#religious trauma x cowboy

[cocoakrispis-blog]

✭ 3. FAMILY THERAPY ✭

pairing ~ ellie williams x fem! reader

summary ~ we join (y/n) in her first family therapy session which goes fairly well for her, but she seems a little bit more focused on ellie and what she’s going through. (y/n) seems to be thinking about ellie a lot it’s almost like she’s even haunting her dreams.

warnings ~ homophobia, tones of a little bit of religious trauma, joel finally makes his appearance but he’s homophobic :(, lil bit nsfw, wet dreams, making out, masturbation

wc ~ 4.0k words

SERIES MASTERLIST

the next step for the true directions rehabilitation program was family therapy.

this was one of the steps that your were dreading the most.

there was still a lot of shame that lingered in your conscious at fully admitting that you were a homosexual. as well as a touch of embarrassment that your family and friends were able to figure it out before you.

you still got anxious saying the word, lesbian, quietly to yourself with no one else around.

you had no idea how you were going to face your parents the people who had raised you to be a perfect, good-mannered, respectful, and more than anything normal teenage girl and look them straight in the face to tell them you had ended up as anything but.

the guilt that kept you up at night was getting easier to deal with day by day but the announcement of family therapy made it come back in full force.

where had they went wrong?

where had you went wrong?

the two questions that kept you from getting one single good night of fully restful sleep.

it wasn’t hard to see that you and the girls weren’t looking forward to facing this next step.

in the morning it was much more quiet than usual and everyone ate their breakfast in silence.

getting ready for the main event was somewhat uncomfortable as well.

it was almost silent and everyone seemed to be in almost some sort of trance.

even ellie who didn’t have any trouble teasing you for small things like how you applied your lip gloss or the way you walked was completely silent.

it unsettled you.

you knew you would be overjoyed for finally catching a break from all of the teasing but for some reason it made you feel oddly sad and lonely.

everyone had became significantly more tense once maria had announced to them that their parents had actually arrived and were now waiting for them in the room that you would be using.

“they’re all waiting in that room for you guys go ahead and go chat with them a little bit while i prepare our lesson for today!” maria exclaimed quite cheerily.

everyone reluctantly nodded their head and slowly trickled into the room.

the first parent that you noticed was a burly looking cowboy with what you assumed was large ten gallon hat to complete the look.

his presence was quite misplaced in the pastel orange room, and it immediately drew your eyes to him.

it was obvious he didn’t belong here and you wondered how he had even found out about this place.

to your surprise ellie walked up to the man and as soon as he noticed her he pulled her into a tight embrace.

“hi there ellie.” you quietly heard the man’s thick southern accent whisper into the top of her head.

for the first time time since you had seen ellie you briefly saw her completely let her guard down and melt into the hug.

your heart squeezed and you unconsciously wished you could see her do that more often.

“hi joel.” ellie whispered back softer than you’d ever heard her speak.

your intense staring at the tender moment was soon interrupted by your own parents who you had completely forgotten were there to begin with.

“what’s got you so distracted (y/n) aren’t you happy to see us?” your dad joked and pulled you into a hug.

you were knocked out of your trance and immediately put fixed your face to appease your parents.

“of course i’m happy to see you guys!” you squeezed your dad before smiling at your mom and pulling her into a brief side hug.

after you chatted and caught up a bit more maria walked into the room to announce that you guys would be starting.

as you were finding your seats you finally looked around to observe everyone else’s parents.

dina was accompanied by her mom and what looked like her little sister.

dina and her mom and sister all looked extremely alike but it was obvious dina was the more laid back one of the three.

riley was in deep conversation with her mom and dad about what you assumed to be sports.

their relationship seemed to look quite healthy and normal and you couldn’t help but wonder why they would send her to this place.

cat only seemed to be with her very professional looking mother.

it was almost comical to see how alternative looking and cool cat looked next to her very serious and businesslike mom.

when you finished observing the room and everyone was officially settled and quiet maria began to speak again.

“well first i’d like to thank everyone for coming today your presence is very beneficial to our campers and is very helpful with their progress.

everyone clapped at the small welcoming before maria continued.

“so today in family therapy will be discussing our roots and really just opening up to get more comfortable with each other.” maria clapped. “why don’t you start riley.”

riley anxiously looked around the room before clearing her throat and beginning.

“well um hey to those who don’t know me my name is riley and i am a lesbian.” she glanced over the adults in the room for a reaction before continuing. “well my root is always playing softball growing up.”

“would you like to go more into detail about how deeply that affected you we are all here to listen and better understand eachother.” maria said gently.

riley nodded before going further in depth about her extreme love for sports and how girls that played it impacted her sexuality.

you somewhat zoned out as she kept talking since you had already heard all about this in group therapy and just allowed yourself to continue looking around the room.

all the other girls seemed to in the same predicament and you briefly made eye contact with dina and sent her a smile.

for the most part the rest of the session was a blur you were quite focused on putting together your root and making sure you didn’t ramble on and embarrass yourself.

eventually it was ellie’s turn and once maria said her name you were instantly thrown out of your own thoughts and you prepared yourself to listen intently.

there was long pause before ellie began talking and you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly was going on inside her head at that very moment.

she was usually so quick witted and smart it was quite unusual to see her in this almost timid state.

“i-i don’t have a root.” she mumbled quietly under her breath.

everyone shifted quite awkwardly at her response and you looked at maria to see how she would react.

maria’s smile briefly faltered before she corrected it and looked at ellie with an almost mocking look.

“what do you mean you don’t have a root ellie we all know you have one there really is no reason to be scared this is a safe space.” maria attempted to comfort the girl.

“no i really don’t have one.” ellie crossed her arms tightly to her chest before training her gaze onto the boring floor.

maria grimaced before pressing on.

“well since i know you do i’ll just say it and you can elaborate on it.” maria sighed quietly.

“ellie’s root is that her mother got married in pants.” maria announced to the group proudly.

you saw ellie’s dad give the woman a weird stare before training his hard gaze on ellie.

“is that right ellie?” joel mirrored ellie’s crossed arms and started to tap his foot impatiently.

you saw ellie hesitantly look up from the ground to glance at joel.

“n-no it’s not right i l-lied i don’t have a mom i’m adopted.” ellie mumbled quietly.

your fought back the urge to take in a large dramatic gasp and just settled for squeezing tightly on your skirt.

seeing ellie genuinely vulnerable and open was truly a sight to behold, and you were beyond shocked.

the lying was extremely obvious and you were honestly shocked maria even believed her fake root to begin with.

however everything that came after her admitting her lie was extremely surprising.

you felt your heart squeeze painfully at how sad ellie sounded when she admitted everything.

“ellie how exactly is this program supposed to help you if you’re going around here lying.” you clearly heard the strain in his voice.

ellie settled for not responding and silently stared at the floor with furrowed eyebrows.

“really ellie you have nothing to say for yourself?” he sighed at the unresponsive girl.

you watched as ellie bit her lip and shook her head solemnly.

“well if you’re not going to put in the effort to get better why am i even here trying to put the effort in to help you get better.” joel stated before rising from the couch without another word and walking out of the room.

as soon as he left you looked at ellie who looked completely shocked that he had left and watched as she scrambled out of the room to follow after him.

you turned around in your chair to see the two arguing outside but due to their distance you couldn’t hear any words. but from the frustrated facial expressions on both of their faces it was easy to assume the conversation is was not going well at all.

the scene made your heart feel almost indescribably sad.

it was obvious that the both of them were very close despite not being blood related but this situation had put an extreme strain on their relationship.

your shameless staring was interrupted by maria awkwardly clearing her throat and calling out your name.

“well um (y/n) it is now time for you to reveal your root.” maria said sternly.

you gulped quietly and shifted uncomfortable before announcing the root of your homosexuality that you had been going over in your head over and over again.

once you were finished the whole room burst into applause.

you heard murmurs of ‘who would have thought’ and ‘she’s so brave’ being whispered throughout the room.

maria even looked more than pleased with the biggest grin on her face.

you tried to smile back at her but you knew the only thing you really wanted to do right now was whip your head back around to see what had happened to ellie and her adoptive father joel.

soon after that the session of family therapy was finished and it was time for everyone to send their families on their way.

your mind could barely focus on giving a proper goodbye to your parents because ellie still hadn’t come back and all you wanted to do was know that she was okay.

the rest of the day went by in a blur and before you knew it it was free time.

usually you would spend your free time chatting it up with dina and riley but this time it felt like it was almost your duty to speak to and comfort ellie.

ellie was sat by herself over one of the small hills in front of the house smoking one of the cigarettes you still didn’t understand how she snuck in.

you mentally gave yourself a mini pep talk before waltzing over to ellie and taking a seat next to her.

as soon as you sat down next to her ellie scooted away from you.

“what am i contagious?” you gave her a confused look.

you expected her to give you back some kind of witty comeback but much to you dismay she very simply ended up rolling her eyes and promptly took another long drag of her cigarette.

you sighed softly at her lack of response and focused your attention on the notepad siting in your lap.

since there wasn’t much entertainment around here you would frequently make little cheers for your team to use whenever you would return back from camp.

your head unconsciously bopped up and down as you repeated the cheer over and over in your head while attempting to come up with the next line.

“what is that?” ellie finally decided to stop ignoring you and moved a little closer to look at the lines of cheer written on your notepad.

“i’m trying to make a cheer but i’m stuck right now.” you sighed in frustration.

ellie gave you a mildly interested look before asking you another question about your cheer. “well what do you have so far?”.

you smiled at her question before clearing our throat and chanting out what you had so far.

“5-6-7-8 God is good-“

ellie interrupted you to add onto the cheer.

“God is straight!’ she cheered out in fake enthusiasm.

you frowned once you realized ellie wasn’t actually taking you seriously.

“cheers aren’t supposed to be super duper smart and witty you know they’re just to make people feel hyped up and good.” you gave her an annoyed look.

“cheers make tiny girls in tiny skirts to little flips.” ellie took a drag out of her cigarette before continuing. “orgasms make people feel good.”

you felt your cheeks warm and you quickly looked away to hide your embarrassment.

ellie softly chuckled at the look on your face and shrugged her shoulders casually. “just trying to help you out.”

you rolled your eyes in response and you two sat in a comfortable silence for a little while.

“your dad- um i-i mean your joel didn’t stay very long.” you messed with the grass of the hilll while casually trying to bring up the topic of the absolute trainwreck of a family therapy.

“his old ass was probably just cranky from not having an afternoon nap.” ellie laughed at her own joke with little enthusiasm.

“i know for a fact that he’s just trying to do what’s best for you.” you gently tried to soothe her obvious discomfort.

“well aren’t you just the sweetest little thing.” ellie scoffed at your response and gave you an irritated look.

“this whole thing is bullshit (y/n) i don’t know why you can’t you see that, you are who you are the only way you get by in life is by not getting found out.” ellie ridiculed you harshly.

you tried your best not to take her words to heart and pressed on.

“well if you’re such an expert on how to do this whole thing the right way how did you end up here?” you questioned the freckle faced girl.

“i got caught.” she sighed before mumbling out her response quietly.

“how exactly did you get caught?” you asked her curiously.

ellie let out a breath before beginning her explanation.

“i uhh used to have this friend that was a girl and we spent just a little bit too much time together.” you clearly saw ellie struggle to keep her voice level while explaining.

“what did you and this friend get caught doing?” you followed up your previous question.

ellie gave you an unimpressed look and sighed in annoyance.

“what do you think?”

her question was left hanging in the air as you imagined ellie with another girl doing inherently naughty things.

you felt your stomach turn at the thought and quickly shook your head to make your mind think of something else.

“one day joel caught us together and he decided the best course of action would be to send me here.” she continued when you didn’t respond.

there was another pause before you ed your next question.

you briefly debated back and forth with yourself to ask it but ultimately decided if you didn’t ask now you probably wouldn’t find a time to ask later.

“where you in love with her?” you asked ellie softly.

ellie looked away from you and quickly stood up to avoid your gaze.

“does it even matter?” grumbled under her breath.

you panicked once you realized you may have gone to far and in a desperate attempt to get her to stay you very gently reached up and grabbed her wrist to hold her in place.

ellie quickly retracted her wrist and gave you a look you couldn’t identify.

“careful i could get you reported for that.” was the last thing she said before leaving you to your own thoughts.

that interaction was the last one you had with ellie until it was time for lights out and you and all the rest of the girls were getting ready for bed.

you were sharing the mirror with dina and ellie as you all did your own separate nighttime routines.

dina was wiping down her face, as you brushed your hair, and ellie washed her mouth.

you were pretty much off in your own little world as you brushed your hair but out of the corner of our eye ellie asked your interest.

for some reason the sight of the water dripping form ellie’s mouth was oddly intimate and you couldn’t help but gawk.

ellie noticed your obvious staring and gave you a smirk and a wink before going back to washing her mouth.

you felt your body warm because of ellie and hastily put up your brush before running out of the bathroom.

you distantly heard dina ask ellie what was wrong with you and ellie let out a laugh before you jumped into bed as fast as possible.

you had no idea how much you were affected by what ellie had done in the bathroom until it was a couple of hours later and you just couldn’t manage to fall asleep.

for some reason every time you closed your eyes all you could see was ellie staring at you with her beautiful green eyes with much more attention than she had ever given you in real life.

as soon as that image materialized you would always open your eyes as fast as possible to get the scene out of your head.

after a while you got tired of interrupting your sleep and tried to just keep your eyes closed to see if maybe something else would happen after you would see ellie.

your eyes were then closed and you were back into your dream world staring at ellie and her pale green eyes.

ellie stared at you softly before leaning in and pressing her soft lips against hers.

the kiss was one of the most gentle things you had ever felt and without thinking you leaned into the kiss to return it full force.

you felt ellie smile into the kiss and her arms wrapped around you to pull you in closer.

your hands found your way into her auburn hair and you tugged at it when she teasingly bit your lip to ask for entrance.

you opened your mouth to allow her tongue to enter your mouth and softly moaned when you felt her warm wet tongue caress you own.

you felt fireworks go off in your mind at the feeling and pulled her in even closer by her hair to deepen the kiss.

ellie moaned into the kiss and roughly began kissing you back in retaliation.

you felt ellie’s hand trail down to your bottoms and begin to toy with the edge of your panties.

your eyes shot open in a panic before she could get any further and you sat up in bed while panting to catch your breath.

what had just happened?

you had heard of wet dreams before but you only knew of boys experiencing it so you were utterly confused as to why you had just suffering from one.

your confusion was cut short by the feeling of your thighs unconsciously rubbing together to relieve the pressure between your thighs.

you quietly gasped when you looked down to see a wet patch on your little shorts leaking from your panties.

there was only a couple of times you had felt this intense unfamiliar feeling and it always had to do with when you were staring a little bit too long at one of your teammates in practice.

you assumed it was just being proud of them for completing a hard trick but as you sat here in your own wetness after having such a dirty dream you realized it was actually arousal.

your whole body turned warm once you realized you were turned on and there was no way you would be able to go back to sleep without taking care of it.

as silently as possible you got out of bed and headed into the bathroom to hopefully sort out what was going on inside your panties.

you didn’t even bother turning on the lights to stay as discreet as possible.

for a while you stared at yourself in the mirror of the dark bathroom in hope of maybe finding some answers.

when no answers came out of the darkness you sighed to yourself in realization of what you would really have to do.

you very slowly took off your sleeping shorts and panties in one motion and shivered once you felt the cold air on your dripping heat.

masturbation wasn’t something you were completely clueless to but you had never actually tried to do it yourself.

from the mandatory sex ed class you had taken you knew were everything was and just hoped you could actually make yourself feel good.

you very hesitantly brought your hand down to your pussy and gasped softly once you actually made contact with it.

it was an unfamiliar feeling but it felt good.

it was so wet and a warm you almost felt embarrassed what you got this way from a dream with ellie in it.

almost.

your middle finger trailed down to your clit and you bit your lip in concentration as you began to circle it in soft motions.

you felt your hole twitch at the feeling and you whined softly as you softly pinched your clit between two fingers.

your nipples harden underneath your thin sleep shirt and without thinking you reached up to grab at one of your boobs with your other hand.

when you fingers made contact with your hardened nipples you had to bite back a whine at how good the stimulation felt.

the fingers that were circling your clit sped up and your breathing began to get heavier as you tell a foreign feeling start to build up in your lower stomach.

you threw your head back when you felt your fingers apply the perfect pressure to your clit and accidentally squeezed your nipple harder than intended, resulting in a quiet moan.

before you were fully able to process what was happening you felt your clit twitch and your dripping hole squeeze impossibly tighter.

the feeling growing in your lower stomach snapped and you felt the feeling of your warm cum slide down your spent pussy.

it was so overwhelming you had to rip your hand from your tit to cover your mouth to prevent any sounds from leaking out.

you had never felt something so euphoric and it was difficult to keep silent about it.

after a coupled blissful seconds the feeling started to wear off and you hesitantly brought your fingers up to look at how soaked they were.

you felt embarrassment fill you when you realized you had just cum on your own fingers in the dark bathroom with thoughts of ellie on the forefront of your mind.

without saying another word you washed your hands, reclothed your bottom half despite the fact that they were still sticky with your slick and quietly left the bathroom.

even though you knew no one was awake to look at you you still kept your head down in shame all the way back to your bed.

much to your surprise as soon as you got into bed a wave of exhaustion washed over you which made it much easier for you to fall asleep this time around.

the last thoughts on your mind as you fell asleep being about how much better you could have felt if ellie had been the one helping you out in the bathroom.

a/n: damn (y/n) is kinda FREAKY! uhh so sorry this took so long to come out school came went and kicked my ass. it literally took me the whole wee to write this it’s how busy i was i really hope it was worth the wait. i already said this but this isn’t exactly supposed to be word for word bar for bar by the movie so i cut some stuff and changed it out if i felt like it wouldn’t work with the storyline i am trying to create. i had so much fun writing the joel part but it was os hard because i know that canon joel would never care if ellie liked kissing girls </3. anyways i really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter i will be pushing out the next chapter as soon as i can love you guys!!!

taglist: @st4r-b3rries @dollyvuu @lvlymicha @jellyfishrnice @machetegirl109 @smiths-fan--13 @elliewilliamssrealgf @ravyaryn @yuhgetintoonit @nelzooo @luvmily @dearestdolly444 @venuzasmuse @madislament @mochaluvsu @youfoundheavenn @boujieeprincesss @canellescandles

[johnwickb1tsch]

🌻Small Town Girl🌻 ~ Part 1

Tex Johnson thought he was just passing through…until he set his eyes on you. 

A little Tex x Reader fic for my beloved @treedaddymcpuffpuff. I love you bool!!! I hope you like this. It’s a mix of you and me and shit i made up and The Gift and conversations we’ve had and that silly rodeo fic we talked about and probably some sookie stackhouse and justified and longmire and other cowboy media that lives rent free in my brain at all times 😆 this is like 7000 words i apologize in advance…🙃 ILYSM!!!

Warnings: mentions of past spousal abuse, mentions of animal abuse, religious trauma...you know, the usual social problems of depressed rural america... I can say that because I live here. divider by strangergraphics-archive

To be fair, you saw the trouble coming from a mile away.

Or at least…a hundred yards, because that’s where he parked his ‘69 Chevelle outside the diner in the middle of your shift. You watched him swagger up in denim, boots, and a bitchin’ fringe leather jacket out the corner of your eye, because you were taking someone’s order. And you cursed the gods when he sprawled himself in a seat in your section, long legs extended out partly in the aisle. He was going to trip someone–or maybe he was just hoping you’d ask him sweetly to move those fancy-tooled shit-kickers to their proper position.

Your capacity for sweetly went up in smoke about an hour ago.

“Hi, can I get you started with something to drink?”

He looks up at you, all dark eyes and smoldering charm–yes, you’re sure he knows it, too–offering up a half smile that makes your heart stop even though you tried to brace yourself. And wow, goddamn if he doesn’t have the balls to look you up and down before answering, “Think I’m in the mood for somethin’ sweet.” His smile widens as you narrow your eyes down at him. 

“You want a milkshake?”

You swear there is a sparkle in his eye as you ask it. 

“Why yes, I believe I do. What flavor you got?”

You blink, heat blooming across your chest and up your neck. He sees it too, the cheeky bastard, that devil-may-care curl of lips widening more. 

“We have chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and banana.” 

“Hmm. That’s a hard choice, darlin’.” 

“You need some time to think about it?” 

He chuckles at your sass. “Nah. How ‘bout vanilla. With a cherry on top?” 

“Hard to find ‘round here, but I’ll see what I can do,” you deadpan, doodling with concentration on your order pad. 

This tickles his funny bone something fierce, those lovely eyes shining. Good Lord, it’s just not fair, the types of temptation the Devil is allowed to set in front of you mere mortals. 

However, you’re not falling for it. You’re not. You learned the hard way to be wary of tall, dark, and handsome men with a bit of the devil in them. Because before you were y/n y/ln, your name was Mrs. Donnie Barksdale, and you’ve got the scars to prove it.

“Comin’ right up, mister.” 

“Tex.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s my name. Tex.”

He is a charming bastard. You’re not falling for it. You just gotta keep telling yourself that. 

“Obviously an alias.” With the tip of your tennis shoe you nudge his big booted foot out of the aisle. “You’re gonna hurt someone with them things.” 

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.”   

You were not playing footsie with this gorgeous stranger. You were just moving a tripping hazard. 

You’re not falling for it.

You’re not so convinced either, as you go to make his drink. 

***

A little later, when you bring out his burger and fries, he asks, “Why don’t you set with me a while?” 

You roll your eyes, withdrawing a roll of silverware from your apron. “I can’t sit down and jaw with you, I’ll get fired.” 

He gives you a pouty face, and it should be illegal for a grown-ass-man to look so cute. “When’s your break?”

“Not for hours,” you lie.

“I’ll wait for you, darlin’.” 

You snort in answer to that, even while a storm of butterflies goes crazy in your belly. 

“Surely you have somethin’ better to do.”

He shrugs. “I just finished a job. Takin’ time for a little vacation on my way home.” 

“Oh yeah? What do you do?”

“Erm…I’m in situational…solutions…management.”

“Wow. That’s not vague at all. You in the mob or somethin’?” you tease.

He lifts a brow, but doesnt answer immediately. It gives you an uneasy feeling, before he flashes that good ol’ boy smile again.

“Wouldn’t that be some shit?”

Sometimes you get feelings about things, and there is something about this man that makes you uneasy. You think your first instincts were right about him. He needs to be kept at arm’s length. Or maybe the proverbial ten foot pole would be more ideal. The sooner he moves on down the highway, the better. 

He lingers long after his burger and shake are gone, people watching, looking out the window…and looking at you. You can feel his gaze on you, like he is a wolf waiting patiently in the treeline for his opportune moment. You have to walk past him after taking a family their order of food, and he asks you, “So what do you do for fun in a little town like this?” 

“We’re all Baptists ‘round here, mister, no fun allowed.”

He scoffs, eyes still shining, but you can tell, his patience is finally wearing a little thin. Well, good. Hopefully he’ll get the hint and go. You’re sure a man who looks like him, tall and strapping and handsome as a movie star, is used to women throwing themselves at him. Maybe he thought you’d be a quick score because you’d be grateful for the attention. Boy howdy, did he read you wrong.  

“Did I see a sign for a rodeo a street back?” 

“Yeah, the fair and rodeo’s here this weekend.”

“Not your idea of fun?” 

“Yes and no. I don’t like seein’ the animals get mistreated.” Not all of them were, of course. But the boys could be a little rough when they were roping the young steers, and you knew you’d have a bone to pick with the owner of the local petting zoo later. 

“Huh. No, that’s not fun. Someone should do something about it.” That sparkle has returned to those polished onyx orbs, and you are equal parts intrigued and wary. 

“Easier said than done, believe me.” 

“We should team up tonight. Give ‘em hell.” 

You raise an eyebrow to that. Is he asking you out? Your heart does a little flip, before leaping in a swan dive to splat on the pavement. Don’t be stupid. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Aww, come on, honey, give me a chance. I’m not a bad man.”  

He’s charming as a snake with an apple to sell, and you’re pretty sure he’s lying. 

“That’s exactly what bad men say.”

“What would a sweet thing like you know about that?”

You sigh, suddenly feeling about fifty years older than you are. “I know enough.” You don’t really mean to, but in a tick you can’t quite break you brush your hair behind your ear, touching the scar on your temple from the last time Donnie beat the hell out of you. The flesh is still raised, if not faded, the span of a few years softening the evidence, if only on the outside. 

You move your hand as soon as you realize what you’re doing, but not before this sharp-eyed man before you notices. His affable expression darkens, and you decide you would not like to meet him in a dark alley on a moonless night. “Give me a name, darlin’.” 

For a moment you are taken aback. You don’t know this man, and he doesn’t know you. The offer to play white knight for you is both titillating, and tiresome, if you’re being honest. You’ve heard it before from men who wanted to impress you. None of them panned out. No one wants to take on Donnie Barksdale. 

“I don’t need a man to protect me. I’ve got a shotgun for that. You want any dessert?” 

Like flipping a switch, he grins up at you, and though he is being friendly, there is still a hint of fang in it, like a wolf on the scent of something to hunt.

“I believe you, honey. I better skip the pie. Gotta watch my girlish figure.” He pats his slim waist, and you can’t stop yourself from looking. Inwardly, you sigh. With your lip between your teeth you add up his final bill on your notepad. “Feel free to add your phone number on there,” he teases, to which you just shake your head sadly. 

“There are plenty of pretty girls in this town who will be more than happy to entertain you, Mr. Tex,” you assure him.

Again, he shoots you that pout, and jesus god it should be illegal in twenty states, it gives you such a high. 

“But none of them are you, darlin’.” 

You roll your eyes, even if you kinda feel like you’re floating on a cloud right now. Goddammit. 

“You can nurse your broken heart over at TJ’s by the creek, it’s where everyone goes around here.” 

“Including you?” 

“No.” 

“Hmm, Miss Hard To Get. You’re really gonna make me comb through the whole crowd to find you at the fair tonight?” 

“Who said I’m going to the fair tonight?” 

“My gut.” 

You hand him his check with a smile that does not hide your annoyance. “You can pay at the register.” 

You hide in the back, finally taking your break, and deep in your idiotic heart you are sad to see him go. You hear the engine of the vintage sportscar rev from all the way in the kitchen, and you come out just in time to see the back end of him rolling down the road. 

Good riddance. You think it, but a part of you doesn’t really agree. Ah well. You’ve always had a weak spot for strays, but that one would have taken the cake. He was A Bad Idea™ and you were much better off without him. 

When you go to check the table you see he’s left you a cash tip that will cover your feed bills for a whole month, and your knees go a little weak. 

***

When your shift ends you get in your old car and head home, out of town, down the highway and through the woods, to the old farmhouse your grandparents left to you. Maybe you won’t be on the cover of Country Living any time soon, but the battered old clapboard house is home, and has been home to members of your family since the mid 1800s. 

Now, it is also home to the assortment of rescued animals you have picked up along the way. If your grandmother, god rest her soul, knew you kept a five-foot tegu lizard in an enclosure in her parlor she would probably expire all over again. But then again…if anyone had ever forgiven you for your stranger quirks, it was your Mawmaw. 

Your parents, not so much, which was ironic, considering. There was a reason the family farm went to you and not your mother. She never really got the hang of the whole adulting thing, falling in “love” with dirtbag after dirtbag after your parents divorce, ping ponging between bouts of addiction and religious righteousness. How you came to dread the words, “I am saved!” 

You find it funny, that the people who bang their bible the hardest are usually the ones who have the biggest sins to answer for. 

But when it came to bad decisions, maybe your apple didn’t fall far from the tree, considering your ex, but in your defense you grew up with Donnie Barksdale. His family’s land adjoined yours, and they had been in this holler just as long as your own ancestors had. They were well regarded around your tiny rural community, and half the folks in your town could hardly believe the rumors of the horrible things that man used to do to you. The other half thought you must have been asking for it–what can you count on in these parts, if not good ol’ fashioned Christian misogyny?

Once upon a time, Donnie Barksdale had been your best friend. You ran wild through the woods in your youth, building forts and catching critters. You fished in his pond and played in the hayloft of your grandparents’ barn. Then you got a little older, and your shirt filled out and the hormones kicked in, and maybe it was to no one’s surprise when you became lovers. Highschool sweethearts to a married couple, right after graduation. You could have gone to college on a scholarship, but Donnie wanted you home. 

It was easier to control you that way, you came to find out.

He didn’t beat on you at first. It took a while, for the disappointments of real life to set in. He never got drafted to play pro ball, and he was too proud to take up an honest trade. The pressures of living in a depressed rural area, with no good jobs and few good prospects, took their toll. Reagan-era policies made it easy for corporations to run all the little brick-and-mortar businesses into the ground, and trickle-down economics left your little community behind. Alcohol, meth, and Walmart filled in the voids.

With nothing better to do, Donnie started having affairs, and drinking too much, and when he finally got home he took his frustrations out on you.  

You try not to think about it now, but you do, every day. You’re not sure what hurt more: the actual physical beatings, or the betrayal by the boy who you’d loved madly since you were just eight years old. 

But there is something to be said, for the healing to be found with your hands in the dirt. You were such a broken thing, when you took over your grandmother’s overgrown garden years ago. Now, your little farmstead is a pollinator’s paradise filled with flowers and food. There’s something about sitting in the quiet with the butterflies flitting around that makes you feel like you’ve done something right in the world. You feed the birds, and you care for your animals, and you take life day by day.   

It’s a simple life, but a good one. You’ve run a long road, but you’re finally starting to feel like you’re going to be ok. 

And, you intend to keep it that way. That means not going for rides in fast cars with handsome strangers, no matter how lonely you are, or if it seems like he would be good to you, even if just for a night. 

You did good today, sticking to your guns. 

You need another man in your life like you need a hole in the head. “Boys are so rude,” you expound to your chickens, and your hens seem to cluck in agreement, their feathers so silky soft against your ankles as they wait for a treat. The last rooster who hurt your girls for his own gratification lost his head and ended up in your cookpot. If only it was so easy to dispose of belligerent human males.

You get your scoop, doling out some extra scratch grains to lure the chickens into their pen to lock them up early. 

You’ve got somewhere to be.  

As it turns out, Tex  was absolutely right about your intention to go to the rodeo, though you’re pretty sure he was blowing smoke about trying to find you. It’s a small town, but everyone will be there. You’ll be a needle in a haystack, and you take some comfort in that as you put on a black sunflower print sundress and your battered boots. 

You feed the cat, the dogs, your ancient conure parrot, and lock up the house. You have to go see a man about a horse–and you’re kind of dreading it.

