#I prefer the other cowboy but this is her brother

[limbolants-art]

And there were two

[sadesluvr]

RIVERDANCE

The one where you hook up with Chad at a college party.

(Chad Meeks-Martin x Reader)

A/N: A long awaited Chad fic inspired by a recent album! Songs for ambience: One Dance - Drake, These Walls - Kendrick Lamar + RIVERDANCE - Beyoncé.

Word count: 2K

Tags: SMUT / College! Reader / Alcohol use / Cowgirl (Position) / Moments of fluff / Reader is in control and we love it!

The fading sound of a Drake song signalled yet another three minutes were down, creeping closer to the end of the party. Some were tired, some were horny, and some, especially in your case, were turnt. The turquoise and orange lights of the house party were euphoric; making you feel as if you were in a club, rather than a gritty frat house, and your grip on the signature red paper cups hadn’t wavered.

“Fuck, Y/N you haven’t stopped!” Mindy commented, a smirk on her face as she looked you up and down. Any other day you would’ve taken it as a flirtation but given the fact that she was sitting next to her girlfriend - much more the fact you were dressed like Daisy Duke - seemed unlikely. “Save some for the rest of us!”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you began to sway to a distantly familiar song.

“And waste it on two lesbians on a couch? I don’t think so!”

“Touché,” Anika remarked, and your eyes brightened, immediately outstretching your arms towards her.

“Come on, you’ve been sitting all night. Dance with me!” you begged, and she gave a sweet, but strained frown.

“We prefer to be bystanders,” she said, before glancing over at Mindy and lowering her voice. “I said I’d dance with you, but Mindy’s been keeping me hostage!”

“Mindy!”

“What? I’m doing my brother a favour. I don’t want him to get all jealous,” the short haired girl said, shrugging as she sipped her beer.

“Jealous?” you said, feigning ignorance as you got closer.

“Babe, he’s got a massive crush on you,” Anika said exasperatedly. “And don’t act like you don’t know, we saw the two of you earlier…”

Earlier. What had happened earlier? Soft grinding and an exchange of drinks, of course. Chad Meeks-Martin was Mindy’s twin brother, a star athlete and basically one of the hottest guys in Blackmore.

You’d met him at a mixer at the start of the year, but it had been a cat and mouse game ever since that point. It was almost unfathomable how instantly the attraction had occurred - you’d simply locked eyes from across the room, and the rest had been history.

Momentarily, you were transported back to the beginning of the night, how you’d felt the boys dark brown eyes roam up and down your body, transfixed to the way you grooved to the beat. Your back had been tightly pressed against his chiselled torso as you grinned your ass against his pelvis, looking back at him from the corner of your eye. He hadn’t flinched; merely securing his hands on your waist and rolling his hips back, all through a delighted chuckle. He was going to be yours by the end of the night.

“It means nothing until he says something.” you shrugged.

“You know how Chad is, he’s just waiting for the right time…” Anika said, gazing off into the distance and perking up as she spotted a figure coming towards where you were sat. Speaking of —“

It was Chad; all six foot and shirtless of him, dressed in nothing more than a pair of jeans, large belt and a cowboy hat, fitted with a bandana around his neck. He smirked, walking through the room with ease, and placing a hand gently on your shoulder, looking onto the two girls on the couch.

“Excuse me — ‘Nika, Mindy…Mind if I borrow Y/N here?”

“She’s all yours Romeo,” Mindy smirked, dropping her feet from on top of the coffee table. “Behave, and lock the door. We don’t want to have to spend tomorrow explaining the birds and the bees to Ethan…”

The pair of you chuckled before you granted them a small goodbye. Chad pulled you off into a quieter corner of the room, eyes slightly glossy as he stared at you.

“So, uh, how’re you getting home?” he said softly, clearing his throat.

“I live ten minutes away,” You snickered, adjusting your posture so that you crossed your arms in-front of your chest, lending Chad a decent view of your chest. “I’m sure my legs are fine.”

“So you won’t mind if I walk you? I give great piggyback rides, y’know…” he replied, a small smile growing at the ends of his lips.

“ ‘You sure you’re done here?”

“I don’t see anything else I wanna do…”

There was a brief silence.

“Really?” You hummed. “I just figured it was kinda early…”

Chad laughed, and ran his fingers across his chin, biting his lip as he drank you in. He’d been wanting you since the first college mixer, odd considering the fact that he could practically have any girl he wanted. Why had he waited until now to make a move?

Even amidst his alcohol induced haze and excessive head bashing his only conclusion was that he was somewhat of a coward, plagued by the idea that his next relationship could kill him. Whilst Woodsboro was on his mind, he was thankful he’d waited this long. You’d basically dry humped within the first ten minutes of the party.

“So you’re a party girl, huh?”

“Always have been.”

“Why don’t we take this little party of ours upstairs? It’s pretty dry down here anyway.” Chad said with a smirk. You certainly weren’t going to disagree, and so you pushed yourself up off the wall and took the lead up the oh-so infamous stairs. Everybody knew what ‘going upstairs’ meant, and you weren’t oblivious to the way that some girls – and a few guys – gave you the stink eye as you disappeared into the soft light, and away from the hustle of downstairs.

You pushed gently on one of the many doors, opening to an empty bedroom, fitted with red bed sheets and ripped band posters on the wall. It certainly wasn’t much, but you weren’t exactly there for the scenery. Locking the door shut, you glanced at Chad through your lashes before slowly making your way over to the bed where he stood, silent, but telling. The tension was palpable; the rhythmic thuds from the music downstairs seemingly beating in time to your hearts.

Chad began to take off his hat, but you stopped him.

“Nuh-uh, cowboy,” you hummed. “Keep it on...”

It was then that you kissed. Chad’s lips were soft, tasting faintly of cocoa butter as they danced along your own glossy ones; his tongue immediately finding yours as he explored your mouth. Your bottom lip grazed the boy’s scar – something you’d always been aware of, but clueless about – and you shuddered at its rugged edges against your own skin, briefly wondering how the rough texture would feel against the wet lips of your pussy.

Letting out a soft moan, you pushed against his body, sending him toppling backwards onto the bed, with you on top. Chad’s chest was heaving as you pulled away, and his brown eyes were wide and full of lust as he watched you kiss down his stomach, paying close attention to his carved six pack as your nails lightly grazed his skin. You stopped at the silver buckle of his jeans and squeezed his bulge, smirking as you locked eyes with him.

“Your nails look so fucking good on my dick, baby,” he moaned, his voice slightly husky. “Take it out...”

“Now?” you giggled, shaking your head. “We don’t have time for that. I wanna get out of here before the night is done.”

“So what? I’m just a fling to you?” he said amusedly.

“Maybe, maybe not,” you hummed. “Depends on if you can handle me...” Skilfully, you unzipped his jeans and slipped his cock through the buttoned hole of his boxers, exposing his hard cock to the cool air.

Chad’s length was impressive; bordering on six inches with a decent girth, wrapped up with a short, but prominent vein along its side. You tugged at him eagerly, nodding at him before looking at the bedside table and nodding at the drawer.

“Condom.” you said, and he pouted playfully.

“Baby...You know it doesn’t feel the same...” he whined, pushing the drawer open with one hand, keeping his focus entirely on you.

“It also won’t feel the same when I have to move in with you and Ethan so we can raise a kid.”

Chad grumbled and rolled his eyes, more than happy to oblige. He wanted a mini-Chad of his own but didn’t feel like getting a lecture from Mindy on making her an aunt anytime soon. Besides, he was with you – he was more than willing to wait.

Taking the condom off him, you hurriedly rolled it on before sliding your shorts and panties to the side, his thick head slipping into your wet folds with ease. You both let out a moan, and you savoured the moment, letting him stretch you out before you began to roll your hips, stabilising yourself by placing your hand on his chest. His large hands caressed your waist, holding you up as he ran his fingers along your sides, moving up to grope your tits through your cropped shirt, which was becoming dishevelled with every passing moment.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his teeth gnawing into his bottom lip. “You’re so good at this...Shit, you’re just swallowing me up...”

You smirked, shutting his rambles up by pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips before devilishly kissing down his chest and flicking at his nipple with your tongue, making him draw in a sharp breath and thrusting his hips up into you as punishment. The pressure was sensational, but you stood strong, determined to make it a night to remember. You were willing to take his soul, even.

Despite the dull ache of your knees, Chad’s groans were motivation for you to bounce your hips harder, the exposed areas of your skin colliding with his jeans as it produced an ungodly sound.

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed, lips wet and parted. “Bounce on this dick. Fuck, I wanna see that action back there...”

“Then feel it.” you said confidently, taking one of Chad’s hands and sliding it under your jeans, giving him a handful of your ass, which he groped and prodded at, sinking you further onto his cock, your juices beginning to drip down to groomed base and embedding itself in his hairs. The boy was so dumbfounded he barely noticed you sliding his hat off his head, placing it onto your own and throwing your head back in pleasure.

It felt as if the two of you were indulging in a perfect dance; where his thrusts responded to the swaying of your hips, where his hands roamed your body and made you hotter as your own kisses brought him back to reality. Alcohol be damned, the room swayed, and sounds became nothing but intoxicated gurgles, lost in the salvo of your passion.

“God, you’re perfect,” he lamented, his movements becoming more ragged. “My ‘lil cowgirl...”

“I’m all yours baby,” you smirked. “I always have been.”

Chad grinned, flashing his perfect whites before pulling you down on top of him so that your heaving chests were pressed against each other's, allowing you a moment of calm before you came; which, judging by the way you trembled and clenched around him, was imminent.

He came first; unable to hold his tongue as his healthy loads filled the condom whilst still managing to buck up into you, sending you into your own state of euphoria. You creamed around his cock, painting the latex in your clear juices and moulding yourself onto him forever, rendering yourself breathless as you buried your face into the crook on his neck, riding down from your high.

For a moment, time stood still, and it was just you and Chad alone, listening to each other's beating hearts as he held onto you by his arms wrapping around your waist protectively, and tracing small circles onto your back. You’d come back to earth, and you could both hear the dull thumping of music around you...and a knock on the door.

“Shit,” you said frantically, his voice hushed. “Ten bedrooms in this stupid house and they choose this one?”

Chad chuckled.

“I guess people have the same idea as us...” he said, fixing himself. “Let’s do this again, yeah? This time I’ll actually take you out on a date first!”

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — bull-rider!MATTHEW TKACHUK x barrel racer!hughes!reader (can be read as an unnamed oc) wc — 1.8k synopsis — wear the hat, ride the cowboy—even if it might get you disowned.

note — there's one line referring to the reader as jack's twin, but no physical description is given. also, this one-shot is a "party favor" from our feb slumber party

specific content warnings under the cut.

cw — quinn being a dramatic, misogynistic douche-canoe 3000 for the entirety (ratty matty has his moments, too), no actual smut but it's heavily implied they do the dirty on the reg, a disgustingly intimate situationship — ick, off-color comment(s) relating to first times and the concept of virginity, lots and lots of familial angst (jack is a snake), oh! and more than a few loose ends... but you know the drill by now, i'm incapable of keeping a story contained

“Go on, Palomino Princess. Ride me like one of your ponies.” 

Condescension drips from the lazy taunt. Matthew earns a palm to the chest for it; her ire lands with a faint thud, but he doesn’t mind. He gets off on riling her up, and after two years of backseat meetings and hushed phone calls, he’s damn good at it too. That, and she might be the most reactive person he’s ever met—and that’s saying something. 

Matthew’s been going head-to-head with all three of her brothers for over a decade, and he’s known their family for even longer. Having a short fuse must be genetic.    

“Y’won’t break me if that’s the hold-up. S’gonna take a hell of a lot more than a dry humpin’ buckle bunny to put me outta commission, sweetheart.” 

He knows damn well she ain’t anywhere close to the derogatory term, but he likes what the complete disregard for her accomplishments does to her deceptively cherubic face. 

It may look less harrowing than every other event on the card, but barrel racing ain’t for the faint-hearted. The event is a death wish personified, and it feels about as good as someone taking a metal pipe to both shins. It takes balls—metaphorically, in her case—to charge into an arena on an American Quarter horse with the intention of guiding it through a cloverleaf pattern around three barrels while sprinting at top speed, but it takes dedication and skill to succeed the way she has. The winner is determined by just thousandths of a second. 

The woman perched on his tailgate is unmatched—undefeated.  

Flames of pride lap at his loins, the fire of desire stoked by the wicked roll of her hips. 

“Ohh—shit!” Matthew hisses, his head lolling back as his hips buck into her heat. 

She smirks, apparently vindictive as ever. “How’s that, cowboy? Everything you dreamed?” 

“And more,” he growls as he grabs a fistful of her backside. 

His grip is tighter than it needs to be as he switches positions. Not nearly as rough as she would prefer it; beggars can’t be choosers.  

Matthew steps between her knees, and, despite herself, she shivers with anticipation. Chuckling, amusement twinkles in his baby blues. “Now give me a kiss, sweetheart. My lips are feelin’ a little lonely tonight, and you happen to be wearin’ my hat, Little Miss.” 

He flicks the brim of his hat. She catches it before it hits the ground before plopping it back on the rightful owner, the damage already done.  

“You just love that antiquated rule,” she shakes her head while most definitely laughing at his expense. “Y’wouldn’t see any action without it, now would you?” 

Matthew grins. Trading insults is his favorite form of foreplay. “Neither would you. Isn’t that your signature move, outlaw?”

“I should kick you to the back of the line with that attitude. Hell, I’d probably be better off keeping you at a distance anyway.” 

“Keep mouthin’ off and see how far it gets ya. Definitely nowhere near that McMansion castle you call home, that’s for sure.” 

“Oh, don’t you worry ‘bout me, sugar. I’ve got plenty of options if I need a ride home.” 

“I’ll bet, show pony. Sexiest can chaser east of the Mississippi; who wouldn’t be chomping at the bit to carry Cinderella home to her Daddy?” 

Men have a habit of gawking at her; Matthew has a habit of relieving them of their teeth. 

He leans in to taunt her ear with greedy lips and barbed arrogance. “Best of luck finding one that’ll fuck you better than me.”     

“Do you think about other guys fucking me often?” she fires without missing a beat.

More than he would like, actually.

With a heavy, drawn-out sigh, he runs a hand over his face. His patience is running thin, and his jeans are starting to chafe. Exasperated, he tries coaxing her to reason, “Sweetheart, c’mon. We both know you want this—want me. Stop makin’ this so damn hard.” 

“Why? Because you already are?” 

Matthew makes an exaggerated show of play-biting her scrunched-up nose. 

“Woman, you drive me insane.”

“It’s why you’re so obses—“ 

Her teasing is thwarted by the sound of her own name. Spat out of her older brother’s mouth like a heirloom gone sour, it's no great surprise Quinn looks at her like he can’t recognize her. Like a stranger—like a traitor. 

Guilt, thin and fleeting, pieces the tenderness between her ribs. 

She squirms, attempting to put some distance between them as if that could erase the discovery—and her culpability—from his mind. Matthew and his shit-eating grin keep her from getting too far but don’t be fooled. This is no chivalrous encouragement to stand her ground. It’s got nothing to do with her and everything to do with her brother. 

Quinn rages outside the hauler housing Matthew’s precious 3500 Laramie. Walking by, seeing the main trailer hitched Brady’s F-350 made his stomach churn. It didn’t sit right, and now he knew why. 

“You can’t be serious! Nuh-uh, no—no fucking way. Get out here before I drag you out myself.”  

At his tone, what little remorse she felt dissipates. They were both far too old for his tired, overbearing song-and-dance. 

“Who died and made you king?” 

Quinn, blinded by overripe anger, sweeps over the irritation, twisting her tongue and the disbelief arching her brow. “I thought I made myself clear last time. Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

“Oh, crystal, Quinny.” Matthew snorts at the juvenile nickname but is swiftly cajoled into silence with a pinch to the side. “Message received.” 

“Then quit screwin’ around and get your ass back to the truck before Dad blows a gasket. He’s been lookin’ all over for you. So, you best be thanking your lucky stars I got here first. That its me catchin’ you red-handed colluding with the enemy.” 

He’s so serious, nearly shaking with rage, it’s difficult not to laugh. She can count on one hand the instances wherein her brother became visibly angry—all of them involving the man standing between her dangling feet. She fares better than him, but that’s to be expected. Unlike her accomplice, for her, there’s real risk involved. 

“Just ‘cause I heard you don’t mean I have to listen.” 

Lips pressed to her temple, Matthew clicks his tongue in approval. ‘Bout damn time she started giving back what Quinn so readily dishes out. 

“Look, y’can spread your legs for anyone with big dreams and a buckle some other night. Parade around the circuit acting like a slut, see if I give a shit. But not tonight. And not with him.” 

The knowing glint in Quinn’s blackened eyes is telling, but it isn’t as menacing as he thinks it is. The Hughes heir apparent couldn’t be judge, jury, and executioner. He doesn’t have a lick of proof. Just suspicion and a personal vendetta the size of Texas. 

A safety net swaying below, Matthew decides to have a little fun. “Whoa, settle down, Trust Fund. Y’can’t talk to a lady like that, ‘specially not your sister.” 

He’s no white knight, but he can pretend. 

And isn’t that what you’re all doing? Pretending to be people you aren’t. Acting out your roles, putting on a show. After all, a performance will always be more entertaining than the truth. 

“—and here I thought etiquette classes were a Rodeo Royalty rite of passage. Glad t’know she ain’t the only roughneck hellion in your family tree, Huggy.” 

Quinn’s jaw tightens. His tongue threatens to put a hole through his cheek. Hands on his hips, the eldest sibling only nods. He ignores Matthew entirely. 

“Real winner y’got there. A class act. You really know how to pick ‘em—cream of the goddamn crop. Say, what’re you gonna do when he inevitably gets bored of you? When he gets his hands on a fresh doe-eyed virgin to tarnish?” 

After she finishes with Matthew, she’s kicking Jack’s sorry ass. 

Those anxieties—and that majorly personal tidbit of information—were shared in confidence. Because unlike her older brother, she trusted her twin. Well, she used to, at least. Luke’ll be over the moon at the chance to be her favorite. 

She bares her teeth like a scorned lapdog. “We’re not kids anymore, Q. You can’t push me around whenever you want or tell me what to do like you’re my father. And you sure as shit can’t bully me into submission, either. Give it up, or get lost.” 

“Whatever,” Quinn barks as he backs away from the trailer. “Your fuckin’ funeral.” 

Listening to the fading sound of her brother’s Ariats pounding through the dirt, she buries her face in the warm, familiar crook of Matthew’s neck; she needs a moment alone. He seems to understand this, his mouth zipped shut as he runs calloused hands up and down her sides. She’s breathing heavily, but he does her the simple mercy of leaving it be. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was growing on you,” Matthew hums, a low-maintenance attempt to lighten the mood. 

They don’t do the touchy-feely BS. It’s one of the things that reeled him in—and kept him coming back. 

“But you do.” She pulls away to look up at him, chin resting on his sternum. He hates that her melancholic eyes are red-rimmed. “—and stop thinking, it doesn’t suit you.” 

“And what does, princess? I’m dyin’ for your insight.” 

“Shut the door and I’ll show you.” 

He blinks, taken aback. Who is this brazen tart, and when did she take your place? Matthew wonders to himself. Maybe he is the bad influence everyone paints him as… He hasn’t really thought about it until now, and it's troubling the way it makes his chest tighten. 

Matthew clears his throat—and, from his mind, the distressing notion that he’s ruined someone good with his carelessness—as he leans over. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

He pulls the hauler’s heavy metal door shut with clamorous finality.  

Matthew Tkachuk might be the most self-serving swindler on dirt, but Quinn Hughes is just another name on his list. A box to tick and then forget. He wouldn’t lose sleep, it wasn’t like their friendship meant a damn thing. Not anymore. A friend turned foe, reduced to another obstacle in his way, a hurdle to jump. 

Tonight, his sister’s fealty; tomorrow, his title.

Retribution is at his fingertips, so close he can taste it. Yet, it would seem that Matthew merely traded one hornet’s nest for another. 

At least this one’s easy on the eyes. 

