning back to you.

He sighed and seemed to deflate like a balloon losing air. "Okay, yeah. Just let me know if you need anything. I'll call you later, then. Have a good night." Jared gave you a quick wave before walking out the door and closing it behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Joe turned to look at you, waiting for an explanation.

"What happened today?" He couldn’t help but think of the worst, worrying that maybe you had met someone else. That Jared had hurt you or something.

Your eyes went wide, and you shook your head vigorously as if reading his mind. "Oh, no. Nothing like that. It was... uhm..." You took a deep breath, seeming to collect your thoughts. "It was just me."

You let out a nervous laugh, but Joe was still staring at you intently. "Okay, well, it was this thing." You hesitated for a moment, staring at him, and he nodded his head, encouraging you to continue. You took a deep breath and started explaining.

You went on to tell him about the charity event that you had attended. You told him how there was a guy that had been hitting on you. He sounded like a total creep to Joe, and he couldn't understand how you would let some rando put his hands on you. You had a boyfriend, for Christ's sake! How dare he?! Joe didn't know how he would've survived if he had seen you with another man. He would've beaten the shit out of that guy, but he would've also beat himself up for not being able to protect you from that.

He was your boyfriend. He was supposed to keep you safe and protected. It was his duty. He was going to protect you. He wanted to protect you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Joe asked, keeping his voice low and even. He was trying to be calm about this, but he was quite the opposite. He wanted to go and hunt this guy down and find out exactly what happened, where he touched you, what he said. He needed to know where this guy was, and he needed to make sure he wouldn’t be a problem for you. He would handle it. No one would touch his girl. He would keep you safe. He would kill for you if that's what it took. He would do anything for you.

You sighed and dropped your gaze from his, staring at your feet. You had the nerve to be embarrassed about it. That made him even angrier.

"I don't want to make a big deal out of it. It was just a dumb charity thing; I'm sure it's happened to lots of people." You didn't even sound convincing to yourself, and the sight of your hunched-over figure was enough for Joe to lose it.

He took a deep breath and sighed loudly, feeling his anger building in the pit of his stomach. He was on the verge of exploding, but you were clueless about what he was feeling. You were trying to pretend like it was no big deal, and you didn't even realize what you had just done.

You were his. His to protect. He wasn't going to allow this guy to take that from him. He wasn't going to allow this guy to touch what's his.

Joe stood up from the couch and started pacing around the living room. You watched him curiously for a moment before following his movement. You stood up from the couch, ready to stop him from walking around, but he turned around suddenly, looking at you. He glared down at you for a moment, and you stopped in your tracks.

“Did you get his name?” His voice was dark and dangerous, like a predator that was ready to kill.

You hesitated for a moment as if you were debating with yourself. He watched your face as you thought, waiting for your answer. Your brows furrowed as you thought, and your bottom lip was between your teeth. You were worried about something. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew that he wasn't going to like it.

You sighed and glanced up at him with those big doe eyes before glancing back down to your feet. You seemed to be looking at his shoes, counting the laces as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

"I did." You murmured.

"What is it?" His voice was a low growl.

"Joe, this doesn't-"

"What is his name?" Joe snapped, glaring down at you. He didn't mean to yell, but it was taking all his energy to hold back. You flinched at his tone, and he wanted to punch himself.

"I don't want you to get involved in this. I'm okay. I promise." You said. "I just want to forget it ever happened. Please, just let me take care of it." You sounded so defeated, and Joe wanted to reach out and hold you, but he knew he needed to hold himself back. He needed to keep himself from you for a moment. He wanted to get out of his own head before he did anything stupid.

"How?" His voice was cold, colder than he meant to let on.

"What?" You looked up at him, and he felt like he was looking into your soul. It was so beautiful and pure. You were so innocent and good, so sweet and soft. He never wanted to do anything to hurt you. He would protect you and keep you safe from all the bad things in the world. This guy included.

“How can you forget it happened?" He said, glaring at you. "What did he do? What did he say to you?" His voice was getting louder by the second, and you took a step back, flinching again. His stomach twisted as he saw your reaction, and he tried to calm himself. He took a deep breath and tried to speak calmly. "Did he touch you?"

You looked away from his face and sighed. Your gaze landed on your feet, and you seemed to be counting the laces in his shoes again.

"It doesn't matter what happened," you said.

"What did happen?" Joe asked again.

"Joe," you said, looking up at him with those pretty brown eyes, "It really doesn't matter, okay? I don't want to talk about it."

"I need to know."

You rolled your eyes at that and threw your hands up. "Why? So you can go after him and make it worse?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He knew he had to tell you. " You’re scared. I don’t want you to be scared anymore. I want to help you."

He wanted to take away that fear. He wanted to take care of you. He wanted to be the only person you needed to protect yourself. He didn't want you to be afraid. He wanted you to be able to feel safe and loved.

"You can't protect me all the time. Sometimes I have to be able to stand up for myself and do this stuff, Joe." You sounded defeated, but Joe shook his head.

"You shouldn't have to."

"It was just one guy." You shrugged your shoulders. "I can handle it."

"You shouldn't have to! Just… Please, just let me help you." His voice was pleading. He knew he sounded desperate and pathetic, but he needed to be the one to protect you.

You didn't say anything to that and looked back down to the floor. Joe's eyes followed you, staring at you for a moment. He noticed that you weren't moving anymore.

“Jim,” You murmured quietly, your head still bowed. It was so quiet that Joe wasn't sure he heard you right.

"What?"

"His name is Jim," you said, looking up at him with your big brown eyes. "Jim Haynes. I saw him in the building this morning when I was walking to my car. He lives in 1515."

He heard you. You told him.

You gave him what he wanted, and he couldn't help but smile. It was a wide smile, one that you saw often on Joe.

He grabbed your waist and pulled you in close to him. You squeaked as you were being moved across the room, and you held your breath as you realized where he was heading. You knew what was going to happen, and you couldn't help the rush of excitement and heat that filled you.

You watched his face as you moved, seeing his big brown eyes glued to yours. Your mouth went dry as you stared back into his dark eyes. You felt your pulse race as his gaze felt like a touch.

“Thank you for trusting me.” He whispered, his breath tickling your face. He was truly so happy to finally be given this information. It felt good knowing that he could help you. He could keep you safe from harm.

He pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was slow and soft. You could feel the emotions on his lips, feel how much he cared. You could feel how much he wanted you. He pressed his body against yours, wanting to feel you pressed against him.

Tonight, he would protect you. Tomorrow, he will make sure you stay protected. But right now, he was going to take care of you. He was going to be there for you.

He was going to take care of you, and then, he was going to take care of Jim Haynes.