***

You are not the only adult in the petting zoo area, which is some small relief. It takes a little while for Dale to even notice you are there, sneaking his skin and bones mini horse molasses treats from your purse in an attempt to help the poor thing put on some weight. It’s starving and its hooves need a trim and you could strangle Dale Manes with your two bare hands. 

You pass his place on the way home, and you regularly throw hay and treats over the fence in an attempt to feed his animals–something he clearly doesn’t seem to think it’s necessary to do much. 

He’s a cousin of Donnie’s, which has never kept him from ogling you. With some extra cash in your purse thanks to your handsome stranger, you’re hoping that maybe you can sweet talk Dale into relinquishing ownership.

Maybe it’s a lost cause, but maybe you can’t help but think about how many times people had looked at you in a bedraggled state, knew you needed help, and kept on walking with a “Bless her heart,” muttered under their breath. 

This little horse gobbles his treats down and bumps his head against you for scritches, leaning on you like a dog.

“Y/n, I see you spoiling my horse.”

You grit your teeth, before facing the music. “Hi Dale.”

“You know, I got you on my game cam trespassing on my property.” You can’t tell by his tone if he’s mad or not. It feels like you’re walking into a trap. Donnie used to play this verbal kind of game with you. It must be genetic.

“Trespassing’s a strong word,” you say, pouring extra sugar into your drawl.

“I don’t know what else to call it. Illegal feeding of animals?”

You give him a sheepish smile, when all you really want to do is kick him in the balls.

“Oh come on, Dale. You know this horse is skinny. It’s ok, I know how things go. I had some extra so I spread it around.”

It is not ok and you have literally lived on ramen cups some months so your animals could eat well and get the medicine they need. 

“Well ain’t you a peach?”

“Dale?”

He leers at you, sidling closer, and your skin crawls.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Sell me this horse.”

He gives you a look. “You’d ask a man to sell his livelihood?” 

You happen to know he gets by on government draw and dealing pain pills just fine.

“I like Ziggy. He’s my buddy. Let him come live with me.” The little horse in question is trying to nuzzle into your purse for more molasses treats. 

Dale takes a step closer, and it takes every iota of your self control not to step back. 

“You really are a piece of work.”

“Excuse me?”

“You conniving little bitch. I know it was you that called Animal Welfare on me last month.”

The sweetness drains from you like a flushing toilet. “Fat lot of good it did, I guess.” 

“You little bitch. You know how lucky you are? If you were my wife I would have killed you and buried you somewhere no one would find you.”

“Wow. I guess that’s why your wife ran off to Florida.”

“Cunt.” He raises his hand to you, right here in front of children and mothers and God and the whole damn town.

“What’s goin’ on here?” A strong arm loops around your waist, pulling you back out of striking range. “We horse tradin’, or are we pickin’ fights we can’t win?”

With wide eyes you look up to see the man from the diner, somehow even more handsome than before because he’s cleaned up and changed his shirt, the good looking bastard.

“Were you raisin’ your hand to this lady?” he asks. His tone is jovial, but there is an edge beneath the surface that does not escape your notice. You learned the hard way, how to dissect the subtle cadences of a man’s words.

“Believe me when I tell you she deserves it.”

“Huh.” Out of the blue Tex’s fist connects with Dale’s jaw, knocking him out cold. Ziggy startles at the body hitting the ground, darting on his little legs to the other side of the enclosure. All the families stare, shocked that someone would dare, though no one rushed in to see if Dale was still breathing. 

“Well, that’s our cue to go.”

“What?”

You are in shock, and it does not even occur to you to fight him when Tex takes your hand and pulls you through the crowd. You do not stop until you are on the other side of the fairgrounds, amidst the games and the dubiously safe rides. 

“Oh. My. God,” you wheeze, when finally you pause by the Whirl-A-Gig. “Do you know what you just did?” 

“You’re welcome,” he answers with that shit-eating grin, and you almost want to sock him yourself. 

“You should have let him hit me!”

“What?” Eyes wide, Tex is incredulous before you.

“God, I didn’t plan it that way but it would have been perfect! He woulda gone to jail, and the county would have to seize his animals.” At least the local Human Society would feed the poor things. 

Tex blinks, looking down at you like you’ve grown a second nose. “Did you miss the part where he was going to knock your head off?” 

“I’m used to it,” you muse absently, annoyed to the soles of your boots that you missed this opportunity. “If I were you I’d git while the gettin’s good. The whole Barksdale clan is going to come after you now.” 

His grin is like a baring of fangs. “Sounds like fun.” 

“Huh. You ain’t gonna think so when ten of ‘em roll up on you in your fancy sportscar.” 

“Meh. I can handle a pickup truck full of cousin fuckers. Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

A chortle escapes you before you can stop it. You cross your arms defensively, trying not to smile.

“The Barksdales are some tough customers, mister.” You had to be, to survive back in the day, but somewhere along the line it just got…out of hand. 

“Sounds like you know ‘em pretty well.” 

“I was married to one of them for the worst six years of my life. Believe me, you don’t want none of what they got.”  

Tex takes this opportunity to step into you, and now that the excitement is over you are reminded that you have six feet of pure cowboy standing in front of you. The pretty tooled embroidery on his shirt emphasizes how wide his chest is. You can smell the heady spiced scent of his cologne, and it hits you like a drug. Goddammit. 

“Sounds like you’re worried about me, darlin’.” His voice is like warm molasses. 

“Psshh. You better worry about yourself,” you grouse with extra venom, annoyed. “I don’t think you have the sense God gave a chicken.” 

He chuckles at that, and you try to back away. Try is the operative word, because he has your hands in his again. “Oh come on, darlin’, don’t leave me yet. Is this the thanks your knight in shining armor gets?” 

His hands engulf yours, long strong fingers wrapped around your palms, and you feel more than a little weak inside.  

“Knight in shining armor my fanny. Your little stunt is going to get us both hurt.” 

“My stunt? Were you or were you not trying to buy that horse when you knew damn well he wasn’t going to sell it to you?” 

You sigh. “Well…I had a little windfall burnin’ a hole in my pocket, and I had to try.” 

He pulls you a little closer–amazingly, you let him. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind when I left that for you.” 

“Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?” 

“Well…” Goddammit, if he does not take the opportunity to sidle even closer, so that your fronts are nearly pressed together, and you think you just might faint. “I was hoping you might treat yourself to somethin’ nice. Like a pretty new dress.” He looks you up and down, making a low sound in his throat of appreciation. “But I see you already had that handled. Mmm, you look good.” 

You sigh, a long suffering sound of exasperation. Is there something wrong with this man? Because he can’t seem to stop running his mouth. And maybe you’re losing your mind, but…you’re kind of starting to like it.

“I think you might have a screw loose, mister.” 

He grins wide for you, in that moment looking every bit the outlaw, with his shining dark eyes and hair brushing his collar. 

“That may be true…” He leans down towards you, and you think you just might die. “But I’m pretty sweet.” You’re afraid he’s going to try to kiss you, and you’re even more afraid you’re going to let him. But he just bumps your forehead with his before paying you that devil-may-care grin, and you swear your heart stops in your chest. 

This man is such a mistake, but you feel your defenses dissolving like sugar in hot tea. 

“Want to split a funnel cake?” 

As it turns out, it’s the nail in your coffin. 

“Yeah.” 

He grins like a man who just won the lottery, tucking you into his side under the shelter of his well-muscled arm like you’ve always belonged there, and goddammit if it doesn’t feel good to feel protected. Too good, maybe. It’s something you cannot allow yourself to get used to.

“I knew you’d come around, darlin’.”

It’s been a while since you made a big mistake. Like…less than an hour, at least, so you guess you were due up. As bad decisions go… You look this tall cowboy up and down, his denim-clad legs about a mile long swaggering beside you. 

“How did you find me?” it occurs to you to ask.

“I remembered what you said about liking animals, and figured the petting zoo would be a good place to start.”

You pause in your step, almost tripping as you look up at him. Maybe it shouldn’t be this surprising, that a man actually listened to something you said. But god. It twists and squeezes something inside you. It’s painful and wonderful and you really should run before this gets out of hand. But he is looking down at you with those smoldering dark eyes, and a part of you already knows that it’s too late. 

***

“So, my babygirl likes animals,” muses Tex beside you, taking a bite of funnel cake with a grin. “Let me guess. You’ve got a whole house full of strays.” 

You sigh, tearing off a piece, a good crispy bit with plenty of powdered sugar. “And a barn.” You have chickens and ducks and rabbits and goats that came to you post-Easter after people realized the fuzzy little things turned into full grown animals that needed housing and room. You have a conure that outlived its previous owner, and a bulldog whose tongue doesn’t quite fit in her mouth, and the world’s only sweet chihuahua who loves to snuggle and needs medication that seems to get more and more expensive every time you have to buy it. The reptiles came to you from a family whose child changed their mind, and the cat just kinda showed up at your door one day, the way they do…

Most men who hear the extent of your menagerie swiftly run in the other direction. They think you’re a hoarder, or if they stick around they want to be the sole focus of all your attention–and it’s just not going to happen. They leave after a month or so, or you run them off. 

You have no reason to think this won’t end the same way. 

“That’s alright, darlin’. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with havin’ a soft heart for critters.”

They all say that at first. 

Ah well. It’s not like you’re looking to get married again, anyhow. You just…get a little lonely, sometimes, when it’s just you and the dogs and darkness outside. 

“Hmm. That’s not the review I usually get. So what about you? You know I have to ask if you’re really from Texas.”

He grins. “Guilty. But I live in L.A. now.” 

“Oh yeah? Are you an actor?”

“I was a stuntman for a little while.”

“Anything I’ve seen?” 

He laughs, an open guffaw of mirth that makes his eyes shine and your heart fill to bursting. “Well, you look like a diehard fan of Death Charger II.”

“Oh yeah, I used to watch that with my Grandma,” you tease. 

He snorts and pulls off another piece of pastry. “It was fun for a while, but I could tell I was just going to end up with a broken body and an empty bank account.”

“So…what do you do now?” 

He looks up at you through those long dark lashes, and you swear to god your heart does a pirouette in your chest. 

“I can’t really talk about it,” he tells you, which you guess is actually a more honest answer than feeding you some bullshit lie. “Pays well, though.” 

“Okay…that’s not creepy at all.” 

 He pays you that open grin and offers you the last little crunchy morsel from his fingertips. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, darlin’. You’re in good hands.” 

After a long pause you take the bite, your lips just barely brushing the tips of his fingers. But it ignites a fire in his eyes that has you squirming in your seat, your thighs unbearably moist. Thank god you’re wearing a black dress. 

“Let’s walk around,” he proposes, and you agree, even if you’re afraid your legs might not work anymore. 

***

Hand in hand, you wander the fairgrounds, people watching, talking, and playing a few games. Tex is fun, and he is sweet, never once letting go of your hand, except during the clown toss which he swears is rigged (and you agree). He makes a crack about his balls being too big to fit in its mouth, and you break down in a giggling fit as the two of you walk away. It feels a little bit like magic, wandering around amidst the bright lights and the warm night and for the first time in a long time, you realize you’re not afraid of running into one of Donnie’s clansmen with an axe to grind or family honor to hold up or some other testosterone-driven bullshit that terrorizes your waking hours and your nightmares. 

“Haunted house?” 

“No way.”

“Swings?” 

“Don’t trust them.”

“Roller coaster?” 

“I like my spine aligned right where it is, thank you.” 

“How ‘bout the ferris wheel?” Tex proposes with a lift of brows, and even though you know exactly what he’s up to, you finally agree. Tucked into the tiny bucket together in a space that is not meant for adults but god is it lovely to sit with your side molded to his, Tex sneaks his arm around you with a come-hither curl of lips. 

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn him with a venom you absolutely do not feel at this point. You make a show of leaning away, even though there’s absolutely nowhere for you to go in the little compartment.  

“Oh, I’m thinkin’ about it,” he assures you with a devilish glint in his eye, pulling you closer, and off you go in a big vertical circle. It is fun, to see all the lights and the people below, and the rodeo round pen on the other side of the grounds. 

Then the ride stops with a grinding halt that doesn’t feel quite right. The two of you are at the very apex of the wheel, on top of the world. You look around, a little nervous. Oh god, please don’t let you get stuck here. 

“It’s alright, darlin’” he soothes you, with a wolfish grin that is not comforting at all. 

You can see the roping event with a bird’s eye view. You flinch as a cowboy throws a loop around a steer’s neck, jerking it around. At least the second cowboy misses the ankles. You stick your tongue out at them, knowing no one can see. 

“Aww, that little grass puppy’s fine,” Tex tries to assure you. “They’re pretty tough.”  

Once upon a time your family made part of their living running cattle. You know they’re tough, but that doesn’t mean it’s fair to treat them that way just for fun. “There are ways to train them without the rope, you know. They’re very food motivated.” 

“But what’s a cowboy without his rope, honey?”

“A farmer.” 

He chuckles at that. “It just lacks a certain prestige, don’t it?”

“Fuck you very much. My family’s been farming since before this place was even a state.”

He chuckles at your fiery response, clearly enjoying getting your goat. “Erm–no offense.” 

“Pssh. It’s not about prestige. It’s men and their testosterone poisoning, always havin’ to show off at everyone else’s expense.” You’re sure he won’t like it, but you say it anyway. You wait for him to get surly, like all men do when you say what you’re really thinking, and it occurs to you that maybe you should have waited until you’re not trapped in a tin can of an amusement ride with him before insulting him. 

“Hmm. Well…there might be somethin’ to that.” 

He could have knocked you over with a feather…if you weren’t already mashed into an enclosed seat with him. 

“Yeah, there might be,” you say more softly, quickly looking away when he tries to meet your eyes. 

“Hey now.” He strokes your arm with his fingertips lightly, drawing little circles and driving you crazy. “We’re silly creatures, ain’t we? I get it.” 

The fact that this man, who is 6 feet plus of pure masculine energy, would say such a thing to you–well frankly it blows you the fuck away. 

“Showin’ off is fine,” you sigh, still unable to meet his eyes. “It’s just…why does someone always have to get hurt for the sake of it? Usually…someone innocent.”

“You’re right,” he agrees gently. “It shouldn’t be that way.”

Now you do get up the courage to look at him, though it feels like you’re drowning when you do. You really thought you had this man’s number. He dresses like a cowboy and drives a vintage muscle car, walks with James Dean swagger and he even punched a man out for you not but over an hour ago. But here he is, talking to you…like women matter. Like you matter. 

“We’ve been up here a really long time,” you muse, blinking the tears out of your eyes while you peer over the side. 

“Ah well. I’m sure they’ll get us down eventually.” He does not seem worried at all. “I like the view.” He’s looking at you while he says it, curling a little lock of hair from the nape of your neck around his finger, and an embarrassing shudder gallops down your spine. “Hmm, someone’s sensitive,” he says with a little smile. 

You shoot him a glare out the corner of your eye. You don’t think you’ve convinced him by half. 

“It’s just cold up here.”

It is the tail end of summer, and still 80 degrees out with the sun down.  

“Sure it is, sweetheart.” 

You sigh, and you don’t know how it’s possible, considering your position, but somehow he seems to sidle closer. 

“Tex?” 

“Yeah, beautiful?” 

You don’t really know what you intended to say–you look at his mouth, those full, well-drawn lips, and you forget how to breathe for a few crucial seconds. You are lightheaded, the world spinning as he closes the distance, and gently presses his mouth to yours. 

Someone moans, and only belatedly do you realize it’s you. 

You feel him smile against your mouth, before going in for the kill, his long fingers sliding up into your hair to hold you to him. If you’d felt trapped you would have fought him, no matter how stupid and no matter how high up you were sitting in this rattletrap of a ride held together with rusty bolts and bubblegum. But you feel…free, like for a few blessed moments, you’ve found a part of yourself you left somewhere. A part of yourself you needed, even though you didn’t realize it at the time of losing it. 

You let this man devour you, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance you feel all the way in your clit. Pressing your thighs together does not help at all, and he smiles again like he knows exactly what your problem is. When his paw of a hand settles just above your knee, squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh, his thumb finding its way just past the hem of your dress, you smack your hand over his. “Hold up, cowboy,” you pant, knowing you sound ridiculous but unable to put any real steel in your tone. 

His eyes glitter like the night sky as he pulls back to look at you, breathing heavy through his nose. “You sweet little thing. I could just eat you up.” He nibbles your lower lip again, and you think you might expire. He doesn’t force the issue, his hand staying right where you’re holding it. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, a steady timpani roll that does not help with your lightheadedness. The carriage sways slightly in the summer breeze, and you’re not sure that you’re not floating in mid air with nothing to catch you. Your grip on his hand tightens, desperately seeking something to ground you. You’re not sure if this is a panic attack, or vertigo, or unadulterated lust. 

“Don’t get too full of yourself…but I think I might faint.” 

The hunger in his expression turns into concern. “You alright, darlin’?”

“Just…hold on to me, ok?”

“Alright, alright. You gotta breathe for me though. Deep breath.” You do as you’re told. “Then out.” You do this, and you close your eyes, and you start to feel better just as the wheel finally starts to turn again.

As excruciatingly fun as it was to be squashed together with this delicious specimen of a man, you are so grateful when it’s time to get out and put your feet on terra firma once more. Tex steadies you with an arm around your waist, and you just happen to be looking up at the right time to catch the ferris wheel operator’s conspiratorial wink at your ad hoc date. 

“Sonofabitch. Did you bribe him to stick us up there?” 

Tex chuckles, flinching as you poke him in the ribs. “Hey, you ain’t even met my Mamma yet!”

“Did you?” you demand, unrelenting in your attack. He wiggles like he is ticklish, and you feel like you have stumbled upon crucial intelligence of the enemy. 

“I might have slipped him somethin’...”    

“You imp! I thought we were stuck!” 

He is laughing as you tickle him and poke him, until maybe your fingernail goes a little too far in between his ribs and he grabs you up with a growl that you feel in your loins, putting a stop to your antics with your arms pressed to your sides and your body pressed to his. “You ok? I didn’t know you were scared of heights.” 

You’re not really. Scared of feeling things, is another matter. 

“I’m ok.” 

“Good.” He dips his head to kiss you again, and you let him for about 2.5 seconds before turning your head. 

“Tex…” 

“Yeah, honey?”

“I think…I think I better go home.” 

His expression falls like you kicked his puppy. “Oh. Did I…do somethin’? I’m sorry, darlin’.” 

He did somethin’. He’s done everything right, and suddenly you are scared shitless of where this could lead. 

“No, I’ve had fun,” you tell him honestly. “But I have to work tomorrow, and I’m tired. I should go home.” 

“Oh.” He sticks out that pouting lip, and it really should be illegal for a grown man to look so adorable. “Can I…come see you for lunch then?” 

“I guess…I can’t stop you.” 

“Would you want to though?” 

Therein lay the million dollar question. 

“Maybe not?” 

He smiles, and it feels like a special gift, just for you. “Alright. Tomorrow then. Let me walk you to your car at least.”

Considering what you got up to earlier that evening, it wasn’t a bad idea. “Ok.” 

You exchange one last lingering kiss before he tucks you down into your driver's seat and makes ao show of buckling you in. You know it's a ploy to feel you up a little but it makes you giggle anyway. “Tex…I can buckle my own damn seat belt.” 

“I know, darlin’.” He leans on the roof of your car, looking down at you like you’re something precious, preventing you from closing your door. You need to go because if you stay in his company any longer you are going to melt into a pile of goo. 

“Tex…” 

He sighs. “Alright, fine. Tomorrow. You better be ready to take your break with me.” He makes sure your legs are out of the way before shutting your door and tapping on the roof. Why do men do that, like a car is a horse? Giddyup. You think it would be horrifyingly hilarious, if your late-model car decided to play it’s occasional game of let’s not start until you try five times. But no, the old soldier dutifully responds to the turn of your key, and carries you away through the grass parking lot, onto the highway, and away from the man you’re afraid you would like to curl up in bed with and not leave for a month. 

That man is pure trouble…and you are pretty sure you want more of him. 

[the-kr8tor]

Rotten Floorboards

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 11.5k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Cowboy AU, Wild west AU, CW hallucinations, TW poisoned without your knowledge, CW violence, religious talk, CW guns, TW abuse mention, CW food mention, CW panic attack, CW injury, TW death, TW blood and gore.

Our Place In the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 7 >>> CHAPTER 8

Skinned knees, scarred hands, and venomous words, you've endured it all back home. Survived it all— his tight, firm grip on your hand that only loosened around guests, finger always running along the gold band on your finger, a reminder of your hatred, a different reminder for him. Then your aunt's yelling in your ears until you could only hear her thunderous words at night even when you're alone. Her pen that does more than sign documents, the sharp end pointed directly on your palm, stabbing and cutting along your life line as if it could end your life right then and there— sometimes you wish it could. Then him, your uncle who had his hand in cutting your ties with the man you love, whose echoing footsteps walk outside your door at night, never giving you reprieve from the pain of being awake in that mausoleum of a home. All that pain, all that abuse you've suffered from your so-called kin doesn't compare to seeing Hobie's limp body under the monstrous weight of steel and ash.

Your heart has stayed inside your stomach since then, his green eyes closed, breathing shallow than the well that your uncle threatened to push you inside— you won't drown in it, you'll just crack your neck and your spine while you lay in tepid dirty water. You feel like that now, hopeless, blank eyes staring at the sky, seeing the world pass by from inside the well.

You've never left his side, feeling as if you'd regret it if you did even for a moment. You've regretted a lot of things, letting your parents go on that doomed expedition, and letting your aunt dictate the rest of your life. Never again. So you don't leave, you don't drink, you don't eat while the stranger who helped carry Hobie into the shabby inn treats him.

Your own wounds ache, festering under the heat of the southern sun. The humidity is clinging to your skin, making it all worse, making the pathetic bandage around your ear throb from the pain, tethering from infection. The walls of the small room they've put you in is suffocating, walls that feel like it's closing you in, dark hardwood that sweats from the sheer heat, and floorboards that creak and squeak from your footsteps. But you'd rather stay upstairs than what's below you. It smells there, especially when the day runs hotter than the surface of a boiling pot. It's probably because the whole building is old and moldy. Or there's something dead hiding underneath the rotten bloated wood.

The alligators outside your window hiss and groan, birds you've never seen before get eaten the moment they step foot inside the marsh. It's not fair, you think, for they only wanted to eat yet they ended up getting eaten themselves.

The night gives your nerves a break, the cooler air breezing through your injuries, taking the pain away for only a moment. Fireflies gather outside the willow tree that you've been staring at since you've arrived. Hobie sleeps under it all, from all the noise and the heat. You've held his hand the entire time, even with the bandages around your palms you could still feel him, feel his pulse, feel how he still breathes. Your eyes are dry and red, tears gone from how much you've cried on his bedside, and pleaded to the man to save him whatever it takes. The rickety armchair that has one leg missing has been your home, the room is your land, and Hobie has been your reason to stay.

You held his hand in yours, watching as his eyelids moved about, a sign that he still lives and thinks despite the trauma to the head he endured when the train crashed. The bandage around his head has turned red from his wound. He protected you, did everything to shield you from death. You'd cry if you still had any tears left to give.

Dawn has arrived, and you hear a knock at the door. It's quiet, almost silent as if the sound would disturb Hobie's slumber.

“Come in,” your voice is still hoarse from the noose that wrapped around your neck. It's small, barely there, barely having the resemblance of your former self.

With a creak, the door opens, and a familiar face pops out. “Just checkin’ on ya.” His southern drawl is thick, shaven face illuminated by the lamp he holds. “I need to change his bandages. And yours if you'd permit me.” Entering the room, he shakes his leather bound bag with the initials ‘T.M.’ embossed on it. The metal and glass inside clinks against each other.

You watch him carry himself with confidence, but with apprehension from his gait. “Do him first.” Moving the chair aside, you still don't fully leave Hobie.

“Alright,” his friendly eyes look at you with uncertainty. Kneeling down next to the bed, he examines Hobie's head, gently unspooling the cloth. That's the only time you look away, refusing to see him that way or it might wiggle its way into your dreams. “I’ve realized that I haven't asked for your name, miss.” You hear his bag unzipping while you stare at the outside world blanketed in deep blue. “Not your fault though, Holden brought you in haste.”

“Holden?” You ask, eyes scanning along the marsh.

“That's the big brooding man that carried him in. My name's Thomas, by the way, what's yours?” The smell of putrid ointment hits your nose, you refuse to cover the smell.

You give him a fake name, a name that isn't known to many, a name that isn't plastered in every bounty board across the country. “It's Clementine.”

“What a pretty name, I'd shake your hand but 'm occupied right now.” He chuckles, and you hold your breath while he continues to treat Hobie. After minutes of silence, you hear the rustle of fabric as he closes the bandages around his head.

You turn to look, the sight of Hobie just laying there is sobering. You've always known him as a strong person, always burying his heels in, independent in all the ways, and speaking his mind when he needs to be. The opposite of you, but right now, you have to be the one that's strong enough for him, to fight, care, and protect him if need be while he recovers. You don't know if you can do it, but it comes easily to you because it's Hobie, you've already done so a lifetime ago. You inhale deeply, finally meeting Thomas’ brown eyes.

“Thank you, for helping, you don't know us but you still helped. I promise I'm going to pay you back for the room and…” you look at the room that still bares Hobie's blood all over the floor, and his things thrown in the corner. “And everything else.”

“No, need.” Thomas smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Crow's feet evident in his smile. “Just seein’ him get better slowly is enough for me.” You give him a weak but genuine smile. “Your turn, miss?”

“I'm fine.”

“I've been a doctor for twenty years, and you're clearly not fine. Especially that ear of yours. I've seen better ears from pigs in line for the slaughter.”

You glance at Hobie's sleeping face, finally relenting. “Okay.”

“I'll try to be quick, I promise.” You scooch your chair closer, immediately holding Hobie's hand like his skin is magnetized. “I don't want to ask but, this injury doesn't look like it came from the train derailing.” He starts to peel off the shoddy bandage that you hastily put on, your skin feels like on fire. You don't mind it anymore, you've felt worse.

You sniff, eyes glued onto the gold ring dangling from Hobie's neck. “A piece of metal from the train nicked it.”

“And your hands?” He nods at your burned palms hidden under cloth.

“Heat from the metal when I tossed it off him.” A half lie.

“Ah,” Thomas cleans your wound with the same putrid ointment. He tugs at your raw skin, you bite your tongue on instinct. “Maybe I shouldn't ask about your neck then.” The angry mark left by the lasso still stays, you know it'll stay there forever. If not, then in your mind.

You look back at the stranger, eyes pointed and daring. “Don't ask.”

There's new cloth around your ear, muffling the sounds made by the house. “Then I won't.” He seizes his movements, eyeing your hand around Hobie's. “May I treat your hands?”

“It's fine, mister Thomas.”

“It's doctor, actually,” there's amusement in his eyes. “I’ve got a license and everythin’. You should see it, it's very professional lookin’.”

You crack a smile, “sorry, doctor.” With slight apprehension, you slide your hands away from Hobie's before laying your palms on your lap. “Do you own this place?”

“I do, sort of.” He unwraps your hands, revealing the angry skin underneath. Sucking in his teeth, you already know it's healing badly. But he still tries, for that you owe him everything.

“Sort of?”

“It's my sisters’ you see, they went on this business trip to get more funds for the place so they asked me to look after it for a few weeks.”

“I'm guessing that you had to leave your practice.” You flick your eyes over to Hobie's rising and falling chest to check on him. Satisfied, you look back at the doctor handling you with care. “That must've been horrible.”

“Havin’ sisters?” He jokes.

“No, leaving it all behind.”

His smile falters. “Don't cry crocodile tears for me, miss, I'll be back there treating the sick in no time.” His head tilts curiously at the old scar on your palm, ghosting his thumb over it. “What happened to this one?”

You want to say that it was because of her, that she did it. But this is one of the rare times that it wasn't her fault. Yet, when it was, she's good at hiding the evidence. Your aunt wasn't an idiot, she knew how to turn a girl into her personal workhorse that you whip and punch to obey without leaving any marks, without showing the world and causing them any concern for your well-being. So you tell the halfhearted truth.

“It was a long time ago, there's no cause for concern on that one.” It healed, a remembrance, telling you that everything will heal if you give it time— that Hobie will heal. You meet his eyes, finding it hard to read the old man. “How about Holden and the others I saw? I didn't get a good look at them when I entered but I saw a few guests. Are they guests?” You question him because that's what Hobie would do.

“Holden lives nearby who just happens upon the train wreck. He has a small stable in town, in Saint Denis. If you want he can take in your horses? They're mighty fine, I don't want them getting soiled by the marsh.”

“That…” you think for a second. If the horses are gone then you'd lose your only way out. Hobie would say no. “No, thank you, I'll take care of them.”

“You sure? Fine by me, there's hay inside the stable for ‘em.”

“The others? You were talking about them.” You continue to push the subject.

“Ah yes, sorry ‘bout that, old mind and all. Well, there's Eli, he's been stayin’ with us for quite a while. A priest on a mission we call him.” You listen intently, taking note of every single detail. “Then there's Lucy, she's a regular ‘ere, always comin' and goin'. Accordin’ to my sisters.”

You nod as he finishes your hands that's now tightly wrapped with bandages. Thomas begins to stand up, gathering his things. “Will he be okay?” Will he wake up?

He sighs, there's something behind his eyes that you can't quite pinpoint. “It’s hard to tell.” Your heart hammers inside your ribcage. “But he has so far survived the night, I think he'll pull through.”

“Thank you, again. I'll repay you, I promise.” You reach for Hobie's hand, letting your warmth seep through his clammy hands.

Thomas' eyes flick between your hand and eyes. “Don't mention it. I'll bring a basin with drinking water for him. Drip water onto his lips every few hours so he won't dehydrate.”

You nod in understanding. “I will, thank you ”

“Then some food and water for you.” He smiles, opening the door and looking over his shoulder to glance at you.

“No need—”

“How would you care for him when you don't take care of yourself? You need the energy. What would he say?”

You chuckle, squeezing his hand tighter. “He’d call me a wanker for not eating.”

Thomas knits his brows, turning back towards you. “A what?”

“Nothing, it's something profane.”

He chortles, wiping his hand across his nose like he smelled something foul. And you smell it too— the sourness, the moment he opened the door. Maybe a rat died under the staircase. “I won't ask then. Get some rest, miss Clementine.”

The door clicks and you're once again alone with him. It hits you again, how dire your situation is. There's a rock in the back of your mind that keeps rolling about, reminding you how close Hobie was from dying in your arms. But there's another boulder in the pit of your stomach, it tells you of a fate that could befall you now that you're here, close to the person looking for you. You'd rather jump towards the alligators than be back in their hold.

