#wake up nebraska

[jaidacorvera]

So, no one asks how or why I call our governor a pig farmer.

It's the truth. He owns Pillen Family Farms, a pig farming enterprise of 108 pig farms owned by him.

And he is polluting our water.

On top of that, he has the gall to refuse someone's critique of his operations by not even reading her work and attacking her for her heritage, not more than minutes after he claimed our state was the most accepting. Which begs me to ask - the most accepting of what, Jimmy?

The only reason he got into office is because Pete Ricketts guaranteed the seat for him and because he "rescued a fumble at a game".

[orcelito]

Ykno the common critique I've seen around is that trimax fights r hard to follow & such. And I've always had the kind of thought of like "I mean sometimes it can be confusing, but if u stop to study it it's really not that bad"

Having a fight analysis post kinda blow up tho I'm seeing ppl comment over and over in the tags about how hard it is to keep up with the fights... and I'm just like. Is it really that confusing? Like genuinely. I thought it was one of those overblown fan critiques but it seems like a Lot of people agree with it.

[sakizm]

why did it take me until now to realize that my ireland trip is THREE months away??

[bayjaruchel]

Underneath The Strobe Light

－－－

Pairing: Mike Schmidt (2023)/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're aware of your feelings for Mike, but you're unsure if he feels the same. A single late-night conversation changes everything. (4.2k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

Extra Notes: Posted October 29, 2023

－－－

You know Mike, sometimes. Mainly in bits and pieces. 

You know he has that poster of Nebraska above his bed; you know he's got a soft spot for terrible eighties cartoons. You know he likes his steak well done. Maybe it's generally useless information — but you've tucked it all away in a dear corner of your brain, in a well-worn cardboard box with his name scrawled fondly on the side in Sharpie. 

He's been busy nowadays, especially with his awful new job at that abandoned restaurant. You've always been there if he needs someone to watch over Abby. It's a strange juxtaposition— spending more and more time at his house, but spending less and less time actually talking to him. But you know he's exhausted, both mentally and physically. 

You don't expect much. You don't need much. Even though Mike's always offered to actually pay you for babysitting Abby, you've always declined. 

However— needing and wanting are two very different things. 

And you want. So, so much. 

Sitting here, on the couch in his living room, your mind always wanders back to him. Abby's a really nice kid, even if she's a little on the eccentric side. Whenever you're sitting with her, watching her draw or watching the television, you can't really focus on Mike. But now, with her safely put to bed … There's nothing to stop you. Nothing to distract you from the empty spot next to you on the couch. 

You blink, already bleary-eyed from the hour. There's some mediocre sitcom playing on the television. It's practically white noise, and you can feel yourself slowly but surely being lulled to sleep. The stubborn part of you wants to fight it. The tired part of you wants to just let it happen. You fumble for the remote instead, switching the channel. 

World News Now? 

Not bad, you think wryly, slumping back into the pillows. You liked the guy playing the accordion and singing about the news, polka-style. Hopefully they'll bring that back. Maybe large broadcasting networks actually do know their audiences. 

Yeah, no. 

You stifle a yawn, tugging your blanket a little tighter. The room's dark, so the only real sources of light are coming from the kitchen and the bluish glow of the television. The only sounds besides that of the T.V. are the occasional car passing by, joined by the gentle chorus of crickets. It's quiet, but not in a discomforting way. 

It's kind of perfect. Like your own little bubble in the world. Untouchable. Not until the sun rises, anyway. 

Your bubble suddenly pops when a car pulls into the driveway, tires crunching on the pavement, and your heart skips. 

It couldn't be anyone else. 

About a minute later, there's the sound of keys turning in the lock. The door swings open and then shuts behind him. Softly. He knows Abby would wake up if he slammed it. Then there's the thump of him setting down his stuff— carelessly. 

The couch cushions squeak a little when Mike sits down next to you. Silently. He's gotten rid of that stupid security vest. 

"Hey," you offer. 

"Hi," he obliges. 

You're sure he's not really paying attention to the T.V. "How was work?" 

It's bland small talk at best, and brutally annoying at worst. But it's the only way to move into interesting conversation territory. And he didn't just trudge past you to go flop down on his bed, so you're assuming he does want to talk. You might pretend not to know, but you're well aware of his social life— or lack thereof. Everyone needs to talk, sometimes. 

"Pretty dull." Rolling his probably stiff shoulders, he lets out a small sound of discomfort. Sheepishly, he murmurs: "I kind of … I kind of just napped, to be honest." 

"Aren't you supposed to be a security guard?" You tease. "That's a really important job, you know. You have to stop all the dangerous teenagers from breaking in and spray-painting dicks on the walls." 

He huffs out something reminiscent of a laugh. "Honestly, the pay's too low to take it seriously." 

"And yet … " 

"There weren't any kids, okay?" Mike shakes his head. When you turn to look at him, though, he's smiling. It's faint, but it's there. "No dangerous teenagers that I had to fight off. It was fine." 

"Fine?" 

"Fine." 

You don't want to let the silence set in. 

"Oh, yeah, we finished the leftover spaghetti earlier. For dinner. I hope that's okay." 

"No, it's terrible," he deadpans. "I hate you." 

"Asshole." 

"Whatever." Mike snickers, and you bask in its gloriousness. "Yeah, it's okay. I know that I probably wouldn't have eaten it anyway. Did you, uh … " He pauses for a split second. "… Did you like it?" 

His tone makes you wonder, but you hastily brush it off. "Yeah, I did," you clarify, "the sauce was pretty great. Was it store-bought, or?" Because if it was, then where can I get it?

"Yup," he replies, popping the 'p'. "Great stuff, for something that's canned. But I always add a little more garlic powder, too." 

"Oh, really?" 

Mike hums an affirmation. "It's like magic, I'm telling you. Doesn't even take a lot to add flavor." 

"That's cool." You rustle with your blanket again, adjusting it more out of habit than anything else. That, and it's kind of cold. "I'll try and remember it for later." 

He's almost cheeky when he speaks. 

"It's life-changing." 

You can't help but snort. "You sound like an addict." 

Incredulously, he glances at you. "To what? Garlic powder?" 

"Pretty much, yeah." 

"I can't believe that you'd say that." He slowly shakes his head, for the second time in the span of roughly a minute. "Especially as someone who's experienced it firsthand—" 

"—you're the one talking about how life-changing it is—" 

"—you can't possibly ignore the irresistible savoriness of garlic powder." 

You look at one another for a moment. The sheer absurdity of the situation sets in all at once. And, well. He starts giggling, and you can't hold it in, either. How could you? Even though he looks at least part zombie, his eyes are still very much alive. Despite the blatant awkwardness and lingering shyness that always follows him around, he's still got a very contagious laugh.  

After you both calm down, he lets out a long sigh. 

"It's getting really late." 

You cling to what little stubbornness remains. "Yeah?" 

"Are you gonna head home?" 

Again, there's something there. Despite his nonchalant attitude, it's almost like— 

—but you're probably overthinking. Wouldn't be anything new. He has to get some rest, and so do you. The drowsiness repeatedly threatening to tug your eyelids closed is a testament to that. Normally, you'd just pass out on the couch or something, and take off early in the morning; before Mike and Abby wake up. But now, it's different. Now, you actually have to make a choice before your sleepy body makes it for you. 

"Um." You rub your eyes again. "I mean. I could, if it's bothering you—" 

"It's not." 

He interrupts you so quickly that it catches you off-guard. It seemingly catches him off-guard, too, judging by the way he promptly averts his gaze and pretends to care about the guy on the television going on about some sort of plumber strike in the city. 

"Oh." You need a second to process. "Oh, okay. Well, in that case … I don't really think that it'd be safe for me to drive right now." You laugh, a little too airily for it to be completely genuine. "I'd probably fall asleep at the wheel or something." At least that's the truth. "I'll just take the couch. As usual." 

"Okay," he says. He's back to murmuring. 

"And I'll be gone before you eat breakfast." Subconsciously, you're fiddling with the slightly frayed edges of the blanket. It's well-loved. "As usual." 

You think you hear him suck in a breath, seconds before: 

"Why don't you stay?"  

Your own breath stutters in your chest. 

"... what?" Is all you can manage, without horrifically humiliating yourself. 

"I mean," he rushes to correct himself, "you come by sometimes because you want to spend time with Abby— she likes you a lot, you know, sometimes I think she likes you more than she likes me . I think—" He's properly nervous now, his knee bouncing up and down. But he's already continuing before you can get a word in. "I think she'd like you to be here in the morning. And you don't accept pay, anyway. You just— won't." 

His nervousness is spreading to you. "Hey, I—" 

"Why are you here, anyway?" 

The question sounds like it's been a long time coming. He's demanding you now, brow furrowed and eyes sparking with emotion. "Is it out of pity? Do you feel sorry for me? Do you feel sorry for Abby? Because if you do, then— then you can just—" 

"It's not!" You exclaim. 

Immediately, you realize that there's a sleeping girl not too far away, and shamefully lower your voice. 

"... It's not, I promise. I just—" It takes a little while for you to gather the right words, and when you do, you don't drop your gaze from him. All of his previous frustration is all but gone, replaced by a slightly wide-eyed expression that's making your heart ache a little. "I genuinely really like spending time with Abby, okay? She's really sweet, and creative, and just a really great kid. And I—" 

You stop yourself. 

"And you what?" Mike asks, gently. 

Might as well, huh? 

"And I really like spending time with you, too," you admit, finally unable to meet his eyes and focusing on your lap instead. 

There's an incredibly tense beat, in which you swear your life flashes before your eyes. 

Then: 

He's barely audible when he speaks. His knee has stopped bouncing, but he's playing with his thumbs. Clearly, your confession— vague as it was— resonated with him, in some way. You hope he understands what you meant, because you couldn't possibly put it all into words in a way that would make sense. 

"Feeling's mutual," he mutters. 

Your head almost snaps up at that. Maybe you had expected it, deep down— you're not oblivious, duh— but it's one thing to have a hunch, and another to have that hunch proven. And out loud, no less. 

"Yeah?" You dare to ask. 

Slowly, he looks up. He meets your eyes. 

"Yeah," he repeats breathlessly, like the wind's been knocked out of him. 

You let your blanket fall from your shoulders, and it slides all the way onto the floor. 

You reach out. 

He lets you lace your fingers through his. 

Mike's palm is sort of clammy— and he's shaking a little— but he still squeezes your hand. On instinct, you guess. It still makes you smile. He doesn't return it, but his lips are parted a little, and you really, really like that. More than you probably should. You like a lot of things about him more than you probably should. 

You scooch a little closer, and he doesn't move away. You let your gaze drop back down to his lips again, making your intentions clear. Still, you don't know if it's clear enough. You lean in, just barely. 

"... Can I?" 

His reply is almost instantaneous. 

"Please."  

You swallow all of the witty quips you could make, and kiss him instead. 

He's very tentative at first. Like he hasn't done this for a while. But you ease him into it— and before long, he's got one hand on the back of your neck, the other somewhere near your waist. He tastes like coffee and something else you can't really put your finger on. It doesn't really matter, though. Because you are kissing him, damnit! 

His eyes are still shut when you part— with a soft smack — but they flutter open after a second. You're not sure if you're supposed to say something meaningful. Luckily, he leans in instead, and your thoughts are immediately transported elsewhere. 

You kiss like this for a while. It's really nice, and you know he needs it. So do you. 

However— when you start losing track of time, lost in the moment, he makes a noise. 

It's quiet, definitely. But it's nothing like the little hums and sighs he's been making so far. It makes you shift closer, pressing more insistently into him. And he responds, enthusiastically wrapping his arms around you, closing the little distance between your bodies that there was. You can practically feel his heart jackrabbiting in his chest when you slip your tongue past his already kiss-swollen lips. 

He moans.  

You indulge yourself. For a little longer. And Mike chases you when you part. 

"We shouldn't do this in the living room," you whisper, nearly panting. "The couch is a little—" 

"Okay," he whispers back, already sounding wrecked. "Okay." 

You've been in his room before. You've sat on his bed— you've even laid on it before. But you've never straddled him on it before. It's a position that makes your head spin a little, and you occupy yourself with kissing him again. His hands fit perfectly on your hips, but they don't stay there for long, tragically— they trail upwards, up your waist, to your back. To your shoulders, and then back down again. It's as if he just can't get enough. You can't either. You need more. 

So, you tug at his shirt. He gets the message right away— hands scrambling to pull it up and over his head. He's still rather slim, but with a slight softness, mostly located in his midsection. There's a light dusting of dark hair on his chest, as well as the provocative happy trail leading down from his navel. You drag your eyes downward, admiring him, and then decide that you're wearing too much clothing. Your top comes off, dropped onto the floor near his. 

Mike takes more time to admire you when your torso is completely bare. His hands are warm on your bare skin, and slightly rough. Like before, he's hesitant at first, but when you encourage him— either literally or with physical indications— he grows bolder. His stubble scratches gently against you when his lips find your collarbone. 

You squirm a little, not even realizing it— and you feel him. Simultaneously, you both gasp. He's not fully there, but he's at least half-hard— and it can't be comfortable in those jeans. 

"Should I—" 

"Yeah—" 

With steady fingers, you unbutton his fly, and then unzip him. It's a little awkward when he shimmies out of the jeans, and when you wriggle out of your bottoms— you both snicker a little, but he's back to comfortably breathless when you settle back onto his lap. Under normal circumstances, you would tease him again. And yet, you can't bring yourself to. Not right now, at least. 

All you want to do is keep going. 

You roll your hips, testing the waters. His breath audibly hitches, and his hands fly up to settle back on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes already half-lidded— and they close when you grind down again. And again. His lips are clumsier this time when you kiss him, but he still reciprocates all the same. The sensation of him directly underneath you like this is intoxicating. You can feel every little twitch and every little jolt. 

"Fuck," he breathes, long and drawn-out, " God, I can— I can see the spot on your—" 

"Yeah?" You encourage, grinding down again, drinking in his answering groan. "You like that?" 

  "Yes —" 

"You want me to take 'em off?" 

Mike's pupils are blown wide, even though his eyes are already dark as is in the dimness of the room. He nods, once, then twice. "Yes," he murmurs. "Please," he adds, for good measure. 

He stares openly when you get off him, just enough to peel off your last remaining layer of clothing. And when you sit back down, well. It's obvious that you'll have to give him a second. "Can I," he says, finally, "can I touch you?" The way he's looking up at you again is just so sweet, so needy, that you consider saying no. Your throbbing core quickly shuts that idea down. 

"Go on," you encourage. 

He helps you move so he has easier access, and—  

His fingertips find your slit, already wet for him.

"Look what you did to me," you murmur. 

He visibly flushes— and then carefully works one finger into your slick heat. The feeling, combined with his thumb brushing against your clit— it's relief that you've needed this entire time, and you can't help but let a quiet sound escape your lips. It's apparently enough incentive for him to quicken his pace a little. Deliberately, he continues massaging your sensitive nub in a firm but easy pattern as he gently pushes a second finger inside you. 

Mike may be out of practice, but evidently, he still knows what he's doing. He peppers kisses up and down your neck, some more open-mouthed than others. Crooking his fingers, he maintains his diligent rhythm. A thought floats through your mind, unbidden— he must have strong hands, if he's been able to keep up like this—   

Two becomes three, and you're spreading your thighs a little wider for him. He's still transfixed, but speeds up at your urging, breath hot against the divot between your neck and shoulder. You chance a glance down, and you can see the visible outline of him through his boxers. You did that to him. He's desperate— for you. 

"Mike," you gasp, "nnh—" 

"Yeah, c'mon," he mouths, against your neck, "c'mon—" He's not letting up in the slightest, and when you tell him to, he speeds up again. He needs to see you cum just as much as you need to feel it. Your needs and wants are rapidly blending into one. You squeeze your eyes shut, but open them to look at him. His dark curls are a mess, his hand working tirelessly between your legs. 

  "Mike —" 

He says your name in return, like he's the one in the vulnerable position. 

"Mike , 'm gonna— 'm gonna—"  

"Please," his breaths are ragged, debauched, "cum, please, c'mon, lemme see it—" 

"Oh —" 

The tension snaps, and you spasm around his fingers. Your hips twitch, and you moan, your mouth falling open as you ride out your orgasm. You're rising— falling — molten honey pooling in your core, before flowing throughout your body. And Mike keeps going throughout it all, letting you enjoy the sensations until you're fully satisfied. 

