#thoroughfare

They didn’t talk much, and that suited them both just fine.

Arthur had always said the land did most of the talking anyway. The wind in the grass. The lowing of cattle at dawn. The metal clang of fence wire tightening under calloused hands. After years of gun smoke and ghosts, the quiet wasn’t so much peace—it was penance. And Joel understood that better than anyone.

They’d run the ranch together for nearly a decade. Fifty head of cattle. A weather-beaten barn. Long days spent working fence lines or chasing down strays in the hills. Evenings filled with whiskey and silence by the fire. Arthur cooked. Joel carved. They didn’t need much. Just the land, the dogs, the horses, and the kind of friendship you didn’t have to label.

They were men who’d lost too much to ask for more.

The work was hard, and that was good. It gave their hands something to do. Their thoughts are something to drown in. Neither of them said it, but the house felt too big for two men their age. There were extra bedrooms no one stepped foot in. An empty porch swing that never moved. Sometimes, Joel would glance at the seat across from him at dinner and imagine someone laughing there.

Arthur would look out across the pasture at sunset and feel the ache in his chest like a ghost pressing a hand to his ribs.

Then came the girl.

She rolled up in a truck that coughed smoke and looked like it hadn’t seen an oil change in ten years. It was early spring—the thaw barely settled. Joel had just come back from hauling feed when he spotted the dust cloud and narrowed his eyes at the figure stepping out.

Boots in the mud. Soft flannel. Strong arms. A stubbornness set to her jaw.

Arthur stepped out onto the porch, wiping his hands on a rag. “You lost, darlin’?”

You shook your head. “Looking for the Lyle property.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Old George Lyle’s place?”

You nodded. “He passed a few months ago. Left it to me.”

Joel leaned against the post, arms crossed. “Didn’t know he had any kin.”

“I’m not,” you said simply. “Just someone he trusted. Taught me everything I know about cattle and fixing fences. I owed him.”

Arthur blinked, then smiled faintly. “That man was a hell of a card player.”

You smiled back. “So I heard.”

Joel muttered, “Place’s damn near falling in.”

“I can handle it.”

You didn’t ask for help. That was what caught their attention first.

────🌾────

Arthur watched you from the hilltop as he lit a cigarette. Joel noticed the way your back stayed straight, even when your shoulders shook from exhaustion.

By the end of the week, Arthur brought you a wheelbarrow and a fresh pair of gloves without a word. Joel handed you a water bottle and said, “You’re stubborn.”

You grinned. “So are you.”

You worked from sunup to sundown, bandaged your own blisters, and cursed loud enough to make Arthur chuckle into his coffee. You shared dinner with them one night, then two, then a week’s worth.

Eventually, Joel fixed the plumbing at the Lyle place. Quietly. Arthur rewired the porch light. You thanked them both with a smile that made something shift behind Joel’s ribs.

Then the rain came. And the roof leaked.

Joel stood in your doorway with his arms crossed, dripping wet. “Get your things.”

Arthur leaned in the truck window. “Spare room’s open. Ain’t much, but it’s dry.”

You moved in that night. One duffel bag. One quiet “thank you.”

────🌾────

Weeks passed like molasses, slow and sticky and sweet in their own strange way.

You never expected to stay this long.

The old Lyle property was half reclaimed from the brambles, but the rain had done a number on the roof, and more than once you’d found black mold in places you didn’t want to name. Arthur had patched what he could. Joel came over one morning with a cordless drill and never really left after that.

Eventually, they offered you the spare room in their house. Said it was temporary. Said it just made sense.

But after a while, no one brought up the word temporary again.

You all slipped into rhythm without meaning to. Mornings started with coffee and bare feet on cool wood floors. Joel took his black, Arthur loaded his with too much sugar, and you drank yours leaning against the counter in a sleep shirt and shorts, eyes half-lidded. One of them always made eggs. The dogs—Boone and Lady—sat at your feet, loyal and lazy, with their heads in your lap.

You fixed fence posts beside Arthur, sweat beading on your skin, nails between your lips as he handed you the hammer. He liked the way you didn’t flinch around mud, the way you cursed like a 70-year-old rancher and sang old songs under your breath.

Joel taught you how to ride his favorite quarter horse. Big, quiet gelding named Shimmer. Said you had good balance. Strong thighs. His voice always got rougher when he said thighs.

Sometimes he’d linger behind you in the saddle, correcting your grip with a hand on your waist. Sometimes his breath would hit the back of your neck, and you wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t even breathe.

You rode fence lines together at dusk. Swam in the creek on hot days. Played cards and drank beer on the porch at night. You started calling Arthur cowboy when he got bossy, and Joel sir just to see his jaw twitch.

They teased you back, sure—but never touched. Not really.

They were good men. Older. Quiet. They didn’t want to scare you off.

But something was shifting.

Joel caught himself looking at your hands. Your neck. The soft line of your spine when you bent over to stack feed bags. He started lighting his cigarettes farther from the porch—so he wouldn’t be tempted to sit too close.