Hobie will wake up, you know he will. For now, you'd stay by his side, play the good nurse and protect him as much as you can because he would do it if the roles were reversed. You hold his ring in between your fingers, letting the cold metal melt into your warm skin.

—

You whisper to him, words that you're afraid of letting go, words that you wish would wake him up. You wonder what he dreams of, is it home? Is it something good? Or is he dreaming of you? You'll ask him when he wakes up, he'll wake up, you know he will.

There's another knock at the door a few hours later. Thomas enters with a tray that smells of something savoury, you've forgotten how hungry you are. But how could you indulge when Hobie lays there like a statue?

“I have some duck for ya, and a loaf. It's not much but it'll fill you up.” He senses your trepidation. “Please eat, you'll get weaker if you don't. ‘sides, no one will take care of him if you fall ill.” The utensils rattles as he places the tray in your hands.

You stare at the food with a blank stare. Guilt eats you alive, grief devouring what's left of you. “C-can you…” you clear your dry throat, “can you check on him? See if his breathing is alright?”

Thomas nods curtly after a moment, placing his fingers above his pulse, timing it on a watch that dangles from his waist coat. You don't touch the warm food until he's done. “His breathin’s fine, he's a fighter.”

You finally feel like you can exhale again. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” standing up, Thomas points at the bowl filled with water where a cloth floats atop it. “That's for him, from what we talked about.”

“I remember.” You're already squeezing the cloth, releasing excess water before you place the tray on his bedside to slowly let the water drip on Hobie's dry lips. With every drop, you pray to whoever is listening to will him awake.

“I'll leave you to it,” the door closes, and you're once again left in your dark thoughts where your fears have come true.

In between eating and playing nurse, your eyes start to get heavy with every bite of the succulent meat. You couldn't help but finish it to the bone, letting it fill your belly, leaving half of the loaf for Hobie when he wakes up. After chugging a whole pitcher of water and emptying Hobie's bowl by slowly but surely letting him drink, you place the tray down on the ground to lay down next to him carefully. There's a headache forming in-between your eyes, maybe you're incredibly fatigued than you thought you were. You're mindful of his injuries but not your own as you lay on your injured ear. It's self flagellation, as if everything that has happened was your fault the moment you stepped foot in the new world. As your eyes get uncomfortably heavy, mind foggy, you fall asleep curled up on his side.

You open your eyes and you're back home. The gilded walls of your room open up to you like a theater curtain. Your chest heaves, eyes filled with tears that you refuse to let go. Chiffon and velvet dress hugging you tightly, too tight, suffocating you slowly like a hand on your throat. Hand upon your chest, you rip it all off as if the garment burns you. But it isn't enough to get rid of it all, so you walk over to your table in haste, grabbing a sharp letter opener to slash and tear at the threads putting it all together. One by one, the once pretty gown is torn to shreds at your feet, from bodice to skirt, it all lays on the ground like discarded meat. In a flash, your eyes see red and bloodied muscle still writhing on the floor instead of fabric. As soon as it appears, it's gone after a beat.

You stand there in your slip, but the heaviness in your chest persists, hands and legs going numb— a testament to your shallow breathing. Your hands glide along your body to find anything tight around you, gasping and still in a panic, your hands stop around your neck that holds a string of diamonds. Without a second thought, you snatch the shiny thing away from your clammy skin, breaking the chain in the process.

Air enters your lungs the moment it's gone. Palms above your chest, you inhale and exhale whilst hot tears flow out of your eyes in a shower of sorrow. Leaning over the table for balance, your eyes meet with a familiar handwriting addressed to you. You're brought back in time the second your hand touches it, brought back to five years ago when Hobie slipped you a note during a party. You read it again, telling you that everything was ready, that he's ready to run away with you, somewhere far away and that you should pack your things.

After you read it, the letter dissolves into dark ink that drips down to your feet. You're holding the new letter again, opening the plain wax seal, you read the contents. Then you read it over and over until you get your mind wrapped around the saccharine yet sorrowful words that are all written in his hand. Hobie, the one you've been mourning since the news hit you.

His address is written hastily next to his own name, you laugh and then sob, hugging the letter to your chest. The scene shifts as if you've entered the fog and into a new world. You're in front of the docks, a large ship looming over you. You're dressed in a pair of borrowed trousers from Peter's wife, whilst the older man himself speaks by your side but you can't make out his words. It's all a garbled mess. For some reason, his hands are dripping with blood, but you don't point it out.

You tell him something, and he shakes his head with a smile, eyepatch moving as he gently nudges you towards the ship. The night hides his face, and all the secrets haunting you, even with the full moon shining down. As you wave goodbye, the ship unfurls its sails, sailors reeling the anchor up, and the captain steering the ship towards your future. You watch as Peter's silhouette gets farther until he's a mere dot in your sight.

You raise your head up to watch the swirling sky, falling stars raining down, and the moon smiling back at you. Someone whispers your name, and you instinctively turn around, expecting a fate worse than death thinking that they've found you. But you're greeted by Hobie himself, still in the same clothes you last saw him in, hair short, and face flat.

“Hobie?” You sound like you're underneath the waves.

“Run.”

You're awoken by the squeak from the rotten hinges. Sitting up, your eyes adjust to the light, seeing a silhouette of a tall, bony man in black and white. Vision focusing, you see him awkwardly stop in front of the doorway, the white square on his collar tells you that this is the reverend Thomas was talking about. He has a patch work of a beard and an aura of weariness.

“Eli,” your mouth speaks before you could think.

“That's me,” he chuckles, clearing his throat right after. His hands are behind his back, prompting you to be more wary of the man.

“What are you doing here?” You sit properly, hand placed on your gun belt, feeling the cold metal of Hobie's gun on your palm.

“I–I was…” his blue eyes flick from your gun to Hobie's sleeping face. “Thinking of p-praying for him.”

“He’s not dead yet, reverend.” Your harsh voice cuts through the man.

“I don't mean any offense.” He holds his empty hands up, you glance at his rough hands and the tattoo on his wrist revealed from how his sleeve rode down. It's something you can't quite get a good look at. Noticing your stare, Eli brings his hands down, pulling down his sleeves. “Praying for his swift recovery. That's what I meant.”

“You can pray for him outside our door. Better yet, pray downstairs.” You stare him down. “Where's your book of prayers?”

“I'm sorry, I should've knocked.” You can't place his accent. “I thought you were asleep—”

“And that makes it alright to barge in?”

He balances on the balls of his feet, your eyes instinctively flick over to his leather shoes that are too shiny, too kept as if he just bought it or cleaned it for the occasion. “We got off on the wrong foot, I'm sorry, miss…Clementine. My name's Eli.” Reaching for you, you only look at his hand without shaking it.

“I didn't give you my name.”

The reverend takes his hand back with a wince. “I–I got it from Thomas.” Your jaw tightens, eyes boring holes into his forehead. Thankfully, he reads the room and your expression. “I should go—”

“You should. Goodbye.”

The reverend doesn't turn his back on you, opening the door with what you could read as a cursory apologetic look. “I'm sorry, again.”

You grunt in reply. With the door clicking close, you stand up, taking a spare chair that Thomas always sits down on to lodge it under the doorknob. Locking the door and battening down the hatches. It's what Hobie would do, it's what he always does when he thinks you've fallen asleep.

“Wanker.” You scoff out before sitting back down next to Hobie. You don't find sleep after that. Your mind is too noisy, too chaotic to find sleep even though your body demands it.

—

Two days in and Hobie is still unresponsive, he breathes, even twitches in his sleep but he's unable to wake up. It's pure torture for you, seeing him lay there while you try your best at taking care of him. You've even tasked yourself at watching the good doctor clean his wounds and replace the bandages so you could do it yourself. You miss his smile, his laugh, and how he holds your hand. It’s just like how you've felt for those five long years, but this time you can see him, touch him, and take care of him but he doesn't speak nor look back at you. You don't know which one is worse.

Thomas says he's getting better, but you still worry. You play his nurse and a grieving widow at the same time. Everytime Hobie's breath hitches or even when his finger twitches you sit up, frantically calling the doctor to check on him. He always says the same thing, ‘he’s just dreaming,’ it doesn't fill you at ease, especially if it's anywhere near the dreams you've been having.

Three meals are brought to you every day, and each meal has brought you to sleep. You blame the trauma you've experienced, the things you've seen, the things you've done— it brings you towards the precipice of life and death each time, and without fail, you dream of him. Hobie still sleeps on the lumpy bed, body lay still, breathing sturdy and true. You don't mind the sleep, but the dreams you've had aren't always good, so you'd rather keep your eyes open than face the horrors that sleep brings.

Sometimes your mind wanders off, vision whirling to something else, something worse than him laying unresponsive to the world outside. In the corner of the dark room, you see a bloodied fountain pen with soiled grain littered around it. You turn around to look away, and you see something worse, his pristine white suit is a glaring contrast to the almost dilapidated state of the room, acting like a beacon of pain for you. He doesn't smile, nor come closer to you, he just stands there, back straight like he owns the place, light green eyes aglow like the fireflies outside but none of the comfort.

The blood in your veins runs cold at the sight, so you turn away from him as he stands guard with his judging eyes. Your eyes land towards Hobie to calm you down and bring yourself back to reality. He still sleeps, bandages wrapped around his head, eyelids twitching while he dreams. With a sigh, you suddenly see a pair of eyes under his bed, you're frozen at the sight of a large hand appearing from underneath, nails dark and rotten, wounds littered around the arm, decaying and sour smelling. You see it give you a crooked smile. Heart thrumming, the hand grabs Hobie's wrist, blackened blood oozing from its touch. With horror in your belly but bravery in your heart, you yank the hand away, finding it bursting into a cloud of smoke the moment you touched it.

“You alright?” Thomas asks, he watches you catch your breath from the doorway.

Your hand is closed around nothing, still held up in front of you, gasping at nothingness. You inhale, clearing your throat and bringing down your trembling hand to your lap. “Y-yeah, I think I'm just too hot.”

Thomas nods, eyes roaming around the room. “You've been cooped up in this room for two days. I think some fresh air would do you some good.”

You immediately shake your head. “I can't leave him. Besides, there's a window here, I get enough air as it is.”

“Pardon my bluntness but, you need to stretch around, get a different scenery or you'll go mad seeing the same walls.” Thomas crosses the gap, tentatively placing his hand on your shoulder. His palm hovers slightly above your blouse, not truly holding you. “I can watch him for you, the worst has come to pass already. I know he'll wake up eventually.”

You glance at Hobie's face, he does look better than before. There's color on his lips again, his breathing stable, skin no longer clammy and his wounds are starting to scab over. And the horses need your attention too, you have no idea how they're faring since they got here. You ponder leaving him for a moment.

“...okay, j-just for a few minutes.” But you still don't trust Thomas enough to leave Hobie alone with him. “You don't have to watch him.”

“Alright, I understand where you're comin' from. Hell, I'll give you the key to the room if it makes you feel any better.” Thomas takes out a ring of keys from his pocket, and then he takes out an old key from the metal ring to hand to you. “Just bring it back after.”

“Alright, thank you, that actually fills me with ease.” You close your fingers around the key, letting the metal press down into your burned palms.

“I'll be downstairs. I promise if I hear anythin’, even a squeak I'll come runnin’ out to get you.” Thomas smiles, back already turned to leave.

Your voice calls him back. “Doctor, you've seen death, do you think there's an afterlife?” You suddenly ask him, Thomas stops in his tracks, chuckling softly.

“I don't know, love.” You raise a brow, head turning immediately to face him. “I think it's best if you ask the reverend that. I'm sure he can provide you with an answer.”

“But you've seen people die, right? From your patients, to just…living. I want your opinion on the matter.” You push the subject, eyes heavy and tired. You can feel every bone in your body as your vision shifts, seeing iridescent light pass through the windows and shine in Thomas' face. When your eyes focus, the light is gone.

Thomas scratches his head. “From what I experienced?” You nod, “I don't think so. I think there's just darkness right after.” He sniffs, hands placed in his pockets. “I really think you should talk to the reverend, he might provide a more comforting answer.”

“Maybe I should.” Your voice drifts off, eyes blankly staring outside.

“You sure you're alright?”

“I don't know.” You don't see how red your eyes have become, or the bags weighing it down.

Thomas leaves without another word. You don't leave the room after that, and the key stays with you to hold onto, letting the metal dig into your palms.

—

Startling awake, you sit up from the whispers that have managed to slither its way inside your ears. You look over your side, seeing Hobie asleep and safe, you begin to sit up, head pounding roughly against your skull as if you've been hit by something in your sleep.

More whispers echo out into the darkness, your eyes wander around the room, finding no one so you listen closely. You glance at the floor, ears straining to hear, you realize the voices are coming out from beneath.

Slowly clambering away from the bed, hand reluctantly releasing Hobie's hand, you make your way onto the floor, laying yourself down on the cool wood. Pressing your ears, you listen in on the murmured conversation.

“She barely sleeps!” A woman's voice exclaims, it's followed by shushing. “It doesn't even work on her. I'm at my fuckin’ limit.”

“We need to be patient—” Someone says.

You press your face down closer to hear better. “We've been patient. We need to—” the floorboards creak from your movement. And they immediately quiet down.

You lay there perfectly still, but no sound from downstairs can be heard. Standing up, you check the doors if you've locked it properly this time, and you pat the gun on your hip to feel if it's still there. The unfounded trust that you've given to the strangers downstairs are wavering by the minute. But you can't leave, not until Hobie wakes up, or you might disturb his healing.

—

You gasp awake, trembling in your seat, the wounds on your palms have reopened from how your nails have dug into your broken palms. It's another nightmare, another nightmare that has kept you awake. Hobie still sleeps, and you're still trapped inside the small dusty room.

The heels of your palms rub roughly on your eyelids, washing away the nightmare and sleep. Laying your head on the back of the chair, you stair at the ceiling and the cracking paint. There's a dark red spot near the middle, it's barely noticeable but it's there. The longer you stare at it, the bigger it gets. You fight a sob as you abruptly stand up, maybe you should take Thomas on his offer by going outside. It doesn't hurt to leave for a few minutes, right? Surely no one is awake at the break of dawn, so Hobie is safe to be left for a moment. And he's comfortable with the window opened, letting the cool early morning breeze inside.

You sit down on his bedside, hands gently cupping his own. “I'll be back, alright? I just need to check on Buck and Cherry.” He doesn't answer. “Maybe they can tell me how they managed to find us. Or maybe what you told me before was actually right, that they can smell us. Like loyal hounds we had back at the manor.” Your words drift away as your eyes lose focus, staring at the raised scar on his neck. You sniff, bringing yourself back to reality. “Please wake up, I feel like— just please wake up. Yell my name when you do and I'll come running back.” You kiss his knuckles, eyes glancing at the pair of white trousers standing in the corner. “I'll be back.”

You stand up, ignoring all the ghostly eyes staring at your back. They're not real, you whisper to yourself. Opening the door and locking it behind you before you could change your mind. The key is safely tucked away in your breast pocket. A headache rushes by, you almost fall on your knees from the pain.

As you stand shakily in the hallway, the floors seem to shift and change. It stretches before you while you walk, as if it won't allow you to escape the place. You close your eyes tightly, grounding yourself by holding onto the wall. When you open your eyes, you see your aunt standing at the end of the long hallway. She's clad in black, a long coat hiding her entire body, from her neck to the tips of her feet. Her hair is stark white against the dark material, strands that are longer than you last saw her. You can barely see her face, but it's odd, like something's amiss.

“Where are your eyes, dear aunt?” You ask in a small voice, as if you've returned to the young age you first met her.

She opens her maw, a deep dark crevice of sharp teeth all lined up in rows. You hear your name escape from her unhinged jaw, it's whispered close in your ears. “You can't leave.”

“I just did.” You say without remorse, and without guilt. “Watch me leave again.” With measured steps you walk closer to the vision, as you get closer and closer, her body turns transparent until you've walked through her. And everything returns to normal. You've reached the banisters overlooking downstairs, hand clasped tightly around the wood. Shaking, but victorious. “Not real.”

You look over the railing, eyes roaming around the small space. There's a small common room where a fireplace that doubles as the kitchen lies. A large man sleeps on the single couch facing the fireplace, snoring softly, arms crossed over his chest. A humble bar is placed across it, where amber liquid in foggy glass sits on the shelves. Leaning closer, you spot a door on the floor that could lead to a basement of some sort. The surfaces have been wiped clean except for the tops of the shelves that are caked in dust. There's minimal decorations, save for a few pictures hanging on the walls. Then it hits you, the smell of the place. From sour milk to rotten eggs, you can barely decipher what it is, only decay.

You can see the place being homely after a renovation if not for the stench.

The wooden bannister creaks when you put your weight on it, you flinch away before it gives out from under you. You walk slowly down the small steps of the stairway, legs shaking from the thrumming headache behind your eyes, feet swaying like you're drunk off of moonshine. You attribute it from the vision you saw and from how fatigued you are. But your shoes barely clack against the floor from your footsteps. Your eyes skim over the photographs on the walls, yellowed paper and old frames of family. You look for Thomas in any of the pictures, but he's absent in every single one.

You finally make it down without waking anyone. The man, Holden, you surmise based on the description Thomas gave you, still snores on the couch. Crossing the threshold, you unlock the front door to go outside.

The entire marsh is bathed in blue, sun barely peeking in the horizon. A breeze passes by, goosebumps rising on your arms from the cold. You should've brought your coat with you, but it's too late now. If you go back upstairs, you think you cannot go back down.

You already feel like you're coming back to your old self. Eyes still weighing heavy in its sockets but at least the air and the greenery have grounded you back to reality. You have no idea what has befallen you, why you've been having visions of your family. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation, or maybe the living has decided to haunt you for all the things you've done to survive.

Walking along the wooden paths that prop you up from the mud, you follow it further down towards the small stable. The birds are beginning to wake up, chirping just above the canopies of tall willow trees. With every footstep, your feet sink slightly into the mud, soil swallowing down the planks of wood laid down as a makeshift path. Flies buzz around your legs, you swat away any that comes near your healing wounds.

You finally make it towards the stable, opening the door with slight force since the hinges are long rotten from the wear and tear of the moist environment. You finally crack it open, seeing seven horses in their little pens on the side. The wood inside is in the same state as the inn, bloated and decaying from age. Light filters through the cracks, dust and bloatflies flying all over the horses.

Bucky peeks his head when he hears you enter, he immediately recognizes you, hind legs stomping in excitement. You smile genuinely at the dark horse, walking towards his stable, still swaying slightly on your feet. Cherry appears from behind Bucky, coat muddy and hair tangled. You guess that they had to share a pen because of the lack of space in the stable.

“Hi, you two.” You reach up towards their faces, Bucky nuzzles your hand while Cherry huffs against your palm. “I'm sorry, I should've visited you earlier. But Hobie needed my attention.” With the mention of his rider, Buckeye neighs, leaning away, almost standing up on two legs. You think that he worries for him. “It's alright, calm down, boy. He's getting better.”

Bucky shakes his head, so you scratch the back of his ear where he always seems to like. You coo at him, whispering kind words towards the horse for finding you and Hobie amidst the wreckage with Cherry in tow. You enter their pen, brushing your hands along his fur and hair. Hobie's canteen peeks from his saddlebag on Bucky, so you take it, taking big gulps before placing it back inside the pack. You feel a lot better already.

Cherry watches you and Bucky interact. When she's had enough of Bucky getting all of your attention, she nudges your shoulder, nodding and huffing like a petulant child. “Alright, alright, I didn't forget about you.” Chuckling, you rub along her snout, you find that she likes to be pet there the most. “Have you been good? I'd give you both an apple or sugarcube but I don't have any on me.” You spot the bundle of hay near the entrance. “Is hay good enough? When we get out of here I'll give you both all the sugar cubes and fruit you could ever want.”

Leaving their side after numerous pets, you grab a pitchfork laying on the corner to grab some hay to place in their pen. Once both horses are properly fed and petted, you look around the stable for a horse brush, but the only thing you could find were more horses looking at you with curious eyes. You're more confused though, you see five horses in each pen, but there are only four guests inside the inn that you know of. There's Thomas, Eli, and Holden that you've already met. Then there's the mysterious Lucy. Whose horse is it that is alone in the corner? Maybe it's a spare? Nevertheless, you feed all of them.

“I'll be back,” you fold your knees to grab a bucket on the floor. “Let me just get some water for—”

“You're speaking to horses.”

“Jesus!” You clutch your chest from the sudden intrusion.

“Just me, sorry.” A woman stands in the doorway, hands on her shiny belt buckle, red corset tight on her torso, revealing freckles dusted on her shoulders and clavicle. She smiles, showing a gold tooth in the bottom row of her teeth. The sun has now fully risen outside, bathing her back in light, shadows hiding her face from you. “I'm Lucy, you must be Clementine.”

You clear your throat before you almost made the mistake of correcting her. “Y-yeah. Nice to meet you.”

“Why are you doing manual labor? Aren't you injured?”

“I am, but I'm feeling a lot better now thanks to the doctor.”

“Thomas?”

“Yeah, is there another doctor here?”

She chuckles, stepping forward out of the shadows. You see her chiseled face, lips full and pretty, more freckles lined around her eyes and cheeks. Her blond hair is tied in a neat braid, cowboy hat perfectly fitted around her head. There's a hunting rifle strapped on her back, and a large ornate knife on her waist.

“I'll take care of the water. Breakfast is being served inside if you're hungry.” She says with a lilt in her tone. “There's sausage, the good kind. I think you'll like it.”

“You've got their water?” You ask, glancing at your horses.

“Yeah, I've got them.” She crosses the small distance towards you, you don't drop your guard even when her hand grabs the bucket away from you. “I've been the one looking after them.”

“Oh, thank you then. I hope they're not too much of a bother.”

“Not really. Especially your Arabian there, she's real pretty.” Lucy eyes Cherry like a piece of meat on the chopping block. “How much for her?”

“Excuse me?” You scoff. “She's not for sale.”

“Alright, understandable. How about the thoroughbred?”

“No,” you stand stiff, jaw clenched. “They're not for sale.”

She grins slowly, brown eyes flat and staring at your soul. Shrugging, she begins to walk outside. “Eh, it's worth the try. Your loss, I would've bought them at a mark up.” Her voice fades away as she leaves.

You stand there with your fists shaking, you're perturbed by the people residing in the inn. You think Thomas and Holden are the only decent ones inside.

Cherry neighs behind you, you look over your shoulder to meet with her eyes. “The nerve of some people, huh?” Buckeye agrees by trotting in place.

Walking back towards the inn already has you sweating from the humidity. Once you open the door, all eyes are on you. Thomas stands behind the bar, preparing a plate. While Holden eats on one of the empty bar stools with a cup of steaming coffee paused on his lips as he stares at you. The reverend was just about leaving the basement when you entered, hand frozen on the handle of the basement door.

The doctor breaks the awkward silence. “Good morning. Did ya have a nice walk outside?”

You flex your hands on your sides, biting the inside of your cheek. “It was…pleasant.”

Eli casually stands up and then sits on the sofa near the fire and the cooking pot. He opens a large book, reading like he didn't just leave the basement as if he owned the place.

“Come have breakfast with us.” Thomas beckons you over, sliding the plate he was just preparing over to you. “I was just about to go upstairs and give this to ya.”

“Thank you, I'll eat it in my room. I don't want to disturb you all.” You come closer to the bar, fingers placed around the porcelain plate. You feel eyes on you, Holden continues to eat in the corner of your eyes. Eli is mouthing scriptures at his seat.

“No, no, come stay!” Thomas hands you a cup of coffee. The smell brings you back home. It's not a good memory. “It'll do you some good to have company, even for a moment. Please stay.”

You nod, clammy palms rubbing along your trousers. “...sure, just for breakfast though.” Rubbing your nose, Thomas notices.

“Sorry ‘bout the smell. We think there's a rat that died in the basement but we can't seem to find it.” He picks at his own plate while leaning on the other side of the bar. “That's why the reverend was down there. It was his turn to look.”

You nod, glancing briefly at the trap door on the floor. “Can I have a glass of water instead? I don't like coffee.”

His fork clangs on the plate as he lets go. “Oh of course!” Turning around he takes a pitcher of water and then he pours you a glass. While he does that, you look at the pictures behind the bar.

“Which one are your sisters?” You gesture towards the frames, Thomas still has his back towards you as he continues to pour you a glass.

“Oh, the picture that's in the middle.” You follow where he pointed at. A photograph of two smiling women in front of the inn when it was still new and shiny hangs in the middle of the bar. Their faces are flat and serious but the way their arms are around each other says that they're particularly happy in the picture. If not for the long exposure needed to take the scene, they would be grinning widely.

You tilt your head at the picture, eyes scanning their features and comparing it to Thomas' face. “You don't look like them.”

He twists around, handing you your glass of water. “I've been told.” Chuckling, he looks back at the picture briefly before turning towards you. “They got my mother's features and I got my father's. Which parent do you look like the most?” His eyes watch the mouth of the glass against your lips.

“I barely remember their faces now.” You don't drink the water just yet to answer his question. “So I don't know.”

“That's too bad.” And yet, he smiles. “How ‘bout you, Holden? Who do you look like?”

“My mother.” He says gruffly, tone monotone and uninterested.

“Ah.” Thomas picks at his plate again.

“I haven't thanked you yet for saving him.” You address the large man. “Thank you.”

“I just happened upon the place. My eyes couldn't leave the train wreck.” Holden stares at the same spot on the bar, you follow his line of sight, once you've reached the end, you see a dark red splatter on a glass of gin.

Before you could ask, Eli interrupts. “As is his will.” He's now in front of the fire even though it's sweltering inside already. “It's very lucky that Holden happens to be riding that way.” Eli says those words with humour, as if the train derailing is the funniest thing in the world.

Thomas clears his throat, “I heard no one else on the train got hurt.” You sigh in relief, knowing the real Clementine and her family are safe and sound. “A few railroad workers were injured but they're fine now, last I heard.”

“Yes, it's good that no one else got severely hurt.” Lucy appears inside the inn, smiling at you. She stalks silently around you like you're prey. Your hand instinctively slides down towards your gun belt.

“Well, except for your lad.” Thomas says, you look at him with wide eyes, blood running cold, gun now fully in your hand. The world swirls around you, your breathing gets faster, heartbeat loud in your ears. The air shifts, everyone except Thomas stiffens. “We know who he is. He's a fuckin’ legend ‘round ‘ere, but don't worry, we won't tell any lawmen. We're not like that.” Thomas continues to speak even with your world crumbling around you. He doesn't know what he just revealed. “Drink your water, we don't want you goin' thirsty now.”

“‘L-lad?’” you almost whisper, but the entire room is silent, a pin could drop and you'd hear it. Your words are thunderous compared to the fire cracking in the fireplace. “You said you're from here.”

Thomas chuckles nervously, you stand up, eyes flicking over towards the occupants. The rotten stench under the floorboards has increased ten fold in your panic, the tiny splotches of crimson on the walls and glass aren't just dirt and grime.

It's blood, and the entire inn is covered in it. Hastily scrubbed off the surface, but the mark of death remains.

They all look at you, Holden stands behind you, his shadow casting over you. Lucy continues to smile while Eli looks on amidst the backdrop of the raging fire behind him. Thomas gives you a look, shaking his head subtly.

You don't miss a beat, gun aiming behind you to shoot. But no bullet flies, you don't hit your mark for the chamber is all emptied out without your knowledge. You don't know when it was taken out but you don't have time to ponder it. Running past Lucy towards the stairs, you yell his name.

“Hobie!” You manage to get to the third step before you fall flat on your face, nose harshly landing on the stair, shoulder oozing something warm. Looking over the source, you see Lucy's hunting knife embedded in your shoulder. “No!”

Lucy giggles, and the reverend joins her side, face downturned, eyes following how your blood oozes out of your back.

“Fuck! They said don't draw blood! What the bloody hell is wrong with you!” Thomas shows his true colours, yelling at Lucy angrily. You continue to crawl up the stairs despite the searing pain. “Fuckin’ grab her! Get the key, it's on her.”

“I'm…” you still fight, elbows pressed on the rough wood, crawling relentlessly up the stairs. “Going to fucking kill all of you.” You say through gritted teeth, ignoring the seething pain as your body trembles.

Eli's voice pipes up. “We just want to get you home. God will strike you down if you do that.”

“Strike me down all he wants. He knows where I am.” With determined eyes, you keep crawling even though your arms are split apart by splinters.

You're about halfway up the steps when you hear loud heavy footsteps walk towards your form. Groaning, you dig for the key inside your pocket. The second you find it, you toss it with all your might, it flies up and then it lands and slides under the bar shelves. It's your turn to cackle. Large hands grab you, turning you over. Holden's scowl looks back at you. Puckering your lips, you spit at his face, laughing as he lets you go, desperately cleaning his face.

“Move over, big guy. Do I have to do everything around here?” Silent steps cross over to you while you try to desperately climb up. You can't feel your back anymore. Suddenly, you feel a cloth press on your mouth and nose. You know this smell, it's sweet and tart, but there's an underlying bitterness. Recognizing it from the description on the botanical books you've read, the ones that they say a proper lady shouldn't read. And you know you're about to black out within ten seconds. You try to fight back but you're weakening.

“Shh,” Lucy coos, arm tightening around your neck as she presses the concoction harder on your nose. Her own arm hits the knife still in your shoulder, you gasp in pain, inhaling more. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

The last thing you hear is his voice calling out after you. You're not sure if it's real or not, but you still cling to hope that it is.

—

The rope around your body is rough against your skin, the hemp seems to tighten around you as you move. You feel bandages on your shoulder blade, stab wound aching and throbbing. Entire body covered in sweat, your clothes are drenched from the heat. Your vision swirls, mind tethering between reality and fantasy. You see your aunt standing near the rake you just held, your uncle crouched in the corner, watching you struggle against your binds. And him, who sits next to you, as if he's guarding you. His face crosses your line of sight, it shifts between Hobie's soft smile, and his grinning face.

“I told you, you can't leave.” He says, hand reaching up to touch your face. You know he's not real, that he's a result of what Lucy gave you, what they've been giving you— but you still feel the air around him shift, how his palm sits on your cheek like a hot pan against your skin.

“C–Cross,” you gulp down as much air as you can amidst your state. “What did I do to deserve this?”

He could only grin at you.

“You’re awake, good. Lucy didn't accidentally kill you.” Eli stands near the doorway of the stable with a gold gun in his hand. Fingers yanking off his tab collar.

“Eli, you creepy motherfucker.” You slur your words, but you fight the haze. “How much did they pay you just to bring me back?”

He sniffs, “a lot.” The horses neigh in the background, you turn your head and you see Bucky and Cherry frantically thump and kick their hooves inside their pen.

“You’re not even a reverend are you?”

“No,” He says, turning away from the doors to face you. “I was once though.”