[your-nanas-house]

Stories I will write:

Chris Decker X fem!Reader series

Tom Riddle X follower!Reader: Secret mission part 2 (I have to think about it) (requested)

Ominous Gaunt X Reader, Sebastian Sallow X Reader: The Beginning part 2, Ominous and Sebastian talk about what happened.  (requested)

Joe Goldberg X Henry’s babysitter!Reader: Henry’s babysitter part 2 (have to think of a plot) (requested)

James Walker X Reader: short smut fic with 7 words (requested)

Jerome Valeska X fem Reader: they meet in the circus before he killed Lila (fluff and hits of his insanity) (requested)

Jerome Valeska X Reader: they play games together like catch, Jeremiah plays with them but he’s stubborn but he wants to play. (requested)

Jeremiah Valeska X gn!Reader: AU where Jeremiah doesn’t inhale the laughing gas (requested)

Valeska Twins X Reader: headcanon with cuddles and affection (requested)

Jerome Valeska X fem!Reader: smut during a day at the local swimming pool or at the river (requested)

Jerome Valeska X Rapunzel!Reader: Y/n is manipulated by her mom, hidden and exploited. It’s a darker version of Rapunzel where Jerome revisits and addresses his trauma through the reader. (requested)

Jerome Valeska X ftm!Reader: (headcanon) (requested)

Joe Goldberg X fem!Reader: he kidnaps the reader and does the whole glass box, she isn’t afraid and chills. (requested)

Duke!Jerome Valeska X Reader: Arranged marriage part 2 (have to think about a plot) (requested)

Sebastian Sallow X fem!Reader: During a muggle’s game part 2 (have to think about a plot) (requested)

Cameron Monaghan X Reader: short smut story with 200 words (requested)

Dick Grayson X Reader: (short imagine) Dick complains about Batman and a two words come out of his mouth that Y/n takes too serious 

Tom Riddle X muggle wife!Reader: Two Death Eaters go to their dark lord’s new residence which is in the muggle world, both meeting Mrs Riddle for the first time.

Hocrux!Tom Riddle X Witch!Reader: The young witch Y/n finds an elegant destroyed diary in her hands and has the task of fixing it.

Professor!Joe Goldberg X student!Reader: Joe tries to not fall back in his habits, he thinks that now with the new job and the new city things will change, but will it really be like this?

Joe Goldberg X Reader: Joe finds himself thinking about things while his gaze is on his new colleague who was taking care of Henry at that moment.

Pharaoh!Jerome Valeska X servant!Reader: Jerome sets his eyes on a young woman who he discovers is one of his servants.

Dark!Jeremiah Valeska X Gn!Reader: Jeremiah comes out of his bunker after several years in hiding and meets Y/n, from there the obsession starts.

Anthony Bridgerton X Maid!Reader: Anthony trying to catch his maid’s attention in any way.

Joe Goldberg X Reader: Y/n finds herself in Joe’s cage.

Bruce Wayne X model!Reader: After the first night spent at Wayne Manor Y/n meets the true Bruce.

Joe Goldberg (Jonathan Moore) X gallery owner!Reader: What is art? Art can be seen subjectively by everyone, therefore also by Joe.

Tom Riddle X Witch!Reader: they always meet in that place.

Jeremiah Valeska X nun Bruce’s sister!Reader: he meets Miss Wayne for the first time and has a strong need to corrupt her.

A few Sebastian X Reader’s stories and Ominis X Reader’s stories that I still have to translate. 

Elvis Presley X Milf!Reader: smut with virgin Elvis and experienced Reader (collab)

Elvis Presley X Reader: they meet at a nightclub.

Tom Riddle X fem!Reader: Tom and Reader have feelings for each other, they meet a few years later when he is slowly becoming Lord Voldemort and she finds out that she is a muggleborn. Tom is still attracted to her though even if he hates muggleborns. (requested)

Tom Riddle X Death Eater’s wife!Reader: Tom Riddle is jealous, he always was since he was still a kid and he always managed to get what he wanted, and now he wants to have for himself his follower’s wife.

Tom Riddle X artist!Reader: Tom Riddle randomly meets a weird woman who happens to be a young painter. She manages to catch his interest and he is ready to commit a portrait of himself to be able to see her more often and know more about her. Sadly after the portrait was finished everything ended because he disappeared to become “Lord Voldemort” starting that way a war after a few months

James Walker X Reader: Y/n Y/l/n and her boyfriend decide to go live in a new house together. This house happens to be Amytiville, a scary house where bad things happened, this didn’t stop the young couple though. After just a few weeks things get weird, the relationship between Y/n and her boyfriend gets worse and in the evening things get scary. James shows himself, after falling for the young girl, to scare and try to kill the boyfriend who leaves her alone in that house.

Chris Decker X Reader: Chris Decker meets Y/n on a random night in a random supermarket and they find themselves together all the night.

Jerome Valeska X Reader: Jerome Valeska starting to dance with his s/o during the morning, no words exchanged just glances and heavy stares while they body moves slowly following perfectly the music, creating such a lovely domestic scene.

Chris Decker X black widow!Reader: Chris finds out that his innocent Y/n had a bloody past full of sadness, angst and death connected to different weddings.

Colin Bridgerton X Anthony Bridgerton's wife!Reader: Colin returns at home after one of his travels and meets for the first time the Viscountess Bridgerton (Anthony's wife) and he can't help but be fascinated by her in many ways.

Anakin Skywalker X bartender!Reader: Anakin is focused on his mission with Obi-Wan but while waiting for his master to come back, trying his best to not intervene he catches the attention of a beautiful bartender that will help him distract himself for all the night.

Anthony Bridgerton & Sister!Reader: The time has come for Y/n Bridgerton too, she is attending her first ball and is ready to find a husband but her brother won't leave her alone making this mission almost impossible. She will though meet a young man that will "bewitch" her.

Elvis Presley X Reader: Y/n just watched a concert of the famous Elvis Presley and can't help but start to imagine about him while trying to sleep on her bed, finding herself with her hand down her shorts with her gaze on the poster of the King of Rock and Roll. Is he really the devil like her mama keeps telling her? Is she commiting a sin?

Anthony Bridgerton X Reader: Anthony is searching for a wife, while focusing on the diamond of the season he discovers many secret things about the young lady. Will he grow to love them or hate them? (Y/n is a quite, lover book and dogs lady).

Anthony Bridgerton X opera singer!Reader: Anthony meets the new prima donna of town and is as bewitched by her voice and her beauty. Will things get a dirty turn in their relationship?

Bruce Wayne X personal assistant!Reader: Y/n, Bruce Wayne's personal assistant, writes a book about her kinks and dirty thoughts but it goes in wrong hands. Will she lose her job after someone publishes her book not revealing yet the real writer or will she speak with her boss and fix things?

Anthony Bridgerton X Reader:(Modern AU) Anthony and Y/n meet during the Christmas Eve, in a hotel when the snow is thick and there is no possibilities to go somewhere else. Sadly or Luckily there is just one room left, a suit, and they have to share it.