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[joeshiestyslover]

tennessee whiskey- c. sturniolo

pairing: chris sturniolo x countrygirl!reader

summary: working at a bar in texas to make some extra money for college is far from interesting, with you mostly serving drunk college kids and random middle-aged men. however, one night a certain set of triplets walk into the bar, and one of them in particular catches your eye.

warnings: cursing, alcohol use, use of nicknames (playboy, cowgirl, baby)

masterlist

lowercase intended

working at a bar has it's fair share of ups and downs. sure, you get hit on by creepy men and desperate frat guys, but it pays well and you get free drinks.

you began working at the crown and anchor pub for the past two years, since you got to college at the university of texas. you honestly enjoy your job. your coworkers are nice enough and the patrons aren't awful, many of them being fellow college students.

you grew up in about thirty minutes out of austin on a ranch filled with horses, pigs, cows, chickens, and basically every farm animal. it's not like you're not used to the city, but if you're being honest, you much prefer the quiet and serene rural areas to the busy and bustling cities.

when you moved to austin permanently for college, it was a little bit of a culture shock. you were used to rodeos and horseback riding instead of large buildings and loud concerts. but after a while, you began to adjust. you started going out more, making friends, and, of course, getting a job at the bar that sits right on the corner of the university of texas.

tonight is relatively the same to all the previous ones. you're in your work outfit which consists of a black tank top and short denim shorts with your cowboy boots. you've been pouring drinks all night, and occasionally turning down random frat boys. suddenly, you see three identical guys sit down at your side of the bar. you immediately take notice of one of them. he's the only one with no tattoos and noticeably longer hair which is covered by a light blue backwards baseball cap.

you allow yourself to admire him for a few seconds before walking over to the three boys, "hi, welcome in. can i get you boys something to drink?" the triplets look up at you, chris immediately looking you up and down. "what would you recommend?" nick asks. "well depends what you're looking for. you want a beer? dark liquor? something fruity?" you reply. chris takes a second and scans the brands of beer lined up behind you. "i'll take a michelob ultra please." you nod and grab a pint glass, going over to the tab and pouring the beer into it. you set it down in front of him before looking over at the other two triplets. "umm can i get a tequila sunrise?" nick requests with a small smile on his face. "of course." you look to matt. "i'll just have a coke please." you then begin to prepare both the boys' drinks before setting them in front of them. "anything else i can get you guys?" you inquire. chris looks you up and down once again before responding, "yeah i was wondering if i could get your name?" he smirks at you. "y/n." you say. “pretty name. i’m chris.” he responds. “thanks. it’s nice to meet you chris.” you give him a small smile. before chris can say anything else, another patron at the bar signals for you to refill his beer. you turn back to chris, “excuse me.” you walk over to the man and grab his glass, refilling it. even after you’ve walked away, chris’ eyes never leave your figure. there’s just something so entrancing about you. “you’re staring.” his thoughts are broken by nick’s voice to his left. “what? no i’m not.” he tries to deny, but his older brother knows better than to believe it. “uh huh, sure.” he takes a sip of his drink. “dude, just ask for her number or something.” matt chimes in. “yeah don’t be a pussy. just ask her out. it’s not hard.” chris just rolls his eyes. “when’s the last time you’ve been on a date nick? like three years ago?” “shut up.”

after about ten minutes of the triplets arguing over whether or not chris should ask you out, you walk back over to the triplets to check on them and talk to chris “how are you guys doing over here?” chris’ head immediately shoots up at the sound of your voice. before he can speak, nick does. “we’re doing great, but my brother has something to ask you.” chris’ eyes widen as nick and matt give him a sly smile. you raise an eyebrow as chris turns his head back to you. “well then ask away.” he’s silent for a few seconds “what time do you get off?” “i get off at 9:30. why do you ask?” chris’ confidence slowly begins to make a reappearance when he asks, “i was wondering if you wanted to do something. with me.” you tilt your head slightly, “you wanna take me out on a date, playboy?” a smirk slowly appears on his face, “yeah. i wanna take you out on a date if you’ll let me.” you ponder it for a few seconds. “i guess i’ll see you at 9:30 then, playboy.” you say before walking away to tend to other people at the bar. nick sends him a small smirk and drinks his tequila sunrise. “see? that wasn’t so hard.” “nick, seriously, shut the fuck up.”

soon enough, 9:30 rolls around and you’ve been cleaning glasses and wiping down the bar for the past half hour. you quickly go into the back to clock out and grab your bag before going back to the front to meet chris. “you ready to go, playboy?” he nods, “lead the way, y/n.” you exit the bar and walk towards your truck in the parking lot, chris trailing behind you. “so where are we going?” he asks curiously. “you’ll see” you respond as you climb into the drivers seat. “you’re really just not gonna tell me?” “i said you’ll see. it’ll be worth it.” you begin to drive out from the parking lot onto the street. 

as you’re driving, you speak up, “so where are you from? it’s obvious you’re not from around here.” chris turns to face you with a raised eyebrow, “you could tell, huh?” you nod, “yeah. i’m good at that.” he gives you a small smirk “well, me and my brothers live in la, but we’re originally from boston. what about you?” “i grew up around here actually. on a ranch.” his eyebrows shoot up. “really? a ranch? so you have like animals?” you nod, “yep. every farm animal you can think of, we have it.” “i’ll have to see it sometime.” you shoot him a smirk, “how about now?” you ask as you pull into the driveway of your family’s ranch. “you’re gonna show me your animals?” you park the truck as you shut off the engine, “well, most of them are probably asleep right now, but i can show you my horses if you’re up for it.” chris nods, “yeah let’s go.” he opens the door and gets out and you follow suit, locking the truck as you walk towards the side of the house.

you lead him over to the stables and open the door, revealing two horses. “whoa. are they both yours?” he asks with wide eyes. “this is maverick and that's goose. maverick’s mine and goose is my sister’s.” you tell him, walking over to maverick and petting him. “when i was younger, me and maverick used to participate in rodeos together.” you smile fondly at the memories of you riding maverick in an arena. “so you’re like a real cowgirl then?” he asks, admiring the way you tend to your horses. “i guess i am.” you give him a soft smile, which he returns. “there’s more to you than meets the eye, cowgirl.” he says softly. “same to you, playboy.” you respond. “you keep calling me that. why?” you shrug, “i don’t know it just suits you.” he chuckles, “whatever you say cowgirl.” you playfully roll your eyes at the nickname. “you wanna pet him? he’s real sweet.” you offer as chris takes a step towards maverick. he slowly brings his hand up and begins to pet the horse. “he is sweet.” “i know. i’ve had him since i was 13.” he looks over at you, “so he’s basically your baby, huh?” you smile slightly, “yeah he is.” 

after a few minutes, the two of you decide to head back to your apartment. the drive back is peaceful with the two of you making casual conversation by talking about your families, your goals, and anything you could think of. after about thirty minutes of driving, you pull into the parking garage of your apartment complex. you put your truck in park and step out, heading towards the elevator then to your front door. 

the two of you enter your cozy apartment and you set your bag and keys down on the kitchen counter. “this is a nice place. very homey.” you shrug, “it’s not much, but it’s alright. it’s what i can afford.” you walk into the living room and chris follows you, sitting himself down on your couch. “you want a drink or something?” you ask as you turn on your tv. “sure. i’ll take whatever you got.” “you got it. i’ll be right back.” before you go, you open spotify on your tv and click on a random playlist and press shuffle, the song ‘tennessee whiskey’ by chris stapleton softly coming through the speakers. you walk into the kitchen and begin to make some drinks for you and chris when suddenly, you feel two arms wrap around your waist. the two of you begin to sway slowly to the music. you turn around and wrap your arms around his neck as his hands fall to your hips. “you have a good taste in music, cowgirl.” he says. “you don’t strike me as the type to like country music.” “i don’t but i might make an exception for this song. after all, you introduced me to it.” he smiles as he leans in to press his forehead against yours. “am i already making that big of an impact on you, playboy?” you tease. “baby, you’ve had an impact on me since i laid eyes on you in that bar a few hours ago.” his words make you smile. “yeah?” chris smiles back at you as he leans in closer, “yeah” he confirms before closing the gap in between you. the kiss is soft and sweet and you can taste the faint remnants of beer on his lips. his tongue then darts out, running along your bottom lip. you open your mouth slightly, letting your tongues dance together. your hands move to his hair and you give a small tug, a soft groan escaping his lips as his hands run along your waist. after a couple seconds, he pulls away, his lips slightly red and swollen. “you mind if i stay the night?” “as long as you promise to not ditch me in the morning, playboy.” you say. “oh cowgirl, after tonight, i’m never letting you go.” he then crashes his lips to yours once again before picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. he begins to carry you into your bedroom, the drinks long forgotten. 

[little-diable]

Please respect that this is my own work and I worked really hard on those imagines, don’t copy or edit stuff. However reblog, comment and like as much as you like. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Crimson River (smut)

The reader and Tyler have been chatting online for months, and now it's time for them to finally meet in real life. Porn with some plot

Wild Creations (smut)

Tyler is the best friend of reader’s brother. When he comes visit their vacation home, it’s time for them to finally give in to the feelings both had tried to swallow ever since they had been teenagers.

Bad Omen (smut)

Reader and Tyler have hated one another with a burning passion for years, but when they get stuck in his dying truck with a tornado nearing both seem to realise that their reasons for hating the other aren’t as valid as they thought they were.

Broke my heart and called me pretty, won me back and called me his (smut)

Tyler had ended his engagement to the reader years ago, all for her to chase her dreams. But when he turns up as a guest for her lecture, both find themselves thrown back into the love they still feel for one another.

A dare to kiss (smut)

Tyler and the reader have been best friends for years. But after another storm season, she finally snaps and realises she can't be around him any longer, not when her feelings for him won't let go of her. But perhaps the feelings aren't unrequited as she fears.

Hillbilly Cowboy (smut)

The reader's home gets destroyed by a tornado, but what happens when Tyler Owens and his crew show up to help? Will she accept his offer to find shelter at their house or push him away?

Catching Stars With Racing Hearts (smut)

The reader has been storm chasing with different groups for years, and yet she always finds herself going back to her favourite tornado wrangler. The tornado wrangler who lures her away in the middle of the night to finally go stargazing with the woman he's crushing on.

Cocky Tornado Wrangler (smut)

There are many things (y/n) would prefer to having to share a room with the man she hates. But does she really hate him? Or does the bed they share will be enough to push them closer together?

Lightning (smut)

Tyler and the reader are chasing tornadoes together, but when they have to step back and find shelter, things quickly change between them.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi there! First off, thank you so much for y’all’s work here on Tumblr, def one of my main sources of fic recs.

I read Summer’s End by FeralTuxedo a while ago (lovely rec) and am definitely back in my TLOU-apocalyptic-setting-with-a-moody-but-calm/nature-esk-atmosphere-and-character-centred-plot era again. I just genuinely enjoyed the specific atmosphere that the apocalyptic setting gives works. Anyway, that being said, I would love any recs that would fit that kind of vibe (I would prefer less smut since I skip over it but honestly as long as it isn’t specifically plot-relevant its fine lol also not TOO much angst please, I cant deal with Az or Crow actually dying or something like that unless it is done in a comforting way).

ps: on a more specific request, if y’all know of any GO fics inspired by TLOU I would greatly appreciate recs (look, Bill and Frank’s episode in the tv adaptation is screaming to be written as a fic with Az and Crow instead- Bill and Frank’s deaths are wht I mean by deaths done in a comforting way I suppose, haha).

Wow, this is a long request, so sorry. Thank you so much for reading, have a great day and happy new year!

Hello! Pretty sure we've recommended almost all of these before, but there aren't loads of this kind of fic (and I could find no The Last of Us specific fics)...

Dead Genres by A_plus_platypus (T)

The end is nigh when a zombie virus ravages the world. Luckily, there is hope yet in the form of pharmaceutical scientist Anthony "Just Crowley" Crowley. With his adopted younger brother Adam, his other three kids The Them, and English teacher Aziraphale Fell, he searches for the fated military base in Tadfield. There, they — along with the rest of the world — have a chance at survival. And also Crowley is a disaster, and Aziraphale is a disaster, and everyone needs a hot cup of tea.

what's to come by PepperPrints, restlesslikeme (M)

Post-Apocalyptic AU. Even without the Antichrist, both Heaven and Hell insist on Armageddon. Aziraphale is missing and Crowley sets out to find him, driving through a scorched Earth with a witch in his passenger seat.

is there anybody out there? by theycallmeDernhelm (E)

Welcome to the zombie apocalypse. England has been overrun by walking corpses, everything's gone to hell, and the few survivors are scattered- among them, Crowley and his 11-year-old son Warlock. When Crowley's radio signal is unexpectedly picked up by another group of survivors, he finds himself falling, in a way he never thought he'd fall again, for the charming and kindly Aziraphale. Over three seasons and a tenuous radio connection, a romance develops between them, while a friendship grows between Warlock and Aziraphale's nephew Adam. Love isn't dead (or undead) after all.

Ouroboros Forever and One by iblankedonmyname (T)

An AU where the Apocalypse-Definitely-Did, Aziraphale is a cowboy and Crowley is on a mission from God to reboot the universe. “God gave you, a demon, a mission?” Aziraphale snaps his glass onto the table. “Millions of angels at Her disposal, and yet…” His eyes are sparkling again. It’s more refreshing than a glass of tequila in a waterless land. “You?” His eyes slip from Crowley’s toes up to the top of his head. “Well, I am certainly surprised.”

Zombie Apocalypse by AppleSeeds (T)

When a meteor strikes Earth carrying a virus that can 'turn people into zombies', Aziraphale finds himself responsible for a group of frightened teenagers at an airbase-turned-hospital in Tadfield. Aziraphale is terrified, but experiences some relief when the teens introduce him to Crowley, who has a plan to get them all to safety. When things don't exactly go according to plan and with the zombies closing in, Aziraphale must face his fears in order to protect the children from becoming infected.

My Favorite Ghost by cassieoh_draws, DiminishingReturns (T)

Decades after the world didn’t end, Heaven and Hell got their war — and nearly destroyed everything in the process. When Aziraphale finally manages to reacquire a corporation and return to Earth, he discovers he was gone longer than he thought and the planet has become unrecognizable. As he searches for Crowley and tries to figure out how he fits in a world that Heaven, Hell, and God have all wiped their hands of, nature works around him to reclaim the bones of an old civilization as the scraps of humanity build a new one. A lush and optimistic post-apocalypse story, told from the POV of an immortal who can't let go of the past.

And the one you mentioned...

Summer's End by FeralTuxedo (E)

2095. Britain is a post-apocalyptic wasteland ravaged by droughts, the collapse of civilisation, and hordes of the undead. Despite that, Aziraphale’s life is actually pretty good. He has his caravan, his books, and his work, offering his services to the men who stop by Tadfield on their arduous journey north. One day, a mysterious stranger knocks on his door. Crowley is charming and handsome and he appears to know his way around a vegetable garden. He comes with the tempting offer of a mutually beneficial arrangement. But it’s in Aziraphale’s best interest not to get too attached. A dystopian cottagecore sex worker AU.

- Mod D

[drinkingteawithkate]

Okay I made a little post about this but it’s jawing at my brain

A deep dive into Ginny Weasley’s music taste

(Not specifically 90s timeline)

SPICE GIRLS

Okay so even though it might be cringy now she was definitely so obsessed with the spice girls. With their whole girl power agenda she definitely was really into it, and they have great party music. Hermione being one of her closest friends and muggle born showed her the spice girls over one summer and gave her tons of magazines on them. Tonks offered to take her to see them but Molly said absolutely not. Favorite song Wanna be obviously, it’s her designated getting ready song.

THE SMITHS/RADIOHEAD/NIRVANA/WEAZER

Okay so, Ginny dated Dean for almost a whole year being with someone you naturally gain interest in their interest. Dean being a muggle born introduced Ginny to all sorts of muggle bands The Smiths and Radiohead having a lot of sad songs I think she found very healing with all her trauma from the chamber. Nirvana is like the OG teenage dirt bag band so yes she loves them. Nirvana reminds her a lot of Sirius so she got Harry into listening to them. Weazer came from Seamus actually, when she was getting used to being around Deans friend group music came up and Seamus lent her one of his mixtapes. Her favorite song is Back to the old house because it makes her miss time before Tom and before the war.

DAVID BOWIE

So Bowie. I think Bowie would come from Bill and Arthur. Bill was born in the early 70s so it come from his childhood. We all know Arthur loves muggle things so I think music would be incorporated in that. Bowie has a perfect blend of sad and feel good music, we know she was close with Tonks but Remus helped her through second year too and Bowie was one thing they bonded over and what made Ginny trust Remus after Tom. Her favorite song is Changes because it feels like growing up.

EMINEM/D-12

Completely George and Charlie influence. She loved D-12 first obviously but she prefers Eminem. She knows every word. To every song. Harry loves when she gets wasted at parties and just stands on the table and belts out the lyrics. She’s totally a Doctor Dre fan too. The Slim shady album is her favorite it dropped in 1999 when she was freshly 17. Charlie took her to see him when she was 19 she went all out saggy jeans, heavy smudged eyeliner, bandana. When family dinners where to serious at the Burrow after the war. Her and George would start singing the dirtiest songs to get Molly’s attention on them. Favorite song in his discography is Under the Influence.

DO DOUBT/GWEN STEFANI, BIKINI KILL

Girl power rock bands I don’t have a ton to say about them. She loves No Doubt but proffers Gwen’s solo stuff. Obviously knows them from Tonks. She gave Ginny her Tragic Kingdom vinyl which released in 1995 perfect timing for her 4th year at hogwarts when she’s angry about being left out of order business. Her favorite Gwen song is Rich Girl.

ARVIL LAVIGNE

Okay so Arvil really started getting big in 2002 when her album Let Go came out. She wasn’t super big into her with that album but followed along still. Her teammates on the Harpy’s loved her and played her music in the locker rooms. She picked up again with her when Girlfriend came out but her favorite song is Here’s to never growing up.

(Later music)

TAYLOR SWIFT

I never liked that people think Ginny isn’t girlie because she grew up with 7 brothers. Yes, she is a total tomboy but she never saw being a girl as making her weak. It was just a challenge with her brothers but it just gave her more reasons to get to prove herself. If she had Taylor in her teens her favorite album would be Red or Evermore. Cowboy like me is a perfect song to describe her and Harry. “The skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up” perfect example of their relationships with Voldemort. They definitely avoided that they had that in common for a while but after they accepted it they where able to heal through each other. I think the song I hate it here from TTPD would be one Ginny could relate too because honestly when she was completely alone her therapy was Tom and the diary. It was where she would escape too. I think her hearing that song as an adult would have an even deeper meaning because it’s so sad and describes how lonley-ness feels beautifully.

- If you want my other opinions and more bands I think she would like feel free to ask I have so many others artist and songs

This kinda turned in to me relating Ginny to my favorite music but oh well 🤷‍♀️

[scrollonso]

Ride, Cowboy — Marcmarc

Pecco's bachelor party was in full swing, and the academy boys were set on making it a night to remember. They had chosen a popular country-themed bar for the occasion, its rustic decor and vibrant atmosphere setting the perfect stage for one final evening of freedom. The bar was adorned with wooden tables, vintage signs, and checkered tablecloths. A live band played upbeat country music, their melodies mixing with the hum of conversations and clinking glasses. The centerpiece of the night was the mechanical bull, positioned prominently in the center of the room, promising both challenge and entertainment.

Pecco, dressed in casual attire that subtly hinted at his upcoming marriage, was surrounded by his closest friends — Vale, Marco, Luca, Franky, Cele, and Mig. The guys were in high spirits, their laughter filling the room as they enjoyed shots and swapped stories. Racing was momentarily forgotten as they indulged in playful banter and reminisced about past adventures. Even Pecco, who usually preferred a more low-key presence in such settings, was swept up in the energy of the night.

As they navigated through the crowd, the music shifted to a heavier beat, drawing their attention to the mechanical bull as the lights dimmed. A group of incredibly attractive girls had taken over the area, each one more stunning than the last. They were taking turns on the bull, their laughter and cheers creating an infectious buzz throughout the bar. The guys couldn’t help but watch, half-impressed, half-entertained by the scene.

“Dio mio,” Luca muttered, his eyes widening in admiration. “They’re amazing!”

Vale, ever the responsible older brother, gave Luca a playful slap on the back of the head. “You’re married, Luca! Keep your eyes where they belong.”

Luca quickly apologized, his face reddening as he assured his brother he was just appreciating the spectacle.

Marco, grinning, elbowed Pecco. “You sure you’re ready to settle down? Because it looks like we’ve got some serious competition here.”

Pecco chuckled, shaking his head. “No way, man. Domi’s the only girl for me. But... I can appreciate the view.”

The group erupted in laughter as one of the girls — a tall blonde with a dazzling smile — took her turn on the bull. She managed to stay on longer than anyone else, her skill and confidence drawing cheers from the crowd. The boys exchanged glances, silently daring each other to give it a try.

“Alright, Pecco,” Franky said, nudging him toward the bull. “Last night of freedom — let’s see what you’ve got!”

“Yeah, show us how a pro rider handles a bull,” Cele added with a smirk.

Pecco raised his hands in mock surrender, laughing as he shook his head. “I’m not getting thrown off that thing tonight. But if you guys want to make fools of yourselves, be my guest!”

And then he took the stage.

Stole the show.

And then this absolutely gorgeous man jumped into the ring and easily swung himself up on the bull. Marco couldn’t see a whole lot of details from this far, but what he could see definitely woke the beast in him.

The man was fit, legs deliciously bowed as if he was made to ride a bull or a horse. The man was a cowboy, and Marco's childhood fantasies of the cowboys in old western movies came flooding back.

The man gripped the handle on the bull with his left hand, muscles bulging enough for even Marco to see. He pressed his heels against the sides of the bull, scooting forward in the saddle, and held up his right hand, arm in the shape of an L. He took a deep breath, sagged down in the saddle as he breathed out, and nodded to the person operating the bull for the group.

And rode for an astonishing 12.72 seconds. It had to be a sign.

His movements were completely fluid, he was one with the bull, there was no doubt about it and Marco found himself completely entranced. He couldn’t honestly say that his jaw didn’t drop because he could focus on nothing but this Adonis of a man riding the shit out of that bull, his movements flawless.