Arthur got quieter around you. His laugh lingered a little longer, but so did the way his eyes drifted lower when you walked into a room. He fixed things that didn’t need fixing. Made excuses to be near you.

They never talked about it.

But you felt it.

Like that one night you were in the stables brushing Shimmer’s mane and Arthur joined you.

It was late. The horses were fed, the sky painted in fading streaks of gold and mauve. You were still brushing Shimmer down in the barn, sleeves rolled, boots muddy. Arthur stepped in, quiet as always, carrying a mug of tea like it was just something he’d thought to do.

“You keep brushing that horse, she’s gonna shine like polished silver,” he said in a low tone.

You smiled without looking up. “She likes it.”

Arthur leaned against the post. “So do you.”

You paused, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He stepped forward and handed you the mug. You took it, your fingers brushing his—rough against your smooth. He didn’t pull away.

“You work too hard,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “So do you.”

He gave a soft laugh, but didn’t move. He was close now. You could smell cedarwood soap and old tobacco. His eyes dropped to your lips, just briefly, and that alone made your breath catch.

“Got dirt on your cheek,” he murmured, lifting one hand.

His thumb brushed your skin. Slow. Careful. You swore he lingered. His hand didn’t drop right away. Instead, it cradled your jaw for just a second too long—his thumb ghosting over your bottom lip.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t dare.

He held your gaze like a man about to say something dangerous—but instead, he only stepped back, knuckles brushing yours as he whispered, “Night, darlin’.”

You stood there in the hay dust, heart pounding, wondering what would’ve happened if you’d leaned in.

Or

That morning with Joel in the kitchen.

The house was quiet except for the soft clink of dishes. You were in the kitchen rinsing out a coffee mug when Joel came up behind you—close, not touching, but close enough that your body noticed.

“You always leave your mugs in the sink?” he asked, voice low and dry.

You smirked. “You always hover behind people in the kitchen?”

Joel didn’t laugh. Didn’t move.

“You been wearin’ my flannel all day,” he said instead, voice rough.

You glanced down and shrugged. “Yeah. It was on the hook.”

He reached past you, slow, grabbed a plate from the drying rack. But his body brushed yours just slightly—his strong chest at your back, his hand ghosting near your waist.

You stayed still.

“I like how it looks on you,” he said, almost to himself.

You turned to face him, breath caught halfway. He was too close now. His eyes dipped to your lips, then back up. His hand rested on the edge of the counter beside your hip.

“I’m not tryin’ to start somethin’,” Joel said roughly.

“Then don’t stand so close,” you whispered.

But neither of you moved.

His knuckles brushed yours. You swallowed hard.

“I do things slow,” he said finally. “But when I want somethin’—I want it all the way.”

Then he stepped back.

And your knees nearly buckled.

────🌾────

It became too much. The two men took over every single thought. Before you’d go to sleep at night you would replay memories and little things they both have done.

You hadn’t meant for this to happen.

At first, it was just about survival. About fences and feed and early mornings with dirt on the window. You were too busy trying to patch the roof and clear out the barn to think about anything else. Joel and Arthur had been kind—quiet and rough around the edges, but kind. You respected them. Trusted them.

But something changed.

It was in the small things. The way Arthur always made your tea just right. How he’d linger near you in the barn, his warmth close enough to touch. The way he looked at you like you were soft, like you were some delicate thing he didn’t dare grab with dirty hands.

And then Joel—God, Joel. That man carried tension like it was sewn into his spine. Everything about him was hard angles, clenched jaw, calloused hands. But the way he watched you in his flannel, the way his voice dropped when he was near—it made your whole body buzz.

You liked being near them.

Too much.

Sometimes you caught yourself comparing them. Arthur’s steadiness, Joel’s intensity. The way Arthur said darlin’ with that gravel-deep gentleness. The way Joel’s hand would rest on your lower back for a second too long, fingers twitching like he was holding himself back.

It was starting to keep you up at night.

You’d roll over in bed, heart pounding, wondering what would happen if you reached out. If you chose.

But the truth was, you didn’t know if you could.

Because they were both slipping under your skin.

And then—

One night, it all cracked open.

You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked under you, a throw blanket pulled to your chest. The movie playing was old and slow—some western Arthur liked. Joel had fallen into the armchair, nursing a beer, and Arthur sat beside you, closer than usual.

You said something about the sky, about how it was turning purple outside. Arthur hummed.

And then you felt it.

Joel’s eyes on you. Arthur’s hand against your leg, heavy and warm. The silence between all three of you stretched, pulled thin.

You turned your head—and both men were looking at you.

Not casually.

Not kindly.

But like men who had been trying not to want you for a long, long time.

Joel’s gaze dipped to your mouth. Arthur’s thumb traced a lazy circle against your thigh. You didn’t stop him.

Your breath caught.

No one spoke.

But the silence was loud.

And you knew—without a doubt—that this thing between the three of you wasn’t quiet anymore.

It was burning.

Still no one spoke.