Anthony Bridgerton X Reader:(Modern AU) Y/n participate at a charity event where she and some other girls are auctioned off. Many masked rich men come forward but only one will be able to "buy" a week together with Y/n, making them earn much more than the organizers had hoped. This secret millionaire is…Anthony Bridgerton (Could do it with Ominis Gaunt as well)

Sebastian Sallow X Reader: Sebastian and Y/n (MC) spend the day together, chatting and relaxing till evening. Something changes after the sun has set and the two follow their lust, right in a field of grass near Feldcroft.

???X fem!Reader: In a small church Y/n has flashbacks of her past, she remembers when she spent time with ??? and she regrets that she left, coming just now when someone told her that ??? was dead and buried there. (Rain while looking at the grave, Y/n is married) ((maybe Sebastian and Ominis))

Tom Riddle X Reader: Y/n wants revenge for her sister, since Tom hooked up with her once and ignored her after that breaking her heart, Y/n finds Tom years later, she manages to seduce him and hook up with him but when Tom things when to leave, she is a step ahead and puts her clothes on, when he asks where is she going she just says that he can have the room and throws a few galleons towards him before leaving. This makes Tom feel like a hooker and becomes strangely obsessed over Y/n.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @monkeyking-and-liuer-mate , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter , @huntress-valkyrie , @lostmyremembrall , @bewitchedbymadness

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Papier

Jonathan Moore (Joe Goldberg) x Student!Reader

Warnings: power imbalance, sexual tension but it's only in his head. Joe isn't as excusable of his own actions in this as he is in the show.

Notes: God help me … AHHH!!!! I have a very deep hatred for teacher/student dynamics, but something horrible came over me. This is set in a University, not unlike the one in the latest season.

I rarely find the chance to look your way when class is in session, but the few glimpses I’m granted by the seldom silent room, as I search for someone to speak, have allowed me to catch your thoughtful expressions. I especially enjoy the sight of your pen between your teeth as you unknowingly chew your way through.

Of course, the silence is by cause of thinking, typically as a result of a question or remark the students hadn’t expected to be posed. Usually, and always quite consistent at that, the class is occupied by students who love to open their mouths and talk. You’re not quite like that, I realized fairly early on in the semester.

I don’t believe you’re actually shy, but I do wonder when and if you’ll ever raise your hand to speak. So far, nearly everyone else in the course had spoken — except for you. You can lose marks for that, you know… But that doesn’t make you dumb. Oh, no. On the contrary, while your classmates endlessly bicker and discuss the previously presented lectures and assigned readings, their written works cannot compare to what you’ve submitted to me thus far.

Your essays have given me a peek into you — into your mind — and I am enthralled by not only your position, but the overall manner in which you bring your perspective into the written world. The fashion in which you articulate your thoughts feels natural and organic, nothing like the endless well of regurgitated information that typically summarizes the essays of newly admitted students. I can’t quite call what I feel as being love, lord knows I’ve jumped the shark a handful of times, but I’d certainly consider it admiration of the highest regard.

“Midterms have been graded. When I call your name, come to the front to pick it up.” I say, ten minutes before class is dismissed. “My office hours remain the same as it appears on the syllabus, and I will gladly discuss your midterms with you then.”

There is a short duration as I list off the students, one by one. When I eventually call your name, you rise from your seat and make your way around the other students. I watch you stride over to me, your eyes observing the stack of papers in my hands. I slide your essay off the top and hand it to you, all the while my eyes roam your face with obsessive interest. Your expression drops from curiosity to absolute academic horror as the red ink on the front page comes into your view and your life surely flashes before your eyes.

“If you’d like to stay after class, we can discuss your grade,” I tell you quietly. You say nothing — big surprise — as you press the stapled paper to your chest and steel yourself. You make your way back to your seat not a moment later, and I call up the next student.

By the time the papers are distributed, everyone is packing up quickly. Everyone, but you. Conversations are being thrown about, laughter and words of encouragement are being shared, but you remain silent as you slowly bring your things together. You’re embarrassed, I’m sure of it, and you’re desperately hoping no other student saw even a glimpse of the wretched red ink atop the page, signifying your horrendous grade — a mark I had given to you like a desperate fool for your time.

Despite your work being one of the best in the class, I gave you a failing mark. It hurt me to even consider it, but we'll both laugh about it at a later date — when all of it is far behind us.

Once the room is emptied and only you and I remain, I lean back on my desk and cross my arms.

“I can’t speak to you about the midterm until at least twenty-four hours have passed since you received your grade,” I say.

“Then this is redundant.” You respond. I’m stunned for a split second, nearly enchanted by the way your lips moved.

“You’re struggling in this class and I thought it’d be good to talk,” I tell you, following it with a prolonged silence as you fail to meet my stare.

“The midterm can’t be taken again,” I continue. “But you can still, sort of, earn points for participation. Although not enough classes remain for a positive mark in that category, I can arrange for replacement assignments to make up for it.”

When you look down at your essay, deep in thought, I step away from my desk and make my way to you. I watch the way you chew on the end of your pen, deliciously, and the way your hands carefully caress those wretchedly red-stained papers.

I clear my throat to catch your attention, once more. You look up at me and I feel myself becoming worse. Before I speak, I lick my dried lips like a parched animal.

“Would you be willing to meet with me at an allotted time… for these needed marks?”

[spooky-raccoon]

Road Trip (Part 10)

Rufo X Female Reader

Part 10 to Road Trip

Back to Reader’s Perspective

Tag List: @booklover2929​ @the-clown-crypt​ @chii2blog​

         I woke up that morning with the memories of the night before playing over in my mind.  The way Rufo eyed me as he approached the bed.  How he took the remote from me and changed it to a music station, one that was playing oldies.  He had grabbed my hand and we danced a little to the music.  No words between the two of us and I felt we didn’t need them.  Even when he had me pinned down to the bed there were no words but the sounds that filled the room.  I had to blink hard and shake my head before sitting up.  I could feel my cheeks heated with the blush that was sure to be bright on them.  That’s when I realized Rufo wasn’t lying beside me.

        I got up from the bed and made my way to the bathroom thinking maybe he was just getting ready for a shower.  Though when I saw the bathroom was empty my heart started to sink.  I went back to the main room and that’s when I saw the note on the desk.  I took it in hand and sat down on the bed to read it.

        “(Y/N),

        I hate to leave like this but it’s what’s best. Go on and enjoy yourself and the rest of your vacation.  Thanks for letting me tag along for as long as you would let me.  Thanks for the memories and good times doll.  

        And just remember, gray skies are gonna clear up.

        Rufo the Clown”

        I sat there for I don’t remember how long until the knock on the door from room service startled me, telling me it was about time for me to get going.  Even packing up and leaving in my car felt like a blur.  He had left some time in the night when I was deep in sleep. Probably knew I would have asked him to stay and tell him that things would be alright.  All I could do was sigh to myself and try to think of what next was on my agenda before the clown had joined.  Before I found myself attached in some way.