Marco had no idea what the group was speaking about anymore, all he knew was he wanted to be that bull. He needed to be that bull. His whole body flushed hot, his dick taking an abnormal amount of interest in the whole thing, and his brain demanding that he march down there and claim the man.

He rode the whole time with a cocky grin on his lips, eyes trained on the back of the bull’s head, and just as the clock signaled twelve seconds, the man changed his body position and tumbled gracefully off the bull in the next moment, seemingly by his own choice, rather than being flung off like all the others had been.

Marco was on his way over to the man before he had even made a conscious decision about it, his scotch abandoned precariously on the table he'd reserved for the party.

He slowed his steps as he was closing in on the crowd around the mechanical bull, pacing himself as if approaching a business proposal. Hell, he didn’t even know if the man was interested in sleeping with men and Marco recognized how it could be a sensitive topic, so he wanted to approach this in a suitable fashion. But on the other hand, he had never been this aroused from just watching someone before. He could only hope it wasn’t noticeable, on his face or otherwise.

The group of people had grown since Marco first started watching them, and even though they all congratulated the man on his excellent time, it was clear that most of them were strangers. There was a small group that seemed to be the man’s friends, though, and Marco came upon them just as the man was walking over, grinning widely.

How unfair, Marco thought, that the man was so stunning and not his.

“That was great, Marc,” a young man with long, brown hair was saying just as Marco walked up to them, clapping the man on his shoulder.

Marc. What an appropriate name, Spanish from the sound of the groups accents. What a good cowboy name.

“Not my best,” the man — Marc — answered in a tone that suggested he was trying to be modest. “But definitely best so far tonight.”

So he was competitive, this Marc. Marco liked that in a man. Liked it even more when competitive men bent over for him, not because they thought they had to but because they desperately wanted to. Oh, just the thought of having Marc turn into putty in Marco's hands made him hot all over again.

Also, competitiveness was one of the most easily manipulated personality traits, in Marco's experience.

“So good,” he said in a strong, dominant voice, “that you won’t be able to repeat it.”

Marc's whole entourage turned to Marco, collectively giving him a once over, and he straightened, not the least frightened. Just to be certain Marc would rise to the bait, Marco lifted his chin high, looking down his nose at Marc and, as predicted, that made Marc's hackles rise.

“Excuse me?”

Marc had a very pleasant voice. A low, threatening baritone that made Marco vibrate much more pleasantly than that godforsaken bass.

Marco shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m just saying, if you’re as good as you seem to think, you should be able to repeat your performance.”

Marc snorted, turning fully to Marco, without a doubt the head of his group, shoulders squared and cocky grin back.

“Twelve seconds is nothing, man. That was just warm-up.”

By the look the older man with the wavy hair threw Marc, Marco suspected that twelve seconds was actually a rather good time and one that might be hard for Marc to beat. And Marco wanted Marc to win. Wanted him cocky and sure of himself as he submitted to Marco's touches.

“It was pure luck,” he challenged in a haughty tone, enjoying the twinkle in Marc's eyes.

“And who are you to say that?” a bigger man behind Marc asked in a gruff voice, the same man that congratulated him earlier. “Some kind of expert, are you?”

Marco spared the man a glance. Twinky, but a decent face. Marc sure knew how to pick handsome friends Marco would give him that. But they all paled in the face of Marc's appearance.

“Oh, I’m certain I would fall on my face if I ever tried,” Marco answered in a calm voice, smiling to himself when him admitting that made the man’s face fall. Marc, however, looked at Marco with sudden interest. “I was merely proposing a bet, since you impressed me and seem so sure of your own abilities,” he directed the last words to Marc, who drew himself up.

“Bull riding isn’t a joke.”

“So, you’re afraid?” Marco enjoyed seeing Marc flounder. “Well maybe it’s for the best. You must be tired; I doubt you would even last five seconds now.”

“Five seconds?” Marc spluttered, some of his group laughing, though it was unsure whether they were amused by the situation or Marc's suddenly squeaky voice. Marc walked into Marco's personal space and puffed out his chest. He smelled incredible. “I’ll last much more than that on any day.”

His low growl made Marco's whole body tingle. “Is that so?” he murmured, letting his eyes roam Marc's face and body. Marc definitely noticed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Marc grunted and Marco's eyes snapped up to Marc's, captivated by their beauty for a moment.

“I would, actually,” he easily admitted, voice low and inviting. “I would like to know that very much.”

Time seemed to stall for a moment, each caught in the other’s gaze, and Marco felt a thrill go through him. This was interesting, this was worth his time. Much more so than snorting tequila and salt from a random woman’s slick body or dancing poorly on rickety tables. Marco felt more alive in this moment than he had in years.

“Five seconds isn’t even a challenge,” the larger man said, interrupting them.

Marc seemed to shake himself.

“Eight, then,” Marco said with a confident smirk. “I bet you fifty euro you won’t last another eight seconds.”

“Fifty euro,” Marc muttered, eyeing Marco's clothes for the first time and seemingly only now realizing it wasn’t a cheap knock-off. “You better be able to fork that up, mate.”

“Don’t you worry about that, cowboy,” Marco winked and watched with satisfaction how Marc's pupils dilated slightly.

He muttered something that sounded like “whatever” and turned to go back to the bull. It had been busy in the background, flinging people off it left and right, and the crowd around it had grown even more but Marco easily found an empty seat where he could comfortably watch from afar.

Marc was talking to his friends, some of them throwing Marco looks, but Marc seemed determined to do this. Marco hoped they weren’t trying to talk him out of it because they thought he would hurt himself, Marco would be devastated if he inadvertently caused Marc harm. Most likely they were talking about the money, though, on the off-chance that Marc lost the bet. Marco really hoped that wouldn’t happen. No this was a battle he was willing to lose, to win the war, so to speak.

When it was finally Marc's turn to mount the bull again Marco was buzzing with anticipation, although he concealed it well enough. He saw Marc's friends tossing him glances from where they were standing, up by the ring, but he paid them no heed. He was perfectly comfortable back here, where he could pull one leg up and rest the ankle against his other knee, to hide inappropriate body reactions.

Because Marc was of course just as splendid the other time around. Time seemed to flow in slow-motion as Marc expertly rode the bull. He was either a natural or he had done this a lot, Marco easily concluded. Maybe he had even ridden real bulls? Now there was a thought.

A thick, muscular, frothing animal bucking as Marc worked every muscle in his glorious body just to stay on.

Marco grabbed his ankle and pulled on his leg a little, his dick swelling to ridiculous proportions just imagining Marc working the animal. Marc's face and body told of experience and Marco watched with hooded eyes as Marc frowned down at the fake bull, concentration wearing on his handsome face.

Would he look as concentrated when he rode Marco? Most likely not, not if Marco had any say in what went on. No, if he — when he was in charge, Marc would be completely relaxed, face slack as pleasure crested inside him.

Marco let out a shaky breath. He needed to calm down or Marc would be more disgusted than intrigued and Marco didn’t want that at all. Suddenly he felt as if he would suffocate if Marc looked at him with hatred and he was momentarily stunned by his own feelings. What did he care, really, what Marc thought of him? Marc was essentially a nobody, a stranger whose station was so below Marco it wasn’t even funny.

Except, when he watched Marc ride that bull, all of that seemed inconsequential. They were just two men in that moment, and Marco desired to stay like that almost as much as he desired Marc, as much as he coveted the man’s pleasure.

The ride ended somewhat more abruptly this time, compared to when last Marc rode. It still looked as if Marc had been in control of when to end it but as if he had been a bit more tired this time around and his tumble off the bull was less graceful and it took him a moment longer to get up off the padded area around the bull.

The long-haired man helped Marc off the stage and Marco stood up just as Marc walked over to him on adorably wobbly legs. A quick glance to the digital clock revealed an astounding 9.57 and Marco made sure to show appropriate surprise and awe, instead of the actual relief and arousal he actually felt.

“There,” Marc said, hands on his hips and voice delectably breathless. “Piece of cake.”

“So I see,” Marco said smugly and walked over to Marc, much too close even for acquaintances. “I’m man enough to own up to my loss,” he said with a smile and pulled out his wallet to fish out a fifty, one among many, though he didn’t show Marc that, not interested in catching the man that way.

“I hope there’s no hard feelings?” Marc said as he accepted the bill, their fingers brushing.

Marc's hand was shaking slightly, no doubt from exertion, and Marco was happy he had lowered the time for the bet so as not to force Marc to match his old time.

“None at all,” Marco said with an intimate smile, leaning in and speaking in a lower tone. “You should know, I’m also man enough to admit that I only wanted to see you ride that bull again.”

That made Marc's eyes flick down to Marco's mouth and up again. Marco enjoyed the fact that Marc actually was a bit shorter than him, if only an inch, and definitely smaller.

There was a beat of silence and then, “Are you sure you’re only interested in seeing me ride bulls?”

A pleasurable wave so forceful it almost choked him washed over Marco and he swallowed once to be sure his voice was under control.

“I can imagine you’re apt at riding all sorts of things.”

Marc shifted from foot to foot. Marco's blood rushed in his ears, drowning out every sound except Marc's.

“You content with imagining it or do you want a demonstration?”

Marco arched an eyebrow, enjoying Marc's challenging tone and squared jaw, but not as much as Marc's reaction to the look Marco gave him. There was clear arousal in Marc's eyes now and Marco reveled in it.

“I have a car outside and an apartment not far from here.”

Marc flashed him that wonderfully cocky grin of his. “Deal.”

Marco took a moment to check his phone when Marc turned to talk to his friends. A quick message ensured that his friends knew he was leaving and not to wait up. Marco smiled to himself as he heard Marc explain that he would “take a hike”.

“Marc, are you sure that’s—”

“Gotta live a little, Alex,” Marc said happily and slapped the man on his back before walking over to Marco. “Good to go?”

“If you are?” Marco said but started walking through the crowd around them without waiting for a reply. Marc easily kept up with his pace, as Marco had suspected he would.

“Don’t mind Alex, he’s just being an overprotective little brother.”

Marco nodded, not having much experience with that but understanding it anyway. “Maybe he’s right to worry a little, considering the things I have in mind for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Marc smirked just as they exited the club, the fresh summer air a blessing compared to the scorching heat of the club. Marco breathed a deep sigh of relief. “What are you planning anyway? You seem pretty vanilla to me.”

Marco smiled at the playful insult. “And yet you came with me.”

“Hey,” Marc said, voice suddenly low and seductive. “You’re like the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, I don’t care what you wanna do, I’m in.”

Not that Marco was really planning anything more outrageous than rimming Marc until the man cried from the need to have Marco's hard dick inside him, but it was good to know Marc felt inclined to trust him.

“You know my name, but I don’t even know yours,” Marc murmured as they settled into the Italians car, eyes on his lips. “I’m kinda stupid for even getting in this thing with you, huh?”

“My name is Marco Bezzecchi,” Marco said, other hand brushing down Marc's front, catching on the edge of the man’s jeans. “And please don’t call yourself stupid.”

Marc shifted so that they were sitting almost facing each other, Marc's hands working on opening Marco's jacket as he drove.

“That's too long for me to scream when I come,” he said, voice making Marco's body vibrate with desire. “I’m gonna call you Bez.”

“Please do,” Marco answered, voice equally hushed, and nosed closer so that Marc turned his head just as their hands found each other’s hard-ons. “My friends do.”

Marc moaned into their first kiss, low and sweet and all for Marco as the car parked. He swallowed it greedily, pressing closer as Marc pressed the heel of his hand against Marco's dick. Their lips slid together, noses bumping, but Marco was too wound up to keep to sweet kisses for long. Marc seemed just as eager in the way he opened up when Marco licked his lips and Marco pushed in deep, owned Marc in that one gesture and felt a chilled heat pool in his groin.

Marc, for all his physical strength, sagged against Marco, moaning into the kisses and pawing at Marco's dick. Marco's plan was simple in this moment: get Marc hot and bothered so that he would be pliant and willing by the time they got inside.

Too bad his own pleasure was spiking almost dangerously already.

“Fuck you’re good at kissing,” Marc groaned when they pulled apart. “I’m so hard already, god damn.”

“I got hard from watching you ride the bull,” Marco was surprised by his own sincerity but Marc seemed only pleased.

“I could feel your eyes on me the second time,” he murmured. “I liked it.”

Fuck it, Marco would just have to come up with a way for them to get hot and hard again when they arrived. He needed Marc too much right in this moment to show any kind of restraint.

With one tug and a push, he had flipped them so that they were in the back with Marc on his back, Marco comfortable between the man’s strong legs. Legs that had hugged that bull like they wanted to crush it were now around him. Marco's dick jumped in his dress pants and Marc no doubt noticed.

“You like me watching you?” he asked, voice a low rumble and Marc parted his lips, nodding and looking up at Marco with big eyes. “Do you want me to see you in your pleasure, Marc?”

“Fuck,” Marc pressed out, one hand grabbing Marco's arm and the other digging between them to start opening his jeans. “I can’t wait, Bez.”

“You don’t think you’ll make it, is that it?” he asked, rising to help Marc get their dicks out. “Do you want to let some out now?”

“I’m riding you tonight,” Marc shot back, eyes glinting and Marco shuddered with pleasure.

“I’ll remember that, little cowboy.”

Marc opened his mouth to no doubt banter back but instead a deep groan forced itself out when Marco pressed their hard dicks together for the first time. Marco's whole body sagged with pleasure and he pressed his knees harder against the seat, sitting up a little and putting one hand on the back of the seat for support as he took their dicks in his other hand, squeezing them.

Marc arched his back, gasping and grabbing the seat under him as his body shuddered. His dick jumped in Marco's grip, pressing against Marco's and there was really no stopping him now. Yes, he wanted to wait, and no, they didn’t even have lube, but the desire was choking him, and Marc was making all the right sounds as Marco started jacking them. Marc was apparently one of those guys who had a lot of precome because Marco's hand got sticky fast enough to replace the need for lube.

“I’ll take such good care of you,” Marco huffed out, breathless now as the pleasure burned white-hot inside him. “Rim you, prep you, fuck you.”

Marc moaned, legs flexing around Marco. “I’m gonna ride you until you cry,” he pressed out through gritted teeth and Marco felt an unexpected surge of arousal at the challenge. “Gonna ruin you for all other asses.”

Oh sweet Lord, Marco was going to come soon. He had never been this attracted to someone, the way Marc challenged him even while submitting was blowing Marco's mind.

“You’ll never want another dick,” he managed to quip, words clipped, and sped up his hand.

They rocked together in the dim light of the car, the world outside forgotten as they came together, hands grabbing each other and dicks aching, yearning to release. Marco's balls had pulled up, so prepared to shoot all over Marc, and Marc's dick was leaking a continuous stream of precome that Marco craved to taste.

His spine burned with his arousal and he panted hotly, leaning down over Marc again, one hand on the seat beside Marc's head as Marc grabbed his body to pull him even closer.

“I’m gonna fucking come,” Marc grunted, pushing away Marco's hand and wrapping his legs around Marco's hips, bucking up. “Kiss me.”

Marco readily indulged Marc, hips working to grind their hard dicks together and though it was rough with their clothes and zippers in the way, it was the most glorious Marco had ever felt. Marc kissed him as if he were a man parched and Marco cradled Marc's head, one hand on Marc's hip, encouraging his movements.

True to his word, Marc came only moments later, body locking up and a shaky moan escaping his parted lips. Wetness spread between them but far from being tacky, it only spurred Marco on and he came too, a handful of thrusts later.

“Well, that was something,” Marc panted after a moment.

Marco blinked and did his best to pull back but his head was swimming a bit. “It wasn’t what I had planned,” he admitted and couldn’t help but grin down at the mess they had made. It was all over their clothes. Marc of course looked ravishing covered in Marco's come. “But then, the night is young.”

“Definitely,” Marc grinned up at him, cocky as ever. “You aren't getting out of that ride.”

Marco felt a renewed wave of arousal just as the overhead light flashed around them. “Oh, I’m counting on it,” he smirked, thinking that for all its faults, the night couldn’t have turned out better in the end.

Marco walked them up to an apartment and then knocked on the door, he turned to Marc and smiled.

“Do you live with someone?” Marc asked, suddenly feeling like maybe this wasn’t the ideal plan.

Marco snickered, taking out a large ring of keys and trinkets from his jacket. He put the key in the lock and then turned to Marc before turning the key.

“No, I’m just scared of walking in on someone robbing my apartment so I knock to make sure they’re gone by the time I go in.”

Marc took a step back, “Are you serious?”

“Nope,” Marco said, opening the door and gesturing for Marc to enter. “It’s just a habit.”

The corners of Marc’s mouth turned up a little, amused, he poked Marco in the ribs as he walked past to show his mild annoyance with the bad joke. Marc chuckled, and then walked past Marco, letting the door stay wide open for some reason.

Marc's first impression of Marco's apartment was that it was well lived in, a loved space. Wherever he looked, there were pieces of personality shining through. It felt memorable, interesting. Full of care.

Marco stood still by the door, closing it behind himself. He took in the warm colors and the decorative knick-knacks that he could see all over. Potted plants kept high and low, posters and art in many styles and varying ages.

"Nice place. Have you lived there long?" Marc asked, pushing his hands down in his pockets just to have something to do with them. The space felt perfect, and Marco felt more perfect each second he spent with him.

"A few years," Marco turned to Marc, scratching his neck, and looked over this own space like he hadn't done that in a while. "It's too much, I know, but-"

"No, no. It's perfect." Marc felt the blush come alive again. "I like it."

Marco looked at him with some sort of surprise, nodding. He looked around again and then back at Marc. The looks changed almost immediately. 

He moved closer, a few steps to his side as he placed his hand on Marc's side. His fingers kneading down into the muscle there. Marco cornered him, making him back up until he was pinned to the wall. The pressure made Marc's breath catch in his throat. Marco's grip was light, fingers pressed down. And that was all that was holding him in place. 

"Hey," Marco said. He looked good like this, Marc thought. Standing over Marc. The light fixture above them made it look like Marco was wearing a halo.

"Hi," Marc answered, breathy and low. He had to lean his head back to the wall to get a good look at Marco when they stood this close. The closeness also made him in perfect view of the movement of the muscles in Marco's neck and jaw. Constantly moving, like Marco had tension built up that just couldn't escape. 

Marco moved his hands, placing them at the back of Marc's head. The moment felt like it could last forever. 

He pulled Marco's head down toward himself. Their noses touched for a second before their lips finally made contact. 

Marc sighed into it. The softness in which Marc stilled at that let Marco take the lead even further. Marco tasted sour, Marc needed more. The sensation of moving muscles under his hand and a grin against his lips filled Marco's mind with sparks. He quickly wanted more of all of it. 

With a light bite, he asked Marc for more. The question was answered by Marc opening his mouth and meeting him halfway, tongues brushing carefully together as Marco pulled Marc even closer, pushing both arms over Marc's shoulders to minimize the room between them. 

Marco had gone home with people before. The men had all just been distractions. Something to pass the time and release the stress of his day-to-day life. 

Kissing Marc, touching him, felt like something was coming into shape. Like the mass under his hands was clay ready to be molded into something. It felt different, and it made him feel desperate. 

"Bedroom?" Marc asked, 

"Yeah…" 

"No, where is your bedroom?"

"Oh, it's right there-"

Marc took Marco by then hand and pulled Marco after himself, turning when he got close to the door and pulling Marc close for another kiss as he fell with his back against the closed door. Marc met the kiss openmouthed and wanting, his hand going to the doorknob to open the door. He held Marco up with a hand on Marco's lower back, keeping his from falling backward as the door flew open and Marc lead him into the room.

Marc was stronger than Marco had anticipated, which gave him many ideas that he needed to explore.

Marco continued to move backward, Marc guiding him. When the back of his knees his something soft, he allowed himself to fall backward and Marc helped him lay down softly.

He pulled at Marc's shirt hem, annoyed by the extra layers. "Take this off," he said, mumbling his words and lazily flicking the fabric between his fingers.

Marc did as he was told, and the clothing was quickly discarded. Marco did the same, unbuttoning his dress shirt and throwing it in the same direction as Marc had started throwing his clothes. He started to unzip his pants, stopping only to motion for Marc to do the same. 

Marc was quick here too, the jeans falling down to the floor and then a fast two-step out of them. Toes catching the fabric and kicking the jeans to the side.

Marco snorted, pulling his pants down and off, letting them fall to the floor. He motioned for Marc to come closer, a beckoning finger asking him to come here. And once again, Marc did precisely what he was told, in record time. 

He crowded Marco, chests pressed against each other as Marc took hold just under the curve of Marco's ass and hoisted him more onto the bed. Then placing himself on top of Marco. 

"All good?"

"I'm great," Marco said, feeling his stomach flip as his mind replayed the light manhandling of the movement. So many possibilities, the opportunities were stacking up in neat little piles in his brain. 

"Good," Marc said, followed by a kiss. A quick peck, something to sign the deal. 

Marco could feel something in his lower belly start to form too early. He bit down, swallowed it, and placed his hands on Marc's shoulders as he hovered over him. He pushed Marc to his side, turning his own body so they were facing each other again. Legs still slightly tangled, feeling each other. The lack of pressure from another body helped, and Marco went in for another kiss.