Arthur’s thumb was still brushing circles against your thigh, slow and patient like he was memorizing your skin through the blanket. Joel hadn’t moved, but his eyes were darker now—hooded, jaw clenched, fingers tight around the neck of his beer bottle. The air in the room was charged, thick with heat and breath and something unspoken.

You swallowed hard.

And then, just barely above a whisper:

“…what are we doing?”

Arthur’s hand paused. Joel leaned forward.

You looked between them—at Arthur’s calm, unreadable face and Joel’s gaze flickering over your lips like he was already imagining what they’d feel like against his.

Neither of them answered.

So you pulled the blanket back, just enough to show the curve of your thigh, bare under the hem of Joel’s old flannel.

Arthur’s breath caught.

Joel stood up.

He crossed the space in three slow steps and knelt in front of you on the rug, large hands bracing on either side of your legs.

“You really want this?” he rasped. His eyes were locked on yours—hungry, hesitant, already gone.

You nodded, whisper-soft. “I do.”

Arthur let out a breath behind you. You turned slightly, meeting his eyes.

He was leaning close now too, hand still on your leg. “You sure, darlin’? Once we start this…”

“…we’re not stopping,” Joel finished.

You let your knees part between them.

That was all the answer they needed.

Joel leaned in first—slow, deliberate. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip before he kissed you. It was careful at first, his lips warm and slightly chapped, tasting faintly of beer and restraint. But when you sighed into him, he deepened it—tilting your face up, tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger he’d clearly been holding back for weeks.

Behind you, Arthur’s hand slid higher on your thigh.

“You two gonna make me sit here and watch?” he murmured, voice thick with heat.

Joel pulled back just enough to glance over his shoulder. “Thought you liked watchin’, Morgan.”

Arthur chuckled low, and then his hand moved beneath the hem of your—Joel’s shirt—his palm warm and rough against your bare skin.

You gasped, turning toward him, and his lips were already there—softer than Joel’s, slower, his kiss all patience and promise. He kissed you like a secret. Like he wanted to keep you.

You moaned softly, body caught between them, and Joel let out a sound from deep in his chest.

“Bedroom,” he muttered.

Arthur didn’t answer—just stood and lifted you effortlessly into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. Joel followed close behind, one hand guiding your back, the other grazing your hip.

You were dizzy with it—wrapped in warmth and want, floating somewhere between them, their hands anchoring you. They moved like they’d talked about this before. Like they’d been waiting for the moment you’d fall into them.

And now?

They had you.

And they weren’t about to let go.

Arthur laid you down with care.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight, creaking softly under the solid strength of his body. Joel stood at the edge of the bed, watching—his eyes burning dark, like he was trying to memorize you just like this: flushed and breathing heavy, hair mussed, legs parted slightly on the sheets.

“You’re beautiful,” Arthur murmured.

His hands were on you already, calloused palms sliding up beneath the borrowed flannel. You gasped when his fingers brushed over your ribs—feather-light at first, then firmer as they moved up to cup your breasts, thumbs stroking lazy circles over your nipples.

“God,” you whispered.

Joel leaned over, hands braced on either side of your thighs. “Look at you,” he muttered. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Arthur was kissing your neck now, his beard rough against your skin, lips soft. He moved slow, like he wanted to savor it—each kiss dragging lower as he pulled the shirt higher, exposing your bare stomach inch by inch.

Joel’s hand slid up your thigh, spreading your legs wider. “She’s shakin’,” he rasped.

“I know,” Arthur murmured. “I got her.”

He kissed the curve of your hip as Joel leaned in and kissed your mouth again—this time harder, deeper. His tongue met yours with raw hunger, his grip on your thigh tightening. You moaned into him, your hips twitching upward, aching for more.

Arthur moved between your legs now, dragging his mouth lower, slower, lips brushing your inner thigh.

You whimpered.

“Patience, sweetheart,” Arthur said, voice low and warm. “We’re gonna take care of you.”

Joel’s hand came up to cup your jaw, turning your face back to his. “Gonna treat you so fuckin’ good. You hear me?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes.”

Arthur’s mouth pressed right where you needed it, hot and open, licking and sucking on your clit, and your back arched. Joel swallowed your gasp with another kiss, his hand sliding under your head, cradling you there, grounded and worshipped all at once.

They worked in tandem—Arthur’s tongue slow and methodical, like he was learning every response you gave him, every tremble. Joel’s lips at your ear, whispering things that made your skin burn:

“Can’t believe you’re lettin’ us have you like this.”

“Such a good girl.”

“Never gonna forget the way you sound, takin’ us like this.”

You reached down blindly, fingers threading through Arthur’s hair, and he groaned low against you, the sound vibrating through your core.

“Joel—please,” you breathed.

He growled softly, undoing his belt with one hand, kissing along your jaw with the other. “You want both of us tonight, baby?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes. Please, I want—”

Arthur’s mouth dragged up your body again, kissing your sternum, your throat. “Then you got us, darlin’. Every fuckin’ inch.”

Joel’s mouth met yours one more time, possessive and rough.