Nearly boneless, you sag backward. His fingers, soaked with your glistening release, slip out of your cunt with a wet noise. He doesn't waste any time in bringing them up into his mouth, cleaning them off with his tongue— at the taste of you, he groans, even though it's muffled. Your mind takes a moment to catch up again with the world, but another thought manifests itself— how would he react, if you let him use his mouth on you? How would his head look between your thighs? He would be noisy, wouldn't he? Enthusiastic, pliant, and—

Your desire, although it waned for a short minute, comes back tenfold. But you take one look down again and— you can do that later. Right now, you want him inside you. 

Mike lets you tug him down for another kiss. He lets you feel the worn fabric on his thighs, almost playfully. When you palm him through them— he hisses through his teeth, hypersensitive even though you've barely touched him yet. You're going to fix that, though. Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, you tug them down. 

You were right. He's desperate. As soon as his overheated skin meets the cool air, he lets out another quiet hiss. And when you take him in hand— 

"Mmh —" A firm stroke from base to tip, and you've already got him. He's average in length, but a little girthy. You know he'll be perfect. There's a little drop at the head of his cock, and you resist the urge to lick it off, focusing instead on warming him up a little. He whispers your name, once, when you pump up and down, twisting your wrist. 

"Got a condom?" You ask, stilling for a second. His eyes snap to you. 

"Oh my God, " he quickly mutters under his breath, before raising his volume, "uh, yeah, I think so. Lemme—" And he's already scrambling off the bed, opening the drawers of his nightstand with speed, but somehow simultaneously managing not to make much noise. He rifles through them, but soon emerges victoriously with what he was looking for. It's a little funny, how he doesn't waste any time in ripping it open and tossing the garbage into the mostly-overfull pail near his bed. Hastily, he rolls on the condom. You think he's expecting you to lay back or get up on your hands and knees so he can fuck you like that— you wouldn't be entirely opposed to it— but that's not what you want right now. 

You place your hands on his chest and push him back down so he's sitting against the headboard. He goes without complaint, even shifting when he understands what you want to do. He's flushed almost down to his neck. 

When you sink down on him in a smooth slide, still slick from earlier, you both moan. He sounds strained— he's biting his lower lip, squirming until he finally bottoms out. You have to take a moment to catch your breath, too; the fullness is just how you imagined, but it's so, so much, especially because of your lingering sensitivity. 

"I'm not—" He audibly swallows, hands tightening on your waist when you move just a little, "oh, fuck, I'm not gonna— I'm not gonna last long." He's babbling a little. "You're tight, fuck." 

You rock back and forth, once, and it's enough to force a choked noise from his throat. You watch his face, observing every little twitch, the clenching of his jaw. You can't hesitate for much longer, though— so you begin lifting yourself and dropping yourself down on his cock. Just in little movements at first, so you can get used to the feeling. His eyes squeeze shut— 

"Look at me," you demand, and he does. He doesn't try and thrust up into you when you really start to move. Up and down, up and down, with lewd plaps that accompany your sounds; his grunts—  you swear you hear him whimper .  His eyelashes flutter open and closed, as he struggles to follow your command, wanting to be good. For you. Even though you can see his thighs flexing as he holds everything back. You ride him for all you're worth. 

True to his words, you can tell when he gets close. Maybe he's been on edge this entire time. You thread your fingers through his hair— he buries his face into the crook of your neck, maybe out of embarrassment. You can feel how flushed he is, a thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies. Your muscles are aching, but you're determined to make him cum. You're determined to do this for him. 

He says your name, but it's more of a whine. "Please — I'm gonna— I can't — "  

"Go on," you pant, "you can. Don't hold back." Your arms are wrapped around his neck, now, holding him tight; just like his arms around your waist. The contact is almost too much, but somehow it's still not enough, despite him being inside you. "Go on," you repeat, after he whines again, the sound sending white-hot heat straight to your core. "Cum." 

Mike twitches, and you can feel him pulse— the sound he lets out is high-pitched, muffled into your skin. You slow your movements— the aftershocks of his orgasm last longer than yours. It might've been a little while for you, but it had definitely been longer for him. 

He doesn't let go, even after his breathing's slowed down. 

Gently, you pull his head back so you can look at him. He looks up at you with slightly wet eyes. The kisses you press to his cheeks and forehead make him scrunch up his face. 

"Hey," he rasps, "I gotta throw out the condom. Hang on." 

"Yeah, okay." 

When he slips out of you, you both sigh a little. With unsteady fingers, he ties up the condom before chucking it into the pail. 

The sheets are cool on your skin when he pulls them over you both. The room reeks of sex, but both of you are too exhausted to care. When you turn to lay on your side, he's behind you, throwing an arm over your waist. Tugging you closer. Almost absentmindedly, there's a kiss pressed to the back of your head. 

"Thank you," he mumbles. 

You stare at the far wall, unable to close your eyes just yet. 

"For what?" 

"For—" A pause. "For everything, I guess." 

The awkwardness is back. But you let it in. You smile. 

"You're welcome." 

He doesn't respond, but shuffles nearer, chest pressed up against your back. It's not long before you're both fast asleep. 

[sideeve]

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀( living with Mike Schmidt )

— ★ Abby is his heart and soul. he knows if you’re a winner if she feels comfortable showing you her drawings.

— ★ i feel like American Idiot by Green Day is him and Abby getting ready for work/school. it’s a routine they built and can’t break out of it. so when you stay the night, you were shocked to see how quick they get out the house since Mike is always late to work.

— ★ if you can cook, you brought more meals on the menu and Mike can’t thank you enough. now, he doesn’t have to cook up some Chef Boyardee or order pizza. you were the only one they trusted in the kitchen.

— ★ weekly movie night was implemented on friday nights. you saw how much Abby and Mike were drifting away from each other so you took it upon yourself to make a movie night on fridays. the only problem is their choices. Abby would want to watch Coraline and Mike wanted to watch Megamind.

— ★ your first date was…something. Mike couldn’t really afford to go somewhere special so he found a recipe in one of the local libraries (the movie was set in like the 80s…) and cooked it up decent enough for it to be considered edible. (i’m joking, it was delicious) everything was good until—

“mike!” Abby yells from her bedroom. he was just in the middle of explaining something important to you, something he was passionate about. you could tell by the way he tried to hide his smile. but his sister comes first before anything. “Abby,” he whispers loud enough for only her to hear. “i thought i told you to keep quiet a bit. i have a date, remember?” she crosses her arms, “my tooth fell out.” “so? put it under your pillow and the tooth fairy will get it.” “that’s the thing! you told me that last time and i haven’t gotten five bucks! the tooth is still here!” shittttt. Mike sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “i’ll give you five plus more if you just keep quiet, okay?” Abby nods. “okay, good.” Mike starts to walk off before coming back. “how do i look?” he adjusts his collars. “like a million bucks.” Abby giggles, smiling, showing off her missing tooth. “sorry about that.” Mike clears his throat, sitting back at the dinner table. “no, no. that was actually cute.” you smile, you heart warmed by the brothers-sister relationship they had.

— ★ you help him sleep. now, he doesn’t need that bland nebraska poster, or that tape with nature sounds, or sleeping pills. he has you. and even the nights that you aren’t there, he would spray your favorite perfume on your pillow, hugging it close to you as if he were hugging you.

NSFW headcanons

— ★ he’s a switch. 50/50. i think his sex drive is normal if not low. he values romantic gestures than sexual gestures. but in the sex field, he’s both a giver and receiver.

— ★ let’s start with dom!mike. you’d mainly see dom!mike if it was a bad day at work or a long one. scenario; abby had been knocked out in her bed around bedtime. you technically had the house to yourself as you waited for mike to get home. finally, you hear a car pull in and the engine turn off. you could sense that it was him. you were expected a cuddle session until you both fell asleep. not you being bent over the couch, his fingers in your mouth to hush the moans escaping from your lips, fucking you like a rabid dog.

— ★ on the sub aspect, you have a whiny baby on your hands. begging and whining for you to let him cum. he pinky swears he’ll be a good boy. he whines, groans, begs. all of that. he begs so much that you have to put a hand on his mouth so he won’t wake up abby sometimes. if he’s pissed you off, you’d punish him by riding him but not letting him touch you and edging him so much that tears form at the waterline.

— ★ munch. munch! MUNCH!!! when he’s stuffed in between your thighs, he humps the edge of the bed, cumming in his pants. he’s too ashamed to let you know. he thinks it’s sick. he’s getting off by the taste of you, your sounds, and your juices dripping down his chin.

taglist ;; @worldsgreatestsinner

[mandarinmoons]

dad!spencer

DAD SPENCER SPENCER AS DAD

yknow that scene where JJ calls Will and Henry over the phone so she can read to Henry? or atleast I think she read to him it was so long ago that I watched 😭 anyway, what about that with Spencer and a toddler Bailey? he’s on a case but he still wants to make sure he’s present for his daughter even if he’s not physically there

<333

Your ears rang as Bailey’s cries echoed through the house. She had been fussy and inconsolable for days and you knew why, her dad was gone.

Spencer flew out to a case all the way in Nebraska leaving you to take care of Bailey all by yourself until he got back. You weren’t cross with him, you knew his schedule was hectic and that he tried his best to be a part of both of your lives.

For Bailey however it was a different story. The second her dad walked out the door she was upset and ran to the door to run after him. The only way she would fall asleep is by draping one of Spencer’s shirts over her, her breathing would calm down and a moment later she would be at ease.

It had been four days since Spencer left and there had only been limited text messages between you two. The case turned out to be more complicated than initially thought and it was taking up more of the team’s time.

You and Bailey were cuddling on the couch watching one of her favorite cartoons. Bailey had a crying fit and after some time she managed to calm down a bit and now here you were, caressing her back as her tear filled eyes were focused on the TV in front of her.

As you felt yourself doze off and your head leaned to the side, your phone rang which caused Bailey to get fuzzy.

“Shh there there,” you sat up and pulled Bailey into your lap as you dug your phone out of your pocket, seeing it was Spencer calling you sighed in relief and immediately put it on speaker.

“Hey Agent Daddy,” hearing your words made Spencer chuckle and Bailey’s eyes went big as she heard the laughter.

“Hey you two, how are my favorite girls doing?”

“We’re doing okay, Bailey misses you a lot.”

“She does?” Bailey immediately made grabby hands at the phone.

“C’mon, say hi to daddy.”

Bailey got the phone in her hands and chanted “daddy, daddy, daddy!” in an excited voice.

“Hi baby, do you miss me?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, daddy will be home soon, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Spence, do you think you could sing to her a bit?”

“Yes yes, daddy sing!”

Both you and Spencer laughed as Bailey grew excited over hearing her dad sing to her.

As Spencer sang along to the lullaby he recited to Bailey every night before bed, she nuzzled into your chest as her cheek was squished against you, her eyes fluttering shut as she relaxed.

You pried the phone from her hands gently and took it off from speaker mode, pressed it to your ear and quietly spoke as to not wake up your daughter.

“She’s finally asleep.”

“Has she really not slept these past few days?”

“Well only when she tires herself out from crying.”

Spencer chuckled lightly, “I feel bad now.”

“Hey it’s okay. You’ll be home soon so she’ll feel better in no time.”

“I hope so.”

Silence took over the line for a moment and you could hear Spencer trying to cover up a yawn, he was dead tired but still managed to make time to call you.

“You should go to sleep, I don’t want to keep you up for too long. You still have a lot of work to do.”

“Yeah,” Spencer yawned and rubbed his eyes as he looked at the time, 8:47 PM in the evening and yet it felt like it was 1 AM for him.

“Be safe, yeah? Think about how happy Bailey will be once you get home.”

Spencer smiled as he thought about his little girl running into his arms as soon as he walked through the front door.

“Give her a kiss from me please.”

“I will, good night.”

“Good night.”

As the call ended you looked down at Bailey and watched her sleep peacefully in your arms. Her hand was gripping your shirt and you chuckled as you remembered what you wore, the same shirt of Spencer’s that you draped on her as she slept.

Taglist: @radioactiveinvisible @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @sp3ncelle @iluvreid @khxna @keiva1000 @reidstheyfriend @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @kimm4710 @niktwazny303 @reidsdaisies @mindfullycriminal @cumulo-stratus @themarauderseraslut @gayfor-rosadiaz @gubsbuubs @multifandomsimp69 @chyozai

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Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

[bbrissonn]

𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐚 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐚 - 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐚

in which after going live with rutger on the umich insta account, your boyfriend comes home with new nickname

warnings: slight mention of sex at the end, not proofread

pairing: mark estapa x reader

your eyes slowly opened as a bunch of guys could be hear entering the house. you had fallen asleep shortly after mark left, leaving a little later than the others since he wasn't practicing. you knew they were having their turkey showdown today, so the boys who lived in the house would be extra agitated when they got back.

"dude, im being honest, gavo had the best technic to level the ice." you heard your boyfriend's voice as the group appeared in the doorway of the living room. "hi, babe." the boy added with a smile when his eyes landed on your frame. you yawned strongly, blinking multiple times as you pushed yourself up from your laying position before sending them a wave.

"how was your turkey thing?" you mumbled as all the boys, including some who didn't live here, settled down on the multiple couches. mark sat next to you, throwing his arm around your shoulder, making you lean your head against his shoulder.

"you weren't on the live?" rutger asked, a frown on his face.

"do i look like i was on the live, rutger." you sassed, hinting at your appearance, and the fact that you had just woken up. your answer made a couple of the guys chuckle, including mark.

"you look like you got ran over." the nebraska native answered with a smirk, and soon a pillow flew his way.

"you look cute, baby." mark mumbled in your ear so only you could hear. you looked up at him, a shy smile on your face.

"papa estapa had a lot of fun." frank said from besides rutger, making all of the guys laugh once again. meanwhile, a look of confusion grew on your face as mark's face turned a bright shade of red.

"papa who now?"

"papa estapa." he repeated, only making all of them laugh even more.

"uhm... do i even wanna know?" you questioned, smiling awkwardly while mark avoided eye contact.

"you'd know if you were on the live."

"rutger, don't make me hit you." you warned him, already tired of the way he was acting.

"someone on the live commented that." mark answered your question, only making all of them laugh even harder.

"lots of girls like your papa estapa, y/n/n." rutger joked, and this time mark was able to stop you before throwing another pillow his way.

"you don't even live here!"

"papa estapa invited me." the blond boy said. he knew he was pushing your buttons, and that mark would give him hell for it the next, but he didn't care. he found the whole situation funny, especially since he was the one who found the comment, and your reaction was making it even better.

"whatever, im going to the bathroom." you mumbled harshly before standing up from your spot and exiting the living room. all of the boy's laughter died down when they saw the look on mark's face, who was staring straight into rutger's soul.

"didn't invite you over so you could be an asshole to my girlfriend, mcgroarty." mark said, his tone firm and strict. it wasn't until then that rutger realized how badly he has messed up. before he had the chance to say anything, mark was following in your footsteps.

when he made it up the stairs, he was the bathroom door wide open, while his was completely closed. he slowly approached it, knocking softly on it.

"baby, it's just me. can i come in?" the boy asked. when he heard you slur out a yes, he quietly entered the bedroom. you were laying in the middle of his bed, blankets thrown over your body so only your head was pecking out. "im sorry 'bout rut."

"don't be. i should've have lost my cool like that. they're all gonna think im a bitch now." you whispered as mark joined you under the warmth of the blankets. your head landed on his chest quickly as his arms wrapped around you, keeping you close.

"you're always a little grumpy when you wake up, especially if you get woken up. rutger knows that, he did it to himself." the room was silent after that, marks eyes slowly starting to close, while yours remained wide open.

"did someone actually call you papa estapa?" you asked, trying your best to hide your giggle. your question made mark's eyes fly open, chuckling lightly when he realized you were smiling against his chest.

"yeah."

"does she know you have a girlfriend?"

"baby, my insta account is pretty much a fan page of you at this point. im sure she knows."

"good. 'cause you're my papa estapa." you answered, pushing yourself off his chest and pressing a deep kiss to his lips.

"is that so?" your boyfriend asked with a cocky smirk when the two of you pulled away.

"not in that way, weirdo."

"but i could be."