The kissing got deeper, more rushed. Mouths open, small bursts of breathing against each other's lips to catch their breaths. Marc's hand graced Marco's cheek, moving along the jaw and then down over the side of his neck. Moving from the side and back to his nape, then back to the side in a slow movement.

Marc pulled away, already sounding out of breath. "Hey, so... What do you want?" he asked, his hand still moving over Marco's neck and into his hair. "Tell me what you like."

The touch felt deliberate to the point of almost being too much, too deep of a connection. Marco still leaned into it, acting like he'd been touch starved, and he was ready for a feast. 

"Well, you're the bull rider-"

"You want me to ride you?" Marc asked, raising his brow and trying to hide his grin. Marco was still touching him, looking at him like they'd known each other for all their lives, and not like this was something new, not some one-time thing. 

"I wouldn't mind that," Marc said, his eyes falling closed for a second as he composed himself. "But after seeing you in the car, I think you'd kill me — that… everything you did was… I don't think I can handle that happening again."

"Want to make another bet?" Marco asked, moving in close.

"Honestly, I'm starting to think that you always cheat when making bets."

"Is that a no?" Marco smirked. "I can show you a good time, I promise." 

"Jesus christ, are you always like this?"

"No, you're special," Marco said, smiling. He knew his words sounded insincere, but there was a knot in Marc's throat that scared him. Not of what he said but what he wanted it to mean. 

Marc leaned in, closing the short distance between them with another kiss. He positioned his body more on top of Marco, pressing him down into the mattress by his shoulders as he slowly made his way to fully straddling Marco. He could feel Marco half hard against his ass.

He pulled away from Marco's lips, his mouth gracing over Marco's chin and down his neck — making small stops to peck more kisses as he went. He found pleasure in this, feeling Marco's breath catch under him, the heat and taste of Marco's skin against him. It felt nice, felt needed. 

His hands squeezed Marco's shoulders before moving down to feel along Marco's sides, feeling and pressing his fingers down into the mass under himself to make it known that he was there. 

Marco's breathing was coming out in heavy bursts. Hitching and catching. Marc wanted him to talk, say something. Make a sound, something to tell Marc how he was feeling.  

Marc liked the sound of him, reveled in it.  

"This ok?" Marc asked. "You're quiet." 

Marco shuddered, letting out a gasp. "I'm just — this is good, it's good," Marco said, looking down at Marc. His lashes looked so dark like that. Heavy and thick, eyes studying. 

"Yeah?"

"Stop that," Marco laughed, pressing Marc's face down into his chest so that Marc couldn't look at him. "You fucking know it's good."

Marc didn't try to move against Marco's hand laying on his head. It wasn't holding him down, more holding him in place. There was no force, just the weight of Marco's hand. He grinned into Marco's skin, then continued his way down, down, down when he felt that Marco wasn’t going to hold him.  

Marco's hand was still placed on his head as he moved, and he didn't do anything until Marc reached Marco's lower stomach. His fingers tangled up in Marc's hair and pulled, stopping him from moving. 

"Give me a second," Marco said, so close to begging Marc wanted to tease the rest out immediately. "I just need to collect myself. Just one... One second."

With how Marc's head was placed, he still couldn't see Marco's face. The sound of his voice was thick, heavy and a bit slurred. Marc could feel Marco's pulse through his skin, feel the quickness of his breath. 

"That's fine," Marc said, moving his hands below Marco's hipbones and holding on with a firm grip. "I can wait."

"Fuck, Marc,"  Marco said. "How are you so good at this."

"Practice makes perfect, right?"

"God fucking damn it, ok… ok," Marco pulled his hand back, his grip moving from Marc's hair to the sheets. "Ok, do your worst. I'm ready." 

"Worst?" Marc asked, smiling up at Marco again, their eyes meeting. Marco looked flushed, his pupils blown and his bottom lip wet and marked. Marc wondered for a second if he was the one that had left the marks on there or if it was Marco biting down. Either way, Marc really liked the way it looked. 

"Best, whatever," Marco huffed and then threw his arm over his eyes. 

"I always do my best," Marc said like it was stupid of Marco to assume anything else. 

Marc's fingers moved under the elastic of Marco's boxers, pulling them down as he laid another kiss just below Marco's belly button. He then sat up, seated on his knees between Marco's legs. He looked at Marco lying there in front of him — bare, needy. Skin pink and shiny, a blotchy blush over his chest and neck. 

Marc's eyes moved further down, placing over chest hair that became a light sprinkling over a softer middle, which then became thicker as it went below his belly button. His eyes glanced lower, admiring his view as his eyes settled on Marco's dick.

"Can I touch you?"

"You've been touching me."

"Ha ha, can I touch your dick, you dick?" Marc pressed his thumbs into the soft skin by Marco's hipbones - making sure that Marco knew he was there. Desperate to leave a trace. 

"Please don't be funny right now. I’m already so turned on I’m scared to become a heart attack statistic.”

Marc laughed, "Is that a yes?"

"Yes, for fucks sake, touch me, please."

The room felt like it was filled with sparkling electricity as Marc bent down again, kissing from his last spot under Marco's belly button and continuing lower. He could hear Marco breathing heavily, his breaths falling into a steady, recognizable rhythm. Marc stopped, smiling against Marco's skin.

"Are you Lamaze breathing?" Marc asked between kisses, placing a last one at the base of Marco's dick. Marco let out a light groan.

"Yeah, I'm pacing myself." He sounded out of breath, flustered. 

"You're so weird." 

"You're such a tease."

"And you're so easy," Marc said, smiling up at Marco. "If you don't enjoy it, you can just tell me to stop."

Marco shook his head, "No, no, fuck no. I enjoy it.”

Marc crawled back up on Marco, placing himself so that they were face to face. Marco starred at him. Marc wasn’t sure what Marco could see, he was so close he was sure it would be blury, especially in the dimly lit bedroom they'd found themselves in.

“Hola,” Marc said, floating over Marco. His hands were placed on each side of Marco's head, keeping him up yet so very close.

“Ciao,” Marco said back, smiling. Marc sat back up, straddling Marco's middle. He reached for the curls covering his face and pulled them back, gently. “Thank you.”

“You need to see this part,” Marc said, leaning back to settle himself better over Marco's hips.

He started to move his hips softly, feeling Marco's dick press against the cleft of his ass. The fabric of his boxers was the only thing between them. Marco hissed, letting out small noises as Marc adjusted. 

"What you do is, you follow the motion of the bull with your hips," Marc said, lifting himself up and then moving over Marco's crotch again with an easy flow in his hip. "The trick is to find the motion the bull is giving you, feel it with your hips, and then let it all move through your spine. You don't fight it."

"Inter- ah! -esting," Marco said through gritted teeth, a low moan splitting the word up. Marc smiled.

"I've been told I'm a great teacher." Marc didn't stop moving, grinding down smoothly over Marco and feeling his squirm.

"Cazzo, you're killing me," Marco said, voice pleading. 

"Listen," Marc said, giving Marco a light slap on his cheek so he'd focus. "Just look at me, see what I'm doing?"

"Yeah," Marco said, voice breathy and low. 

"I want you to do this for me, ok?"

Marco blinked, looking confused. "I thought we'd already established that I'm stiff as hell."

Marco looked down at Marc, "yeah, I can feel your dick against my ass. I know."

"I meant the riding."

Marc chuckled, ”I know, the bet is that I can teach you ride the bull.” Marc pressed down harder, making Marco tilt his head back as a hollow sound left his throat. "and, as I said, I've been told I'm a great teacher." 

Marco took a deep breath, grabbing Marc by the hips and rolling them over. Marc felt like the heat was radiating from him when his back hit the sheets. Marco was on his knees between Marc's thighs, he kissed Marc once before leaning back on his heels and clicked his tongue.

"Well, let’s see what you can teach me, teach.”

Marc reached for the bottle of lube and slicked himself up by giving himself a few strokes as Marco positioned himself. Positioned over Marc, he leaned slightly forward — aligning himself with Marc's dick and then slowly pushing down.  

Marc gasped, mouth falling open at the feeling. The slow movement up and down as Marco took more and more of him was excruciatingly hot. When Marco bottomed out, he stilled. Looking at Marc with heavy eyes and wetted his lips as he was getting used to the feeling. He looked amazing like that. 

Marco adjusted, making Marc catch a moan in his throat. 

"You good?" he asked, placing one of his hands on Marc's chest and the other on Marc's hip — finding his balance. 

"Si," Marc said. "You can move." 

Marco did as he was told, lifting himself up and then slow down again. Marco watched him closely, his hands on Marc's hips to help his movement, not for control.

"Fuck," Marc said under his breath, sounding like a whine.

Marc bit down on his bottom lip, his fingers digging into the meat on Marco's hip as he thrust up at the same time Marco came down. It made Marco let out a surprised moan, his rhythm halting. Marc thrust up again, deep and hard, his hands on Marco's hips helping him find the pace again.

"Is it- fuck… Is it good?” Marco asked, moving again. He was stiff in his movement, not to the point of making any of it less enjoyable, but Marc was trying to make a point.

"It’s good, it’s so - Marco, Bez," Marc said, moving his hands down Marco's thighs and feeling the muscle work. "Remember what I said, just feel it and follow. Just – Fuck!" Marc threw his head back as Marco, again, did just as he was told, finding the flow with Marc's thrust and met him seamlessly in the movement. Moving in a wavelike pattern, his hips loosening straight away.

Marc felt tension pooling in his lower stomach, a coil heating up lower down. His grip on Marco's thighs tightened, begging Marco to go faster. Marco was making all kinds of sounds, low moans that grew to almost a shout. Marc wanted to taste the sounds he was making.

He tried to speed up even more, desperate to hear what else would come out. 

"You look so good. You look amazing," Marco groaned, feeling sweat run from his forehead and down his temple. "Fuck Bez, you sound amazing." Marc gripped Marco by the hip again, feeling up his sides. “Just like that, exactly like that. You’re doing so good.”

Marco smiled, not slowing his movement. "You like this?" he asked, more a question than a tease. Marc thrust up harder, hitting Marco deeper, and he fell forward. Gasping and whining.  

"Oh god, I'm so fucking close-" Marco said, digging his face deeper into Marc's chest. His fingers on the hand that used to steady him pressed down into Marc's sternum and left marks. Marc didn't stop, the angle was weird, but it seemed to get the job done just fine. Marco's face still buried in his chest, mumbling nonsense and breathing hard. 

The coil in Marc's lower belly was tensing up even more, he was close.

In the heat of the moment, he rolled them around. Changing positions so that he was on top and Marc fell on his back. He gasped, sounding like he was choking on air. Looking flushed all over, his eyes were almost entirely black and his curls ended up littered around, framing his face. Marc reached out and fixed them, wanting Marco to see, and then leaning down to kiss him as he started to move at a quick pace again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Marco said, his hands gripping into the sheets for leverage. "Touch me. Please, touch me."

One of Marco's hands grabbed Marc's, moving it over himself between them. Marc followed without question, placing his hand on Marco's dick and giving him slowly paced strokes. Marco's bottom lip quivered, his mouth open and a guttural sound came out. After a few more strokes, Marco started to cum roped between them. His body tensed, contracting on Marc as he tried to keep his pace going. 

"You feel so fucking good, Holy-" With what he was seeing, sensing, smelling, Marc came. His eyes slammed shut as the orgasm took over. When he came to, he felt light and boneless, lying chest to chest with Marco. Both still breathing heavily, both sweaty and sticky. 

After a moment, Marco cleared his throat, "Thank you for showing me the proper technique for doing that, I…." He laughed. "No, I can't even make up a joke right now. That was amazing. fucking hell."

"Yeah," Marc said, feeling like he was made of cloud. Marc Cumulus. Don't mind the double entendre. 

They lied in silence for a few minutes after that, Marc realizing he was still inside Marco much later than was probably acceptable. He slowly pulled out, both of them hissing at the sensation. 

"Sorry," Marc said, rolling off Marco and wiping the sweat from his forehead. "I think I lost most of my brain cells when I came, that was... Fuck, that was perfect.” He looked over at Marco, eyeing the shape of him. The size and the curve. He never wanted to stop looking, really wished he would be able to never stop. 

Marco pulled the sheet up over his chest, followed by Marc quickly pulling it down again. Like they are playing a game. Marco smiled softly and with a twinkle in his eyes. He seemed shy now. Like looking at Marc was too much, but he couldn't make himself stop. 

"Alright," Marco pulled the sheets up again, covering his chest up to his collarbones.

"That was good," Marc said, again. "Thank you."

Marco let out a full-body laugh, curving inward on the bed as he rolled over on his side towards Marc. He gave Marco a slow kiss on the cheek, and Marco wanted to follow him when he pulled away. 

"Well, you’re welcome." 

"Thanks," Marco said again, mortified by the sound of his own voice. 

Marco felt hot all over still, not in the same way as earlier but like a teakettle ready to start whistling. The light of the outside streetlight showered Marc's face in a soft yellow. It felt like a sign. Marco had just not realized what for yet. 

"All my pleasure, Bez." Marc said, rubbing the sheet over his belly. Really ruining them.

"No, don't say it like that!" Marco laughed, picking up the pillow from under his head and hitting Marc over the side of his face. "Don't be gross." 

"I think you like a little gross," Marc said. "I think you're a little freak that's just waiting to get out."

Marco hit him with the pillow again, "Shut up!" 

His laugh traveled from the middle of his chest, up and out in the open air of the bedroom. It ended in a smile, easy and genuine. Marc couldn't remember when he laughed like this last. 

Marc waved his hands over his head in retreat, laying the pillow down, and then rolled over on his side, face to face with Marco. 

"I'm not a freak."

"I know," Marc said. "Just a little bit weird and a lot of bossy." 

Marco felt himself blush, "Bossy?"

"Great quality, as I love to be told what to do." 

Marco narrowed his eyes on Marc, shaking his head slightly. "You don't seem like someone who does what others tell you."

"Oh, no. I'm not. I just like to be told to do stuff. It's different than actually doing what I'm told."

Marco laughed again, pressing Marc's face away from him with a  playfulness he didn’t know he had in himself. The night was dark and quiet. Marco could lie like this forever. But he remembered what it was, a quick hook up after some quick flirting in a bar.

The feeling of bliss didn’t leave him though, and Marc didn’t stop smiling at him.

"So," Marc started, turning his head and staring up onto the ceiling. "Can I call you sometime?"

Marco looked at Marc's side profile. The downturn of his nose, the double curve of his lips. He wanted to thank Marc's parents for their excellent work. They really did a great job with the gene composition. They should get a prize, some kind of award for their work. 

"Sure," Marco said. "You could do that."

"Nice, ok," Marc cleared his throat, still saying straight up. "And if I asked you out to dinner tomorrow, would that be ok too?"

Marco felt something flip in him, a flutter. "That would be ok."

"Great."

"Great."

Marc laughed, followed by Marco laughing too. 

"Good cause if this had been a one-time thing, I think I'd have to go celibate," Marc said, rubbing his hands over his face. "Don't think anyone else can live up to that. Ever." 

"Stop flattering me. I already said yes to dinner." Marco laughed, poking Marc in the ribs. 

"Hey, stop," He said, laughing too. "Maybe I'm flattering you for a second round?"

Marco let out a tired sigh, pressing his face into the middle of Marc's chest. Creating a burrow for himself to sleep. "Absolutely, I just need a nap first," He said. "Maybe a glass of water or a snack."

"I can accept all those things,” Marc said, his fingers moving through Marco's curls. “All those things are acceptable to me."

"Good, wake me up in like 45 minutes, ok?"

"Fine, yeah," Marc said, his fingers continuing to move through Marco's hair. "I'll do that."

[atinylittlepain]

Only Lovers Left Alive

cowboy!vamp!joel miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

He offers her another option between life and death. How could she refuse?

warnings | 18+ smut, slight dubcon initially, gore, blood, dark themes in general, you've been warned muah hahahaha

wordcount: 4.5K

a/n | vamp!joel has me by the throat (pun intended) and though this is my last fic before my two month break, i have decided to turn this into a series that will span the decades! i already have 1920s, 1950s, and 1970s vamp bb waiting in the wings for when i get back in august :) BTW this first one is set in the 1870s ish - ALSO, @toxicanonymity posted a mind-melting vamp!joel fic last night that y'all should check out if you have a taste for the ~darker~ things in life. k, love you, bye

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A condemnation. An exile. Execution and exultation all wrapped up in one. She knew that if she rode out of town she need never look back. A white dress hanging on the bureau in her room the last thing she saw before she slipped out into the night. Her daddy’s gun and her brother’s horse and a scrawled note for her mama left behind. Do not look for me, I am already gone. 

She has every intention to be dead by the time the sun unfurls over the plains. The only true escape for a woman in this world, a loveless marriage nipping at her heels on her way out. She rides hard in the inky darkness until the flickering lanterns of the town are only a blink in the distance. 

Her hands are shaking as she dismounts, eyes skittering over the lip of the canyon she stands above. A bullet and a fall. If it’s so easy, why can she feel the cool slip of tears as she presses that steel mouth to her temple? Just like she learned from her daddy, thumb back the hammer to load that single, sweet bullet. And a pull, as easy as a loose tooth snapping free.

But before she can, her horse lets out a nervous chitter, head swinging side to side. A man, silent, palms open and up, comes inching toward her out from behind a copse of sagebrush.

“Don’t come any closer!” He stops dead in his tracks, lips parted, eyes wide and glinting in the moonlight.

“Easy, miss. Don’t want any trouble. Just wanted to offer my help.” It’s such a strange thing to say to a woman with a gun nosing at her temple that she finds herself letting out a humorless laugh.

“Do I look like I need any help right now?” It surprises her, the smile that softens his features, eyes crinkling up, soaked in kindness, and understanding.

“With all due respect, miss, you seem perfectly capable. But you should know that pistol of yours ain’t loaded.” She almost doesn’t want to check, a hot rush of embarrassment skittering up her spine when she does and sees that the man is right. She can already feel the tight sting of tears, something uglier and more desperate than frustration settling in her stomach.

“You probably think I’m a fool, don’t you?” The man takes another step forward, still with his hands up, still with that kind look in his eyes.

“I don’t think you’re a fool. Think you’re hurting like a lot of other folks out on these plains.” Another two steps closer and he extends his hand out to her, and for some reason, she takes it.

“Name’s Joel Miller, miss. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, even under such circumstances.” Deep, dark brown eyes that swallow her up. She finds herself telling him her name before she can even think not to. 

“I ain’t gonna try to talk you out of anything. What I can offer you are some bullets, and maybe a meal if you’d like to stick around a little longer.” All charm, the quicksilver of his smile crooking in the pale light and she has to force herself to let go of his hand. She tries to take a few stumbling steps back, oblivious to the cliff-side her heel skids right over, a clipped yelp jolting through her chest before strong arms are wrapping around her waist and tugging her back from the edge.

“Woah there, miss. I think you’d prefer a bullet to a fall like that.” The way he so easily talks about it makes her stomach flip, something slippery settling that isn’t altogether unpleasant. 

“I don’t have money and I ain’t that type of girl if you’re thinking you’ll get something out of helping me.” He laughs, a low thrumming thing, his palms still gripping her waist, his legs brushing against her skirts.

“Ain’t that type of man, miss, I promise. Just another lonely soul like yourself.” His hands slip away from her, stepping back, a chill running up her spine that makes her flush.

“Tell you what, I’ve got a camp a few yards ahead. A quick ride on that horse of yours. You can think on it and when we get there, I’ll get you your bullets and if you’re inclined to it, a warm meal.” She knows she can’t go home, not now, something worse than death waiting for her there. And something about this man, Joel, is making her want to say yes.

“Alright, you have a deal. But just because my gun isn’t loaded doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use it in other ways so you better not try anything.” A grin, all teeth.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, miss.” 

He’s strong, she can feel it in the bulk of his thighs settling behind her on her horse, the steady, solid front of him pressed against her back. By the time they canter into a small rock outcropping, her mind is hazy with the feel of muscle pushing and pulling against her.

True to his word, the first thing he does after helping her down from her horse is to rustle around in his pack, taking out a silvery pistol and giving her two bullets from his own barrel, palms brushing in the trade.

“Those oughta work just fine in that gun of yours, though I am waiting on your answer.” That same slanted smile of his, eyes flicked up with the tilt of his chin.

“Please, miss. Pity a poor, lonely man. Just a bite.” How could she say no to that?

In the warm glow of the fire, shadows and light reveal just how handsome he is. The strong hook of his nose, the cut of his jaw beneath that patchy scruff of his. And those eyes, flickering in the flames, watching her every move. 

She hadn’t realized how hungry she was, and though it’s sparse, rough fixings, she finds herself scraping up every last bite. No one to tell her to chew with her mouth closed, no table to get her elbows smacked off of, just this strange, silent man staring at her.

“Aren’t you hungry too?”

“Oh no, miss, I’m quite alright.” It makes her pause, her breath hitching, as she stares down at her already empty plate, her stomach rolling in a quick lurch.

“You– I–”

“You worried I poisoned you?” He says it with that same grin, and she’d like to scramble onto her feet and onto her horse and get as far away from him as she can. But the cool prickle running up her spine keeps her seated right where she is, trying to stammer out some sort of response. Joel is quick to silence her stumblings with another laugh though, teeth glinting in the swerving light of the fire.

“That’s alright, miss. But you should know I don’t want to harm you. I want to help you.” 