“Let me guess, you weren't cut out to be one.” You lean up, almost folding yourself to squint at him. “Or they fucking kicked you out.” He flinches, it's subtle, but you saw it. “They did, didn't they? What did you do, reverend?” You taunt while you try to ease your wrists off from the rope. Your skin stings from the movement, but it'll be worth it once you get your hands around his scrawny neck. “Oh shit, don't tell me it's—”

“It was gambling. I've racked up a debt.” He was quick to answer, as if he's still trying to protect his reputation. “I used all the donations.”

“That's fucked up.” You scoff, riling him up, playing him like a fiddle. “Seriously, so fucked up. And you decided to what? Scam more people by wearing the uniform?” Eli doesn't answer, you see him bounce on the balls of his feet, anxiety rolling off him in waves. “Is there an afterlife, reverend?” You say in a small, weaker voice to rag on him on more. It works when he turns towards you.

“Stop talking,” He saunters over to you, crouching down to your level. “I've already heard all those words before, you don't get to hurt me back, girl.”

“Was it all of you? Holden looked like he didn't want to be in there.”

“Please, he was the one who recruited me. He knew that Thomas needed more men the moment he heard Hobie's name.”

You chuckle bitterly. “You know that one of you has damaged the goods, right?”

“Thomas healed you.”

“Yeah, but still, you've left a mark. That means the pay will go down, that means your share will go down thanks to Lucy.” You can practically see the cogs in his head turn. Tilting your head, you turn him against his own team. “Tell me, would it hurt if you got someone out? You know, increase your pay.”

“What are you saying?”

“There are plenty of alligators here. I'm saying that accidents happen.”

Eli knits his brows, “but which one—?” The unmistakable sound of a gun going off echoes around the marsh. It's so loud that the horses are startled, panicked neighing fill the stable, birds scramble off the trees to fly away. “That came from inside the inn!” He stands up, you drop your façade as he turns away. “Shit!” More shots ring out, then a dozen more, suddenly, it's quiet in the marsh again.

Eli is in the perfect position for you, his body shields you from the afternoon sun as he stands there in a worried state. His gun is in his clammy hand, hammer pushed all the way down. Without a thought, you sit up in a crouched position slowly without startling him. And then you push him on the back of his knees with your shoulder, earning a pained groan from you and a sudden bang when he falls that has you flinching away.

Rubies pool around Eli's body, and you realize, he has shot himself when he fell on his face.

“Fuck.” The voice by the doorway says, you can only see his silhouette, the setting sun directly at his back. He's hunched over, silver gun in his bloodied hand.

“Hobie, are you real?” You could cry, on instinct, you move to get to him but your binds prevent you. Tears cling to your eyelashes as he slowly makes his way towards you. “H-how?”

You can see his face fully now, blood coats his cheeks and neck, eyebrows contorted in pain but his smile tells you otherwise. “I woke up.”

“You did.” Sobbing, you try to hold him even with the ropes around your wrist. “Are you okay?”

Hobie holsters his gun, wiping the blood off his hands on his trousers, and then he cradles your face. Thumb brushing along the tears. “‘m alright, dizzy and a bit of a headache but ‘m alright.” His viridescent eyes are aglow, trapped tears glimmering. “Are you—? Did they hurt you?” He asks in a small voice, afraid of your reply.

You frown, and he already knows the answer. “I thought you wouldn't wake up.”

“With you waitin' for me, of course I'd wake up.” Hobie lays his forehead against your own. He's real, and he's holding you in his arms again. “‘m real, love. I'll never leave you again.”

You cry in his arms even when he cuts off your binds. Your mind is still reeling from the previous event. Body free, you embrace him, face tucked on the crook of his neck. He holds you, kissing your temple, hands rubbing up and down on your back. He apologizes against your skin a hundred times. And you forgive him a hundred more.

Hobie releases all the horses from the stable, all the now riderless horses gallop out in a rush. He guides Cherry and Bucky out to hitch them just outside on the trees and away from the inn and stable. Coming by to get you, who stands in front of the inn.

“I need to get my things.” He says next to you, pinky curled around your own. “Your letters are still in there.”

“I'll come with you.”

“No, you don't need to see that.” His eyes warn you of the sight ahead.

“Too late for that, Hobie.” You thump your head on his bicep. “I’ll watch your back. Just in case.”

“Stay close, yeah?” He smiles softly, letting go of your hand reluctantly. You nod behind him, gun drawn and loaded.

The door opens, you try not to look at the bodies at your feet but your eyes seem to gravitate towards the violence that was left. There's blood splattered all over the walls, Holden's body is hunched over itself, blood seeping out from his numerous gunshot wounds. You walk a bit more, following Hobie's path. Broken glass crunches at your feet, and you see Lucy laying on the ground with her own knife shoved inside her chest. Her eyes are wide open, mouth agape in surprise. By the stairs, in the same position you were in mere hours ago, lies Thomas with a shotgun wound on his back, making you see through him.

“H-how'd you manage this on your own?” Your nails scratch along the metal of your gun.

“You were in danger.” Was all he answered.

As you stand there, you hear something on the floor next to the bar, glancing downwards even though you've had enough of the sight, you find someone who shouldn't be there.

“Culver?” You ask, and he whizzes out.

“Help. Me.” He tugs at your trouser leg, he's drenched in crimson, from his face down to his boots.

“He was hiding underneath the floorboards with the bodies of the actual owners.” Hobie says, guilt is written all over your face. “It's not your fault, love, you gave him a chance and he spat at it.”

“P-please,” he wheezes out, voice hoarse and broken, “they hired me, I-I was just following orders.”

You sniff, fists shaking. “It was my aunt wasn't it?”

Culver shakes his head, desperate to please you, desperate for you to save him again. “No, it was your h—”

Your bullet cuts him off, he lays there, now unmoving, and the gun in your hand smoking. You feel like you're deprived of air. Hands shaking, tears flowing out freely.

Hobie reaches for you slowly, you don't flinch away so he pulls you in, letting you weep against his chest.

—

The flames ebb away at the building, ashes flying off into the air as the roof collapses down on itself. You let the smoke fill your lungs, watching the fire light up the entire marsh, but it acts as a beacon to where you are. And you can't risk being found, especially when he's back on your side.

You kneel down, placing the framed photograph of the actual owners on the ground, apologizing to them quietly.

“We should go, Hobs.” You softly say, tugging at his sleeves.

He nods, eyes flicking between you and the burning inn. His palm is pointed towards you, waiting for you to reach for him. When your hand slides on his own, all his fears melt away. You're safe, and he's alive— that's all that matters.

—

Midnight comes, you and Hobie rode further north and away from the chaos you two left. Bucky and Cherry sleep next to each other, both tired from the ride. You tend to the fire while Hobie cleans his hands in a nearby river. The murky water turns a dark shade of red as he scrubs his hands clean, there's blood under his fingernails. And shallow crimson slashes on his arms. Once all the blood has been washed away, he sees a slash on his palm, identical to yours, the one he sutured himself. He winces, and you turn around to check on him. The both of you had been quiet the entire journey, preferring to look on whenever one groans in pain or when either one of you shifts on the saddle. You don't want to talk about it, and he doesn't want to either. Both thinking that it was his and your fault for everything that had happened.

He holds up a hand to you, wordlessly telling you that he's alright. Nodding, you turn back towards the fire, your vision shifts from the campfire in front of you to the burning cinders of the inn. A wet cloth on your cheek jerks you awake.

“Sorry,” Hobie flinches, taking the cold cloth away from your skin. “You have soot all over your face.”

You smile softly, hand reaching for his wrist, gently placing the cloth back to your face. He understands, wiping away the ash off of your skin. You stare at him, face unreadable, bandage still wrapped around his head. “Hobie,” he hums in reply, continuing to wipe the grime off. “You said you had to leave but you never told me how you left. Please tell me what happened that night.” Why did you leave me?

Hobie scooches closer to you, knee to knee, hand still wiping along your forehead. “Hicks did it.” You listen, hands fisting his vest to tamp down your frustration and everything in between. “He was the one who found out, told your aunt and got a group from the factory to ambush me in our meeting place.” His voice breaks but he composes himself. “He was the one who slashed my throat and…” faltering, the cloth slid downwards to your neck, rubbing along your skin. “buried me alive under our tree.”

Your heart clenches, imaging him clawing his way out of the dark earth. “Hicks, h-he married my aunt six months after you left. That motherfucker boasted that he killed you, hid your body in the woods. But I knew better.”

Hobie runs his thumb under your eye, wiping away a stray tear. He gives you a brief smile. “Fucker wasn't content in bein’ the factory manager, he had to ‘eliminate the competition,’ he said. I wasn't even participatin’.”

“I'm sorry,” you wrap your arms over his shoulders, hands holding his jaw. You apologize to him like an acolyte asking for retribution in front of the shrine. “I'm sorry, I should've done something— I could've—”

“There was nothin' you could've done, love. Just like how I couldn't fight back.” He pulls you in, face pressed on the crown of your head. “They used you against me. Told me that you didn't want me anymore. Told me I was a burden to you.”

“No, never. I'd never do that.” You pull away, holding him close, meeting his emerald eyes that reminds you of the best parts of home.

“I know that now. I knew it back then too, but my anger and frustration got the best of me.” He presses a heavy kiss on your forehead as you close your eyes, listening to him breathe. “Peter helped me get out, and all he got from it was getting his eye taken out.”

You gasp softly. “He helped me too,” Hobie looks at you, hands still cradling your face. Hands that are warm against your soft skin. “He didn't tell anyone where you were, I didn't know until now, until your letter. He helped me get on a boat.” You remember that day, it was raining, it was also pouring down back when Hobie left. Your nails dig into your palms when your mind gives you the image of him digging himself out of the flooded soil, lungs inhaling in rain water and dirt. “I–I really wanted to look for you, to run after you but I couldn't.” Hobie presses you against his chest while you heave, tears flowing down your cheeks as you feel his own drop on your head. “They had me under lock and key, they guarded my doors for years, until—” You pause, hands bunched up on his shirt. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

Hobie cradles you in place, arms holding your form as he lets his touch calm you down, accepting your apology, and accepting his faults. “You did good, love, you survived. But I'm ‘ere now, you'll never be back there.” You nod against his chest, Hobie hides his sorrow filled face in the crook of your neck, lips pressed on your skin, mumbling apologies. “When I was runnin’ away while I was still bleedin’, I thought I should at least say goodbye to you. But I changed my mind and went towards the docks while Peter hid me in his cart.” He leans away, just like back then, he doesn't want to sink his teeth into you, to bite hard and draw blood. “I thought that you deserve someone who isn't me. Someone who's not broken. 'm broken, and 'm afraid I'll never return to who I was before.”

You reach up to touch his cheek tenderly, head placed on his lap, cradling your body just like he did under your oak tree. “You are not as broken as you think you are. Not to me, never. You are everything to me, Hobie Brown.” You hug him, for you have no idea how to tell him that you know he can't be ‘fixed’, that there's nothing to be fixed. That even if there was, you'd break yourself, break every muscle and bone in your body, tore it limb from limb so you'd be broken together. That you'll fit right in where his jagged edges lie just like before. But you know you don't have to, because you're just as broken as he is.

"Is there still room left in there for me?" You poke his chest right where his heart is.

His yearning has taken a form in you, it has your face, and it has your voice. You are love incarnate.

"Always. you've never left.” He says softly, words that are only for your ears. You nod, smiling, tilting your head up as he leans down. “Let's go home, love.” He wants to carve out your name in his heart, but he'll settle for the next best thing— etching your lips upon his own.

[cowgirlcherrie]

georgia canned peaches — ⋆｡°✩ 🐎 cowboy! ellie

pairing: cowboy! hitwoman! ellie x black! fem! reader. wc: 5.0K

synopsis: on the run was Tennessee’s peach, who trades a life of discomfort for security with a Texan stranger

warnings: 18+, MDNI! mommy issues, slight religious trauma if you squint, heavy touching, ellie has an accent, mentions of death and loneliness, heavily inspired by Bones and All ( minus the c*nnibalism and gore), dom! ellie, domestic! ellie, heavy use of petnames (peach, sweetness, sugar, doll), stranger danger lowkk…, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, mentions of weapons, killing, black feminine coded reader, running away, taking care of injuries, injured ellie (so mention of blood, bleeding),

━━━ ♪ peach & georgia by kevin abstract

a/n: heyy everyone!! here's a quick lengthy one-shot for cowboy-ish Ellie! if you enjoy it babis my ask button is open and I'm always accepting requests if you want headcanons, etc, but enjoy!! ⊹˚. ♡⊹˚. ♡

✧˖°.

Mama didn’t raise no bitch! Or a conniving little thief either. 

You tested that theory. Your hands became sticky with anything remotely flashy. Perhaps that was how you found out how to survive on your own. Times like this you wondered where you would be if your mama had just been a perfect Mary Sue. Made dinner, taught you how to wash your clothes and braid your hair, tucked you in at night, and just maybe taught you how to be better than a man. But now you were alone, in the hot Texan heat, and it felt like a smack to the face. Similar to her handprint the night she let you loose and hissed that you are on your own. You didn’t wanna cover the bills anymore or hear her bullcrap about how it was Adam and Eve — not Eve and Eve. You grew tired, and so did your feet that seemed to get you as far as you were now. Perhaps it wasn’t smart to smash your piggy bank taking the $500 dollars you spent bussing tables to go and a messenger duffle that could fit 3 heads. No plan either, which was significantly negligent, but your sticky fingers got you farther than you ever could, and they made sure you were fed. 

That would explain why you were stealing in a gas station grocery. Crouched by the nonperishables stuffing anything and everything into the duffle bag. Georgia peaches, check. Canned pineapple, check. Dried beans and nuts, double-check. You weren’t exactly careful, but the place loomed with unfamiliar faces who certainly were too full of themselves to stop you. So you kept going, a first aid kit for the bruises that were forming on your knees and sewing material to fix the rip in your jacket. Well not your jacket, but your dad's jacket. Brown thick cotton over your shoulders to cover the long dress you were in, it was a smart decision. The jacket kept you warm on the desert nights, and it made home in your hands during the day. The little pockets are perfect for stuffing loads of crap you don’t need. With the crack of another can hitting the floor, it paralleled a shiny brown boot. Drenched in leather and gold detailing as it smacked the tile. Left foot – right foot – left again. Your eyes followed the trail of feet, ignoring the can that rolled away from you as a hand reached down to pick it up. A roughened, bloody, feminine freckled hand. Now the mystery girl was looming over your figure, in an authoritative stance, as if her ego had been bigger than her height itself. But she was also bleeding. Her right arm clenched to her hip as blood seeped between her fingers. 

“Yers’ drop somethin’ peach?” The accent sent a shiver up your spine. It was thick and unfamiliar but maybe the word peach, at the end masked her roughness. You now made eye contact with the girl, green eyes looming into yours as you shakily took the can of peaches.

“M’sorry that was my bad,” you mumbled taking the peaches back and tucking them into your chest. You couldn’t slip it back into your bag now, next thing you know she would yell THIEF! and drag you by your collar to the front counter. But the woman was in such poor shape to do so, her freckled face wincing ever so slightly with every movement her body made. She was a cowgirl, you’ve heard all about them in the papers but didn’t take them for the real deal. Her hat told you all you need to know, brown to match her thick belt and blue bell bottoms. Oh, she was the real deal.

“Could ya be a doll n’ grab me a kit” The woman groaned out, pushing her body weight in front of you. Her standing position contrasted yours that was crouched down, at eye level with the material. “You’s a real catch ya know? Put the peaches back in. I know you were stealin’” This made you freeze. Fuck!Fuck!Fuck! Your brain shouted you were screwed.

Your hands now moved slower reaching for the kit in front of you, and you suddenly realized how overly close the woman was to you. Almost blocking your field of vision from anything to your left. You ignored her statement, as you shakily lifted the first aid kit to her hands. 

“Peach…you are a delight, but now you listen,” The woman didn’t take the kit, “A camera has been pointed at ya for the past 5, and now you got Tina’ at counter watchin’ ya. You are gonna live up to bein’ delightful and pay for this one thing” The woman was scrounging in her pocket and you took the moment of silence to think to yourself, you had barely any money. $500 was something you needed to make stretch.

“What?”

“I don’ take you for a fool, I’m Ellie, and I mean no harm.” Ellie took off her hat placing it over the left side of her chest at her heart, giving you a simple nod before putting the dusted brown hat back on her head. Ellie this time put a stained $10 bill on top of the first aid kit that had been suspended in the air by your hand. This action made you stand up – eye level with this time. Noticed the girl has a height to her, her figure looming over you as you stood.

“Give me the bag [what?] your bag sweetness! we don’t got all day, dammit I’m hurt” Ellie stated bluntly. There was no more time for jokes or stealing any more Georgia canned peaches. There were better things to worry about. Like the fact that you can go to jail for stealing and Ellie who was bleeding out in front of you. You slid your brown bag off your shoulder handing it to Ellie who swung it over her left shoulder. 

“Go see Tina with ‘er blonde hair, act sweet, say your visitin’ family. If they ask, say the Williams Ranch, she’ll give you no hard time” Ellie started as she was giving you instructions, “When ya finish, keep the change, meet me at my car I’ll be outside. You get your bag – I fix my wound, and you get the fuck outta town.” Ellie finished. This time her look was stern, and aggressive as if she was testing you. Testing your loyalty, your honesty, your act. She wanted to see how you worked under pressure, she wanted you to suffocate from fear. All you could do is nod, swallowing harshly, as Ellie turned her body walking down the Isle to your left.

You took the initiative to make your way to ‘Tina’. Ellie was right, the blonde had been suspicious of you. Asked you all the questions that Ellie said she would, but she backed off once you mentioned the Williams Ranch. Handing you the exact change of 0.50 cents and a hospitable smile, saying “Have a great day.” Tina’s defensiveness changed with one simple title. This made you wonder how much authority Ellie had over the place, questions flooding through your brain as you pushed the door and walked out, being met with the setting sun.

The sun was getting low, and there wouldn’t be a motel for another mile out. Sure you could do the walk but you weren’t guaranteed anything. A whistle brought you out of your trance, belonging to Ellie who this time had a toothpick between her cushioned pink lips, as her body leaned against a ran down red car, with muddied wheels. You jogged over this time seeing that your bag was missing from her shoulders rather this time in the passenger seat of her car. 

“Here you go, what you asked.” You pushed the first aid kit into her hands like you’d done back in the store. Ellie mumbled a thank you, as she nibbled on the toothpick. This time, taking the kit and putting it on the hood of the car. 

“Yous’ as quiet as a mouse, but orders ya take well…Peach could you help me patch up, I ensure you a place to stay and food in return – all comfort no lies…” It took you time to think about it. What did people call this…southern hospitality? She was sweet to you despite not really knowing you but the situation was still tit for tat. You do for me, I do for you. Wax on, Wax off. You weren’t gonna say no to a place to crash, where you didn’t have to worry about the faucet being broken or water barely coming out because the bill wasn’t paid. You were certain her bills were paid. 

“Yes, please…uh thank you!” You exclaimed as you began to dig through the box, taking out a bottle of water from your coat pocket, also stolen using it as a hand wash and something to clean the area, temporarily where the wound is. “doncha thank me just yet, you’re just getting started, peach.”

 Ellie was surprisingly still gentle with you, taking her time to crouch into the backseat of the car, while you sat next to her with the kit on the center console. Ellie took her time to untuck the white button-down shirt, as her hands shakily fiddled with the buttons. Due time, her snail speed started to irritate you making you smack her hands away doing it yourself. The exchange was silent, but you preferred it to keep the awkwardness at bay. Ellie shook off her white button down, leaving her in a white tank top — Ellie this time took the initiative to roll the tank top up to right below her boobs allowing you to wince at the large gash on her hip.

“Holy Sh—”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

“Not my first Rodeo” Ellie continued as you poured water on the wound making Ellie grit her teeth. Tilting her head back as whimpers left her mouth at the sudden coldness. All of it was hard to do when you’re in the back of a car trying to patch up a borderline dead woman. But before you could ask any questions, Ellie took the initiative to do it herself. 

“W-Where you headed, whats yer’ story?” Ellie grimaced through the pain as she held her head against the headrest, pants escaping her lips at an alarming rate. “God…I’m sorry,” You hesitated, you couldn’t even answer one simple question, your hands shaking at the blood that was covering your hands as it just wasn’t slowing down.

“Jeez– I hope a lil’ blood don’t scare you peach, I woulda done it myself baby,” Ellie hissed, trying to stay moderately sweet as she was now gripping onto the door handle, her right hand finding its way to your thigh, squeezing for the endless support. That’s when you noticed her tattoo, a death’s-head hawkmoth, and vines. Beautiful, yet chaotic, she had a story. Ellie squeezed again your thigh again making you look back at her. “Eyes up here baby [sorry] where [shit] ya’ from?” You couldn’t lie, the rifle at the back of her car taunting you. If she wanted to kill you she certainly would have done it by now. She wasn’t a threat, and she proved that in the store.

“I’m from Tennessee, I’ve been traveling on foot. I’m runnin’ away” You confessed as Ellie nodded her head in response, Your accent was slight, barely noticeable making more sense in Ellie’s head at why you struck her as different. Your beautiful brown skin glowing under the setting sun, you were a beauty to her. “Figured, how old?” Ellie questioned as you continued to stay frozen, eyes on her face to continue the conversation. “21” Ellie nodded again. 

“Thought so, 22” Ellie responded. There it was again, the tit for tat. 

“You seem like a good girl, far away from home aren’t cha. What’s wrong with yer family? Perhaps your mama?” Ellie tilted her head watching as your face transitioned from bliss and tranquility to fear and panic. She knew she struck a nerve, your mama was the problem. She didn’t wanna pressure you, hell it didn’t matter now. You were on your own, like a scared little lamb that has been deterred from its family. Possibly you were the black sheep, different from the rest. Ellie, once again, didn’t wanna pressure you. 

“You look like you need someone to take care of ya, don’t worry Peach I’ll take care of you” Ellie whispered, her voice all velvety like icing a chocolate cake. Smooth and sweet with care and caress. Ellie was unlike others you’ve met. Or any ex-lover you had. This time you weren’t afraid to let her in or take care of you. Hell you wanted that, you’ve been craving it for all years of your life while you had to do it for others. Maybe it was time someone exchanged the favor. The good karma bell rang in your ears, as a smile tugged at your lips.

“Make sure you cared for, if you let me” Ellie whispered some more, her hands this time traveling to your waist, giving a gentle squeeze, to which you could only hum in response. She was a charmer and knew all the right words to get you sunken in with her. Mama always said to not trust strangers, but why didn’t she feel like one? Her scent was intoxicating all you wanted to do was lean down and sink your pointed fangs into her shoulder, hearing her cry of satisfaction while she continued to call you Peach. Peach…Peach…Peach. You liked that name, no one called you that but considering that's what she handed you when you first spoke, it didn’t run as a surprise. 

Ellie squeezed, “Words, sweetness?”

“Yes” you squeaked, which probably sounded oddly sexual now that you thought about it. Unholy thoughts plague your brain at the sight of the Texas beauty in front of you. Realizing your task still was unfinished you got back to work. Hands working fast as you took your time, threading the suture thread through the needle as it came in contact with the flesh that was Ellie’s loose and separated skin.

Ellie wincing as you dug the needle in, and back out with an exhale. It was a semi-shitty stitching job, but you were able to tightly close the wound and stop the bleeding. Ellie didn’t speak, considering she’d risk completely yelling every curse word and potentially scaring you off, she settled on biting the hem of her tank top instead. Thick black lashes coated with tears at the sudden pain and blood crust. You were gentle though, Ellie caressing your waist as you put down a gauze pad, followed by wrapping it with the gauze roll and securing it with the adhesive tape. Patting to let her know that you were finished. 

“Yer’ such a good girl you know?” Ellie cooed as her hands found their way up to your braids, bringing your head down so she can give a chaste kiss to your head. Right…Right… Southern Hospitality. The feeling almost made you cry. Praise, followed up with affection? Like nothing you have felt before – hell you only thought they did that in movies. Ellie, however, was like a movie. Purley a fever dream, you were scared to fall asleep, what if you imagined the whole thing? You were enjoying your runaway escapades too much for it all to be fake. 

“Let’s get the show on the road,” Ellie gave a smile, making her way out of the back, suggesting that you do the same. So much for not trusting strangers.

✧˖°.

Father, Forgive me for I have sinned… it was blurry 

As we forgive our trespassers…still blurry

Trespassers…clear

You were a trespasser, is what you were getting from Ellie’s narration. Over the 30-minute car ride to her Farmhouse, Ellie explained to you the whole ordeal. Her cowboy hat was on your head as you listened to her tell narration of the cowboys' sealant for the townspeople. Why Tina, at the gas station tried to make you a friend. This Texan desert, farmland was constructed with the passage that cowboys and cowboy decedents protect the townspeople from narcs and trespassers, which in this case you could have been either. Debunked neither. It was one of those towns that people suggest you pass, hell probably inquire why it's still on the fucking map.

Ellie confessed that she was also a trespasser, just like you. Taken in by her late found father Joel who showed her how to run the rodeo. How Millers Ranch, became Williams Ranch. It was impressive, your eyes gleaming with admiration. Then it hit you, why she had the shotgun she did bounties on narcs, drug smugglers, the whole ordeal. People who came in to steal, wreak havoc, and destroy the peace. She was the town's grim reaper. She was the one who knocks. You felt faint, as the realization knocked into you like a brick. Nothing was truly sweet about her, that accent was to mask how with one click she’ll hunt like they were rabbits. You were trapped in her cage.

Upon arriving at her farmhouse which was large enough for more than one, it made you sad to see. She was alone, by herself. No wonder it was easy for her to drag you into her company, human interaction seemed obsolete out here. A dim light shown from what you assumed to be the horse stable, that was rather quiet as the nightfall had put you at ease. You held your jacket to your body tighter at the sudden gust of wind, hearing the weeds brush against each other — almost screaming in the wind. You held tightly onto your bag while Ellie limped past you, with the white button-down rested over one shoulder. Fiddling with the keys in her pocket. 

“Shoes off at the door, watch your step,” Ellie spoke up as she opened the door, you were hit with the sudden aroma, it smelled like fresh wood, pine, and just a hint of freshly baked cookies. It was how you pictured going to visit your grandmothers to be. Warm and welcoming. Complying with her wishes, you took your boots off, leaving you in mix-matched socks with funky designs that you have bought out of quirkiness. Ellie found this amusing. White ones to contrast your colors, the two of you had a lot of differences. But for the lack of similarities came an understanding. A mutual grounding between the two of you. A grey area. Ellie was behind you this time, taking her hat off your head, hooking it onto the wall, your thick jacket as well, and placing it on the hook beneath it. 

“Welcome, home” 

Now that made your stomach curl, you didn’t know what home is, besides yourself and your belongings. Attaching your home to people, not places. It was a wave of worry and fear that hit you. Your feet stuck as it felt like someone took a hammer and nailed your feed to the wooden floors. It was lively and well-decorated for someone that lived alone. Breaking free from your sinking feet you started to observe the living space. There was art, tones of it, stumbling across a photo in the bookcase of a much younger Ellie and an older man with salt and pepper hair who you had presumed to be Joel. The name fit his face well, A small smile creeping up to your face at the closeness of the two. Ellie seemed happy – carefree now that you look at her, that happiness seemed sucked away from her life, she didn’t smile quite like that anymore. Not until you cracked jokes in her car and made her laugh.

“Ya thirsty peach?” Ellie questioned her voice coming out muffled as her figure was far away in the kitchen area, hearing as the refrigerator closed. “I’m good, thank you though.” You put the photo back where you found it, following the trail of her voice. She was very trusting for a stranger, you were already infatuated with the woman, yearning for more. Yearning for her to give you a taste or perhaps a touch. Now you were sitting on her marble countertop, placed there by Ellie as she moved quickly around the kitchen pouring herself a glass of water from the glass pitcher, drowning it all in one go. She wiped the falling water around her mouth with the back of her arm eyeing you in the process, Ellie laughed. You knew her for a short amount of time, but long enough to know that laughter from her was rare – take it as a compliment, you thought. 

Ellie made her way over to you, her hands now on your knees, moving them further apart as she pushed her body in between her legs. Her arms resting on the counter space behind you,  trapping you in her arms.

“Mama didn’t teach you no good...to trust strangers? Oh…Babygirl you’re dangerous” Ellie scolded, laughing as you give the girl a doe-eyed look – your hands finding a  home on her arms. Wrapping your hands around her biceps, as your thumb move up, down, and in a circle. 

“I figured if you were gonna kill me, you already would have done so.” You mumbled as Ellie’s face got a lot closer to yours now. You can see the freckles that decorated her cheeks, her hydrated pink lips from the water she just had, the slit in her eyebrow, and her eyes. The piercing green forest that was her eyes, but it was beautiful, reminded you of the trees that you had seen when you walked. The storm that was your life, before Ellie became your superhero, the knight in shining armor. She saved you, and you owed her big time.

“Bingo! I know you smart peach, and that’s why imma tell you once, listen t’me real good.” Ellie specified, bringing one arm up to grip your chin gently, not allowing you to look anywhere else but herself. Ellie seemed possessive, maybe she lost too many people or her lack of social interaction but she didn’t want to let you go, and you could tell. She needed you just as much as you needed her, a packaged deal.

“You don’ trust nobody that ain’t me.” Ellie began, “Someone’s overly nice to ya’ you tell me. Mean? You fuckin’ tell me. Both don’t fly with me baby, if it ain't from me” Ellie finished, letting go of your jaw to which you nodded. Ellie was a fuckin’ force to be reckoned with, It was like digging into a mystery box, you were unsure of the flavors and layers she had to herself. Hell, she could be manipulating you and you wouldn’t even notice. Hospitality for comfort or comfort for hospitality, it all looked the same.

“Ay Ay, captain!” You playfully military saluted the girl, making Ellie roll her eyes at your statement, you were exceptionally fun. Which Ellie didn’t have anymore...fun. If you classify a night at Typsy Bison as fun then so be it. “You hungry? I can run you a shower before you eat – it’s leftovers if that's alright with yourself?” Ellie questioned and that’s when it hit you, you’ve been traveling afoot all day, and the thought of even having a meal slipped your mind, but you were famished, stomach lightly growling at the mention of the word food.

“I could use food, yeah — as long as there’s no cheese.” You challenge making Ellie back away this time as she took out a glass plate, a fork, and a knife. “No cheese sugar, but something to get you settled – I always have dessert peach if you want that instead?” Now you felt like a kid in a candy store. Dessert was a rarity and boy did it sound delightful right now. Ellie smiled as she watched the way your eyes gleamed at the mention of dessert.