"im not calling you papa estapa while we're having sex, mark!"

[whispering-ways]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾★ falling asleep ★☾⋆⁺₊⋆

✶ summary: you're mike's babysitter and you spend night after night taking care of abby. tonight you're exhausted and mike's the one taking care of you.

✶ pairing: mike schmidt x reader

✶ tags: no warnings, just fluff :)

✶ notes: i haven't finished the fnaf movie, but i've been a fan of the series for such a long time and i absolutely love it so far!! here's a short little fic that i've been thinking about for a couple days; i just really like the babysitter reader headcanon and had to write something with that <3

You gaze at the clock, which read 3:26 a.m. You sighed in disappointment. Although only a few minutes had passed by, it seemed like it’d be forever till Mike came home. You’d spent all night taking care of Abby and as lovely as she was, you were exhausted.

The whole night had been spent cooking and playing and looking after her and by the time she fell asleep, you could barely stay awake yourself. You couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer. Before you knew it, you felt your eyes slowly close and you fell fast asleep on the couch. 

After some time has passed, you hear the door open, though you felt too tired to care in the moment. You are a light sleeper, but in your state, you could barely decipher Mike's softly spoken words as he came in. You sense his presence moving about the kitchen and you guessed he was just fixing himself a meal. You sink into the sofa, exhausted, lying down on the couch to catch some more sleep. What felt like a couple of moments later, you felt arms around you.

At first, you assumed it was Abby, trying to wake you up for a glass of water. However, when you sense yourself being lifted into the air, you quickly realized it had to have been Mike trying to get you off the couch. It confused you, but it was far too early in the morning for you to be able to care. You drift off once again, too fatigued to comprehend much more.

You wake up in the middle of the night to find yourself on a mattress and not the couch cushions you remember seeing. You look around, taken aback to discover Mike by your side, fast asleep and limbs splayed out. Taking in your environment, you notice a few dirty shirts, a couple of books about dreams and a Nebraska poster up above you.

You deduced that this was Mike’s room, but you had no clue what you were doing here with him, in his bed of all places. That’s when you put two and two together: Mike must’ve carried you here after seeing you asleep on the couch

You laid back on the bed and looked towards him.  You had to admit, he looked pretty cute. He looked so peaceful right now; it seemed like he didn’t have a care in the world, a stark difference from his usual furrowed brows and dark circles. And for someone who didn’t have time to go to the gym, his arms were pretty muscular. You’d always thought he was attractive, but tonight definitely painted him in a whole new light.

You didn’t know what compelled you to do it, but you scooched forward so that your head was just a few inches from his chest. Although he’d been in a small sweaty office for most of the night, he honestly smelled pretty good; he smelled like pine and rain. His presence lulled you to sleep, and you soon fell back asleep.

You felt a subtle tug across your body, and to your surprise, it was his arm embracing you, pulling you towards his chest. You couldn’t complain though; it definitely felt nice. You closed your eyes again, a soft smile stretching across your face. You didn’t know where this would go when you both woke up, but for now, you were too blissful to care.

[petew21-blog]

Let's run some tests

"Won't let her get away this time" I said to my new reflection

My girlfriend of two years decided to split up right before I was ready to propose to her. All that cause she was working as a veterinary nurse with this guy, Dr. Omar. She said she didn't cheat, but she said she fell in love like never before. I couldn't let her get away. She was the best woman I ever met. I had to do everything to get her back

Maybe it was luck, maybe a trickster god, but I do owe him. I woke up as Omar the next day that Alisha moved out. I was shocked, everyone would be.

He was not a bad looking guy. But in my previous body I was a bit... how do I say this. Well, maybe slighty against some minorities. So even thought it was meant for me as a blessing, I was having a hard time at first, waking up with a different skin tone. So what a guy from Nebraska like me might not have a great mind set

That changed when I discovered I could be grateful for the body I was now in. Slight hairs over the chest, veins popping out everywhere. Damn, chicks are gonna dig this. Especially Alisha. If my balding head and belly fat was the thing that made her not love me, than so be it. I am improved now.

As I proceeded in my examination, revealing a very nice surprise in the boxers. A message from my ex-girlfriend popped on the screen. "Hey, wanna meet later. I am at the beach now, but I am up for dinner or sth."

"Hey, sure. The beach sounds better tho" I sent to her. She rewarded me with a photo in her swimming suit, revealing the beautiful body I already knew

I took a photo of myself in a vest with a sthetoscope. Even if she won't like it I may keep the photo for myslef. The chicks love animals and they love doctor. Man, being an animal doctor must be like a lottery for them

Another message popped up on the screen. It was my old body. He wanted to meet up and talk about what happened. Great. Right on time

I met him at the edge of the town. He was nervously stepping around the car. He then approached me, being scared what might happen to him in my body. I stayed confident. He can't hurt me now. I don't have to do anything. I threatened him, that if he was gonna say anything to anyone, I will find. Not that anyone would believe him. I was almost ready to leave, but then he stopped me

"If you won't fix this, I will reveal everything I did in my body that will ruin your career and drive Alisha away from you"

Fuck. Maybe he does have advantage after all. Or maybe not

"Ok, stay here, I'll go get my phone and we can discuss how to revert this. Ok?" he agreed with me and stayed at his car.

What he didn't expect was that I prepared a dart gun with anesthaethic and shot the dart at him. He screamed in pain, cursed at me, while I just laughed. He stumbled and fell on the ground, still trying to get up

I got over him, enjoying how he was trying to fight the effects.

"Sorry, for that. I might have given you a higher dose. I gotta get used to being a doctor now haha. But before I do anything else to you know this. NO ONE! IS GONNA GET BETWEEN ME AND ALISHA! SHE IS MINE!!!"

The fear in his eyes remained even as his body's heart failed. Atleast he won't bother us anymore. Now, gotta fix everything before my date tonight with Alisha. I am lucky that I already know her and know what to say in advance. I am so excited!

Story submitted in inbox: Would you do a story with an man swapping bodies with the hunky doctor currently dating his ex girlfriend?

[agaypanic]

Mike Schmidt 😍 can u write reverse comfort? Like reader comforting him over his troubled past 💀

Give You My Shoulder (Mike Schmidt X Reader)

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Summary: It’s not uncommon for Mike to have a nightmare, mainly from reliving the trauma of his brother being taken. Luckily, he doesn’t sleep alone anymore.

***

When you moved in with Mike and Abby after a year or so of dating, they were both ecstatic. Abby loved you; you were by far her favorite babysitter. And Mike was finally able to spend more time with you beyond seeing each other for a few minutes during lunch breaks and before you left the house after babysitting. Now that you lived with them, he could come home without having to deal with the sadness of you leaving.

But the nights took him a while to get used to. He, of course, loved being able to hold you and be near you while you two slept. But Mike had become so used to reliving the past when he was dreaming, usually waking up frustrated and scared when he realized he was once again unable to save his little brother. 

You knew about all of this: the dreams, losing his brother, his traumatic life. You always did your best to comfort him, but you could only do so much.

When you moved in, he did his best to stop going through his memories. He kept the sleeping pills and nature sounds tape in his nightstand drawer. He’d wrap you in his arms and fall asleep to the feeling of your nails dragging through his scalp, listening to your breathing.

But old habits die hard.

You and Abby were dead asleep in your rooms when Mike came home. He had gotten home late at night after work, completely exhausted. He couldn’t wait to sink into his mattress beside you.

He tried for about an hour, laying in every different position and squeezing his eyes shut. But it was no use. Despite being tired, he couldn’t fall asleep.

Mike turned to lay on his back, sighing in frustration. And that’s when he saw it.

The Nebraska poster.

He looked over at you, watching your peaceful sleeping form. It couldn’t hurt to just do it one time.

As quietly as possible, Mike opened his nightstand drawer and took out his bottle of pills and tape player. He sat up and took one of the pills before playing the tape. He took a deep breath as the sounds of nature filled the room, letting it overtake him. Mike laid back down and looked up at the Nebraska poster, gently grabbing your hand as he waited for the moment he would drift off, back to Garrett and his family.

Before he knew it, he was back at the camping grounds, a kid again. Garrett ran around with his toy plane, and Mike and his parents smiled at the sight. Mike went through the memory like he always did, filled with nostalgic joy as if he didn’t know what was gonna happen next.

And then it happened.

Mike ran, yelling for Garrett as his brother waved at him from the backseat of the car that drove off. He tried looking for new details: a face, a definite clue, anything. But when he looked around, the woods became empty. The only living things were him and the trees.

His name was faintly called out, catching him off guard. This was something new, which should have excited him. It should’ve given Mike hope that this new thing would lead him to his brother. But instead, he freaked out even more, wondering where the voice was coming from and why it was the only thing he could hear.

“Mike!” 

The man jolted awake, gasping in surprise as he frantically looked around. He was back in his bedroom, with you looking at him in concern and talking softly.

“Mike, honey, you’re okay.” You whispered to him, squeezing his shoulders to try to get his attention. “You’re okay. What happened?”

Mike slowed his breathing, trying to calm down. He felt ashamed that you were seeing him like this, yet all you did was look at him with love and a listening ear.

“I tried to find him…” He said sadly, and you immediately knew what he meant. You bundled Mike up in your arms, allowing the few tears that he let slip to fall on your shoulder. “I was supposed to look after him.”

“It’s not your fault.” You whispered, wishing you could take away the guilt that constantly weighed on Mike.

“I could’ve saved him.”

“Just because you couldn’t doesn’t mean you didn’t try, Mike.” You tried to look at him as best as you could, with his head being in the crook of your neck. “I can’t even begin to imagine how it must feel to live what you’ve lived through. You’ve been through things that no one deserves. I know you couldn’t save Garrett, and that it probably eats away at you all the time.” You petted Mike’s hair, which was slightly damp from his sweat. But you couldn’t care less. “But I think you’ve been given a second chance.”

“What do you mean?” Mike asked, picking his head up from your shoulder but still leaning into you.

“You have Abby. I know she’ll never replace your brother, but I don’t think he’d want you living in the past trying to find him again… Healing from what you’ve been through won’t be linear, and there might always be a part of you that’s hurting.” You rubbed Mike’s back, feeling his body slowly relax against yours. “But you could honor Garrett and his life by doing the things you never got to do with him with Abby.”

Mike was silent, taking in your words. You worried that maybe you overstepped, or said something wrong.

But then Mike squeezed your hand. He nodded slowly before giving you a quick but gentle peck on the lips, as if to say thank you. He laid back down, urging you to do the same.

“I love you.” He said softly while looking at you, eyes still glassy from his tears. You wiped the ones that had fallen off of his cheeks.

“I love you too, Mikey.”

[yanderemommabean]

I’m trying to get in the mindset to like actually write but nothings coming to mind so have some bullet points that keep popping up

-Yanderes who plan ahead and are patient, making sure they have their homes ready for you once they finally bring you in

-Padded cuffs, gently but securely locking you up, not wanting your skin to be rubbed raw but you definitely aren’t getting out any time soon

-Praise being whispered in your ear while you’re slowly waking up, wondering where you are and who you’re with

-Blindfolded? Blindfolded.

-Obsessive almost worship like words being spoken lowly in your ear as hands wander up your body, tracing your skin, feeling your warmth

That’s all the brain power I have. I’m currently in Nebraska doing some stuff so hopefully my brain will start to reset and get back to where I like it uwu

Love ya beans!

-Mommabean

[chakkll]

Saturday

Mike Schmidt x reader

Fandom: FNaF

Synopsis: Mike has never been much of a morning person, what with his nightmares. However, ever since you moved in with him and Abby, Mike is slowly changing—whether he realizes it or not.

Warnings: female reader, established relationship, pre-movie, very fluffy, Mike’s perspective, VERY short, unedited

Word count: 345

I GET KIND OF SAD when I wake up.

Not because of my nightmares—though they’re not the best—but because I realize it’s another day of trying and failing to be a good brother and guardian and colleague and boyfriend.

But the past two weeks have been nicer. I think.

Every morning, instead of staring up at my poster of a forest in Nebraska, I get to wake up with (Name)’s hair practically in my nose.

But she smells nice, so it’s okay.

(Name) recently moved in with me and Abby because her landlord suddenly raised the rent to an unreasonable price.

All of her family lives in another state and her friends just don’t have the space for her to stay with them.

…Well, we don’t either, but that’s different.

I mean, what was I gonna do, let her sleep on the dirty, wet concrete?

Abby would have my head.

The familiar sensation of something tickling my nose makes me groan.

When I open my eyes, I’m blessed with (Name)’s hair tickling my nose. I turn my head to look at her.

She’s fast asleep, one leg hooked around mine and the other (thankfully) under it. Her arms are loosely wrapped around my torso, head practically tucked into my armpit. I snort.

“Pretty sure I stink…” I murmur quietly as I move her hair off of my face.

She looks so peaceful, but I notice some of her hair is almost in her mouth as well. I quietly move it out of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

“…ikey?” She mumbles something in her sleep resembling a nickname she has for me. Mikey.

I sigh and carefully move her leg so I won’t crush it when I roll over to face her. I untuck her head from my arm and quietly hug her to me.

I can see her smile in her sleep and she hooks her leg over mine once again.

I sigh and kiss her forehead.

“…I guess it’s okay to sleep in,” I murmur softly.

“It is a Saturday, after all.”

[coltermorning]

Of Love and Loss Ch. 1 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You lose your parents while traveling to see your extended family. Through grief and regret, you have to find a way to put the pieces of yourself back together. A stranger comes along and helps you to live again.

Author’s Notes: This piece is written straight from the heart. That entails two things: it is going to be long, and it is going to be dark. With all the death and grief reader is managing, I want to be upfront that this may be a hard one for those going through the same thing to read. Just know it does turn happy eventually, and Arthur helps reader get to that place. As always, don’t read it if it starts to make you uncomfortable.

As an aside, reader does have a relative age—somewhere in her twenties—but I left everything else ambiguous. I had to do that to make the story work. Beyond that I hope you enjoy this one, as it truly is a reflection of the inner workings of my mind. May the healing power of Arthur Morgan save us all :,)

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

~

Of Love and Loss

One: The Weight of New Burden

Word count: 5565

The night was dark, and your parents were dead. You sat before them, knelt as if in prayer. There was no praying now.

Flashes of earlier memory bit at you like the chilling air, but you didn’t allow them in. You didn’t allow their pain or their reality. There was a bridge, a cliff, the turn of your stomach as you fell. Then this. Then nothing.

Some animal made its sharp call in the night, but you couldn’t turn to listen. Your eyes were stuck staring. You couldn’t think of what kind of beast made that noise, no matter how many times your father had told you. Your father, nothing but a shell on the ground. Broken in the defeat of death, still warm from blood that had run so thick through his veins mere moments ago. Your blood.

You turned to your mother. She was a hard woman, made harder by the life the three of you had lived so far away and so deep in snow. Her hardness was no match for the rocky ground. For the weight of a wagon bearing all of your belongings crashing down on her. Part of her leg was still trapped beneath it, stuck out at a morbid angle.

You turned back to your father, laid their much more peacefully. He could be sleeping if you didn’t look too closely. He could be climbing into his shared bed in the early evening hours, claiming the morning was more worth his while. You could be climbing in beside him, too old to be doing it but clinging to him anyway, glad for his warmth in the house that somehow always let the cold in.

You moved and laid beside him now. Sleeping. All you wanted was to be sleeping beside him. To drift away with both of them, never to be without them again.

You tangled your gloved fingers in his already too stiff ones. You blamed it on the thick fabric and closed your eyes, imagining the rock sticking into your back to be one of the books in the bed your mother was always reading. Imagining the cold to be seeping in under the walls instead of all around you. Imagining you would all wake up in the morning before the sun rose, happy to live another day together.

The shock of things released like a breath, and you allowed yourself a few silent tears before drifting into darkness, letting the night overtake you too.

~

“Christ.”

The echoing word woke you, but you didn’t open your eyes. Everything was wrong. You remembered the trip to Nebraska you were supposed to be taking, the unfamiliarity of where you were. You remembered the pain curling up your side and why you were sleeping on the ground instead of inside the wagon, all covered in blankets and curled between the wall and your mother.

You opened your eyes. It was morning. Far above you hung the bridge that forced a sob from your chest. On the bridge sat a man atop his horse, looking down at you. You shut your eyes again. Maybe he would think you dead too. Maybe he would kill you and this nightmare would finally end.