“Help me?”

“Uh-huh. What if I told you that I could offer you another way out that doesn’t involve putting a bullet in that pretty head of yours?” Those eyes of his are catching her again, soothing the stilted beat in her ribs.

“W-what would it involve?” 

“Well that’s a bit hard to explain, miss. But I assure you, it’s nothing you wouldn’t enjoy, thoroughly.” His hand reaches out, fingers tracing along the hinge of her jaw, brushing down the side of her neck before dipping under the neckline of her dress, flickering back and forth, back and forth along her skin.

“If you ask me, a sweet thing like you deserves more out of this cruel, cruel world.”

“M-more?” Shifting closer to her, his arm draping over her shoulders, pulling her into the haze of him, that silvery grin up close.

“Don’t you want to feel good, miss?” His lips so close she can feel the brush of them along her cheek, his fingers curling tighter around her shoulder. And then, with a stuttered nod of her head, she sinks into him completely. 

She’s only had frivolous, playground kisses before. Quick, daring pecks followed by a fast dash away before anyone could catch them. This is not that. He devours her, licking into her mouth in a way that both shocks and soothes, his palm coming to hold her jaw firm in place as his lips move against hers. And she takes it, all of it, letting him move her to his will, his lips a wandering drag beneath the hinge of her jaw, lingering along the arc of her neck before dipping down to the tops of her heaving breasts pressing against the neckline of her dress.

“How sweet you are, my darlin. Sweet everywhere, ain’t you?” There’s nothing she could possibly say to that, her mind spinning in jagged gasps of sensation when he brings his hands to the front of her dress and rips clean down the front of it, corset and all, leaving her in just the thin gauze of her slip. She finds something like courage, a small ember of it smoldering enough for her to start tugging at the shoulders of his leather coat, earning a chuckle from him when he finally gets the hint and shrugs out of it.

“I need your words, darlin, else I can’t do this. Do you want this?” She’s not even entirely sure what this is, only that her mind is swimming in it, in him, and she wants more of it.

“Yes, Joel, I want this, I do.” He pulls her in for another bruising kiss, lips curled in that grin as he coaxes her to lay out on the cold desert ground, though she doesn’t mind with the way her body is burning up beneath his touch. 

She’s never done this before, guided only by the sharp tug in her belly, that aching want intensifying as he rucks her slip up beneath her collar bones and begins a salacious trail down her skin. His lips close around the peak of one of her nipples, a gasp dragging through her throat as his tongue laves over the bud. But it’s a rattling shock when he dips just a bit lower, teeth sinking into the full curve of her breast before his tongue sweeps over the sting, soothing, soothing, soothing. 

Lower and lower, a path of his open mouth mapped across her skin until he’s settled between her thighs, the broadness of his shoulders spreading open the hinge of her hips.

“No one’s had you like this, have they, darlin?” His eyes are blown black, unwavering, turning her shy and small beneath his question, her chin tucking into her shoulder as she shakes her head. He lets out a low groan at her response that makes her thighs clench, jolting in the wide grip of his palms.

“I’ll do all the work. All you have to do is let it feel good.” That’s about all the warning he gives her before his tongue drags a flat stripe through her cunt, her spine arching with the dizzying sensation as he settles his lips over a spot that makes her gasp. Over and over again, his tongue swirls against that aching point of pleasure, his palms turning harsh in their grip on her thighs as her muscles start to shake from it. Her eyes roll back, up to the stars in the pitch-black sky, ears thrumming with the obscene sounds of his lips smacking with her arousal. And it hits her all at once, everything going tight and hot with sensation before she unfurls for him with a sigh of his name, body languid and liquid as he continues to lap at her dripping cunt.

“Feels good, huh, darlin? Can make you feel so much better though.” She groans when his mouth meets hers again, open, wanting, receiving, the taste of herself on his lips making her mind swim. It’s primal, pre-human, the want she feels for the thick heat of him that’s settled between her legs, her hips canting up to chase that pressure. 

“Please, Joel, I want to feel good.” She’s almost crying with it. Nothing has felt like this, ever. And he’s more than willing to give her what she wants.

“Gonna take my time with you, darlin. Make it feel real good.” He plants one palm next to her temple in the red earth, his other hand fumbling to unfasten his pants and shuck them down enough so his cock can rest, heavy and flushed against the soft inside of her thigh. She has to bite back a whimper just looking at the sheer size of him.

“Don’t you worry, darlin. Remember what I said, huh? Not gonna harm you, just help you. Relax for me, that’s it.” A stretch, a searing, sick pleasure as he begins to drive his cock into her fluttering cunt. But he’s gentle, so gentle, a slow spread that has her mewling beneath him.

“There you go, taking all of it. Made for me, ain’t you? My angel, all mine.” She can’t help the moan that tears through her chest when he grinds his hips deep and driving, a pulsing, aching fullness that has her digging her nails into his shoulder blades. But that ache bursts into a snarling fire of want when he drags his hips back, only to roll them forward on a much faster, much deepers thrust, already settling them into a dizzying rhythm of push and pull.

“Joel, please I– feels so good, oh my go–”

“Just my name, darlin. Say my name and nothing else.” She does, long drawn out preens of it as he fucks her, that same pleasure pulling taut up and down her spine. 

“Again, darlin, just like this.” His words are murmured into her throat, that beating, pumping crook in her neck, and her body responds in kind, unraveling for him all over again as he continues the hot drag of his cock through her cunt. As she starts to come, those open-mouthed kisses snap into something else. Teeth, a graze, and then a sinking, startling pain. All she can do is hold on, her whole body going limp in his arms as that pain radiates into a burning singe. A rushing settles into her ears, dark pinpricks around her vision, barely registering the warbled moan he lets out as she feels something warm smear against her stomach.

“I think I’ll keep you, darlin.”

And then perfect darkness.

…

Like fingers skittering up her throat, she wakes up to a thirst so singular, so consuming, she actually brings her hand to her neck, wincing when her fingers brush what feels like a bruise across her skin. 

“You’re awake.” It startles her so badly she jumps, curling up and scrambling back until she’s pressed against a large boulder. Joel sits, crouched, studying her, face schooled and steeled. 

“I– how long was I asleep?” Her voice cracks, that thirst making her words weak and warbled. 

“About two days. Slept like the dead when I was done with you.” His words crackle with his grin and she has to shake her head to refocus on figuring out where the hell she is. Looking down at her body, she finds herself in men’s clothes, slacks and boots, a button up, all too big for her, most likely Joel’s. And then she remembers what he had done to her dress and her thoughts go hazy again.

“W-where are we, Joel?” 

“Just a few miles west. You hungry?” 

“No, I’m– I’m thirsty.” His grin goes big and bright at that, silvery slick in the moonlight.

“I bet you are, darlin. Why don’t you come over here and I’ll give you something to drink?” The promise of this need, this burning urge being slaked is enough for her to close the distance between them, letting him maneuver her shivering body into his lap.

“Just give your body what it wants. Easy as reaching out and taking it.” Her palms press against his chest, a futile struggle as he guides her face into the crook of his neck with his hand cupping the back of her head. But something else takes over in her, a fire flickering up her throat when her lips press against the thin skin of his neck. And it is what her body wants, lips parting, teeth snarling and sinking in.

“That’s it, darlin. My angel’s a natural, huh?” When she finally pulls away, eyes hooded and heavy with satisfaction, she finds herself smiling up at him, something slick and sweet simmering in her veins. 

“Thank you, Joel.” Teeth, all teeth.

“Of course, darlin. Gonna be you and me from now on.”

…

He offered her another option. Something between life and death. That is where she lives now. This is how she lives now. With him. 

When they must, they travel in the day, wide-brimmed hats tilted down, bandanas tied over their faces, long leather coats and gloves. Otherwise, they move in the night, over the vast, whimpering plains, whetting their particular appetites whenever they can, jumping towns before their faces can be known.

A year, maybe two, maybe even three. What use do they have for time? Caught in an endless tangle, just the two of them, and that blazing thirst. 

But there is one thing they have their sights set on. Making their way back, retracing their path, her path to him, until they find themselves on the outskirts of a town she swore she’d never see again. 

No guns, they don’t need them. Horses set loose, they won’t be needing them either. As the sun dips down over the plains, they walk through the main drag of town. He let her call the shots, agreeing when she insisted they come for the men only. Let the women and children run so long as they stay out of their way. 

It’s a long night. One that ends in her childhood home. And by the time the sun is coming up, one would find the ranch house with the front door ajar in a silent yawn, her mama and her sisters having fled. And on the porch, still holding his shotgun, her daddy’s splayed out body. Perhaps luckily, she didn’t have any brothers. Just the man she was supposed to marry.

“I’m so full, Joel. I don’t know if I can have another bite.” 

“Hmm, you wanna save him for later?” 

“I think I can make room.” Fear, like the cream top on a fresh gallon of milk. So, so sweet and rolling in waves off the man’s trembling body, Joel pinning him against the wall of her childhood bedroom as she paces back and forth. They haven’t had this much to drink in ages, and she feels dizzy, drunk off it, smacking her lips with the lingering taste.

“What are you people? W-what happened to yo–” Joel cuts off the man’s blubbering by jostling him back against the wall, teeth bare, something like a growl pulling from his chest.

“Now, Joel. Didn’t your mama teach you not to play with your food?” She grins, and he mirrors her in turn, looking over his shoulder at her. A hum in her throat, she glances around her old room, eyes settling on the wardrobe, her hands itching with a small want. She’s already moving over to it, opening it, and sure enough, that white dress is tucked inside. 

“That’s pretty, darlin. Why don’t you put it on for me?” It’s nothing for Joel to hold the man against the wall, one forearm pinning him by his neck as he turns to watch her, her fingers already flickering through the buttons of her shirt. She strips completely bare, savoring the two sets of eyes trailing her every move as she slips the simple white frock over her body.

“Look like an angel, darlin. Doesn’t she, boy?” Joel punctuates his question with a harsh press of his arm into the man’s windpipe, making him wheeze out a stuttered yes. 

“All this talk has worked up my appetite again.”

“This one’s all yours, darlin.” 

Blooming red flowers all down her dress, a trail of it down her chin that Joel laps up with a satisfied groan. They turn greedy with it, desperate to get the other bare, and when every thread of clothing is in a pool around their feet, he circles around her, his lips pressing into the striped scars on her back, a mapping of her history that she finally got to repay.

“How’s it taste?”

“You were right, Joel. There’s nothing sweeter.” 

“Except for you, darlin.” 

She’s not that shy little girl anymore. She knows how to take her pleasure, how to pull it from her man. And tonight, both of their bodies painted and slick with their feast, she does just that. All teeth, sharp, scraping nips when her mouth meets his, her hands tangled up in his hair to tug him closer with a low groan. Push and pull, a stubborn tangle onto the bed, her hands splaying out on his chest, nails digging in enough to make him hiss beneath her. Their skin sticks and slides with all the dribbling blood. They’ve always been messy eaters.

“Look at you, darlin. Like a fucking painting in my lap. So beautiful.” He swipes his thumb over her nipple, collecting a stray trickle of red and sucking it into his mouth with a thrum in his throat. And she in turn dips down to lick up the line of his neck, salt and metal on her tongue. So perfectly sated, she feels dazed with it, a slow-flickering want rolling in her belly as she drags her dripping cunt along his cock, just a taste of the pleasure they’re both chasing. But they’re both too far gone, too full of that ache for her to tease much more, sinking down onto him slow and smooth with a preen curling her spine.

“I’m so, so full, Joel. Fuck, so good.” Her whole body hums with it, the harsh press of his fingers into the curve of her ass, his eyes watching the tight bounce of her breasts each time her hips drop against his, and his cock grazing so deep inside her, that pleasure that snarls with just a tinge of pain.

“Take it, darlin. Fucking take all of it. My angel’s so good, always so good for me.” Planting his feet into the mattress, his thighs settle against her back as he starts to meet her thrusts, a broken cry dragging from her chest as she lurches forward in his hold.

“Yes, yes, yes. I’m so close, Joel. Please don’t stop.” Words she presses against his throat, collapsed on top of him as he fucks up into her, chasing that pleasure with snarling teeth so he can lay it at her feet. It snaps all at once, her whole body going tight and taut around him, a close cry of his name as he fucks her through it. She doesn’t drink, just a simple creature comfort to sink her teeth into the curve of his neck, a lick of pain that sends him right over the edge with her. 

They lay like that for a while, chest to chest, mouths sliding lazily together until sunlight starts to flicker through the window. She gets up with a sigh, his softening cock finally slipping out of her as she steps off the bed to close the shutters tight.

“I need a little taste.”

“Reckon there’s some left over, darlin.” The body is still warm, slumped on the floor. She crouches over it, still bare, flecks of red drying and flaking off her skin. His wrist, pale and perfect, untouched, just the place to sink her teeth and pull. Sweet satisfaction singing in her bones, she hums as she slips back into bed, curling up against her man and letting him lick the remnants from her mouth.

The story goes that a town lays somewhere tucked in the rolling dips of the plains that one day went dead. Women and children fleeing, and a fate far worse for the men. You can go searching for it in the daylight, when all lays still and silent, maybe catch a glimpse of a skeleton long picked over by some larger predator. Just don’t stay long enough to see the sun slip over the hills unless you’d like to meet a pair of lovers with a taste for a violence so pure, and an appetite that surely can’t be human. 

“You and me, darlin. Forever.” 

“Forever, Joel.” 

[madhatterbri]

Lost And Found | N.J.

Summary: Y/N always had a crush on Nick. One fight costs them their friendship. A wedding makes them both realize what they lost.

Play the AEW Virtual Escape Room I created.

Taglist: @plentyoffandoms

Pure fiction

Growing up with the Jacksons wasn't for the weak. Especially when they were in their pro wrestling phase, which happened to be all the time. Y/N would need other people's fingers and toes to count all the times they used a wrestling move on her. It would be fine, they insisted, they saw it on TV. No one was hurt when they saw it on TV.

She would allow them simply because she trusted them. They would never intentionally hurt her. There was a bigger reason that she allowed them to practice wrestling moves on her. Y/N had a major crush on Nick. More than anything, she wanted him to succeed and achieve his dreams.

After being friendzoned by Nick once again, she started to date one of their friends. It wasn't the same, but at least she could still be close to Nick. Whenever she and Matt got into an argument, Nick was there for her.

Things went south the moment Y/N found out his friend cheated on her. She ran to Nick for comfort. Expecting to just cry on his shoulder, he admitted he knew about it all along. The younger Jackson brother never said anything because he didn't want there to be any awkwardness.

Devastated at her friend's betrayal, she vowed never to trust either Jackson again.

They tried to get in contact with her. After blocking their numbers, she felt worse but knew it was for the better. Y/N ended up finding a new guy. He hated wrestling, much to her relief. It was like her past life was finally behind her.

🔔

One of Y/N's old friends invited her to be in her wedding party out in California. Forgetting about the Jacksons, she accepted the invitation happily. Even her boyfriend wanted to attend. After landing in California, they drove to a restaurant to meet the wedding party.

It wasn't until she saw them at the restaurant that Y/N realized she made a mistake. They brothers looked so shocked to see her. Y/N's boyfriend wrapped his arm around her waist. She smiled at him, and they walked to their seats.

All was going well until the bride called her over. Nick was with her looking tense. The bride told Y/N that she would be walking with Nick down the aisle as they were both in the wedding party. Not wanting to start drama, she begrudgingly agreed.

🔔

That night, the wedding party lounged at the beach behind their resort. The group of friends sat around the bonfire to combat the cool ocean breeze. Y/N stood in the water. A part of her missed Cali so much.

"Hey," Nick said and stood next to her. He shuffled his feet nervously.

"If it isn't about the wedding. Save it, Nicholas. I don't wanna hear it," she warned. He rubbed his hands together and looked at her.

"I don't know what's colder you or this breeze," he tried to joke. Y/N turned to look at him. She was sure everyone would be upset if she drowned him in the water.

"Don't you have another friend you can lie to? Preferably not anyone here? Are you still friends with the cowboy?" She asked.

"I was going to apologize and extend an olive branch to you, but forget it. We can both be awkward and miserable about all this,"

"There is no reason to be awkward or miserable about this. In a few days, I go back home, and we never see each other again," she snapped. "Now, please leave me alone. I'm not going to ruin their wedding,"

"I'm not trying to ruin their wedding," he said in frustration. "I get it. You are hurt, so you are lashing out like when we were kids, and I deserve it. I'm sorry for what happened,"

"Sorry won't make any of this go away," Y/N muttered and walked back to the party.

🔔

The wedding rehearsal was tense. Neither of them was speaking to each other. Last night, she cried over her dead friendship with Nicholas for the first time in months. She missed her old life with them but couldn't bring herself to just allow them back in.

Things went bad to worse when the bride suddenly had an idea for the wedding party to do a dance.

"We don't want you guys to kill us. But we wanted to do a dance with the two wedding parties. Nothing crazy and I promise you'll get back to your dates," the bride assured the members of the parties. All the other participants were excited about trying something new except for Nick and Y/N.

Her disgust at the idea melted when he wrapped his arm around her waist. She hated the way her body longed for his touch. This wasn't going to happen. Nicholas burned that bridge long ago. Y/N only had one more day to deal with him.

🔔

During the wedding, she couldn't help but stare at him. All the times she made him pretend they were marrying each other as children. It was part of their agreement for her being their practice dummy. Y/N kept a notebook with all the details. Pages were scribbled with Mrs. Y/N Jackson.

He seemed to stare at her. Maybe he was thinking about the past as well.

🔔

"The decorations at this party suck," Nick whispered to her during the dance. His arm around her waist. His lips were dangerously close to hers. "And you made us wear toilet paper for our weddings,"

"Shut up, Nick," she giggled. She couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Back to Nick now? I'm honored," He asked with a small smile. She rolled her eyes.

"Don't get cute with me. We have this dance, and then I never have to see you or Matt again," she reminded.

"This the guy?" He asked and motioned towards her boyfriend. "Seems like a dick,"

"Doesn't cheat on me, lie to me, or like wrestling. He's perfect," she defended. Nick rolled his eyes.

"You changing your likes for him? Match made in heaven. I can't wait to get my invite," he told her sarcastically.

"Unfortunately, your invite will get lost in the mail along with Matt's. Besides, he doesn't want to get married," she pointed out.

"Then why are you with him? He is your polar opposite," Nick questioned.

"What do you want from this conversation, Nick?" She asked in frustration. The man was getting on her very last nerve.

"I want my friend back," he answered truthfully.

"She isn't coming back, Nick. You hurt me. I dated your friend because you didn't want me. Then I got cheated on, and you lied to me. I'm no longer part of team Jackson. To join that team again would be heartache,"

"I never said I didn't want you," he defended.

The song ended. She left his arms and rushed back to her boyfriend. "Everything okay?"

Y/N blinked back a couple of tears. "Yeah, just looking forward to going home,"

🔔

The next morning, Y/N and her boyfriend made it to the airport. She felt sad about leaving California. The trip was so quick. Another month was needed to go down memory lane. Her boyfriend was more than happy to leave. He was a small town guy. Never liked the hustle and bustle of a big city.

Before passing through security, her boyfriend needed to use the restroom. She leaned against the wall and waited for him. Mindlessly scrolling through all the pictures on social media. There was one that caught her attention. Nick and her when they were younger. He had his big, goofy grin. The next picture showed them smiling as they danced.

"Y/N, I made it in time," he said out of breath.

"Nick? What are you doing here?" She asked.

"I.... last night, you implied that I friendzoned you. I wanted to clear it up, but you avoided me all night, and you have me blocked on everything,"

"The past is the past,"

"While we were at the wedding, I thought about us. You in the Belle princess dress and me in a suit like we always talked about. I know I fucked up. You should have never dated my friend. It should have been me," he told her. "I thought that if he would push you more towards me, but it cost me you,"

Her mouth dropped open in shock. "Nick,"

"Don't board that plane, Y/N. Stay with me. We will make it work. Fix everything. I don't wanna lose you again. I can't lose you again,"

Tears silently fell down her cheeks. Her boyfriend walked out of the bathroom. She quickly wiped them away.

"Oh, hey man, you flying out for work?" He boyfriend asked. Before Nick could answer, he turned to you. "Come on, honey. We start boarding soon,"

She looked between her boyfriend and Nick. Her eyes rest on Nick. "I'm so sorry,"

She turned to your boyfriend. "But I'm staying here in California,"

[walkergirlsposts]

"some people in this fandom are assholes, and it has nothing to do with worshiping J2M.

for example, I've seen people accuse Misha of being a pedo, something so disgusting a vile, an accusation that could ruin someone's life.

now forget about Misha, if people were talking like that about your bro, your dad, your friend, your partner, your son, would you be happy about that?

how about the people who thinks of Jensen as less of a man?

just because his wife teases him a little bit and he just goes along with the joke.

tell me what would be a better, more manly reaction, what should he do? yell at her? tell her to shut up? hit her? be aggressive? just because of a joke.

seriously i've seen people in this fandom said way meaner stuff about Jensen, than any joke Danneel has ever done.

if i heard you say the same about literally any random man on the street, i would still think you are an asshole."