And as they undressed—hands and mouths and quiet praise—you realized something:

This wasn’t just desire.

It was need.

Arthur kissed you again—slow, steady—his mouth hot and tasting faintly of you. He’d shed his shirt somewhere between the bed and your thighs, and now his body was pressed against yours, warm and solid. You could feel every inch of him, every deliberate drag of his chest over your nipples, every reverent pass of his hands over your hips.

Joel was behind him now, kneeling on the bed, jeans tugged halfway down. His eyes never left your face.

“You want Arthur first?” Joel asked, voice low, almost a growl.

Your breath caught.

“I—yes,” you whispered.

Arthur groaned. “Good girl.”

He kissed down your body again, this time moving slower. Not teasing—just devoted. He wanted to feel every shiver. Wanted you pliant beneath him when he finally slid into you.

You reached for him, fingers threading through the back of his hair as he nudged your thighs apart again, lining himself up with practiced care. You felt the thick press of him at your entrance, and your whole body tensed in anticipation.

Arthur cupped your face with one hand, brushing his thumb over your lip.

“Breathe for me, darlin’.”

You did.

And then—he pushed in.

A long, slow slide that made your toes curl and your jaw drop, gasping as he filled you inch by inch. He held himself there once he was fully seated, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting softly.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “How good you take me?”

You nodded helplessly, overwhelmed by the fullness, the stretch, the heat.

Joel sat beside you now, one hand stroking your hair back from your damp forehead, the other trailing down to your chest. He cupped your breast, watching Arthur move inside you with a hungry, reverent stare.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel muttered. “Look at you.”

Arthur started to move—slow, deliberate thrusts that rocked your body up the bed. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, whispered soft praise as your fingers clawed at his back.

Joel leaned in, kissed your cheek, then your lips—deep and lingering, tasting every moan Arthur pulled from your throat.

“You’re so good,” Joel murmured. “So fuckin’ good for us.”

You were unraveling, every nerve lit up, caught between Arthur’s steady rhythm and Joel’s mouth and hands. You felt possessed, held, worshipped.

And then Arthur pulled out slowly, pressing one last kiss to your sternum.

“Think she’s ready for you,” he murmured, looking at Joel.

Joel didn’t wait. He was on you in seconds, flipping you gently onto your side, spooning in close behind. His chest was slick with heat, breath ragged against your ear.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured, lining himself up.

“Please,” you whispered.

He pushed in with a groan—deeper than Arthur, thicker, dragging a broken cry from your throat as he filled you completely. Joel’s hand curled around your waist, holding you in place as he began to move—grinding slow and deep, his mouth pressed to your shoulder.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he hissed.

Arthur knelt in front of you now, brushing hair back from your face, kissing your mouth sweetly while Joel fucked you slow and unrelenting from behind.

“You’re ours now, ain’t you?” Arthur murmured. “Both of us.”

You nodded, tears at the corners of your eyes from how full you felt, how overwhelming it was to be held between them.

Joel’s thrusts grew harder, his breath turning rough against your skin. “Say it,” he growled. “Say you’re ours.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “I’m—yours.”

And when you came—loud, shaking, completely undone—they didn’t stop holding you. Didn’t stop whispering how good you were, how beautiful you looked, how they’d never let you go now.

You belonged to them.

And tonight, they made sure you knew it.

────🌾────

The room was quiet.

The kind of quiet that settles in after a storm—soft and sacred, broken only by the sound of three tangled breaths.

You were between them again, your body boneless and glowing, cheek pressed against Arthur’s chest. His heartbeat was a slow, steady thump beneath your ear, and one of his hands ran lazy circles along your spine, grounding you.

Joel lay behind you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, his body flush against your back. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his skin, the quiet way he breathed your name like a prayer.

“You okay, baby?” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

You nodded, lips brushing Arthur’s skin. “Yeah. Just… wow.”

Arthur chuckled low in his throat. “That a good ‘wow,’ or a we-gotta-run-away-and-never-talk-about-it-again kinda wow?”

You laughed softly. “The first one.”

Joel hummed, and you felt his lips move against your shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause we’re not lettin’ you go now.”

Arthur shifted just enough to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. “Didn’t hurt, did it? We didn’t push too much?”

“No,” you said, voice thick and quiet. “It was perfect.”

They exhaled together, that tension in their bodies finally melting all the way out of them.

Joel sat up first, kissed your shoulder, then leaned over to grab a warm cloth from the bedside. He was slow and gentle cleaning you up, murmuring quiet things like I got you, just relax, you were so good for us. Every motion was careful, reverent. Like you were something fragile. Something theirs.

Arthur pulled the blankets up, letting you settle again between them.

You felt completely safe. Wrapped in warmth and worn flannel and calloused hands that held you like you were the softest thing they’d ever touched.

“You always this quiet after?” Arthur asked, his fingers trailing along your ribs.

You shrugged, half-smiling. “Not always. But I’ve never… done this before.”

“With two men?”

“With two people who actually care.”

They both stilled.