        I decided to go to the circus that we had planned to go to together.  I’m sure he wouldn’t be there and it would help get my mind off of things by having some fun.  I managed to find decent parking and bought my wrist band so I could freely enjoy everything the circus had to offer.

         The rides were the typical rides you would find at a travelling circus and I admit I rode the Tilt A Whirl and Scrambler more times than I could count.  I even managed to go on the Ferris Wheel alone even though I could feel my heartbeat pounding hard in my chest when I was at the very top all alone.  The view was worth it though as I looked out the tree lines and hills in the far-off distance.  I even managed to get a good couple of pictures before the descent back down.

        I made it to the big top show just in time to get a good seat close to the front amongst the sea of people.  The show was splendid, and I joined in on the clapping and cheering of the crowd after each act.  I didn’t even notice the gaze of the tall brown-haired man who looked ever so plain in the crowd. Heck, I didn’t even notice as he was getting closer behind me when the large group of folk were guided out of the tent so they could once again enjoy the festivities outside.  Though when he grabbed me that’s when he finally got my attention.

        “Evening cupcake.  I hope you enjoyed the show because we have some place we need to go.” His grip got painfully tight as he shoved me into his body as he made his way through the crowd.  I don’t even think my feet touched the ground much.

        “Let go of me!”  I shouted and even though I was loud enough for several people to hear me, none of them looked at me.  “Let me fucking go!”  I screamed again and tried to jerk away.  It always most worked but his grip was too tight and ready.

       “Now, now, don’t want to ruin everyone else’s day. That would be rude cupcake. Though, there is one person I need to see you like this.”  As I squirmed I saw him scanning around and then he grinned.  I didn’t really like that smile of his.  

        “I said let me go!”  I kept trying to jerk my body away again despite the pain in my arms from his hold.  It almost felt like I was about to break my own bones to get out of his grip and I damn well would if that’s what I needed to happen.

       Though when I looked up to see if anyone was looking I noticed one person.  Rufo looking as human as ever.  He was looking right at me and at Crowley.  That’s when I saw the eyes in his skull sink and his skin start to tear away.

        “(Y/N)!  Crowley! Let her go!  She’s got nothing to do with us!”  I could hear the change in his voice from how it normally sounded to a dry growl as if his vocal cords were becoming taut.

        “And now we make our exit.”  There had been a sea of people between us and I managed to get an arm free as I reached out to Rufo.  

        It didn’t matter though as the people cleared away for Crowley and seemed to move in front of Rufo which didn’t end too well as they were shoved away or worse.  Tears welled up in my eyes as Rufo got further and further away and eventually my arm drooped down.  Crowley didn’t speak as he got me into a car, tying up my hands though still made sure I was comfortable in the back seat of my car.  All I could feel was my heart aching the further we drove away.

        My eyes stayed looking out the window and watching how the road twist and turned.  I didn’t have a clue where were going and I doubt Crowley would give me an answer. Though I didn’t need to wait long as he pulled off to a dirt road which my car didn’t like too much with all the bumps, but it made due as we approached a small wooden cabin tucked away in the trees.  

       “Almost done (Y/N).  Don’t you worry.”  Crowley finally spoke just before getting out of the car.  He came around and got me out so we could trudge our way into the little cabin.  

       It looked as if he had been staying here for about a day.  There were some kerosene lanterns lit and the furniture that was there seemed to have always been there with an almost decaying appearance.  Laying out on a starting to rot tabletop was a brief case and inside was a various things like chalk, crystals, and vials filled with questionable liquid.  He had me seated on one of the sturdier chairs.

       “Now, sit there and be good for me cupcake.” He tied my ankles to the chair, and finally he fashioned a rope around my torso to keep my arms pinned to my sides.

        “Why are you doing this to me Crowley?”  My eyes followed him as he went back to the table and he grabbed a piece of chalk from it.

        “It’s not necessarily a you thing.  It’s a more of him thing.”  He jutted his head toward the door that we came in as he turned. “Him and I have been fighting each other for quite some time.”  He moved to the center and got to work drawing a large circle and various symbols. “You see cupcake, I’m very old. Much older than you can probably imagine.  I’m under certain rules and obligation to get rid of evil things.  Especially when they get under my skin and make me itch.”  His eyes stared into mine and that damned smile of his was back.  “And he’s like the damn chicken pox.”

        I didn’t say anything more as I watched him finish up.  He wiped his hands on a rag which he tossed onto the table along with his supplies. He paced around the room for a bit, peaking out the window now and again.

        “What makes you think he’s going to know where I am? That’s he’s going to come for me?” My leg was bouncing, well what it could with my legs tied to the chair.  “I’m not much of a prize.”

        “You say that but that’s not what I see.”  He turned his attention to me.  “He doesn’t put up with many people and put up is a strong phrase.  Most of the humans he comes in contact with end up dead.”  He strolled over to me and leaned over so he could get in my face.  “And you two seem to have gotten rather close.” As he said that his eyes flicked over me and there was that smile that sent chills through my body.  “So that makes you pretty special, cupcake.”

       “We just had a lot in common.  That’s all.”  I tried to look away, but I could still feel his eyes staring into me.  If I could fidget more in my seat, I would have.  “At least I’d like to think we did.”

       “Well, you have some time to think about all those things in common cupcake.  It’s gonna take some time for him to find us since there were some dead-end roads on the way here that he’s gonna have to figure out for himself.  So kick back, relax.  Take a load off.”  Crowley had a jokester smile as he stood back up and grabbed a chair for himself at the table.  

       So I sat there, staring at the door.  Thoughts flooded my mind as I imagined Rufo trying to find me.  If he was. From the window I could see some clouds over the trees roll by and all I could think of was the storms these past few days.  How Rufo took it upon himself to comfort me, to distract me what ways he could.  The way he looked at me with those icy blue eyes. How he held me tight to his side as we watched rerun after rerun of Cops in some hotel in the middle of nowhere.  The way he looked at me during our few moments of passion followed by his lingering touches throughout the day.  Hell, how he even murdered someone to keep me safe.  It had honestly been one of the most enjoyable times in my life in so long.

       It was that moment when I decided that I would do anything for Rufo.  

[rhaenella]

You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Part 22

Part 21 | Part 23

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut

Word count: 4.7k

A/N: another Rhys pov! (to make up for the long hiatus lolol) Enjoy <3

Song: And so It Begins – Klergy 

“The disappearance of Tom Lockwood, sir.”

Bloody hell.

Even in death, the bastard managed to find a way to disrupt Rhys’ life and well-crafted plans one way or another. 

He felt a surge of adrenaline, but whereas most other people would succumb to the nerves, start sweating and rambling, make mistakes. Rhys didn’t. Instead, it only sharpened his focus, making him that much more dangerous. 

The reporter had used the word disappearance, meaning Lockwood’s body hadn’t been found, meaning there was no physical evidence that could potentially link him to the crime, which ultimately meant that he was in the clear. At least for now. If he played it right, perhaps Rhys could even turn this little hiccup into a story that would reflect him positively in the press.