You could hardly find the will to listen to your surroundings, but you forced yourself to. It was easier than the thoughts that plagued you. You eventually picked up the tracking of a horse’s hooves against stone, riding not above you but from behind. Likely the man who had seen you all the way down here, no more than a smudge of the earth.

“Easy,” you heard, then the clinging sound of the horse’s bit as it obeyed its rider. Boots hit the earth so close by your eyes flinched, but you kept them closed.

The man approached, rocks crushing against each other beneath his boots, spurs clicking with every step. He spoke, low this time. “Jesus.”

He stopped a moment, likely taking in the view of the wreckage you didn’t want to think about. Then he approached again, heading for the wagon a few feet away. He could take it all, you didn’t care. All the provisions and the blankets, all your belongings and what little money your father brought along. The man could take the whole damn wagon and you wouldn’t so much as open an eye. Your parents were all you needed anyway. To die beside them.

The sound of pilfering hands echoed against the rocky walls of the cliff face. The man’s horse snorted behind you. It made you think of your horses. The horses you loved so much, pulling you through two states. You didn’t have to look last night to know they were dead. The older mare your father favored, the young stallion you had raised yourself. They were both gone. All of them, gone. All but you.

A dragging noise met your ears, something scraping against the ground. Then splitting wood, a grunt made in effort of breaking something. You couldn’t help your curiosity and opened your eyes to watch. You studied the man’s back as he broke the wagon apart to get inside of it. It had landed upside down, its back end crashed so flatly against the earth that there was no way to get to its hidden treasures below. Unless you broke it apart, more so than it already had been. Just as he was.

You watched and watched, let the man take a few select provisions without protest. He even lifted your father’s satchel, the one your mother had insisted he keep in the back of the wagon to avoid wanting eyes. And still, you laid there quietly, letting him do it. Where you were going, you wouldn’t need anything of the sort anyway.

You could hardly stand it, but when the man turned and faced your parents, you shut your eyes and stayed still. You let him pick over your mother’s body like a vulture, let him take everything he wanted. Your father was next, and he lifted him slightly so that his fingers were ripped from yours. You laid there limp. Ignored the dull thud of the body beside you when it met the ground again. Ignored the hands that met you, patted you down. Lifted you to search beneath your coat. Only, something must have been different about you. As soon as he moved you, the man froze. Then, slowly, he sat you up.

“You alive?”

How had he known? He shook you, and you let your limbs flail around like a doll. You did pray this time, that he would realize he had made a mistake, that he would think you already gone.

His gloved hand met your face and tapped against your cheek. “Hey,” he said. “You alive in there?” You weren’t. Hadn’t been for a while now.

You heard the sound of fabric against skin, then felt his bare fingers touching your neck. Looking for a pulse. It would give you away. You held your breath, but it would give you away. That damned little lifeline, ruining this good thing you had.

“Shit,” he muttered as his hand fell away. He knew. “You’re either gonna have to wake up, or I’m taking you with me.”

That should have done it, should have made you look at him at least. But he could be talking to a corpse for all he knew. You remained limp in his arms, refusing to do as he said. That is, until he tried to lift you.

You groaned in pain, the wound against your side pulling. He stopped.

“There you are. Wake up for me.”

You wouldn’t let him take you. Wouldn’t let him leave your parents behind.

He patted against your face again. “Come on. I know it hurts.” You knew what he was likely thinking, that falling from that height and surviving was damn near impossible. So you had to be hurt. You just hoped he didn’t notice whatever pain was burning against your rib cage. You didn’t want to be mended.

“Can you open your eyes for me?” Knowing he would try to take you if you didn’t, you let them open a fraction, seeing a blurred face and a bright white sky overtake your vision.

“There,” he said. “Stay with me.” You couldn’t keep them open. Couldn’t watch this. You just wanted to lay down again.

He took your arm and raised it to get a better hold on you. You knew what came next and pulled back. The movement swallowed your body in pain, making you groan again.

“Let me get you up, then you can rest, okay?”

He pulled on you again to lift you, and you finally managed a word. “No.” It was low and pitiful, and you immediately regretted it. You wanted your last words to be spoken to your parents, not this stranger.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “We got to get you up or you’ll die out here.” You shook your head almost imperceptibly, but he caught it. “Yeah we do. Let’s get you up.” He pulled you again, and you didn’t have the strength to fight him. All you could do was reach out, reach for your father’s hand. Grasp for his help one last time. You met those gloved, stiff fingers before the man could pull you up far enough and immediately knew how he had determined you were alive. Unlike you, your father was as stiff as a board. Cold and dead. Gone. That didn’t stop you from grabbing his hand, holding on tight with what little strength you had left.

The stranger tugged on you and met resistance, stopping and turning.

“I know,” he said lowly. “I know you don’t want to leave him.” You didn’t let go, letting tears fill your eyes at those words.

Caught by your gripping fingers, the man gave up trying to lift you and laid you back down. “Tell you what. I got some folk coming through here soon I was out scouting ahead for. How ‘bout we wait for their wagons so we can take the…take your family too?”

You couldn’t answer. You didn’t want to leave here and didn’t want them to either. You wanted to die here beside them.

When the man waited long enough to know you wouldn’t answer, he took it as compliance enough. “Okay then. You just rest. They’ll be here soon.”

A sob racked your frame. They would be—your parents. They had to be. They would come reach out their hands and lead you to eternity themselves. You couldn’t stand the thought of anything else.

You slowly rolled onto your good side and into your father, burrowing into his warm coat sleeve. It smelled like him. Woodsmoke and snow and horses. You wanted to be between him and your mother, but she was too far. Broken and bent wrong, too far gone for your delusional mind to believe you were laid in bed beside her. So you cradled your father, sobs shaking through you, warm tears spilling across your nose and hitting the ground.

After long enough that you hoped the man had gone away, you cracked your eyes open again. He was still there, watching the bridge above. Waiting. You wanted to tell him to leave. But like earlier, you couldn’t get the words out and didn’t want to. Each word not said to your parents felt wrong.

He turned and saw you looking at him. “Any minute,” he said. Like you were hoping for rescue. You shook your head and turned back to your father, the pain in your side beginning to throb.

You soon heard voices, a few shouted words. You caught one of them echoing down from above: bridge. Be careful, they were likely saying. Narrow bridge ahead. Too narrow for your own father to navigate, to keep a wheel from catching over the side.

The man beside you shouted, his voice so loud you startled. “Hey! Down here!”

“Arthur?” another man shouted back. “You okay down there?”

“I need some help,” he answered. “Send a wagon.”

You reached out and grabbed the man’s arm. He turned to you. You shook your head at him, trying to make him understand. You wouldn’t leave this place. Wouldn’t take your parents away.

“I can’t take all three of you,” he said. You shook your head with more urgency, but he only turned away, looking back up. “I ain’t leaving you here.”

You wanted to tell him, please do. But you couldn’t get the words out.

You tugged on his heavy coat, curling closer to your father when he looked at you again.

“No,” he said, enough of a demand in his voice for you to know he had made up his mind. “You’re coming with us. We’ll bury them proper.”

You felt a tear escape at that. Burying them…here was as proper as anywhere. More so. You didn’t want to take another step of this journey without them. You tugged on his sleeve again.

“Quit it,” he said, shaking your hand off. “I’m not leaving you.”

You gave up, turning back to your father, closing your eyes once more. You tried to let the life leak out of you. But even you knew you were too far from death, too rooted in living to get there. You imagined it instead, imagined what eternity with them would look like.

After a while, the creaking of wagon wheels met your ears. This was no place for a wagon. Not for one standing or one crashed aground.

“You okay, son?” came that same voice from before.

“Fine,” the man beside you answered, standing. “Girl here’s alive.”

Girl. Not woman, despite your age. You always got onto your mother for calling you that. But now it felt proper. Now it felt like daughter, like you belonged to the two laying beside you.

“Alive?” said a voice you hadn’t yet heard.

The man walked toward the others. “She’ll be all right, but her folks…” He walked farther away, dropping his voice. But you could still hear every damning word. “Folks are dead. She won’t leave them.”

“Won’t leave them?” one of them replied.

You wouldn’t look at them. Couldn’t. Their wagon and their passengers so whole, yours so broken.

“I told her we could take them, bury them proper. Ground’s too hard here.”

You knew just how hard the ground was. First hand. How it hadn’t killed you, you couldn’t figure.

One of the newcomers spoke. “We’d have to bring another wagon down, lighten the load a little.”

The load. Like your parents had become nothing but weight. You couldn’t stand it. You lifted your head, eyeing them. The wagon was closer than you thought, your vision still slightly blurry. Maybe you’d hit your head.

“Hello there,” said the one on the right, an older man. “No need to be afraid, we’re here to help you.”

No they weren’t. They were here to take you away.

You gathered your strength and moved, ignoring the pain in your side. It was so much harder to do now than it had been last night. Like the shock of the fall had worn off. You sat up on your knees, looking at the three men. Then, to prove a point, you made them watch as you crawled over your father and laid down right on top of him, never taking your eyes off of them. Speaking would be easier, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“What’s that about?” the man on the left asked.

The one who had come down alone earlier, younger than the other two now that you could see them all, spoke. “She keeps doing that. Doesn’t want to leave.”

“She’ll die,” the other said. You nodded at him. Let him see, let them all see how desperately you wanted that.

“You have any other family?” the older man asked.

You thought of your father’s siblings in Nebraska, of their growing families. Of the reason you had been taking this trip in the first place. You couldn’t face them now, not without your parents.

You shook your head. Maybe it would get them to leave you alone. The older man turned to the others, and they all stared at each other in silent conversation. Finally, the younger man sighed, turning toward the wagon. “You two go back up then. I’ll get this done and let her do what she wants.” He pried a shovel off the wagon, turning and making for you.

“Ground’s too hard here,” the older man assured him.

“I’ll figure it out,” he answered. “Y’all go on, I’ll catch up.”

A small part of you was grateful to him. For helping you and doing as you asked, no matter how senseless.

When the others took the wagon away, leaving only you and the younger man, you looked up at him. He was staring at you, studying you like a wild animal. Maybe you weren’t so different from one.

His face softened some. “Where you want ‘em?”

Your chest caught. You hadn’t thought of it. You hadn’t thought this would be done so quickly, without any sort of ceremony, without all the recognition they deserved. Just you. Just a stranger that had robbed them less than an hour ago.

You would find the strength to do it for them. You wouldn’t leave them laying here like this. As much as you wanted to join them, it was becoming glaringly obvious you wouldn’t die alongside them. It was your duty to do this right, to be there for them when no one else would be.

Ignoring your pain, you backed off of your father and raised up onto your knees, looking to the trees leading up to the cliffside. The nearest was a lumbering pine, its roots reaching through the rocky shale effortlessly. Like it had been here longer than you’d been alive.

You pointed to the tree’s base, drawing the man’s attention. He dropped his head then sighed, picking up the shovel. Heading for it. You watched all the while. Watched him pick a spot and lift his shovel, bringing it down on ground so tough he hardly made a dent. He cursed. He lifted it higher and tried again. The ground didn’t budge any more the second time. He took to running his boot over the ground, checking for places the rock gave way to softer dirt. When he was satisfied, he lifted the shovel. This time, the ground gave.

He raised the shovel and moved to a spot a few feet away, trying again. The ground gave there too. He raised his head, looking over at you. “This’ll do. It’s gonna take me some time, breaking up all these roots.”

“Don’t kill the tree.”

You were as surprised to hear your voice as he was. You just couldn’t stand the tree dying too.

“She speaks,” he said, going back to his shoveling.

You watched him then, watched him a long time. So long that he began to sweat with the work, stopping to shed his huge fur-lined coat. He kept going. He got to the second grave. You debated who should go in which. As much as it pained you to think it, your mother needed to go on the left, your father on the right. Because that was how they had slept around you for over two decades.

You didn’t realize you were crying until a gust of wind shifted the air, making the wetness on your face turn cold. It was too much. You couldn’t do this.

Would the stranger bury you alive if you asked him to?

As soon as you had the thought, he turned to you. “Come look, see if I got this how you want it.”

You stood silently. Your side burned, but it wasn’t unbearable. Remarkably, almost unbelievably, you didn’t think you were hurt anywhere else. You just ached. Though that may not have been from pain.

You eyed your father at your feet then moved, walking toward the trees. Like a child learning to walk, a woman learning to navigate the world, all on her own.

You stepped up to the graves and looked down at them with the man. Roughly cut holes in the ground. A few of the roots from the tree had been preserved, sticking out of the sides. It made you want to smile, but smiling made you want to cry. Instead, you turned and went back for your father. If you didn’t do this now, you never would.

You thought of the pair of them living under this tree forever, the roots twining around them both until they were one. Part of the land and nothing more than memory. It was better than you could have done for them out here, all alone.

You reached your father and smoothed his coat out. Avoiding the pallid look of his skin, you noted his hat was gone. You searched the nearby ground for it.

“What is it?” the man asked, coming up behind you.

You motioned to your head and continued looking, rounding the wagon’s back end. You soon heard a board shift and looked over—he was pulling the hat out from under the wagon.

“This it?”

You nodded, going over to take it from him. He spoke before you could.

“We need to get your momma out from under there.”

Something about him using that word, calling her what you always called her…it crushed you. He didn’t even have to be told these were your parents. Because it was obvious. You had her hair. You had his nose. Your shoulders began to shake, and you were crying again, turning away so the man couldn’t see.

You felt his hand on your shoulder. “I’ll do it. You’re in no state to lift the wagon anyway. Just hold her for me, would you?”

You could hold her. Had wanted to, had been too afraid to touch her in such a fragile state. You nodded and let him lead the way.

Your mother was face down, the only part of her trapped under the wagon her leg. If you ignored that, she looked peaceful too. You were afraid to turn her over, just as you were afraid to move your father. You had a feeling whatever damage had been done was worse on their undersides.

The man set your father’s hat down and stepped up to the wagon side, preparing to lift it. You stepped up to your mother. You crouched and touched her back, the same cold lifelessness meeting your gloved hand as it had when you touched your father. You swallowed your sorrow and steeled yourself. You owed this to her.

With a grunt, the man lifted the wagon and attempted to push her leg out from under it. You couldn’t watch, knowing how wrong it would look, but you could help. You could hold her one last time. You wrapped your arms around your mother as you had so lovingly before and pulled.

“There,” the man said, letting the wagon back down with a crash of more broken wood. You couldn’t stand the sound—you were sobbing again.

“You take whatever time you need. I’ll carry ‘em over when you’re ready.”

You wordlessly thanked him for it. You had been dreading that, wanting to remember them as whole and nothing more. So this would be the last time you looked upon them. You would recall them sleeping, resting. Waiting for you.

You heard the man walk away as you let your mother go. Looking between her and her husband she loved so dearly. The only man to ever soften her.

His hat was resting beside him now, another small kindness from the stranger. You waited until he was far enough away not to overhear you before saying a word. Then you spoke, swearing it would be the last time you ever did so.

“I know why you wanted to take this trip.” You whispered it through a sob and were surprised to hear the words. Their reasons didn’t matter now. But it had mattered enough to you before to act coldly toward them. Now all you wanted was to tell them you understood. They had just been trying to show you love any way they knew how. You wanted to take back all that resentment, show them the love you felt in return. So you said it aloud. No matter that it would fall on unhearing ears.

“And I understand it now, and I forgive you for it…” You broke down, words impossible. How to sum up how deeply you cared for them in so little time? Your father always said it was actions that mattered, not words. Maybe that was all you could stomach anyway.

You bent down and kissed your mother on the side of her face, what little bit of it was showing. You moved and kissed your father on the forehead. You put his hat back on his head. They were too far apart for you to grab both of their hands. So you laid between them, facing the sky.

“Another morning,” you whispered, the cold air stinging your face. The words your father always woke with, repeating like a prayer. And your mother’s constant reply. “May it be as kind as you are.”

Your eyes welled with sadness, so you shut them. Back in the drafty room you had grown up in. Between your sleeping parents.

“I love you both.” You half heartedly wished death had been close by all along, waiting for you to say this to take you. But the pain in your side was too real. And the darkness behind your eyes wasn’t full enough. And your parents were on the wrong sides of the bed.