Joel leaned forward, brushing hair from your face. “We do,” he said quietly. “Care.”

Arthur nodded, resting his forehead against yours. “This wasn’t just a one-time thing for us. Not if it ain’t for you.”

You looked between them, your heart thudding louder than it had all night.

“I don’t want it to be,” you whispered.

Joel smiled—soft and warm and rare. “Good. Then stay.”

“I'm already here.”

Arthur kissed you again—slower this time, with all the gentleness in the world. Joel tucked himself closer to your back, his hand slipping under your shirt to rest flat over your heart.

You fell asleep wrapped in both of them.

And when the sun rose through the dusty window panes the next morning, they were still there—one hand in your hair, the other tracing your spine, like they’d never let go.

And maybe they wouldn’t.

“do you have to type so loudly?” you huff, throwing yourself onto the oddly comfortable mattress sheathed in an outdated duvet much older than yourself. 

sam snickers under his breath from his seat at the table, clacking away at his laptop, “surprised you can hear so well with all that rain.” 

“it’s hard to tune out,” you narrow your eyes, but when he doesn’t fall for your provocation, you refocus yourself on john’s journal that rests heavily on your lap. 

things haven’t been the same since sam left for college; since he’d abandoned dean and you, leaving with nothing but a single word and your young heart ripped from your chest. it wasn’t like you were together, but, the looks that never meant nothing and the kisses that weren’t yours to take tainted your words towards him ever since he came back. 

just looking at him made you furious. he’d taken so much and did nothing with it. 

“i think we’re dealing with a poltergeist,” sam says cooly, like he knows everything.

you roll your eyes, “stanford educated and you think it’s a poltergeist?” 

he keeps his eyes trained on his screen, “you’ve hunted for four years more than me and you don’t think it’s a poltergeist?” 

“never said i didn’t.” 

“yeah, well, we never know with you do we?” 

you go silent long enough for sam to look up, to show an ounce of care to check if he’d gone too far. his eyebrows crease at your face; stonecold and hurt, and you almost think he’s about to apologize until you break out into a shit-eating grin to throw the decorative bed pillow at his head, “asshole.” 

sam’s quick reflex catches the pillow, and you try your hardest not to linger on the way his veins pop in his arm as his hands grip the fabric. he clenches his jaw and breathes heavily through his nose, “you’re childish, y’know that?” 

“what else am i supposed to do cooped up here with you?” you whine, tossing john’s journal on the nightstand beside you, “pretend i’m over the moon?” 

“you really hate me that much, huh?” he smirks. that fucking smirk that knocks the wind out of you. his eyes burn holes into your figure on the bed. 

the longer you stare at him, the louder the storm gets, like mother nature is trying to sync with your rapid heart beating anxiously against your ribcage, like the rain hammering against the thin walls. “yeah, i do.” you say, but it’s more of a murmur. a reassurance to yourself. 

there’s no bite to your voice. no teasing hatred. and sam notices. 

“well, dean should be back soon,” he mumbles, turning back to his research. 

for the next hour, it’s uncomfortably quiet. the ac hums amongst the worsening rain, stampeded by the occasional boom of thunder that shakes the table lamps and flickers the gross yellow ceiling lights. 

lightening glows against the motel curtains, and as you try not to feel worried about dean, another rock of thunder startles you into worry. 

“you think he’s alright out there?” you ask, staring at the window as if it will bring the roar of the impala and his loud footsteps back.

sam nods, not bothering to give you a glance, “he’s probably hunkered in some bar having the time of his life.” 

your eyebrows furrow at him, scoffing, “glad to know you care.” 

a beat, then he sighs, pushing his chair away from his laptop to face you, “it isn’t like he’s out there, no impala, no food, no girls.” 

like a flash, you’re at bobby’s. seventeen, trying to understand how sam is explaining his decision to leave. 

“dean will be fine, he has dad, he has the hunt, this is him,” 

except you heard the bottles shatter against motel walls. felt the fogging lack of his company inside the car. saw the empty seat in the diner booth. 

“you’re ridiculous,” you quip, because it’s easier than chewing him out. he laughs out loud. 

“i’m realistic,” he corrects, and the urge to slap him—no, kiss him—no, definitely slap him, is involuntary. suddenly, he stands, fixing the hem of the purple dog shirt you love on him, lifting just slightly to tease the v-line you don’t remember being so prominent four years ago. “i’m gonna shower before he gets back.” 

 the image of him—wet rivulets running down his stomach, hair damp and plastered to his face—is hard to shake. “thanks for asking if i wanted it first.” 

he huffs a chuckle, shaking his head while he grabs a pair of fresh clothes from his bag, “wouldn’t have let you go even if i had asked.” 

the bathroom door shuts behind him, and almost immediately, you can distinguish the rain from the downfall of shower water beginning to seep steam through the crack in the doorway. 

you flop onto the bed, shutting your eyes softly as an exhale of relief crashes through you. the suffocation of your feelings finally starts to fade with him not being in the room, until—

a sudden, electrical sounding buzz rings throughout the room, and when your eyes snap open, it’s still dark as if you hadn’t opened them. 

the frightening flash of lightning shines a blessing of light that lasts a few seconds, and that’s all the time you need to realize the power has gone out.

before you can blink, you’re up and knocking on the bathroom door, “sam?” 

no response. 

you press your forehead against the wood, willing yourself the strength to go in there. the shower has a curtain, you try to remind yourself, it isn’t like you’re gonna see— 

the door swings open, revealing sam, a green towel wrapped messily around his waist, hair dripping wet, water running down the slope of his nose. he smells fresh like generic soap and musk, paralyzing you before your eyes can even travel to the exposed skin of his stomach. 