The mob of journalists and cameramen were waiting with baited breath for him to comment, silence befalling the crowd once more. The only sounds that could be heard were that of the bustling city around them—the honking of a double-decker bus, London’s never-ending construction noises, and the screeching of a police siren a mere two blocks away. 

Rhys allowed a mixture of emotions to pass over his features. Initial shock—which hadn’t involved much acting—followed by a hint of grieving sadness, before he settled on a more calm, compassionate look. Because, like any good psychopath who studied the intricacies of human emotion, Rhys knew that that’s what the public needed to see in a leading figure. Someone who showed the appropriate level of feelings and compassion, but ultimately was able to offer reassurance and take action if need be. 

“Mr. Lockwood…” Rhys shook his head, unfolding his clasped hands to convey a subliminal message of openness and sympathy. “I must say that I am deeply shocked by this news. Is there any more information regarding his disappearance?”

“News surfaced after an anonymous tip was made to The London Dispatch, a spokesperson for the T.R. Lockwood Corporation has just released a statement that they are and have been aware of the circumstances and are working on an internal investigation, the Met Police have also just reported they are launching their own investigation,” the same reporter summarised, reading off of his phone. “Any thoughts on what could have happened, Mr. Montrose?”

Any thoughts… Oh, he had plenty, alright. 

An anonymous tip. To The London Dispatch. That could only be from one man: Jonathan. 

Did he seriously have the balls to go to the press, knowing full well that Lockwood’s disappearance could be traced back to him? Rhys hadn’t thought he would raise the alarm after revealing that detail to him, but it seemed Jonathan was keen to call his bluff.

On the upside, Lockwood’s employees had tried to keep the whole thing under wraps, just like you and Rhys had predicted. But now that it had come out, the peace and quiet would come to an end, especially with the police’s involvement as well.

“I could not say at this time, I’m afraid,” Rhys stated, schooling his actual thoughts. “I think, as of now, the best course of action is to allow all parties involved to conduct their investigations without adding unnecessary speculation that could potentially hinder their job.”

That prompted an immediate response from the crowd.

“You don’t think Lockwood’s partners should’ve been upfront about their CEO going missing?”

“Lockwood was last spotted in Prague–”

“Hasn't his staff already been hindering the police?”

“–over two weeks ago, what are the chances that–”

“Considering these suspicious circumstances–”

“–could this be another murder?”

“I understand,” Rhys interrupted, raising his hands in an attempt to quiet the masses. “I understand the demand for answers. I do. But we have to let them do their jobs. The Met Police will get to the bottom of this and find Mr. Lockwood, I have every faith.”

Lukas stepped up to the press then, drawing their attention with a wave of his hand. “That will be all for today, everyone. Please, step aside to let Mr. Montrose pass.”

They did so begrudgingly, some ignoring his campaign manager as they kept shouting questions left and right. Rhys walked past them, thanking them for their time. His head of security met him halfway, guiding him the last couple of metres to the car.

“Where’s Y/N?” Rhys asked.

“She’s waiting in the car, sir,” Reggie answered.

“Mr. Montrose!”

“One final question, please!”

Rhys easily picked up on the thinly veiled exasperation in Lukas’ voice as he tried to reason with The Telegraph. “No can do, sir. Mr. Montrose is already late for his next commitment. If you have any follow-up questions, please feel free to send them to our office.”

But the seasoned reporter wouldn’t just let it go, following Rhys all the way to the kerb.

“Mr. Montrose! What about his family?”

Reggie had already opened the passenger door, but Rhys paused, turning back around. He had to give it to the guy, no politician in their right mind could ignore that type of question.

He wetted his lips, a mournful smile flickering across his face. “Ofcourse, I give my deepest sympathies to Mr. Lockwood’s family during these uncertain times. I hope he will soon return in good health, and be reunited with his loved ones.”

Rhys dipped his head, pouring all the sympathy he did not actually feel into a final smile before he slid into the back of the car, where he was greeted by you, sending him an amused but troubled look. 

Reggie shut the door as Rhys leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Take us back to Primrose.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver nodded. “We might hit some traffic, though. There’s been an accident on Holborn and City Road.”

“That’s alright. Nothing we can do about it. Get us there as quickly as you’re able.”

“Straight away, sir.”

Rhys raised the soundproof, glass divider between the front and back of the car, giving you the privacy to talk about all that had just transpired without the driver being able to eavesdrop. 

You turned to face each other as the car pulled into the stream of ongoing traffic.

“So. Deepest sympathies, huh?”

“Why yes, ofcourse, darling,” he grinned.

You snorted. “Liar.”

He was about to retort when his phone started ringing. Rhys checked the caller ID, and sighed. “Excuse me, this won’t take long,” he said, accepting the call. 

“I don’t want to hear a word about Cynthia, Luke,” Rhys announced, wanting to move past his indisputable error in judgement quickly. “Go back to the office, coordinate from there. We need to get an official written statement out ASAP, one that is based on all the facts known at present.”

“Agreed, sir. I’ll fetch Brian to–”

“No. No, have Sam write it, she’ll need the experience. Just make sure to double check it before you post it online.”

“You don’t want to read it yourself? Are you not coming to the office?”

“No, I’ll meet you there later. There’s another pressing matter that requires my attention first. I trust you to handle the situation while I’m out.”

“Yes, Mr. Montrose.”

Rhys ended the call and pocketed his phone before resting his head against the headrest. What a day this was turning out to be. And it wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. 

He must have involuntarily let out another sigh, for he felt the softness of your touch, your slender fingers wrapping around his hand. 

“How is that patience of yours doing?”

“I won’t lie, it’s hanging by a thread.”

“Figures,” you smiled, squeezing his hand.

Your smile was quickly overshadowed by that same troubling look from before, one which you didn’t have to hide anymore.

“That anonymous tip… it must be–”

“Jonathan? Yes, I think so, too,” Rhys finished. “Unless you called The London Dispatch and failed to inform me of a new tactical move.”

You shook your head no as the car slowed to a stop, now officially stuck in the busy rerouted traffic. “Nope, it definitely wasn’t me,” you said, looking out the window to catch a glimpse of St. Paul’s looming presence.

It was a cloudy day, ten a penny for London, even during the summer time. The storm front may have passed, but the uncertainty of what was coming still lingered in the air.

“Whilst you were giving your statement to the press, I kept thinking, why?” You looked back to Rhys. “Why would Jonathan do this now? He knows that we put the account that was used to bribe the pilots in his name. That was supposed to keep him quiet, at least for a little while longer. So, what’s his angle?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, the same question dominating his thoughts. “Jonathan’s calculated. But also rash, and unpredictable, as today has clearly demonstrated… We need to act quickly before he goes from being a liability to a full-blown threat.”

You chewed your lip. “You know who else can become a threat?”

His eyes flickered between yours, trying to find an answer there as he mentally went down the long list of possible enemies he made along the way. The ones that were still able to draw breath, that is. 