You laid there and cried for a long time. You weren’t sure how long, only that it didn’t feel right to get up and leave them now. To keep on living. It was unfair.

You heard the same animal from the night before make its loud call, the only thing to stir you. It was an elk. Strong and proud and always afraid. The three of you combined. But if you were the fearful one, when would you ever be allowed to rest?

You sat up, turning toward the sound. It was too far for the animal to be in view. But in that direction was the man from before, the one you had completely forgotten about. He was turned away, watching the sky. Waiting. You thought of his offer to go away from this place and felt that fear clutch you tightly. But what else would you do? Stubbornly stay here, neglect the very thing your parents had wanted for you? It was your refusal to take this trip all over again. You wished with such harsh regret that you had stood firm, made them stay home with you. Then they wouldn’t be lying broken on the ground, and you wouldn’t have to force yourself to do something you could never find the will to do in the first place. But your parents had wanted you to start your own life, one out of the snow and the hardship. Maybe this was the world’s cruel way of forcing you.

You sighed, shaking off your crippling sorrow and rising to your feet. You gave one last look at your parents. As much as you hated it, you would do it for them. Of course you would.

Within the hour, the man had brought them both to their final resting places and married the dirt with the ground it belonged to. He had asked if you wanted to do the honors, to speak over them, anything. You couldn’t even find the will to shake your head at him. You just watched from a distance, knowing you didn’t want to see them like this anyway.

When the deed was done and the man stepped away, wiping his brow with the effort, you turned and walked back to the wagon without a word. It was over. And you were still alive.

The man spoke. “Look, I know it ain’t my place but…you don’t need to be staying out here. There’s bears and wolves and all manner of animal that’ll eat you for the hell of it.”

He didn’t understand it and likely never would—what wanting to die looked like. But as much as you hated it, he was right. You wouldn’t meet your death here because of the same stubbornness your parents had tried so hard to correct.

You refused to respond and got to the wagon, prying through its broken boards and trying your best to ignore the sound. You wanted the keepsake you had been too weak to consider taking until now. You hadn’t truly thought you would find the strength to leave them, to need something like this. But the stranger of a man had come along like your parents’ very own dying wish, and you wouldn’t wrong them again.

You crawled on your belly underneath the wagon, the inside of it nearly unrecognizable—a tangle of ripped canvas and splintered wood. You dug through what the man had left behind after his search for anything valuable, knowing this wasn’t something he would have taken. You lifted a blanket and heard a familiar ruffle of pages as something small fell to the ground. Underneath the blanket lay the leather-clad book your father couldn’t bring himself to get rid of—a ledger. Though it hadn’t started out that way. You recalled growing up and learning your letters from your mother, sitting beside your father as she forced him to do the same. You picked up the ledger and looked through the first few pages, his terrible attempts at words. You knew without having to look further their spelling got better over time, though his handwriting never did. Then how his words turned to numbers, to how much hay and meat and skins he had sold or traded, how much the three of you needed to survive. It was obvious on the pages you had pored over time and again that words were not his specialty. The concern and care he showed his family was, written in determined number after number.

You closed the ledger and clutched it tightly to your chest. It was your father’s essence, your mother’s determination to teach him. You would hold onto it like your life depended on it.

You heard a knock on the wagon side and startled. The man was staring in at you. Maybe he was beginning to understand you better—he didn’t say a word. Didn’t try to convince you to come out. That alone had you feeling a little less uneasy. You were taught not to trust strangers, but this man had done more than most people you knew well would. The least you could do was show some semblance of thankfulness and let him take you somewhere safe enough to please him before you parted ways.

He moved out of the way as you shimmied out from under the wagon, outright ignoring your pain. It was a fickle thing to you now. It came and went, and you couldn’t give much care to it one way or the other. It just was. Just as the state of the wagon was. Just as the newly dug graves were, forever marring the ground now.

You clambered to your feet with ledger in hand and faced the man, unspeaking.

“You coming then?”

You hesitated, knowing how this would shape your life. To live or to die. To do as your parents wanted or to live the way they had—not long enough.

You met the stranger’s eye and nodded at him.

“All right then. Come on,” he said, as simply as if you had just agreed to a warm meal or night’s rest. Not your life. He motioned you to follow and made for his horse. “Name’s Arthur.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. Your name circled through your head, one of the last things your parents had given you that was still yours to hold. He didn’t need to know it anyway.

He soon mounted his horse and helped you up. You settled onto the back of the beast, making it shift with the new weight. Unnecessary weight. An added burden. That’s all you were now. The only purpose you stood lay hundreds of miles away in either direction. So where to go and what to do if not lay underneath the dirt beside your parents? They would have been able to tell you. But that was the very thinking that had warranted this trip.

You gave one last look at the rough-cut graves now covered with earth, noting the tree, the rock face, the bridge you would not forget. You would be back someday. You would not let them lie here forever, unknown and uncared for.

When the newly named stranger spurred his horse forward, you were filled with every ounce of hurt, pain, regret. Determination. You would not let the two people that mattered most to you die thoughtlessly, in vain. You would meet them again with a story to tell. For them, you would live. Crushed beneath the weight of death, you would live.

_________

Chapter two is here.

[solo6677]

Brand New Life

Jack and Sarah are very happy couple until a car accident changes their lives forever.

In the quiet town of Meadowgrove, Nebraska , a seemingly ordinary couple, Jack and Sarah, were known for their strong bond and unyielding love for each other. However, one fateful day, their lives took an unexpected turn.

While they are both in a car driving to church Jack swerved to miss a deer and hit another car and then a tree. Though Sarah seemed unhurt, the ambulance took both of them to the local hospital. Jack went to the hospital because he was unconscious.

The tragic car accident left Jack in a coma, his body broken and bruised. The doctors also delivered more devastating news to Sarah: Jack had lost both his balls and penis in the crash, and mentally he might never be the same again.

As the weeks turned into months, Sarah refused to give up on her husband. She spent every waking moment by his side, praying for a miracle. And then one day, she received a call from the hospital that changed everything.

The doctors had been working with a company called Evie’s Incorporated on an experimental treatment. They would use an elixir to transform a male into a female. They offered it to Sarah as a last resort, promising that it might give Jack a brand new life but he would be a complete woman.

But what kind of life would it be? Would Jack want to become a woman? And if he did, how would it affect their relationship?

Sarah was faced with a difficult decision. Should she take the leap of faith and give Jack a chance at a brand new life, or should she hold on to the man she married and hope for a miracle?

As she stared at Jack's lifeless body in the hospital bed, she couldn't help but wonder: what would their brand new life look like? Sarah decided to go on with the procedure. The doctors then came into the room and hooked Jack up to an IV with pink liquid coming out of it and into his body. They informed Sarah it could be a few days before they really see anything happening but to have faith.

Sarah would show up to Jack's room the next day. She brought with her books to read to him things that he would enjoy as a man. She sat there for hours and read to him, not seeing him change at all. As she sat there frustrated she prayed that something good would happen. As she left for the night she kissed Jack on the head and told him that she would be back the next day.

The first sign of transformation came on the second day after the elixir was administered. Jack's rough, calloused hands, once marked with the signs of a lifetime of manual labor, began to smooth out and soften. Sarah noticed the change as she held his hand, feeling the skin become softer and more delicate beneath her fingers.

On the third day, Jack's facial and body hair began to disappear, leaving his skin smooth and hairless. His jawline became less defined, and his cheekbones more pronounced. Sarah watched in amazement as her husband's features began to change, becoming softer and more feminine.

By the fourth day, Jack's body had undergone a dramatic transformation. His broad shoulders and muscular chest had given way to a more slender frame, and his waist had narrowed. His hips had widened, and his bottom had become rounder. Sarah couldn't believe the changes she was seeing, as her husband's body became more and more feminine with each passing hour.

The final sign of transformation came on the fifth day. Jack's scar where his penis had been disappeared, and in its place, was a fully formed vagina. Sarah couldn't believe what she was seeing, as her husband's body had been completely transformed from male to female.

Throughout the transformation, Jack remained in a coma, unaware of the changes taking place. Sarah stayed by his side, holding his hand and watching in amazement as her husband became a woman. She couldn't help but wonder what Jack would think of the changes when he woke up. Would he be happy with his new body? Or would he be confused and scared?

As the transformation came to an end, Sarah couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. She was happy that Jack had been given a new chance at life, but she was also scared of the unknown. She knew that their lives would never be the same, and that they would have to navigate this new reality together.

As she looked at Jack, now Jackie, she couldn't help but feel a sense of hope. She knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in their lives, and that they would face whatever came next together, as husband/wife and wife.

The doctors were amazed by the transformation, they had never seen such a quick and complete change in a human body before. They were not sure if Jackie would have the same personality or memories as Jack, but they were sure that she would have a new life ahead of her.

As Jackie woke up from her coma, Sarah was there by her side, holding her hand and ready to start this new journey together. Jackie opened her eyes and looked at Sarah, she didn't remember anything from before the transformation, but she knew that she was loved and that was all that mattered. She was ready to start her new life as Jackie, and Sarah was ready to be by her side every step of the way.

At first, Sarah was overjoyed to see Jack alive and well. She was relieved to see that the experimental elixir had worked, and she was excited to get to know this new version of her husband. But as the days went by, Jackie's personality began to change.

At first, Sarah was shocked by Jackie's transformation, but she tried her best to be supportive. Jackie was still the same person she had always loved, after all, just with a different appearance. Jackie seemed to be treating her even better than before, showering her with gifts and affection.

However, after a few days, Jackie started to become more and more demanding. She insisted that Sarah call her Jacqueline, and would fly into a rage if she slipped up. Jacqueline also started to treat Sarah like a servant, making her do all the household chores and running errands for her.

It wasn't long before Jacqueline's demands became more degrading. She made Sarah wear revealing outfits and perform humiliating tasks in public. Sarah felt like she had lost all control over her life, and she didn't know how to fight back.

But what was even worse was that Jacqueline started to bring other men into their home and bedroom. She would make Sarah sit in the corner of the bedroom and play with herself while watching Jacqueline have sex with them. At first, Sarah was horrified, but as time went on, she found herself becoming aroused by the sight of Jacqueline with other men.

Jacqueline seemed to enjoy having an audience, and she would often make Sarah perform oral sex on her while she was with someone else. Sarah felt like she had become a mere object, a sex slave to Jacqueline and her lovers.

But despite the degrading treatment, Sarah found herself craving more. She had never felt so desired, so wanted before. She didn't want to admit it, but she was starting to enjoy her servitude. She would do anything to please Jacqueline, and she felt a thrill every time Jacqueline praised her for being a good girl.

As the days turned into weeks, Sarah's life became a blur of chores, humiliation, and sexual pleasure. She had never been happier, even if she couldn't quite understand why. She had lost all sense of self, and she didn't know if she would ever be able to get it back.

Sarah, once a strong and independent woman, now finds herself completely submissive to Jacqueline's every whim. She has become a slave to her wife's desires, willingly serving her in any way she can. Sarah's life revolves around Jacqueline's pleasure, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

Despite the degrading treatment, Sarah feels a deep sense of love and devotion towards Jacqueline. She believes that this is the life she was meant to live, and she is grateful for every moment she gets to spend with her wife.

As the months go by, Sarah becomes more and more accustomed to her new life. She learns to anticipate Jacqueline's needs, and takes pride in serving her. Sarah's love for Jacqueline only grows stronger with each passing day, and she knows that she will do anything to make her happy.

In the end, Sarah and Jacqueline's relationship has become a twisted reflection of their love for each other. While some might see Sarah's submission as a form of oppression, she sees it as an act of love and devotion. And as long as Jacqueline is happy, Sarah will continue to serve her, willingly and happily, for the rest of their lives.

[spnhunter4life]

Familiar Chapter 2

Word Count: 7.9k

Warnings: little bit of canon typical violence

A/N: This story was originally meant to be a one shot. But then I decided, "You know what? I'm not really happy with this ending. I'll just write one more little chapter to wrap things up." 🙄 Well guess what? If you've been following my work, you know that things always turn out longer than expected. So my 'little' wrap up chapter ended up being kind of long and had to be brought to a stopping point. So here's chapter 2 for you, and you can expect a third chapter as well! That will definitely be the last chapter though (she says with way less confidence than she would like).

Thanks to everyone who has liked, commented on, or reblogged the first chapter! I'm completely blown away by how many notes it's gotten. If you missed the first chapter, read it here!

Summary: Y/N comes back from a walk one day only to realize she can't remember where she was or what she was doing. The new case she and the boys were working must be abandoned in order to recover her memory.

Masterlist

Two months had passed since the shapeshifter hunt, and despite Sam’s encouragement, I still hadn’t said anything to Dean. He was making it extremely difficult for me to ignore my feelings for the older brother the way I always used to. Between his constant pointed looks and making up excuses to leave us alone together, I was about ready to snap.

My dreams about Dean were becoming more frequent too. With thoughts of him almost always on the forefront of my mind, he regularly featured in my dreams. I still had dreams like the one the shapeshifter had taunted me with, but these dreams had branched out into more sweet versions of Dean that left me longing for him even more.

I woke up from one such dream – one where Dean and I were in our very own house, snuggled up together on the couch, a movie playing in the background as we talked – in the back of the Impala. I looked around and saw that we were still on the interstate. We were on our way to Nebraska to check out a new case Sam had found. Four teenagers had shown up dead, all apparently drowned, but their bodies nowhere near water.

“How much further is it?” I asked.

“About 20 miles,” Dean answered.

I sighed and leaned my head against the window. Sam met my eyes in the rearview mirror and raised an eyebrow in question. I just shook my head. He glanced at Dean and back at me, smiling at the small frown on my face this gesture caused. He was getting annoyingly good at figuring out when I had been dreaming about his brother.