“what happ— the power’s out?” he cuts himself off when he notices the lack of light. 

 “just turned off,” you inform, breathless. “i just wanted to ask where the candles are.” not because my first instinct was to run to you. 

he stutters, “u-um, in my duffle bag.” 

you spin on your heel, just about ready to dart anywhere that you can no longer smell the pheromones seeping from his body, but a large, calloused hand comes to grab your arm, keeping you planted. 

“are you okay?” sam asks, still with his hand on you. 

you want to shrug out of his grip, but the way his eyes are looking so intently into yours, it’s hard to want him letting go. 

“i—yeah, why?” you tilt your head in confusion, but the shimmer in your pupils says your mind is somewhere else. 

“you just look restless,” he studies your face, “you aren’t actually scared of the dark, are you?” 

that makes you gently wrestle out of his hold, snapped out of the trance he’s unknowingly put you in, “no, asshole, i just wanted to know where—” 

“and if you really are that worried about dean, i’m not sure if we’ll get service, but, i can call him—” 

“no, i’m not, i’m fine, dean’s fine.” your voice is impatient—rushed—which bewilders him further. 

you aren’t sure if it’s the lack of light, or the soap-y smell radiating off him that’s been getting stronger, but you’re certain he’s inching closer, like the gap between you that’s been growing for four years is suddenly stitching back together with each unsure, shaky breath.

the soft, almost featherlight touch of his fingertips pressing into your forearms confirms this is real, even if it’s the darkness that’s causing a surge of confidence and brain fog you’re sure both of you will regret later. 

your name falls from his tongue like he’s willing you to come back to him. but you aren’t the one that left. 

“we should light those candles,” you choke out, but now you can feel his nose brushing yours. 

he nods, unbelieving, “we should.” 

“and—maybe we should call dean.” 

“hmhm,” 

“and—” right before his hesitant lips press to yours, you break, “god, sam what are you doing?” 

he pulls back just slightly, like the spell had broken. you’re so close that you can see his eyes, darting back and forth between yours while he searches for the answer to your question. 

“i just…” his voice trails, quiet, needy, “we haven’t been alone until now and—i don’t know, i just—” he looks down at his feet shamefully, “i remember, y’know?” 

your throat unwillingly constricts, and you fight every tear duct in your eyes not to shed weakness. “i never forgot, sam.” 

his forehead falls against yours, breathing in deeply to compose himself, hands moving from your forearms up to your cheeks. 

another boom of thunder, followed by a flash bathes the room in white. 

“god, i missed you,” he whispers like it pains him to say out loud, “i’m sorry i haven’t said it till now. i’m sorry i’ve been such an asshole.”

 you chuckle in relief, sniffling back emotion “no, i’ve been, too.” 

“can’t even let me have the title of biggest asshole, can you?” he teases. 

“watch it,” you warn, lightly slapping his cheek playfully. “i’m still mad at you.” 

it takes a few shaky breaths before either of you decide to utter another word in fear of shattering the consolidation between you. 

“i thought about you every day,” he tests the waters of mentioning his absence, swallowing harshly, “i know we both pushed each other away and i know i don’t have the right—” 

you shush him gently, revelling in his body heat warming yours, even as his feet soak the carpet beneath you, and the shower water dries in the divots of his muscles just starting to tease their way to the surface. “let’s just have this. let me realize i never truly lost you.” 

the soft kiss he presses delicately to your lips in response is like a whisper of reverence, of something so holy to him, it feels unreal that it’s his. 

his mouth is warm, nostalgic, and brings a fire to your stomach you hadn’t felt since the last time you’d kissed him. he’s careful not to push too hard, and you can feel the restraint as he fights to go deeper in your mouth, to make you feel how much he’d missed you. how much he doesn’t hate you. 

suddenly, another buzz sounds, but this time, a yellow glow shines against your closed eyelids. you and sam break apart, and the newfound ability to see makes you realize just how close you actually are, while he’s shirtless and dripping. 

then, with perfect comedic timing, the front door busts open, and in walks dean, a bunch of takeout bags in his hands from the burger joint you remember passing on the way, also dripping wet, but from the rain as it continues to slam against the concrete. “god dammit, it’s like a damn hurricane out—” 

his hoodie is soaked, hair a mess, and his jaw? wide open at the sight before him. 