“Got a sweet tooth huh?” Ellie smiled, making you laugh in return. You did have a sweet tooth, anything sweet was enough to bring a smile to your face. That’s why you had a love for canned peaches. The taste reminded you of peach pie that you would get at the diner as you worked a closing shift. Sitting at a booth as you devoured a piece of peach pie, it was heated, like a warm hug in the winter. You cried every time you had a piece. It reminded you of all the good things in life – like how good your mother could be. 

“I hope you have pie” you pleaded, making Ellie nod her head. “You aren’t pressin’ yer luck! I got an apple pie from a good friend of mine, I think you’ll love it – not too sweet, but fillin’” Ellie smirks in satisfaction as she placed one hand on her hip. 

“Let’s run’ya a shower” 

✧˖°.

How were you supposed to explain to Ellie why you were crying? Pajamas that you stored in your bag resting on your body as the matching white tank top and light blue shorts attached to your frame — you just had the best shower you’ve ever had in a while. Not only was the water hot, but it didn’t cut out every five minutes, and the faucet wasn’t leaking, everything was comfortable, perfect. Ellie herself took the time you were in the shower to clean up herself, now in different clothing —  a white t-shirt and plaid pajama pants that clung to her body nicely. The two of you sitting at the dining table as Ellie watched you eat the warmed pie, a tear fell from your eye with swiftness. Ellie’s gentle gaze transitioned into confusion and eventually fear as she watched you cry. 

“Oh god, wait!... I’m sorry” you laughed in between sniffles, taking the back of your hand to rub your face.

“Jeez, I thought I did somethin’ sugar” Ellie exaggerated holding her hand over her heart as if someone pierced an arrow through it. Now it was your turn to reveal your story, like how you cried every time you ate pie, specifically with peaches. It made Ellie give a small grin. Feeling as though she did something right in her life where she wasn’t playing god,  It was wholesome that’s for sure. The redhead found it odd, but it was a sweet moment and she understood it. Ellie’s smile fell when she noticed the clock behind your head striking 10:30pm making her frown. The good times she was having at the moment were coming to an end, for both her and yourself. 

“You go’n watch the tv til your tired, I have some business to take care of before tomorrow” Ellie didn’t wanna scare you, her business was taking the grey cloth, as she wiped down her guns and reloaded them for tomorrow. She didn’t want to give you the wrong impression.  

“Can you watch it with me?” You inquired, ignoring the part where she said she had business. 

“I’m cleaning guns.”

“So? You don’t scare me cowgirl” You wiggled your eyebrows as Ellie snatched the empty plate from your hands, placing it in the sink as she let the sponge soap up to wash the plate clean with hot water.

“Fine. I see you jump – I’m goin’ to another room, I don’t mix business with pleasure” Ellie confessed as she was less focused on you this time. You chose this time to leave the dining area, entering the living room as you hit the squared television's 'ON' button. It was small and run down, similar to the one at your moms before you left. You pulled at the antenna to catch a signal. The static glitching before on came Looney Tunes. You enjoyed the show finding amusement in the animals chasing each other and the crescendo of the music at all the right moments, it was comical and amusing. You spread your body out on the couch, laying on your side as you watched the television in silence, laughing every few minutes at something that you found funny. Ellie walked into the room with a black box and 3 guns in her hand. The redhead gently settled down the weaponry, being careful not to startle you, as she slipped into the seat on the far left — your legs now found a home in her lap, Ellie gently sending a rub at your legs. If someone walked right in, they would assume the two of you were probably married for some years now. 

“This okay?” Ellie whispered as you mumbled a “yes” while your focus was still not on her. Ellie could see that you were getting tired, the way your eyes were low, and your breathing slowed down. You were at peace with yourself and with Ellie, this was one of the times when the silence was okay, a mutual serenity, and understanding — everyone was mindful of each other and it was pure love and bliss.

Ellie eyed your figure as your eyes fluttered shut, this time you were sleeping, fully this time letting yourself melt into the softness of the couch as Ellie reached over to her left to grab the blanket and drape it over your sleeping figure. This was also the time she finally got started on cleaning her guns, knowing that you were relaxed and cared for. Ellie wasn’t sure what she was doing, She felt vulnerable and that was rare, but she was doing what she said she would. Taking care of you, like you were taking care of her. You saved her life, and she saved yours, tit for tat.

Ellie in this moment craved nothing more than your lips on hers, perhaps your teeth to graze her flesh, biting…hard into her – wanting to connect and morph bodies. She craved for your love and your intimacy, she wanted you to love her bones and all. Ellie wanted you to love her past, her insecurities, her mistakes, and her wrongs. You were too good for her, she knew it, but there was nothing a sweet peach like you couldn’t fix. 

[pascalpvnk]

Pour Choices // You & I

pairing: bartender!joel x f!afab!reader

summary: Austin, Texas was never a dream destination for you, however your work trip there might’ve changed your perspective of the Lone Star State, and it absolutely was not work related.

word count: 6.6k words (oops…)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fluff, smut (dubcon [both drank alcohol], handjob if you squint, oral [f receiving], fingering, unprotected p in v sex [wrap it up!], Joel has had a vasectomy, premature ejaculation, double creampie, alluding to aftercare), possibly ooc, no outbreak AU, Joel is 36 with no specified age for reader, reader described as a woman, use of she/her pronouns, minor body descriptions (reader described as having curves, reader has hair long enough to grasp/pin up, reader is shorter than Joel, he picks up reader for like half a second), time jumping (indicated by solid orange divider), religious euphemisms (?) from Joel (i know that man has religious trauma), alcohol consumption, food consumption

a/n: hello! I know this is a long time coming but she’s finally here. thank you for being patient with me during this writing process and thank you to those who helped and encouraged me! a special thanks to @delicaatefl0vver for beta reading and supporting and adding to my thots. welcome to the rebirth of my fanfic writing. I hope you enjoy xx (dividers by @/saradika)

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Sat in the corner of the rustling bar, you were sipping on your Manhattan. The drink tasted medicinal, not how you’d usually prefer it. You had watched the young bartender pour heavy on the vermouth, but chose not to say anything. Red lipstick stained the rim of your glass with each sip of the cocktail. The whiskey mixed in and the maraschino cherry garnish were its only saving graces.

A low hanging light illuminated a warm hue across your features. You were surrounded by classic Texan bar decor and architecture; high ceiling rafters, support beams strung with fairy lights, the walls packed with framed posters of all varieties, the occasional beer branded neon sign, and license plates tacked up behind the bar. Two televisions sat flush against opposing walls, both playing a pregame show of Rangers highlights as they counted down to first pitch. The air was thick as the feet of the patrons shuffled around and chair legs scraped against the wood finished floors. Groups of friends, couples, and everyone between flooded through the doors, ushering themselves to an empty table or stool at the bar. Being there on a Friday night right as the outside rush hour died down was a bold choice, but you had one goal in mind.

The moment the music changed from country to rock and roll, you knew it was time to set yourself out to accomplish it.

The click of your high heels contrasted from the stomp of sneakers and cowboy boots. Glass in hand and head held high, your heart was pounding so hard in your chest, you felt it in your throat. You sure as hell weren’t living up to your stoic, stone cold hearted reputation back home. It’s almost as though your heart thawed in the Texas heat. Though your heart changed with the state, your attire didn’t. You stuck out like a sore thumb among the other consumers in your black maxi dress and perfectly pinned up hair. Some eyes gazed towards you, but you were set on finding one pair in particular. The set of eyes that were darker than the coffee he brewed, but the same ones that looked like honey when the sun was setting. The eyes that were facing away from you at the bar as you found a stool. The ones that snapped up towards you with one word.

“Texas.”

You called for him like a melody. Your throat immediately felt dry as a lump formed. He either felt the same way you did or it was a one off fling. You were hoping it was the former. But…it had been two years since you met, so there was a decent chance he was the one that got away.

The way his muscles tensed under his tight Henley gave away that he recognized you simply from your voice. Those beautiful eyes met yours, and his jaw went a little slack, the corners of his mouth curved.

“Evenin’, Miss New York,” Joel drawled, leaning against the counter. “How are ya, darlin’?”

Joel’s mind was preoccupied before he had seen you the first time, filled with important nonsense that about drove him up the wall.

Gotta make the next schedule. What time is that birthday party Sarah wants t’go to? Wonder if Tommy would be willin’ to take her. No, he’s workin’ on a job site out of town. I need to find someone to cover part of my shift so I can take her. Gotta pay the rent for this month. Can’t keep running the bar if s’gonna be slow like this and that bastard won’t cough up his half of it. God dammit.

“Welcome in, what can I get for ya?” The southern man drawled absentmindedly, tossing a rag over his broad shoulder. The moment his eyes caught yours, his worries washed away. He was only interested in you and your big, beautiful eyes and bright, red lips.

“Whiskey on the rocks. Make it a double please,” you practically sang to him…or at least it sounded like music to his ears. Your ID slipped out of your billfold with ease, and you slid it across the bar as you took a seat. Joel examined the horizontally wide piece of plastic, deciding it was real, especially for a lady ordering a whiskey. A lady from New York, no less.

Joel took in your features for a moment, noticing the difference in your attire and even your accent compared to the other bar patrons. Your beauty was striking to him, making all of the women he’s seen come in flee his memory. He repeated your name over and over in his head, wanting to know how it felt on his tongue. To say he was intrigued would be the understatement of the year.

“You got it, sweetheart,” he said, his voice deep and smooth. He poured a generous portion of whiskey into a cut crystal glass and added several cubes of ice, then slid it over to you with a smile. He leaned forward to rest his arms on the bar, eyes lingering on your curves. "So, what brings you in here tonight? The Big Apple too small for ya?"

“Work,” you responded simply, taking a sip from your drink. He watched as your eyes raked down his frame. There was no visible emotion behind them, so he was unsure if you were checking him out or simply giving him a once over.

Joel’s eyes on the other hand drank in your features, not even attempting to hide his gaze. It lingered across your chest and the way your dress contoured your breasts so perfectly. He was damn near drooling at the sight of you taking down your whiskey better than he would. Your face remained expressionless, zero signs of your mouth twisting in distaste. The simple action had him hooked.

He cleared his throat and began polishing some glasses as he continued to have small talk with you.

“Care to elaborate?” He asked, lining the cups along the bar as he shined them one by one.

“Flight just landed. I checked into my hotel and dropped off my stuff. Wanted to take a walk around to see what this city has to offer and I landed here,” you shrugged, taking another drink of your whiskey. “Nice place, are you the owner?”

“Co-owner, yeah,” Joel chuckled. “So I take it, your work stuff starts tomorrow? Or are you drinking on the job?”

“The former,” you smiled softly. “I’m not trying to get fired, they barely trusted me to come out here in the first place.”

His head nodded gingerly. He couldn’t quite tell if you were shooting him down or just quiet after a long day. He wanted to know more. Wanted as much information that he could get from you without coming off as a creep. Deciding to take a minor risk, he continued conversing with you.

“What kind of work are ya doing all the way out here, hm?” He asked politely, restocking the freshly polished glasses back on their designated shelves.

“My uh…my peer, I suppose, is on maternity leave and she represents most of our buildings in Texas. I’ve been doing most of the work over the phone but one of the Austin buildings required a visit. A lot of incident reports to go through.”

The whiskey in your glass was almost gone and he could tell it was opening you up a little bit. First time in the whole conversation you said more than what his question asked for.

“Darlin’, that’s some big wig stuff, and yet you make it sound so inconspicuous,” he drawled, a low rumble of laughter rolling from his chest. “What field are you in? Or is it top secret?”

“Oh! I work in HR,” you let out a small laugh. “Probably should’ve started with that.”

He smirked at how you fumbled over yourself, admiring the way your smile folded the skin around your eyes and exposed a dimple. He could definitely tell he was breaking down your stone wall. His eyes took you in once more. Your lip prints stained red on the once clean glass, immediately grabbing his attention. Arousal shot through his body, directing into his pants. That’s not something he knew he was attracted to.

“Need another, ma’am?” He asked politely and swallowed hard, attempting to look anywhere but your chest. You accepted his offer and opened a tab. Joel was thanking his lucky stars that the universe brought such a beautiful woman into his bar that night. Thanking fate for having him cover this shift.

“Well, I’ll leave you alone, miss. Just holler if you need another drink or y’wanna close out. My name’s Joel,” he smiled with his boyish charm, flipping his towel back over his shoulder before reluctantly diverting his attention to another customer in need.

You stuck around for a bit, snacking on peanuts and watching the baseball game running on the television. Joel felt your eyes burn into the back of his head as he worked.

It was innocent to start. He popped tops off of beers, poured shots, and shook cocktails all while his cheeks burned pink under the heat of your gaze. Then he intentionally reached up to the top shelf more often, flexing his muscles and letting his shirt ride up his back to grab your attention again and again. It became increasingly difficult for you to peel your eyes off of him the more you drank.

And he noticed.

A couple hours passed, and before you knew it, the clock was nearing midnight. Joel walked around the bar, going to each empty table and wiping them thoroughly. He restocked everything as most of the small crowd filed out. He took a look at you from the front door, admiring the curves that were hardly hidden under your snug dress as you watched the TV mindlessly.

“Well darlin’,” he began as he approached the bar again. “I don’t know what time you have to work in the morning but it’s getting late. Wanna close out your tab?”

“I s’pose so,” you chuckled, copying his accent a little by accident. Your tired, drunken smile made his heart flutter.

A small smile plastered itself across Joel’s face as he ran your card. He let it process, grabbing both receipts and scribbling something on them.

“Can I call you a cab, sweetheart? They aren’t driving around all the time like they do back home for you,” he offered, handing you the merchant copy receipt. He crossed out all of the options to tip, just requiring your signature. You tried to protest, but he silenced your argument.

“Yeah,” you hiccuped. “That would be nice, thank you.”

Joel examined you cleaning up your peanut shell debris as he called for the cab. You signed the receipt, and slid his copy back across the bar. He noticed your subtle smile as you noticed ten digits written neatly on the customer copy.

The line went dead when the conversation concluded, and Joel put the phone back on its charger. He noticed how you folded the receipt paper and tucked it safely into your clutch along with your debit card.

“Cab should be here in ‘bout ten minutes. Um,” he cleared his throat. “If ya need someone to recommend restaurants or if you want a tour of any sort, I hope that’ll come in handy.”

Joel gestured towards your clutch, the current home of his phone number. He wanted to ask you out, so so badly, but you were intoxicated and he didn’t want to give a bad impression. If it was meant to be, you’d take the initiative, at least that’s what he told himself.

“I bet it will,” you openly flirted. Joel knew better than to return the sentiment, but it was so damn difficult. His mama would’ve smacked him upside the head if he had, and that was enough to stop him. All he offered was a smirk before turning away and gathering dishes to be brought back to the pile of other used utensils.

“D’ya need a water or anything?” Joel asked, already reaching for a clean cup. You nodded and he filled the glass first with ice, followed with water and a straw. Laying a napkin on the counter, Joel gently set your water down with a close lipped smile.

“Thanks for stopping in, darlin’,” he said just loud enough to be heard over the rock music he had playing. “Get back to that hotel of yours safely, alright? Don’t wanna hear about Miss New York on the news. They never show anything positive nowadays.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” you chuckled, gathering your things to leave after drinking most of the glass. He took these moments to really take you in, dramatically telling himself that this could be the last time he’d ever see you. Last time he’d witness your cherry stained, stunning, yet intoxicated smile, your soft skin, and those gorgeous eyes.

His admiration was interrupted by the honk erupting from the impatient taxi driver’s vehicle outside. You turned on your heel, offering a ‘goodnight, Texas!’ before walking out the door. Joel scrubbed a hand across his beard, huffing a self deprecating laugh and a muttered ‘shit’ before continuing to close up shop. He beat himself up internally while cleaning the dishes until his phone buzzed. He dug the device from his pocket, flipping it open to see a text from an unknown number.

“Didn’t end up on the news. What a bummer! Maybe next time ;)”

Joel smiled to himself, tucking his phone back into his pocket. He finished his closing tasks and made a little to-go Shirley Temple mocktail for his daughter. Before exiting the building for the night, he turned off the glowing ‘Pour Choices’ sign and locked the door behind him. His smile faded as he left his bar behind, remembering his life’s reality and his responsibilities. Those stressors sat heavy once more upon his shoulders until he fell into a deep slumber that night.

Your first full day of work was exhausting to say the least, and the small hangover you suffered did not help one bit. And whoever decided you should come to Austin in August had become your own mortal enemy. You’re used to your mild summers back home, not sweating so much that your clothes stick to you uncomfortably. But the thing that bothered you the most was the imminent, distracting thought of Joel, especially as the sun retired behind the horizon. The way the fabric of his shirt pulled taut around his thick biceps and how they flexed every time he mixed up drinks. You had watched him use his charm to get tips practically thrown at him by the other patrons, he really put that handsome grin to work. 

You were alone in your hotel. There wasn’t a scheduled dinner with your team, so you sat in bed watching Scrubs reruns and eating what constituted your dinner: cheese, crackers and pepperoni slices you picked up from the grocery store. A little disassembled charcuterie board if you will.

Beckoning your attention, your phone buzzed against your nightstand. The caller ID had your heart pounding against your chest. Joel. It was almost like he could read your mind.

“Hello?” You started, wiping the crumbs off of your fingers and lowering the volume on the show. 

“Evenin’,” he drawled out your name. His voice came across gruffer and frankly hotter over the phone than in person. The way it fed directly into your ears had a chill running down your spine.

“Night off?” You asked nonchalantly, a sad attempt of remaining mysterious, knowing if he was sat next to you, you’d melt into a puddle.

“Mhm,” he hummed, pausing for a moment and chuckling quietly. “Sorry for callin’ late. I’d text but that would’a taken me a decade. How was today? Hope that whiskey didn’t ruin your morning.”

The smile you sported grew in size. It felt nice having a normal conversation that wasn’t work related…even if it was with someone you just met.

“It was good! Busy but good. I had a headache but nothing I couldn’t handle. It’s stupid hot here though, didn’t appreciate that,” you hummed to yourself in thought. “Nothing much happened, lots of meetings. Now I’m just hanging out in my hotel. How about you?”

“Same here, nothin’ much. Are ya doing anythin’ or just wallowin’ in your loneliness?” He teased, testing the waters a little. You wish you could see his face. See whether he was sporting a shit eating grin or if he was gnawing on his lip nervously.

“Ha-ha,” you shot back, pressing your cell between your cheek and shoulder to stand up and settle near the window. “I’m watching TV and eating my nutritious dinner of cheese, crackers and pepperoni, thank you very much.”

“Dinner?” He scoffed. “Now I think you need'ta hustle on over here and have a real meal. You can’t possibly be callin’ all ‘f those HR shots with that diet, hm?”

You gotta give it to him, you aren’t that smooth on a whim, that takes practice. Looking out at the Austin skyline, you snickered to yourself and leaned against the window’s frame. 

“C’mon, I have almost all of my food groups in front of me, I don’t think that’s too horrible,” you retaliated jokingly. “What do you have to offer, huh?”

“Well you got me there, darlin’. I do have wine if you wanna round out your meal,” he offered. You could hear faint tapping coming from the line. He was nervous. 

Considering the proposal, you decided to take it, despite your early morning and full day approaching. Joel offered to pick you up so you didn’t have to pay for another cab and you gratefully accepted. You quickly got changed back out of your sleepwear into something almost equally as comfy and perhaps a bit more revealing. 

So you find yourself sat on Joel Miller’s couch. The ride was fine, you chatted like before, but with a bit more direct flirting. You observed his spaces. His truck was simple, a little, beat up pickup, but you were sure it got his work done. There were scuff marks from tennis shoes on his dash. Your mind wandered as you imagined if they were from a friend or former lover, but you didn’t let it bother you.  

There was a little pine tree air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. The smell of its woody scent combined with his warm, leathery cologne and a hint of Irish Spring all flooded your senses. And god, he didn’t just smell good, he looked so good.

Joel looked perfect in the driver’s seat, his biceps straining against his smooth skin as he gripped the wheel, prominent veins popping through his forearms. Looked so cozy in his small kitchen, pouring both of you a hefty glass of rosé. His hands enveloped his cup entirely as he brought it to his plush lips. The way they framed his teeth when he smiled down at you gave you heart palpitations.

And even sitting comfortably in the corner of his L-shaped couch, Joel continued to look amazing. His leg was crossed over the other, creating the perfect shelf on his knee for his wine. Those arms stretched far across the back of the couch as he fidgeted with a loose string stuck on the cushion. Everything about him screamed disciplined. The way his spaces were mostly neat, organized and decently decorated added to your observation. He belonged here, and it seemed like he worked hard to get the things he earned.

The casual facade you had faded away the longer you chatted about your lives and sipped on your glasses. Topics like work and hobbies came into conversation, and you learned that Joel liked to play with guitar and sing a little—only when he was alone of course. Then you began talking about more personal matters, like your relationship statuses. 

“You’re kidding!” You exclaimed, feeling warm from the wine in your system. “You don’t have a girlfriend or anything?”

Joel chuckled and shook his head down at the couch. You watched as he observed the cushions-worth of space between you two. By that point, you were fully turned ninety degrees to face him in conversation, your legs tucked comfortably under you. Your face felt hot as you wielded the half empty, stemless wine glass.  

“What about the kid in your pictures? Is she your niece or something?” You were referring to the framed photos both nailed to the wall and decorating the table in his entryway. Most of them contained himself and the child, whether she was celebrating with a soccer ball and a trophy or blowing out candles on a cake, her wild curls spilling every which way from her party hat.

“Nah, she’s all mine. My Sarah turned fourteen a few weeks ago,” he smiled to himself, making your heart clench and pound against the confines of your ribcage. The proud look he had on his face told you about everything you needed to know about his relationship with his daughter.

“Fourteen? You don’t seem old enough to have a teenager,” you chuckle. “Where is she tonight? Seems like you got the house to yourself.”

“Why I'm flattered. She’s got a friend’s birthday party sleepover thing. That’s why I had to take the night off. I’m her personal chauffeur, of course,” Joel offered a curtsey jokingly.

Your smile widened as you brought your now second glass of rosé up to sip once more. You don’t care to ask about Sarah’s mother, it was a personal matter and possibly a sensitive subject. 

A comfortable silence fell between you as you looked at one another. You watched the automatic rise and fall of his chest and the way his cheeks burned from your gaze. His chocolate eyes bore into yours, melting your heart without even trying. His exterior was gruff and masculine but he had proven time and time again that he was probably one of the kindest men you have met. Must be that southern charm and hospitality, but man was it addicting. 

“What?” He barely asked above a whisper, copying your actions with his wine. His attempt to hide his smile behind his clear cup obviously failed. His blush spread down his neck and you could only imagine if it went any farther down. Your thoughts of Joel were beginning to become tainted by your blooming arousal. You wanted him. On top of you, under you, you’d take anything and the growing wetness pooling in your panties was evidence of that. 

“Can I be blunt, Joel?” You grinned as you sunk a bit further into the cushion against your side. He responded with a hummed ‘mhm’ so you’d continue, bringing his hand back into his lap. The fabric of his joggers barely contained his strong thighs, making it more and more difficult to contain your urge to see what else lied beneath his pants.

“I really wanna kiss you,” you admitted cheekily, fairly certain that he was thinking the same thing. 

“Oh, do ya now?” He smirked, leaning over to pluck your glass from your grasp and put it safely on his coffee table along with his own.

“I think you’re a little mind reader,” Joel continued. “‘Cause I was thinkin’ the same thing. Bet those pretty lips are real soft.” His hand found your waist after you confirmed he had consent as he guided you onto his lap. You hummed contently as you draped your arms over his shoulders, toying with the stray, chestnut curls at his nape. 

“What happened to Mr. Shy Guy, huh?” You teased, letting his calloused hands explore the expanse of your back as your lips ghosted over his.

“Not shy, just polite, sweetheart,” he rasped before closing the gap between you two. His palms were flush against your lower back, radiating heat through the thin material of your shirt. 

You melted into him, bodies pressed as close as possible without your knees sinking between the couch cushions. Lips slotted together and hands wandered as you filled all of your senses with Joel. His tongue was stained with a familiar smoky taste, which was definitely not coming from the wine

“Why do you taste like whiskey?” Your mouth formed a smile against his matching one. His hand cupped your cheek as a chuckle rumbled deep in his chest.

“Had some before I called ya,” he admitted bashfully. “Doesn’t matter now.”

In an instant, he was kissing you once more with increased passion, making you completely forgo the subject. His tongue flicked into your mouth, teasing the delicate skin on the inside of your lips. He gripped at your hips, trying to pull you closer to him but your legs protested against his furniture.

“Scoot forward,” you mumbled against him. And he did what he was told. His hips shifted forward, granting you more room to sit directly on his lap. Sighs were drawn from both of you as you settled back into each other, his cock already half hard under you. Your fingers messed with the hair behind his ears, earning a pleased moan from him.

“This doesn’t have to go anywhere if you don’t wan’ it to,” he panted between kisses. Just above a whisper, you uttered, ‘I want it,’ and Joel’s hands took it as permission to explore further down your body, palming at your ass through your shorts.

A whimper slipped between your lips into Joel’s, and he swallowed it whole. He pressed your body closer to his, your clothed sex dragging over his sweatpants. His cock twitched up in response to your mouth finding his jaw, his short beard scratching against you.

“Lemme take care of you,” you mused, bringing your hands up the sides of his face. He relaxed back into the couch, his blunt nails pushing under your shorts into the meat of your bare thighs.

You started by kissing his lips once more, then the two prominent patches of missing hair on his chin, and made your way down to his throat. His adam's apple bobbed under your touch as pants grew tighter on him.

“Knew you’d have the best lips, fuck,” he mumbled as you licked up the side of his neck, his pulse racing under your tongue. “Can’t wait to feel your pretty pussy ‘round my cock, sweetheart.”

“Patience, handsome,” you whispered into his ear, your breath sending chills through his body. He let go of your legs as you bunched his shirt into your palms, sitting up to help remove it. Hair scattered sparsely on his chest, pausing on his upper stomach only to come back thicker as it disappeared into his boxers.

Your palms dragged down his torso, skimming over his nipples and ribs as he naturally recoiled from the stimulation. You gently kissed and sucked at his collarbone so it could be hidden away under his shirt. Color rose to the surface of his skin the more you worked at it, flattening your tongue against it once you decided your mark was left properly.

Joel was breathing heavily under you, his hands snaking under your shirt to your breasts. Your nipples were already pebbled through your bralette, becoming unbearably hard the moment Joel started running his thumbs over them. He gently pushed your shirt and bra above your tits, leaning forward to bring one to his mouth as his hand toyed with the other. His tongue lapped your skin, rounding the hardened nipple and sucking it back slightly. An image of him doing the same to your clit had your eyes rolling back with pleasure.

“Joel,” you mewled as he switched breasts. He spread his saliva around your areola as he picked up his ministrations on the other. A groan vibrated against your skin as your nails raked down his happy trail.

“Wanna suck your cock,” you continued, holding onto the waistbands of his pants and underwear. His unused hand covered yours entirely, pushing it down to free his throbbing cock from its confines, the tip weeping with precum. Never in your life had you seen a dick so big before, and you couldn’t wait for it to split you in half.

“I won’t last a minute in your mouth, sweet girl,” he drawled, reaching back up to leave a chaste kiss on your lips. “Don’t wanna come before you.”

Spitting onto your fingertips, you mixed it with the slick seeping from his tip then dragged it down his shaft, squeezing it in your palm on the way back up. Joel groaned into your neck. He wedged his hands back under your top, lifting it over your head and forcing your hand to leave his cock.

“Need’ta taste you first,” he muttered, his amber irises completely eclipsed by his pupils. Joel removed you from his lap and laid you down onto the couch. You watched as he settled between your legs and hooked his thick fingers into your bottoms, licking his lips. Raising your hips, he pulled everything off of you, leaving you bare. Cool air hit your glistening pussy, sending a shiver up your spine. You whined out his name after he stared at you for a moment.

“What?” He cooed, smoothing his hands over your inner thighs. “Wan’ me to touch ya, hm? Fuck you with my fingers ‘n stretch that pretty pussy out? Maybe suck on your clit. S’that what you want, darlin’?”

You nod your head furiously, dying with anticipation to have his hands, mouth, something on you. Wordlessly, your foot hooked around the back of his leg as you attempted to pull him closer to you.

“Ah ah,” he tsked. “I think ya gotta ask for it, honey. Ask for it nicely.”

“Fuck,” you whined with desperation. You could feel your arousal dripping down your ass and ultimately onto the couch. “Please fill me up, touch me, taste me, whatever you want.”

“Good, so good f’me. Open up,” he encouraged, slotting his first two digits between your lips. He spread them on each side of your tongue. Saliva collected on his thick fingers as you swirled your tongue around them in figure eights. A groan rumbled in Joel’s chest.

“Yeah I’m gonna put my cock in this pretty mouth next time, baby. Feels perfect on my fingers,” he grumbled. His fingers came out of your mouth with a pop, a string of spit connecting him to you. 

Joel finally slipped his fingers through your swollen folds, teasing your entrance and collecting more slick. His fingertips circled lightly around your clit, drawing a broken moan from your throat. His free hand tapped against your hip, signaling you to raise them with an ‘up.’ He grabbed a throw pillow and positioned it under you. You relaxed your already trembling legs, and he had barely even touched you.

He settled onto his stomach, spreading your legs apart as far as they’d go. A pointer finger breached your entrance as he kissed the seam where your thigh and pussy came together. Soft moans escaped you as you carded your fingers through his curls. His smug eyes met yours as his tongue moved everywhere but your clit. He looked better than ever between your legs, and you didn’t know that could be possible. His teasing was deserved for what you were doing previously, but it was agonizing.

“Please, Joel,” you groaned. “Please gimme more, I need you.”

Obliging to your request, Joel added another finger into your cunt, curling them both and stroking your g-spot expertly. All of the air left your lungs the moment his flattened tongue finally found your clit. Joel’s groan vibrated throughout your entire pussy, adding to each sensation deliciously. It didn’t take much more for your legs to start shaking and squeezing his head between your thighs, a hot sensation bubbling in your lower belly.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come, don’t stop,” you cried, grasping Joel’s hair much tighter than before. He suckled your clit and flicked his tongue over it with a moan, sending you flying over the edge. Your walls fluttered around his fingers and he rode you through your high. He kissed your trembling thighs until they relaxed, his unmoving fingers still stuffed inside you.

“God, you’re even sexier when you come, sugar. Taste even sweeter too,” he hummed, shifting himself up your body until his lips found yours again. He tasted still of whiskey but with a mix of your arousal.

Joel brought his now soaked fingers back into your mouth to replace his tongue, urging you to suck all of your spend off of them. You hummed around his digits and wrapped your quivering legs around his waist.