Only one name came to mind.

“Marcus Atkinson.”

The man who conspired with Lockwood to have Rhys removed from the upcoming elections, by categorically trying to erase him from the face of the earth. 

“Atkinson,” you agreed. “So far, he’s been quiet, but there’s no telling what he’ll do now that the news of Lockwood’s disappearance has been made public.”

Rhys hummed, affirmative. “You’re right. We need to prepare for every possibility.”

“Is that why we’re going home?”

“No,” he said, a little reluctant. 

You frowned, not following. “Then why did you tell the driver to take us back to Primrose Hill?”

He sighed. “Because you’re going home, whilst I go and pay dear old Jonathan a visit.”

You paused, slowly letting go of his hand as the meaning of his words landed.

“You’re what?”

“You heard me.”

Rhys set his jaw, his decision already made and final, but that didn’t stop you from glaring at him.

“And you’re sidelining me because…?”

He looked away, something flicking over his expression. “It’s the only way I know how to keep you safe.”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed. “What about me and what I do for a living gives you the impression that you need to keep me safe?”

Rhys winced. He’d anticipated this reaction from you. But there was no way in hell he would allow you and Jonathan in the same room ever again. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you could fend for yourself, because, as more than one occasion had attested, you certainly knew how to throw a punch or two. And make it hurt. He himself was privy to the knowledge. 

However, he didn’t trust Jonathan and what he would do… Especially now. Besides, as far as Rhys could tell, Jonathan still didn’t know anything about your true identity. And he’d very much liked to keep it that way. 

“He’s a psychopath, Y/N,” Rhys stressed. 

“Right,” you drawled. “Do you want me to look up the exact definition? Because I’m pretty sure it would also include present company.”

He smiled, bitter. “I’m not planning on hurting you. Jonathan might. You know the things he was mixed up in across the pond. If he figures out how important you are to me…”

His forehead creased with genuine concern, and even in your anger, your eyes softened a little at the admission.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he amended. “But that doesn’t take away from the fact that I want to keep you as far away from him as I possibly can.”

You nodded thoughtfully, still far from happy with his decision. But Rhys wasn’t going to change his mind, and you knew it as well.

Once again, the sound of a phone pinging interrupted your conversation. Privately, Rhys hoped it would put an end to it as well, although you quickly relieved him of that illusion. “We’re not done talking about this.”

“A man can hope,” he muttered.

You shot him a warning look as you retrieved your phone, effectively making him shut up.

He looked around, noticing they were still motionless. No. That wasn’t right. They had moved about three car lengths in the last five minutes. Progress, he thought, clocking his inner voice’s sarcasm with a wry smile. At least the extended travel time would give him a little more time to prepare for his surprise attack on Jonathan. Although, that twat was likely already waiting for Rhys to show up after the shit he pulled earlier today… 

Rhys gritted his teeth as he thought of Jonathan. How he must have watched the press interview live on tele, probably thinking he’d won this game… Well, Rhys would make damn sure that his victory would be short lived. 

A startled noise came from your side of the car, and his eyes shot back to you, jerking him from those thoughts. 

Your wide eyes were scanning whatever message had appeared on your phone’s screen, four times over, as if making sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you. A wave of worry careened through him as he watched the colour drain from your face.

“Y/N?” he said, alarmed.

“Oh my god…”

Frantically tapping the screen, you brought the phone closer to your face. “Oh my god.”

Before Rhys even got a chance to ask what the hell was going on, you’d already pressed the device to your ear, fingers now tapping restlessly against the car’s interior door.

“Y/N,” he said, firmer this time, clasping your hand in his. You looked at him, panicked, uncertain… terrified. Rhys felt his own stomach drop. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out.

The call went straight to voicemail, and you groaned in frustration. “Damnit, she’s not answering her phone.”

“Is it Zoe? Sadie?” Rhys tried, concern slipping into his voice. 

He softly squeezed your hand to garner your attention. It worked. You refocused on him, visibly swallowing a tang of adrenaline before shoving your phone into his hands. Rhys read the ID: Zoe. He was right—there were only so many people that could pull this type of reaction from you. He could probably count them on one hand.

His eyes slid down to read the most recent incoming texts, and he sucked in a breath, immediately understanding your nervousness.

>>> mum’s back

>>> please come

Your mother… 

Alarm bells went off inside of him, his concern slowly getting replaced by something sharper, harder. 

You’d both known the day would come, yet the words on the screen still shocked him to silence, the only thing he could muster a feeble, “Fuck…”

“Yeah…”

Rhys closed his eyes. Another person who had completely disappeared—albeit not by your doing—resurfacing. It had been quite the mystery as to what had happened to her, and you had spent many a night trying to figure out where she could have possibly gone. Without much success. But now she had seemingly returned.

The timing could also not have been better. Apparently Murphy’s Law always lurked around the corner somewhere.

“Where did she come from all of a sudden?”

“From hell, likely.”

He huffed a strained laugh. That was certainly one possibility. Rhys met your gaze, then. The initial shock had lifted, and now the fire he’d grown to love glowed bright in your eyes.

“I’ll kill her,” you whispered, unyielding. “I swear to god, if she’s hurt them… I will kill her.”

You snatched your phone from his hands, your thumbs flying over the keyboard as you typed out a series of messages in quick succession.

“Hey,” Rhys said, pitching his voice into a soothing range. “They’re gonna be okay. Just like their big sister, they can fend for themselves.”

“I know they can,” you said, still holding your phone in an iron grip. “But after what happened last time, I can’t help but worry.”

He couldn’t stop himself. “I know the feeling...”

You dropped your phone, turning to him with a look that made it abundantly clear that now was not the time to test you. 

“Rhys,” you warned.

“Sorry…” he muttered, squeezing your hand again. “How do you wanna tackle this?”

“I’m going over there.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Right now. I have to make sure they’re okay. Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do,” you shot back, eyes narrowing.

Rhys pursed his lips. Yep. He deserved that.

You looked outside to find that you were, still, stuck near St. Paul’s. And it didn’t look like that was going to change anytime soon. Sighing, you clasped the door handle, but before you could sprint out, Rhys tugged you back to him.

“Whoa, wait a second,” he said, worry seeping back into his voice. He didn’t want to part like this. “Are you sure you want to do this by yourself? I can help.”

You looked at him evenly. “This can’t wait. And neither can the Jonathan situation.” 

Damnit. 

No, it couldn’t.

“I’ll take care of my mother while you take care of our professor,” you offered, running your thumb over his hand in an attempt to persuade him. However the grim look on your face wasn’t helping.

He held your gaze for a long moment, equally grim, before nodding once. There was no other way. 

“Be careful, and call me when you need me,” Rhys implored, already cursing himself for agreeing to this plan. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” you said, purposeful, determined.

And with that, you were off, shutting the car door with force. 