By the time we got to a motel, I was irritated and in need of some time away from both brothers. I told them I was going to walk to the diner we saw about 10 blocks away and bring home food for everybody. It would give me time to clear my head. I really needed to find time to talk to Sam about stopping all the teasing and trying to be supportive. Even though it wasn’t his intention, it was only making things worse.

~~~~~

“There you are!” Dean’s relieved voice greeted me as soon as I walked in the door.

“Seriously, Y/N, what took you so long?” Sam chimed in. “We were getting worried. I think Dean was about ready to start a search party.”

“Sorry,” I apologized, not sure why they were so worked up. “I haven’t been gone that long.”

“It shouldn’t have taken you an hour and a half,” Dean argued. “Where’s the food?” He added almost as an afterthought.

“What food?”

“The whole reason you left was to get food,” Sam told me. “What have you been doing?”

“Nothing,” I answered. Then I thought about it. What had I been doing? I was certain I hadn’t been gone for very long, but then, I realized that all I could remember was the walk back to the motel. “Just walking I guess? I don’t actually remember.”

“How can you not remember?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know!” I yelled, frustrated and confused.

“Ok, well what do you remember?” Sam asked.

“I remember… waking up in the Impala on the drive here. I guess I kind of remember getting to the motel. Other than that… I’ve got nothing.”

“Come here,” Dean said, gesturing for me to walk over to him. 

“Why?” I wondered.

“Just come here.”

I walked over to him and he immediately began feeling around my head.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Looking for a lump or some other injury,” he said, continuing his search.

“I think I’d know if I hit my head,” I told him, backing out of his reach.

“Apparently you’ve lost your memory. How are you supposed to know what happened?”

“If I’d been hit on the head hard enough for it to affect my memory, don’t you think I’d have a horrible headache at the very least?” I reasoned.

“Point taken. But clearly something happened. We need to figure out what.”

“Let’s just all head towards the diner,” Sam suggested. “We still need to eat, and maybe something on the way will jog Y/N’s memory.”

Nobody had any better ideas and he was right, we did still need to eat. So we went outside and started walking towards the diner. We’d made it six blocks when Sam stopped us. This particular part of town was the area where commercial buildings started being replaced by residential. There were multiple small businesses scattered throughout the neighborhood. Some buildings were obviously both people’s place of work and their home. 

“Do you think you might have gone in there?” He asked, pointing at the music store across the street. Through the window I could see guitars spaced out on the wall, a row of pianos under them. I loved the piano. I grew up taking lessons and badly missed being able to play. It was an easy, surefire way for me to calm down and clear my head, a fact both brothers were aware of.

“You did seem stressed when you left,” Dean agreed. “I’d actually be surprised if you didn’t go in. And that would explain why you were gone for so long.”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t explain my memory loss. Think about it. An hour and a half, just gone. What are the odds of me forgetting such a specific chunk of time? Someone had to have done this to me. We need to find out who. And why.”

“I agree. Which is why I think we should go in,” Dean said. “If we’re going to find answers, we need to retrace your steps. We have nothing else to go off of.”

We crossed the street and Sam led the way inside. A little bell above the door announced our arrival. I scanned the room, looking for anything familiar but coming up empty. I walked over to the line of pianos, lightly running my hand along the tops of each one I passed. I stopped at the fourth one in line. A blur of memories raced through my head, but nothing that would help solve my current memory loss problem. 

This piano was very similar to the one I grew up playing. I remembered the hours spent on it, favorite songs learned and played enough times to become annoying to my family. The very same songs forgotten about when they became too easy and a new favorite came along. I placed my hands on the keys and played a few chords.

“Anything?” Dean asked. I just shook my head.

“Oh! You’re back!” Exclaimed a balding man who appeared out of the back room. He was probably in his early 50s and had a very friendly, cheerful demeanor. “You decided to buy this lovely instrument after all?”

“Uh, no. Unfortunately I have nowhere to keep a piano. No, I was just… passing by again and couldn’t resist,” I told him.

“Well, if circumstances ever change, I’d love to help you out!” He said.

I thanked him and placed my hands back on the keys, playing the opening notes to an old favorite song.

“Have you had a lot of business today?” I heard Sam ask.

“No, it’s been pretty slow today. But then, Mondays usually are,” the man answered easily. 

“I figured it must be a slow day when you recognized Y/N so quickly,” Sam said, subtly fishing for information.

“Well she was the only one in the store at the time, but even if there had been 20 other people around, she plays so beautifully I could hardly have missed her.”

The conversation ended there. Or at least, I think it did. I lost myself in the song I was playing, and all other noise faded away. Once finished, I turned around to face the three men. The owner of the store was looking at me with the appreciation of a fellow musician. Sam looked impressed as he always did when he heard me play. Dean… I couldn’t quite read the look on his face. The closest word I could come up with to describe it is awe. But I knew that wasn’t right.

The store owner glanced at his watch and regretfully informed us it was closing time. He thanked us for coming in and I thanked him for letting me play. The three of us exited the store and started walking in the direction of the diner again. 

We stopped in a couple more stores we passed that I might have gone into in an effort to destress. A small little used bookstore that was absolutely packed from wall to wall with books and an antique store, the kind that always reminded me of my history loving father and the countless stores he took me to growing up. Neither of these places sparked any memories either though, and as far as we could tell, I hadn’t stopped inside earlier.

“Well we have some explanation for where you were at least,” Sam said when we’d been seated at the diner.

“Yeah, but we still have no idea what happened to me. How are we supposed to get my memory back when we don’t even know where to start?” 

“I don’t know yet. But we’ll figure it out. We always do,” Sam assured me. This wasn’t much of a comfort to me at the moment, and Dean seemed to realize that.

“We’re going to figure it out, Y/N. I promise. I’d never let anything happen to you. You’re our priority right now. Everything else gets dropped until we figure this out. You’re our new case. Have we ever not solved a case?” He asked.

I smiled, feeling more confident with my situation. He was right. There was nothing we couldn’t solve when we worked together. 

“What’s our next step, then?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” Dean admitted. 

“Our next step is going to the motel and getting some sleep,” Sam answered. “It’s getting late and we have no leads. Our best bet is to sleep on it and get a fresh start tomorrow. And who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and your memories will be back in the morning.”

I didn’t really want to wait. I wanted to solve this now. But I knew Sam was right. We had nowhere to start, and being low on sleep wouldn’t help anybody, so I grudgingly agreed to this plan of action.

~~~~~

When I woke up the next morning, I kept my eyes closed and just laid there for a minute, working up the energy to actually get up. I heard the deep, even breathing of a sleeping person coming from the direction of the beds and the occasional shuffling of paper or clacking of a keyboard from the other side of the room. 

I rolled over so I wasn’t facing the back of the couch and was greeted by a rare sight when I opened my eyes. The unmistakable sounds of research I’d heard were coming not from Sam as I’d assumed, but Dean, up before his brother, the notorious early riser.

“What time is it?” I asked as I sat up. He looked up at me.

“Oh, hey,” he greeted. “It’s… almost seven.”

“And Sam’s still sleeping?” I asked around a yawn. Dean still picked up on the disbelief in my voice.

“I know, right? Lazy ass. Of all days to sleep in.”

I chuckled at his annoyed teasing and went to the bathroom to start getting ready for the day. When I stepped back into the room, dressed and teeth brushed, I saw Sam up and rifling through his duffle.

“Hey,” he said. “I don’t suppose you remember anything?”

“Unfortunately, no,” I sighed.

“Ok. Well I guess we should go get some breakfast and discuss next steps.”

“No need,” Dean interjected. “I already came up with our next step while you two were catching up on your beauty sleep.”

“You did?” I asked, surprised.

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” He answered. Before he could continue, Sam interrupted. 

“How long have you been up?”

“I don’t know. Couple hours.” He took a drink from a to go cup of coffee that I hadn’t even noticed he had.

Sam glanced at me, the look on his face one that he reserved for times he wanted to say ‘You two are so meant to be together’ but couldn’t say it out loud because Dean was in the room. He had said it to me on more than one occasion when Dean wasn’t around, which is how I know what the look translated to. 

“Anyway,” Dean continued. He picked up a phone book that was laying open beside him. “I found this psychic in town that should be able to help us. I figured we’d stop by her place after breakfast.”

“A psychic? I don’t know, Dean.” The thought made me nervous. Most of the people who advertised themselves as psychics were phonies. And even if this one wasn’t – which I didn’t know how Dean could be sure of – what if she wasn’t able to help? What if she saw something I didn’t want her to see? I’m a pretty private person, and the thought of someone digging around in my head is incredibly unappealing.

“Hear me out,” he insisted. “I’ve done my research, ok? She’s the real deal.”

“How can you be sure?” Sam asked.

“Because. I’ve done my research,” Dean repeated. “Look,” he said, spinning the laptop to face us. It was open to a website for The Amazing Annabelle. “There are dozens of reviews on here, and every one of them says she was able to help. And look at this.”

He slowly scrolled down to the bottom of the page, showing off the dozens of symbols and sigils scattered throughout. A lot of them I recognized as protection from various supernatural beings. There were a lot that I didn’t recognize too. They clearly marked her as knowing about the world of supernatural creatures though. Unless she had just pulled together symbols she thought looked cool in order to give herself an air of authenticity.

“Alright, fine. But a few good reviews and a bunch of symbols used by hunters doesn’t exactly prove that she’s psychic,” Sam argued. I had to agree. I didn’t want to hurt Dean’s feelings since he’d clearly put some time into this and I knew he was just trying to help, but psychics made me nervous. There was no way I would agree to go unless we knew for sure she was legit.

“Yeah, I thought the same thing. Which is why I talked to Bobby,” Dean responded. So this was the reason he was so confident. Bobby was highly respected among the hunter community. If he gave his approval on this Amazing Annabelle, then we really couldn’t doubt her abilities. “He said he’s not super familiar with her, but he has heard of her. She’s good at what she does and someone who can be trusted.”

“Ok,” I agreed. “Breakfast and then a visit to the psychic. I suppose the worst that can happen is she isn’t able to help.”

~~~~~

The first thing I noticed about Annabelle was how… normal she was. With the exception of Missouri, all the other psychics I’d ever seen were dressed in over the top outfits, their places decked out with all sorts of nonsense that was supposedly necessary for them to do their job.

If I’d seen this girl on the street, I would never have guessed what her occupation was. She was about our age and short, standing a full head below my 5’ 6” frame. And she was very pretty. I noticed both Sam and Dean’s immediate appreciation of her beauty. She was wearing white leggings and a purple shirt, her night black hair was in a messy ponytail that suited her very well, and her golden brown skin was flawless.

“What can I do for you?” She asked when she opened the door. Dean cleared his throat before answering.

“I’m Dean. This is Sam and Y/N. We were hoping you could help us with something.”

“I gathered that much,” she smiled. She opened the door wider and stepped to the side. “Come in.”

We stepped inside and she led us to a room that had an armchair and a comfortable looking couch as well as a round table with four chairs. She sat in the armchair so the three of us settled ourselves on the couch, Sam and Dean on either end and me between them.

“So. What can I help you with?” She asked again. 

“Do you have any experience with trying to recover memories?” I asked.

“Some, yes,” she said. “It really depends on how the memories were lost. Some are easy to find. Some take work, but can still be found with patience. Some, like in the instance of an injury to the brain, can’t be recovered.”

“We don’t actually know what happened. That’s part of what I need to remember. Our assumption is that magic was involved though,” I informed her.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” she assured me. “If you’ll come with me?” She stood and moved to the table, gesturing for me to sit across from her. The boys came and stood close by to watch.

“I’ll need some information from you in order to know where to look,” she said. “Give me as much detail as you can about these memories. How long ago was it? How much time are you missing? Is it relating to any specific object or person? Anything you can give me will help.”

“It was yesterday,” Sam explained. “She has an hour and a half chunk of time just missing and we have no clue why.”

“What were you doing when you lost your memory and how did you realize you’d lost it?” 

“I was just walking from our motel to a diner to get some food. I only realized what happened because I couldn’t actually remember why I left the room and I definitely didn’t think I was gone that long.”

“Ok,” she said, taking my hands in hers. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and instructed me to do the same. “I need you to concentrate as hard as you can on the moments from that walk that you can remember.” 

Then she chanted a couple lines of Latin and suddenly I was back on the sidewalk outside the music store. I was walking in the direction of the diner once again when I hit a block. It was like an invisible barrier I couldn’t pass. I tried to go around it and when that didn’t work, turned around to go the other way. No matter what I tried, I was stuck where I was.

And then I was back at the table with Annabelle, Sam and Dean hovering over my shoulders.

“Well?” Dean asked.

“I still don’t remember anything,” I told Annabelle.

“I know. Your memories were definitely blocked using magic. It’s a stronger magic than I was expecting. It’s up to you to decide how important it is that you get them back. If you want to continue, I’m going to have to put you into a trance in order to access them.”

“Is that dangerous?” Dean asked.

“It can be. But only if you don’t have a good anchor,” she answered.

“What does that mean?” Sam asked.

“I’m going to have to send Y/N deep into her subconscious to find answers. Doing this requires an anchor, a tether to reality, someone to bring her back. Otherwise she could be stuck in her own subconscious with no way out."

“That’s not a problem. Both of them would be willing to do that,” I told her.

“I’m sure they would, but your anchor can’t be just anyone. It has to be someone with a very strong emotional connection. Normally I recommend close family members or significant others for this sort of process. I’m assuming they are neither?” 

I hesitated. The answer, of course, was no. But I didn’t see how I couldn’t have a strong enough connection with them for this to work. Living the way we did – being with each other 24/7, trusting each other with our lives – created a very strong bond. Not to mention the way I felt about Dean. But maybe if it was one sided it wouldn’t work. And I wasn’t about to say that Dean was the safer bet because I felt our connection was stronger.

“Dean can do it,” Sam announced.

Dean and I both whipped our heads to look at him. I was sure the shock, irritation, and minor panic I could see on Dean’s face was mirrored on my own. I knew we were panicking for entirely different reasons though. For Dean it was worry that he wouldn’t be a strong enough connection for me. He didn’t want to risk me not coming back. For me it was worry that Sam was going to rat me out. And boy would we have words if he did.

“What?” He snapped at the death glares we were both now fixing on him. “You know it’s true. You’ve known Dean longer than you’ve known me. You two get along so well and know each other so well that if I didn’t know any better I’d think you’d known each other your entire lives. I promise your emotional connection is more than strong enough to handle this. And I swear if either one of you tries to deny how close you are right now, I will not hesitate to punch you.”

I looked at Dean at the same moment he looked at me. There was uncertainty in his eyes, but his jaw and shoulders were set in determination.

“I can leave you alone to discuss it if you’d like,” Annabelle offered.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Dean said. “It’s up to you of course – you’re the one taking the risk – but I’ll do my best to bring you back if you’re willing to trust me to do it. Otherwise we can try to find another way.”

“Of course I trust you. That’s not even a question,” I told him.

He watched me for a minute, weighing the sincerity of my words.

“Ok,” he said. “What do you need us to do?”

Annabelle stood up and moved to a shelf full of drawers on the edge of the room, opening different ones and pulling things out as she explained.

“As I already said, I’ll be putting Y/N into a deep trance. The magic is blocking your memories on a conscious level. Sending you into your subconscious will allow you to access them, but only while you’re in the trance. Once you’re awake, you’ll forget everything again.”

“Then how does this help us?” Sam asked.

Annabelle set everything she’d grabbed down on the table and then opened a cabinet underneath, grabbing a clear glass ball and setting it in the middle of the table.

“It helps, because you and I will be able to see everything she’s seeing while she’s in the trance.”

“What about me?” Dean asked.

“Since you’re the anchor, you’ll be inside her head too. You’ll be able to see and hear everything. Sam and I will only be able to see, so you’ll need to pay particular attention to things you hear as you’ll be the only one who knows those details.”

She began combining her ingredients, crushing leaves and mixing together powders and liquids.

“While she’s out, I need the two of you to be absolutely silent,” she told Sam and Dean. “You’ll both be fully aware of the noises happening around you. It could be tricky getting to the hidden memories, and distractions won’t help. Once we’ve found the information you’re looking for, we’ll need your anchor. At that point I need Dean – and only Dean – to start talking to her.”

She now had a liquidy brown paste in front of her. She dipped her finger into it and began drawing symbols on my forehead.

“It doesn’t matter what you say. Your voice, as well as your physical connection, will lead her back into consciousness.”

“Our physical connection?” I asked.

“Yes. You’ll need to be holding hands during this,” she said. Done with my forehead, she quickly drew an intricate swirling knot on the palm of each of my hands. She drew the same design on both of Dean’s palms and then worked on his forehead as well. I assumed the design was identical to mine. “Dean, if you’ll sit across from her, we can get started.”

She sat in one of the two empty chairs and gestured for Sam to sit in the last one. 

“Alright. I need you to tell me everything you can remember from the time just before your memories disappeared. Once you’re under, you won’t be able to talk to me. The more details I have, the easier I can guide you to the missing time.”

“I already told you what I remember.”

“No. I need more. Tell me exactly what the last thing you remember is. Is it walking out the door? Did you get a ways before you forgot? What were you thinking? What were you feeling? What could you see, hear, smell? Give me everything you can remember.”

“Well… I don’t remember leaving the room. I kind of remember getting to the motel, but that’s a little hazy. I guess the clearest memory I have is waking up in the Impala about 15 minutes before we got to town.”

“Ok. Let’s start with that then. What details can you give me about that?” She prompted.

“I don’t know. Not much. We were in the car. On the interstate. Dean had Metallica playing. I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to say,” I told her. If this is what it took to get my memories back then I was screwed. Coming up with little details from hazy memories wasn’t exactly easy.

“That’s ok. Don’t worry. How about how you were feeling? Can you remember that?”

I’d just had a dream about Dean. So a big mix of emotions. Happy, sad, longing, irritation. Irritation. Yeah. I definitely remembered being annoyed when we got to the motel.

“I was annoyed. When we got to the motel. I remember being annoyed. I imagine it’s why I left to get the food. And Dean said I seemed stressed.”

“Great!” Annabelle praised. “What else? Do you know why you were annoyed?”

“Um…” How to answer that truthfully but without giving anything away. I looked between Sam and Dean and remembered how Sam had picked up on what I’d dreamt about and silently teased me about it. “Just an argument with Sam.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“What argument?” Dean interjected. “You guys didn’t even talk to each other.” 

“No, but just because we’re not as close as you two are doesn’t mean we can’t communicate without having to say anything,” Sam said.

Dean looked shocked. No doubt he was wondering how often we’d had these silent conversations. Little did he know, they were always about him.

“Ok. Anything else you can give me?” Annabelle asked.

“I know I went into a music store and stopped to play one of the pianos. I don’t actually remember doing it though. Sorry, that’s all I’ve got.”

“That’s fine. I’ve got enough to work with. Remember, I need the two of you to stay quiet,” she told Sam and Dean. They both confirmed that they would. “Ok. Dean and Y/N, take each other’s hands and close your eyes.” 

She waited for us to follow her instruction before continuing. A stream of Latin, different from the first time, fell from her lips and I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper into my subconscious. It felt a little like drifting off to sleep, so gradual that you’re somehow both aware and unaware of it at the same time.