“And you were preachin’ to me about patience,” he teased, removing his fingers and stroking his cock a couple times. He was sitting up and resting on his heels, looking like pure sex. His proportions were perfect, he was broad and you’d happily let him crush you under his weight. 

“It’s hard to be patient when you look at me like that,” you muse, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. Joel snickered quietly, dragging his nails over your inner thighs. Goosebumps followed behind his light touch and your legs twitched when he got close enough to your sensitive core.

“So,” Joel began, settling comfortably on top of you and kissing your jaw. “I haven’t been with anyone since I was tested last n’ I’ve had a vasectomy. But I’ll gladly get a condom if ya want me to.”

“Hmm, a gentleman,” you grinned, your fingers finding their way back into his hair as you enjoyed his affection. “I’m clean and more than okay without it.”

Joel slotted his cock into your slit with a smirk, groaning at the new sensation. His tip nudged at your clit with each pass, earning moans from both parties. 

“Almost came all over this couch with you clenchin’ ‘round my fingers like that, honey,” he drawled. “Fuck, ‘m not gonna last long.”

You gave him a reassuring kiss as you wedged your hand down between you two. Lining up his tip with your entrance, you watched as he disappeared into your welcoming cunt. His face pressed into your neck as he slowly sank into you, anchoring himself with his hands planted on your waist and thigh. Strings of profanities left him as he stretched you out, the pressure you felt quickly morphing into pleasure. 

“Shit,” you hissed when he bottomed out. “Feels so good, Joel.”

You urged him to continue, and he complied. Starting slow, he pulled out halfway and pushed back in to test the waters. The drag of your core had his toes curling. He wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t last long. His cock swelled in you after a few minutes as he panted into your neck. 

“Fuck, fuck I’m sorry,” he grunted.

“S’okay, come for me, Joel. Please,” you consoled him, wrapping your legs around his hips tighter. He spilled into you, the sticky fluid coating your inner walls. Your nails dragged along the expanse of his back as he caught his breath.

His face emerged from the crook of your neck, flush and sweaty. He tried apologizing once more but you shushed him. Your lips met again as you grasped his dampened curls, pulling at his locks harder than before. Cock stiffening up again, Joel resumed thrusting into you slowly. A squelching sound emitted from your pussy as his pace quickened.

“Joel,” you gasped, tangling yourself around him tighter. He took it as an opportunity to scoop you up and change positions, sitting on the couch and giving you the freedom to ride him. 

“Wan’ you comin’ on my cock, beautiful,” he moaned. His calloused fingertips circled your clit as he fucked his load deeper into you. You bounced on him, his cock spearing you. The tip hit your g-spot with each thrust. Stars sparkled in your vision as you clenched down on him hard.

“C’mon, use my cock, make yourself come. That’s it, fuck.”

His hips bucked up to meet yours halfway, the sound of skin slapping echoing throughout his living room. You were a moaning mess, chanting his name haphazardly. Your walls clamped down around him and milked any remaining cum from him as you both reached your second peaks.

“Christ,” he groaned, stilling inside of you. The mixture of your fluids seeped from your fluttering hole. Joel smoothed his palms over your sweat slick back, peppering kisses along your shoulders and collarbone. Praises flew from his mouth like a prayer and you were his goddess, all his to worship.

Joel used his sweatpants to catch any leakage as his softened cock slipped out from you. He took his time with you, helping you regain your composure with more kisses and lingering touches. You followed him to his room where he properly cleaned you up and gave you a Texas Longhorns shirt and boxer shorts.

“You’re more than welcome t’stay,” Joel offered. “Or I can drive ya back. Your choice, sweetheart.”

Your arms snaked up and around his shoulders, stretching yourself up on your tiptoes. A smile crept onto your face as Joel held you steady by your ass. You peeked over at his unmade bed with only two measly pillows, one of them crumpled up in the middle of his bed. A shy smile adorned his face as you refocused on him. He was going to be the death of you.

“Set an alarm and take me to bed, cowboy.”

Late into the following evening, you found yourself back in Pour Choices. A lingering soreness twinged between your legs the entire day. You weren’t there to drink. You wanted Joel.

He started his usual greeting until he realized you had stepped through the doors, another black dress clinging to your body and lips stained a deeper shade of red than before.

“Hey, darlin’,” he smiled breathlessly. You sauntered over to the bar, leaning in close and cutting to the chase in a seductive whisper.

“I’m gonna sit in the corner and wait for you to close up. Wanna return the favor from last night.”

Joel can confidently say that was his quickest close of his career, and you can just as confidently state that you successfully returned the favor, covering that poor man with crimson lip prints. He’d never complain about the physical reminder of you, using it as inspiration on the nights he craved you while you were away. He never thought he’d go from having everything from you for a couple weeks to having nothing for over a year.

“Wasn’t sure if you were gonna remember me,” you smiled softly, a twinge of sadness in your eyes. He chuckled and shook his head, grabbing a new glass and some ice.

“I could never forget you, sugar,” he smirked, grabbing a top shelf whiskey and pouring it into the glass. The crackle of the ice drew your attention. You were always a sucker for whiskey. He remembered.

“On the house, darlin’. Want me to take your other drink? Doesn’t seem like you enjoyed it,” Joel pointed to the condensation lined cup with the half dranken Manhattan. “I know you’re not the sipping type of gal.”

“Yeah, thank you,” you smiled brighter as he took away the used cup. “Y’all don’t make Manhattans like they do back home,” you jabbed, taking a big gulp of the chilled whiskey. Those familiar lip prints stamped on the glass.

“But,” you continued, glancing at his bare ring finger. You observed the sprouting grays in his sideburns and deepened creases on his face, seeing the effect that the last two years had on him. “Y’all have something that New York doesn’t.”

You traced the rim of the glass, trying to pick up any emotion from his expressionless face. He did however crack a small smirk at your comment and leaned against the bar with both hands. Suddenly it felt like everyone else disappeared and it was just you and him in the moment.

“Hm, and what’s that, sweetheart?” He leaned closer and replied softly, but just loud enough for only you to hear. 

“You, Joel.”

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[ofthecaravel]

Heaven In Time

Chapter 1: Thoroughfare

Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka

Summary: Danny, en route to California to find love, picked up small town runaway Sam on a Texas thoroughfare and has been on the road ever since. While Sam adjusts to life as himself, Danny's wondering if he's found love without even leaving the South.

Tags: Religious trauma, mentions of homophobia, Anxiety, very sweet little crushes, idk all very soft when its not Tense

Words: 5.4k

A/N: HEAVILYYYYYY inspired by Thoroughfare by Ethel Cain, even borrowed a lyric here and there. Any and all credit to my beloved Hayden. First chapter of ??? maybe 4?? but I haven't decided. There's going to be more mention of Sam's questionable Southern Baptist Christian upbringing in those and I understand that may not be everyone's cup of tea so feel free to scroll if that may be upsetting for you.

~~

“Do you think we’re gonna get arrested?”

Over the gentle splash of the thin, chlorinated water, Sam heard Danny’s long sigh. Usually he laughed at all of Sam’s misplaced little comments and queries, but sometimes he just sighed. Sam knew he didn’t mean anything harsh by it, but it definitely didn’t feel good. 

“Not if you don’t say anything,” Danny answered plainly. A smile ghosted his tired face as he rotated to face Sam, who stared back as he awkwardly bobbed with his long hair trailing behind him like a veil. After however many dusty miles and state lines they’d crossed, it always felt good when they had a motel to crash at instead of the cramped cabin of Danny’s pickup. And it felt twice as good when the motel had a pool, especially when it was nice and late at night and there was no one else around. Sam wasn’t much of a swimmer, but he was happy to tread water and watch Danny float. His broad chest would peek just over the surface of the water and his eyes would close while his dark curls moved like the fingers of lazy clouds. 

Yeah, Sam was happy to watch that. 

“It doesn’t feel right,” Sam murmured, watching his fingers flex anxiously under the water in the refracted view the harsh fluorescents provided. With the country sky full of nothing but mosquitoes and the occasional whistling breeze, the yellowing pool lights were the only thing illuminating them. Sam felt suddenly self conscious thinking of how washed out he must look in this rare moment where he was the one being watched. He turned to the side, only offering Danny his profile. 

“They won’t know the credit card ain’t mine until we’re in Arizona,” Danny insisted in a hushed voice. “And even then, I didn’t give the desk my real name. We’re golden if you can keep that mouth of yours shut. Can you do that for me, cowboy?”

“Sure I can.” Sam bristled, but knew Danny’s request was justified. Ever since Danny had taken pity on him and picked him up on that thoroughfare back in Texas, Sam never seemed to be able to do the right thing. He had gotten as far as he had in an attempt to remove himself from the suppressing influence of his uber religious hometown, but so far it seemed like he was still dragging it along with him. It was an embarrassing first impression to leave on someone as great as Danny was turning out to be, but he hadn’t left Sam behind yet, so Sam figured he must have some redeeming qualities that kept him around.

“Atta boy,” Danny smiled, his eyes closing as he lolled his head back and drew in a deep breath of the cool night air. “Christ alive, I needed this. How long do you think we drove today?”

“5 hours?” Sam guessed, thinking back on the day. “Felt longer ‘cause of the sun.”

“Damn that sun,” Danny cursed. “Burned the hell out of my nose, too.”

“We can get lotion or something at the next gas station,” Sam offered. Truthfully, he found the ruddy blush on Danny’s nose and freckled cheeks extremely flattering, but he knew it had to hurt. Growing up in Alabama, Sam knew a thing or two about sunburn.

“With what money?” Danny laughed humorlessly, sighing again and running a hand over his face. “Although at this point, I’d be willing to skip a dinner to get my hands on some lotion. Mm. Not that I don’t appreciate your presence, but...” 

Sam blinked blankly, feeling an implication pass him by like they often did. He didn’t say anything in return and sank a little further into the pool, trying not to feel even more stupid than he already did. Being tired certainly wasn’t helping, but he was really starting to feel the weight of all of his graceless actions from the past week pile on him as they swam in silence. Hopefully Danny would want to head up to their room soon and Sam could just try again the next day.  

Danny noticed Sam’s silence and opened his heavy eyes to observe him with a worried look. Sam’s neck was craned and the sharp point of his nose grazed the water as he continued to stare into the palms of his submerged hands. He was halfway to prayer by the looks of it, and Danny guessed that probably wasn’t too far from the truth. It was a state of mind Sam never really seemed to leave. Danny remembered the scandalized look on Sam’s face when they’d shared their first diner meal together and Danny had picked his fork right up and gotten to work when the waitress had brought their plates. Now he knew to wait and let Sam save them with a quick round of grace before eating. Sam had never asked for his hand to hold when doing it, but somewhere between the Texas border and New Mexico, Danny had offered it up and they’d been doing it that way ever since. It sure made it a hell of a lot more tolerable for Danny to wait for Sam’s long winded recitations with his slender hand in Danny’s. He really didn’t mind too much, especially after he’d begun collecting little glimpses of the seemingly excruciating evangelical life that Sam had left behind in Alabama. Danny didn’t pry, but there was a lot about Sam that he didn’t know. He watched Sam lit up in the pale, shifting luminance coming from the pool and realized with a strange, absent pang that he wanted to know. Maybe all of it, actually.

“Not a star in the sky,” Danny commented dreamily, tilting his neck back to stare at the pitch black sky after another long minute of staring at Sam left him feeling flushed. “It was always easy to pick ‘em out when I was on the farm, but I really have to squint when I’m in cities sometimes. It’s a crying shame.”

“We had to have all the lights out in town at a certain time so I always got to see the stars,” Sam replied in a small voice. “My brothers were always looking for Castor and Pollux, but we got lost after finding Orion every single time. Always forgot whether to look up or down or west or what.”

Sam smiled at the memory, remembering watching his older brothers bicker in whispers in front of the window while pressing fingers to the glass and eventually calling Sam in for help. Their parents fell asleep fast and heavy, so nights were usually when he and his siblings really got to be themselves. Sam found himself tired during the days almost all the time, but he’d carried his drooping eyelids with a bounce in his step. Even on the rare instances when he dozed off during study or services, he’d take a ruler to the knuckles with a smile. 

“I’ve always been partial to Orion,” Danny agreed, searching it out as he said it. “Probably because it’s easy to find and I’m a simple man when it comes to stuff like that.”

“You’re plenty smart,” Sam complimented. He finally lifted his head from his gloomy stance, his ear resting on his shoulder as he turned his smile on Danny. “Especially with maps. We’d be halfway to Argentina if I were the one navigating.”

“I wouldn’t mind that at all,” Danny laughed. “We can go there after we find love in California, how about that?”

“Perfect,” Sam complied, feeling a familiar sour rush of adrenaline when reminded of their end goal. It was ignorant to feel shocked over and over when he thought about it, especially considering that talk of Danny’s unknown Californian love were some of the first words Danny had ever said to him. Danny had pulled up next to Sam on the side of the road in his beat up pick up truck, told him not to run, and asked if he wanted to go see the West with him.

“‘Cause love’s out there,” Daniel had explained after Sam had hopped right in. “And I can’t leave it be.”

And Sam had agreed. Out of luck to spend and no more energy in his body to spend on walking, it was the perfect escape. It still was. It’s just that the more time he shared with Danny, the more he disliked the thought of Danny sharing time with anyone other than him. Sam was suddenly very sure he was greedy and selfish and wicked, and he made plans to pray on it after Danny had gone to sleep.

“Smart,” Danny echoed with an airy laugh, finally lifting his hair from the water and shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know about all that. If this were a movie, I’m pretty sure I’d be the muscle of the operation.”

“I guess that’d make sense. How much can you lift?” 

Danny gave Sam a mischievous look and shrugged, hoping the smirk creeping onto his face didn’t give away his plans for what he’d do next.

“Not sure,” Danny answered coolly. “How much do you weigh?”

Before Sam could respond, Danny rushed forward as fast as the water allowed and grabbed Sam around the waist, boosting him up with a noisy splash. Sam shrieked initially, but it gave way to a surprised laugh, every nerve alight with buzzing heat as Danny lifted him up. Danny could only manage to keep him up for another few moments before buckling at the knee from the close contact, allowing Sam a little time to plug his nose before Danny dunked him under.

Sam met the shifting blur of the pale water and felt a jarring, overwhelming peace as the water swallowed all sound and sensation and he began to sink to the bottom. For a second, he thought he might like to stay there forever, just floating and free from everything he didn’t understand about what was happening to him, what had already happened. What he wanted to happen. 

Sam didn’t even feel the sizzle of his lungs begging for air until he opened his eyes best he could and saw the blur of what was waiting for him up above.        

Now, Sam had obviously been far too young for him to remember his baptism, but as he brought himself back to consciousness and pushed himself out of the water and into Danny’s arms, he imagined it was a similar experience. Without really thinking, his arms went around Danny’s neck and he breathed in a great, shuddering gasp, desperately filling his chest with air as Danny’s arms reflexively wrapped around him and kept Sam pinned to his chest as he coughed.

“Fuck, Sam, did you forget to breathe?” Danny whispered urgently, resisting the urge to shout and wake the other motel patrons. “I mean, pardon my French, but you scared the shit out of me for a second there!”

“Sorry,” Sam choked out as he began to control his breathing and let it give way to an embarrassed laugh. “I got distracted for a minute.”

“Yeah, I’d definitely say you were coming up on a minute!” Danny sputtered, patting Sam’s back in a last ditch effort to knock any water loose. “I’ve never seen anyone go that long underwater. Good lord. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay, I promise,” Sam insisted, leaning back to flash Danny a sincere look of assurance. Curiously, he didn’t feel the need to unlock his arms from behind Danny’s neck when doing so. In the same way, Danny didn’t feel the need to release his grip on Sam, keeping their bare chests flush as Sam comically mimicked drawing in deep breaths and releasing them to demonstrate his capability.

“Fine, fine, I believe you,” Danny relented, despite the anxiety still fluttering in his chest. “Just don’t scare me like that again. I get nervous enough when you’re out of my sight, and now you’re telling me I gotta worry about you when you’re right in front of me? Phew.” 

“What do you mean you get nervous when I’m out of your sight?” Sam laughed, his dark brow crinkling inquisitively as his stomach gave a little flip. 

“Just worried you’ll get to wandering,” Danny replied with faux nonchalance. “Don’t want some lawless vagabond picking you off the street.”

“Ain’t that what you did?” 

Danny tossed his head back and let out a loud laugh, knowing he needed to be much quieter than he was but doing nothing to rectify it. Sam burst into a round of hushed giggles and attempted to put his hands over Danny’s mouth as he shushed him theatrically. They goodnaturedly tussled  for a minute before Danny finally let Sam go, pushing him back and looking away with a nervous laugh still running its course in his chest.

“I got enough law in me to keep an eye on you,” Danny continued on, flicking his wrist lightly to splash Sam. “Can’t have you leaving me to drive the rest of the way on my own.”

“Well, I only ever leave if there’s not much worth staying for,” Sam muttered. It wasn’t entirely true when considering the importance of what he’d left behind in favor of hitchhiking aimlessly in pressing Texan heat, namely his family. He felt guilty saying it, but Danny took his words with pillow softness. His laugh melted into a shy smile that fell on Sam like a kiss on the forehead. 

“Lucky me, I suppose,” Danny smiled, punching Sam gently on the shoulder. “I’ll do my best to make the rest of the trip worth staying for.”

“You won’t have to try too hard,” Sam replied sincerely. “I’m having a lot of fun so far.”

“Yeah?” Danny questioned with an amused arch of his eyebrow. “You’re having fun coughing up dust in the passenger seat of a beat up truck that doesn’t work half the time? You’re having fun having to share flat, suspiciously stained motel beds with some sorry hick you met two weeks ago?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds terrible,” Sam laughed. “But it is fun. It’s the in-between stuff that’s fun.” 

“Like what?” Danny prodded, giving Sam another playful little splash. 

He asked without any real pressure, but there was a big part of Danny that really needed to know if he was making this spontaneous road trip a good time for Sam. It seemed a little ridiculous to some extent considering that when Danny set off, he wasn’t expecting any kind of lingering company in the slightest. At the end of the day, Sam was a borderline neurotic runaway that Danny had taken a chance on after some strange gut feeling had told him to take a left and not a right while driving aimlessly. But at the same time, Danny was really starting to like him. It both confused and warmed him.

“I don’t know!” Sam sputtered. “It’s always fun to look through gas stations for stupid knick knacks. That mood ring keychain was pretty cool, you have to admit.” 

Danny only laughed in response. The tacky keychain had pretty obviously been for kids, but with the way Sam’s eyes had lit up when he pressed his thumb to the heat reactive surface, Danny had found that fact the least important part of the equation.

“It’s fun when the diner menus have stupid names for the sandwiches,” Sam continued, feeling increasingly more embarrassed talking about himself. “And I definitely have fun when I get to listen to my station on the radio.”

“And you can continue to have that fun in half hour intervals,” Danny asserted, trying not to roll his eyes while recalling Sam’s beloved church music station. “Anything else?”

“Hmm. This is pretty fun,” Sam answered with a quick, impish shrug. “Even though you tried to drown me.”

“Hey!” Danny scoffed while Sam sailed into another round of delighted giggles. “I’ll show you drowning!”

Danny reached out and they wrassled again, a flurry of arms and bickering laughter as Danny pretended to try and dunk Sam under the water. Once again, Sam’s arms went around Danny’s neck as they struggled, and once again he made no move to remove them when Danny slowed. However, this time around, when Sam felt the careless adrenaline fueling him with a whisper of unknown courage, he seized it and gave Danny a quick kiss on the cheek. It was no more than 2 seconds of his lips on Danny’s slightly stubbled skin, but it struck Danny like a slap to the face. Sam released his grip on him and gave him a good natured smile. 

“Seriously, this is so fun,” Sam insisted. “But we’ll never sleep if we keep being rowdy. Bed?”

“Good thinking,” Danny replied a little too quickly, successfully fighting a quiver in his voice and letting out a silent, choked sigh when Sam turned his back on him and started making his way to the edge of the pool. Facing away from Danny allowed Sam a moment to let his innocent, grateful gesture sink in. He began to panic slightly, rushing out a hurried mental prayer that Danny hadn’t taken it the wrong way. Sam almost turned to apologize, but decided it would be more awkward if he did, instead electing to haul himself out of the pool and grab his towel as if nothing out of the ordinary was raging inside his head.

Meanwhile, Danny definitely wasn’t taking it the wrong way. But he was taking it in a very surprising way. Feeling sudden and immense guilt, he realized that he was really going to have to book it to the hook where his towel hung in order to cover the “reaction” he was having to Sam’s little kiss. Thankfully, he was able to make it without Sam seeing. Danny felt grateful for his Southern charm when Sam finally did turn his doe eyed smile back on him and Danny was able to steer their conversation in a new direction as they walked to their room and he kept his towel tightly wound around his waist.

-

But neither one of them really recovered from it. Something so small and instantaneous weighed heavily in the back of their minds as they went about their separate nighttime routines and turned away from each other when Danny turned the light off. 

After an infuriating hour of staring up at the flaking ceiling and listening to the muffled whistle of a keening wind outside the window, Sam finally heard Danny begin to snuffle and sigh, signifying sleep. He released a pent up sigh and rubbed a hand over his eyes as he tried to manifest sleep. A few hours prior he had been nearly nodding off at dinner, but now that he was alone in the inviting dark with Danny, it was hard to keep his eyes closed. Usually he whispered himself to sleep with psalms that lulled him into a fuzzy, dreamless void, but it felt wrong to do so with the imagery pervading his mind. None of it was graphic, simply a replay of how it felt to float in Danny’s arms. And how safe he felt with Danny’s hand on his back. How the feeling of his mouth on Danny’s cheek made him wonder how it would feel if it were the other way. How it would’ve felt if Danny had picked that moment to turn slightly, causing Sam to catch his lips instead of his stubble. 

It was shameful, but Sam felt himself tensing and carefully guiding each muscle so that he could turn over to lay on his side facing Danny’s back. Unable to lay alone with his thoughts any longer, he decided that the sight of the body next to him would be enough to quell the uncomfortable desire in his chest that was beginning to frighten him slightly. However, he was startled to find that Danny had turned over at some point as well. Sam’s heart flitted and jabbed at him from his ribcage as he took in the sight of Danny’s cheek pressed to the pillow, his mouth ever so slightly ajar as he drew in deep breaths. He was laying on his chest, and Sam fought the urge to trace the swells of muscles in his arms as they came to cross underneath the pillow beneath his head. There was a needling, demanding pull in Sam’s stomach now, one that yanked and strained the longer Sam took in the sight of Danny’s placid, perfect face in the spectral moonlight. It puppeteered him to slide a trembling hand up and delicately cup Danny’s freckled cheek. Sam felt as though he was doing something exceedingly terrible when his thumb traced a gentle journey over Danny’s skin that still buzzed with heat from his light burn. Danny drew in a big breath and released it through his nose, stern eyebrows knitting slightly in a dream as Sam screamed at himself in his head to move his hand, flip back over, and just go to sleep. Yet it seemed like such an insurmountable task now that he’d felt Danny’s breath on his wrist. Worse, it reminded Sam of the proximity of Danny’s lips to his own, only inches away and closer even to his fingers. Sam’s mind raced as he became obsessed with possibility. 

His dreams were quickly dashed in a moment of blinding, white hot panic as Danny sniffed and stirred, stretching his arms slightly as his eyelids fluttered. Even with Danny rousing, Sam couldn’t find the strength to move his hand. He kept it resting with soft pressure on Danny’s cheek as he panicked about whether or not to feign sleep. All the while, Danny blinked fully and his eyes came into focus. Sam settled for a fake, heavy lidded gaze, doing his own round of “half asleep” blinking as Danny studied his expression. Danny let out an amused huff through his nose and his arm facing Sam loudly disturbed the sheets as it lifted from under the pillow and his hand clumsily tapped against Sam’s own on his face. 

“You’re dreaming, Sam,” Danny mumbled, his voice low and grumbling as he fought to speak without falling asleep again. “Go to sleep.”

“Not dreaming,” Sam whispered tiredly. He watched as Danny’s hand stretched and rested fully over his own, Danny’s fingers curling a little as his eyes closed again and he began to doze. 

It was such a little thing, but that pull inside of Sam snapped. There was something overwhelming him, and in his exhausted, newly freed state of mind, he saw no other option but to succumb. For the first time, when he felt the compulsion to pray for his salvation, he ignored it outright.  

Shifting forward, Sam used his hand on Danny’s face as leverage to gently pull himself forward and press his lips to Danny’s. He did so with no real pressure, simply lingering as long as Danny would allow him to and trapping a shivering breath inside his lungs as his eyes closed at the relief. He fully expected Danny to spit and push him off the bed, leaving him right then and there to hop in his truck and find California all on his own like he was supposed to. His fingers pressed into Danny’s skin at the thought, holding on to him as long as he could before this impulse came back to bite him in what he was sure would be seconds.  

Instead, he was met with the ginger push of Danny’s lips meeting him halfway. It only lasted for a couple of seconds, and Sam could taste the lingering whisper of mint toothpaste on his breath behind the numbing warmth of his tongue, which did no more but tap momentarily at Sam’s closed lips. When Danny’s lips unstuck from his, Danny barely pulled away to speak, giving Sam the luxury of their close proximity for longer than he ever could have dreamed of. 

“Now you’re just getting my hopes up,” Danny breathed with a laugh that lasted only a fraction of a second and seemed more like a punch of air from his chest.

Not really understanding what Danny meant, Sam flew into another panic. He could no longer feign a sleepy stare and blinked rapidly with restless nerves waking him up all the way. His heart pounded in his ears and he prayed his hand wouldn’t prickle with sweat from the dread beginning to course through him. All at once, he could hear a chorus of a hundred voices from back home reminding him of the great, divine consequence of what he was doing. 

“Sorry,” Sam apologized, his eyes immediately prickling with anxious tears. “I just…”

“I just don’t want you waking up tomorrow and feeling all…you know, guilty or whatever ‘cause of something you did half asleep,” Danny murmured. He cursed his moral compass pointing him to true north, even in this miraculous circumstance when the dial seemed to be spun on its axis entirely.  

“I’m awake,” Sam argued in a whisper. “That’s why I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that with you sleeping, that’s-”

“I was awake, too,” Danny replied simply. “I mean, when...”

An infuriating, tense minute passed between the two of them. There was much to be said, and also nothing at all. Too little time had passed in each other’s company to have any kind of profound feeling to confess, and yet there was a confounding magnetism that left them staring into the other’s eyes with heavy breath and rattling hearts. Danny’s hand eventually fell from where it had lain over Sam’s, but before Sam’s heart could sting with hurt at the loss, he felt Danny’s arm adjust to wrap around his waist and pull him closer. With this motion, their lips connected again, and Sam breathed in sharply through his nose as he attempted to fall into the rhythm of this disarming, second ever kiss. The matchbox capacity of the motel room and the sleeping world beyond its cracked windows were swallowed up by the fervor of Danny’s shuddering breath and the heat rolling off his skin. Sam heard the chastising chorus in the back of his conscience begin to sing again when Danny’s hand on his lower back tightened its grip. His heart hammered thinking about roaring hellfire and scores of taunting devils, but when Danny carefully rolled Sam onto his back and Sam opened his eyes, he saw only an angel.

“This sure is a step up from your little gesture in the pool,” Danny acknowledged, caging Sam in with an arm at his side and another by his head. 

“I was only saying thank you,” Sam muttered sheepishly, struggling to speak with his throat so dry and his muscles so alive with flickering reactions he fought to suppress.

“What are you saying now?”

Sam fell silent. He had no experiences to draw on or words in his vocabulary to place what he felt about Danny. Kind, gracious, handsome Danny, hovering over him with the patience he doled out time and time again when lesser men would have rolled their eyes and drove off.

“I think…” Sam started, fighting to sort his scattered, uninformed feelings. “I’m still saying thank you.”

Unexpectedly, Danny’s eyes flickered with apprehension. Sam’s eyebrows knit with confusion when Danny leaned back to straddle Sam’s hips, suddenly wearing a somber expression. Sam’s bottom lip quaked and pouted as he hurriedly propped himself up on his elbows.

“What?” Sam blurted. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, fuck, I fucked it all up, didn’t I?”

“I just really hope you don’t feel like you have to…do anything for me just ‘cause I’m giving you a ride,” Danny said earnestly. “I’d be really sore if you thought of me that way. I don’t expect a single thing from you.”

Sam’s heart gave a deep, aching clench as Danny’s words sank in. He felt his eyes nearly welling with tears again as he watched Danny look down at his hands in his lap before flicking his eyes up to Sam, probing him for a response. 

“No,” Sam replied firmly, pushing off the bed to sit straight and stare up properly into Danny’s eyes. “No, no, that’s not it at all. I would never. Never ever. You should know that, Danny, come on. I, it’s just…”

He trailed off again, blushing with embarrassment as the words finally came to him, plain and true. 

“I just like you is all,” Sam admitted, thankful for the shade of night to conceal the flush he knew was painting his face pink. “I’m sorry.”

“You keep apologizing when you got nothing to apologize for,” Danny accused quietly. His hands were close to shaking as he tried to calm himself down, but it was hard not to shiver at Sam’s confession.

“Sorry. Product of my upbringing, I guess.”

“Well, I got a bone to pick with a lot of things about your upbringing, if I’m being perfectly honest.”

“Me too,” Sam whispered truthfully. 

Danny studied Sam’s face with that familiar worried look he found himself sporting every day now, taking a minute to smooth Sam’s hair back and get lost in his dark, doll-like gaze. 

“I know it wasn’t part of the plan,” Sam went on with a small, shameful voice. 

Danny let out an airy, one note laugh through his nose and rolled his eyes, finally plucking up the courage to cup Sam’s cheek as Sam had done to him. 

“I’m not even sure what ‘the plan’ is anymore,” Danny sighed, finding it difficult to look anywhere but Sam’s rosy frown. “I know what I said, but I think deep down all I really wanted to do was go. California just seemed like the best place to start.”

“So…” Sam coaxed, unable to stop himself from tilting his chin into Danny’s grip. “When will you know where you’re going?”

“Now that I’ve met you, Sam? I think I know where I’m headed.”

Before Sam could bring up any matters of direction, of Danny’s supposed destined Californian love, or of what was to become of them as a them, Danny kissed Sam for a third time. Nothing special, nothing mind blowing. Yet with it, Sam felt every saying about the magic number, three strikes, and the Holy Trinity itself fade in comparison. And when Danny laid him down again, Sam swore he could see the stars.