Anon your intentions are good, you sound like a good person, and you are right everybody has a personality and makes mistakes. But sometimes people get to entitled and they cross the line and don't apologized. You can choose to be on the side of the fandom were you enjoy the actors as actors and Spn, but there is another side who look at them as people. Misha queerbait his fans many times and has made some racist jokes and some bad jokes about underage girls. Jensen didn't like Brokeback Mountain because the protagonist are gay and it's a "joke" towards the cowboys, he showed many times his preference towards JJ, is oldest daughter and he backstabbed Jared with TW and said that Jared was drunk when he was twitting those messagges, and it wasn't true and he never apologized for anything. I am not saying Jared has never done any mistake BUT he always apologized for them, for the fight for example, and he also said during a podcast to his fans to not attack Jensen for TW, and Jensen never did the same.

I suggest you look at the Anti Danneel tag because the woman is messy. She and Jensen both cheated on eachother partner to be together, Danneel's fiancee was Jensen' best friend. Danneel gave an ultimatum to Jensen regard the marriage. A groomsman of Jensen said that Jensen had so much anxiety that his father gave him pills because he didn't want to get married, but his father said that this was an investement. Jared was one of Jensen's groomsmen but Danneel didn't want even if Jensen was protesting about it. In their honeymoon there was also Danneel's brother and he also lived with them for a period of time. She was so jealous of other girls that she trew tantrums on the set of SPN and was banned for 3 seasons. She said that she had an audition for SPN while in another interview she said that the role was written just for her. She also bodyshamed other. She also posted a picture of Jared after he told him not to do it. And you can find on youtube videos of Jensen loosing his patience with her.

Go and watch the youtube video with JDM, hilary, JA and the nurse.

Not much more to add to this anon. Everything is 💯 spot on.

[x-liv25-jamieswife]

could you please do a headcannon of the Hawthorne brothers but like with a younger sister? idk I think that would be really cute.

the hawthorne brothers if they had a younger sister head canons

hope you like these <3! (not proof read, again - literally none of my posts are)

nash would most definitely teach her how to ride horses

he'd also buy her cowboy hats and cowboy boots

when she got her first boyfriend, nash hired a PI to learn everything there is to learn about him. she found out and got really mad at nash. she told him that she could take care of herself and she didn't someone else to do it. she got so mad nash actually got scared.

jameson and her love taking trips together. they've been to like every place in europe bc they love it sm (grayson tags along sometimes and takes pictures of places, jameson, and the younger sister).

this girl is literally so obsessed with avery, max, and libby. she's so happy she has girl friends.

once, there was this guy at school who was really creepy and was kinda scaring her and the four of them went behind her back and scared the living shit out of him (they would send him creepy messages, call and threaten him, would follow him home, etc). she got mad (again) bc she's so tired of men thinking she isn't capable of taking care of herself.

xander and her love hanging out and doing face masks, make up, etc. they're always gossiping.

grayson taught her how to take photos bc she wanted to learn.

she helped nash plan the proposal

grayson feels most comfortable venting to her

hawthorne fans literally love her sm. they love her more than the brothers.

whenever she gets sick, the four brothers are always doting on her (she pretends to hate it but she actually loves it)

one time, this guy tried to kiss her without her consent and grayson beat the shit out of him. the guy managed to get in a few punches though. that was the one of the only times she'd ever seen him look less than perfect.

when they were younger, jameson loved scaring her. he'd creep up behind her, plant little traps in her room etc. when she became old enough, she started doing the same. to him.

she lovessss horror movies. she's always forcing xander to watch some with her (xander is secretly scared of them and has nightmares.

when she was younger, she thought there were monsters in her closet, so she always got nash and grayson to check it before she went to bed.

when she couldn't sleep, she'd either head to grayson or jameson's room.

she was a hugeee disney princess fan growing up.

for halloween, she'd always get jamie to dress up as a disney princess while she dressed up as a knight (one time, she got grayson to dress up as a princess)

jamie used to read her bed time stories

when tobias would say smth shitty to her (like when he'd tell jamie he wasn't as incredible as his brothers), the four of them would rebel against tobias (one time they destroyed all of his important papers)

she's a romance book lover but she prefers fantasy (preferably with a romance sub plot)

grayson takes her book shopping (he reads classical books)

whenever she's sad, jamie cheers her up by taking her on walks or watching a movie with her (basically just simple things that show that he cares, and that he's there for her)

she lovesssss coffee (like gigi). her and gigi are best friends and can't go a day without seeing each other (grayson is exhausted)

she loves thrifting her own clothes. she sometimes thrifts some clothes for her brothers.

she is always the best dressed at galas/events. fans have fan pages dedicated to her outfits and stuff.

this one time, a fan commented on one of her post saying that she was literally in love with her. that commenter received hate comments like (omg you're weird, that's so embarrassing, etc), the younger sister destroyed the haters and invited her to meet her irl. they're now really close friends. (that fan really loves robotics and loves spending time with xander, he loves to spend time with her too)

she's an overthinker. she gets extremely anxious. nash and jamie are always trying to comfort her (nash by reassuring her verbally, and jamie by taking her out on excursions and stuff).

she loves dancing in the rain (sometimes gray joins her)

she has a very subtle southern accent that she got from nash.

her father is a wanted criminal (idk why)

[riddles-n-games]

So we all know the Hawthorne brothers are all fine as heck Texan born-and-raised gentlemen which means other than the fancy schmancy stuff they do throughout the series, they probably know how to ride. And I don’t mean English riding, I mean down and dirty in the dusty sand, bucking bronco Western riding. Given that ole Tobias Hawthorne was loaded, not only did he make riding lessons an essential for his grandsons but he also owned a big-ass stable on his property. I know it’s never mentioned in the books, only that Vincent Blake owns a ranch, but you can’t convince me otherwise that this Texan billionaire didn’t have his own stable on the property. No chance, no way; I think he’d be considered a fraud if he didn’t. Anyways, when the boys were comfortable in the saddle and more skilled with controlling their horses and riding, only then did their grandfather start making them choose specialties. As they got older, they took part in rodeos and competitions, producing another bout of trophies for the old man to put up in his office. Like always, the boys proved Hawthornes came and conquered, being the best of the best.

Nash-Of course, this man’s the best of the bunch. He is the most experienced and rather well rounded in all disciplines. It’s part of what lets him live his cowboy fantasies but he does have practical use for what he learned. His grandfather has many prized cattle breeds, mostly the famous Texas Longhorns along with Ankole-Watusi, American  Brahman, and even water buffalo (Hawthorne cheese is where it’s at) so he often leads the cattle roundups and if he ain’t a sight to see when he’s  roping up stray calves (those muscles though; I see you Nash). As said earlier, he’s pretty good at everything in this style of riding but competitively, he’s mostly into western pleasure yet also enjoys reining just about as much. His Appaloosa-Quarter Horse mare, Chili Pepper (yes, named by the one and only Xander and no, it’s not because of Horseland; if you know,  you know) excels at these and is a bit of a showoff (Nash is pretty sure the feisty thing is self-aware whenever she prances sassily around the ring after a win). But, for them, that’s easy stuff, light work, and Nash likes a bit of an adrenaline rush now and then so on the more energetic side of things, his favorite event is  cowboy mounted shooting. In practice, he’d sometimes sneak out one of his grandfather’s Winchester rifles to get a kick out of it (lowkey this boy always tried finding small ways of rebelling against his grandfather’s wishes). However, when he was 19, he quit the rodeo shows and big competitions in another effort to show the old man he didn’t have control over him and that actions spoke louder than words. Nowadays, Nash does mostly local events for the fun of it but has attended some major ones  in the last few years, twice at the State Fair and once at the Calgary Stampede; Xander and Jameson even went with him in a show of support.

Grayson-Though he prefers English riding and excels in classic dressage, his Western specialty is cutting and his Arabian stallion, Onyx (known as Bandit Noir in the show ring) is a nightmare for the calves when he starts switching sides at lightning speed with his front legs. Sometimes he gets so excited after Gray has singled out a calf that he starts zipping towards it in a zigzag motion that Grayson has to restrain him a bit so that he doesn’t go overboard. When he was younger, he trained him to do this move after he watched  a documentary showing gazelles use this technique as an evasive maneuver to escape cheetahs and thought it was a cool trick. He perfected it in two months flat. His Shagya Arabian mare, Moonlight, is more calm but  her focus is unmatched when she’s cutting and she’s also his chosen horse for working equitation. Grayson was the one who inspired  Xander to also  learn this discipline and they would do training sessions together; he also let his youngest brother ride Moonlight in competition at times. Surprisingly, he also did barrel racing alongside Jameson and of course, these two got very competitive over this sport. They set several records at competitions and even a few national records at rodeo events but Jameson had more in the end.

Jameson-Barrel racing, need I say more? It’s his favorite event and discipline of choice. The faster his horse goes, the better the thrill and the dizziness to go along with it. His Nokota stallion, Rhubarb, is the speediest barrel racer of the Hawthorne horses and proudly bred by his grandfather. For fun,  he would get more barrels and see how fast he could go bareback and one time the crazy boy decided it would be a good idea to ride backwards while his steed ran the course. Of all the brothers, Jamie’s the one who loves the riskier events (because of course, not that that’s surprising) including saddle and  bareback bronc riding, calf-roping, steer wrestling, even bull riding (steer riding until he was 14). But he’s also the one who has the most bruises and scars from Western events. He was banned from doing bull riding after Nan attended two of his competitions and both times the rider before him had a nasty fall, ending up in hospital. Jameson may have never fallen in the most major competitions but he did have some close calls with being almost run over and even suffered a bad kick to the ribs during one of his practice runs. Although the old woman is weathered from her rough years and is still a badass, she still cares for her great grandsons very much and hates to see them get hurt. So as reluctant as he was to leave the sport, for his Nan, he did. Occasionally he also participated in team roping with Nash, always taking up the heeler position while his brother handled the horns because Nash didn’t want him to get hurt until he got older and insisted on trying the header part for himself. He got used to it quickly from all the times he watched Nash during practice seshes but his oldest brother always watched off to the side with pursed lips knowing his risky behavior. They were three time champions in a row from 2016-2018 with one time him being header. Being the adrenaline junkie he is, it’s no shock that he loves doing stuff at breakneck speeds and other than barrel racing, he is amazing at pole bending. Jameson enjoys a good test of agility and has a great Mustang-American Paint mixed mare named Misty who whizzes by the poles so quickly that everyone in the stands is always quoted saying they blinked and missed the entire round.

Xander-He was a bit more reluctant to even start out any events but Nash and Grayson coaxed him into them and eventually he got settled quite quickly into trail class, working cow horse, mounted drill with Jameson and Grayson, and versatility ranch riding. He dabbled in western dressage but got annoyed with it because he never felt synchronized enough with his horse and his trainer got frustrated with him many times. Trail class ended up being his major and he trained with two Quarter Horses that were bred by his grandfather, Rona and Rolo (nicknamed Roly Poly). He would switch between the two and both were extremely good at delivering but Rona, his mare was ultimately better equipped and motivated while his gelding, the mare’s full blooded younger brother served better in mounted drill. Xander conducted experiments to see as to why but it seemed like the gelding thought the routines were simpler to learn and always finished with a happy buck when they finished. But as he got older and hit his growth spurt, Xan felt like his height was becoming a negative factor to riding anymore of his horses in competitions so he stopped. His grandfather offered to buy him a ready, trained horse better suited to his stature so he could continue but Xander declined since he didn’t want to restart with training and he was awfully attached to Rona and Rolo. Instead, he continued competing but in halter and western showmanship classes where his horses shined just as brightly with shiny ribbons often being pinned to his horses’ halters as a prize.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed this! This has been sitting in my drafts way too long but @hathorneheiress has given me the push I needed to get it out here for you guys to read. It's only part one of my horse headcanons. There will be more about the Hawthorne family's current horses and their equine history in the next one.

[howdy-cowpoke]

TIMING: Mid-July LOCATION: The Bizarre PARTIES: Monty (@howdy-cowpoke) & Inge (@nightmaretist) SUMMARY: Monty & Inge meet each other at the Bizarre, finding kinship in their struggles with hunters and bonding over a little murder. CONTENT WARNINGS: Zombie-flavor gore lol

—

There were probably much safer places to do this, but there was nowhere more convenient. Anyway, it wasn’t like he’d come alone — he had Daisy, Dallas, and Denver with him, there more or less as support in case the harvesters on the other side of the market decided to cause trouble. Again, possibly. Monty still wasn’t sure if they’d been the ones to send the strangers that had slaughtered a portion of his livestock, but he might as well assume they had and prepare for the worst. 

The reason for their visit to the market was business: they needed to hire more hands to help protect the farm, as Emilio had suggested. For all his shitty opinions, that hadn’t been one of them. They needed more people, and more that knew how to handle themselves in a scrape. So the four set up a temporary booth in the market after finding out where the new entrance was, plopping their folding card table and chairs in a vacant spot. There was nothing flashy about the production, mostly just a “Help Wanted” sign and Daisy working her charm on passersby. Monty sat at the table to speak with the ones she was able to draw in, and Dallas and Denver stood behind him, arms folded across their broad chests, looking every bit the bodyguards they were meant to be. 

One such interested party, stopped by Daisy for looking like a capable young man who was down on his luck, was corralled toward the table with promises of a place to sleep and free, ethical meals. There was more vetting to be done, of course, and Monty couldn’t afford to let his desire to help anyone that needed it get in the way of his goal. It was clear to him that there was a lack of community between different supernatural species, seeing as how shifters and fae had helped attack the farm. At least of the ones they had killed. So it would continue to be an undead-only venture, and while zombies were preferred, Monty wouldn’t turn away an undead that felt kinship to them. There would be follow-up training sessions that would weed out the liars, of course. This had never been their way before, but someone had made such caution necessary. 

Smiling up at the young man as he walked with Daisy up to the table, Monty held out a hand to him. The palm that slid into his was warm, too warm for an undead, and his grip tightened as he regarded the young man carefully. 

“You are not dead,” the cowboy stated bluntly. The man looked around at them anxiously, his gaze lingering on the brothers that stood like pillars behind Monty. 

“What… what d’you mean?” He laughed nervously. Monty sighed, lacking his usual patience. 

“You are not dead,” he repeated. “We are only hiring undead, I’m afraid. I wish you luck.” The smile on the stranger’s face fell slowly into a frown, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“Fine, whatever, man,” he huffed before stalking away. Daisy gave Monty a shrug, who lifted his hat to run a hand through his hair.

“I would suggest trying to touch them before you decide to bring them over,” he offered curtly, which earned him a hard stare from the woman. He quickly relented, dipping his head. “Sorry, Dais. I am just…” 

“I know, sugar,” she said softly, giving him a sad smile. “It’s alright.” 

Monty felt a hand on his shoulder, much heavier than Daisy’s own, and glanced back to see Dallas reaching out to him. He laughed gently, patting the man’s hand before adjusting himself in his seat, then giving up and getting to his feet. “Take my spot, eh, Denver? I need to… stretch my legs.” The other man nodded, sitting down in the chair that was too small for him, expression stony. Monty couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him or his brother smile. Times were… hard. Dallas followed Monty away from the stall after a quick exchange with Daisy, refusing to let him wander around by himself even when the older zombie insisted. So the pair began their walk, Monty making sure they stayed well away from the meat market section of the bazaar. 

—

If a place could be a muse (in the artist sense, not the fae one — Inge didn’t know very much about those types), then Wicked’s Rest was one that could never be depleted. It showed her time and time again that there was still room within her to feel horror. And it was through that horror that her art improved, that her nightmares were more vivid and rewarding than they had been in a while, that she felt like the muse – again, not the fae kind – was blossoming.

But it was a double edged sword. For all the inspiration she gained, she also gained paranoia. Suffering made great art, she knew that. She knew that for all the stress she experienced she’d come out an even more accomplished artist, that soon she’d have a breakthrough again and create something that would be a culmination of the past three years in this town. One day she’d look back on her time in this town and stroke the scar on her stomach and not think of factories, classrooms or bunker basements, but in stead of the sculpture or installation she’d made.

So she had to keep at it. Despite the paranoia. Despite Cortez’ promise to chop her up. Despite Dīs being gone. And so that was why she was here, at the supernatural night market. She wanted something to protect her home, the apartment she’d grown so fond of over the past three years. A corner of Wicked’s Rest she wanted to feel as safe in as she did in the astral. Coincidentally, she knew of the place because of the astral — one of the mares she’d encountered over the years was employed there. Inge found it preposterous, using ones astral hopping skills for employment. Still, it was nice to have a connection to the Bizarre. 

She was interested in getting some kind of artifact that could safeguard her home, but it was slim pickings. She knew something like it had to exist – she’d heard of it before, had encountered something of the sort at another similar market (but she’d been too cocky to get it, then) – and yet. Nothing. No slayer repellent. 

Besides, it was hard to not get distracted by all the things on offer. She’d always had a materialistic streak, even if she also tended to be a little stingy. Her eyes were glued on a strange looking medallion she was resisting to ask about when she crashed into a pair of other patrons. It was an act of clumsiness she didn’t think befit her, but her shame would never reach her cheeks as the blood in her veins was stagnant. “Oh,” she said, “Sorry.” Her gaze traveled to the necklace for another second and something within her yearned, but she looked back to the people she’d crashed into. The man hadn’t given off any bodily heat. “What’s up ahead that way?”

—

Monty was taking this time to admire the Bizarre for what it was: a helpful resource, one he'd not fully appreciated the last time he'd been here, distracted and afraid as he'd felt then. There was no fear now, just anger. Indignant and burning, righteous in morality but what should have felt repugnant in how it made him crave revenge. It didn't, though. The desire to crack open the skull of that stupid man that owned the organ stall, to curl his fingers around that brain and rip it free from its stem felt good, and that on its own was alarming. Monty had not felt such things in many, many decades, and he dared not speak them aloud. He wondered if any of his friends could tell… if the reason Dallas had accompanied him was not to protect him from harm, but to stop him from dishing it out. 

It wasn't impossible, he supposed. Even Daisy had been extra gentle with him, quickly forgiving his harsher words that he truly didn't mean to let slip. She seemed worried. They all did, but he had of course assumed it was about the attack, not about him. 

But the way Dallas was looking at him now, distracted enough to barrel right into a woman admiring a pendant, Monty couldn't help but wonder. Dallas barely reacted to the collision, only stepping back to give the woman space and raising a hand in silent apology. Monty quickly stepped in, concern lacing his soft features as a hand found a brief but telling home on her arm. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder as he considered her question. He… hadn't been paying attention for a few hundred yards, lost in his thoughts as he'd dissected the nature of Dallas’ gaze as it kept stealing glances his way. “Ah! I am… not sure, besides our own booth. We were busy… talking.” They hadn't spoken a word. He removed his hand politely, giving her a smile. “What's that?” he asked, eyeing the same pendant she'd been mesmerized by. 

—

How ironic, to be using such polite words in a place like this. A sorry, an are you okay — as if they weren’t scurrying around in a bazaar that moved from place to place via the astral. A bazaar that was filled to the brim with unethically sourced goods and magic goods Inge didn’t even fully comprehend. It amused her, the way he was so gallant, almost. Maybe it had something to do with his age — considering his body temperature, there was a chance he was older than he looked.

“Oh – yes,” she said, waving away his concern. Any question of whether she was okay or not had been met with that same answer for decades, and this time it wasn’t a lie. Maybe a few months ago it would have made pain echo through her body, but she was walking with more ease now. “I can handle a little bump.” 

She raised a brow at the revelation that the other had his own booth. “Hm, what is it you have on offer?,” she asked, letting her gaze flick from the talkative stranger to the silent one. Inge might have prodded and poked the quieter person if she’d been in one of her more upbeat moods, but she had come here with a mission. “And I understand — talking does tend to take away quite a bit of my attention on good days.” 

She moved a little closer to the pendant now, lifting a shoulder, “I’m not entirely sure. It looks beautiful, though … not very subtle, but sometimes an outfit needs a statement piece.” Knowing her luck, it was probably cursed. Inge resisted the urge to reach for it — she could step by and barter on another day. “Not sure if it is what I’m looking for. Do you know anything …” A wave of unease passed through her. To seek for protection was to admit that protection was needed, which was to make others know you thought yourself a target. She didn’t much like it. “Ah, about where to find some form of security?”

—

“Work,” Monty responded simply. She was undead, yes, which (perhaps foolishly) instilled him with more trust, but even so, he did not want to reveal too much. That is, not until her attention turned back to the pendant and she revealed what it was she was looking for, then asked if he had any suggestions. He gave her a sad smile, feeling an immediate kinship as a fellow undead looking to protect themself from those that wished them harm. 

“I am sorry you feel the need for it,” he started. “And I am looking for the same thing, actually, though… not in the form of trinkets.” His gaze fell on the pendant again and he shook his head. “This is the work I am hiring undead for. I have a farm, and we were recently attacked.” Beside him, Dallas seemed to bristle angrily at the memory. Monty put a hand on his arm, taking a beat to allow the feeling to pass before continuing. “It was because of our nature that this happened. We are, all of us, undead. The farm is a way for us to have access to food that helps keep us sustained without threatening the safety of innocent people. Someone here,” he gestured vaguely at the entirety of the Bizarre, though his gaze settled in the direction he knew the organ harvesters to be, “does not like that. They want us to be put out of business. They killed a great deal of our livestock. So I am hiring again, to better protect us and our animals.” 