~~~~~

Dean’s POV

As Annabelle’s chanting trailed off, a picture of my surroundings slowly began to take shape. I recognized it immediately. It was the inside of the Impala – from Y/N’s perspective. She was in the passenger side backseat, her usual place.

“Can you hear me Y/N?” Annabelle asked in a calm, soothing tone. “If you can hear me, I want you to get out of the car.”

I watched as my hand – No. Not mine. Y/N’s – reached for the handle and then she swung her legs out and stood up.

“Great. I’ll do my best to guide you to your forgotten memories, but this is mostly on you. If you seem stuck, I’ll help you figure out where to go, but otherwise I’ll stay quiet and let you figure things out for yourself. Now I need you to focus for me. I need you to think about the motel.”

The background around us flashed through a series of images. Different motels we’d stayed at over the years.

“The motel you’re staying at now,” Annabelle clarified. “The one you got to last night.” 

The flashing images slowed and came to rest on one. 

“That’s good, Y/N. Now I need you to focus on your emotions from last night. You got to the motel and were annoyed with Sam because you’d just had an argument.”

Y/N’s mind flashed back to the backseat of the Impala, Metallica’s Fade to Black playing through the speakers. She was looking at Sam in the rearview mirror, his eyebrows raised. I could tell by the view shifting back and forth that she was shaking her head. Sam looked quickly at me and then back to her, smiling. And then, memory over, we were back outside the motel. 

That’s it? That was their argument? No wonder I’d missed it. What did it even mean? I caught myself just before I actually asked these questions out loud, remembering Annabelle’s instruction to stay silent.

“You wanted to take a walk, so you offered to go get food for everyone,” Annabelle continued. I watched this memory version of Y/N walk out the door. “You stopped at a music store along the way. Did you stop anywhere else?”

We all sat in silence as we watched Y/N walk for several blocks, never stopping. She looked around as she walked, frequently turning her head to look at different things. I remembered Annabelle telling me I would be the only one with access to the sounds in her memory and started paying attention. I heard the chirping of birds, the occasional car driving by, a bell ringing inside a store as someone opened the door. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Y/N walked past a group of teenagers and I listened in to their conversation. They were discussing the loss of their friends. The information I got from them was useless as far as Y/N was concerned, but I memorized their faces so we could question them once we’d helped Y/N and were ready to work the case we actually came here for.

She walked for another block and then stopped outside the music store. She stopped for a moment to look at it, and the world around me disappeared as she relived a different memory. I saw a child’s hands on the keys of a piano. I heard the music being played, a simple melody of Jingle Bells that the child was singing along to. I heard a grown man singing with her. The song ended and she looked up into the smiling face of the man I knew to be her father.

She crossed the street and walked into the store, heading straight for the pianos and trailing her fingers over them as she walked by, much as she had her second time through with me and Sam. She stopped at the same piano she did with us. Having seen the childhood memory, I now understood the draw to this particular instrument. 

I listened as she played a complex set of chords that transitioned into a haunting melody. I was entranced, as I always was when she played. It was clear it was something she deeply enjoyed and missed. I was startled as Annabelle’s voice cut in over the music.

“What did you do next? What happened when you were done playing?” She asked. I suppose this part of the memory would be particularly boring to her and Sam, who couldn’t hear what I could. Not to mention it wasn’t exactly helping us find out what happened. We did need to keep moving, I supposed.

The memory jumped to the last few notes of what had to be a different song entirely. Then Y/N turned around and saw the store owner standing there, listening intently.

“You’re a wonderful pianist,” he told her. 

“Oh, that? I was just messing around,” she mumbled at the compliment. 

I listened closely to their conversation. While he was pretty low down on my suspect list, he was also technically the only person on that list as he was the only person we knew to have interacted with her. Nothing sparked my suspicions though.

He continued to praise her abilities, she continued to brush them aside, and he asked if she had any interest in buying the piano she’d been playing. 

“I would be very happy to sell it to you,” he told her. “It’s not often I get to sell an instrument with the confidence it will be used and well loved.”

She politely turned down his offer and then told him she needed to be going, that her friends were expecting her to be back soon.

She left the store and continued her walk. Although I couldn’t actually feel her emotions, I could tell that playing had calmed her down significantly. There was just something about the way the world looked to her now.

She made it another half a block before she stopped. I could discern no reason for this. She simply stopped walking. After a few minutes it became apparent that something wasn’t right.

“This is where you got stuck the first time we tried finding your memories, isn’t it?” I heard Annabelle ask. “Whatever happened to block your memories, this is where it happened. The magic is still putting up a fight. I need you to push back. It can’t stop you from seeing. It’s all in your head that you can’t go any further. Just keep walking.”

We all waited for a couple minutes as she struggled with pushing past whatever spell was holding her in place. 

“You can do it,” Annabelle encouraged. “You’re stronger than the magic is, I promise. Keep walking.”

Another minute passed and I knew she was winning because noises – which I hadn’t even realized had disappeared – started filtering through. It was like hearing something from underwater. Muffled, hard to make out, but definitely there. Then, all at once I could hear voices clearly and we were moving forward again.

I heard the sounds of a struggle coming from the alley in front of her. She quickly walked to it and then slowed to a stop just outside, listening. There was the unmistakable sound of chanting and underneath it, gurgling. 

“Perfect,” she muttered under her breath. She reached into her boot to grab the silver knife she always had with her. “Wish I had my gun right about now.”

She peeked her head around and saw a teenage boy standing over another one. An endless stream of water was spewing out of the lips of the boy on the ground and he was choking on it. The chanting boy was facing her. The second she stepped into the alley she’d be spotted. But the drowning boy didn’t have time for her to find a better plan of attack.

She rushed in and the boy stopped his chanting when he saw her. He started a different chant, just a few words, and then he raised his arm, flinging her into the building beside her. The knife she’d been holding went flying out of her hand. I desperately wanted to run to help her, to make sure she was ok or to kill that boy. I didn’t know which desire was stronger, but I reminded myself that it didn’t matter. This was a memory. It was all in the past and I couldn’t change it now. I just had to watch and learn what I could. That’s how I would help her. Because now we had his face and we could track him down.

Hand still stretched out to hold her in place, he looked back to his original target, now desperately gasping for breath. He continued his chanting, and the poor boy on the ground only lasted a few more moments.

“Why are you doing this?” Y/N asked him. “What could he possibly have done to you to deserve that?”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” the boy snapped at her. “No one does.”

He started marching in her direction.

“You should have left it alone,” he snarled. “If you’d just kept walking, everything would be fine. But now you’ve seen too much. And you have to go too.”

He started up his chanting again, directing it at Y/N this time. I could hear water falling from her mouth and hitting the ground. I could hear the sound of her gurgling and choking. I couldn’t bear it. How had she gotten out of this?

“Thomas!” A sharp female voice called from the other end of the alley.

The chanting stopped as the boy looked in the direction of the voice. Y/N immediately started coughing the water out of her lungs and gasping for breath. She looked at the person who had spoken. She was a woman in her late 40s or early 50s at a guess and she was fuming.

“What is wrong with you?” She asked as she smacked him over the head. “Don’t you think you’ve left enough bodies behind? Do you want to attract the attention of a hunter?”

“She saw me! What was I supposed to do?” He protested.

“You were supposed to have not killed another person to begin with! We talked about this! I’ve covered your messes your whole life, but I can’t hide murdered teenagers. Especially when you’re as sloppy about it as you’ve been and especially when you don’t even tell me about it!”

The boy hung his head in shame. But not guilt. Apparently he’d been raised to do a better job of hiding his crimes. Witches. I hated them.

“Well I have to kill her now. She���s seen too much,” Thomas argued.

“No. We’re already far too at risk of hunters coming to town. You can’t add another person to the body count. Especially so close to your father’s store. Do you want him to find out it's you killing people? About the fact magic is real, and you use it? No. We’ll erase her memory and send her on her way. She won’t be a problem.”

The witch grabbed an already made hex bag out of her purse and placed it in Y/N’s immobilized hand, forcing her fingers to close around it. I knew that she would have been fighting to get free, but since she was completely stuck there were no visible indications of this. I had been in that position more than once and knew the frustration of being unable to move.

The boy’s mother started up her own chanting and the memory we were in started fading to black. It continued with Y/N standing just outside the music store. She seemed confused at first, looking around as if trying to get her bearings. Then she turned and headed back in the direction of the motel, completely oblivious to what had just happened.

“Ok,” Annabelle said. I’d forgotten she was even there. “It’s time to bring her back. Go ahead and talk to her, Dean.”

At the mention of my name, I saw my face flash through her mind. I was sitting beside her on a couch and smiling. I didn’t remember this particular day. It could have been on any given day at any random motel. 

I wasn’t really sure what to say, and just babbling whatever words came into my head seemed silly, but getting her back was more important than my discomfort.

“Y/N,” I said, pausing to think of my next words. The memory in her head changed. Now, rather than seeing from her perspective, I was in an outsider’s point of view. And I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. “What the hell is that?” I gasped out. 

With a mix of excitement, shock, and confusion, I watched a guy who looked remarkably like me – although it couldn’t have been because I knew this had never happened before – lift Y/N in the air, spin her around a couple of times, and then set her back on her feet before leaning down to kiss her.

“I thought we were in her memories,” I said.

“You are,” Annabelle answered.

“No we’re not. We can’t be. That never happened.” 

“Then it must be a memory of a dream. Focus, Dean,” Annabelle instructed. “Be her anchor. Bring her back.”

I tried to concentrate on my job, but all I could see was the image of us kissing playing over and over in my head. 

“Can you please think of something else?” I practically begged her.

I was grateful when the memory – or whatever it was – flickered and changed into something else. Only this was no better. We were kissing again, only this time sitting on a very nice couch in a very nice room. It changed again. Sitting in the front seat of the Impala together, just the two of us. Kissing. Another change. I had Y/N pressed up against a wall. We were really kissing in this one.

It changed again and I breathed out a sigh of relief. She’d pulled up a random memory of her in one of her college classes, back before she quit school.

“Ok,” I breathed out and then cleared my throat. “Ok.” If I thought I didn’t know what to say before, I was really stuck now. What was I supposed to say to her after seeing all of that?

“Ok,” I said yet again. “You need to come back now. You have to find your way back. Sam and I are waiting for you.”

“It’s not going to work,” Annabelle said. “She’s trying too hard to keep her memories in control to focus on finding her way out of the trance. Y/N, don’t worry about what memories surface during this. Your only job is to come out of it. Listen to Dean and don’t worry about anything else. And Dean. Don’t worry about finding the right words. Say whatever comes naturally. That’s what she needs.”

Say what comes naturally. This would be a lot easier if I didn’t know Sam was listening to my every word. But Y/N was counting on me. I took a deep breath to prepare myself.

I said her name again. The memory of the classroom flickered to one of me in the driver’s seat of the Impala, singing along to Led Zeppelin. Y/N was in the back, singing with me and Sam was smiling in the passenger seat, refusing to join in.

“If I’m being honest with you, I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say right now. But you trusted me to get you out of this and I’ll be damned if I let you down. So I need you to do your part too. Find your way out of this. Come back to us.”

Memories flashed by as she searched for a way back into consciousness. I saw memories of real things, memories I shared. Us in the car, in motel rooms, on hunts. Her patching up a knife wound on my bicep, me holding her close and carrying her after her run in with that shapeshifter. There were more memories of things I didn’t recognize too. More dreams, I suppose. Us out on what could only be interpreted as a date. Us curled up together in bed, talking. Us dancing together in an empty parking lot, a slow song playing from Baby’s speakers. And more dreams of us kissing in various scenarios.

It would have been so easy to get lost in all of these memories, in seeing myself the way she saw me. And in wondering how she could apparently dream about me so much, apparently have feelings for me, without me ever knowing. But I made myself focus on being her anchor.

“Do you know how glad I am that you’re a part of my life? I sometimes wonder how I ever managed without you. And you know you can’t leave me and Sam on our own. We wouldn’t last without you. We’d probably kill each other.”

I watched as the countless swirling memories of us switched to ones of me and Sam. She remembered more than one instance that proved me wrong. She thought about all the times Sam and I had leaned on each other and kept the other going. She was essentially telling me that while she appreciated the sentiment, she knew we’d be fine without her.

“Alright, fine,” I said. “Maybe we’d get by fine on our own. That doesn’t mean either of us want to. You’re too important to us. So come back to us,” I repeated. 

She seemed to be flipping through her memories, as if looking for the right one to bring her back.

“Come back to me.”

I became the focus again, a memory of me standing outside on a bright sunny day and laughing at something she’d said flitting into her mind. But she pushed it away to start looking again.

“Don’t worry about the memories, remember?” I told her. “Just focus on me. Listen to my voice. Try to feel my hands,” I encouraged her. Different memories floated by again, pulled up at random by my words, or maybe the tone of my voice. I didn’t know. They almost all circled around just the two of us though. More dreams of us kissing flashed by.

The shock I felt at these images was lessening and I was beginning to be more comfortable with them. So, following Annabelle’s advice, I let myself respond naturally. I let go of the tight leash I usually kept on my natural inclination to flirt. It wasn’t something I’d ever done with her, not wanting to scare her away. If only I’d known how she really felt.

“You know,” I drawled, wishing I could flash her a smile. “If you wanted to kiss me so badly, you only had to say something. We can definitely do something about that. But only if you come back to me.”

There was a rush of memories flipping by so quickly I couldn’t make anything out in any of them. Then everything went black and I became aware of my own body again. I tentatively opened my eyes and saw Y/N sitting across from me, Sam and Annabelle on either side of us. 

I smiled a little. I wanted to know if she’d found her way out so suddenly out of embarrassment and a desire to escape or excitement and anticipation. 

“Don’t forget, she won’t remember any of what just happened,” Annabelle warned me. 

“I know,” I said. That wasn’t a problem. It was a lot easier to take a shot when you could see clearly. And I could finally see everything.

Chapter 3

Tags: @123passwort @buckybarnes-1917 @chicken-nuggs-and-cozy-hugs @globetrotter28

[alexsoenomel]

Feelin’ Baby Blue (Dean Winchester x Reader smut/fluff)

Requests: can you write a story where dean is just like touch starved and wants to cuddle so he doesn’t have nightmares while he sleeps.

Could you write a story where dean just needs a little comfort? like he’s had a rough day or is just feeling off and wants to be held and feel safe in the readers arms

Summary: Dean set you free by accident, not knowing you can feel the pain he was in and not knowing you’re able to give him what he secretly craved.

Pairing: Dean x Genie!Reader 

Warnings:  18+ MINORS DNI, Reader is a virgin, Dean is broken and pathetic, sweet love making, and Big O’s

Word count: 3.8k

Note: I added a little bit of fluffy smut because I’m a pathetic horny bitch and Dean deserves to get laid.

Like/ reblog or both if you like it :)  

Wake up. Go to work. Collapse on the coach. Wake up. Make lunch for tomorrow. Shower. Sleep.

Over and over again.

Every day. The concept of time didn't exist, only work and work alone. You didn't know who you were, your true authentic self was buried deep in you, along with your dreams and goals. In this world dreams and goals were considered unnecessary, plus you didn't even know what your dreams and goals were. You were only aware of one thing and one thing only – you had to work in order to survive. This job was your bread and butter, financial issues disappeared but you could still feel the world crashing around you. Your life became only your 9 till 5. You had no one, with family scattered around the country, and friends being in different stages of life, you were left to only interact with people in your dull office job which made you hate this life even more. Empty conversations, small talk, gossip…

You didn't even remember the last time you genuinely laughed while talking to someone. Once you entered this machine, this cursed cycle called the capitalistic society, your life lost all meaning.

It was the same day over and over again.