 -

The next morning, Sam sat in the passenger seat of the truck with his head hanging out the window, chestnut hair spilling behind him in the wind as the bare fields and pale blue sky rolled on by. With his shirt unbuttoned to remedy the heatwave, anyone would’ve been able to see the small, tender bruises lining his collarbone and marching down his chest. Beside him, Danny kept one eye firmly on the empty road and the other on his passenger. On a whim, he took a hand off the wheel to fiddle with the radio, adept fingers spinning the knob until a choral worship song came crackling over the waves. Sam turned his head at the music and made a fond sound, shoving Danny’s shoulder with a light push and settling back into his seat. However, after a minute of listening, Sam found himself reaching to change the station. He settled on a rock station blasting a song dripping with bass and drums, nodding his head along to it curiously as Danny shot him an incredulous smile. 

“I fear I’ve corrupted you,” Danny laughed, reaching out to muss Sam’s hair.

“Good,” Sam hummed. “I needed it.”

“Yeah, you did. Just remember you promised not to go running off on me. And no bar fights. And before you ask, tattoos are a solid maybe.”

Sam laughed, pressing up against the headrest as he kicked his boots up on the dashboard and allowed himself to recline. For a moment, it crossed his mind that this might be one of the first times in his life he felt truly comfortable. It also crossed his mind that Danny’s persistent worry of Sam running off into the night was becoming increasingly more ridiculous. As he looked at the man driving next to him, who was miraculously unaware of the midday sun setting his curls and perfect side profile alight, Sam knew with confidence there was nowhere else he’d rather be. 

~~

Chapter 2!

[phyrestartr]

Your Godly Path Leads Back To Him | Miguel O'hara x Male!Reader

#NSFW, Male Reader, Western/Cowboys, Miguel O'hara is a sheriff, complicated emotions, reunion trope, mentions of abuse, mentions of drinking, mentions of past trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, religious themes, men working through their shit, sad old men being sad, one-shot(?)

Notes: Dude this is so long lol I'm EXHAUSTED after powering through this, but it had to be done!! Had this one in the drafts for a while after listening to Preacher's Daughter by Ethel Cain and SHEESH. I wanted to write about some cowboys okay that's all tysm

--Your Godly Path Leads Back To Him--

"I love ya, pretty boy," you murmured into the soft dip of his cheek, leaving behind the scorch of your lips: an invisible scar, one that'd ruin his perfect smile next time the sun rose. 

Miguel's gaze traced lines into you to make you bleed. Across the expanse of bite-tainted shoulders, grazing the vital veins and tendons of your neck, up to the thoughtfully chiseled features God hand-picked for you, His favourite, the man he poured silvered moonlight onto, filling in your crystalline eyes that very moment Miguel finally caught them gazing his way after you dared to maim him. 

The thin, scratchy blanket shifted, and let prickly hay nip at Miguel's bare skin when you held the side of his face with a warm, calloused hand. You burned away his nerves, eased away anything that could distract him from you, from that moment. 

What was Miguel supposed to say? 

"Hey," you whispered. Your fingers grazed against his forehead as you brushed dark locks away from blurred eyes and creased brows. "Come on now, don't make that face. My love such a bad thing?" 

Miguel laughed, like the sun braving a rainy day. "Maybe, with a track record like yours." A deflection. A cheap, easy thing Miguel tried to fit behind. But you knew him too damn well. 

"Pretty boy and a funny guy, huh?" You hummed and picked yourself off your side, slotting back into the spot you'd carved between Miguel's legs, flush up to his hips–the place you'd been all night. Goosebumps on tawny skin rose to meet your phantom touches. Not even the warmth of the summer night's breeze could help him. 

"Glad not even your daddy could beat the life out of you." Your words licked across his neck before your lips seared those in, too. 

"Well, I--I, uh…" Clay brown eyes fluttered shut when you touched him. "I really–" He tried again. Miguel's head dug back into the hay, gifting a speckle of splintering hay crackles to the ambience of mooning crickets. The littlest sighs, the gentlest of moans, so spent and eager, slipped from between his tired, wanting lips, bolstering the symphony of the night. 

Your lips found his again. Your tongue tasted him, finding the familiar smoke of fine whiskey and the sweet icing of flaked pastries. One of your hands threaded into his hair and held the back of his neck, keeping him close, stopping him from seeing the swirling haze in your own eyes. 

"It's alright, honey," you whispered against his cheek before you pushed into him, "you ain't gotta say it back." His hands flew to your back, clawing into your skin and pulling your body flush against his. Miguel's stuttered gasps found a home in the warmth of your shoulder, and you etched quiet moans over the mark you'd already left. Such a greedy, evil man you were. 

And that’s why you couldn’t love him.

But you did, and you kept telling him while you held him, even though it made your heart ache, even though it made your heart break. Because it was so horribly, painfully, undeniably true–you loved him. You loved the bastard son of the sheriff. You loved the man who was to be wed to a beautiful woman with wide hips and the gift of giving him the family he always dreamed of for himself.

And you? You were trouble. A dog on the road, scrounging for scraps, looking for any woman or sorry soul to take you in for the night–and then you found yourself neither, and didn't know how to walk away from what you’d found. 

But trouble was always gonna find you, whether it be your man’s father or his wife’s, the corrupt deputies and counties paid to find you, the do-gooder bounty hunters looking for their payday.  You'd be damned if you let trouble find him: Miguel O'hara, a cocky prick, a ladies man, a man who gave you love and patience when you needed it most. 

This was the last night you were gonna love him.

–

Ten hours later, you were gone. 

– 

Ten years later, you were back.

– 

The market was busy. Customers and vendors alike bustled through cramped cobbled streets, but Miguel heard one voice clear as day like lightning striking through the darkest storm.

"You lookin' for your momma, sweetheart?" 

Then, he heard his Gabi. 

His boots thumped against the ground hard on his dash towards his little one. Folks in the crowd hurried out of his way or got pushed past until Miguel spied his baby girl talking to a fellow crouched down to her level. It was you, wearing that same damn hat, toting that same damn bag over your shoulder, wearing those same damn boots, all in the town where you'd met. 

"Papá's gone," Gabi sniffed, clutching onto the fabric of her dress with trembling little hands. "I-I dunno where he went!" 

"Hey, hey, you're okay, baby. We'll find him." You pat her head and smoothed some of the flyaways that escaped her braids. "We'll find that old sheriff and–" 

"Well, you found him," Miguel cut in, sauntering in on the conversation with his thumbs hooked into the worn leather of his belt. He did his best to gaze at you with a stranger's stare, but he was already losing the game he decided to play. 

Especially when your eyes flicked to him, looking less than surprised and more than happy to see him, if that crooked smile was anything to go off of. 

Gabriella threw herself at Miguel and buried her little face into his shirt, staining the worn cotton with drops of tears. Miguel pat her head before kneeling down and holding her hands in his. 

"You alright, mija?" He cooed, concern softening his voice and taking the fight out of him. Gabi nodded dramatically and Miguel wiped her eyes. "You can't run off like that, kid, you had me scared half to death." 

"I-I know, ‘m sorry.” And she really did look it, but Miguel knew her wanderlusting, bored little self would get lost in the crowds again, thinking she’d always make it back to her daddy. It could never happen to me was a jinx thought too many times. Everything could happen to them. Anything. Just like you leaving. 

Right. The sheriff’s eyes glanced up to find yours again, but he found an empty space instead. Gone. Again. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised by that. 

–

But when night fell, he had an inkling of where to find you. 

Miguel found Lyla’s bar, that place where men drank ill of the divine’s blood, where you would drink yourself, the cannibal you were. 

Upon first glance around the room, through the cheers of his title and welcoming smiles, he didn’t find you. But Lyla nodded at the backdoor, and Miguel had his answer. 

He grabbed a drink on the way out, maybe to settle his nerves or to drown you with, he wasn’t sure. The song of a guitar called to him the second he cracked that back door open. Like a fisherman drawn to the siren’s voice, he followed it earnestly, the hand holding his bottle tightening while earthen brown eyes searched for you–

And there you were, sat on a log bench, thick cigar hanging from your lips, drink at your side, plucking away at tired strings for a crowd of ghosts around a dark phantom fire. Worshippers, no doubt. Specters of lovers passed, maybe. 

Moonlight draped across your shoulders like the thick blankets of snow weighing on the surrounding cedars. They, too, listened to the hymn, bowing how they could to show their fealty to you. But you didn’t mind it, not acting how godly things were said to act, instead welcoming them as real brothers and sisters and others, all equal on the same ground. Miguel didn’t know how you could still not have a care in the world when the world cared so much for you. 

Miguel’s boots crunched in the snow, and you turned your gaze to him. Now that he had the time to spare, he took in the lines and wear on your fine face, the age added under mischievous eyes and the new, silvered scars glowing against your complexion. Older, and handsomer. How was it possible? How was that fair? 

Then that horrible smile appeared, the one he’d felt sear into his skin all those years ago. He felt it now, burning on his neck, on his lips, and somehow he knew you felt it, too. Under a moonlit night, in the old barn of his daddy’s estate, you’d taught him your gospel from sunset to sunrise, showed him how mercy felt, how a kind god’s hand could heal. Those lips whispered to him things prophets wish they knew, things they’d give everything to hear first before any other man–but no, it was just for Miguel. 

You stood and walked to him, guitar in-hand, and Miguel lost all sense of mind. 

– 

He slammed you up against his front door once the damn thing closed and blocked out the cold, leaving you victim to his gnashing teeth and clawing hands. His knee found its place snug up against your crotch as he devoured your voice with a scorned kiss, filled with the clash of fangs and demanding bites. You moaned into him, too weak to deny him his wants, or to deny yourself. 

"Your daughter–" you gasped once his mouth left yours. You muffled a moan into his shoulder as he ground his knee against your crotch harder. "Miguel–" 

"She's with Peter for the night," he breathed into your neck inbetween hot, open-mouthed kisses left on your scarred skin. "Figured something'd be happenin' tonight." 

"Hmm." You smiled into the leather of his jacket and left a soft kiss there before leaning back to spy his handsome face. "Glad we can pick up where we left off, Sheriff." 

"Hardly." His hand found your neck, and you offered your throat, your blood, for communion. For union. "You've got some fucking gall showing up around here again, let me tell you. Gotta say I have questions about where you've been, why you left, why you're back now." The pressure around your throat tightened and you coughed just the slightest bit to prove your mortality. Miguel's eyes, deep and dark like wine, drank you in now that he had you where he wanted you. 

"You think you got some answers for me, trouble?" The sheriff asked. 

You grinned. Not even that damn cuff around your throat could scare you off, truth be told. 

"I just might." 

Miguel's lips followed the path of your whisper back to your sinful mouth once again, and he kissed you. You clung to him, a god yearning to taste the sweetness that humanity had cultivated, and let him take the reins–the human would know humanity best, after all. 

His knee left the spot between your legs, but his hips closed the gap in its stead and ground hard against you. Sparks ignited from between your bodies, and you moaned. Miguel's soft, breathy sigh melted into your voice as his lips lingered against your very own. It felt too much like the past. 

"Shh, Christ–don't you know how to shut up?" Miguel asked with the wickedest grin stretched across those fine features of his, like he wasn't the bastard at the root of your noise. 

"Oh, you're really asking for an ass-kicking, shit head," you scoffed, but couldn't help the laugh that sank into his cheek. "Want me to make no noise, huh? Make you think you're doing a shit job getting me off?" Miguel's hand tightened around your length, then. Maybe he liked being a lil degraded. 

"Câllate. I know I'm doing a good job." His face twisted into a pouty frown. "Now hurry up and touch me, too." Miguel's face couldn't get more red with the demand. 

But you grinned and complied. Tucked away in the barn where all dark deeds were done, you pulled loose his belt and unzipped those old jeans before palming him up and showing him what it meant to worship.

Miguel moaned and leaned into your touch, pushing you deeper into the thick wooden support beam keeping everything standing. Your first hands worked each other to find Eden while the second hands wandered and touched, trying to find where they were supposed to land next on their quest into the great unknown. The bible had been so, so wrong, so now what was their guide? 

Each other, the answer would be. 

Oil-slicked fingers pistoned into your tight hole with frenzied purpose, stretching you open and wide for all Miguel had waiting on offer. Your fingernails caught into every hitch and grain of the wooden dining table beneath you, somewhere you'd find no purchase but decided you didn't deserve any; this was, after all, divine punishment, was it not? 

Though it was unceremonious the way he yanked those fingers out and slammed his cock in, filling you to the brim in one fatal flourish, tearing a choked gasp from your smoke-addled throat. Your forehead dug into the wood as your hips jolted back to find more of him. Miguel's hands, broad and calloused, held fast to your hips and stroked the taught muscle there, the stretched skin over bone, with his thumbs. He smoothed your skin and soothed any aches you felt in the aftermath of man's brutality. 

Just when you thought to snap at him to move, he rocked his hips against yours slowly, pulsing into you with shallow, merciful thrusts. But even just that was enough to snatch the air out of your lungs.

Miguel blanketed your body with his own, bending over you and breathing softly against the shell of your ear as his weight pinned you to the table. You had to admit the man was giving you whiplash with every flip of your punishment. 

"Go a little harder, baby," you whispered sweetly, nearing on begging as you pushed your hips back against his. 

Miguel's rhythm stuttered. His hands tightened around your waist, blunt nails digging into soft sides as the teeth by your ear snicked together with the hiss of a breath, of words unspoken. 

"You want harder?" Miguel mumbled. He buried his face into your neck and inhaled deep, filling his lungs with that scent you brought with you when you escaped whatever holy shrine man had imprisoned you in. 

"Fine." His chest left your back as he stood up straight. You felt the shift in the room before he slammed into you over and over again like you owed him this. 

And you did. You'd left. You'd run away after showing your heart to him. You could've left without a word. You should've. But where else would you find someone to drag you down to Earth the way he did? 

His hand slipped under your neck then and tightened fiercely as he used you, and your mind snapped back to the present, to how this communion threatened to rot into sacrifice. You didn't seek the unholy. You didn't want faith like this. 

"Stop," you rasped. Your hands clawed at the noose around your neck when words didn't work. Turns out it scared you just a bit more than you thought."Miguel." 

"I thought you wanted it hard," his voice growled into your ear, too distant from that charisma and snark you knew and fell for. He was cold. Angry. Not saying what he wanted to say. 

"I–" but you coughed and saw the abyss for a second when you thought your neck might give, and instincts stepped in for you. 

You managed to shove Miguel off, so hard in fact he crashed back into the counter where dishes sat drying in a rack. They clattered to the dismal tune of your dying heart while you caught your breath and tried to steady your legs underneath yourself as you stared hard at the man who'd never hurt you. 

You'd had your fair share of flirty women and shameful men, whether it was a job to make a quick buck, a ploy to rob them in  the night, or an attempt at finding something real. 

The women were always kindly, confessing of the snakes in the garden out front and the woes they felt in the house in the times their husbands lurked. Always so intimate, always so willing to open their hearts and their bodies to you. You'd give them the same respect in kind, murmuring about a boy you still loved, hinting at the skeletons laid hidden in a hundred different pieces in your closet. Two wanting beings seeking a kind One's touch. 

But the men made you less than human. Filled to the brim with callous denial and self-loathing, blaming you for what they'd done and what they'd do. You hated them for what they'd do to you. You hated them for proving man was beyond saving. You hated them because they were just like the one that came before you.

And maybe you hated them for reminding you what your mortal man could do to you, too.

But Miguel looked shell-shocked. A little too human, a little too unlike those others with the way his wide eyes scanned you over as his own chest heaved and his own two hands struggled with what to do. He almost took a step forward, but took it back. 

Miguel's voice broke through, real soft and quiet. "(Name), I–"

"Don't," you snapped, hating the way your voice shook. You wondered if you'd ever yelled at your daddy this way. 

"You don't get to–no, not you. You don’t get to do that to me. Anyone but you." Because he was your prophet. Someone you could hide with and share the darkest of the dark with in safety, away from the rest of the hated world. What would you be if you lost him, too? 

You didn't know what you expected, maybe to be kicked out or yelled at again if history repeated itself, but Miguel braving those steps towards you and holding you close was nothing short of a needed surprise. You were both something of a mess, pants all awry and brows creased with sweat and emotion, but with the mess came comfort. And to you, comfort smelled like licorice, sun, and leather. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. And your heart swelled; men didn't say that to you. No one ever said that to you.

Your arms, tentative and maybe a little afraid, found their way around his waist, and you pulled him in closer. Miguel's shoulders relaxed with every soothing sweep of your palm against his back, and you let his weight fall into you a little bit more. Because as much as he was your happy place, you were his, too. 

Miguel laughed bitterly before he said, "I guess I'm more like my father than I wanna admit." 

Wife beater.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. "You know that ain't true." His eyes looked away from you then, and you caught his cheek with your hand to stop the rest of his head from following. "It's been a long time. There's…quite a bit left unsaid." 

Miguel huffed something of a laugh as he leaned into your touch. "Huh, that was almost poetic. You been reading up since you were gone?" 

"Might've stolen a few pretty books from some fanciful folks here 'n there." You smiled. 

"Yeah? Guess it was worth it, if you're talking like that now." 

"Wasn't worth leavin' you." 

Earthen eyes found you again, looking wide and innocent like those fauns you saw on your travels. You liked that look on him, the look of a pretty boy being awed by a roadbound hooligan. You thought maybe you could get him to blush, too.

Your other hand found the empty side of his face and cupped it, mirroring the other, before you leaned in and closed your eyes. This time, cinders sparked against your lips when they met, proving that man, indeed, created flame without heavenly guidance. That burgeoning blaze bloomed and blossomed when you kissed Miguel O'hara to remind him of the words you spoke that night ten years ago: 

I love ya, pretty boy. You ain't gotta say it back. 

Because the fire in you had enough heat to keep two warm at night.

"I never should've left you," you murmured against his lips. "I thought–I figured it'd be for the best, but–" your voice died in your throat when Miguel's lips caught your chatty mouth and dove into another hot kiss. You sighed, happy to abandon that solemn train of thought in favour of slipping your arms around his neck and enjoying him like you were 21 all over again. 

"I know," Miguel mumbled when he parted and let you breathe. "You wouldn't leave for nothin', selfless bastard." He smiled a little. "But I'm still cross with you." 

Your hands moved to curl into his worn shirt as you nodded. "I know."

"And we're gonna sort everything out." 

"Good." 

"But right now," he started before catching your chin between his fingers and tilting your head up the slightest bit, "I think I'd like another shot at fucking you silly, mi amor." 

Your stomach dipped into sticky, gooey desire. Mi amor. The words radiated through every nerve and cell of your design.

You nodded. "Go right ahead." 

This time, Miguel swept you up into his arms and carried you up the stairs like a bride on her wedding day while you laughed and dotted him with kisses all over. He all but threw you onto the bed before you both tore each other's clothes away in a fit of love and lust, too eager to see one another at your most vulnerable. 

Miguel's broad hands smoothed down your chest and thighs as he settled between them, and the look in his half-lidded eyes had your stomach coiling with impatience. But he took his time, dipping his fingers into the lines and creases of scars and muscle, pressing against each errant beauty mark he found hidden on your warm skin. But, thankfully, his impatience won out, and he rushed to pick up where you’d both left off.

You were glad to hold onto him this time as he filled you again. Your hands grabbed at his shoulders and clawed at his back as he kissed your neck and rolled against you slowly, gradually convincing your tight heat to relax and let him back in. And Miguel was quite the persuasive one, rocking his hips in a delicious tempo of short, shallow half-notes, whispering fluttering words of praise when he charted forgotten ground. A worthy worshiper, truly.

Your hips jolted when his pressed to yours. "Shit," you rasped into his shoulder when he bottomed out, but only after teasing your soft spot for a few agonizing minutes. 

Miguel chuckled lightly. He licked a long stripe up your neck before biting into your flesh and earning himself a hearty moan. You bit him back, if only to be a brat; gods could do whatever they wanted.

"You feel good?" He asked, like he didn't already know the answer.

You nodded against him before you allowed him to pull you back to get a look at your brows twisted together, at the love-drunk blush smeared across your face, at the half-lidded heaviness of dilated eyes. He kissed you like that once, twice, and then his forehead pressed against yours when he showed you what he was really meant for. 

Long forgotten were the seconds spent downstairs on the dining table. Now is all that remained: the heat rippling through your thighs, the fire in your core, lava in your veins that moved when he did, spreading an impossible bliss through every inch of your being. 

"Honey," you gasped between the soft pants and choked moans. Your fingers threaded through his hair and held his neck as Miguel fucked the air out of your lungs and spoiled himself with your rare little noises. 

Miguel smirked. "Oh? Already?" He lifted his forehead from yours to kiss and mark your neck the way you so selfishly did in the past. "Don't, ah, tell me you're losing your touch." 

"Shut–shut up," you grumbled. "Still got an annoying fucking mouth for such a–oh." 

Miguel's hips angled slightly differently in that second, brushing up against a spot that had you seeing stars and your body tightening up and demanding more. A shaky, loud moan slipped past Miguel's defenses, too, and he made damn sure to focus his attention on that spot. 

"Fuck, you feel good, viejo," Miguel moaned over the creaking of the bed. 

“Hah. You’re welcome,” you cooed, ego stretched and lazing, and then you gasped louder as Miguel cranked it up a notch and slammed against your sweet spot with more fervor than before. You bit his shoulder again in defiance. 

Miguel laughed, breathless and shaky as his control slipped and he delved into your body with primal instinct. Your thighs tightened around his waist, eager to feel that grand finale you’d been craving since you laid your eyes on him.

“Miggs?” 

“Mh?”

“Kiss me.” 

And he obliged, igniting the trail of gunpowder from the tip of your tongue and letting it burn all the way to the dynamite bundled up tight in your stomach. You exploded, burning bright with too many colours as your back arched and your arms seized your lover tightly. Beautiful nonsense left your mouth and filled the air with the mess of bed creaks and Miguel’s voice rose and rose before stopping altogether as he spilled his warmth inside your molten centre. 

He kissed you lazily. Little, shaky moans rattled against your teeth as Miguel rocked against you through the aftershocks and pulled every last drop of pleasure from himself. It made you smug; his wife, dead or alive, clearly didn’t fuck him the way you could. 

It took some time to come down, but when you both did, he was settled up against you, his back against your chest as you leaned against the headrest and played with his hair. One of your hands was confiscated so the sheriff may look over the silvered scars and healing wounds–a few of the many trophies you’d earned on your travels. 

“So?” Miguel murmured. 

“Hm?”

“Why’d you leave?”

You took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. Too many thoughts plagued your mind, too many reasons, too many excuses all piling up on each other like bodies in a war. But you had to find that truth and show it to him. It’s what he expected. It’s what you actually owed him. 

“Well, your old man wanted me dead.” Miguel tensed against you for a moment, and you were quick to calm him with the scratch of your nails against his scalp. He melted into you, and you smiled. “You know how Delgato loves to talk. Never shuts the fuck up, actually. Was a good thing this time, though, otherwise I’d be killed three times over.” 

Miguel huffed a soft laugh. “Guess so. But why you?”

“Because I wanted you. I guess I had you, too, and that wasn’t the plan, right? You had to marry Dana.” You sighed softly and shook your head. “If she weren’t so wicked fine, I’d be more bent out of shape about it.” 

You sensed Miguel roll his eyes. “Santa Muerte. Do you ever think with your head instead of your cock?” 

“Seems like a waste of time,” you jabbed back with a cheeky grin. You leaned in and kissed his shoulder while he grumbled and mumbled to himself. 

“So that’s it? You left because that low-life wanted you dead?” 

“Hold on, hold on. Let me keep talkin’.” You adjusted your arms around him before you continued. “My daddy was a crook, a real good one, too. Momma wasn’t much better. Guess you could call her a murderer, but she was a smart one. She brought back the magic that was Aqua Tofana back in the 60s. Poisoned him. Killed him." Your fingers traced around errant freckles splashing across the nape of his neck as you thought back. "Tyler Stone found out about it." 

Miguel cursed under his breath. He leaned more of his weight back into your chest. Your arms tightened around him, too. 

"Came after that old woman who threw the blame on me, and then they came after me." A bitter smile drained your light. "Traveled all over the place, ran even more. 'N then…somehow ended up falling for the bastard son of the man I was running from." You sighed and nuzzled against Miguel's shoulder. "The cruel irony of it all, hey?" 

"You don't have to run anymore," Miguel said, voice oozing with the power of a sheriff. He turned in your hold, and sat facing you with his strong hands holding your shoulder and your cheek. "You're done running." 

You huffed a breath through your nose before you hung your head the slightest bit. "Says who?" 

"Says me.” Both hands held your face now, bringing your attention back to Miguel’s divinely cut features as he tried to speak some sense into you. “The man you said you loved. The bastard son of the man you were runnin' from." His thumbs rubbed soothing paths along your cheekbones. “You know you’re done runnin’, too. Why else would you come back here?” 

And maybe there was some truth to those words. Why did you come back here? Were you tired of the road? Tired of the gun fights, the robbing, the lying? Is that why you trekked your horse down these familiar roads without even realizing it until you saw that old church stretching above the rising sun? Or maybe you were following threads of your fate, wandering to the tune of your South-flying heart when your chest finally got too cold after ten years without light. 

Yeah, maybe you were done running. 

Your nose brushed his when you leaned into him. “You want me to stay, pretty boy?” 

“I’ll make you stay. Sheriff’s promise. Besides,” Miguel murmured. His forehead pressed to yours and his eyes fell closed before the next whisper changed everything: “Te amo.” 

Your eyes watered, so you let them fall closed, too. The barest of laughs broke through your quivering breaths. It was relief that flooded you, and those two little words were the ark that raised you up out of your misery and confusion of the world. You felt like you could breathe. Like you meant something for once. Like maybe the hymns and verses might have been based on truth. 

“Well,” you started, leaning into the summer touch wiping away your autumn tears, “why didn’t you say so sooner?” 

“I should’ve. I really should’ve.” Miguel laughed something warm and loud when you yanked him in for a hug and peppered him with salty kisses all over his face. “H-Hey, hey, you didn’t give me an answer!” 

“Forgot the question, Sheriff,” you mumbled as you squeezed him. “Ask again?” 

Miguel scoffed fondly before kissing your earlobe and murmuring into your ear. “You feel like kickin’ up your feet and giving up on running, trouble?” 

You grinned to yourself and returned the kiss.

“I do.”

[angelofthenight]

Haiii ^_^ I was just wondering if you can do like micah (from children of the corn 2) x plus sized reader who’s insecure ?? 🖤🖤

Micah x Plus Size!Reader

(Fem!Reader)

Warnings: Body insecurity, Hurt/Comfort, Reader is the pastor’s daughter, Alluded religious trauma, Mentions of Micah’s abusive dad, Teenage boy hormones (very faint), Kissing

Word Count: 3.0k

( Got a little carried away with the word count but I thought it was appropriate for how long this has been sitting in my inbox😭😭 Also this will be one of the exceptions from only writing Micah as a yandere )

Micah was naturally independent. 

He wasn’t shy or outcasted, he was just reserved and preferred to be at a distance where he could observe those around him. Those who danced mindlessly on the cleared floor in their best formal wear. Those who huddled around the punch bowl muttering about some misunderstandings. Those who clutched their pearls at how a few of the girls’ heels were too high. Those who chose to argue with their partner in the corner of the big room at a celebration like this.

But despite how independent Micah was, and despite how non-complex he viewed everyone in town as, his eyes could never stop from looking for one particular person in each crowded room he’s ever been in. Yet you were nowhere to be found.

In his most honest mind, he looked forward to this town party hosted by the town’s pastor, otherwise known to be your father, to celebrate the renovation of the church. It quite honestly didn’t need to be renovated in the first place, it was a tad small but it was perfectly fine. It was a waste of money in his opinion yet he kept that to himself after letting it slip to his father. His father brutishly shunned him for thinking such a way of the town’s beloved church, followed by a snapping backhand.

The reason he looked forward to this gathering full of balloons and caters was to see you all dressed up. He was still a hormonal guy so the thought of you in a dress made him tug at his collar. 

Micah pined after you hard. Simply just thinking about you made his face redden and collapse in his hands, and he left every interaction with you struggling to resist a dopey grin. He just liked and admired everything about you and found you to be the most interesting person out of all 968 people in this town.

You were a bit of a town outcast. Not physically an outcast where people avoided you or excluded you, no, you were actually very well-liked by the townspeople. You were almost like the People’s Princess of Gatlin. As the pastor’s daughter, you attended lots of town events and were always incredibly polite and humble. Like a princess. 

Though, you were just so… different from the rest of the town. Your world-views, your opinions, your personality, your attitude, your humor, your wit, the way you spent your free time, the way you danced, how you walked, how you talked, and so many other traits. Micah personally surmised you didn’t even believe in God.

You didn’t belong here, not in this town, Micah knew for certain. You were meant for bigger, more exciting things and settings and environments. This small town was one big restraint on you. 

And maybe there were much better words to properly describe you, but to Micah he saw you as cool. Like a cowboy.

So other than his great infatuation with you, he genuinely liked being around you. He wanted to say the two of you were friends but he sometimes guessed he was just a small speck in your colorful world filled with thoughts and views he could never dream of. 

He craved your presence, he found attending this party not even worth it if you weren’t around. But maybe this was what he got for wanting to see you in a short dress so bad. That was until when he lingered around the windows for a change of scenery, he caught the misty sight of your silhouette sitting in the grass facing the cornfield.

It was as if the boredom zapped out of his eyes when he was certain it was you. Quickly running his brown eyes around the room, he spotted his father lost in quiet words exchanged with the farmhand’s wife. She was holding a tray of banana bread muffins with a gushy and blushy expression on her face as his father ate a pinch off one of the sweet breads with a sultry smile, clearly trying to make it look like he was talking about her baking with her when it was clear to Micah that was most definitely not what they were talking about.

With his father too deeply distracted by the female skin of infidelity to prevent his son from sinfully conversing with a girl, Micah took that as his blessing to exit the church in pursuit of you. He didn’t know exactly what he was going to make conversation out of. Maybe he could talk you into joining this little group the new kid in town, Isaac, was gradually forming. He wondered if the central philosophy of the group would appeal to you. He wouldn’t be surprised if the pastor’s daughter held a resentment towards the adult. 

As he dug his hands into the pockets of his pants, not even the breezy night air could cool the warm temperature creeping up his neck the closer he approached you. 

“Hey, (Y/n).” He accidentally croaked out. Your body subtly flinched in the thick cardigan you wrapped yourself into. After rubbing your eyes hurriedly, you turned your head to look up at the dark haired boy. “Oh, hi, Micah. Didn’t hear you creeping up on me.” You said with a soft and friendly tone of voice. 