Perhaps he was being too honest. Perhaps he should have said less, but… something about the woman made him want to trust her. Anyway, he had to be honest with the people he vetted for hire, so what was the difference? It did not matter if she could not or would not work at the farm (she did not seem the type, anyway… nor did she seem desperate for a job), because she was undead and she too was seeking safety. “So unfortunately, no, I am afraid I do not have any helpful advice for you, in the matters of protection.” Holding out a hand for an official introduction, he tried to put on a warmer smile. “My name is Monty. This is Dallas. It’s nice to meet you…?”

—

The zombie prattled on, revealing that he was a farmer (this much Inge could have guessed from his appearance, looking back on it) and that he farmed … well, whatever it was he and his kin needed. So zombies or vampires, then. She found the entire concept somewhat endearing, even if she had long ago moved away from the world of farms.

“Hm,” she said, “I am sorry, too. In your case as well. It’s good, though, I always find — to meet more of our kind. For a bit of solidarity, no?” Exchanging hunter’s names and faces, or having a place to turn to when she was ran through with a sword. It wasn’t a luxury to have a network of undead: it was a need. “I would like it very much if a trinket was enough to protect me, but I think that’s just wishful thinking.” Maybe there were spells or charms that could keep a slayer from detecting her — but that was no longer the issue. Slayers had detected her. A fucking necromancer too, on top of it. “It sounds nice, though. Your farm. I’m not much of a muscle for hire, though, and animals dislike me, but maybe if you stumble upon something useful you can let me know? And vice versa?” Her nose crinkled. “Sorry people are giving you trouble for being self sustaining.”

She took his hand without hesitation, glad to hold a hand that was similar in temperature to her own. This place brought risks, after all, so it was nice to be around someone she didn’t have to suspect too much. “I’m Inge. It’s nice to meet you too.” 

—

“Sí, solidarity is a good thing to be having,” Monty agreed. The reveal that animals were not fond of her immediately drew his mind to Ariadne, and he smiled fondly. “Of course I can do this.” They shook hands, and he decided to just ask. “Are you a mare, Inge? What you said about animals… I know a girl with a similar ‘problem’, as she would put it. I do not know much of the details of her kind, but I cannot say that there is not a part of me that envies the less, ah… deadly form of feeding.” 

Dallas shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, prompting Monty to give him a soft, understanding smile. The two exchanged a wordless glance, Monty nodded in the direction of the way they’d come, and Dallas seemed to relax slightly. “Ma’am,” he grunted abruptly before turning and heading back to the stall. Monty watched him go for a moment before turning back to Inge. 

“He is… wary of strangers. I think we all are right now, but the twins are especially, ah, uncomfortable.” His gaze slid back over to the pendant Inge had been looking at, and his brow furrowed. “... can I ask what it is you are looking for protection from?” A knowing look came over him then. “Or is it as simple as I think it might be…” Meaning slayers, of course. What else?

—

“It very much is,” she said, nodding. It was why she continued to gravitate towards the more undead places in town, where she felt at her safest. Inge considered Monty for a moment, before nodded. “Yes, a mare.” She wondered if she knew this girl — there weren’t as many mares around as there were vampires and zombies, and even less that would qualify that description. “It is a bit of a nuisance, but I wouldn’t call it a problem.” She smiled a little, swallowing a comment that she did think her kind had the most refined and interesting diet. “Well, I envy your ability to heal up quick. I guess the grass is always greener on the other side one way or another, hm?”

She gave the gruff cowboy a nod as he departed, amused by the way he carried himself. Though Inge tried to surround herself with fellow undead and long-lived people, it was never the way this seemed to be. A community, living together and sharing their diet. It really did seem nice. It reminded her a bit of the places in New York she’d visit, though those had been more hedonistic than … agrarian.

“I get it,” she said, though she wasn’t that wary of Monty at present. She gave fellow undead the benefit of the doubt. She started to walk, moving away from the pendant and keeping her gaze focused on all else. Inge nodded with a noise of amusement, “Sadly, it is just that simple. Some slayers know my face and name. It’s unfortunate.” Well, that and whatever other enemies she was making. The necromancer, the lamia … probably one of her colleagues, though she doubted they’d wield any weapons besides sharp words. “But it feels … I don’t know, like a trap to admit I need something like a penchant or a spell to feel safe. Maybe I’m careful around strangers too, now.”

—

“Ah… I am sorry to hear that.” Genuine concern laced Monty’s voice as they walked. “... I know how you feel, though. I think, anyway. Like you should not need the extra help, but you find yourself… frightened without it. Worried, at the very least.” He didn’t want to put any words into her mouth, but figured it was probably clear that he was mostly talking about himself at that point. He could pretend that he was missing out on a carefree life he’d once had, but that had never been the case, had it? As a child, he was wary of his brothers. As a teenager, he was wary of the strangers that offered him odd jobs for terrible pay. As a young adult, he was wary of his fellow ranch hands, and then of the people that kidnapped him and folded them into their band of killers and thieves. Even around them, though it was arguably the better half of his life, he sometimes felt wary. There were things about him that they did not know, that they could not know—not least of all because Monty had not understood them himself. He was still something of an outsider with that gang, only ever feeling truly at ease when he was around Hector. He knew his mentor would always look out for him, always protect him. Until he hadn’t, anyway. 

So there was no life that Monty was longing for, not really. He’d always been afraid, even when he seemed angry or brave. And at the farm, he’d still been wary. Not of the new family he had found, but of those that would threaten them. Men and women like Emilio and Jade, people like the ones that had killed their animals. He could not escape the fear, and he could not escape the feeling of entrapment.

So yes, he understood her quite well.

They continued to chat and walk, Monty finding comfort in the woman’s presence, in the way she carried herself so surely. But from the shadows, someone else was watching. Someone who could sense them both, and didn’t much like their continued existence. This stranger tailed them at a significant distance, keeping busy as they talked and eventually stopped by the booth the zombies had come here to run, before Monty became distracted. Daisy was fine with it, though, agreeing that he needed the distractions. She introduced herself and Denver to Inge before informing Monty that they’d managed to pick out four or five new hands, and would be conducting second interviews on the farm the following day. For now, it was time for them to head home. 

Monty looked to Inge, giving a gentle shrug. “Ah, well. I am sorry we did not find what you were looking for, Inge. But, if your night remains free… would you care to get a drink somewhere back in town?” He was just enjoying their conversation, really, and hoped that she felt the same. 

The figure in the shadows prepared to follow them.

—

It was easy to forget that while this was a town full of hunters, it was also a town full of undead. There were no population statistics in regards to species, but Inge was suddenly reminded of this fact and her own conviction that the amount of undead surely had to outweigh that of hunters in Wicked’s Rest — what with them being harder to kill. Being around Monty, who had created such a vast and steady network of undead, made her feel a level of not only security but something like hope. And though she would never want to live on a farm-based commune (the smell of manure reminded her too much of her mortal life), she liked the idea of a coven of sorts. Perhaps she should reconnect with some of her fellow artistic undead.

Still, she’d remember Denver and Daisy’s names and faces, made a mental note of the farm’s name and to look it up once she got home. It was good to know what places were safe in town. Or, at least — she hoped the farm would be safe, now that they were gathering more people to help defend it.

Inge waved away Monty’s shrug, “That’s alright, I was not expecting to find a golden solution here anyway,” she said, even if part of her was greatly disappointed. She wanted nothing more than to stumble into the perfect fix to her issues, though the trouble with that was that the common factor in all her issue was, well, her own arrogance and indulgence. She felt no need to fix those things, though. “But yes, I’d very much like that — it’s been sweet getting to know you.” 

It was good then, that the Bizarre was located near downtown this night. As they stepped into the dark of the regular world, Inge’s eyes gained their red hue. “What bar do you like? I’m personally fond of Dance Macabre, have you been?” Maybe Monty did like eating fingers, unlike the other zombie she’d met there. “Though I didn’t drive, and I suppose it’s quite a walk …” Too bad zombies couldn’t astral project like her. They really did fall short in that regard.

She stopped to consider her surroundings, head turning to see a shape inching closer to them. At least they both fell short in this regard — neither zombies nor mares had excellent hearing. Inge took a step back, pulling Monty along with her as she stared at the stranger and the axe in his hand. For a moment the air seemed to stand still, the world frozen in time before the axe was swung back and the stranger was rushing over, seeming to jump into action rather than discussion, wasting no words — just swinging that fucking axe at the two of them without thought. Inge yelped and ducked, cursing the world and all its inhabitants as she did.

—

“Ah, I do not think I’ve ever been!” Of course he hadn’t. Monty didn’t make a habit of frequenting bars in town, much less ones that were anything other than dark and quiet. And one with ‘dance’ in the name sounded anything but. He was considering the walk, about to suggest they call a cab, when Inge was reacting suddenly to something he couldn’t see behind him. She pulled him away from it, a look of fear flashing in her eyes. Confused, Monty turned to see a stranger rushing at them with an axe held high. Seriously? 

The zombie heard Inge exclaim behind him and heard the scrape of her shoes on the pavement indicating that she’d made some move to get away—good. He stood firm, sizing up their opponent and choosing to believe that they could not remove his head with a single swing. Especially not from the angle they were coming in at—the axe collided with Monty’s chest, skimming over the dense material of his work jacket before finding the more pliable fabric of his t-shirt and burying itself at an awkward angle in his sternum. The sound he made was not one of pain, but one of anger. He did not like dealing with hunters, not least of all because of the guilt that was now associated with it, given Kaden. 

Before Jade, he might have tried to run. He might have stooped down to pull Inge to her feet and dragged her to safety, leaving the hunter to chase them until he grew tired or no longer felt safe murdering someone in public. But this was post-Jade. Something in him had shifted, and his gentler tendencies were falling to the wayside, piece by piece. “Try again,” he hissed, a ringing starting up in his ears. An imagined one, probably—the same he’d always heard over the din of blood rushing past them when he’d been alive, when the adrenaline kicked in and he had to kill whoever was on the other end of his knife or six-shooter. Kill or be killed, that’s what this was. He couldn’t leave room for guilt. Kaden wouldn’t blame him. 

He didn’t carry weapons with him off of the farm, so his hands quickly found the axe’s handle and the wrist of the hunter. “You should leave,” he warned Inge with a glance over his shoulder, not wanting her to get more caught up than she already was in this—if one piece of him still remained, it was his determination to protect others. “I’ve got—” He was interrupted by a knife to his throat, held by the hunter’s hand he hadn’t managed to snag. The zombie let out a harsh, barking laugh, inwardly horrified at his own reaction. “What are you going to do, pendejo? Saw off my head with that?”

—

The scene unfolded quickly and Inge was glad to have ducked and moved away from the axe’s glinting head. Though the slayer didn’t know it, it really was better for it to find Monty’s body than her own — as he would be able to recover easily, whereas an axe to her chest would surely incapacitate her worse and longer. If anyone was going to catch the blows, let it be the one with regenerative and fast healing. Not her. It was a survivalist way of thinking, a selfish one: but she hardly knew the zombie anyway, and he was giving her an out on top of it. 

Inge considered taking it with both hands, fleeing into the astral and not looking back. It would be simple. It wouldn’t be unprecedented. Her mind flashed to Sanne’s head toppling off her neck for a moment before she burst into dust. If she had ran then, why not now? Monty sounded so very sure of his declaration, too, and Inge was already in the astral, looking down. For a moment she was taken with the selflessness of the zombie, if not confused by it.

The knife cut off his words, though, and while Monty seemed confident enough, she knew all about bravado. There was one more moment of hesitation, her escape route waiting for her but in the end, Inge decided to go for a quick dive. Reappearing on the earthly plane a few inches above their assailant, she jerked at the wrist holding a knife, pulling it back hard as she fell onto the ground. It was the element of surprise and probably not her technique that made the slayer drop the knife. “Fuck you.”

She skittered back just like the weapon, crouched and almost animalistic as her eyes found Monty’s, wondering what he’d want to do next. Her track record for killing hunters had recently taken a dive and had never been very impressive. 

—

She was gone, or at least deathly silent behind him. He hoped she was gone, hoped she was safe. Even as he stared down this hunter, knife to his throat and blade buried in his chest, he was glad. It wouldn’t be long before he’d lose himself, not at the rate this slayer was going. Once he got the ax out, his eyes would start to glaze over. Once the slices to Monty’s neck the hunter was able to get in started to heal faster than he could make them, the zombie would start to forget. He knew this, the slayer knew this, and yet he persisted. Maybe he had hope that he could cut faster than Monty could heal. It was a stupid hope. One that would cost him his life. 

There was a sudden commotion, and Monty was shocked to see Inge reappear and wrench the knife away from his throat. The slayer stumbled back, startled, looking between the two of them. Monty’s gaze met Inge’s and he gave her a grave nod, acknowledging that she’d just spared him a lot of unpleasant mangling, and more importantly, he might be able to maintain his faculties now. He gripped the handle of the ax with both hands and ripped it free, stifling the shout that wanted to press past his clenched teeth. This needed to be quiet. They’d made too much noise already. If he was going to take care of this threat and then the following problem that would come from the gaping wound in his chest, he needed time. Silence would afford them more. 

So he only grimaced, spinning the weapon in his hands and aiming the sharpened blade in the hunter’s direction. The man’s eyes grew wide, and he dove for the knife he’d dropped. 

Only two weapons? Even Emilio would be disappointed by this lack of preparation.

Monty quickly followed, raising the ax over his head as the slayer snatched up the knife and spun around. He didn’t have time to react; no time to duck out of the way or deflect with an arm, and the ax buried itself deep into the base of the man’s throat, where it met his shoulder. The blood poured from the grievous wound like a brilliant waterfall, but Monty’s focus was elsewhere. He clamped a hand over the slayer’s mouth to muffle his cries and shoved him back into the alleyway to their left. The other hand grabbed a fistful of the human’s hair, using that as leverage to bash his head against the brick wall the moment it was within range. 

The man stilled in his grip, but still Monty thwacked his skull against stone, grunting from the effort but otherwise keeping himself perfectly calm and composed. Quite a feat with the way his hunger was escalating, but there was determination in his dark gaze. Bone crunched beneath his hands, red soaked his hands and sleeves and front, and finally, his prize was revealed. The zombie let the body slump to the ground, knelt down beside it, and dug out what he coveted most. It came free in pieces, the smaller of which were immediately lifted to ravenous, gnashing teeth, and the storm inside of him slowly started to calm. 

He removed his jacket, set the rest of the brain matter inside of it, and rolled it up before tucking it beneath his arm. His attention finally fell back onto Inge, who he was surprised to see still there, still watching. He appreciated her for at least acting as a lookout, even if that hadn’t been her intention. 

In a voice that was not fully his own, coming in at a lower, harsher register than normal, Monty spoke. “Maybe we should save the bar for another time.”

—

There was no saying why the slayer had sought them out, but paranoia told Inge it was because of her. She’d been making a mess in town, feeding left and right, repeatedly on the same people. She also wasn’t just a reclusive artist, but a professor at an Maybe it was just a coincidence, the risk that came with venturing into a place like the Bizarre and leaving with another undead — but that didn’t make it any less discomforting. There being various ways for a hunter to have gotten on their trail was more worrying, actually.

She watched with a look of distress how Monty wielded his zombie ferality against the slayer, blood spraying around them like colorful fountains. Her distress was not with the violence, though that certainly did stir something within her — but with the ease the slayer had found the both. 

It was righteous that Monty cracked its skull and picked bits of brainy gore from the corpse. It was just. Inge watched still, though her distress was ebbing and being replaced by something more dull. Defeat, maybe. Though she admired the other’s ruthlessness and determination to pry the brain from its former container, to benefit from this failed attack — she knew she was not capable of such a feat. Superhuman strength was a gift passed over mares. 

All there was, was fleeing and hiding. Sometimes, there was surprising, like there had been today, but even then it was the zombie who had delivered the fatal blow. Inge felt a fondness for the other, even when stained with brain matter. “Hm?” She looked at him funnily, as if she didn’t understand why they couldn’t go to a bar now. “Maybe so, yes. Though … that was a nice display of strength.” Inge kicked the brainless body. “Good riddance.” She said it with pure conviction. If slayers wanted to indiscriminately kill her and her kind, she wouldn’t shed any feelings of guilt about their own early deaths.

“Rain check, then. I’ll need to buy you a drink sometime soon.” As a thank-you, but also as an introduction into an allyship, if not friendship. She looked the other over, gave a nod. “I’ll reach out. Get home safe, now.” And with that, Inge ventured into the astral, giving into that ever-present instinct to flee.

[switch-writer]

Could we get some tk headcanons for Doflamingo, smug bastard needs to be brought down a peg (but also he makes my lee mood go brrr)

Donquixote Doflamingo Tickle Headcanons

A/N: Thank you for the One Piece request! I do enjoy Doffy and looking into his character, although I prefer his brother, his mischievous personality was always fun to play around with! His character is unique, and while I have a favoritism to another warlord, MAN DOES DOFLAMINGO MAKE A GOOD CHARACTER AND VILLAIN. I will say due to my bias loving to Corazon, Doffy will have a few HCs relating to him. But gotta love Doffy. Thank you for the request!

• Doflamingo is always going to be mischievous, so of course tickles aren’t quite abnormal. Especially with his family/crew.

• He enjoys randomly shooting out strings and then dragging his ‘victims’ as he calls them, over to him. Like a cowboy who lassoed a horse in.

• Doffy truly just finds it amusing to tickle people, whether it’s in passing down a hall, or full on hunting them down and tickling them.

• He’d often wiggle his fingers at people to tease them.

• However, he still finds the activity something to be more… ‘intimate’ in the sense of he’d never tickle someone unless it was someone who could be/is family to him. If someone isn’t close to him, not a chance it’d happen.

• He’d often sit all of the members of his family down just to have dinner or have bonding time due to his actual family never having those moments, however, there’s also been times where he’ll randomly pounce on them.

• Doffy, believe it or not, still has brotherly instincts. So he’ll occasionally run up behind Sugar, due to her occasionally childlike personality, and swoop her up just to tickle her in his arms. His job is to playfully bully his family, especially younger siblings.

• Speaking of Younger siblings… Corazon was often the victim of tickling from Doffy, even back as children. So Doflamingo will often think Of Rosinante when tickling people, which occasionally will make him in a bad mood. Its a 40 percent chance.

• That being said, Doffy would often give raspberries to Corazon, he’d rapidly switch where he’d tickle him up and down his torso, and so on. However, afterwards? Usually he’d end up hugging Corazon, as much as a brat and devious person Doffy is, he still loved his brother.

• Corazon however was always his favorite person to tickle due to his silly laugh and expressions, even when they both grew up he was his favorite.

• On the flip side, if his clumsy brother had a chance to, he’d get revenge on his devious big brother.

• Doflamingo’s laugh when being tickled still sounds a tad evil, but it sounds much nicer and happy and less plotting something devious.

• He’s a kicker, other than that, he doesn’t resist much. Mostly because his arms flail up and down like a bird or simply freeze due to not expecting the attack.

• He’ll often make quips like “Ohoho! You’re truhuhuly a little brahat, aren’t you? Fufufu.” And call whoever happens to be tickling him a child before dismissing it.

• RARELY one to let his crew tickle him, so most tickles he got was from his family. So he holds those memories fondly since he’s only had mostly negative experiences with his true family. At least in his eyes it’s negative.

• He’ll occasionally think of the memories and miss the simple times where him and Corazon would chase one another around to tickle one another.

• Doflamingo’s weak/worst spot would probably be his knees, and under his arms/armpits. A honorable mention would be his soles.

• Rosinante used to have to tackle him so he could actually tickle him, so he’d usually tackle him (accidentally fall on him), then make sure he would laying on his belly, just to straddle him. It made it much easier to tickle around his brother’s knees and drive him up the wall.

• Doflamingo would only let his brother get him like that, mostly because he had a bond with his little brother, always. His crew could get him, but he’d object and fight back. So Rosinante is the only one to have the joy of hearing the squeaky giggles and happy laughs escape Doffy.

• Nonetheless, as fond as those memories with tickles are to Doffy, he’d likely only give out tickles than receive them. He prefers it that way due to regrets and memories… however, if you’re lucky, he’ll allow it if he’ll get revenge afterwards.

Hopefully you enjoyed!

[togetherasone]

COWBOYS FROM HELL . SECONDO

Pairing: Outlaw!Secondo x Fem!Reader (crossover between Ghost and Red Dead Redemption and Copia is part of the bloodline because I can).

Summary: Tales of the Emeritus Brothers have traveled every corner of the Wild West since dawn of time. You had heard about them for the first time when you were a child. Your grandfather would sit outside and paint a world of chaos and destruction to you. For most of your life, that was what they were. Tales. Until their rage fell upon you and the tales turned to reality. Or the one where our beloved Papas are the leaders of a gang in the 1899 Wild West.

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: Graphic depctions of violence, minor character death, implied/referenced talk about rape, objectification, mentions of blood, mentions of a large abdominal wound, dubious morality.