“am i interrupting something?” he starts after a beat, eyes darting fast between sam’s half naked body and your flustered expression. 

“u-uh…” you look at sam, whose face is bright pink, trying to come up with some kind of explanation before dean’s shock wears off and he starts hammering it on the both of you. “the lights went out and i needed to ask him for candles.” 

dean looks at the buzzing ceiling light, then back to you, “lights seem on to me.” 

sam sighs in defeat, running a stressed hand through his stringy bangs. “i’m gonna get dressed,” he announces, but not before meeting your eyes, telling you everything he can’t say in a single look before taking shelter behind the bathroom door. 

when he’s gone, you and dean have a staring contest across the room.

“i thought you both hate each other,” he states. 

you purse your lips and can’t help the smile that fights its way to your face, “yeah.”

dean shakes his head, exasperated and desperate to get out of his soaked clothes and into the burger you know he’s lathered in ketchup. “kids.” he mutters to himself. 

you bite the inside of your cheek, the feeling of free-falling taking over your stomach when you catch the lingering scent of sam’s musk around you. 

the rain still pounds, the lightning still strikes, the thunder still hammers. but now, your heart beats softer.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ tags (tagging my mooties & blogs on my taglist for this post, but lmk if you wanna be added to my future posts! :)) ↬ @rafeskitty , @sacr1ficialang3l @s4wdvator @vmiina @ohangeleyes @wvyik @sploosh805 @bourbonbiscuit @sequoia-roots @hopperbopper

you stood in the corner, watching everyone make friends and the adults talk. everyone seemed to get along perfectly. except for you. the parents gave you pitying looks, teachers wondering why you were alone

you stood all alone, small fingers fidgeting with the straps of the disney princess backpack you had begged your mom for. in class, you sat alone in the corner again, while the other kids sat with the friends they had already made

when it was recess time, you sat on a swing sniffling, listening to the other kids laugh and play together, while you sat alone. a brown haired boy walked over to you, sitting on the swing next to you “why are you crying?” he asked

you sniffled and rubbed your eyes ‘i don’t have friends’ you mumbled sadly. he stood up and walked up to you, holding his hand out. you looked up

“i'll be your friend” he smiled and you took his hand, letting him lead you to the slides "my name's joe, what's yours?" he asked "y/n" you had shyly responded back

from that moment, you two were inseparable. you spent a lot of time with him, always playing on the playground together, sitting by each other in class, eating lunch together

your parents often forgot to give you lunch, so he always brought extra food to share. you would go to his house a lot. you didn't grow up in a good home. your parents were very strict and religious, and they often neglected you

his parents accepted you as their own, always making sure you ate enough and had a smile on your face

everytime your parents forced you to join them in something religious, you always wondered the same thing. jesus, if you’re there, why do i feel alone in this room with you?

freshmen year came, and you had just turned 14. a boy had asked you if you wanted to go to the movies, and you had been so excited. you had never gone on a date before

you had put on the prettiest dress you had and asked joe's mom to do your hair

you had met up at the theater "you look nice" he had complimented you. you hadn't noticed the way his eyes lingered on your thighs. you thought he truly liked you "thank you" you had smiled

the theater had been pretty empty, a few other people in the front. you two had sat in the back. he told you it was the best spot to sit, and you figured he must be right

you were having such a good time, you didn't even think anything of it when he set his hand on your thigh

when his fingers had slipped under your dress, you looked at him "what are you doing?" you had asked. he had shaken his head "just watch the movie" he whispered, and you slowly turned back to the movie

you sat frozen the whole time, trying to pretend it wasn't real. the way you always had. it didn't stop until the movie ended. he acted as if nothing happened, and you walked home crying

you went home and told your parents what happened. your father screamed at you, calling you every degrading name in the book, and your mother slapped you

now you were walking up joe's porch. his parents weren’t home, so you were glad you wouldn't have to explain it to anyone else. you knock on his door, sniffling. he opens it, his smile instantly falling into a concerned frown when he sees your tears

“hey what’s wrong?” he asked, pulling you inside. you didn't reply, just buried your face in his chest, choking on a sob. he wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back

he had walked you over to the couch, where you cried in his arms for a while. he didn't push, just waited for you to speak

"he didn't want me, joe. he hurt me" you hiccuped, his arms tightening around you. it was the same way he had the first time I told him about what your dad would do to you

"i won’t let anyone hurt you again" he promised

soon it was junior year. you and joe had started dating when you were 16. everything was perfect. he was the best boyfriend, and you loved him so much. he knew how to treat you

but after a petty fight, you two broke up. you had agreed to stay friends, both still in love, he had started to get more focused on popularity, and you had drifted off. you felt so alone

your parents started to be harder on you. you were growing up and they didn't want you to be a disappointment. they forced you to go with them to church twice a week with them

you slowly stopped talking to joe, knowing if you did, you would tell him everything and your parents would be furious

slowly, it was getting to be too much. you couldn't take it anymore

you decided you didn't want to live like this anymore. so you wrote a note to Joe and set it on his doorstep before walking down the road, not knowing where you were headed

besides, the fates already fucked you sideways, it couldn’t get worse

you had been walking around on the side of the road when a car had pulled up near you. a teenage boy was inside. he asked you a simple crazy question ‘wanna see the west with me?’