Rhys watched you go, worry now mixing with guilt. By trying to protect you from one situation, he was now the sole reason you were diving head-first into unknown danger all by yourself.

Although, you would have gone either way. No matter the circumstances. You were just like him in that respect. Once you’d made up your mind, there was nothing anyone could do to dissuade you. Rhys had to let you go. Leaving you the space to deal with problems the way you saw fit. He didn’t like it, but if he wanted to keep you by his side, there was no other choice. 

As far as he was aware, your mother wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. But even so, she’d come pretty close to manslaughter with the Hackney house fire. Rhys also knew for a fact that you hadn’t yet told him about all of the harrowing things you’d endured during your childhood. Some details, yes. But definitely not all. He hadn’t wanted to push you too hard, you would tell him when you were ready. Just like with everything else. 

Rhys shook himself. Dwelling on this wasn’t going to do him much good either. He had his own headache to deal with. After that, he would work to make things right with you.

He pressed a button, lowering the glass divider. “Change of plans. I need you to take me to South Kensington.”

—

An hour later, after trudging through London’s busy traffic, the car parked in front of Kynance Mews. The driver hastened to open his door, and Rhys slid out, glancing left and right. 

“Give me twenty minutes,” he said, adjusting his suit.

“Yes, sir.”

The ride over had given him plenty of time to consider his options, which in the end boiled down to two simple objectives: kill Jonathan, or not. 

As tempting as the first option was, Rhys had to accept that it wasn’t the most prudent one. Now that Lockwood’s disappearance had become a public affair, and the police were conducting their own investigation, there would be a lot of heat bearing down on the case. Sooner or later, the police would find out about the bribe money, and once they’d successfully trace the money and start making connections, ‘Professor Jonathan Moore’ would be the subject of a lot of scrutiny. 

Like with Atkinson, the risk would be too great. If either of those two were killed right now, people would surely start asking questions. Questions Rhys didn’t want to be asked. 

Therefore, with a tinge of annoyance, he opted that the best course of action was to keep the professor alive a little longer. 

However, Jonathan couldn’t continue on like this. He had to be reined in—reminded of who was in control here. Good thing Rhys had one more trick up his sleeve, and now was the time to use it.

He made his way inside the building, taking the stairs two at a time, determination edged in his pace. Once he made it to number ten, he lifted his fist, landing a series of powerful knocks on Jonathan’s front door. He didn’t have to wait long before it swung open. 

Rhys bursted into the flat, the door nearly hitting Jonathan in the face. 

“You’ve been busy, mate.”

Jonathan recovered quickly. “So have you.”

His dark eyes tracked Rhys as he strode around the flat, making sure there were no unwanted third parties present. Once he made sure there wasn’t, he stopped in front of Jonathan, meeting his gaze.

Rhys took a breath and nodded. “Tell me about it. It’s hard work, winning these elections—making sure all possible threats are dealt with accordingly.”

Jonathan looked him up and down, measured. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Among other things... I was starting to miss our fun little chats.”

“I wasn’t,” the professor sneered.

“Oh, pray tell,” Rhys said, light.

Jonathan appeared calm, but the tightness around his eyes told Rhys all he needed to know. A single, disdainful head-tilt cinched it.

So, this would be fun.

“You’re a cold-blooded psycho.” 

His mouth twitched. “Ah, one that needs to be taken down? Is that why you tipped the press?” 

“I’m done with your bullshit and your fucking mindgames,” he hissed. “And I’m not going down for your sins whilst you become mayor of this godforsaken town.”

“And yet here you are,” Rhys snickered, waving a hand at him. “Digging your own grave. Or did you forget that Joe Goldberg helped cover-up Lockwood’s murder?”

“I’ll tell them the truth about you,” Jonathan promised. “You’re not getting away with this.”

“And who do you think they’ll believe?” Rhys returned, tilting his head, a challenge. “A suspected murderer who faked his own death, or the man that’s working tirelessly to strengthen their police force—making sure their kids will have access to a higher education, someone who’s battling corruption and fighting for what’s right. You tell me.”

Jonathan shook his head. “No… No, you will go down for your crimes.”

Rhys couldn’t help but laugh. “And what crimes are those? Do you have any proof? Or will this be another case of your word against mine?” he taunted, stepping up to the fuming American.

Jonathan stood rigid, frowning in contemplation. He took a moment to mull over whatever thoughts held him before he looked at Rhys askance. 

“There has to be proof. People always seem to mysteriously disappear or die around you. Like last night.”

Rhys remained entirely unfazed. “That Fernsby bloke, you mean? Well, if you’d listened to the news, you would know he died of natural causes. Very unfortunate but it happens,” he said, inscrutable, picking a piece of lint off of his suit. “Besides, I have an alibi.”

“Of course you do,” Jonathan mumbled, more to himself. “Your girlfriend?”

Anger simmered under Rhys’ cool facade at the mention. But he couldn’t let Jonathan see it. 

“She serves many purposes,” he smirked, lewd.

Jonathan’s face twisted in disgust. “You’re using her.”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s all she’s good for anyway. A pretty face for the cameras, and an excellent shag at night.”

Jonathan looked away, uncomfortable despite his own nature. He took a beat, his eyes locked in an endless stare, seeing seemingly nothing. Then he blinked, once, and looked up to Rhys again. 

Something in his eyes had changed. Like he’d made up his mind about something. Rhys couldn’t tell what it was, but it didn’t sit well with him, at all. That much was clear.

His smile faded, it was time to get down to business.

“Alright,” he exclaimed, delightfully startling Jonathan in the process. “Enough chit-chat. I think it’s about time I remind you of a few things…”

Jonathan stiffened, but didn’t respond. Rhys sauntered over to the window, the one providing a perfect view into the flat of one Miss Kate Galvin. The flat was dark, and it didn’t look like anyone was home.

“Do you know where she is?” Rhys asked, peering through the window.

He didn’t need to specify who he was referring to. Not to a seasoned stalker like him.

“At work,” Jonathan said, clipped. 

Rhys glanced back over his shoulder, clocking Jonathan still standing in the exact same spot, shooting daggers at his back. Rhys’ lips curled. 

“Remember this feeling, Jonathan,” he said as he zeroed in on the fireplace, bending to pick up the fire iron. “Remember how it feels to know where she is. To know she’s safe…”

He twisted the metal object leisurely, feeling the weight of it in his palms. “But above all, remember how I can take all of that away, in the blink of an eye.”

If possible, Jonathan stiffened even more, nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists. 

Rhys’ eyes sparked with amusement. Jonathan hadn’t wanted to play any more of his ‘mindgames’, but unfortunately for the professor, he was only just getting started.

“Now, we wouldn’t want her to meet the same fate as her father, would we?” Rhys mused, using the metal tool to prod at some charcoal remains. “Because speaking of unfortunate things, I’d say that would definitely qualify as such.”

Jonathan glared at him, not even attempting to cover the hatred he felt for the man daring to enter his home like he owned the place—and threaten him, his girlfriend, and everything he had tried to rebuild for himself. 