Micah could’ve fallen to his knees right then and there from the sight of your shiny gaze casted up at him like that, the color of your orbs brighter than a full moon. And he swore he could name every constellation through your eyes. “My apologies. Mind if I sit?” He said, gesturing towards the area of the ground beside you. 

Your plump lips parted with the intent of asking to be alone but as you thought before you spoke, you changed your mind. “Go right ahead.”

A smile spread softly as he squatted down to sit with his legs crossed, his eyes taking in your styled hair and the sweater that shielded whatever you were wearing underneath it. “You look nice. Why aren’t you inside? I’m sure lots of people are waiting for you.” He said with a teasing smile yet also trying to be gentle with you as if you were world class.

You hugged your knees closer to your chest as you practically huddled deeper into your cardigan like a hermit crab, the thought of going inside made that lump in your throat thicker and your thoughts self-destruct all over again. “I know…” you kept pressing your lips together to prevent them from quivering in front of someone, “but I think I’m gonna run back to my house and change then join the party.”

Micah got confused now. You were clearly all pampered up for the party, even wearing the vintage pearl earrings he remembered your grandma used to wear. “But you’re already dressed. What’s the problem?” He took notice of how you sunk into your sweater, wondering if you were just cold. “It’s warmer inside than it is out here so you-”

“I just think this dress was a mistake.”

His dark eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean? I’m sure whatever you picked looks great.”

The sound of a mix of a huff and a whimper emitted past your lips as you pulled down your cardigan to reveal your dress. The floral print dress was shorter than your other ones, the skirt only covering less than half of your thick thighs (especially when you sat with your legs up), and the short sleeves were loose over your shoulders. It wasn’t tight but it hugged your curves and your busty cleavage peeked over the low cut collar.

The borderline skimpy outfit was different than how you usually dressed. Much more revealing and bold. And Micah felt as if he was witnessing a once in a lifetime sight, the universe teasing him with what was unattainable yet blessed him the sight out of pity. He didn’t realize his face was turning rosy until he felt the heat in his cheeks. He pursed his lips together and glanced off into the corn.

As goosebumps littered your exposed skin in the nighttime air your blurry eyes remained set on the grass in front of you, your focus not on anything specific. “My dad and I got into a little argument about my dress for tonight. Said it was too short even though it went past my fingertips. I wanted to really stick it to him, like give him the finger, so I altered it to this. But now that I’m actually here, wearing this… I don’t think I can go in.”

In Micah’s mind, he thought you were trying to express your insecurity of the indecent dress because you knew slut-shaming and proclamations of sin were guaranteed to be thrown at you the second you stepped through those doors. You were the Pastor’s daughter after all, and being his only child golden expectations were set for you. 

And though you actually did exceed those expectations by being noble and headstrong, you were a relatively tough individual. You never once stood for someone displaying disrespect and you were never afraid to put someone in their place with a fiery, wide gaze, intimidating people into that place. Other than who your kin was, nobody dared to argue with you. More reasons as to why Micah admired you.

So imagine his surprise when he heard a wet sniffle and noticed the twinkling reflection of thickening tears over your eyes. “Actually I think I’m just gonna go home and stay there. Sit this one out.” Your turning body to stand up made Micah for sure of the emotion in your face.

He said with a careful and nonthreatening tone, “Hey, hey, hey.” His arms softly reached out to grab your biceps, keeping you seated so that he could lean his face closer to yours so that he could meet your tearful eyes; his eyebrows curving upwards and his frown parted. “Why are you crying?” He asked gently with worry but the verbal notice of your mood only made your tears fall. 

You sniffled again as your frown trembled, the sight causing a squeezing pain to erupt in Micah’s chest. “You’re not the only girl in town who would get criticized for being revealing. You shouldn’t think of it as a personal or discriminative or victimizing thing, it’s just the kind of conservative community this town is. You know they didn’t even like when Lacey in our class wore Daisy Dukes in the middle of July.” He tried to comfort using a soothing tone and a realistic view on what he thought you were insecure about.

Though he soon believed he said the wrong thing when your avoidant gaze finally snapped onto his with your eyebrows furrowed, an annoyed essence swapping out your dejected image. “What? I don’t give a crap about them thinking I’m dressed like a whore. I’d wear a Scarlet Letter on my forehead and still not care about whatever they have to say.” You said sternly and clearly. 

Micah, with his hands still gently holding onto your biceps, glanced back and forth between both of your eyes and the cornfield. He was lost and puzzled. “Then… What are you so worried about?”

You didn’t blink as you stared into his brown hues before your gaze hardened and you slightly leaned back away from him. “..…Are you mocking me?”

The boy’s eyes widened as he frantically shook his head softly. “No, no, no. I really don’t see the problem if it’s not being slut-shamed.” He said with genuine bewilderment. 

Your emotions were in spirals and urges to scream in his face and cry at the same time flooded through you like oil leaks near a fire. You felt your spitfire blood pressure grow hot but yet… you didn’t explode. Perhaps it was because of the vulnerable weakness you harbored for Micah that rendered you unable to aim any sort of your conflagration toward him. Your weakness for the shy boy that always sent you a smile when you made eye contact was stronger than your fuse. Especially when he held you so gently and looked deep into your eyes like you were the only thing left on earth.

“Micah, have you seen me?” You said hoarsely, deciding to be point-blank with your approach. “I’m the weight of a cow. And this dress does nothing but make it more obvious.” The way you said your words sounded as if you were insulting someone with the intent to hurt them, but you spoke in the first person.

Micah had to take a second to register and digest what you were saying. But when it did it felt as if his heart broke into small pieces and fell down to the pit of his stomach. If anyone said that about you, Micah would gladly exchange black eyes with them to defend your honor. But the fact this was coming from you… He always thought so highly of you, thought you were in a whole different world than him. 

He was dumbstruck, dumbfounded. He looked back and forth between your eyes for the relieving hint that you were joking, or lying. But no, you were neither of those things. You were delusional. “What are you talking about? (Y/n)... you look incredible.” He breathed out yet his honest words just seemed to sting you even more, your frown deepening and the tears swelling back up.

You slightly wiggled in an attempt to get out of his hold yet his firmed his grip on your arms to keep you close to him. “I just… I just can’t believe that you would say that about yourself. Because in my eyes, you’re like this masterpiece crafted by the divine hands of the universe.” 

Your mind told you not to believe he was telling the truth, that he was just flattering the Pastor’s daughter and not you. But yet despite the dripping tears that fell into the grass, you felt yourself hang on every word that he spoke with such unfiltered sincerity that came out easily. 

“Your curves are not mere flesh and bone, but a testament to the wonder of creation itself, each curve a stroke of genius, each imperfection a mark of authenticity. Like, your body is an exact replica of the muse’s in the renaissance for paintings and sculptures. The timeless ones that people put up in museums to be admired and awed.”

Micah tilted his head to the side to place his face in your avoidant eyeline. He wanted you to look him in the eye as he told you this. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, to see how breathtaking and charming you are. Don’t let some insecurity blind you, because you are a masterpiece, a work of art, a marvel to behold. Your body is a temple, a vessel through which your radiant spirit shines forth, illuminating the lives of all who are fortunate enough to bask in-”

You harmlessly giggled with the sweetest smile and a punch shade of pink dusting across your round cheeks. “Okay, now you’re getting weird, you sound like a preacher.” You used the back of your hand to wipe your nose but also to hide your flustered grin. Micah smiled at the sight and the uplift of your mood, finally sliding his hold off of you.

A cleansing silence drifted over the two of you in your own little bubble. A comfortable one. Your heartbeat thumped sweetly in your chest, making the rest of your insides feel like warm mush that melted because of Micah’s honesty. “You know, I…” You paused to allow your blush and the reality of the situation sink in. “I never knew you felt that way.” You said as you looked up at him softly.

He didn’t know how to respond since he still believed you were so out of his league that you didn’t hold any affection for him. “Well now you do.” He said with a shrug. Your smile grew as your pupils dilated. “And I’m glad I know now.”

He approached what you said with caution and nervous curiosity. “Why?” You abused the seconds of suspense to truly admire the boy in a whole new light. “Because now I realize that I feel the same way.”

Micah was torn. Torn between his father’s words about the shameful sin of just simply talking to girls and the gravitational pull of his emotions and heart and attraction. Everything he was ever taught and learned was coming to question and doubt as he looked into your doe eyes, it was like an epiphany. Perhaps this was his final push into Isaac’s cause and his proclamation that the adults are wrong about everything.

Because could one small stolen kiss with a renaissance muse really condemn him to Hell?

“I really want to kiss you.” He finally breathed out like a warm sigh. “Do you think it’d be a sin if I kissed you?” He asked, genuinely wanting your insightful input. 

You took a moment to ponder until you settled on your answer. “I do.” 

Micah glanced down in disappointment. “So I’m damned if I do…” he looked back up to you with an entranced sense in his eyes, “but damned if I don’t.” He then leaned in to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, his hand moving to rest just below your soft jawline. He hummed into the contact which created a feeling of electricity shooting through you, prompting you to thread your fingers through the dark hair on the back of his head.

If this was the thing that would supposedly convict him to Hell, then Micah believed it was worth it a thousand times.

[marshmallowprotection]

Hi Kait, I hope you're doing great! I came all the way here to tell you that I've fallen in love with your Mystic Messenger writings 💕💕 you have a way of narrating the thoughts and emotions of the characters that keep me reading until the end (I was literally reading an article for an assignment and ended up reading one of your writings in full!) I think you've become my inspiration to write someday 🫶🏻

From the Mysmess universe do you have any recommendations for me to read? Yes, I know I could look in your AO3 but I thought I could ask the author herself jaja

Thank you Kait for being in this fandom and filling it with your beautiful writing! ✨

So, I could give you some of my stories to read, and I will give you some of my longer stories and which ones I would recommend you to read, but I will give recommendations from other authors who have penned longer stories that I really enjoyed. Just three for now since I don't want to give you too much homework!

Constellations by Cervella: Detective MC / Saeyoung, follows the canon game with a few minor adaptations! It unfortunately hasn't been updated in a few years but it's still worth the read in my opinion. The MC is interesting! I love reading about the different ways we all imagine our characters to face all the challenges that come, and this MC works fast and hard to find solutions. Stubborn, but any Saeyoung MC is.

an act of kindness by Khismer: This is one of my favorite Unknown stories. It was one of the first ones I came across in the fandom in 2016. There wasn't a lot to go off of back then when it came to his personality, but this fic really drew me in when I was desperate to have content with this guy. It's a wild ride in which you become close to him and I don't want to spoil it because it's a lot of fun.

Everlasting Party by ZenTheRainbowUnicorn: I would be remissed if I didn't bring up one time loop story. If I had to pick one, it would be this one. Again, the story isn't completed but I do think it's always worth your time to read a story that might be a little bit older to give that author a smile when they see new reviews. This is a Zen fueled love affair and you don't see too many of those these days, I'm afraid.

Okay, now to recommend some of my stories that might interest you based on what I've seen you like.

Iris by lilacnightmares: SE Saeran x Former Believer. A story that's built around jumping from the past to present as you make sense of what happened to you and Saeran. It's a story I always wanted to sit down and write ever since I was inspired by all the Assistant stories for Unknown. This one? I will love it forever.

Gloxinia by lilacnightmares: It's my own time loop story. This time, the focus is Suit Saeran... how many times can you go around and around before you crack?

Gardenia, et tu Polaris? by lilacnightmares: Have you ever wanted a story where Saeran AND Saeyoung get love? Find out in this story of an Angel Saeran and Demon Luciel as they fight to make sense of not only their religious trauma, but mine because this fic helped me deal with a lot of feelings! Also, Rika is a very interesting antagonist you'll never understand until the very end!

Cereus by lilacnightmares: Please, read my cowboy story and love it because it's my favorite series. Have you ever wanted to kiss the cute outlaw Unknown? No? Well, you're not in the loop because you owe him for saving your life, now dance on that saloon stage with Zen and find out what's going on in this dusty little western town!

Zantedeschia by lilacnightmares: Have you ever wondered what VAE Ray and Saeran do once they have to make sense of life after the end of the second party? Well, this is what happens. They get a job at a cute little bed and breakfast, but, here's the catch, their uniform is a maid outfit and they happen to catch the eye of the gardener who works at their job... this is actually @/DailySaeran's favorite story of mine!

[spacemancharisma]

DAILY CLICKS 4 PALESTINE

VETTED PALESTINIAN FUNDRAISERS

• @ spacemancharisma on ao3 • insta & tiktok @ publixdelichickentenders • mutuals dm for my discord •

tag directory below 👇

general tags

personal (my posts)

spaceman.art (my art) | self portrait (art of myself) | wes art (art of my husband)

my face | photos w wes (photos with husband)

spaceman.poetry (my poetry & other writing)

vent | vent art (enter at own risk)

ocs

fave

asks

people/pets

about me | tagged | kin (mostly for lols)

wes tag

angel tag

🦈 bite

oliver🐰

oddish tag

specific feelings

new philosophy (spiritual beliefs)

gender tag

feelings tag

poetry (not always in the classical sense)

lesbian momence (things that are, or cause me to have, a lesbian moment)

unfuckable (you cannot fuck me! I am unfuckable! I have never been fucked!)

inevitabilities (the agony of impermanence)

rage

melancholia

parallels (web weaving)

sad kids with bad moms club (mommy/daddy issues)

religious trauma

fool for love (love- not romantic)

love: the b-sides (love- romantic)

devotion

X (yk.)

.💔 (relationships that ended before they should have)

get busy living (are u gonna cowboy up or are u just gonna lay there and bleed)

become unkillable (kudzu philosophy)

I am not what I was (change, for better or worse)

I will pray for him (the devil)

I would like to hold on to my body (jesus)

anything is an angel if you love it enough (angels & the holiness of everything)

thoughts on death

inner child

it feels like this to me does it feel like this to you

what’s with this dog motif (devotion- horny & fucked up)

recovery

positivity (mostly nice asks i've received)

pain tag (physical disability)

bpd | autism | ptsd

horny on main

fandoms- personal posts (can be used to nav to reblogged fandom posts)

spaceman.lesmis

spaceman.taz

spaceman.tpp

spaceman.dhgha

spaceman.gomens

spaceman.pacrim

spaceman.tma

spaceman.hlvrai

spaceman.hannibal

spaceman.malevolent

spaceman.merlin

spaceman.tmagp

spaceman.dunmeshi

spaceman.wtnv

other things I like (or at least post about)

gmm

rtvs | wrtv | socpens

snapcube

chris fleming

mcelroys | monster factory

riverdale (do I “like” riverdale? this is impossible to say. I’m obsessed with it though)

dw (doctor who)

twin peaks

sherlock holmes | sherlock & co

etc

not my art (art I didn’t make)

lyrics

edit (text edits i’ve made- usually lyrics)

moodboard (I used to make them lol)

space

pigs

chants (powerful magics)

preemie jokes (I didn’t cook long enough in the womb and it made me weird)

bad horror (saw and the like)

pathetic men tag (you get it)

brainrot posting (posts that weren’t for a particular fandom originally but are the way I do it)

movie recs (catch-all film tag)

books (catch-all reading tag)

shakespeare

classic lit

greek lit

arthurian lit

[meerawrites]

Share 10 facts about an OC and their significant other

Audrey has so many affairs and significant others both in her canon story and otherwise. So she’s out, for this round. (X)

I just did Catherine, or my “Lady Samedi.”

(X)

On Baron Samedi in Haitian Vodou.

So, the vampire Marian, my self insert and their (ex) boyfriend and best friend, the werewolf Oscar it is!

Thanks again! @arrthurpendragon 💞

1. South Asian, Marian is South Asian and French/Norwegian like myself. But more than 50% brown, also like myself.

2. Marian is bi-gray ace-polyam. Marian is they/she but like myself, prefers they/them to most.

What’s a straight vampire?

3. A follies performer and flapper in the 1920s also an aspiring writer and poet. An all around creative person.

4. My most neurodivergent vampire. Though all my vampires are that way to a degree. But Marian’s canonically autistic-adhd and low needs BPD.

5. Marian’s a part time occult dabbler and has a skill-ish for reading tarot cards. (As do I).

6. Marian is culturally and religiously Hindu, this leads to interesting conversations of philosophy and religion with Catherine (a Vodou practitioner) and Oscar (a catholic) and is in juxtaposition with Audrey, a cultural French Roman Catholic and functional atheist sometimes agnostic.

7. A goth in the modern era, they like post punk and black clothes. (Brown goth playlist).

8. Bobbed hair for eternity because they got turned in the year 1922. Which is very gender, I think. Gabrielle de Lioncourt is jealous.

9. Is old enough to remember the “Great War” but either represses it or geniunely forgetful of the tragedy, for their sanity.

10. Their favourite book is Dracula (1897) by Bram Stoker, they have a particular fondness for Mina.

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is a close second. Their favourite modern-ish vampire book the The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice. They want to hug Nicolas and lecture Lestat the bi bastard (affectionate) bluntly but all in good intent. They’d like to meet him! Wouldn’t kiss him though, especially since Catherine already likes Lestat more than Marian personally ‘gets.’

As a side: Audrey is Lestat’s mistress in some universes. 🤷‍♀️ & Catherine a fledgling of Lestat.

Onto Oscar…

He is Latino, born in Texas near Mexico, and also a descendant of Quincey P. Morris of Dracula (1897 fame, or infamy) to some vampires.

He is a werewolf by bloodline rather than biting, a burden he feels a myriad of complex emotions about. (Werewolves overly sarcastic) (lore for werewolves part 1) (part 2)

Cis male (he/him). Bisexual disaster. Polyam (maybe??) (that's not as set in stone as my vampires) - he understandably doesn't like loneliness.

A flirt as a defence mechanism, but it's mostly words and only words, he is not the "Latine lover" trope. It's a trauma response.

Latino and Roman Catholic.

Multi-skilled! A pianist, a gentleman, a cowboy and a skilled sharpshooter and marksman who seldom missed a pistol shot.

As a werewolf he has an extended lifespan and above-average healing abilities. Whilst not immortal in the vampire way it does make one's priorities change and change one's morality a bit. He is willing to die for a cause he believes in, just like his ancestor, Quincey Morris, but if he can stave off the shadow of death, he will.

He has an odd affection for some vampires, which is odd given everything about him. He sees it as many vampires did not ask to be what they are, just as he did not ask for lycanthropy.

Can shift into a werewolf when threatened or attacked, still holds an obligation to Mistress Luna (the moon) as most werewolves do, but he can shift in defence of himself and others.

His relationship(s) with Marian and Catherine is... complicated in an endearing way. They say they are "friends" sometimes they're lovers, and other times they're queer platonic. Mostly they're just bound by fate, regard, mutual respect and queer affection, platonic or not.

[quidam-sirenae]

🤗📚 coughs loudly

I’m interpreting this as a sign for book recs and very well. Here are the top ten books I’ve ever read.

10. On the come up. Same person that wrote the hate u give but I really liked this one. I would check out everything else she’s written, though, cause Angie Thomas is a chefs kiss writer.

9. The bachaae. Yes, the play by Euripides. Look it desconstructs queerness and masculinity and femininity and madness and also there’s a lot of gore, what else do you want?

8. Obligatory comic book: batwoman bombshells. I love gay people. I love historical gay people. I love comic books. I love looking at batwoman ass, I’m a simple girl. Sometimes you read for fun.

7. Last night at the telegraph club. If you want a book with lesbians that are Chinese in the red scare, this is for you. It’s heart wrenching, it’s about the small things and the big queer things, but it’s so much about love during dangerous times.

6. The autobiography of Malcolm X. This will change the way you look at the world. This will change the way you look at the civil rights movement. Especially if you are white. 100/10, the only reason it’s not higher on the list is because I read for fun and while this is an amazing book it’s also not the most easily digestible.

5. The picture of Dorian gray. I think this book is so important when you look at censorship, the idea of growing up female, the way stories can have both positive and negative ideas behind them, like how this book is so queer and transformative and made me love myself again but it’s also disgustingly antisemetic. I actually think every afab person should read this book. Anyway I think about this book every time I put on drag.

4. Outlawed. This has ambiguous relationships, genders, and a really good way of exploring femininity that I think is very valuable. Featuring gay cowboys and really, what else do you need?

3. The serpent king. Maybe this one meant a lot to me personally as a religious person from Appalachia, but it felt so real. Would recommend this book with heavy warnings for religious trauma and suicidal ideation that could potential trigger someone, but I also think it’s an amazing read that you shouldn’t pass up.

2. Arc of a scythe series. This holds a special place in my heart. Neal shusterman was one of my favorite high school authors so much that I have gone SO far to collect his books, even some that have gone out of print- it took a lot of work to get my collection of shusterman and this series plays around with death and what it means to be moral and surveillance technology in a really fun way. If dystopia is your thing, this is where it’s at.

1. If we were villains. This lives in my head rent free. God I love it. It has everything: murder, trauma, undefined relationships, and shakespeare. I love it. I can’t even begin to say how much this book is to me. It’s made me cry multiple times. I’ve actually annotated my copy iirc, and I never do that. It is so well told and once I got into college I was like “wow there’s more murder than normal but actually yeah college is sometimes like this” and then it juxtaposes the silly with the horrifying and. Ough so good.

[90sharks]

hi! i’m holly, a young writer from the east coast. i love fantasy, historical fiction, romance, steampunk, and westerns. do these interests clash? yes. do i care? no. wips under the cut :3

HIDDEN RIVER | western, religious trauma, cowboys. rated teen for violence and cult descriptions. first draft in progress! tag is #hidden river !

⋆ Silas, a drunken rogue, stumbles upon the quaint town of Blissfield. He meets a saloon girl named Alba, and unknowingly puts himself in the middle of a murderous love plot. (That also includes his ex?!) While they ride off into the sunset, Silas confides that he is on a journey to save his best friend from an unknown peril.

ONE FLEW OVER THE FOYER | fantasy, mlm, knight x prince. rated YA for suggestive themes. side project, technically a novella. caged bird imagery for the win! tag is #one flew over the foyer !

⋆ Merle Bardot is the blind prince of the Kingdom of Espérer, set in a fictional French countryside. Filled with starving peasants, the people of Espérer are devoted to their king. King Bardot is evil, and takes the food from the villagers and leaves them with little means to survive. Merle’s servant, Tomlin, a boy from the south, works with a rebellion to overthrow the monarchy. Tomlin has to decide between the love of his life and his pride as a rebel when the castle is left to burn.

and more to come! i may expand on the lore of one flew over the foyer as i continue with its draft, since the story is getting more appealing the more i think about it lol. send me asks if you want, i love talking!

[fluoresensitivearchived]

🌙 fluoresensitive tag list, january 2022 update 🌙

SOUND AND COLOR: afro-futurism, hood futurism, space and sci-fi vibes. very much inspired by missy elliot and timbaland, sun ra, and earth, wind & fire. the title comes from the alabama shakes song, ‘sound and color’

WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE!: a general futurism tag, more cyber and solarpunk than anything. tag title comes from doja cat’s, cyber sex’

(SHE SCREAMS!): a general horror aesthetics tag!

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES: a tag dedicated to witches and crones and hags, a real baba yaga sort of tag, if you feel me.

CHERCHEZ LA FEMME: femme fatales, dangerous women, when you’re lobotomized and wild and a lil’ hysteric, but there’s something beautiful about the way you’re doing it, very glamorous. tag title comes from dr. buzzard’s savannah band’s ‘cherchez la femme’

I AM MY MOTHER’S CHILD: it’s a mommy issues tag. it’s about the difficult relationship between mothers and daughters, wow. tag title comes from lorde’s, writer in the dark’

BAD BLOOD: family issues, but make it general. we’re talking father against son, sibling against sibling, inter-generational trauma, you feel?

TENDERNESS TAG: love! it’s all about love!

PEOPLE MAKE THE WORLD GO ‘ROUND BY THE STYLISTICS: i just love that people have been people for as long as humans have existed, it makes me so warm inside.

NOBODY (NO BODY): a tag for depersonalization, like when you feel all float-y and far away from your body. like how sometimes you’ll look in the mirror and not recognize the person who’s looking back at you, so foreign they are to you. tag title comes from mitski’s ‘nobody’

ST. JUDE BY FLORENCE + THE MACHINE: water scenes, ophelia vibes... yeah.

DESPERADO: the yeehaw agenda...i wanna be a cowboy babee

MONTERO BY LIL NAS X: religious aesthetics, religious horror, demons and holy abominations. the tag title, of course, comes from creator/destroyer of christianity as a whole, lil nas ‘montero’ x

SOMETHING GOT A HOLD OF ME: possession tag, religious or otherwise, like for truly and totally being absorbed into a spirit. title comes from the etta james song of the same name.

FEAR NOT!: angel tag! very much met gala 2019, very much halos and wings, and many pairs of eyes! very much eldritch abomination and principalities of heaven, you feel me?

LIVE FROM THE EMERALD CITY: old school glamour, 70s vibes, inspired by the emerald city sequence from ‘the wiz’!

COMME DE GARCONS: ditto as above, but more general/haute couture tag. title taken from the rina sawayama song of the same name.

WHATEVER LOLA WANTS: sexy ass glamorous ass looks, absolutely serving cunt, pussy and labia, very much a stunt-y ‘spoil me, i’m worth it moment’

THESE ARE BLACK OWNED THINGS: Black culture and beauty! Ah, we’re so lovely, I love being Black! tag title comes from solange’s almeda!

DON’T TOUCH MY HAIR: Black hair! Tag title comes from the Solange song of the same name!

WE MUST NOT LOOK AT GOBLIN MEN: faery tag, good folk tag, changelings and the such, the tag of my people wow! tag title comes from the christina rosetti poem, ‘the goblin market’

MINNIE RIPERTON’S LES FLEURS: white girls doing cottagecore? ugly,     imperalist, colonialist, very much plantation owner/manifest destiny     nonsense. BLACK GIRLS DOING COTTAGECORE? fabulous, inspiring, especially if they’re indigenous like yes queen! reclaim the land stolen from you! reclaim the land your ancestors toiled over!

I SAW THINGS I IMAGINED:  surrealism tag, wow otherwordly scenes! tag title comes from solange’s ‘things i imagined’  

I BEEN ON: Black glamour, expensive thangs expensive looks. very much a grills and diamonds, ostentatious luxury-type beat. 2013 lorde would be foaming at the mouth over this. title comes from the beyoncé song, i been on

NOT YET LOST ALL OUR GRACES: more a general old money style sort of a tag, more pearls and gloves than champagne and fast cars.

HOUSEKEEPING TAGS;

ON HORROR;

ON WRITING;

CONVERSION TAG; / JUDAISM TAG

ON GENDER;

AUTIZZY TAG;

WEB WEAVING;

MY WRITING:

MY MEWDBOARDS

MY COLLAGES

MIXTAPES

[marshmallowprotection]

hello hello!! it is i, once again!! so here's a fun little thing for you: do you have any little headcanons or drabbles or anything, really, rattling around in your head that you would like to share but haven't yet had the chance to? like any little character thought that you don't think is big enough to post on its own or something, this is your free space to toss it out, no bigger context or work needed

-embroidery anon

(i thought of this because i just put together something really small for one of my stories and feel like celebrating the ideas of things. all the stuff we don't mention that becomes part of something larger later <3)

God. There are a lot of things I'd love to write or work on! Sometimes, I just don't have the spark to work on it, or I don't think it'd get love in the way I'd love it. My head is filled with prompts all the time! So, the answer to this is, where do I even begin? This is about to be so long, I swear to God.

I have so many thoughts about my Obey Me x Mystic Messenger crossover that I'm working on in the background of other stories right now.

There's a lot of character development and analysis that I would love to do for that but I just haven't got the chance to do it yet. I don't want to just write the main story, there's a part of me that wants to write things that are happening to other characters in the meantime.

Like, I would love to explore Saeyoung’s faith. I want to see what happens when he is presented with Lucifer, given that’s who he named himself after. Even without the crossover, I think it would be really interesting to explore that part of his faith in a way that helps my own religious trauma.

There is a part of me that wants to do a deep exploration of character sexuality and gender expressions, too.

I would love to sink my teeth into the concept of Saeyoung’s gender fluidity. It's something that a lot of people have talked about over the years, but I have never put in my thoughts and feelings about it in a way that would allow me to truly explore his character the way I want to and share my interpretation.

Another concept I want to work with is my personal take on Jumin being asexual. There is a lot to that specific headcanon of mine and I would love to go into detail one of these days. I just haven't had the energy to replay Jumin’s route lately!

I haven't really talked about that in a long time, unfortunately. It's something I feel passionate about when it comes to his character, but it can be a hard time talking about it because there are a lot of acephobes out there that pop into my posts. Which, hey, if anyone reading this is acephobic, get out of here, you are unwanted by my demisexual ass. <3

I don’t get to write Yoosung or Zen enough. I feel like there's potential for me to explore their characters a lot better but I just haven't found the right concept that I want to work with them on. There's a part of me that wants to flesh out Yoosung in my Cowboy universe. I just haven't put together the pieces yet but once I do, we're going to finally have me riding about him properly in a story that is all his own. Maybe I’ll get to Zen someday… 

He, unfortunately, always winds up as the best friend to the Readers in my stories. But that's kind of how I see him so it's hard for me to write about him in any other way.

God, I think the thing that is on the back burner most of the time are CMC-driven stories.

One story I want to write is centered around my Poly Trio since they fall behind Saeran and Lila so often! Judas and Saeyoung have this dynamic that bounces between enemies to reluctant friends to lovers that makes me feel some kind of way. There's a part of me that really wants to explore their dynamic quite often. I think about the time just before Minji appears a lot.

Like, Judas is an informant who has been working to get revenge on his ex-boyfriend who used and abused him for years after scooping him up off the streets as a teenager. He almost got what he wanted, to kill him in cold blood, but they put a hit on his head and his only choice was to sell himself to the Agency Saeyoung works for to save his skin momentary. The agency wants his information and then they want Saeyoung and Vanderwood to kill him. The cat and mouse that shapes them sends me sometimes.

Minji is the sunshine between them. She is their guiding light who guides them back to happiness after bathing in sin, but I want badly to write about that time between she appears in the apartment just to see Saeyoung and Judas bite each other's heads off.

I have even more ideas for Saeran and Lila, but I typically tend to scratch that itch when I have it. Besides, you're asking for those things that I think about but never wind up doing no matter how much I want to do it.

Unsurprisingly, there are so many things that I still haven't written for Ray, Suit Saeran, GE Saeran, VAE Ray, VAE Suit Saeran, Unknown, or SE Saeran. I don't think I can fit everything that I've ever wanted to write about when it comes to that character but I certainly can't do it in a single post.

There are a lot of little things that I would love to write about when it comes to each and every one of them. Sometimes, though, the concepts that I have are so little that it would just turn into a post that looks a little bit like: 

“Ray is the little spoon. Send Post.”