you were hesitant. as much as you wanted to run away, you didn't know that you trusted a strange man. through manipulation and threats, and eventually him getting out and forcing you in the car, you travel with him. you fall in love, and you’re happier there, because he told you you should be

who knew what fear a man like him brings upon a woman like you?

when joe had come home, he saw the note. he picked it up, seeing his name on it. he walked inside, sitting on his couch and reading it

'dear joe

you are my best friend. you always have been. you're the only person who's ever understood me. you've always taken care of me. i love you so much and i always will. i can't stay anymore. i can't handle this hurt, and i can't hold you back

you've been the only person who's loved me my whole life, and i'll never forget that. maybe one day we'll meet again. maybe one day we'll finally live our love story

love, your y/n'

joe lay in his apartment, fidgeting with the friendship bracelet. it had been 15 years since he had seen you. not a day went by that he didn’t think of you. you were his first love, his current love, his forever love

everyone had said you ran away. and he didn’t doubt it. you hated your life back then, but he wished you hadn’t left him. he wished he hadn’t let you go. he constantly thought of your letter. he truly hopes you will come back

sure, every small diner had seen your face at least once or twice. but never enough to find you

never enough to bring you back. so he waits every day, hoping for a day to come where you'll show up. he sighs, turning his lamp off and pulling the covers over himself

he stares at the ceiling for a while, lost in thought

around midnight, he turns in bed and freezes. he sees your face in the doorway. you’re dressed in a beige nightgown that's torn and bloodied. you soft beautiful skin is covered in dirt and marks, each one more visible as you walk to the bed

"y-y/n?" he stutters, frozen in shock "hi joe" you whisper "you're here?" he asks, to which you sit on the edge of the bed "where have you been?" he adds

"i'm lost joe. i need you. i need you to save me" you say "what do you mean? you're right here?" he looks at you , still shocked and confused

"please joe, find me. please don't let him hurt me even more" you whisper, a tear falling down your face "w-what do you mean i-who hurt you?"

"please joe, i know you'll find me" you whisper once more. he reaches out to touch you and…

he jolts awake right before he can touch you. no no no. it had to be real. it felt so real

he looks around. it was all a dream. why did you look like that? who hurt you? where were you really?

his phone buzzes on the bed next to him. the wallpaper shows a childhood picture his mom had taken. you and him, hugging and smiling. the bruise on you arm was visible, a reminder of the childhood you lived

he unlocks his phone and checks his messages, trying to shake off his dream, seeing several messages from his friends

maya isn't this the girl

charlie man, you should check the news

gaten hey, isn’t this the girl you were talking about?

*article attached*

he frowns. he clicks on the link, leading him to a news site. his heart almost stops when he sees the headline

'texas missing woman found in georgia after 14 years'

next to the headline was a picture of you. he opened social media, seeing himself tagged in tons of posts about it

police department

missing arlington women, y/n buxbaum, officially spotted in Atlanta 15 years after going missing. suspect arrested this morning

______________________________________________________________

user; isnt that girl who's missing the girl that Joe talked about on that one interview?

more..

-

he stares at his phone. you were spotted? his phone started ringing, he immediately answers

"hello?" he speaks into the phone as he walks to his room to find his shoes

"hello, is this joe?" the woman on the end of the line asks "yes, this is him. who is this?" he puts his phone on speaker, setting it next to him as he sits on the edge of the bed, pulling socks

"my names linda, i'm one of the members of a search party. we've been told you knew the woman, correct?" he pauses. he picks the phone back up "yeah..yeah i did" he confirms

“well we couldn't get in reach with any family of hers, and i think someone she was close to should join the search. are you able to? we’ll have security" linda asks "yes" joe agrees without a second thought, pulling his sneakers on

"great, we’re all meeting at the police department downtown in one hour. we’ll see you there" she says before hanging up. joe immediately heads straight outside, getting in his car and calling maya

"hey, whats up?" maya asks "i had the craziest dream. y/n was in my room, and she was all hurt, and she was begging me to find her, it felt so real. and then i woke up and she’s been spotted. it’s like a sign" he says

"maybe it is" maya agrees “will you help me on the search? i want as many people possible” he asks, to which she agrees “sure, of course. i’ll call up the others too”

“thank you so much. meet me at the station in an hour” joe hangs up and grips the wheel. he just needs to trust his instincts and hope his dream was right

but part of him didn't want it to be. he wanted to find you, but he was terrified of finding you the way you had been in his dream. you had looked so scared, so hurt. he couldn't imagine seeing you like that in person

starting his car, he took a few deep breaths. today was the day. he was going to find you

a/n✄ this first chap kinda sucked buttttt i hope y’all enjoyed, lmk your feedback if you’d like. i’ll be posting the next chapter soon along with other fics

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