Parts: One (Cowboys from Hell) | Two (Wounds, stews and silver masks)

Notes: Will I ever continue this? Will this turn into an enemies to lovers thing? Will our boys have a redemption arc? Will they all die at the end? I have no idea. What I know is that I had so much fun writing about evil brothers being the bringers of chaos in the 1899 Wild West. This writing was 100% inspired by this amazing art. I swear I stared at it for, like, two hours. Also, although I mentioned places, weapons and outfits from the game (because I just had to… Sorry, my mind likes a lot to specify things), they definitely shouldn't stop you from reading this if you haven't played the game! Keep in mind that English isn't my first language. Sorry in advance for any mistakes. Enjoy!

If you prefer to read on AO3, here it is!

If you want to take a look at my other writings, here they are!

If you want to discover the Red Dead Redemption World, here is an interactive map (it's mainly for Red Dead Online, but choose the "Hide All" option and you should be able to properly study the map — this chapter is set in Ambarino, more specifically, in Grizzlies West) and here is the page where it all begins (feel free to explore the infinite pages they have about the game, including a page about weapons and other about clothes).

The logs crackled and popped in the fireplace. Umidity had permanently settled itself inside the hut, a timeless, silent, mysterious resident, which lurked in the shadows and corroded bones. The fire flickered under its influence, fighting to stay alight. You were just another visitor. Suceeded countless other visitors. Pioneers, scouts, lawmen, outlaws, gangs and gunslingers, gamblers, naturalists, bounty hunters, traders, collectors. People who had ventured north only to meet Winter. And, along with it, death. Cold had clawed at skin and bone. Only ghost stories remained, and, whenever the wind blew, they resonated inside the hut, a million voices crying for help.

And there you were.

The hut was small. Its walls were made of wood. When the wind blew harder, it whistled through the cracks between the logs. There was one bed, one table, one chair, one shelf. The bed was placed on the same wall as the fireplace. The table and the shelf were placed on the opposite wall. The former, under a window covered with a ragged blue curtain. A small kitchen had been built in the farthest corner of the hut. The counter bore a sink. It was rounded and shallow. So shallow that it was impossible to fit both hands under the tap when washing them. A cauldron had been abaondoned beside the counter. Food had rotted inside the counter and stained the wood. Other than the stains, the counter was empty.

Marion coughed. Weakly and lowly. You averted your eyes to her emaciated body, a small lump underneath a ragged blanket. She shivered, pulling the blanket closer in a useless attempt to warm herself. Her fingers tightly wrapped around the blanket. They were slender and firm, capable of shooting a rifle with incredible precision, but, in the matter of a week, they became bony and weak, uncapable of holding a spoon with minimum steadiness.

"I-In the bleak m-midwinter... In the... In the bleak midwinter... In t-the bleak midwinter..."

A dagger sliced your heart. Her voice was low and quavering; her breath, shallow and accelerated. Your fingers tightened around the cup between your hands. It was old, rusty and faded. Spirals of steam rose from it and perfumated the air with the scent of coffee. "Frosty wind made moan," you continued.

"F-Frosty wind m-made..."

She coughed again. Silence fell in the hut, except for the logs crackling and popping in the fireplace.

"Earth stood hard as iron," you insisted.

"Earth..." Marion begun, but her low voice faded into a ragged breath.

"Stood hard as iron."

Tears blurred your vision as you supressed a sob. Desperation filled your bloodstream. You had tried to avoid the truth. But, now, it was impossible to ignore it. Marion was dying. And there was nothing you could do to save her, except watch life drip from her eyes at each passing day. The deep wound on her right thigh had turned into a black mass of rotten tissue that had started to spread in all directions no matter what you did. You had three and a half bottles of Medicine, five doses of Chewing Tobacco and four bottles of potent tonics. But they were all over, and, apparently, useless despite their promising results on the first days. You had even tried Moonshine and Cocaine Gum, but they were equally useless.

It had been a day since you had arrived at that forgotten-by-God hut in that forgotten-by-God land. Not that you had a choice. The Emeritus Boys had massacrated your gang. They were popularly known as the Cowboys from Hell. Legend said they sold their souls to the Devil and ravaged the Wild West in His name, bearing skull face-paints and riding horses in flames that destroyed everything on their way. They were followed by countless masked people. It was believed they had been, once, victims of the Emeritus Brothers, and were possessed by the Devil. Their masks had the shape of the Devil, with horns and two holes for the eyes that, rumor had it, were useless, because only their sockets had remained.

When you were little, your grandfather used to tell stories of their heartless undertakings, and you hung on every single word that fell from his lips. Usually, he sat on a rocking chair at the front porch, peacefully smoking a cigarette, and you would seat in front of him, insistently begging for stories. You had promised you would protect him, and the rest of the family, if they ever set foot in your ranch as you aimed an unloaded carbine at the horizon.

The stories faded. So did the promise. Your grandfather passed away, and the Emeritus Brothers never set foot in your ranch. But tuberculosis did, and your unloaded carbine was useless to protect your family. First, it was your brother. Then, months later, your mother. Your father sold the ranch, believing a curse had befallen it, and you moved from sunny Henningan's Stead to cloudy Big Valley. A new life. That, nonetheless, never worked for your father. He ended up dying years later, drunk and lost inside his mind. You had to figure out a life for yourself.

Ended up becoming a bounty hunter, and, then, joining a gang.

A week prior, when the Emeritus Brothers appeared in the dead of the night, the stories, although faded, had turned to reality; and the promise, although faded, story. Again, you had failed to protect what you now called family. And miserably. There were no horses in flames, but four men in skull face-paints and men in masks with horns and two holes for the eyes destroyed Rowe manor.

Chester "Bad" Rowe, the gang leader, had played with fire, and, thus, suffered the consequences. So did the gang.

Suddenly, the door opened. Russell, Tim and Fannie entered the hut. And, along with them, cold, uninvited. The wind blew behind them, pushing snow inside, and the fire violently danced on the fireplace.

You abruptly stood from the chair, which loudly screeched against the floor. "The fire, damn it!"

Russell huffed and rushed to close the door. Tim glared at you as he yanked the leather gloves from his hands. A rabbit rested over his shoulder. And that was that.

"One rabbit? Really?"

"Feel free to hunt yourself," Tim irritatedly mumbled.

You glared at him, "Tomorrow."

Sustaining your glare, Tim abandoned the rabbit on the wooden table. It collapsed with a thud against it, making the rest of the coffee wave inside your cup, and you averted your gaze to the dead animal. It was a scrawny rabbit, with grey fur and long ears.

"Clean it," he spat.

You pushed him against the nearest wall, forearm pressing against his chest and hand fisting a bunch of fabric of the jacket he wore. "Don't fucking tell me what to do."

You pulled your dagger from your belt, pressing the cold blade against his throat. A single tear had streamed down your face and the path created by it shone under the fire. It stood out amongst the dirt and soot on your face.

"Hey..." Russell touched your shoulder. Fannie stood behind him in a stony silence. You exchanged a glance with her. "C'mon, stop it."

"The new leader of the gang, or, well, what rested of it," Tim ironically grinned at you, ignoring Russell and Fannie beside him.

"I needn't be a leader to cut your damn throat, bastard" you mumbled trough gritted teeth. The blade cut his skin and blood trickled out of the superficial cut, staining his clothes.

"Earth s-stood hard as iron," Marion softly mumbled from the bed. "Earth... In the bleak..."

Russell was filled with consternation for his wife. There she rested, with no prospects of getting better, and you fought because of a rabbit.

"Dear God, let the rabbit with me!" he spat at you and Tim, burrying the axe in his hand in the table and opening a crack in its wooden surface. "Stop this nonsense!"

You released Tim, and he spat on the ground. "Was it you that told the Emeritus Brothers where to find Chet? Brought those skulls and demons to do the dirty job for you so you could steal his position?"

"Tell me, what has that done for me? Starving in the middle of nowhere. No food, no medicine, nothing!" you answered. "You should work for the Pinkertons with those clever assumptions, Tim. You'd go far," you joked, an amused smile playing on your lips.

In the blink of an eye, you had been pinned to the ground. You winced when the back of your head hit the hard surface. The air was knocked out of your lungs by the weight of Tim on you. The chair fell beside you with a loud thud, and your dagger clanked away from your hand. Russell protested against the fight again. Fannie stood beside him in a stony silence.

"Whore," Tim shouted above you. It seemed his face was going to explode. Red and swollen. Veins pulsated on his forehead, and beads of saliva rested on his chin. "I could spill your guts right here on this filthy floor."

"Do it," you challenged him. Your heart rumbled inside your chest. Adrenaline and fear filled your bloodstream. "Do it."

He fumed at you, but did nothing.

"In the bleak midwinter... In the..."

You pushed him from the top of you and sat up, your hand reaching for your dagger. "Coward."

Tim pushed himself up with a struggle, but once he stood up, he spat on you. His saliva landed on your clothed thigh, and you frowned at it. You had had much worse before.

Once you slotted the dagger in your belt and stood up, Russell had pulled the rabbit skin from its muscles, and Fannie had pulled vegetables from her satchel, one carrot and one potato.

"I'll get water for the stew," you announced to no one in particular, your fingers snatching the cauldron from its corner. You definitely could fill the utensil with water from the tap if water actually came out of it, but only droplets of water mixed with rust did.

"Be careful," Fannie matter-of-factly stated.

You yanked the door open and stepped outside. You never left the hut alone, but given the tension brewing inside it, time alone would be a gift. You felt sorry for Marion.

It was dark and windy. Cold gnawed on your bones as you attached the cauldron to and hung a lamp on your saddle, in front of the chest of the animal, and mounted your horse. It neighed, maybe in protest against the journey, but obeyed you nonetheless and walked to the riverbank. The Glacier flowed east, to the Spider Gorge, approximately three miles north of the hut. You walked between the dense forest. The light emanating from the lamp fluttered before you, the paws of your horse sank in the snow, a path forming behind it.

The wind blew silently, digging its way through leaves, branches and trunks. A crack of sky was visible between the thin leaves; it was the navy-blue of the ocean, and everything was quiet except for an owl peeping lowly in the distance. You pricked up your ears to carefully listen to any small sound. It was well-known wolves wandered around the mountains, but none interrupted the journey to the riverbank.

You submerged the cauldron and shivered at the contact of your skin with the water, an icy handshake embrancing your fingers, then your hands. The metallic utensil quickly filled with water. You carried it to your horse when a wolf howled in the distance. You instantly stopped moving, body freezing in place, as still as the trees that surrounded you. Your horse whined in fear, and you glared at it. Your breath condensated in the air as soon as you exhaled.

You cursed the water for hampering your attempt to listen to the forest. The howl was followed by barks and growls. There was more than one wolf. Seconds passed before you decided to move. It would be better if you had a gun in your hand. You attached the cauldron back to your saddle.

"Quiet," you shushed your horse. Not that it would actually keep it quiet, but fear clawed at your bones. Facing a lonely wolf was entirely different from facing a wolf pack all by yourself.

A gunshot echoed in the distance, followed by more barks.

You were accompanied. And by the loudness of it, they were close.

Your horse protested, its front paws kicking the air. You hoped the water would muffle the sounds coming from the animal. Knew it was a matter of time before the wolves heard it or, well, sniffed it. You pulled your Springfield Rifle from your saddle. Another gunshot echoed in the distance. The wolves barked and growled. You stepped around a large tree, studying your surroudings.

You walked towards the sounds, slow and silent. You took advantage of the low trunks and the darkness to hide yourself from sight. The Glacier flowed behind you as you headed southeast.

"Stay," you mumbled to your horse. It exhaled in response and agitated its head, the reins clicking around its neck.

Every cell of your body begged you to be sensible and run from trouble, but you would return with a wolf in the back of your horse. Would rub salt in the wound. Tim "Dickhead" Swanson deserved it. And, well, moreover, you were starving. The rabbit would do for a thin stew. And Marion, obviously, would get the largest portion. And you, Russell, Fannie and Tim would share its remainings just to calm your nervous stomachs, but not to fill them. The prospect of a decent meal enticed your senses.

You reached a clearing. On the opposite edge, two wolves circled a lump in the snow. A low growl rumbled from their throat. They were big wolves, with grey fur and long tails. Your stomach churned with hunger. One wolf lay dead on your right, and a trail of blood traveled to where the other wolves stood. You should be fast. Other wolves might sniff the blood and you would be dead if a whole wolf pack surrounded you. You aimed at the neck of one of the wolves and pulled the trigger. It yowled and staggered before falling over the lump in the snow. When the other wolf turned to you, you noticed a foot behind it. The animal angrily advanced towards you, and you blindly shot it, your feet tumbling backwards. It seemed your heart would explode inside your chest. The wolf whined and fell on the snow. The forest fell silent.

You pushed your body up from the snow as you whistled for your horse. Once you crossed the clearing, you noticed that the foot you had seen belonged to Tim. What was the bastard doing there? What had happened after you left to fill the cauldron?

Tim rested under the first wolf you had shot, and was alive. It was possible to hear a shallow breath escaping from his lips. The fear poisoning your bloodstream was instantly replaced by rage.

The wolf that had fallen over his body hid the wound the animals had caused, but it must be large since blood abundantly stained the snow around him.

You pulled your Schofield Revolver from your belt and pointed at him. Your finger rested on the trigger. Tim had no force to open his eyes, to speak, to breathe. To react at the gun pointed at him. Judging by the gravity of the wound, Tim would certainly die no matter what you did. And you already had to take care of Marion. And you had no medicine. Nothing.

If you shot him, it would be an act of mercy.

So you did.

The bullet carved its way through his chest, and you would never admit that peace filled your heart at the sight of his dead body. You loudly exhaled. Tears blurred your vision as you suppressed a laugh. You would have to lie to Fannie. Would have to hide the fact that you had shot her husband. Would say the wolves did it. Which, actually, wasn't a lie. You had just finished their job. Right?

You slotted the revolver in your belt and hang the rifle across your chest. Then, you kneeled in front of the first wolf you shot. It was a perfect shot, and the meat of the animal would be intact. Once you pulled the wolf from over the body, blood gurgled from the wound. As you suspected, it was large. His skin had been tore apart and his guts had been exposed, intestines destroyed.

"The tables have turned, fucker. I spilled your guts," you spat at the corpse in front you.

You had definitey gone mad.

You panted as you lifted the wolf to place it on the back of your horse. Your fingers knotted ropes around it when you heard steps behind the trees. They belonged to no animal, too loud for a predator that wished to hide from its prey.

You immediatelly snatched the rifle from your back. You waited. Were in disadvantage, exposed in the clearing. Your horse sensed your nervousness and neighed.

"In the bleak midwinter," you mumbled to yourself, your fingers mindlessly tightening around the gun.

A shadow stepped from the forest. Your eyes widened in shock at the sight in front of you, but you swept the emotion from your face before he could notice it and replaced it with rage. Deep and intense rage.

The man held a personalized Litchfield Repeater, wore a black Walden Coat, black leather gloves, black Buckley hat. And, around his neck, a cross. An upside down cross with a circle around it. And, on his face, a skull paint.

His lips were tinted black and crossed by thin lines imitating the exposed teeth of a skull. His cheeks showed black patches that stretched towards his ears and, from there, towards his neck. His eyes were surrounded by black circles and, to your bewilderment, had different colors. From where you stood, it was impossible to make out the color of his right eye — in fact, it seemed there was no eye there, the black paint and the shadows strangely camuflated it —, but his left eye... Was white. And it eerily shone in the darkness. A shiver shot through your spine.

"This is indeed a forgotten-by-God land."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed.

"But I dare say... Too cold for the Devil."

He remained silent, a mischievous smile contorting his lips.

"What're you doing here?"

"The Devil," he licked his lips as he stepped towards you. "Has unfinished business in this land."

"And where're your brothers to help you? I expected the whole entourage, the Four Horseman of Apocalypse an' shit," you defiantly said. Had just killed two wolves and a man, and the adrenaline of doing so crawled under your skin and, apparently, prevented your mind from thinking straight. Perhaps not only adrenaline. But rage either. And... You had to admit fear had its share of your skin, but you refused to show it. At least, tried not to show it. He certainly noticed the tight grip of your fingers around your gun, or the slight frown on your face, or the nervous gulp of your throat.

His mismatched eyes sparkled at the insolence on your voice.

You had lost everything because of them and were thirsty for vengeance. Had sworn to hunt the Emeritus Brothers down and kill one by one. Had no clue the prey would willingly walk towards you. People said revenge was a dish best served cold, but you would say it was a dish best eaten.

"Well, you must agree with me that it would be a waste for the four of us to come for a lonely deer."

"And you volunteered to be the hunter?"

"In fact, yes... I like hunting. Especially preys such as you,” he menacingly circled you. “That think of themselves as wolves, but, in fact, are just deers. Scared and fragile deers. 'S pitiful, but endearing."

You glared at him, your eyes following his steps and mind searching for alternatives to escape from him alive, but nothing came to it. There was only one way out. Your hands slid over the gun, placing themselves on the appropriate spots for a shot.

"No talking anymore?" he nonchalantly asked from behind your horse, clearly more interested in it than in you. It was your chance to shoot your way out of that. You just had to circle your horse and shoot him. Wherever. Just to wound him and gain a few seconds to, then, aim properly at him, preferably at his head, and shoot him again. You could do it. You had just killed two wolves. "This is a fine animal."

He touched the neck of the horse, a black Turkoman horse. Fantastic health, good stamina and fast speed. The animal impatiently neighed, and responded to the touch with a shake of the head. "Ah," he delighfully exclaimed, "A rebel horse. The best ones, right?"

"Under unknown touch," you irritatedly stated, your body turning towards him. Only the left portion of his head and neck were visible behind the horse. You refused to hurt it. The only alternative was indeed to circle it. The emotions inside your body collided and churned. There were too many, and you were growing tired of them. Of the suspense. Of standing in the edge of the precipice, uncertain about who would fall. "Tame it and its yours."

"How about you?"

Your heart missed a beat. No. No, no, no. No. You nearly puked at the words, at the wicked smile. God forgave you for murder. You would commit another one.

"How about you?" he impatiently repeated.

You loudly whistled, and your horse quickly disappeared inside the forest surrouding you, the wolf swaying on his back. The confusion created by the sudden movement allowed you to attack him before he attacked you. Your hands trembled so much that your finger pulled the trigger before you could aim at any portion of his body, and the shot missed him. He angrily growled at you, his fingers swiftly traveling to the trigger of his gun.

Instead of trying to shoot him again, you took advantage of his occupied arms and hit his neck with the body of your gun to gain space. It would be easier to shoot him if the distance between you was larger. He huffed and stumbled backwards. Was bigger and stronger, so you had to move fast before he recovered balance, but he ended up falling on the snow with a thud as you ran to him.

Once you stepped over his body, he shot you. The bullet hit your left arm, and you desperately shouted as your body burnt in pain. It slowed your movement and stealed your strenght on the limb, but you kicked his hands and fell over him. His gun tumbled on the snow and he noticed it would be useless to reach for it, so he fought you with bare hands.

You pressed the body of your gun against his neck. The fibers of your body fought against him, desperately tried to maintain your position over him, but he fiercely writhed. Gasped and cursed you as you watched his eyes widen under the pressure on his neck. Tears blurred your vision, and blood soaked your clothes. It seemed your left arm would combust with all the strength you mustered from it to maintain the gun in place.

Then, it actually combusted. When he sank one of his fingers inside the hole the bullet had carved on your skin. You screamed as you had never done before. You were certain it echoed around Ambarino. He pushed your body from over him and stretched for his gun.

Then, a hand fisted your hair from behind and pulled your head back. You winced at the new pain. "Well, well, well, fratellino... What a treat."

On your knees, you desperately observed your surroundings. An upside down cross dangled from the neck of the man who held you in place. You needn't look at his face to know he wore a skull paint either. You silently cried. It had all been in vain. The first brother had been playing you all along. Had let you start the fight. Had let you exhaust your strength. So that he could laugh at you in the end.

He pointed his gun at you, his lips pursing in a wicked grin. "Indeed, a rebel horse. Tame it and its yours."

Steps thuded around the edge of the clearing. Two more figures joined the ones who were already there. One of them pulled your horse and another one. The other one pulled three more horses.

"Ah! The whole entourage, the Four Horseman of Apocalypse an' shit," Secondo spat. "Well, let me introduce myself and my brothers to you. I'm Secondo. The man behind you, the oldest brother, is Primo. The man by your horse, Terzo. And the man by the other horses, the youngest brother, Copia."

It was impossible to look at all of them when the man introduced as Primo had such fierce grip on your hair. Your horse entered your field of vision, so did the third brother.

"What a beauty," he tutted, his fingers holding your chin. "No need to cry, mia cara," he gently wiped your tears. You hated the touch of his gloved hand on your skin and closed your eyes. "Me and my brothers will take good care of you, si?"

You wanted to puke.

Then, he turned to Secondo. "Will you share her, fratello?"

"If you tame her, fratellino..." Secondo joked. The men laughed in unisson. It disgusted you to your core the way they talked about you as though you were a piece of meat. You would kill them, one by one. "She 'as fire in her eyes, oh, she does. Killed two wolves and that ol' bastard there before I showed up."

"In the bleak midwinter..." you trembly whispered. More tears rolled down your cheeks.

Another hand grabbed your chin, rougher this time. You opened your eyes. Secondo stood right before you. "You come with us. We still need to find your friends. You didn't fill this cauldron or kill this wolf for them to starve, yeah?"

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