“Stay away from her,” he said, voice as cold as ice.

“Come now, Jonathan. There’s no need to get snippy,” Rhys tutted, eyes flicking to him. “You and I both know that whatever happens to her, it’s entirely up to you.”

The sound of metal scraping against the fireplace's stone surface caught Jonathan’s attention, his eyes flying to where Rhys was still playing around with the rod. He relished the look on Jonathan’s face, a sweet mixture of trepidation and rage. It meant he was listening carefully. 

“Fun fact about fire,” Rhys went on, off-kilter. “Which, correct me if I’m wrong, I believe you may be familiar with,” he added jokingly, stabbing at a larger fragment of unburned wood. 

“Nothing ever truly vanishes. There’s always something that remains. And what’s so amusing about this fact is that you never know which pieces are left behind… or when they might resurface.”

This was it. The last card Rhys could play to keep Jonathan silent—short from killing him, ofcourse. 

To threaten him to complete the framejob by planting Lockwood’s other hand that you and Rhys had kept as a backup, and call in the cavalry. Physical evidence tying Jonathan to the crime, in combination with the paper trail already set up in his name, would ensure Jonathan’s arrest and indictment. And he knew it.

Jonathan swallowed. “Lockwood?”

Rhys walked up to him, eyeing him steadily. “You better stick to our first agreement, and keep quiet,” he warned, tapping the fire iron against Jonathan’s chest. “Otherwise, I’ll make sure you’re going down for all of it.”

Defeat flashed over Jonathan’s face. He was still angry, no, livid would be the better term… But the growing apprehension and doubt was unmistakable.

Satisfied that his message was received loud and clear, Rhys dropped the metal rod to the floor. The loud clang of the object hitting the wooden floor caused Jonathan to flinch back, much to Rhys’ pleasure.

He turned his back on the American, gleefully making his way towards the front door where he paused, resting one hand on the handle, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“It’s all about who holds the power, mate,” Rhys smirked, looking back to Jonathan, whose jaw was clenched tight. “And at present, that isn’t you.”

–––– 

A/N: FINALLY a Joe and Rhys meet… I know it’s been a long time coming 🙈 I had a lot of fun writing this particular scene, I hope you enjoyed it as well. Now let’s see if Jonathan will heed Rhys’ warning or… not. hehe

––

Tags: @artaxerxesthegreat

[abstractindividual]

The Unsolved Murders during the Civil Rights Era.

Disclaimer, this will be a long post. 2/25/2023

There are three days remaining in February. During my time of research and watching the current news regarding Malcolm X's daughter I began to think about the many people that were unfortunately slain during the civil rights era, Jim Crow and dating back much further.

There has been a lot of bloodshed throughout history on America's soil, with many cases remaining unsolved due to the police refusing to investigate, witnesses not coming forward or the case is years/centuries old. Much of that blood is only stained with new since racism continues to impact the lives of many in a new generation.

Though for this blog post, I wanted to share an article titled Civil Rights Martyrs highlighting some of the people young and old that were murdered, either from an unprovoked attack, accusations, witnesses or people risking their lives to push for an end to discrimination against African Americans. I often think back to these people and ruminate on whether their cases can ever solved in my lifetime. If Carolyn Bryant (who lied on Emmett Till) is alive, there has to be some of the criminals involved in any of these murders here in 2023 that need to be brought to justice.

Some of the faces from this article I recognize from history books, documentaries and history pages online, yet there are some individuals I believe should be remembered such as Herbert Lee, the man who witnessed his murder Louis Allen, Henry Hezekiah Dee and Charles Eddie Moore.

To think that their families have been without justice this long, and who knows if many of these victims have surviving family left. There are many individuals who dismiss other people of a different ethnicity who were apart of the movement out of concern they were informants, but I hope the faces I share were not like that. I think the world should remember William Lewis Moore, Reverend Bruce Klunder, Jonathan Myrick Daniels and Vernon Dahmer.

I hope the souls of these men and women during these horrific times are at peace, they should be here or at least have not died tragic deaths. suggest the reader to view the article themselves to see the other people who deserve to be remembered. There are many faces I couldn't share, so I would love if their cases to be looked into since murder does not have a statute of limitations. The more people share and bring awareness to these names, perhaps we could reopen their cases and get names on the killers.

If only when my people were fighting against segregation many fought for judicial and economic justice immediately after. Protest to get these murders solved. Many of these cases should have been investigated before decades passed. Look at how the family of Emmett Till continues to fight for Bryant's arrest while she is old.

[impala-dreamer]

Coming Soon to Patreon -

Here's a glance at what's coming up on Patreon:

Remember, for only $3 a month, you get access to hundreds of fics never published anywhere else, and a brand new one every single Monday. Not to mention, a special invite to a private discord group, contests, requests, and so much more!

~Strange things are brewing in Connecticut, so Dean and Y/N go check it out. After stumbling through town, they fall into something that's been going on a very, very long time. Can they put an end to the bloodshed and make it out unscathed or will they need a little help this time?~

Starring Dean Winchester x Y/N Y/L/N

Featuring Cameos by Sam Winchester, Rowena MacLeod, and OCs

21,500 Words - 13 Chapters

Series Warnings Include: NSFW. Magic. Angst. Captivity. Mentions of Pregnancy/Pregnancy Talk, Sex. Oral. Threesomes, Slavery, Murder, Blood, Not really all that graphic, honestly. NonCon/DubCon, Bickering. Also lots of love and fluff.

~Sometimes, the person you fight alongside is also the person you with the most. And sometimes all that fighting is hiding other feelings, other desires...~

Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

2615 Words

Warnings: Frenemies to Lovers. Talk of hunt gone wrong. Mentions of blood. Angsty fighting. Sexy kissing. PG-13. Young, cocky Dean.

~During a break in her convention schedule, Y/N seeks some peace and quiet but ends up with far more than planned.~

Drake Rodger x Fem!Reader

2,243 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Mutual Masturbation, Age Gap, (Reader is in her late 30s), Fluffy, Sexy, Yummy Smluff

~John Winchester has a hard life and an even harder time keeping his mind off of young Y/N.~

John Winchester x Fem!Reader, Dean Winchester

1,998 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Age Gap, Masturbation, Longing

~Alone and unprepared, Y/N goes to collect Dean from the bar and convince him to come home. Sam says he has a cure, and she'll be damned if she doesn't at least try to get Dean on board...~

Demon!Dean x Reader, Sam, Castiel

6,331 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Angst, Smut, Demonic Charm, Fingering and Fucking, Mild Violence, Canon Everything, Choking During Sex, Choking not during sex, Lose of consciousness, Yada Yada

A Story from the YOU Universe

~Joe finds himself getting too close to one of his grad students and he fights the urge to fall completely.~

Joe Goldberg (Jonathan Moore) x F!Reader

5,019 Words

Warnings: NSFW.