****

North Platte, Nebraska

Sam and Dean just killed a nasty witch. She had been cursing family homes all over Nebraska, making family members eventually kill each other in fits of rage and insanity – reasons unknown. She was an old one – old as time. Her house was filled with endless shelves of books of ancient dark magic, ancient artifacts chattered all over, herbs, talismans – whatever a witch’s heart desired, she had it.

"Poor guy!" Dean said, looking at the white rabbit lying on the coffee table. His eyes were closed, his little body completely relaxed and spread out – it looked dead. "That bitch was creepy as hell!" He added. Dean was never fond of witches.

"I still don't understand why she was killing all those families!" Sam wondered, looking around her messy living room.

"Beats me!" The older Winchester shrugged his shoulders and put the gun with witch-killing bullets back in his jeans.

He was just about to tell Sam that it was time to go since the place was giving him the heebie-jeebies when he saw something that piqued his interest on one of the bookshelves.

"Sam, look!" His fingers were gently holding a medium-sized bottle filled with floating whiteish, blueish puffs. He was smiling like he just found his favorite childhood toy.

"Are those clouds?" Sam asked, trying to see what was inside the bottles. Nothing apart from "clouds" his eyes registered.

Dean, being Dean (childish and chaotic at times), started shaking the bottle, hoping something would happen. It didn't. The "clouds" were just floating in the bottle as he was shaking it.

"Dean, put it back where you found it, and let's get the hell out of here!" Sam told him.

"Fine."

As he was about to put it back on the shelf, a light bang echoed through the living room causing both Winchesters to turn around with their guns ready to kill whatever made the sound. Dean didn't even notice that he dropped the bottle, shattering it completely. The clouds were floating right behind them as they put their guns away realizing it was just the rabbit that Dean thought was dead on the coffee table. It jumped on the wooden floor knocking a little stone in the process. It just stood there looking at them.

"He ain't dead!" Dean's eyes widened in surprise. He couldn't help but smile – he'd always feel sad for the poor animals that were used for witchcraft.

Instinctively, both brothers then glanced at the dead witch lying a few inches away from them. She was still dead as a doornail. Good.

The rabbit sniffed the witch's face before urinating all over it. Both brothers chuckled. Even better.

In the meantime, the cloud behind them started growing bigger and bigger. It reached Sam's height and exploded as both brothers were hit with a force so strong it knocked them to the floor. Dean hit his cheek, and Sam his nose, causing a few drops of blood to appear seconds later.

"What the –" Dean said and looked behind him.

Sam did the same as he whipped the blood coming from his nose. "Holy crap!"

****

Five minutes before.

As you were about to answer your next call, bored out of your mind, staring at your computer screen and seeing the calls pile up, you noticed something unusual. Your colleague Dave was in the middle of a conversation and yet you couldn’t hear him behind his computer anymore – which was unusual considering he was the loudest one in the office. The telephones around you stopped ringing– all of them. You looked through the window and saw the rain that was pouring outside just seconds ago, frozen in the air. You turned around and there she was; Karen stiff as a statue, mouth open, holding a chocolate bar inches away from her face.

"What the–"

***

You woke up. Finally, you woke up. The hell was finally over. You were finally free.

Right in front of you was a sight to see– two gorgeous-looking men staring back at you. One of them seemed more broken than the other. They seemed puzzled.

“How did you free me?” You asked, looking down at your body, seeing you weren’t in your business attire anymore. Instead, you were wearing your baby blue summer dress again. You missed that dress – haven’t worn it in 5 years.

“Free you? Who are you?” The shorter one asked. His hand then went behind his back…he had a gun.

“That gun is useless on me.” You said and glanced at the taller one who also tried the same. You tilted your head to the right, squinting your eyes, looking at the taller one…the name immediately pooped in your head. “You’re Sam.” And a few seconds later the shorter one had a name too. “Dean.” You said looking at him. “Sam and Dean Winchester.”

Both brothers stared at you before Dean finally asked: “Who are you?” His voice was deep, sharp, and kind of intimidating.

“Call me G,” you said.

“How do you know who we are?” Sam asked. “Are you even human?”

“I know the people who summon me. In this case, you didn’t exactly summon me, you freed me.” You explained, “I’m a Genie.”

“A Djinn?” Dean asked in confusion and partial disgust. By the sound of his voice you could tell he wasn’t a fan of actual Djinns. You weren’t either. They were far more chaotic and evil and somehow humans would always mix you with them.

This man is wearing a mask, even his younger brother cannot see. His soul is aching.

“You humans always put me in the same basket as them. No, I’m not a Djinn.”

“Explain!” Dean demanded.

“Who else is a genie and wears blue…or rather is blue?”

Sam's eyes immediately widened as he connected the dots. “The Genie?”

“Bingo!”

Dean then connected the rest. “Like The Genie from Aladdin?”

“Something like that.” Your mouth smiled for the first time in so long it almost felt unnatural.

“I need a drink!” Dean said looking at his younger brother who just stared back at him, not knowing what to say.

“Oh, the bitch has a fine whiskey collection in the cabinet behind you, take your pick and I can explain everything.”  

“Don’t mind if I do!”

“Pour me a double Dean!”

“Roger that!”

After both brothers were intoxicated enough you started talking. You were born in 1992 when the original Aladdin came out. It was an absolute hit all over the world, children loved it, young adults and parents loved it. Genie became a star and that was how you were born. Children especially, desperately wanted their favorite character to be real and to grant them those three wishes and voila…

You didn’t remember much from your birth. You just knew one day you became sentient, real and aware of your purpose – making humans smile. From that day forward you were traveling all over the world and granting wishes – healing the inner child of each broken adult who would summon you and making the world a better place. It wasn’t until the witch found you and bound you to be her slave and used your magic whenever she pleased. The thing that separated you from the real cartoon Genie was – you could grant as many wishes as once heart desired. She used you for revenge, hatred and to satisfy her undying greed for riches – everything you didn't stand for. You were more than glad that she was dead.

“So wait, you’re actually a tulpa?” Sam asked. You were surprised by his logical thinking.

“You can say that.” You confirmed.

Dean took the last sip of whiskey not really knowing how to feel about all of this. Tulpas were a familiar concept for him for sure, but a tulpa of a fuckin’ cartoon character not so much. One thing puzzled him though…

“Isn’t Genie supposed to be a blue man with a ponytail?” He finally spoke.

“Kids didn’t imagine me to be a blue man with a ponytail.” You said, feeling how tired he was. No sleep could subside that.

Sam was hanging by the thread of sanity and good mental health, while his older brother had waves of sorrow and pain crashing into him every second of the day. He was craving something so desperately he was embarrassed of it.

Dean’s lips formed a small O. “Oh, okay.”

“How do people, or kids, summon you?” Sam asked. Real world was a bit different than the cartoon. The part where you live in a lamp at least.

"You just have to rub the lamp the right way" Dean was just waiting for the moment to make this reference since he was secretly a big Christina Aguilera fan. You chuckled, remembering the first time you heard that song in a bar of all places. Sam just looked at Dean like he was about to punch him. Dean grinned.

“That’s gross, Dean.”

“You just have to think of me long and hard before you go to sleep and I’ll pay you a visit.” You finally explained, eyes fixed on Dean. You knew what he craved, you could see right through him, even though he tried to hide it by avoiding your gaze.

“What are you going to do now?” Dean asked you, still avoiding meeting your eyes. He was looking at the book shelf right behind you.

You smirked and stood up. “Might pay you a visit.” Was all you said before you disappeared, leaving both brothers perplexed and a little tipsy.

***

When Sam and Dean came back to the bunker, the younger brother decided it was time to rest while the older one was pondering over your last words.

“Might pay you a visit.”

He couldn’t help but remember your sharp and rather strange gaze. Something about it intimidated him – he felt naked whenever you would look at him. He was a closed forbidden book, only Sam could open it and yet in your presence he was completely exposed – or at least that was how he felt. The thought of you was consuming him slowly, in the shower, in the kitchen, before dinner, after dinner… When he finally went to bed he caved in, remembering your words.

“You just have to think of me long and hard before you go to sleep and I’ll pay you a visit.”

He was slowly drifting, his mind scattered and consumed with only your picture. As his eyes became heavy he heard a whisper – he knew he wasn’t dreaming yet.

“Dean!”

His head left the soft surface of his pillow as he opened his eyes only to see you standing next to his bed.

“G?” He whispered as his hand reached over and turned on the lamp on his night stand.

“I can feel it, y’ know” You said and sat on the edge of his bed. He sat up, back against the headboard.

“Feel what?” He asked even though something was already telling him the answer he thought he didn’t know.

“Your soul is aching, Dean. There’s not enough alcohol and meaningless night stands in this world to ease your pain. It’s too sharp, too deep. You broke my heart as soon as you set me free.”

You knew pain. You felt it all. In sick children, in traumatized adults – you knew every shape it would take, but Dean’s pain was impossible to feel. It was too much even for you.

“I didn’t realize you’re a shrink too.” The sass was evidently just a coping mechanism – one of the masks he would wear to survive this terrible life he was living.

You weren’t bothered by his words. You knew he would eventually say the forbidden words. Without warning you climbed into his bed and sat on his lap, both of your legs on his sides. You stared at him, fingers tracing along his cheeks, jaw, until you reached his perfectly full lips. He was beautiful – one of the most beautiful humans you have ever seen. His genetic blessings didn't outshine his blessings from within. His soul, even broken and in pain, was still full of love and compassion. It was such a beautiful mix of love and tragedy. Your face was inches away from his and as you got closer, the pain got sharper. You were ready to make him feel whole again, but he had to say the words.

“I know what you crave, Dean. I can feel it.”

“A sexy chick wearing a Zorro mask on top of me?” Still with the humor. You found it cute to an extent. Silly Dean.

“Meaningless sex won’t fix that, y’ know?”

“Yeah,” He finally gave up the shenanigans when he saw you weren’t buying the shit he was trying to sell. “I’ve learnt to live with it.”

You could feel his hot breath against your face as you got even closer. Dean’s eyes softened, jaw relaxed as he cupped your cheek. He only now noticed how beautiful and angelic you look, even under the light of his shitty lamp on the nightstand. Your soft skin under his fingertips felt a little too intimate for him, and yet he couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop.

“You don’t have to live with it though. I can make it go away, you just have to say the words.”

You cupped his hand with yours, his touch sending shivers all over your body. You really liked the sensation. You were craving more. His hand was hot, soft and human. No man nor woman has touched you like this.  

“You mean like, make a wish?” He was finally starting to get it.

“That’s how it goes, right?” You smiled.

“Christ.” – he muttered before swallowing nervously – “I wish I didn’t feel like this.”

“Like what? My magic cannot read minds. You have to be specific.”

He took a deep breath, feeling like he was about to embarrass himself. Verbalizing emotions wasn’t something he was comfortable with. “I wish the pain I feel didn’t exist,” He stated and the words just kept coming. “I wish I wasn't so... broken? I wish for more than just meaningless night stands.” He confessed before it hit him. “Wait, does this count as 3 wishes?”

“You can wish as many things as your heart desires, handsome. Now, close your eyes!”

Dean closed his beautiful green eyes as you went in for a kiss. It usually doesn't work like that. You weren't a crossroads demon. You would usually just snap your fingers and disappear right after. Your magic was powerful and yet simple. But this time it was different. This time a man with a broken soul asked to feel whole again, to feel again. He wanted more than meaningless transactional touches and kisses so you decided to give him what he wanted. You have never come across such a special soul like Dean Winchester. He was giving too much and yet the world was consumed by greed and constantly wanted more. His brother Sam was everything he had, his rock, his world and yet even he couldn't heal things inside of his older brother. Dean was tired of feeling like this.

The kiss was innocent and your first. You didn't exactly know what you were doing but you liked it. His lips were soft and lonely. He was hungry for a connection he didn't have. His body was desperate to be touched. His hand went in your hair as he slowly deepened the kiss, leaving you hot and panting. You have seen people kiss and sleep with each other. You were an avid watcher of rom coms – your favorite pastime whenever you would roam around the world, traveling and making people smile.

Even The Genie needed air, so when you couldn't breathe anymore you broke the kiss. Dean's eyes full of adoration refusing to stop looking at you. How strange how now he was ready to strip his soul and actually look at you.

Your fingers intertwined with his as you pushed them above his head, your face dangerously close to him. You wanted to kiss him again.

"Am I supposed to feel different now?"

"No, this isn't something I can fix with a simple kiss. Your soul is craving another soul and I intend to give you mine. Kiss me!"

Dean lifted his head from the pillow and kissed you again this time slipping his tongue right away in your mouth. His kisses were coded with mint and you liked the taste.

It felt like an instinct almost when your hips started moving, grinding against his dick – only your panties and his boxers separating you. He was already hard and desperate, moving up and down trying too hard to satisfy the need that was only growing stronger.

You have never surrendered yourself so freely, letting a human touch you, let alone kiss you like he did, but you have never had a man like Dean asking you to fix something within him that the world so joyfully broke.

His hands were roaming freely all over your body, studying the shapes along the material of your dress as your lips never left his, until he started kissing your jaw and neck, sending you into a blissful euphoria you never knew existed in the first place. You let out a sigh as your hands went into his hedgehog like hair.

"Love me, Dean!" You spoke between pathetic moans and sighs. "Love me and I'll be yours forever!"

He heard you but his lips were too busy getting drunk on your neck to say anything so he just took you by the waist with both hands and like you were nothing flipped you over.

His lips found yours again in a desperate sleepless hunger as your hand took his and guided him to your already wet underwear.

"Touch me! I'm yours!" You said, letting him know he could. It has been a long time for him and you could feel the nervousness pumping through his veins. As soon as his fingers touched the wet fabric of your panties, pushing it lightly against your wet cunt, you moaned.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" He asked, again showing you how beautiful and carrying he was.

You placed a kiss on his lips. "Yes, I am sure."

Your voice was sweet like honey and Dean was experiencing a sugar rush.

“Oh and you can leave my dress on. I can feel how much you like it.” You added and winked.

Dean didn’t quite understand what you meant by that so he asked.

“Can you read minds?”

You smiled. He was adorable. “Not exactly. I can feel it. Your desires, what troubles you – everything. It comes in waves.”

You didn’t let him say anything, instead you crashed your lips on his as your hands went underneath his shirt feeling his soft skin covered in scars. If only he knew his soul shared the same resemblance. Dean realized where your hands were and in a second got rid of the t-shirt.

“I want you!” You whispered into his ear.

He was hypnotized, not really aware of his surroundings, his hardships, his name. Only you existed in his brain, heart and soul.

He took off his boxers, and your panties moments later – leaving you only in your dress and pressed the tip of his dick against your entrance. Nose touching, eyes locked, feeling each other’s breaths on your faces he entered you slowly. It didn’t occur to you that it would hurt since it was your first time. You gasped at the new sensation.

“You’re so tight!” Dean whispered. “Jesus!”

“Move! Please!” You begged. He didn’t need to know. He was your first and only one. After this night your soul will be bound with his, forever.

He moved slowly first, letting you adjust and relax under him. Your fingers dug into his shoulder blades as soon as waves of pleasure started splashing you. The pain was gone and you were in pure bliss.

“God, you’re beautiful!” He told you, placing kisses along your jaw.

You moaned his name in response as his pace became faster, his thrusts harder. Your body was on fire and yet you felt a sense of calm. You could feel his pain slowly fading. His worries disappeared. You were stitching him back together.

“You’ll feel whole again!” You said before kissing him.

As he was pounding into you, you could feel something building up in the lower part of your stomach. Your eyes, usually sapphire blue, started fading, replacing the shade with a very light baby blue color. You grinned when you realized what was happening. His wish was about to come true.

“Your eyes –” Dean noticed but you sealed his mouth with a kiss. As he was slamming into you, your climax hit you like a truck. Your body was stiff, pure pleasure engulfing you completely – nothing you have ever experienced before. Dean didn’t stop until he came seconds later, panting and whimpering – completely falling apart from pleasure. He collapsed on you, burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

“This feels different.” He said, trying to catch his breath.

“How so?”

“Feels like love.”

“Your wish is my command!”

You didn’t leave that night. He fell asleep in your arms, for the first time and in a long time, snoring. No nightmares.  His pain was gone. Since sleep was an unfamiliar concept for you, you just enjoyed his presence while your soul was warming up his now healed one.

You knew you weren’t free to roam the world anymore. You were content with being his – forever.